Sucks to be you 'cause I would have loved you
I'd watch the whole world burn just to see you dance
Runnin' through cartels and jumping through bombshells
I thought we would die growin' old holdin' hands
- SAINt JHN, "Sucks to be You"
Young Lions
whatever it takes
When she got accepted into the academy, Lucina's father gave her a book. It was a paper print, bound in hardcover. A novelty, especially when he could have just downloaded it.
"Read it," he told her. "It's important. You need to know it."
Unspoken in that request: There are things that I cannot tell you. Difficult things. I have seen dark times, and I carry memories that I do not want to relive through a retelling. So you must learn it from someone else's words instead of mine. Someone else who was there. Someone else who knows.
Lucina's bond with her father had always been strong. Between them, often, words were not necessary. It almost embarrassed her to have to express herself too much in speech. So she relied on her actions. And she hoped that her father would see and understand.
She took the book with her on that first train ride leaving home for the academy. She was traveling alone for the first time in her life. As she watched the mountains glide past in the distance, she was hit with a mix of rare feelings. Like an ocean, like a calling, like darkness, like peace. Things she couldn't put to words. And the time seemed right to open the hardcover and turn to the first page.
The inked paragraphs were slightly crooked, the margins uneven. The print job seemed to have been amateurish, or rushed.
It was a memoir.
The death that greets you in my country is fast and unambiguous. We are a simple and unbroken people...
Those were the words of Lady Lyndis.
Lucina spent the whole train ride reading.
By the time it was over, one daughter of Ylisse was changed. She was not the same person she had been when she'd left home.
Years later, the book still traveled with her. She had packed it in an overnight bag and brought it with her to the tournament.
Lucina was always the first one to wake in the mornings. In a room blacked out by heavy curtains, she checked the time on her phone. It was a little late, compared to her usual routine.
She rolled out of bed and dropped to the foam mat she had placed on the floor the night before. She did push ups. Three sets. Followed it with sit ups and lunges.
In the hotel bathroom, she started the shower and chose her shampoo from the other items scattered across the cold marble counter. The water was warm, but she didn't linger. There was a lot to do today.
Her morning rituals were typically short. But as she blew dry her hair in front of the bathroom mirror, she remembered where she was. Here - the stage extended far beyond the arena. The press waited outside. And with them were the fans and influencers and scouts and sponsors and promoters. She had to take special precautions this time. Otherwise she'd hear it from Twintelle, who came from the world of lights and cameras and red carpet shows, who seemed to be a natural part of that machine. Lucina had sacrificed most of her life to the sword, to blood, sweat and physical training. Her education had been in global politics, history, and economics. She made a note to ask Twintelle what rates she charged for consultation. This was not her world. But if she wanted to survive in it, she'd need an experienced advisor.
For now, she began the tedious process of styling her hair. But after burning herself on the curling iron a couple times, she unplugged it and stopped short of trashing it.
She applied makeup from a small compact, following a step by step video tutorial on her phone. She had learned already that she would be photographed, and she had no control over what model of camera would be used, so the cosmetics she used had to be the type that would look best regardless of the lens pointed at her. It was all so needlessly complicated.
When she was finished and dressed, she stepped out into the main suite. The door to the other bedroom was closed. Doc had claimed that one for himself.
Empty bottles and shot glasses littered the room. The couch was supposed to have gone to Mac because Terry had offered to take the floor. However, this morning, Mac had somehow ended up on the floor, spooned against Terry's back, both of them tucked under the same white sheet.
It was blackmail material, and Lucina was no saint. She was fast with the camera snap.
Pichu had taken Mac's spot on the couch, curled up asleep on a cushion, snoring softly. Lucina picked up a loose pillow case and draped it over the Pokemon as a blanket.
In the kitchenette, she found a decades old coffee machine.
The hotel's complimentary brew was subpar, according to Doc Louis, who had supplied his own. The brand logo on the front of the bag was a skull and crossbones. A little daunting, but they all seemed like they needed it. Lucina measured out enough for a full pot and poured it into the filter. She added a carton of water from the fridge and flipped the switch on the machine. It grumbled slowly to life.
