In the end, only Mac and Peach had a party together.
Little Mac stretched his shoulders before going out for a jog. He had surprisingly skipped sleep due to the sheer power of chocolate, though the boxer did not plan on skipping sleep too much. The lightweight boxing champion did have a great time with one of his first friends from the new world he lived in. Peach introduced several games she enjoyed playing such as Battleship; it was a game that Mac did not think someone like Peach would have ever liked, but apparently, she enjoyed predicting other people's strategies.
Of course, Little Mac proved to be superior when it came to predictions, but once in a while, the princess would absolutely obliterate the boxer without losing any ships. S.S. Mac sunk in more than two humiliating ways, and its fellow ships fell in even more humorous ways. In return, Mac introduced Chinese checkers to her. Though he himself did not know much about mastering the game, he did remember playing it with Piston Hondo shortly after one of his Title Defense matches back at the WVBA.
Despite the fact that both Piston Hondo and Little Mac were great boxers, however, they both failed hard at playing Chinese checkers. Hondo himself admitted that he did not know what "they were smoking when they made the game," but nonetheless, the Japanese boxer and the American boxer found it amusing to play against each other with a completely foreign game neither of them played before. Mac remember how he ironically lost to Hondo more in Chinese checkers than at his boxing career.
The boxer jogged, running down the empty route he frequently went through.
When the lightweight boxing champion returned to his dormitory, he immediately sat on his comfortable sofa, staring at the blank television screen.
"…"
For the time being, the boxer felt nervous on when his next friendly match would pop up. According to some speculations made on the news, it was likely that he would face off against one of the more talented and traditional fighters. Mac himself heard no word on who he would be facing yet, so he remained in a state of continuous training.
His pink jumpsuit still on, Little Mac reached for a remote control, turning on the television as he got up from the sofa. He had no time to waste; his stomach cried for food to fill itself with. He did enjoy having a bit of noise in his life, however, so he left the television on.
With some random action flick turned on, the dark-haired man went to his nearby kitchen to fetch some good old pancakes. Giving full attention to his pancakes, the man prepared several recipes. Homemade pancakes tasted much better than pancake mixes. While he did not care too much on whatever he ate, when given the time to do so, Mac preferred to make his own food.
As he stirred his recipe to life, the boxer found himself enjoying the moment of peace. He soon made himself some pancakes, blissfully unaware of what was going on outside of his dormitory.
…
…
…
In his dark office, Master Hand floated in a state of pondering.
The match he had with Little Mac confused him. Something felt… off, so to speak. As everyone had witnessed, the hand used a sword in order to attack the boxer. Under most circumstances, Master Hand would not have minded using such a flashy and dangerous-looking ability in a Smash Brothers match, but something about the sword he used felt abnormal.
He experienced many things when he held onto the sword. The first emotion he felt was bloodlust.
Bloodlust. Master Hand was sure that not even Crazy Hand would deliberately seek out the utter destruction of others, despite his hyperactive partner's antics. Crazy Hand, the Destroyer, had little bloodlust, so why should he, the Creator, hold such emotions?
The second emotion he felt was fear.
Fear.
What did he fear…?
The Subspace Emissary put him in a state of fear. Thankfully, he barely lived to see the outcome of the dark time, but something about the Emissary planted a permanent sense of fear within him. Perhaps it had instilled something that he did not recognize experiencing before.
Fear.
Just what did he fear…?
Master Hand decided not to pay fear too much attention, as it was not the only emotion he felt in the battle with Mac.
The third and most prominent emotion he felt, after all, was hope.
What can I possibly hope for while carrying a sword that could've hurt somebody? Master Hand thought. He knew that he felt no greed to utterly pulverize Little Mac. But if he felt no greed and only bloodlust, what did that mean for the hand?
Something was wrong. Master Hand fully knew that.
Just as he continued to ponder on about his condition, Crazy Hand burst into the office, opening and closing the door within one second.
"EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY," the left hand said as he twitched erratically. "So what did'ja call me for?"
"…I," Master Hand spoke with a serious tone, "have a problem."
"Wow, you figured that out just now-"
"No, Crazy Hand, not that kind of problem. I am in a dilemma. A dire situation, to put it simply."
At Master Hand's use of the word "dire," Crazy Hand twitched a little less, slowly floating towards his partner.
"Dire?"
"You see," Master Hand explained, "there is something I must ask of you regarding the… black dust… that appeared in our recent match with Little Mac."
Crazy Hand suddenly froze still. After remaining silent for a few seconds, the left hand suddenly told Master Hand,
"No, look, man, I could honestly explain about why I decided to hit you with that jar of-"
"No, Crazy Hand, I'm not talking about the jar-of-sh#% incident," the right hand said with an exasperated tone. "I'm talking about the black dust that formed out of my body when I fought Little Mac."
Finally understanding what the right hand was talking about, Crazy Hand wagged a finger at his partner.
"Now, now, Master Hand; that was a cool trick you performed back then, but you don't have to rub it all over my face just because I got knocked out earlier than you did."
"I did not do use the sword."
Master Hand's statement seemed to slow down Crazy Hand's twitching even further. Now facing the right hand, the usually sporadic hand fell silent.
"…A bit more info on that bit would be pretty awesome, Master Hand."
