In a separate, gloomier, not at all well-lit corner of the Grand Hall, a certain blue-skinned demon stood in the darkness, leaning against the wall and observing the partygoers. His gaze passed languidly over the festivities as he idly swirled his goblet. He spied Ike, relaxed and enjoying a chat with Mr. Game & Watch and Ness. To his left, Riki and Samurai Goroh attempted (keyword attempted) to cut a rug on the dance floor. Next to them, King Dedede laughed raucously at one of his own jokes (from the looks on Falco and Snake's faces, it wasn't one of the good ones). Up above, Skull Kid blithely floated above everyone's heads, poking and prodding at whoever he could and darting away at the last minute with an impish giggle.
Devil took a sip of his goblet, a curious concoction known as the Noble Pursuit. Interesting flavor, he thought, smacking his lips. He'd have to get the recipe for it sometime.
A soft, mechanical rasp tugged at Devil's ear for his attention. Figuring he had nothing else to do, he turned and addressed the giant brain to his right. "I must admit, I did not think you would see it fit to attend, creature of flesh and steel."
Mother Brain regarded him as she did everything else: coldly, impassively, and with a mild dose of contempt. "You speak as though I was given a choice. The tournament organizers demanded that I should attend these festivities, this gala. I suspect it is merely a front so the hunter can keep an eye on me." Her eye turned towards the hunter in question, who was currently distracted by Kirby tugging at her sleeve. "At any rate, it allows me to observe these lesser life forms, to learn their weaknesses. Lull them into a sense of security, and strike when their guard is down."
"Diligent as usual, I see," hissed Nightmare from the shadows. He, too, held a glass in his bony hand, filled with a pitch-black liquid that twinkled like the night sky. "We could all learn a thing or two from you."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," sneered Mother Brain. "I trust that the two of you aren't idling in your duties."
"It's always business with you, isn't it, Mother Brain?" drawled a voice, smooth and melodious. Ghirahim stepped out from behind Mother Brain's glass jar, holding a chalice of his own. "It doesn't hurt to cut loose every once in a while, you know."
Devil and Mother Brain stared at the demon lord with identical unimpressed looks. "And what would you have me do?" asked the latter. "Break free from my jar and cavort about the Grand Hall like an imbecile?"
"It would be a sight, I must admit," snickered Ghirahim.
Mother Brain's expression shifted from unimpressed to scornful as her cerebrum throbbed. "Where is Albert?" an impatient Devil asked.
Ghirahim snorted, rolled his eyes, and gave a dismissive wave of his free hand. "Hiding. Drinking. Lamenting. Whatever it is that sniveling old wretches like him do at his age. I don't know, nor do I particularly care." As he took another sip from his chalice, an up-tempo chiptune beat began to play over the speakers. "Oh, I was hoping they'd play this one!" said Ghirahim, his features lighting up. He shoved his chalice into Devil's hand before making his way towards the center of the hall. "Come and join me, if you dare." As the song began in earnest with energetic piano notes, Ghirahim began to step to and fro, moving his arms strikingly as he teleported about in a circle.
Devil stared blankly at the sight. "What in the seventh circle are you doing?"
"I'm dancing, obviously," replied Ghirahim as he struck another pose. "Something you seem to be unfamiliar with, it seems." He reappeared in a different spot, one hand on his hip and the other brushing the hair out of his face.
Mother Brain and Devil could only gawk, half shocked and half nauseated. Nightmare smiled, showing far too many teeth. "Well, you know what they say about all work and no play," said Nightmare. "Perhaps you ought to take the demon lord up on his offer, hmm?"
"Absolutely not," snapped Mother Brain. "I tolerate Ghirahim's eccentricities because his talents are crucial to my plans. And I will need his talents very soon…" She cast her eye at Zero, still standing stiffly in a corner. "…Provided Albert completes his tasks properly."
The villains continued to observe the gala, as the demon lord pranced and teleported and posed around the hall.
Yuri Kozukata lowered herself into an empty chair with a sigh as she gripped her cup. From what the Mii host had told her, it was a moderately popular beverage from the Alola region known as Roserade Tea. The soft lighting overhead made her drink shine and shimmer, giving it a pleasant glow.
She scanned over the gala, letting both her gaze and mind wander. The Hammer Brother, his shell, helmet, and hammer each polished to a shine, lingered around the snack table, keeping his distance from Wario, who continued to eat as if it were the end of the world. Sukapon was leaning against a table, recounting several humorous anecdotes to Nikki, Krystal, and Knuckle Joe (and from the looks of things, he was having much more success than King Dedede). The Ghosts floated idly by, Blinky very obviously boasting about a winning strategy he'd thought up to Shovel Knight, Lyn and Kapp'n. The lighting, soft and ethereal, made the scenery, with so many people from such different walks of life, feel so… whimsical.
But, Yuri supposed, that was what the tournament organizers were aiming for, wasn't it? She took a sip of tea. It was no secret that the Hands took an excessive, some would say amount of pride in his work, and the gala was meant to be the culmination of all his efforts.
She frowned, noting that her cup was empty. On cue, a tiny white glove wearing a sparkly gold cufflink appeared wielding a teapot, which it poured into the cup.
Yuri nodded and gave a small smile. "Yes, thank you, Flies and Hand."
The glove gave a quick salute and floated daintily away.
The last of the piano notes faded away. She had heard some of the Miis talking, mostly about how strict Master Hand was with his schedule, but as well as how he had worked for years to finally make contact with Sora, and now, the hand felt the need to indulge. It struck Yuri, then, that this was one of the biggest undertakings ever carried by the Hands, something far bigger than she could understand, and she—she herself!—had been hand-picked to play a part in it.
She took another sip of tea. That utterly deserved swell of pride sure seemed contagious.
Tiki flopped into the chair next to her, smiling wide with her ears tinged pink. "Whoo!" she breathed, clearly exhausted from dancing. "Enjoying yourself, Yuri?"
Yuri returned her smile, setting her drink down. "You must be having the time of your life, huh?"
Tiki nodded vigorously. "Gods, it's been ages since I've done something like this! Times like these I wish they could last forever…" Her smile dropped, just a bit, as her eyes turned towards Marth in the crowd. "But, I suppose nothing ever does, does it?"
"Yeah," replied Yuri, unsure of what to say. "Yeah."
"Oh, but don't let me depress you with another end-of-an-era lecture. I already put Spring Man through that," she winked. "Let's just focus on the here and now. It's a party, we're supposed to have fun!"
"Yeah, you're supposed to let loose!" Bomberman bounded towards them, a small cupcake in each hand. "You two havin' fun?"
Both women nodded. "It's nice to see everyone in such high spirits," said Tiki.
"Good, good! Not every day you get to whoop it up like this!" Bomberman twirled a cupcake in his hand. "As for me, I'd say I'm having a blast tonight!"
Nobody laughed.
"…So, anyways," coughed Bomberman, trying to switch topics, "when do you think Sora is gonna arrive?"
"Oh, yeah," said Yuri, sitting up a little straighter. "Kinda forgot he was the main event here."
Tiki pondered for a moment. "Most likely, they're saving him for close to the end. Fashionably late, you know?"
"I'd say he's past fashionably late," mused Bomberman, one of his cupcakes conspicuously missing. (How on earth did he—?) "That presentation was like, two weeks ago, but it feels like it's been… forever. I'd say we've been waiting long enough."
In what could only be described as destiny playing a joke, the music faded to silence, and the lights dimmed. Confused whispers hummed across the Grand Hall, silenced immediately when searchlights shone on the west end.
