February 6, 2008
Lobby

The last few years of Melee had been quite alright for just about everyone.

The Smashers continued to fight in the tournament, with varying degrees of success. Many of the low-tiers had managed to up their game significantly, and they all enjoyed much improved results against the other Smashers, especially the high-tiers whom they still harbored resentment for. What had once been a surefire win for the latter had sort of become a regular underdog upset, and most fans relished in watching those bouts. The low-tiers never failed to put up a fight, and their losses were no longer crushing defeats like they had once been. Where the low-tiers had once been puny ants being crushed by a boulder, they were now everyone's second favorite Smashers. Their victories were well celebrated and their losses were being commended for their remarkable demonstrations of fortitude.

The incarcerated remnants of the High-Tier Clique returned to the battlefield shamed and scapegoated. What they had perceived to be loyal fans had turned against them in favor of more morally upright Smashers like Pikachu, who began publicly championing the Low-Tier Clique along with virtually every other Smasher. So when the high-tiers finally arrived to fight in the tournament once again, they found, to their dismay, that their usual acts of showboating and taunting were being blasted instead of cheered. They stopped within a week, and lived out the rest of the tournament in bitter silence. They rarely troubled the low-tiers after that.

As for Fox, the low-tiers did eventually bury the hatchet with him. Of course, it took much more than a single, rushed apology during a quite frankly awkward breakfast period for that to happen; they pummeled him in Melees, gave him the cold shoulder for several years, and even threw merciless taunts of their own at him whenever they could. They'd expected him to lose his cool or perhaps respond with his own barbs, but he took it all with surprising grace and after some time it dawned upon them that maybe he had moved on from harassing them after all. They got along peacefully enough afterwards, if but a little coldly.

The Low-Tier Clique themselves grew ever closer as time went on, with each of its members coming to deeply care for the other six like their own family. Even as the pain that brought them together receded, their bonds continued to strengthen with each day, and soon they began to become something…more. More than just a group that hung out together daily and took comfort in their shared experiences. They became something truly beautiful, with an understanding of each other that would normally be only seen between siblings or close friends from childhood. Everything simply seemed right, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

They were what friends were meant to be. And that would be a title that they would carry proudly for a long, long time.

Melee was at last approaching its conclusion after just over seven years of running. The tier list had inevitably changed, but it had not been updated since the catastrophe of the first occurrence, so the low-tiers remained stuck at the bottom. Not that it mattered much anymore, thankfully, but to them it still remained a haunting reminder of sadder days.

The last matches of the tournament concluded at twilight, after which Master Hand immediately funneled all the Smashers to the cafeteria for a celebratory closing ceremony. The food was set out and the Smashers went about as usual, having a good time with each other and, for some, enjoying what would be their last gathering at Smash for quite a while. Three of the low-tiers were among them.

Pichu had decided relatively early on that he wasn't going to participate in the third tournament. Ganondorf's poison had been potent; nothing less had been expected of the King of Darkness, after all, and Pichu had been suffering from chronic weakness and fatigue ever since that fateful day. As such, he'd fought the latter stages of Melee entirely on physical stimulants (with his consent, of course, despite the objections of his friends and Pikachu), which was obviously not a sustainable solution. Wisely, he decided to take a break from Smash and return to Kanto, where he would hopefully be able to receive treatment better tailored for him and make a full recovery before coming back.

As Pichu's only official guardian, Pikachu was obligated to go with him, but Mewtwo had volunteered to go in his place, stating that he was "too important to Smash to leave", an opinion that was echoed by Master Hand. Despite Pikachu's reservations about leaving his stricken little brother behind, he trusted his old adversary to take care of him, and thus decided to accept the proposition.

The other low-tiers were understandably saddened, but they were more than supportive of Mewtwo and Pichu's decisions anyway. (After all, they were the ones who were worried about the latter destroying his body with all the drugs he'd been taking to fight in Melees.)

The five remaining members continued to hold firm in coming back well into the last week of January. While they were obviously a little disheartened with both of the Pokémon leaving, they were more than willing to wait for the day they came back. In the meantime, they were all gearing up for what would surely be a cruel gauntlet of a third tournament.

But things sadly took an unexpected twist afterwards, when Roy received a letter from home that his father, Eliwood, was terminally ill. And all of a sudden, the Young Lion was torn between his father, his idol and role model that he'd looked up to all his life, and the many people that meant the world to him and whom he knew were counting on him to come back. It took some deliberating with the rest of the clique to help him, but after a few days he ultimately came to the conclusion that, while he could always come back to Smash for the fourth tournament, his father would be gone very soon and Roy would be incredibly cruel to not be there with him when he passed. The decision ended up being an easy one, and Roy pulled out of the third tournament a week later. Master Hand was surprised and a little disappointed, but he nonetheless wished Roy and his father well and encouraged him to come back as soon as possible. As the two shook hands with the low-tiers watching on, there was the relieving feeling that the grudge they'd harbored over the tier list was vanquished at last.

