Master Hand's office was in a much lighter mood than it had been on that fateful night when the final invitation was sent. Likewise, the hand himself was feeling livelier than he had in months. And why shouldn't he be? Gone were the feelings of apprehension and dread from waiting in uncertainty. Now all that was left was waiting for the toast of the tournament to arrive, and planning out the gala to celebrate said arrival. It was to be a grand affair, inviting almost every living creature involved in the tournament's success to partake in the festivities. On top of that, all sorts of entertainment from most of the participants' worlds would be brought in for a variety of performances. Master Hand normally did not like to brag about his and Crazy Hand's accomplishments, but he'd be lying if he didn't feel some sort of self-satisfaction when viewing his work.

He'd have to chalk up that warm feeling in his core to a completely and utterly deserved sense of pride.

But his preening (yes, that was a nice word to describe it, he thought) would have to wait, for a ringing of the telephone on his desk demanded his attention. He picked it up and…

…

He picked up the phone and…

…

Picked up the phone to—

"For the love of—"

The phone slipped out of his fingers and clattered, still ringing, onto the desk.

Not for the first time, Master Hand regretted not purchasing a phone his own size. Surrendering at last, he delicately pushed a button to turn on the speakerphone. "Hello. This is Master Hand of the World of Trophies. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"Hello?" came a woman's voice from the other end. "This is Mayor Pauline…"

"Ah, yes! Hello, Miss Mayor!" said Master Hand, immediately straightening up. "I trust my message found you well?"

"It certainly did!" laughed Pauline. "Tourism's actually been at an all-time high ever since your tournament began!"

Master Hand chuckled, soft and sincere. "I'm very glad to hear that. So does this mean you are willing to…?"

The excited clapping from Pauline's end could very faintly be heard. "Yes! I'd love to!"

"Excellent!" declared Master Hand, punching the keys on his laptop. "Now then, a train should be arriving on the New Donk City Subway at—"

The phone rang again, rudely interrupting the hand's explanation. A quick check of caller ID told him it was another contact for the night's entertainment. "Ah, um… if you'll pardon me for just one moment." He pushed the green key on the phone system. "Hello, this is Master Hand of the World of Trophies. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

A melodious, but still relaxed voice resonated from the phone's speaker. "Hey, there, you've got K.K. Slider here. What's buzzin', Master Hand?"

"Mr. Slider! Hello!" said Master Hand. "I do hope my message found you in high spirits!"

"Things have been pretty chill in my neck of the woods," replied K.K. Slider, his shrug somehow audible. "But let's not with the 'Mr. Slider' stuff. Just K.K. will do, ya dig?"

"Ah—" Master Hand had heard many a tale from the Villagers about how laid-back the musician was, but he was still caught off-guard by exactly how nonchalant he was. "I… I see. K.K. it is, then. Well, would I be correct in assuming that you're on board with coming to the World of Trophies to perform for us?"

"Yup, you got it," affirmed K.K. "Wouldn't be the first time I've done a gig like this. When should I get down there?"

"Well, the celebration isn't for at least another week, so…" He paused to check his calendar. "When would you like me to send the transportation to—"

Once again, the phone rang, making Master Hand recoil in annoyance. "Ah… apologies for that, K.K. If you wouldn't mind holding for a few moments?"

"S'all good."

"This won't take too long." Master Hand pressed the key to answer. With all the practiced decorum of years upon years of hosting the tournament, he began, "This is Master Hand of the World of Trophies. To whom do I have the pleasure of—"

"Ayooo!"

Master Hand gently picked up whatever decorum he hadn't dropped on the floor to shatter into a thousand shards. "To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"It's me, Pearl! AKA MC Princess, AKA The Baroness of Bars, AKA MC Foreign Policy!"

For roughly fifteen milliseconds, Master Hand considered asking to speak to her partner instead. Deciding against it, he continued, "I trust you and Marina are in high spirits?"

"You bet we are!" chirped Pearl. "Things are pretty chill here, and Marina and me are still rockin' the mic!"

"Speaking of rocking the mic…" Master Hand cleared his throat. "I assume your calling means that you will—"

It was not the phone ringing that interrupted Master Hand this time, but Crazy Hand, barging into the office and wielding a large vacuum flask, the force of his entrance causing the windows to shake. "Guess who brought coffee!" he shouted.