Master Hand and Crazy Hand floated into the lights each wearing cuffs with silver cufflinks that sparkled like diamonds. A microphone rose from a panel on the floor.
"Good evening, everyone," began Master Hand. "You already know who I am, but for the sake of formalities, I will remind you. I am Master Hand, host and organizer of the Super Smash Brothers tournament."
"And I'm Crazy Hand!" came his counterpart. "I'm the cohost and co-organizer of this shindig!"
"It's been quite a ride, hasn't it?" observed Master Hand. "Hard to believe that only three years ago, we held the inaugural festivities in this very hall. And so much has happened since then! New friends have been made," he recalled, locking his gaze with Simon and Chrom, who nodded in response. "Old rivalries have been rekindled," he continued, glancing at King K. Rool and Ridley, the former smirking toothily and the latter raising an eyebrow but saying nothing.
"And in our endeavors," he continued, "dreams—wonderful, seemingly impossible dreams—have come true." He raised the microphone in the direction of Banjo and Kazooie, who raised their own glasses in return.
"Plenty of dreams have gotten broken, too," added Crazy Hand. A heavy atmosphere settled over the partygoers. Isaac, dressed in a dark blue suit, stiffened and turned his gaze towards the floor.
"Many events have come and gone," said Master Hand, expertly dispelling the tension. "And look at where we are now. So many of us, from so many different worlds, all gathered under one roof. Three years ago, this was almost unthinkable. And again, look at where we are now. Truly and honestly, thank you for being a part of this." Applause spread throughout the Grand Hall, punctuated by whistles and the stomping of feet.
"But I suppose you didn't come here to listen to me wax poetic," chuckled Master Hand. "You came to see the final Decidedly Late Challenger. The boy chosen by the Keyblade, the singular most requested challenger during the Smash Ballot: Sora!"
A cheer broke out, and the crowd turned to the stage on the north end, where the spotlights shone expectantly on the curtains.
Nothing happened.
"Well, you can't see him yet," chirped Crazy Hand.
The crowd groaned in disappointment. "Just cut to the chase and give us the key kid already!" shouted King Dedede.
"We will," said Master Hand pointedly. "But before we do…" He puffed himself up a bit. "We have some surprises in store for you."
At once, brass instruments began to play, notes climbing higher and higher. Whoops and cheers erupted from the crowd (most of it from the Mushroom Kingdom inhabitants) as four men in red business suits and black fedoras rose up. The curtains parted, revealing a tall woman with long reddish-brown hair wearing a sparkling halter dress and broad-brimmed hat, facing away from the audience. When the curtains had fully parted, she turned around, tipping her hat with a flourish and holding a tall microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen…" boomed Master Hand. "From New Donk City, introducing Her Honor, Mayor Pauline!"
The crowd roared in approval, shaking the chandeliers on their chains. As the music hit a brief break, the partygoers took to the floor, with Mario offering his left hand to Princess Peach, and Princess Daisy taking both of Luigi's and twirling him around and around, her smile wide and carefree.
If Tiki was excited before, she was utterly thrilled now. "Oh my gods, it's her!" she squealed. She leapt out of her seat and took both Yuri and Bomberman's hands. "Come on, what are you waiting for?"
Her two companions didn't need any further invitation. The music swelled, and they stepped and twirled, skipped, turned and whirled as Pauline began to sing.
"Here we go, off the rails, don't you know it's time to raise our sails,
It's freedom like you never knew…"
Oh, come on! He'd given his partner five minutes. Five minutes, and then, he'd told himself, he'd start the plan. He'd texted him as such.
We don't have much time. they're showing the new guy any time now. You come now or I start without you!
It had been ten minutes ago. And now, to his agitation, they had begun to sing, the refrain of "Odyssey, ya see," sounding through the walls, muffled but still distinct. And to make matters worse, he'd done some recon and seen them dancing together, smiling and being happy together.
The man threw his phone on the ground and stomped on it one, two, three, four, five, six times, its pieces scattering and its bluish-white glow fading to cold, cold black. It didn't matter. He could just buy another one. If he didn't have any money, he could just steal some from his flake of a partner that refused to help him in his time of need, it's not like he'd notice, he was rich enough because he got something, at least, he got all the attention and never shared, never even invited him to a treasure hunt or anything—
…
He took a deep breath. There was no time for this. They'd parade out the new guy any minute now, and where would he be? In the background, as another no-hoper like the rest of them. But that wasn't going to happen. Not this time. Not this time.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the words of that little pipsqueak from earlier kept creeping back into his mind, like a really persistent mosquito. All that bitterness and darkness has built up inside of you, and led you to do rotten things…
Bah! What did he know? A half-pint like him could never understand! None of them ever could! He stomped away towards a certain waiting room, trademark sneer finding its place on his face, and knocked on the door. "Mr. Sora?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.
The door opened. Sheesh. This kid's outfit looked even dumber in-person. He blinked up at him with innocent blue eyes. "Oh, hey," he greeted, that infuriatingly lopsided grin stretching his features. Gag. "Is it my turn yet?"
The man tried his best to force his mouth into an even, artificial smile, and forced down the itch to knock the boy upside the head. "But of course," he near-whispered, motioning for him to follow. "Right this way."
Sora's grin grew wider (ugh) as he summoned his big key in a shower of sparkles. "Sweet!" he cheered, hoisting the key on his shoulder. "Let's go!"
They walked and walked down a hallway that presumably led to the Grand Hall. If the boy noticed the numerous staring Miis and the hushed whispers flitting above their heads, he didn't say anything. But the taller man allowed himself a scowl. They're goggling at the wrong guy, he thought. They'll be kneeling at my feet in a couple of minutes.
Eventually, they came to an isolated, dusty door coated in cobwebs. It was dilapidated, unmarked, almost undetectable next to the black walls that surrounded it, and it was unquestionably nowhere near the Grand Hall.
"Ummm…" The furrow of Sora's brow was nearly audible. "Are you sure this is the right place?"
"Of course I'm sure!" said the man, swinging the door open and scattering the three-inch layer of dust. He ignored the boy's coughing and gently, elegantly shoved him inside. He would've outright kicked him inside, but it wouldn't do to raise suspicions. "Now stay here, and whatever you do, don't come out until someone tells you to."
"Uh, sure, I guess," said Sora, slowly nodding. "But when will—"
A harsh slam of the door put an end to any further questions. Finally, that kid was out of the way. Nothing could stop him now! He knew where the music was coming from, and he had his own mixtape for the occasion. His grin widened, breezing right past mischievous and crash-landing headlong into malicious. All that was left to do was wait. It was almost time.
It was almost Waluigi time.
"Let's give it up for Off the Hook, everyone! I trust that should get everyone's blood pumping after the breather of K.K. Slider's performance! Ha ha!"
Master Hand's words were surprisingly chipper, considering that some of the tables had been scattered and a chandelier lay shattered on the floor by the sheer volume of the music. On the stage, an Inkling with shoulder-length tentacles and a sleeveless white dress with an oversized zipper stood basking in the praise of whoever was left standing, while a different humanoid cephalopod wearing headphones and a sleeveless black top was trying to salvage whatever equipment was left.
"Gwa ha ha ha ha!" applauded Bowser, one of the few who had taken the full brunt of the music and was still standing. "Gotta love that kid!"
"I suppose we all do," agreed Master Hand, sweeping up bits of broken glass. Once the performers had left the stage and taken their seats, the lights dimmed once again. "But that, I believe, is enough talk. I believe it's time we got to the point of this gala. I believe it's time we got to the heart of the matter, wouldn't you say?"