On the floor, Mac stirred awake. He rubbed his eyes.
"What time is it?" he mumbled in her general direction.
"About time for breakfast," she answered.
"Shit. I gotta get ready."
"You have an early match."
"Yeah..." He separated himself from Terry. Then he froze. "Wait - what the fu -"
Lucina had to stifle her laughter. Terry slept on.
"Okay, so...I swear this is just platonic," Mac explained.
"You were totally spooning..."
"I musta fell off the couch."
"That's exactly what it looks like."
"Are you being sarcastic?"
"Nope."
"You're lying."
"You're late."
"Fuck!"
Mac jumped up and sped into the bathroom, grabbing his phone off the floor on the way.
Terry flinched but didn't open his eyes.
The door to the second bedroom opened by a crack.
"Is Mac up yet?" Doc asked.
"Yeah. He just got up."
"Good. I forgot to wake him. Been on the video chat with my wife this whole morning."
"I made coffee."
"At least one of us is on top of things."
Doc opened the door all the way and wandered into the kitchen.
Lucina handed him a mug from the cupboard and poured a cup for him. She fixed one for herself. Then, after a quick thought, she filled a third cup.
The sliding glass door to the balcony was open. She headed that way with a cup in each hand.
There, she found Roy in a chair, watching the predawn sky, deep into a conversation with himself. Then she spotted the flicker of a wireless pod in his ear, the phone in his hand.
He turned and nodded at her.
Without a word, she set down one of the cups on the table in front of him.
"Imma call you back," he said and ended the call.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," she said.
"It's alright."
She leaned back against the wall. "Thought you hated getting up early."
"I do."
"I guess today's different?"
"Today's different."
"I'll be honest. I didn't think you were even going to come out to the tournament."
"I wasn't."
"What changed?"
He took a breath. "I had to make a choice. Much as I hate even just being here, I've got some loose ends to tie up." He paused to take a sip of coffee. "Damn, that's fucking strong."
"Doc brought it."
"He's a dangerous man. Holy shit."
She held her drink in both hands. "I like it though."
"You don't want too much caffeine in your system before your match."
"No?"
"Makes you jittery. You get nervous before your fight. You burn off your energy reserves. Then you're halfway empty by the time you go in. And you'll gas out before you know it."
"Mac's going up first. I've got a bit of time."
"Waiting makes it worse."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Is Mac getting ready?"
"Yes, he's up."
"His fight isn't going to be an easy one."
"What are his chances, you think?"
"He's got a shot. But he's gonna have to work for it."
Lucina nodded. Mac had wanted this the most. Probably more than any of them. This was his life. The rest of them were just part timers by comparison.
"Have you been working out a strategy?" she asked.
"Me and Doc talked it out last night."
"He's going to need to hear it from both of you. You know how he hates thinking about what he's supposed to be doing."
"I know."
She sipped her drink in silence for a bit. The sun was rising. The city was waking. Smash Town was opening up shop, but its inhabitants were probably all hung over. There'd been some wild parties the night before.
"It changes but it doesn't," Roy said.
"What do you mean?"
"This traveling circus. The Smash pro league. Whatever you wanna call it. Every year, the rules change. New arenas. New stages. New faces. New promoters. New audiences. New products. Bigger and better markets. But somehow, no matter how much it changes on the outside, there's something at the root of it that just sinks its teeth into you. If you stay in it long enough, you can feel it start to pull you under. And it makes you want it, no matter how much you're drowning in it."
"That sounds..." She sought out the right words but couldn't come up with anything. "I guess I'm still an outsider. I only know what I've heard from others."
Roy shrugged. "Make your own opinion. See it for yourself. I won't tell you how to feel about it."
"Is that why you didn't want to come back?"
"Yeah."
"But you still came."
"I'm not the smartest guy out here, Luci. I like things that are bad for me. But mainly, I'm here for Mac. And all of you guys."
"That makes you a good friend, Roy."
"Yeah, well, I wasn't always a good guy. But, I figured, maybe it's time I changed that."
She sighed. "It sounds to me like you need to be here as much as Mac or anyone else. I think this place, this event - it all means something to you, even though it wasn't always good to you. I think you came here to make a statement. And once you're done, maybe you won't be coming back. But right now, this is an open chapter in your life that you haven't closed yet. And it seems like you want to close it."