Master Hand stared blankly at his brother for a few moments, not even registering Pearl asking who that voice was. Gently, he leaned closer to the phone. "We're delighted to have you. I'll send you further information via email," he murmured sotto voce. He pushed another key and repeated the same message to his other two addressees. Gently, he placed the phone back in its base. "What are you doing?!" he hissed.

"Getting you some coffee," replied Crazy Hand casually. "You seem busy. Who was on the phone just now?"

"Oh, just several of our guests for the upcoming festival," sighed his brother. "Can you believe it? We're at the last leg, and there are still more hoops to jump through." He glanced over at the flask placed by his desk. "Coffee, is it?"

Crazy Hand snapped his fingers. "Yup! I made your favorite! It's a cappuccino, with plenty of pigeon milk!"

"I don't have a favorite—pigeon milk?" Master Hand paused his unscrewing of the cap. "You went to The Roost for this?"

Crazy Hand shook himself back and forth in a negative response. "Nope, I made it myself! And it wasn't easy, either! You have no idea how many pigeons I had to milk for this…"

Master Hand, who had poured himself a mug and was about to take a sip, suddenly stopped before the cup could come any closer. "I'm sorry, how many what you had to what?"

"I mean, that's how Brewster makes it, right?" said Crazy Hand, his fingers curling inward. "He has a stash of it, right?"

"I…" Suddenly deciding that he much preferred tea, Master Hand set the cup down. "Well, while we will have plenty of musical accompaniment," he began in an attempt to change the subject, "what kind of alternative entertainment do you think—"

The question was interrupted by knocking, sharp and impatient, sounding from behind the door. From the sound of it, it was with the knuckle, the kind of knock gentle enough to not quite be considered rude just yet, but was terribly close to being so.

Both hands paused. When the sound did not continue, Master Hand went on. "As I was saying, do you think Sukapon would be, ah… fitting for an event of this—"

The knocking grew louder and quicker, and subsequently grew that much ruder, this time with the side of the fist. When that ceased, the faint sound of a restless shoe tapping could be heard.

Master Hand sighed lightly. "Come in," he called, having a few ideas on who the visitor could be.

The door swung open, and Waluigi stormed in, his fists trembling at his side and his face like thunder. He marched up to the desk and glared at Master Hand right in his knuckles.

Master Hand did not move. "Hey, Wally," greeted Crazy Hand. "Whatcha need?"

Waluigi barely spared him a glance. "What I need," he began, his voice carefully controlled, "is answers."

Both hands just looked at him. "Uhh… because they get adopted every time?" supplied Crazy Hand.

"What?"

"What?"

There was a mutual awkward silence.

Crazy Hand attempted to provide another answer, but Master Hand gently cut him off. "What questions do you have that we would be able to answer?" he asked.

The enmity returned to Waluigi's face. "Who is Sora?" he got out.

"Sora? Oh, don't tell me you forgot already!" said Crazy Hand with an impatient wave of his finger. "He's the new guy! The last Decidedly Late Challenger!"

"Yes, the 'new guy', as it were. The final new competitor," confirmed Master Hand with no small surge of pride. "He will arrive in…" He checked his calendar. "…Just under two weeks' time."

Waluigi's face grew a deeper shade of red, and his mustache bristled. "My second question," he rumbled. "Why is Sora?"

Both hands tilted to the side in confusion. "I mean, that's kind of a loaded question," started Crazy Hand. "Like in an existential sense, or why he—"

Waluigi's gloved hands struck the desk with a surprising amount of force for someone of his figure. It wasn't enough to make the phone wobble, but it was just enough to make Crazy Hand jump back a bit. Master Hand, for his part, remained still.

The thin man's hands curled into fists. "Why is it him?" he growled. "Why is he the last Decidedly Late Challenger?"

Master Hand took a deep breath. "I suppose I am at least somewhat to blame here," he began, slowly getting an idea as to where the conversation was headed. "If you recall, we ran the Smash Ballot during the last tournament, and Sora was the most requested challenger. We felt that if we were to reveal the results, things would get very out of hand, very quickly. Thus, we—"

"Let me elaborate," snarled Waluigi. His fists, still resting on the cherry wood of the desk, were trembling with barely contained rage. "Why is it him, and not Waluigi?"

Master Hand sighed again, partially because his suspicions were correct, and partially because it had only now occurred to him that Waluigi could have used the knocker he had installed a month ago. "I—"

"It's-a not fair!" Waluigi had straightened up and begun to pace, his voice filling with resentment with every word. "I get robbed, denied the spotlight from the beginning, and the last spot gets handed off to some random kid with stupid hair?! This entire thing is a sham!"