A thundering roar of approval was his reward, the remaining chandeliers shuddering above. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached that time. The time where we can truly say that everyone is here."
Crazy Hand snatched the microphone out of Master Hand's grasp. "Are you ready?!"
The Grand Hall reached a fever pitch, the walls trembling.
Master Hand deftly plucked the microphone back. A spotlight shone on the curtains on the stage. "In that case, let's get right into it! Presenting the final Decidedly Late Challenger…!"
There was silence.
…
"…Presenting the final Decidedly Late Challenger!" repeated Master Hand.
Still, nothing.
Confused murmurs floated up from the crowd. Either this was an elaborate joke pulled by Crazy Hand, or something had slipped off schedule. And Master Hand never let things go off schedule.
They turned to the hands in search of an answer, but evidently, the hosts were just as confused as they were. "Hey, what's the big idea?" shouted Little Mac. "Where's the new guy?"
"Now, now, rest assured, everyone," began Master Hand, trying to keep his tone even. "Sora is on his way, but it appears he's, ah… running late, as it were." With a snap of his fingers, he produced a pager from thin air and whispered something into it. From the way his fingers drooped, the garbled chatter that came in return was not a satisfying answer. "He should be, ah, coming very soon…" His tone turned harsh and hushed as he addressed his twin. "Crazy Hand, do you know anything about this?"
The left hand's fingers curled inward. "Beats me," he grunted. "Maybe he got cold feet and bailed?"
"Crazy Hand," warned Master Hand.
"I'm just saying, it's a legit concern! Then again, I've seen his shoe size, so that's unlikely—"
"Look!" came a voice.
Everyone obeyed, turning their eyes to the stage. The spotlight was still there, but it was moving twitchily back and forth, itself searching for Sora. The curtains, which had drawn closed, quivered, as though something was hiding behind.
"Ah, there he is!" sighed Master Hand. "Yes, well…" He cleared his throat. The curtains began to part. "Presenting the final Decidedly Late Challenger, Sora!"
Music sounded from the speakers, snappy chiptune notes playing over an engaging techno beat. The curtains parted fully just as samples of a woman's singing began to play over strings. The spotlight shone on a singular figure on the stage, but it was not Sora. This individual was wearing a purple vest and matching pants over a white pinstripe dress shirt. As if it wasn't obvious enough, he wore a purple fedora with a rose tucked into its band, and as the piano notes hit, he whirled around, revealing the inverted L symbol attached to the front.
"Waluigi time," he announced, his voice low but still painfully clear.
"What," said Master Hand.
"What," said Crazy Hand.
"What," said the crowd, collectively.
Waluigi snapped his fingers and struck a pose. Immediately, purple confetti burst from the higher walls. Behind him, a cardboard cutout of Sora sprang up from the floor of the stage, spray-painted (in purple, of course) to have X's in his eyes and a silly-looking grimace. He spun and posed again, tilting his fedora in what he clearly thought was a sensual, provocative gesture. It was not.
He stepped forwards, gave a little twirl, hopped up and began to moonwalk to his left, where he struck another pose, one arm by his side and the other pointed skyward. He made sure to meet the eyes of Luigi and Daisy, who to his displeasure, were in quite close proximity to each other, one of Daisy's arms around Luigi's waist. No matter. She'd see who the real superstar is in a matter of seconds.
Waluigi shot Daisy a suggestive wink and continued his routine, not noticing the way she gagged and looked away. He moonwalked again, this time to his right, placing one hand on the back of his head and the other on his hip. He noticed, then, that he was in front of some of his fellow assistants. Just as well. He'd been meaning for them to get an eyeful of him. He saw Ashley, looking unimpressed as usual with a hint of utter bewilderment (Waluigi sneered when he noticed Red's sparkling tuxedo); Takamaru, in the back, raising a glass to his lips and stopping short when he beheld the display before him; Tiki, Yuri, and Bomberman, all with identical baffled expressions on their faces; Dr. Wright looking absolutely horrified, eye twitching faintly; Guile pinching the bridge of his nose; Shadow and Phosphora both facing away, not wanting to bear witness to this debacle; Samurai Goroh mouthing a certain four-letter word; Midna silently guffawing and elbowing Isaac, who stared with weary eyes; Spring Man's eyes darting left and right, questioning if anyone else was seeing this; and Starfy, little Starfy, staring with genuine childlike awe at the sight, his eyes alight with wonder.
At least somebody was starting to get the picture.
The music continued. Waluigi returned to his starting position and slid backward, now getting a wider view of the audience. He allowed himself a single moment to bask in it, letting himself drink in the silent praise he was sure he was receiving. Look at them, he thought, glancing at Ghirahim, who looked absolutely affronted. They know this is where I belong: in the spotlight that I deserve. That Sora kid couldn't possibly hold a candle to me!
Waluigi twirled his mustache. There was still one portion left, the big finale. He took a few steps back, plucked the rose from his fedora and placed it between his teeth, and took off running towards the audience. When he reached the edge of the stage, he leapt up high, knee sticking out and the other leg trailing behind him. For a moment, time seemed to slow down as he gazed at his adoring fans as he rose higher and higher. He could've sworn he saw sparkles trailing behind him. Why, he could almost touch the stars if he so wished!
This is it! he thought to himself. This is what I've been waiting for! What everyone's been waiting for! He continued to rise. This truly is Waluigi time…!
So engrossed was Waluigi in his own fantasy, that he failed to notice that as he rose, he was indeed reaching new heights the likes of which had never been seen before.
That is to say, he was about to fly face-first into a streamer. Luckily (or perhaps unluckily), he did notice, but he did so far too late to stop himself.
"Look out!"
"Waaa—?"
The last thing he saw was Starfy, mouth open in a warning, before his vision was obscured by the letter L of "welcome", and all his forward momentum halted. Gravity, on the other hand, was eager to take the reins from there.
"Waaaaaaaaa—!"
Down, down he fell, taking the streamer with him. He fumbled around, limbs flailing, in an unsuccessful attempt to free himself. For a brief, terrifying second, he thought he would break his leg on impact.
Waluigi landed squarely on a table, on his head, sending partygoers scattering. Pain shot through his skull and traveled down his spine to the very tips of his toes. He slid ungracefully onto the floor, where he lay face-up. The only things broken were the glasses on the table, and his pride.
Coincidentally, the music had cut out at that very moment.
Waluigi pried his eyes open, stars dotting his vision. He was surrounded on all sides by fighters, assistants, and the performers that had been invited. They all stared down at him, unwilling to come close.
Wario, who at last finished his feast of snacks, moseyed on over to where his partner lay. "Eh? Where's the key kid? Did he wuss out or something?"
"You… cheater…" Waluigi ground out. He tried to get up to give his supposed partner an earful, but a fresh ache lanced down from his skull to his tailbone, forcing him to lay back down. How dare he, after he failed him in his time of need…?
"M-Mister Waluigi?" came another, softer voice accompanied by a tug on his sleeve. Oh, great. That kid.
Starfy tugged on his sleeve again. "Are… are you alright?"
Waluigi slipped his arm out of the star's grasp. "I'm fine," he spat, evidently not fine. But he was still fine enough to pull himself up into a sitting position, and so he did.
Starfy was there, stubby arms pulled in close and mouth small with worry. Spring Man was also present, scratching the side of his head, wondering what to make of this. In the background, Master Hand floated motionlessly, expression unreadable (which was notable, as he always seemed so expressive given his lack of face). He looked up at Daisy, who did not return eye contact, her face twisted in both disgust and secondhand embarrassment at once. Luigi, at least, had the decency to slip away from the scene under the pretense of getting drinks. So Waluigi sat there for what felt like an eternity, under the judgemental gaze of his colleagues.
