The Mario Bros kept to themselves that night, only giving short and curt responses when they addressed each other. Both went to bed early, knowing that they needed all of their energy for tomorrow's match. As for the other citizens of the MK, they found it difficult to get some shut-eye, the swirling excitement becoming prevalent. They took baths, brewed herbal tea and listened to calming music. Then, they counted sheep and did guided meditations. But it was barely any use. The next day couldn't arrive soon enough.

And then—the next day dawned.

Mario and Luigi were up by 5:30a.m., scrambling eggs, frying bacon and flipping pancakes. They exchanged pleasantries as they ate, but the atmosphere around them had become charged. The impending match was slowly bringing out the competitive side of their relationship.

Spectators began arriving at the Peach Dome at around 6a.m. Luckily, the event organizers had anticipated this and set up some entertainment, from live DJs to food trucks and games for the little ones. The doors opened at 6:45, and they had to open multiple entrance to accommodate the larger-than-usual turnout.

It didn't take long for the venue to be sold out. Thousands more decided to watch the action from TVs inside restaurants and pubs.

At around 7:30, the Mario Bros had checked into the locker room and changed into the appropriate attire—polo shirts, shorts, socks and tennis shoes. Not a word was spoken between them, but they didn't need to say anything. After setting aside his shower materials and a change of clothes, Mario zipped up his duffel bag and headed for the tennis court, exchanging another intense look with his lil' bro before doing so.

The shine around Luigi's eye had faded to blue-green, and it hurt less, but he wasn't concerned about the black eye. He wasn't concerned about what Waluigi had done or about what Koopa had done. All he was concerned about was the match of his life. He adjusted his wristwatch and pressed his tennis racket to his lips.

"I'm done being second-best," he whispered.

Meanwhile, Mario sat on a bench courtside, twirling his racket in his hands and psyching himself up.

"Sorry, Lil' Bro," he said softly, "but I have a title to defend."

By 8:30, the Peach Dome was abuzz, anticipation charging the air. Luigi had also emerged onto the court and sat on a bench, closing his eyes and focusing. By now, a myriad of emotions had begun to stir within him, joining that feeling which had originated during the quarterfinals.

At 8:50, Toadsworth arrived to introduce the competitors.

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome to the Peach Dome," he said. "The final match of the Power Tennis Singles Tournament is about to begin!"

Cheers.

"Introducing first—our always-dependable hero in red and the current Power Tennis Champion, Mario 'Jumpman' Mario!"

Mario took his place on the court, leaped into the air and landed in a strongman pose. "Here we go!" he exclaimed.

Everyone cheered louder, chanting Mario's name.

"Today," Toadsworth went on, "Super Mario will be defending his title against another dependable hero. Let's all put our hands together for his younger brother—Luigi!"

"Oh, yeah! Let's do this!" Luigi determinedly shouted as he stepped onto the court.

Not a lot of people cheered for him. Some of them exchanged confused looks and whispered to each other, as if they'd never seen Luigi before in their lives.

"The Super Mario Brothers, ladies and gentlemen!" said Toadsworth. "Facing off in a five-set match—only one Mario Bro will walk away with the trophy. But which one?"

The spectators leaned forward in suspense.

Blue eyes met blue eyes as the Bros advanced to center court and shook hands.

Standing there, tennis racket heavy in his hand, waiting for the match to begin, Luigi resolved to keep his swirling emotions in check. But the other side of his relationship with Mario had begun to emerge, the side which involved their gross fame inequality. Everybody knew who Mario was, but when it came to Luigi—it was like he was never there. He began to think that the spectators wanted Mario to win, because he was so heroic and so good at everything and—

I'm good at sports, too! I'm as good a fighter as my bro! I'm as good a protector as my bro! I can be a hero, too!

The emotions bubbled and threatened to spill over, but Luigi was able to command and control them, allowing them to simmer. Setting down his racket, the man in green peeled off his green polo shirt and tossed it aside, to several ooohs from the audience. Daisy nodded in approval, and both Skye and Opal couldn't resist a look.

This was shaping up to be an interesting match. Because whenever Luigi took off his shirt—he meant business.

Luigi picked his racket back up and studied his bro, waiting, waiting.