Floating away from his office desk, Master Hand approached his partner as he explained,
"It felt as if something was controlling me. Some… abnormal force that I have never felt controlled my own actions. I did a test on myself to see if there was something inside my internal framework, but there were no signs of infections or anything that could possibly drive me mad."
The left hand remained silent, thinking hard for once.
"Perhaps," Crazy Hand cautiously asked, "something happened to you after the Emissary?"
"Impossible," Master Hand instinctively blurted out. "I couldn't sense Tabuu's presence after it ended. He should have-"
"What if there's something else?"
"…Something else?"
Crazy Hand thought about the idea he just invented before stating more clearly,
"What if there's something beyond the conspirator?"
"…Explain yourself," Master Hand said, interested in the conclusion Crazy Hand came to.
"Tabuu had a power that could defeat you," the left hand explained, twitching once-in-a-while during his explanation. "But Tabuu was no creator. He created nothing and only destroyed; a particular role I was unable to perform during the Emissary because he locked me up, I'll be honest. But the power to destroy is always created by something. He, on the other hand, used a power that obviously did not belong to him. Tabuu used something… a strange object, if I recall correctly, to defeat us.
"If Tabuu was no creator, and he did not create his own power, then there had to be something controlling that puppeteer, Master Hand."
At Crazy Hand's explanation, Master Hand seemed to think over the left hand's theory. It did make sense, considering the things he knew about the being known as Tabuu. But if there really was something controlling the conspirator…
…Then there's no doubt that something would happen soon.
Master Hand turned and looked out of a window, a large coliseum underneath his place.
"What would they be after?" The right hand thought to himself as he watched over his own creations springing to life with joy. "I wonder if there's any reason for something to oppose us…"
The hands remained silent, for none of them knew the answer to the same question they pondered over.
Unbeknownst to them, several of the Smash Brothers tournaments' contestants had listened into the conversation.
...
...
...
New York; a state that ran through monopolies, industries, and controversies. It was yet another busy night for the Bronx, with many cars zooming through the streets to get business done.
With Little Mac gone, New York had cried out to meet the boxer who mysteriously vanished. New York's neighbors also roared, frustrated at how the moderately-sized boxer no longer showed himself to the public. Newspaper magazines wrote on the Bruiser from the Bronx's disappearance, some falling into ridiculous conclusions involving conspiracies around the reason why Mac truly quit boxing.
In the end, everyone thought of Mac's disappearance to be a strange and mystical incident. But like many other incidents, the event eventually became a simple part of history; a history that involved a small man who showed the world how to win through wit and effort.
But one man never accepted Mac's disappearance.
For when Little Mac quit boxing, one of Mac's many opponents failed to beat him in their many rematches. Unlike many opponents who were somewhat glad of Mac's retirement, however, this man grew enraged when he heard news of the lightweight boxing champion's resignation.
"Where is he…?!" A tall, hulking figure in the night of northeast North America seethed. "Why can't I find him?!"
He met his first loss in the World Video Boxing Association after encountering Little Mac. Thirty one well-earned victories was the end of his winning streak when a tiny, dark-haired munchkin put him to sleep on the ring. He was the one supposed to put his opponents to sleep, and yet Mac sent him to Dreamland far too quickly and swiftly for him to admit defeat.
The dark-skinned man with a lightning-shaped buzzcut tore apart the poster that publicly announced Mac's disappearance. Under a dim street lamp, the man remembered how the crowd shifted from his side to the munchkin's side. He remembered how the tiny pugilist ended the title bout with three swift punches, and how he ended the inevitable rematch with the same method; over, and over, and over and over and over again.
"Grrr…!"
The sight of Little Mac smiling at his victory enraged him. The sight of the midget that took away his spotlight as the memorable champion of the WVBA infuriated his very soul. And when Little Mac raised his arms to answer the crowd's hearty cheers for his entrance, the man only grew more and more agitated towards the little punching machine.
He took the belt.
He took the title.
And he took his name.
"GRAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
With a mighty punch, the man began to pound the wall of a brick building with his fists. He punched and punched, unable to let out his rage with satisfaction. Rage coursed his veins, his mind, his very body and heart. Behind his eyes were the eyes of one who met humiliation and absolute anger.
How dare he take his name as Champion away from him! How dare Little Mac ever beat him!
"AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! RAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
And after several more mighty punches, the building had fallen apart. A debris of destroyed bricks and shattered windows lay under his feet.
Yet, the strength and speed of a truck lost against the strength and speed of a munchkin…
He needed to show Little Mac his anger. If he just beat Mac, then his name would change once more. But with Little Mac disappearing so suddenly, the large and powerful boxer found nothing but an eternal anger that strived on. And despite being the new champion a little after news of Mac's disappearance had gone by, the crowd did not acknowledge him to be the champion of the century.
They were lost in reminiscing Mac's achievements, despite how hard the man pushed to show them who was better.
How dare he…! How dare he…!
"I'LL FIND YOU! I'LL FIND YOU, AND I'LL GIVE YOU A NIGHTMARE TO REMEMBER FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! YOU HEAR ME, LITTLE MAC?! AAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Standing under a serene moon with a raging heart, the man stood before the five-story building he had just destroyed in a few punches. He would no longer wait for Mac to face him.
He would find Mac, no matter how hard it was to find him.
Mr. Sandman roared as the ominous fate of the Smash Brothers remained unknown.