Just when he had regained enough strength to pull himself back to his feet, he suddenly felt himself yanked up and lifted high off the ground by a rough hand. He flailed around in his assailant's grip, old anger and indignation bubbling to the surface. "W-Waah?! Put me down, you dunce!"
The hand twisted him around, and Waluigi found himself face to face with sharp, cruel eyes, one brown and the other glowing red. They belonged to the same man that had battered Ryu during the presentation, but tonight he was dressed in a long black trenchcoat and suit.
"Kazuya," came the admonishing voice of Ryu. "Put him down."
Kazuya's eyes narrowed as he looked Waluigi up and down. His lip curled. "Who is this… insect?" he rumbled.
Meeting his gaze, Waluigi matched Kazuya's sneer. "Waah? You don't know me? I'm the guy among all you losers that actually deserved to—"
Telegraphing nothing, Kazuya slammed the lanky man back down to the floor, sending a new pain stabbing right through his jaw and down his spine, sending his teeth rattling. Several attendees moved to stop him going any further, but he paid them no mind, seemingly satisfied with the way Waluigi curled in on himself.
"You think you have any right to be here?" snarled Kazuya. "This is a place for only the most powerful, the champions of their realms. And you?" He smirked, his red eye twinkling. "I've seen the way you fight when summoned. You use a tennis racket, for heaven's sake! You'd be crushed under someone's heel in seconds. If you live that long. You claim to be a true champion, a superstar, but your greatest rival is a mere plumber—" he shot a withering glare at Luigi, who flinched and averted his gaze— "and you still have yet to overcome him!"
At this, Mario stepped forward, hands curled into fists. "'Ey! There's-a nothing mere about Luigi!" He stepped forward, but to his surprise, it was not Princess Peach, but Bowser who stopped him.
"Hold on," growled the Koopa king. An amused grin played on his snout. "I wanna see where he's going with this."
Kazuya disregarded the two, continuing to address Waluigi. "You talk big, but I'll ask you this: Name one time you've ever achieved anything of note." He bent down and met the prone Waluigi's gaze, his teeth bared. "One time you've ever achieved your goals. One time you've ever amounted to anything. One time you've ever been anything other than a failure."
Waluigi did not answer. Waluigi could not answer.
Kazuya smirked again as he straightened back up, arms folded. "As I thought. You stand no chance against me, or anyone. A sorry excuse of a man like you ought to know your place. Pathetic little worm." And with those final words, Kazuya turned on his heel and left, clearly more interested in the refreshments.
Waluigi blinked wearily, suddenly aware of where he was. The fighters were watching him. The assistants were watching him. Wario was watching him. Daisy was watching him. Luigi was watching him. Master Hand was watching him. Everyone was here, and everyone had their eyes squarely on him.
The spotlight, which had followed his routine all the way to its disastrous end, suddenly shut off right then.
Starfy, ever the helpful one, shuffled over to help the lanky man up. "Are you okay, Mister Waluigi?" squeaked Starfy. He shot a dirty look at Kazuya, who was currently sampling some of the drinks. "Mister Kazuya's just a big bully. Did he hurt you?"
Waluigi did not answer. Waluigi did not look at him. He did not look at anyone. He simply stared out from under his fedora at a nearby side door. A cough rang out, most likely from Luigi, that dirty, rotten little—
"Mister Waluigi?" repeated Starfy. A hand reached up to tug at his glove.
Waluigi wrenched his arm, however weakly, out of the star's grasp, ignoring the shocked squeal he made as he fell backwards. "I don't need your help!" he shouted, loud enough to echo out of the Grand Hall and through the corridors.
The rising anger in his chest was only matched by the throbbing pain in his jaw. His arms hung limply at his sides. His chest filled with that old familiar feeling, sick and sour like sludge, mixed with bitter, awful defeat.
All that bitterness and darkness has built up inside of you, and led you to do rotten things…
He didn't care about the way Starfy's eyes began to shine with unshed tears. He didn't care about the way Lyndis marched closer, her hand already on her weapon. He didn't care about the murmurs that hummed sparsely through the crowd, watching him, judging him.
With legs that felt like tree trunks and ached like the devil, Waluigi slowly, deliberately stomped out of the Grand Hall. The rose stuck between his teeth slipped out and fell unceremoniously to the floor, its petals long since lost in the impact. The door creaked open, and he was gone.
The silence that followed was oppressive and sullen.
With a loud crack, Crazy Hand reappeared beside Master Hand. "Hey, uh, some of the Miis found Sora. If you wanna go ahead…"
Master Hand's fingers twitched and he regained his decorum. "Ah. Yes, I…" He turned to address the crowd. "I do humbly apologize for that interruption, everyone. Now, presenting the final Decidedly Late Challenger…!"
The rest of Sora's debut passed without further incident, with all the majesty and grandeur that Master Hand had intended. It was truly magical, with Sora flying over the crowd just as he had during the first presentation, sparkles raining down from above. It was truly a magical experience for all in attendance.
But, as was often in that world, word traveled quickly, and very soon, everyone knew that Waluigi was directly responsible for Sora's delay. Most of the fighters didn't particularly care, but it certainly cast a shadow over the assistants.
"Absolutely disgraceful," began Dr. Wright, taking another sip of Noble Pursuit. "Does he have any idea how badly this reflects on me?! On us?!"
He sat surrounded by his fellow assistants, at a table located some distance away from where the rest of the party was proceeding. Clearly, the doctor felt the need to keep a low profile after the night's events. And none of the other assistants could really blame him.
To his left, Nikki nodded sympathetically. "I hate to say it, but… after everything that's happened these past three years, I feel that this was a long time coming." Samurai Goroh sat to the doctor's right, shaking his head with a glass of his own.
"I say we shoulda done something earlier," sighed Phosphora, reclining in midair and examining her nails. "…Not like, 'we' as in us, but 'we' as in you guys. I'm not dealing with that guy."
Dr. Wright removed his glasses and rubbed at his face. "If I had known he was planning something like this, I would have!" he groaned, moving his hands to rub his temples. He poured himself another glass, peering at the liquid once he'd corked the bottle. "What did they put in this, anyway?"
"If you're trying to drown your sorrows, that won't get you anywhere," clarified Goroh. "Not that I blame you. I'm more of a 'drink to victories' kinda guy, but if that were me, I'd drink 'till I—"
Nikki shot him a look, shutting him up. "Listen, Doctor," she said in a gentle voice, "don't try to blame yourself for this. Like, look around you!" She gestured at the festivities spread before them. Several attendants were sitting at their own tables, chatting or eating or simply enjoying the music that resumed playing from the speakers. Sora stood in the middle, finally allowed to mingle with his soon-to-be sparring partners. Or rather, the sparring partners were allowed to mingle with him, as a long line of Smashers waiting for his autograph could attest. "People have already forgotten about it!"
For a split second, Dr. Wright smiled mirthlessly. But it soon faded, his eyes looking duller and wearier than they ever had. "I still haven't."
A moody silence fell on the table. Nikki fidgeted on the spot, her eyes darting between the others. "Ohhhh…! Uh… Isaac!" She addressed the boy sitting at the far end of the table. "You've been so quiet. Help me out here!"
Isaac, who indeed had not said a word since the incident, could only rub the back of his neck. "Yeah, this one's on me, I think," he said at last.
Nikki frowned. "What're you talking about?"