Roy's lips twisted into a lopsided smile. "You're not wrong."
"Guys!" Mac popped in through the door. "Have you seen my gloves?"
Lucina balked. "How did you lose that of all things?"
"I don't know!"
"Do you have wraps?" Roy asked.
"Yeah but..."
"Have you checked -"
"Pichu pichu!"
Mac turned around to see the mouse run up, a pair of green boxing gloves dangling at the mouth. "Sweet! Thanks, little buddy!"
"Mac," Lucina said, "you really need to keep track of your things."
"Yes, mom!"
"I'm serious."
"Okay, Serious. Can we get breakfast? The cafeteria should be open by now."
"Well I don't know, can you find your shoes, or did you lose those too?"
"Nah, I got them! I think..."
"Is Terry still sleeping?" Roy asked.
Lucina exchanged a look with Mac. "He was when I last saw him."
Mac nodded. "He's still passed out."
Roy stood up. "I'm going to check on him. After that, how do you guys feel about going for a run?"
"What about breakfast, man?"
"Pichu?" The Pokemon seemed immediately downcast at the prospect of missing a meal.
"I'll make you some toast," Lucina offered. "We can eat again after."
"Eh, I guess. Doc brought his bike. He'll prolly wanna come too.
"What about Terry?"
"I'll find out about that one." Roy moved past then and into the main room.
Mac turned to Lucina. "How you feelin'? Nervous?"
"Yes."
"You've done competitions before, right? So look at this the same. Don't let it get to you."
"You've competed too."
"Right. It doesn't get me as bad anymore."
"This is a different game, Mac. Don't get overly confident."
"Me? Never!"
He shot her an easy grin and held out his fist. She bumped it. From underneath them, Pichu shot up and headbutted their fists.
"Alright!" Mac cheered. He reached down to scratch the Pokemon between the ears. "That's the kind of enthusiasm we need around here!"
Lucina smiled in spite of herself.
At the moment, Young Lions had one loss and no wins. They were going to have to fix that real fast.
Terry turned on the hot water and filled the bathtub. The others had left for their morning warm up exercise. He had the suite to himself.
It was Roy's suite, actually. The rest of them had been shoved into more modest accommodations. They were unranked newcomers, and that was just how things went. But Roy had opened up his room for all of them to set up camp. They had, almost accidentally, become a team.
The bathtub was a nice luxury.
Terry tossed his hat into the water. Then he stripped off his clothes.
He tugged out his hair ties. But he kept the necklace on.
The water by now was almost too hot. He had emptied about half the bottle of bath solution into it. He shut off the faucet and eased himself down through the soap suds, slowly. Then he lay his head back, closed his eyes.
Everything hurt. But that was okay. The bruising would heal eventually.
The wounds to his pride were another matter. Those healed last. Always.
Roy, who knew all about that, hadn't lingered too long in the morning. He'd let Terry sleep in. The suite was empty now, with the rest of the crew gone.
They had all sworn to support each other. And Mac was scheduled to fight later on.
But Terry wasn't sure he would make it. The realization hit him with a pang of guilt.
He had answered only one text from the night before. His brother's.
Andy had watched the fight with a keen eye. Enough to notice that Terry's finishing move was not his own.
Terry, who knew how to dodge questions, had only congratulated Andy on his new marriage, trying to redirect his focus. Andy had a lot going on. It wasn't hard to throw him off topic. Mai moved on things like a tornado. Andy was going to have his hands full well into the foreseeable future.
Everyone back home had been watching the fight. Everyone who knew him now had questions. And they were not questions that he wanted to answer. Now or ever.
The more he thought about it, the more Terry was convinced that he couldn't go home after this.
He placed his phone on the rim of the tub. He started music from his playlist.
What came out of the speaker wasn't his usual sound. Too street, too romantic, too much swagger. Too much soul for trailer trash like either one of the Bogard brothers.