And Mario's eyes scanned his younger brother as he bounced the ball against the court, once, twice, thrice. Then, he held his racket under the ball, awaiting the ref's command to start the match.

Nothing personal, Lil' Bro. But I gotta win this. You do understand, right? This title is very important to me.

Again, they locked eyes, Luigi's flashing.

Sorry, Bro. It's my turn to have a chance for once. You always get all of the fame. All of the credit. Even though I put in just as much effort as you. All I ask is that the Toads at least acknowledge the times I have your back.

Luigi held his racket with both hands, his muscles tensed, breathing evenly.

I saved you in that mansion nearly three years ago. The MK would've lost their main hero if it weren't for me. And I didn't advance this far just to wind up with the second prize. I hope you're ready, Bro—because I'm gonna give you my all.

The ref glanced from one Mario Bro to another. Those two looked like they wanted to tear each other apart.

"Okay, gentlemen," said the ref. "Let's keep this friendly, all right?"

The Bros nodded, still staring intensely at each other.

Give it your best, Bro, thought Mario, but I gotta show these Toads that I'm still number one.

It was now 9a.m.

Time for the final match to begin.

…

Calm washed over Luigi as the ref gave the fateful signal. The miasma of emotions now lingered just below the surface. He didn't feel angry, frustrated, flustered or resentful—he didn't even feel worried that this would all be for naught. All he felt was—sudden hyperawareness. Paying attention to the smallest details, because the smallest details could be the most important.

His breaths filling his lungs.

His bro tossing the ball into the air.

The fingers of his left hand closing around the racket.

The tennis ball rising toward the sky and spinning in space.

The ball reaching its apex.

Mario bringing down his racket on the ball, launching over the net. Toward Luigi.

Luigi could see all of the ball's stitches and textures as it raced toward him. The muscles around his abs tightened. He released a breath. His body pivoted. His left arm swung. His racket met the ball.

He heard the audience murmur around him as the ball thundered back over the net. He heard and saw Mario's racket connect with the ball again, volleying it back toward him. He felt his muscles snap to attention as his racket snapped toward the ball. And he felt the shockwave thrum down his arm as the racket cleanly hit the ball, slicing it back in Mario's direction.

On and on it went. Luigi's attention was riveted on nowhere else except for the soaring, spinning ball, his own racket, his brother's racket and his breathing. Everything else was just background noise that he'd return to later. He inhaled as the ball came toward him and exhaled as he swung his racket to connect. Mostly, he held the racket in his left hand, keeping his other hand behind his back. His body continued to spin and pivot as he returned each shot, jumping acrobatically toward the ball whenever he saw it bounce off the court floor. He listened to his bro's low grunts and huffs as he kept heaving the ball across the court and saw the fierce expression on his face. An expression similar to the one he was currently wearing.

But while Mario was grunting and huffing, Luigi released his breaths in low, quiet streams as he swung his racket toward the tennis ball again and again and again.

Luigi's Squeaky Mallet was now in his hand, and he pulled back and swung, throwing his whole body into the swing. The Mallet hit the ball full-force, sending it up and over the net. He saw Mario race toward the ball. And he saw him miss.

He had scored!

However, he'd celebrate later. Mario wound up and served the ball again. And Luigi went back to his state of calm hyperawareness, his reflexes perfectly polished, his eyes following the ball and his strong left arm sending the racket forward to meet it.

And then Mario scored.

Drat.

Luigi could swear he heard Mario laugh softly after he scored. He could swear he heard the audience give a relieved sigh. But then he re-focused, keeping those feelings simmering just under his skin, watching Mario's every move. Just as Mario was keeping his eyes out for his every move.

The score was 15-15. Heat pooled along every pore in Luigi's skin as Mario served. That hyperawareness steadily increased as the game went on. The tennis ball rotating in thin air during its flight. The weight of the tennis racket in Luigi's hand. The court beneath his tennis shoes. Even the visor on his head. And of course, the breath going in and out of his lungs, the satisfying sensation of racket encountering ball, and all of his muscles flexing, contracting and relaxing as he mixed slice shots with topspin shots, topspin shots with flat shots and flat shots with drop shots and lob shots.