"Waluigi wasn't really even planning on going," Isaac admitted with a sigh. "I was the one who encouraged him to come. But I didn't know he was gonna pull… whatever that was." He sighed again, a more ragged sound this time. "If I knew he was gonna do that, I wouldn't—"
"Absolutely not!" interrupted Dr. Wright, snapping out of his gloom at once. "I'm not letting you shoulder the blame for someone else's fault!"
"You were literally doing the same thing, like, ten seconds ago," remarked Phosphora.
Dr. Wright paused, stiffened, and readjusted his tall green hair. "Ah. Well. Ahem. Regardless, Isaac, playing the blame game isn't going to help anyone. You couldn't possibly have foreseen that."
"I know," said Isaac, turning his head towards the ceiling and blowing out a tired breath. "I know that, but…"An unpleasant feeling made itself known in his chest, pulling and poking at his insides until it could no longer be ignored. He stood up, his face like a storm ready to break. "This isn't sitting right with me. I'll be right back." Ignoring the confused looks on the faces of his friends, Isaac pushed in his chair and walked away.
The boy meandered around the Grand Hall, letting the gentle orchestral notes of a certain song drift over his ears. He did take the time to meet Sora and shake his hand (and he would be lying if he said he wasn't excited), but his thoughts were elsewhere, his eyes searching the crowd.
Eventually, he spied Mario, sitting at a table, a plate of pizza before him (no surprise there), and chatting with Bowser (much surprise there). A smile lit up the plumber's features as he met the boy's eyes, and he waved him over with genuine hearty, boyish glee. "Ey, paisano! C'mere a minute!"
Isaac jogged over to meet him. "Hey, Mario!" he greeted. "You try the piroshki yet?"
Mario threw his head back in short but still merry laughter, earning a small grin from Isaac. "I've-a tried a little bit of everything!" He motioned for Isaac to sit, and so he did. "You enjoying yourself-a so far?"
Isaac paused, thinking about the lovely music, and the gentle lighting, and the impressive spread of food before him. He thought of a man wearing a purple fedora, rose between clenched teeth, falling from the sky, streamer trailing after him. He thought of the same man, limping away in sick, sullen anger, suffocating the room in secondhand embarrassment, the sound of Dr. Wright cringing in his suit nearly audible.
"…Yeah," mumbled Isaac at last.
Bowser raised a single eyebrow, but said nothing. Mario, who did the same, said something. "Eh… you don't-a sound like it. Something bothering you?"
Isaac sighed and let his gaze drop to the floor. "Mario, can I ask you something?"
"Here it comes," muttered Bowser.
Mario shot the Koopa king a look before regarding Isaac. "Alrighty, Isaac," he sighed. "What's on-a you mind, eh?"
The boy willed himself to look Mario in the eye. "Why do you still… put up with Waluigi? Like, how are you still…" The word 'friends' balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he figured that Mario at least had some sense. "…associates?"
Mario leaned back, closed his eyes, and exhaled long and loud, knowing that it was an often-asked question with a very long answer. "You know, Ivan, I've wondered that for a long time now," snorted Bowser.
The plumber shot Bowser another look. ("Actually, it's Isaac," said Isaac.) "Listen, Isaac. Waluigi… it's not that I don't-a like him, per se, it's-a just—"
"Actually, no, yeah, why do you keep inviting him?" cut in Bowser. "I mean, look at him! It's like he exists just to get on everyone's nerves. I'm pretty sure he doesn't have any real friends besides Wario, and even then, I'd say that's a mostly professional thing."
Mario rolled his eyes. "A-listen, the thing with Waluigi is, it's-a—"
"It's because," Bowser continued with a small vertical chop of his hand, "Mario's too much of a goody two-shoes to tell that creep to get lost. I mean, Wario was bad enough—" he shot a derisive sneer towards the man in question— "the last thing we need is two of them running around!" He shrugged. "That, or it's out of pity. Maybe a little of both."
"Hey, come on, now," chided Mario. "Wario's alright when he's behaving himself! He might be greedy, selfish, vain and-a crude, but he's not as rotten as he looks, deep down! Not a guy you want as an opponent, but as a teammate? Hoo-hoo! Mamma mia! You've struck-a gold!"
Isaac folded his arms, unimpressed. "And what about Waluigi?"
Mario froze, his slice of pizza mere inches away from his lips. "Ah…?"
"Is Waluigi 'alright' when he's behaving himself?" asked Isaac. "Is he as rotten as he looks underneath it all?"
Now it was Bowser's turn to shoot Mario a look, a wry smirk that stretched his reptilian snout. "Well?" he inquired, a slight tuck of his chin accompanying the question. "Go on. Ian's waiting."
Mario gesticulated wordlessly for a few seconds ("It's Isaac," said Isaac to fill the silence). After fumbling for a correct answer for what felt like ten minutes, he finally tapped his fingers together and began, "Listen—"
"Nah, he's a scumbag through and through," interrupted the Koopa.
"Bowser." Mario's voice dropped into the tenor of paternal warning. He turned back to Isaac. "Waluigi… I'll admit, he can be a bit… difficult to work with. And against. He's a very flawed person. Who isn't? Sure, he's… incredibly petty at times, y'know, going out-a his way just to mess with someone. And, yeah, I'm-a concede that he's-a kinda conceited, a little bit. He has a tendency to boast a lot, but, you know, who doesn't sometimes? And-a speaking of petty, I don't know why he has it out for my bro, I mean, what did he do to him, he's-a just practicing for tennis, and this-a guy just comes up trying to start something for no reason—"
Mario stopped, again. Bowser's smirk widened. Isaac continued to stare expectantly.
The plumber took a deep breath. "Look. I don't think Waluigi's a bad person. I don't believe anyone really is." He gave Bowser a distinctive cheeky grin at those last words, which earned him a snort and a roll of the eyes from the king. "You see, Waluigi's super great to have on-a you baseball team, or soccer team, or as-a you caddie—"
"Or as a tennis partner?" suggested Isaac.
"Yes, esattamente!" Mario smiled and nodded vigorously. "He's a super athlete! But, to hang out with him—to go to karaoke, or to have a little picnic at the beach…" His smile faded, and he winced sympathetically, inhaling through his teeth. "You understand, yes?"
Isaac scratched the back of his head. "I… I guess." He scanned over the crowd one more time, and slowly got up. "I gotta go look for… someone. Thanks, Mario. I really do appreciate it."
Mario lit up. "Okey-dokey! Thank you so much! Enjoy the party!"
As Isaac turned to go, he overheard Bowser asking in a low hiss, "A 'super athlete', huh? You saw how he was in the Baseball Kingdom. Everyone on his team, leering around him like they didn't wanna be there. Lemme ask you this: if you wouldn't spend a day out with him, do you really want him on your sports team or whatever?"
Isaac did not hear Mario answer.
Isaac ended up searching every corner of the Grand Hall, asking everyone that knew Waluigi (and some that didn't) of his whereabouts. But to his exasperation, no one had seen him since the incident. Daisy in particular was of no help, gagging and saying she didn't know or care where he was as long as he was as far away from her as possible, and that she'd like to keep it that way. Luigi, meanwhile, pulled a face like a Goomba chewing on a wasp, and refused to comment. Isaac didn't blame him.
It was a worker Mii, at last, that finally pointed the Venus Adept in the right direction. She'd seen him limping down the west hall, with "a face like thunder", in her words. Isaac had given her a hurried thanks as he dashed down that corridor, eager to finally address Waluigi's behavior.
But now, as he stared down the doors to Rodin's Gates of Hell bar, he was starting to think he had made a grave mistake.