Master Hand began to tap a finger on the desk. "Waluigi, please—"

"Oh, sure, let's invite that loser Luigi! Let's invite that girl from space! Let's invite a fitness trainer, or that dumb dog! Let's bring in Daisy! Let's have some kid who stole an invitation! Probably mine, too!"

The tapping hastened. "Listen to me—"

"The swordfighters!" rejoined Waluigi. "Don't even get me started on them! Oh, swords are so common, we have to have a bunch of them! Buncha dime-a-dozen nobodies!"

"Please, try to calm down—"

"And don't forget! Don't forget!" Waluigi's face flushed to a purple that almost matched his cap. "Ooh, let's just invite a stupid weed for no other reason than it'll be funny! It's not!"

It was Crazy Hand's turn to try. "Dude, your blood pressure—"

"Everybody always gets the spotlight, but never Waluigi! This was supposed to be my big break! But noooooo! Stuck with the dregs like Starfy!"

"If you would just—"

"Everybody cheating! This could've been my chance to finally show everyone that I'm the best, and what do you do? You bring in some dumb kid with big clown shoes! Waaaaah! I'm tired of this! I'm tired of always being stuck in the back while some other loser takes up all the limelight!"

His rant finished, Waluigi stomped a foot down on the floor, as if that specific tile had personally spat in his coffee. He stood there, fuming, glaring up at the hands.

Master Hand was completely silent. Crazy Hand had backed into the corner, waiting to see how long he would go on. "Are you done?" asked Master Hand quietly.

Waluigi folded his arms. "Yes," he hissed.

"Very well." Master Hand adjusted a few loose papers on the desk. "Let me answer your question with another question. You have been part of the Assist Trophy program in this tournament for… three? Three years. Why are you only coming to me now?"

Waluigi opened his mouth to supply a cutting retort, but only found words failing him. Instead, his throat produced a small croaking sound.

"I understand that you seemed disappointed when you were revealed at the beginning of the tournament, but you seemed fine afterwards." A notification on his laptop called the hand's attention, and he briefly tapped at a few keys to respond. "You did not seem to have any problems throughout both sets of Decidedly Late Challengers. So let me ask you again. Why are you bringing this up now, three years after the fact?"

Waluigi did not answer at first. "This… this was supposed to be Waluigi's big break," he said at last. "I was supposed to be the superstar!"

"Superstar?" repeated Crazy Hand. "Gosh, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that one…"

"Please," chided Master Hand, turning to his twin and giving him his oft-used let me handle this look. "But regardless," he continued, turning back to the still-rather incensed lanky man before him, "my brother does have a point. You are not the first person I have heard this sentiment from, nor will you be the last, I feel."

Waluigi's brow furrowed even further. "Waaah? What do you mean?"

Master Hand sighed and lightly tapped a finger on his desk. "…Do you know how many people sent in applications to be a fighter in the tournament?"

Waluigi folded his arms. "Ugh, are we doing math lessons now? Fine. How many?"

"I don't know," shrugged Master Hand. "I lost count at around nine hundred and seventy-two. I'm the spirit of creation, not the spirit of counting!" He chuckled at his own joke. "But in all seriousness… Countless people, an endless amount of individuals across all worlds. Some less talented than others in some areas, but undisputed masters in others. Each with the same goal: to be a part of the Super Smash Brothers tournament. To achieve that highest of honors."

"Where are you going with this?" asked Waluigi.

"But with as many applicants as I receive," continued the hand, "very few of them go on to get interviews, and even fewer actually get accepted. Which is where things became difficult."

"What he's trying to say is," chimed in Crazy Hand, "you didn't make the cut because the people that did had an edge over you."

Waluigi blinked. "What?"

"You were outranked," said the left hand simply, as though he were genuinely surprised it had taken him this long to figure it out.

"Brother, please," repeated Master Hand, giving him an almost pleading look. He sighed, longer and louder this time as he regarded the purple-clad man in front of him. "As… tactless as Crazy Hand's explanation was, I'm afraid he is correct. You, Waluigi, are simply one of a long list of potential competitors, decidedly late or otherwise, that got… out-prioritized."

"Like Alph!" chirped Crazy Hand.