But that was the consequence of becoming familiar strangers with someone. You start a game of sharing personal space. You start trading things - shirts, smokes, habits, hits. Your routines start to overlap, and before you know it, you find yourself looking over your shoulder, expecting the jingle of keys, the creak of a door, something other than the emptiness of a quiet room, a prolonged absence.
Somewhere out there, Terry knew, there was a self-styled gangster with a hard-on for sushi and tatami, going over spreadsheets and logistics in a private home office, mapping out his next money laundering operation. And that piece of shit hardass was probably, at this moment, listening to the same country song on repeat. And wondering how he ever got turned on to that trailer trash shit. And Terry hoped it was some slow sad number, something about horses and sunsets and rusted trucks and infidelity. And he hoped it stung like hell.
The less Andy knew about any of that, the better.
How would his brother judge him? They used to steal cars together for a local chop shop. Got caught for it. Stared down grand larceny charges. They'd been juveniles. And - as Roy had pointed out while the three of them got processed for that illegal store fight - blond hair and blue eyes had the power to turn felonies into misdemeanors.
It hadn't saved him from jail time back then, but he knew it could have been much worse. As juveniles, their records were sealed, and it had given him the legal basis as an adult to deny everything.
Andy had turned completely straight afterwards. Swore that he would never end up in the system again. And he'd kept that promise. Stayed in school. Stayed out of trouble. Went to college. Graduated with honors.
Terry had been proud of him. Even as his own life moved in the opposite direction of his brother's.
His bandages came undone under the water. He tugged them off lazily. He barely registered the dull ache of his wounds.
His phone buzzed. A text message flashed across the screen. Captain Falcon trying to make a play.
Terry left him on read for now. He sank deeper into the water. Felt his hair pooling around him. Thought about cutting it off. What was he keeping it for? Just trying to hold on to a memory. That was all.
It didn't matter anymore. The past was gone, and it wasn't coming back. Like lost causes and stray bullets. Like gangsters that chose to trust fall off of tall buildings in the dead of night rather than accept any help from a sworn enemy.
Not everyone got a second chance. Not everyone deserved one. Walk the path of revenge, and that's what you get. You become the same as the evil you pursue. Win or lose.
And it's not a victory if your heart still carries his. It's not a death if you never bury him.
You used to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing. He used to keep a hand around your throat. And you got so attached to it being there that it felt wrong to live without it, uncollared and free. He'd always be gone by morning, but he left quietly and let you sleep. And you thought it must have meant something.
He never talked about your father. And you never asked.
You both marked each other. He taught you how to defeat him. And you killed your soul trying to change him. But there was no way to ever know if anything that he told you was real or a lie. Except for, maybe, the absolute hatred he had for his father. And the scar over his eye, given to him by his brother. The picture of his mother, in the gold locket that you now keep around your neck. (Its weight feels like his hand.)
The hopelessness of his rage, and yours, at the end of everything, tore through every fight, every smashed table and broken bottle, every hole punched through the drywall. The cold promise of violence was the only thing you and he both had in common.
Andy had once said - in the haze of the morning after the last confrontation, the last fight - "It's okay to say a prayer for Geese. But then we have to keep moving. It's over now. He doesn't deserve any more than that."
But Terry remembered Yamazaki's words - whispered under a streetlight, by an alleyway, with Billy Zane at his side - "Two damaged people can't fix each other. This is only going to end with one of you in the ground."
And Terry had looked at him with the eye that wasn't bruised and swollen shut, and he'd answered through a busted lip, "Okay."
Okay. In a warm bath in a luxury suite, in the tournament of a lifetime, after being served his biggest loss, and he still couldn't outrun that ghost. They were both headed to the same place, Terry was sure of it. It was just that Geese had gotten there first. But it wasn't over yet. Not yet.
He slipped down into the warmth of the water.
A gangster's grave had room for two.
No one had ever told him that Doc Louis used to be a drill instructor, and Roy regretted never asking. But really, he should have figured it out.
Because the signs were all there.
Doc rode a hot pink bicycle, a camera strapped to his helmet. He rode the bike backwards, and a speaker attached to its rear basket blasted hip hop music and a motivational speech he was delivering at the moment through a wireless headset.
But "motivational" had its own definition in Doc's world.