Isaac swallowed and felt a chill creep up his neck. The place certainly hadn't been easy to find, and it wasn't too hard to see why. A sign bearing its title was placed just at the top part of the wall, its neon glowing sinisterly. Placed just above was a faintly flickering neon silhouette of a demon, dancing drunkenly and wielding two guns. From inside, jazz music, slow and sensual, played faintly from inside. An eerie glow emanated from within, casting a bright blue shadow on the floor and lower walls.
It was definitely not 'for good boys and girls', as Crazy Hand would joke.
Are you sure about this? said a voice in his head. This place feels like a real dump. Literally.
What do you suggest? came another, softer voice. We can't just sit by and watch this happen.
Sure we can! The voice sounded a lot like Midna this time. He brought this on himself. Reap what you sow, you know. I say we just turn right around and leave him to wallow in his own self-pity. I know it's kind of unlikely, but maybe he might actually learn to not be a complete and utter—
Starfy flashed across his mind, eyes wide, tugging at his sleeve. "We have to help him," he whispered.
Isaac stared up at the neon sign. The demon leered right back.
This better be worth it, Starfy, thought Isaac as he pushed the batwing doors open.
Unfortunately for the Venus Adept, the outside was only slightly more inviting than the inside. Isaac had heard stories from other, older Assist Trophies about how bars were, ideally, entertaining yet classy and relaxed places for people to gather after a long day's work. He had hoped, foolishly, that a place called the Gates of Hell would be such a homey affair, with warm mood lighting, sounds of laughter mixing in with smooth jazz, and an amiable bartender, mixing drinks and sliding them across the counter, then wiping it down with a trusty dish towel and giving sage advice to those who asked.
The Gates of Hell was a jarring reality check. The room was dark, with only a harsh blue neon sign bearing the bar's name providing any light. There was virtually no sound, save for the music that dropped in tone from the moment Isaac entered, and whispers, in low voices and in long gone languages that seemed to echo from the corners. There was a smell he couldn't place, saturating the room and turning his legs to jelly. And over the counter, it was fairly hard to miss the wall of guns, swords, and other such instruments of torture.
At least the bartender seems nice, Isaac thought. Isaac hoped. Isaac severely hoped.
"Hey, you can't come in here," said Rodin upon seeing the boy gingerly take another step inside. "I don't make the rules." He paused, watching Isaac's terrified face. "…Okay, I do, but you're still not allowed to buy anything."
"I, um… I'm not here to… buy anything," clarified Isaac, his eyes flicking towards the weapons in the back. "I'm just here to ask. Have you seen—?"
A low, creaking sound answered from the shadows. Isaac tensed up, peering towards a door that led further inside, but relaxed upon seeing it was locked. But not too far away, he noticed a figure sitting near the counter, facing away and almost completely in shadow. It was then that Isaac realized that the sound was not from a door or the faulty piping, or even a demon that could be waiting, but was instead the characteristic vocalization of—
"Waluigi!"
Indeed, there he was, slumped over the counter in his seat, his formerly posh and classy clothes now faded and rumpled, his fedora crumpled and sitting askew on his head, the rose in its brim wilted. "Waaah…" he moaned.
Isaac ambled towards him, but pulled up short as he remembered something. This was a bar, after all. "Hey," he asked Rodin, "has he been—"
"Nah." Rodin shook his head. "He's just been sitting here and groaning all this time. Besides, I don't think he could afford it, anyway. And… you know how he is. If he did, he'd probably go back out there and do something stupid again. If you're gonna take him, go ahead. I don't need loiterers around here."
The loiterer in question stirred as Isaac approached. Upon seeing him, Waluigi's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. "Waaah. Come to gloat, eh?"
Isaac just sighed, shaking his head. "No, I'm just here to… pick you up." He took the lanky man's arm. "Let's go, man. This place is creeping me out."
Waluigi attempted to wriggle out of the boy's grip, but the events of the day had taken a lot out of him, and he was pulled off his stool and to his feet. "I'm not going back to that stupid gala! Just leave me alone, would you?"
Isaac had half a mind to do just that, as it happened. But once again, something deep within him told him to stay where he was. For some reason, that something looked and sounded a lot like Starfy. That was kinda weird.
"Hey," said Isaac to Rodin, as he led-slash-dragged Waluigi out of the Gates of Hell. "Thanks for… keeping an eye on him."
Rodin remained silent.
"…Mmm." Isaac quickly departed the scene, eager to put the bar behind him at last.
The muffled sounds of the gala could still be heard in the corridors as Isaac and Waluigi walked. Combined with the relative silence and darkness of the halls themselves, it cast an eerie shadow over the two.
At last, Isaac figured that it was a good time to stop. He released his grip on Waluigi's shoulder and wrist, letting the man sink to the floor and sit against the wall. A single light flickered faintly as Isaac sat down beside him. A window had been left open, letting in a refreshingly chill wind. The two sat in silence as the moon shone silver in the night sky.
Isaac stared at Waluigi as they sat. He had known the man since the third tournament to be rude, arrogant, overly competitive, and generally ill-tempered. What he saw felt like a different person entirely. His shiny purple vest had dulled, the cuffs on his shirt had come undone, and his mustache drooped, his eyes covered by his fedora. He'd never seen him so defeated, so demoralized, so… forlorn.
And that scared the hell out of him.
At last, Isaac broke the silence. "Master Hand's really gonna let you have it, y'know," he sighed.
There was no answer.
"You know how big he is on order," he continued. "Disrupting the party he spent so much time on,? You'll be lucky if he doesn't vaporize you on the spot."
No response.
"You think that's bad, imagine what Dr. Wright is gonna say." He laughed a small, mirthless laugh. "Honestly, I think I'd rather get vaporized." He hazarded a glance at Waluigi for a response.
Still, nothing.
The strums of a guitar could be heard from the Grand Hall, the dulcet encore of a white dog singing along. Isaac folded his hands between his knees, choosing to focus on the moon outside. It did look rather nice, in the way a sunset looked nice after one has suffered a devastating loss.
"Why?"
Waluigi blinked, raising his head. "What?"
"Why?" Isaac turned to face the lanky man. "Why'd you do that?"
The lanky man scowled, pulling his fedora further over his face. "That D-lister stole my spotlight. That should be Waluigi out there, getting all the praise and popularity."
Now, there was the Waluigi Isaac knew and barely tolerated. He sighed roughly. "Waluigi—"
"Three times I've been to this tournament, and three times I've gotten the shaft," he continued. "And they add a bunch of losers instead!"
"Not this again—"
"Yes, this again!" shouted Waluigi, rising to his full height. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were hard. "They invited some flat guy, that no-hoper hedgehog, and a fitness trainer, but not Waluigi!"
Isaac sighed. "Dude—"
"Who do they pick? Not Waluigi! But some pipsqueak boxer? A space alien made of poison? A secretary?! Suuure! Ooh, we'll take any of the assistants but Waluigi!"
"If you would just—"
But Waluigi was on a roll now. "Waaaah! Let's bring in that stupid green beanpole waste of air! And then, let's add his brother, but as a doctor this time! Yeah, real originality there! Who could've come up with that?! They even invited Wario…" He paused to take a breath, his mouth twisted into a snarl and the fedora casting a shadow over his eyes, a shadow that didn't quite hide the moisture that threatened to spill. Evidently, Wario's lack of support for his scheme still stung freshly in his mind. "They even invited Wario, but not Waluigi…"
"I mean—"
"Let's bring in Bowser's kid, and the rest of those street urchins! Let's bring in the space girl, who went racing once, and all of a sudden, everyone's sucking up to her! Let's bring in Miss Flower Girl, and now she's gonna be soaking up all the attention that should be mine! And don't forget! Don't forget! That stupid plant that they invited 'cause they thought it'd be funny! It's not funny! It's not fair!"