"Yes," conceded Master Hand after a pause. "Somewhat like Alph."

"Out-prioritized?" echoed Waluigi. "So… you're admitting that I lost out to a dog and duck? To the secretary? To the plant?"

Master Hand only sighed softly. To Waluigi, it said more than words ever could.

The room was dead quiet. Waluigi simply stood there, eyes blank and staring impassively at nothing in particular. Even his mustache that pointed up at the ends seemed to droop a bit. "…So that's it?" he said, barely audible. "That's the end of it? Just a 'better luck next time'?

Master Hand floated a bit lower, almost touching the floor. "I must repeat, you have been in the Assist Trophy program for three years now. I do not understand why you are only coming forth with this now."

"It's not even that bad of a deal," put in Crazy Hand. "I mean, you've been here since the program began, which is more than I can say for guys like, uh, what was his name? Saki! Yeah!"

Master Hand floated back up, gently closing the laptop. "I… really don't know what to tell you at this point." His words were gentle, but they stung regardless.

Crazy Hand, meanwhile, chose to speak his thoughts aloud, as usual. "Like we said, there were a lot of people that didn't get in. What makes you so special?"

The purple-clad man just stood there, his gaze directed at the floor. That same repulsive sensation he'd felt on the day of the reveal resurfaced in the pit of his stomach, spreading up and down across his body like a mold, bringing a new feeling, a dull ache in his head. The sick feeling of anger had mostly subsided, the disappointment spreading over him like a tidal wave. His hands, which he realized had been clenched into fists for too long, slumped and hung lamely at his sides.

Crazy Hand cleared his throat. "So, like, are you gonna go now, or…?"

Waluigi remained silent. With legs that suddenly felt heavy and leaden, he turned around and shuffled out of Master Hand's office, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Silence flooded the room.

"Y'know," murmured Crazy Hand, breaking the silence, "I wonder what happened to that Saki guy, anyways…"

As early afternoon daylight illuminated the room, Isaac found himself contemplating a flyer that had suddenly appeared on his bedroom door one day. In all the hustle and bustle in preparing for Sora's arrival, he had almost completely ignored it, but considering its size, taking up nearly half the entire door, bright, garish colors, and the utter mishmash of different fonts, it was fairly hard to miss.

A celebration like no other!

Join us as we honor the arrival of Sora, the final Decidedly Late Challenger!

At long last, Everyone is Here…

…And Everyone is Invited!

Entertainment, music, and food from different worlds!

Come one, come all! It's a gala you won't want to miss!

Located in the Grand Hall, Fifth Floor

Monday starting at 6 PM

A picture of Sora was in the middle of the poster, wearing the same lopsided grin he had worn during the conference.

"You guys see this yet?" asked the boy as he walked into the lounge, flyer in hand.

Samurai Goroh briefly looked up from his phone to nod. "Yeah, we all got one. Sheesh," he muttered, scanning over his own flyer. "They're really rolling out the red carpet for this kid, eh?"

"Makes sense," shrugged the Hammer Brother. "From what I've heard, they've been gunnin' for him for ages… like, before last tournament, even."

"I suppose he has every right to," mused Krystal. "Wouldn't you indulge a bit, if you were in his place?"

"Mmm." Isaac rolled his neck, then briefly glanced over the flyer. "Hey, do you know what kind of dress code this is?"

Samurai Goroh adjusted his glasses. "They used the word 'gala', kid. Obviously it's formal." He got up. "If anyone needs me, I'll be learning how to make a tux."

Sensing that the conversation had fallen into a lull, Isaac followed Samurai Goroh's example, slipping out the door and down the hallway. He glanced over the flyer in his hand. Goroh's words echoed in his head. They're really rolling out the red carpet for this kid…

Isaac frowned, ever so slightly. When he had last been here, there had been no such concept of Decidedly Late Challengers. When he had been around, the mansion had been much smaller, too. His mind flooded with the memory of that day, arriving in the World of Trophies and gaping at just how much things had changed, just how big everything had gotten. And he had only missed one tournament! The remainder of the ordeal had been excruciatingly dull, all the reviewing of contracts and the Code of Conduct, and the seemingly endless deluge of paperwork. He suddenly remembered a specific moment, still stinging after learning he'd be an assistant once again and signing what must have been his four thousandth liability waiver, tartly hoping that the other Assist Trophies had felt as lost and overwhelmed as he did.

