Olimar only wanted the tournament prize money. Not all of it, since even fifth or sixth place would see his dear children through college. The Pikmin were glad to follow him and put down new Onions, and so here he was, looking up at yet a different endless sky.
The strange feeling settled in his bones, the one that said he was larger, much larger, doubled and doubled and doubled from his ordinary self. He followed the Dolphin computer's suggestions for exercise regimes. He taught the Pikmin new commands, making them extensions of his own fists. Visiting planets always seemed to have Olimar fighting in one way or another. The peculiar part was that, when all was devoured and he stared up at Tabuu's spreading wings, he was neither surprised nor afraid. He was strong. He had more allies than ever.
Once the worlds drifted back to their proper places in the ether, a change settled over the tournament. Olimar had caught glimpses of the other entrants before; now they paused on their routes to smile at him, and wave. Mario, Link, Kirby, all the names and faces he recalled from the brochures and the contracts, all the gloried veterans, now joined by a shipping employee from Hocotate. It seemed that their exploits together meant more than any tournament rivalry, even if there hadn't been time for so much as hello before. Some communication went beyond words. Olimar happened to be watching a red Pikmin as he thought that, and it hummed as if to agree with him.
Captain Falcon, though sporting in most regards, never offered more than a smile and a two-fingered salute. And calling the Pikmin off of that poor Yoshi creature didn't count as a first meeting, Olimar suspected, despite how amiable -- she? he? -- had been about the misunderstanding. No, the first fellow competitor they met properly was Pit. Olimar had to remind himself that they were meeting people, he and the Pikmin. Teams did everything together.
They and Pit met well before their match, in the spacious and sun-drenched warm-up grounds. Pit paused, thinking, and came closer as though indulging some whim. Hybrid of human and avian, Olimar absently noted, with distinctive gold plumes on his head. Had rudimentary wings on his back, used more for evasive maneuvers and gliding than for true flight. Stalwart in nature. Fought fiercely when friends were threatened.
The Pikmin sensed the difference between friend and foe by now: they chirped curiously as Pit approached, and a few of them ventured closer. Pit grinned. How strange it was to see that light of curiosity on another person's face. Was that was Olimar looked like, his first incredible days on the Distant Planet? He watched Pit crouch into the swaying forest of Pikmin leaves and buds, and couldn't be sure.
He'd worried about fighting a friend, or someone close to it. Perhaps Pit thought the same, because he hoped they would both give it their all, punctuating it with an eagerly thrown fist. All sixteen Pikmin mirrored the motion, and it took an absurd few seconds for Pit to notice. That image, emblazoned in Olimar's mind, brought a smile to his face for years to come.
The tournament passed in a blur of faces. The prize money wasn't as much as Olimar had hoped for; he ached for weeks afterward; he wouldn't have done a thing differently.