"Oh, for the love of—"
"Those stupid cheater hands go through all of those different worlds to get a bunch of incidental nobodies to invite to this, and they ignore that the best choice is right there in front of them! And that stupid kid—ohoho, don't even get me started on him—he probably stole my invitation! Cheater! Everybody cheaters!" he hissed.
"…Which kid—never mind. Waluigi, listen—"
"This was supposed to be my chance, my big opportunity to finally get the spotlight that I deserve, and what happens? A bunch of swordfighters, a couple of muscle-bound meatheads, and some stupid kid with stupid clothes and a big, stupid key! I work harder than anyone else here, and what do I have to show for it? Just a bunch of participation trophies, and a bunch of 'better luck next time, loser'!"
Waluigi's voice dropped low. "And now here I am, stuck with the rest of the refuse like that dumb samurai, or that dragon girl…" He turned and jabbed a finger into Isaac's chest. "Or you. Well, I'm not like the rest of you. I am a winner. A real winner. You got that?"
Isaac chose to keep a tight grip on the patience he had left for him. Several answers, a few of them words he tried not to say in front of Starfy, sprang to the tip of his tongue, but he stamped them down. Evidently, this was coming from a place of real hurt. He put a hand on the taller man's arm. "Listen, Waluigi. I know how you feel, but—"
"Oh, knock it off!" Waluigi wrenched his arm out of Isaac's grasp. "Don't give me that! You don't know how I feel! You never will! You don't know what it's like to constantly be put on the sidelines like this!"
Isaac was quiet for a moment. "Waluigi, calm down—"
"Shut up!" cried Waluigi, a vein in his neck throbbing dangerously. "Shut up! Keep your pity! I've been at this sham for three tournaments now! The only reason you're giving me this drivel is because you don't have what it takes to be a real Smasher!"
A flash of irritation sparked within Isaac. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You heard me," Waluigi hissed. "You and the rest of those losers know you never had a chance to get invited, so you just bring everyone else down with you!"
The chill wind died away. Just as well, for a roiling flame made itself known in Isaac's core. "Oh, I'm the one bringing everyone down?" he asked hotly.
Waluigi sneered. "I mean, just look at you guys. A giant floating head? That bird snake thing? That weirdo rabbit with the microtransactions? A Chain Chomp? A puppy? Yeah, real winners there." He stared down his nose at the boy. "I'm the only one with any real substance! Honestly, you people ought to be thanking me for gracing you with my presence."
Isaac pulled at his face with both hands and took a deep breath, desperate to stamp down the indignation boiling inside him. It wasn't working. "Listen…" he said.
The lanky man went on. "And don't forget the rest of those rejects, the ones that almost were! Like that red mutt, or that springy guy…"
"Shut up," said Isaac through his teeth.
Waluigi ignored him. "Or that wannabe gardener knight, or that fake hedgehog…"
"Shut up," repeated Isaac.
"Or that brat from the plains." A small, crooked grin played on Waluigi. "Or you."
Isaac barely even flinched. "Yeah, I've heard that one before," he muttered, his tone carefully controlled. "Wouldn't be the first time you recycled someone else's piece."
"Waaah." Waluigi's mustache twitched faintly. "I suppose it could be worse. You could be that one kid… what was his name? Starfy? Talk about a no-hoper!"
Isaac's knuckles grew white. "…You wanna repeat that?" he asked, his voice low and rumbling.
"What, you got cotton in your ears?" Waluigi raised an eyebrow. "The kid's a no-hoper! A washout! Sometimes I wonder why he's even an assistant!" He shrugged, failing to notice Isaac trembling on the spot. "Wehh. I know we can't all be like me, but still—"
At last, Isaac opened his mouth to speak, and when he did, the earth shook.
"Oh, like you're one to look up to!" he roared. "At least we've been on plenty of adventures! Real adventures! We've saved the world loads of times! But suuuure, everyone wants to be like you! Sitting in the back and playing tennis and wallowing in your self-pity! Yeah, you sure hitched your wagon to a star there!"
The purple-clad man's mouth hung open. The windows, whose panes had begun to tremble from the sound of Isaac's voice, fell eerily still.
"And another thing!" Isaac continued. "It's one thing to be mean towards Luigi, or Baito, or Shadow, or Lyn, or even Goroh, but picking on Starfy? Starfy?! After he was the one person that actually wanted you to come to the gala?!" He shook his head, staring at Waluigi with the purest disdain. "Everyone wants to be like you, huh? Yeah, right. 'Cause if there's anything anyone here has always wanted, it's to be an evil counterpart to someone who barely acknowledges you even exist!"
The words came out as a whip to Waluigi's face, and it was enough for him to slowly recover his ability to speak. "Y-You—How dare you speak to me that way?!" He marched towards the boy, tennis racket raised.
Isaac felt himself flush with anger. It felt good, in a strange way. "And what about Wario, huh? Where was he during all of that? Some friend he turned out to be, huh?" He paused, folding his arms. "You know what I think? I think he just feels bad for you."
Waluigi froze mid-gait, his tennis racket clattering to the floor. "…What?" he asked, his voice suddenly very flat and very small.
"I mean, what other excuse is there?!" asked Isaac, a raging fire lit inside him. "You're his sidekick, but he doesn't even invite you to his treasure hunts, or his company, or anything! Your only friend, and he didn't even help you with that scheme you pulled, did he? You know why? Because outside of being his doubles partner, he's probably taking pity on you, because he sees you as the absolute nobody you and the world know you are!"
The hallway fell deadly silent. Even the noise of the gala, so far away, was quiet. The wind kicked up again, cold and bitter.
Isaac's chest was heaving, the fire inside dwindling away and leaving an odd hollow sensation in its place. He didn't know where that had come from. To tell Waluigi off like that felt good, but not as good as he'd have liked.
Speaking of which, the man in question looked quite shocked indeed, staring at the boy with his mustache drooping and his jaw hanging slack. Even though he was taller than Isaac, he still looked so small. His eyes had gone almost comically wide, and it was then that Isaac noticed just how glassy his eyes looked.
Ah. He'd made a huge mistake.
Isaac hissed in a breath and pressed his palms into his face, the fire in his chest fizzling away to cold, regretful embers. "Waluigi," he groaned, "I'm so sorry—"
"No," murmured Waluigi, his voice unusually flat, "you're not."
Isaac sighed and sank back to the floor against the wall, Waluigi mirroring his action. The two of them sat there, staring at the moon, the sounds of the gala fading to background noise. The wind had turned glacial.
"...You're really lucky, y'know."
Waluigi blinked, the sound of Isaac's voice snapping him back to reality. "...What?"
"I said, you're really lucky." Isaac was looking directly at him now.
The lanky man folded his arms and raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Oh, this should be good," he deadpanned. "How?"
Isaac turned back to the moon. "I mean, look at you. You're friends with Mario, of all people."
Waluigi sneered. "That little goody-goody plumber is not my friend."
"He might not be your friend, but you still know Mario," continued Isaac. "The Super Mario himself. That, like, puts you leagues above everyone else. Do you have any idea how many people around here would swap places with you?"
The purple-clad man remained unimpressed. "To be in the background all the time?" he snorted.
"Not necessarily that, no. To go kart racing with him. To have a party with him, or play golf, or baseball, whatever that is, or tennis with Super Mario." Isaac's gaze fell to the floor. "That's huge."