That left four. Zelda, Ness, Bowser and Kirby had all remained for the third tournament, which had been named Brawl. Like all the other returnees, they were looking forward to a whole new experience with new Smashers joining them from all across the multiverse, but for them there was also a trepid uncertainty at more possible drama because of the damned tier list. While Master Hand had certainly become more cooperative with the Low-Tier Clique in recent years, he wasn't budging from his stance that the new tournament would still feature a tier list – "Sakurai's orders", he'd said. But he did add one more thing that they would remember very, very well.

January 29, 2008
Master Hand's Office

"Look. I know you have doubts over this, but this is not something I can control. To deny Mr. Sakurai of a tier list would mean the end of Smash. But just because there will be another tier list, doesn't mean all of you can't do anything about it."

Master Hand sighed, before leaning forward in his chair to bring himself closer to the returning members of the Low-Tier Clique.

"If something like this does happen again…I want you to help them. Take them aside and let them understand that they're not alone. I don't want them to learn the hard way, like you guys did."

"I'll do everything I can to make sure that anyone guilty of harassment and persecution will be punished, but it might not be enough and I'm sure you all know that well enough. They'll need emotional support, and there's no one better for the job than someone who can resonate with their struggles: you four. So, Bowser, Kirby, Ness and Zelda, will you be willing to help the new low-tiers should the need arise?"

It was the princess who spoke for all of them. "I still don't agree with the tier list's existence."

Master Hand nodded gravely. "I understand. But it must be done. I'm sorry."

"I know, I know," Zelda conceded. After a moment's hesitation, she spoke again, careful in the words she used. "We have bore a terrible burden, all of us." She paused briefly and closed her eyes. And then she spoke again with renewed vigor. "But because of it, then I know we can help others who will one day endure the same treatment. Even without your prompting, I believe we would have done so. I'm glad to know that we will have your blessing in our endeavors."

The others all nodded in agreement, all sharing the same determination on their faces. And as Master Hand gazed at the four Smashers, four people whom he had disappointed so, so badly, he felt oddly proud.

They all seemed so much more mature now. Kirby, once a gullible and naïve child, was now looking every inch the dutiful and determined Star Warrior he was meant to be. Bowser, so feared throughout the Mushroom Kingdom for his belligerence, stared him back with fiery but gentle eyes. The odd and misunderstood boy that had once been Ness now stood firm, clarity and purpose bleeding from his stance. Even Zelda, it seemed, had replaced her distant regality of old with a genuine kindness not often seen in someone of her background.

I wonder, he thought contemplatively. Just how powerful was the bond between the seven of them for them to turn out like this?

And that was when he realized. They were his proud Smashers. They'd always been. They'd never given up, despite having to endure the harshest treatment a Smasher could face. They just needed a little bit of help from someone, anyone, and they'd thankfully found those people in each other. And once that had happened, they were always going to bounce back. He'd just been too ignorant to recognize their character.

He sighed inwardly, bitterly. How much of this could have been avoided if not for him? How much of the torment could he have stopped? How much of the emotional scars could he have prevented?

He knew the answer, of course.

He had held the power to stop all of it. One single gesture of power, one ruthless act of justice, and none of this would have happened. And yet he had let the hatred fester for years and years. He had cowardly decided to preserve his benevolent image in favor of the well-being of his Smashers.

In short, he had done absolutely nothing until it was much too late. He was quite certain the Low-Tier Clique would never forgive him. And rightly so, he thought of himself bitterly. Indeed, it was a miracle that they were even willing to talk to him, let alone listen to his demands and requests.

He'd done nothing to deserve it, he really hadn't.

But he wanted to. He needed to. He would not let his chance slip away again. And it was in that moment, looking upon four of his toughest, most resilient Smashers, that he understood what he had to do.

Guided almost entirely by instinct, he spoke. "One more thing."

The low-tiers nodded, awaiting what he had to say. It was not lost on Master Hand that he saw no traces of animosity in their eyes; only understanding, and a candid open-mindedness to whatever unreasonable demands he was going to make of them again.

He could practically feel his own tears leaking into his glove as he stood from his chair and bowed down to his Smashers. And in a choking, remorseful voice, he forced out two words that he should have said a long, long time ago.

"I'm sorry."