"I know it sucks! But you're gonna deal with it! High knees! High knees! We do whatever it takes! Don't give up, sissies! My grandkids could outrun all of you right now! Keep! It! Moving!"
Mac had the lead, Lucina second, Pichu after her, and Roy brought up the rear.
He had died a couple blocks back. This was just muscle memory, dragging along the corpse of his mother's son.
Doc busted a U turn and brought them back to the main arena. He hit the wheelchair ramp and flew through the lobby of the hotel. Heads turned. Helpless bystanders scattered. He sailed down the hall, straight through the open doors of the cafeteria.
Over the bewildered looks of the other diners and competitors - half of whom were hung over - Doc shouted instructions through the mounted speaker.
"You guys got until I do five laps around this room to get breakfast!"
Mac had apparently come through this type of training before. Roy watched him. The boxer cut into the food line, grabbing specific items off the self service counter. Lucina seemed to mimic him, move for move. Pichu deviated and yanked a pancake off of Bowser's tray and stole an apple from Villager - he was the only one cute enough to get away with it. Roy grabbed biscuits, dosed them in gravy, and started shoving them in his mouth.
They all huddled over a table, eating food by the handfuls, while everyone else stared. Phones were in the air. Cameras flashed. Ness was vlogging the whole thing. Goddamn it.
Roy poured water from a pitcher into cups for everyone, sloshing it everywhere in the process. Then he started dipping biscuits into his water and mashing the end results into his mouth. Chewed forcefully, swallowed carefully, so he wouldn't choke.
By Doc's fourth lap, Mac picked up his tray of half eaten food and ran for the trash bins. Lucina saw him and followed without question. Pichu, exhausted, hitched a ride on Roy's shoulder, while Roy grabbed the Pokemon's plate off the table and threw it onto his own tray as he ran after the others.
Mac ditched his plates in the bin meant for dirty dishes nearest to the kitchen. Lucina dropped hers in after him, and so did Roy.
By now, Doc was finishing lap number five.
"Move move move!"
And he was out the door on that bike.
Lucina took the lead now, with Mac in second, Roy in third, and Pichu clinging to Roy's back for dear life.
With that, Doc earned his team a reputation for being completely unhinged, balls to the wall, heretics.
When asked about it in interviews, Doc would only reply, "Whatever it takes. That's the team motto. We do what's necessary."
Whatever it fucking takes.
Wherever I go from here, Roy thought, I'll never forget you, Coach Louis.
It may well have been the last time he was a part of something undeniably good and entirely wholesome. He wished he could make it last.
Mac was suited up, ready to go, trying to remember everything Roy had just said about Min Min.
"She's a long range fighter, Mac. Her arms are extendable. You're gonna wanna fight her up close. She has trouble getting out of combos. Stay near the center of the stage. You don't fuck with the edge, got it?"
Yep. No edge. Got it. Easy. Girl with long arms. Probably hits hard. Cool. Let's hope for a good fight.
Mac was an instinctive fighter, according to Doc. There were advantages and disadvantages to that. Plenty of instinctive fighters held their own. Mac would count Terry and Pichu in that category, the same as him. Lucina was a strategist, like Doc. And Roy was something in between.
Min Min, according to Roy, was also instinctive. Because of her reach, she was likely to open up the fight. Best to keep her on the defensive. Good reflexes, good reads. You're gonna have to close the distance.
In the locker room, Mac hopped up and down, despite Roy's insistence that he stay calm.
"Can't help it!"
Lucina placed both hands on his shoulders and held him down. Looked him in the eye. "Relax."
"Yeah." He nodded rapidly. "Uh huh. Got it. I'm calm. I'm cool. You know me. Mr. Cool."
"Take a deep breath, Mac. You can still hop around, but not that high."
"Okay! You got it!"
From outside the room, everyone heard the distinct sound of high heels clicking on the floor. There was a knock on the wall. They turned, expecting to see Twintelle.
But this time, it wasn't her.
Mac froze in place.
"Can I help you?" Lucina asked.
Roy stood up. "Hey, Rosa."
"Hello, Roy." Her turquoise blue dress swayed as she walked. She tossed ash blond bangs out of her face. Coral lips slightly parted. She hesitated. "I know this is an improper request, but would you be willing to do me a favor?"