"Okay, okay, so I know Mario," grouched Waluigi. "So what? What difference does that make?"
"It makes a world of difference," sighed Isaac, giving him a mildly exasperated look, like he couldn't believe he wasn't getting it at this point. "He's one of the frontmen of this whole thing! And you're directly connected with him! You have a huge leg up over a lot of people!"
His eyes turned sad as he went on. "But then you look at some of the rest of us, like Takamaru, or Lyn, or Yuri, Vince, Nikki… they don't have a lot going for them outside of this. Guys like Samurai Goroh, and Dr. Wright, I'm, like, ninety percent certain the tournament is all they have right now."
Whatever retort Waluigi had planned died on his tongue. In all the time he had spent sitting alone, spying and eavesdropping on the others from a distance, he'd never really heard or paid attention to what they did outside the tournament.
"And Saki Amamiya, Jill, Resetti, remember them? They didn't even get invited back at all." Isaac was facing the moon again, but his eyes were somewhere else. "And who knows what's gonna happen to the rest of us? Some of us might not even be here next time. If there is a next time."
"There'll be a next time," said Waluigi. "Those hands have too much pride to just let it fall away like that."
Isaac gave a short bark of a laugh. "Yeah, who am I kidding? Won't have as many people around, but there's gonna be a next time." A cloud passed over the moon, snatching away the moonlight.
The boy's eyes fell on the dropped tennis racket… Charlotte, was her name? He picked her up and handed her back to Waluigi, who took her wordlessly.
"…Starfy really looks up to you, you know," said Isaac after a pause.
Waluigi blinked. "W-what?"
"Yeah," Isaac confirmed, nodding his head sagely. "He was the one that told me you were feeling down after your… chat with Master Hand a week ago, remember? He said he's your friend, 'cause you're friends with Wario."
The image of Starfy, sitting up, his eyes wide and so, so vulnerable, flashed across Waluigi's mind. He suddenly felt like he couldn't bear to look at Isaac. He instead chose to stare at the floor.
"I don't know why he looks up to you so much," Isaac said further. "You or Wario. But what I do know is that he's probably the only one of us that admires you like that. It might be because he's just a kid, but people like that don't come around every day."
Waluigi felt a strange sensation bubble in his chest. Was this guilt? Was this what guilt felt like? "Not every day, eh?" he whispered to himself.
Isaac continued to stare at him. "This is a golden opportunity, something that only comes along once in a lifetime. Why can't you see that?" He paused, chuckling wryly. "Jeez. I sound like Baito."
For the first time that night, Waluigi laughed. "He probably would've fallen over himself twice raving about this place by now."
"Yeah, he probably would've," smiled Isaac. "But anyways. You and me, we've both been in this for three tournaments now. This… this wasn't a problem during the last two. I mean, it kinda was, but not as much as it is now. What I wanna know is, why do you insist on making this such a miserable experience for yourself?"
For the first time that night, Waluigi was rendered speechless. He realized that he couldn't remember a single time in the past couple of weeks, or even months, where he wasn't bitter, or sullen, or irritated on some level.
…How much time had he lost?
"C'mon, man," said Isaac as he stood and stretched. "Up we go."
Waluigi rose, a dull throbbing in his temple announcing the onset of a headache. The sounds of the gala had picked up again, loud cheering echoing through the halls. Isaac turned to stand in front of Waluigi, eyes as serious as those of a seventeen-year-old could be.
"Waluigi, listen. I… I don't want to be your enemy. I don't think anyone does, really. But, if you don't want everyone to completely hate you, you gotta not be…" Isaac gestured towards the man's entire body, disheveled appearance and faint scowl. "Like this. All mean and bitter and angry and stuff." He extended a conciliatory hand. "So… whaddya say?"
Waluigi blinked drowsily, his mustache twitching. This was all very new to him. That odd feeling that may or may not have been guilt bubbled and roiled in his chest. He glanced down at Isaac's hand. Was this a trap, a ruse to lower his guard and cheat him out of the limelight again?
"…Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked.
A hand went to the back of Isaac's neck as he sighed. "Like I said, I don't want to be enemies. And…" His words came out slow and stilted, like he was repeating those of someone else. "I think that somewhere, deep down… deep down, you don't want to be enemies either. So, I'm giving you this chance." The boy thrust his hand out again. "Well? Bury the hatchet?"
The possibility that this was a trap hung in the back of Waluigi's mind. Everything felt very, uncomfortably still all of a sudden. He stared at the clouds, which had gone still over the moon. He looked at Isaac, who looked mostly nervous and tentative, but with an encouraging smile trying to break free. He looked down at Isaac's hand.
Starfy sprang to mind, eyes brimming, whispering, "Please."
Waluigi looked at Isaac's hand.
And Waluigi took it.
"…Fine." The very utterance of the word sagged his bony shoulders, his voice hoarse and toneless. He did manage to recover by the time the handshake ended. "But only because I don't wanna get blasted by the hand."
Isaac breathed a loud sigh of relief. "Good. Thank God," he breathed. "Thank God. It's a start." The moon reappeared from behind the clouds, brightening the world once more. "Thanks, Waluigi."
There was something genuine in Isaac's voice, so sincere in his thanks that made Waluigi's chest feel a little less heavy and tight. He chose to ignore it as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Weeeh. Don't think I'm gonna start playing nice all of a sudden. We might not be enemies, but we're still rivals!"
"Sure, man," chuckled Isaac, relieved to hear Waluigi acting like Waluigi again, and somewhat surprised that he was relieved at all. "Whatever you say. Now, c'mon. They're playing that Lifelight song in there."
Sure enough, the slow but grandiose notes of the music could be heard, however faintly, from the Grand Hall. A chorus was beginning to sing the first few lyrics. "…You do wanna go back, right?"
"Waah! What kinda dope do you think I am?" snorted Waluigi, jabbing a thumb to his chest. "You can't have a good party without Waluigi, can you?"
"Mm-hmm. Suuure." The two of them began their stroll towards the Grand Hall, side by side, a new pep in their step. It was an odd sight, a tall, gangly mustachioed man alongside a boy with a mop of messy blond hair. But there they were, strolling along as if they'd been friends all their lives.
Waluigi's thoughts were muddled as he walked, swirling around in his head like a snowglobe in the hands of a toddler. He still wasn't truly happy with his lot in the tournament. He knew he deserved better. He also knew that Dr. Wright was sure to haul him over the coals once this was over, to say nothing of what Master Hand and Crazy Hand were going to do. Furthermore, he knew that the rest of the party, fighter and assistant, wouldn't exactly be thrilled to see him back. Except Starfy. He seemed like a nice kid.
But for now, if only for a moment… it was nice to finally be among people he might call… friends? Rivals?
…Acquaintances, maybe. But, it was a start. A new start, a new lease on life… To see the world with a fresher disposition…?
Now, that, he was happy with.
Author's Notes: We did it! We hit the twentieth chapter! Look, even Waluigi is happy for once!
But wow, I've been doing this for just over three years, huh? I started this way back when the DLC was just getting started! And now, look. Twenty chapters and 125k words later, we've hit both the end of DLC and the end of a major story arc.
Who would've guessed a guy writing about a bunch of characters that cameo from a funny-looking capsule would've come this far, huh?
To everyone that's been reading Sidelines up to this point, to those who've been leaving reviews, and to those who just read it for a few, I truly thank you for sticking with it for this long!
But while this may be the end of the story arc, it's certainly not the end of the story! There is still yet more to come!