…His mind returning to the present, Isaac wondered exactly how the other assistants had gotten on without him. Things may have changed in the World of Trophies, but after the Alchemy incident, things in Vale, or what was left of it, mostly returned to their normal pace.

Speaking of…

Isaac stopped in the middle of the hallway as he wondered how his friends in Vale were doing. Getting skipped over for the fourth tournament had definitely stung, but every cloud had a silver lining, as Garet would say. Weyard was changing constantly, but life went on. When he hadn't been investigating the mysterious spatial distortions that had started popping up with Garet, he often found himself simply relaxing and catching up with his friends. Considering his growing concerns that these phenomena would cause problems in the future, the chance to just hang out was a welcome respite. After everything he'd gone through, he felt he'd earned the right to relax every once in a while.

…Maybe it had been worth it after all, not making the cut that time.

"Isaac! Isaac!"

Footsteps, swift and childishly hasty, sounded from around the corner. Isaac snapped his head up just in time to see Starfy feverishly tottering toward him, a flyer in his stubby hands. "Isaac!" he called out again. "Did you see? Did you see?!"

"Yeah, I saw," chuckled Isaac, kneeling down to meet the star's eye level. "You excited?"

Starfy nodded, shaking his entire body in the process. "Uh-huh! I wanna meet Sora! He's so cool!" He hopped back and forth on his feet, flapping his stubby hands. "I can't wait, I can't wait!"

Isaac had to admit, Starfy's enthusiasm was proving more infectious by the second. "Honestly, y'know what, Starf? So am I, now that you mention it!"

Starfy smiled widely for a split second before the expression was replaced with one of sudden recollection. "Oh, yeah! I almost forgot! Isaac, I need your help!"

"Huh?" Isaac raised his eyebrows. "What do you need help with?"

Starfy stared up at the boy with a serious countenance that was almost unfitting. "It's about Mister Waluigi."

Oh, boy. Isaac shut his eyes briefly. The tale of a certain… dispute between Waluigi and the Hands had spread rather quickly. Nobody had seen him since that day, not that anyone was complaining. "…What about Waluigi?" he asked slowly.

"He hasn't come out of his room in days!" explained Starfy, who was now taking the Adept by the hand to lead him to the room in question. "Every time I try to talk to him, he just says, 'Waah!' What if he's sick? What if he won't be able to come to the party?"

Isaac stopped walking. "Um, Starfy? I… really don't think it's a great idea to help Waluigi right now."

Starfy whirled around to face Isaac, his eyes huge with worry. "What?! Why not?"

"Because…" Isaac fumbled with his hands, looking for the right words. "I really think he just… wants to be alone right now. Why don't we just wait until the day of, and talk to him then?"

Starfy's agitated pout told Isaac that was the wrong answer. "No!" he cried. "If we wait, it'll be too late! We have to help him now!" He began to tug at Isaac's sleeve again. "C'mon, we have to hurry!"

Gently, Isaac pulled his hand back. "Starfy, why are you so worried about Waluigi, anyways?"

"Because he's my friend!" said Starfy, nearly reaching the end of his patience. "He's friends with Mister Wario, and Mister Wario is my friend. So Mister Waluigi is my friend!"

The question of why exactly Starfy was friends with Wario balanced on Isaac's tongue. But seeing how riled Starfy looked now, he figured it was best not to press the subject.

"Please," repeated Starfy, almost a whisper. "We have to help him."

Isaac heaved a heavy sigh. "Alright, fine. Fine. Lead the way, Starf."

"Starf" was off like a shot, scampering away and up a hall, leaving Isaac to hurry after him. For his short stature and lack of knees, the little star proved to be quite quick. "This way! This way!" he encouraged, as if Isaac did not know the path to their destination.

At last, the two of them arrived at Waluigi's room. The door was fairly obvious, tall and with an inverted letter L stamped on it, chips of purple paint flaking off in places. An odd, indistinct scent wafted out from the crack under the door.

Starfy approached the door and knocked one, two, three times. "Mister Waluigi?" he called out. "Are you okay?"

There was no answer at first. A soft "waaaah" croaked from inside.

Starfy turned to Isaac and gave him a plaintive look: see what I mean? He turned back to the door. "Um, Mister Waluigi?" he hesitated. "I brought a friend."

"…Who?" rasped a voice.

"It's Isaac!" chirped Starfy. "He'll help you feel better!"