One brother scored. And then the other. Then one and then the other until the ref announced that the next point would be the game point. Luigi's face was hot, and his breath was a little brisk. His eyes met Mario's, and he was also breathing heavily. As far as he was concerned, that was for the best.

Mario sent the ball rocketing towards him, and Luigi sent it rocketing back. And all the latter knew was just sensation and breathing and determination until—

"Game—Mario."

D—mit. God—mit.

He had four-and-a-half sets to catch up with him, but still.

"Change court."

Luigi felt the ball's texture in his hand before he threw it skyward and crashed his racket onto it. The ball nearly zipped past Mario, who had to use his Spin Jump to return the serve. With a smooth pivot, Luigi curved the ball back, relying on trick shots as well as strength and power. The warmth on his skin took on a sticky quality, and a film of sweat began materializing on his face. His breath came out sharp and fast each time he hit the ball. His breaths deepened each time he served the ball. For each point he scored, Mario would score one right after. Both were all-around characters, more than matching each other in skill. And because of this, their match would be anything but boring.

"Set point."

The score stood at 40-30 in Mario's favor. Licking his lips, Luigi tossed the ball up high and served. Mario sliced it toward the corner of the net, and Luigi returned with a drop shot. They rallied for a few more minutes, and then Mario pulled out his Iron Hammer and whacked the ball with all his strength, sending it past Luigi.

"Game and set—Mario."

The ref called a water break. Both competitors retreated to their benches and quenched their thirst with some Gatorade.

Don't relax yet, Bro, thought Luigi. We still have four sets.

During the next three sets, the man in green focused all of his energy on his swings, his serves and the tennis ball. When he needed a little more force behind his swings, he pulled out his Squeaky Mallet. When he couldn't quite catch a ball on time, he vacuumed it back to set up a return shot. He could feel his emotions threatening to flare out of control, but he kept it simmering, brewing and bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin, breathing in and out and in and out. His mouth was rounded in an "o" shape, intense focus shone in his eyes, and everyone could see that he was not playing around.

Neither was Mario.

Both Bros played intensely and aggressively, much to the ref's alarm. A few times, he had to stop the match and remind them that it was just a friendly contest. But the ref simply didn't understand what was going on between the Bros—how much that trophy meant to both of them. For Mario, it would mean another hard-earned tournament win under his belt. And for Luigi, it would mean recognition—blessed acknowledgment, at long last.

No water breaks in the world could cool the fire blazing within Luigi.

The sun was now overhead. High noon. Mario and Luigi were tied at two sets each. The decisive final set loomed ahead. Anything could happen. But only one would win.

Briefly, Luigi's gaze swept over the spectators. They've underestimated me, he thought. They are very, very, VERY wrong about me. I can hold my own, and if I can hold my own, then I can win.

The sound of the ball bouncing on the court brought his attention back to his bro. Flushed and sweaty, his hair plastered against his forehead, his breathing labored, Mario stared hard at his lil' bro. I know you can win without a doubt in my mind, baby bro. But I didn't come this far just to falter at the last minute.

Luigi met his bro's stare. Neither did I.

They held the charged gaze for a few more seconds. And in a low voice, Mario spoke.

"Ready?" he asked.

Face set, Luigi replied, also in a low voice, "Let's-a go."

Again—it wasn't anger or frustration or a plethora of other emotions the younger bro felt. Just—a heightened sense of things. The audience murmuring among themselves. The lingering taste of Gatorade on his tongue. The handle of his racket, sweaty beneath his fingers. His heart tapping out a brisk rhythm in his chest. The sun hanging midway in the blue sky. His breath, in synchrony with his bro's, inhaling and exhaling. Every last drop of sweat sliding down his face, neck, chest, torso and back. A sudden summer breeze coming in, ghosting across his hot skin, a welcome cool. He saw, he heard, he felt, he watched—and he waited.

Time stopped—and then started again.

A deep inhale. The twitch of a muscle. The ball leaving Mario's hand and sailing into the noon sky. The nerves and muscles within Luigi's body snapping to attention as the racket cracked the ball toward him. Sweat droplets leaping off of his pivoting body, breath streaming out of his rounded mouth, the racket cleanly hitting the ball and returning the serve.