"Okay. Do you want to talk outside?"
"No, it's not that secretive. I was just wondering if you could walk out with me for my first match."
"When is it?"
"In about fifteen minutes."
"Rosa..."
"Hm?"
"I have an obligation to my own team. We start in fifteen too."
"I see."
"Is there no one else?"
"No. I came alone."
"Well, I mean, you have Luma."
"Yes, but..."
Mac spoke up. "Hey, Rosa!" He grinned like an idiot. He always did that around her. It was stupid, and he knew it, but he couldn't help it. "You know what? It's cool! I don't mind."
Roy glanced back and forth between the two of them. He did not look comfortable. Finally, he turned to Rosalina. "Listen, I'm really sorry, but I need to be with my team."
"It's all good!" Mac said. He was orchestrating his own suicide, but hey, them's the breaks, ya' know? "I still got these guys." He gestured at Doc, Lucina, Pichu.
Roy took a deep breath. "Mac, I only came here for you."
"Yeah, but - "
"It's fine," Rosa said. "I shouldn't have asked." She smiled at Mac. "Good luck on your fight. We should catch up sometime."
"Yeah, that'd be great." He nodded vigorously. Maybe she meant it, maybe she didn't. He really had no way of knowing. Her last text to him had come off kinda cold, or maybe he'd just been reading too much into it.
She turned and walked out, her heels echoing down the hall.
"Roy," Mac said, "I think you should go after her." He didn't want to say it, but he knew that it was what she wanted. If he could have taken Roy's place, he would have, but that wasn't even an option.
"Mac..."
"Really! I ain't kidding, dude! She's by herself. It sucks to do it all alone. Imma be good. Right here. Got all my friends with me. Just be sure to come to my victory party."
Roy crossed his arms. "You're something else, Mac."
"I know!" Mac shoved his friend toward the door. "Now go after her!"
Roy shook his head. "I don't want to do this..."
"Do it! It's all good!"
Reluctantly, Roy took a step towards the door. "You sure?"
"Yeah! She needs someone right now. I can tell."
"Don't let me catch you in the loser's bracket."
"Never!"
Roy turned and disappeared out the doorway.
The room was silent when he left.
Lucina spoke up first. "What was that all about?"
"Rosa's an old friend."
"Really."
Doc gave Mac a long look. "I remember her," he said. More to Lucina than anyone else, he went on, "It used to be them three at the pool hall and arcade. Mac, Roy, Rosalina."
Lucina raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"
"That was before you came along. After a while, Roy went off by himself a bit. Then it was just Mac and Rosa."
The boxer rubbed the back of his neck and offered an awkward smile. Doc was more observant than most people gave him credit for. "Yeah, well, nothing ever came of it. She's always asking for Roy. So, you know."
Lucina shook her head. "You better not let that distract you."
"Never!"
Pichu tugged at the leg of Mac's sweatpants. When Mac looked down, the Pokemon held up a flashing pager.
"We're on," Lucina said.
Mac felt a bolt of lightning shoot through him.
"Just remember," Doc said, "keep your head in the game. Don't think about nothing else."
"Right!"
Just then, there came the sound of footsteps pounding down the corridor outside. Once again, they all looked to the doorway.
Out of breath, Terry skidded to a hard stop in front of them. Hat falling off, his cheek bruised from last night's fight.
"You made it!" Lucina exclaimed.
"Sorry I'm late."
"You're right on time!" Mac grabbed his friend in a bear hug, and they both jumped around like idiots for a few seconds. "We're doing this!"
"They're playing your song," Terry mentioned.
"Then we need to get out there!"
"Where's Roy?"
"I'll explain later," Lucina said.
"Come on, kids, stop wasting time." Doc ushered them out the door.
Lucina pushed Mac to the front of the group.
He took a breath, zipped up his pink sweatshirt, and pulled the hood over his head.
Focus! Mind in the game. Don't think about her.
Min Min. Long range. Fight close. No edge.
All edge.
Go go go!
she said she believe in me, just keep on goin'
just make sure when you get there leave the door open