Isaac did a double-take. "Uh, no, I won't?"

"I'm not sick," grouched Waluigi. "Go away."

Starfy pouted, while Isaac just sighed and tapped his foot. "If you're not sick, then why are you stuck in your room?" asked the star. "If you stay in there too long, you'll miss the party for Sora!"

Somehow, both Isaac and Starfy could feel Waluigi bristling from behind the door. "Waaah," he grunted, much gruffer and sharper than the last one.

It seemed that they had reached an impasse. Starfy pouted even more, and he softly, but no less agitatedly, stomped his foot, while Isaac, who had already pieced things together, simply rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet. He was about to suggest that they simply leave him alone until the party, but Starfy fixed him with a pleading look, eyes big and begging: please help! Do something!

Figuring that he had no real choice in the matter (and he probably didn't), Isaac figured there was only one thing to do.

"Y'know, what? Starfy, I think, um, Dr. Wright is looking for you, for help with the uh… streamers. Why don't you go help him, and I'll handle Waluigi?"

"Really? Um, okay." Starfy scurried off, but not before calling, "Don't worry, Mister Waluigi! Isaac will make you feel better!" Isaac was left alone in front of the door.

A part of Isaac's brain, one that sounded a lot like Phosphora, told him to just turn right around and leave Waluigi in there. But the image of Starfy's big, pleading eyes appeared in his mind's eye and firmly planted itself there, putting an end to any internal deliberation before it even began. He walked up and knocked on the door. "Waluigi," he said.

No answer.

Isaac knocked again. "Starfy left, man. It's just me."

Still nothing.

Isaac let out an exaggerated sigh. "Come on, man, say something."

Waluigi did, in fact, say something. "Come to kick me while I'm down, have you?" he grouched.

"No, I'm not," muttered Isaac, silently wondering why Starfy was so eager to call him a friend. "You're not actually sick, are you?"

"I already told you no," came the answer.

"Yeah, I figured." Isaac paused. "Not a big fan of Sora, I take it?"

"No."

"Mmm." An awkward silence passed. Checking over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, Isaac continued. "I don't know why, but Starfy… he's really worried about you, y'know." That makes one of us, he added mentally.

"Is that so," Waluigi grunted.

"Yeah." Isaac chuckled softly. "The little guy practically dragged me over here to help you. I guess he probably sees the good in you somewhere… deep inside." He waited for a response, and not hearing one, he went on. "I know exactly why you locked yourself up, you know. And I'm gonna skip over that, 'cause that's a whole other thing."

Waluigi was silent.

Isaac ran a hand down his face. "Look, I… I'm not asking you to show up and be all buddy-buddy with the new guy. Hell, you can just stay in the corner and brood for all I care. Just… at least try to come. At least pretend to be a good sport about it. Please? For once?"

There was no response.

Isaac sighed again. "Look, if nothing else, Wario and Starfy are gonna be there. Everyone else will be there, so…"

Only the faint rustle of fabric gave any indication that Waluigi heard Isaac's words.

Isaac made a gesture that was halfway between a shrug and throwing his hands up. Clearly, he was getting nowhere with this. At least he could tell Starfy he tried. "I'll see you there, I guess," he mumbled. And with that, he slowly trudged off.

But inside the room, Waluigi had indeed been paying attention. Ever since his formal complaint, he had sat in his room, replaying the events of that day in his mind. The hands' words still vexed him to his core. Out-prioritized by a dog, eh? 'Nothing special', eh? And now they had the nerve to invite him to a party in that no-hoper's honor? Initially, he had planned to not go. None of those losers deserved to be graced with his presence.

He got up. Isaac's words had sparked something inside him. No, he was not a big fan of Sora. Not in the slightest. But, if everyone was going to be there, then who was he to spoil such a clearly important day?

"After all," he said to the dartboard with Luigi's face stapled onto it, "you can't have a good party without Waluigi, can you?"

The dartboard did not answer.

"His big debut, and who's going to take all the glory?" he asked no one in particular. "I will, that's who! Waaa ha ha ha ha!"

Waluigi adjusted his hat and combed at his mustache. This Sora guy may have been the last Decidedly Late Challenger, but there was still room for Waluigi time.

He picked up his phone. First things first, he had to text Wario…

Author's Notes: And so it continues.

Ouch, a harsh dose of reality for Waluigi. But he is nothing if not persistent (and irritatingly so). I wonder what he's got planned...?