And the final set began.

The Peach Dome now bore witness to one of the most intense, charged and heated final sets in the MK's rich history. The two brothers were hot, sweaty, cross and fired up. No taunts or quips were exchanged between them—just cold, undiluted focus and fierce corner shots. While Mario aggressively slammed shots over the net, Luigi played with almost tactical precision, curving as many shots as he could, maintaining command of his roiling emotions.

Luigi realized just how much he wanted to win—just how much he wanted to defeat his big bro in front of Peach, Daisy, Toadsworth, God and everyone. He loved his brother very much, and he'd die for him, but at the same time, he felt stuck in his shadow, with no way out. Even if he did something noteworthy, it would be forgotten soon enough. But for some reason, everyone remembered Mario and all he'd done, and it was just so unfair! The man in green corralled his angst, ire and frustration and focused it on his succeeding swings. Mario scored a point, but then Luigi scored two, one by using his Power Shot. And then Mario used his Spin Jump to score yet another point and bring the score back to a tie. The summer breeze picked up slightly, cascading down Luigi's upper body and back and ruffling his hair. He breathed in the refreshing air through his nostrils and swung his racket, catching the ball as it arced toward him.

And then Luigi scored the game point, the duo briefly staring each other down as they switched sides on the court.

The last half of the last set was just like the first—the two brothers muscling for the upper hand, the ball practically bounding back and forth between them. Mario's polo shirt cleaved to his upper body, and Luigi's skin was sparkling in the sunlight. Matching determined expressions were on their faces, neither of them willing to cave in at this crucial point in the match.

"Championship point."

Tension swirled in the air as the Bros talked to each other with their eyes. The score was currently in Luigi's favor, 40-30. This was do or die. Now or never.

Luigi drew in a breath as he flung the tennis ball into the air, swinging the racket in time with his exhale. The ball seemed to hurtle itself over the net toward Mario, who crisply returned the serve. And the spectators fell silent, hanging onto every second of the action, the Bros throwing everything they had left into the match. Slice shots, topspin shots, drop shots, flat shots, smash shots, lob shots, Power Shots—they weren't holding back now. Everything rested on this one remaining point. Either one brother would remain the Power Tennis champion, or the title would pass to the other brother.

Throwing his full strength into his swing, Mario sent a fast curve ball at Luigi. But the man in green simply narrowed his eyes, steadied his breathing, wrenched his body erect, pivoted and swung.

It's my time to shine!

With a powerful lob shot, Luigi sent the ball sizzling over the net. Mario gasped, his body instinctively jerking out of the way. He tried to Spin Jump toward the ball, but he was microseconds too late. The ball was already at the corner of the net.

And the match was decided.

"Game, set and match—Luigi!"

Stunned silence.

Then—

The Peach Dome burst into cheers, every single attendee on their feet.

"Oh, my God! I don't believe it!" exclaimed Toadsworth. "Luigi won! Luigi Mario is the new Power Tennis Champion!"

Allowing everything else to fade back in, Luigi stared in awe at the cheering crowd. He glanced at the scoreboard, and it took a few seconds for it to sink in that he'd won. He'd f—ing done it. He'd bested his big bro and earned the gold trophy. And for once—the Toads were cheering for him.

Slowly but surely, the fire within Luigi began to cool, and his emotions settled down to a manageable level.

"Hey!" shouted an audience member. "That's the ghost hunter! That's the one who singlehandedly defeated an enemy worse than Koopa! Let's give him a hand!"

Happiness swelled inside Luigi as the cheers started afresh. They remembered, he thought. They remembered!

Luigi raised his arms in victory as the spectators began chanting his name. Not some moniker like "Green Mario" or "Mario's little brother". But his actual name.

A broad smile replaced the stony intensity on Luigi's face.

"Yeah! Oh, yeah! Luigi number one!"

Meanwhile, Mario just stood there, disbelieved, his tennis racket dropping from his slackened grip.

I—I—I was so close!

He tried his best to be happy for Luigi, but his mind wouldn't listen to him, thinking treacherous thoughts.

I was so close…

What a finish to the Power Tennis Singles Tournament! Hold onto your seats, because there's drama up ahead!

Please R&R.