As most everyone knew, Master Hand took a great deal of pride in the Super Smash Brothers tournament, and it wasn't difficult to see why. Creating such a spectacle, connecting so many people in one place, bringing the bravest of heroes, the most wicked of villains, and everyone in between together, not just in the context of pitched combat, but in community, in brotherhood, in genuine friendship… it was certainly a sight to behold. Many participants in the tournament would agree that he deserved to hold his head (or hand, as it were) high. It was, in his words, one of, if not the greatest fighting tournaments in all of creation.

But despite its status as such, the Super Smash Brothers tournament was, for all intents and purposes, a sporting event, broadcast far and wide to all the universes involved. And with the spectators for such an event came those who would bet on the outcome.

Thus, in the third iteration of the tournament, Master Hand introduced the Spectator's Corner, a place where attendees could place wagers on the outcome of any given match. It wasn't just limited to those in the audience—assistants and fighters alike could choose to bet, if they were able. (It was technically frowned upon among the latter, but nobody really paid too much attention to that.) This continued in the fourth tournament, but due to… certain accusations leveled at the organizers, the system was overhauled for the fifth tournament, removing most, but not all, of the monetary stakes. This change was met with mild grumbling from some, and general indifference by pretty much everyone else.

But for those some, old habits died hard…

Somewhere deep below the mansion, far beyond the prying eyes of the directors, three figures sat huddled around an old round table in silent anticipation. The air was hot and dry, smelling of old wood and stale earth, dust dancing in the cone of light cast by a solitary bare light bulb that hung from the ceiling. On occasion, footsteps would sound from above, sending streams of powdery dirt cascading from the ceiling. A single television stood in the corner, reflecting three blurred silhouettes on its glossy surface.

The first figure, a tall man in a leather jacket, steepled his fingers. "Alright," he announced in a low voice. "Everything's all clear?"

The second, an imp wearing a horned helmet, pulled a receiver from the wall and held it to her ear. After a moment, she snapped it back to its place with a nod of her head. "Lookout says we're golden."

"All clear, eh?" The third, a powerfully built man with circle-framed sunglasses, reached down under the table and pulled out a black duffel bag. He unzipped the bag and flipped it upside down, letting it spill out its treasure. Coins of varying sizes colored gold, silver and bronze, each engraved with the tournament logo, tumbled onto the table, with bills fluttering out soon after. The man shook the bag again, and yet more flowed forth. Purple seashells, golden rings, gemstones of a variety of colors, flat, glasslike hearts, orbs colored yellow and blue, and an assortment of golden coins, each with their own sizes and inscriptions, piled up high like a pirate's bounty.

The leather jacketed man grinned. "Alright. Let the games begin."

All three people dug into their pockets and plunked down yet more currency onto the table. More gemstones from the imp, fancily-embossed tokens from the man with the duffel bag, and a variety of golden objects, some with little red and blue baubles attached to them, from the leather jacketed man.

The sunglasses man put away his duffel bag and leaned back in his chair. "Midna, who's on the schedule today?"

Midna pulled out a phone and swiped across its screen, bathing her face in a cold glow. "All the matches today are part of the One-Stock Special. First one is Doctor Mario up against Cloud, then it's… Incineroar against Mr. Game & Watch, oh that should be fun… oh, great. Little Mac versus Jigglypuff. That's gonna take forever. Hmm… blah, blah, blah… oooh! Captain Falcon versus Min Min! That's today's headliner!" She glanced over at the man in sunglasses. "That oughta get your attention, huh, Goroh?" She nudged him with her hair morphed into an arm.

It did indeed get Goroh's attention, as the frown that suddenly adorned Samurai Goroh's face could attest. "Falcon's pretty fast. Plenty of power behind his hits. But he's gotta get up close and personal to get the job done." His lip curled in a contemptuous sneer. "Min Min walls him out. He doesn't have a prayer."

Behind him, the leather jacketed man cleared his throat. "Hate to, uh, correct you, but what makes you think Falcon ain't patient enough to wait her out?"

Goroh turned to face him, the look of disdain on his face quite clear. "It's Falcon. You've seen him fight. You know how he is. All those fancy-lookin' flips and stunts. Sure looks nice when he's up against a big and slow guy like K. Rool or Ganon, but against someone like Diddy or Game & Watch or Sonic, or even Simon or Pit? He'll be lucky if he gets a single hit in."

"Counterpoint," said Midna. "It actually looks way cooler when he does all those fancy combos against Pit."

Samurai Goroh squinted at her. "No, it doesn't."

"It very much does," said the man in the leather jacket.

"See, Rodin agrees with me!" laughed the imp. "You're outnumbered, Goroh!"

"I—buh—" Goroh sputtered. He whirled on Rodin. "You—you're just saying that 'cause you like watching Pit get his teeth kicked in!"

"And you," countered Rodin, peering at him from behind his own sunglasses, "are only saying that 'cause you want to watch Falcon lose."

"Of course I do!" shouted Goroh, pounding his fist on the table. "You would, too, if he beat you to the punch every chance you got! If he constantly got there first when you were chasing your… angels, or whatever, you'd want to see him get beat up, too! I—"

A slap to the back of the head put an end to any further complaining. "Shut up," said Midna, her hair fitting back into her helmet. "Matches are starting."

All three pairs of eyes turned to the television, which Rodin turned on at the push of a button. The screen flickered to blurry life, and after a moment, the static cleared to display the image of two fighters, a man with a well-groomed mustache in an immaculate white coat and head mirror and a lean, yet toned young man with spiky blond hair, dramatically posing next to each other, a jagged line of lightning dividing the two.

"Alright, here we go," declared Rodin, summoning his auctioneer's bark and rubbing his hands. "Place your bets! Who you got?"

Midna slid a pile of gemstones across the table, their purple and silver facets shining in the dim light. "I got six hundred Rupees on Cloud."

Samurai Goroh gathered up two handfuls of coins and held them out to Rodin. "Four hundred space credits on Cloud."

"Five hundred halos on Cloud," said Rodin, tossing a handful of golden baubles onto the pile.

On the screen, a wall of multicolored pills fell away to reveal the doctor, while Cloud fell from above and caught his sword with a flourish. From far away, a voice called out:

"Three… two… one… Go!"

The fighters sized each other up, Cloud brandishing his sword, and Dr. Mario bouncing on the balls of his feet. The assistants waited in the darkness of the room, unblinking, brows tightly knitted.

Cloud broke first. He rushed at the doctor, who held his ground, putting up his shield to dodge or counterattack, or perhaps expecting to seize Cloud once his assault ended.

What Dr. Mario (apparently) did not expect was for Cloud to swivel around him and grab him from behind. His shock was palpable even on the television's tiny screen. Cloud kneed him in the stomach and launched him up into the air with a crescent kick, continuing his assault by thrusting the edge of his sword after him.

"C'mon, c'mon! Get 'em!" shouted Midna. "Give 'em the Midgar Special!"

The Midgar Special continued for a few more hits until Dr. Mario was launched too high for Cloud to follow up with any further attacks. Given a brief reprieve, Cloud brought his hands together, engulfing himself in a turquoise aura as a bar that spontaneously appeared above his head began to fill.

Said reprieve abruptly ended the moment Dr. Mario came back down, stomping on Cloud's head with both feet to bounce him off the floor of the stage. Once he properly landed, he immediately followed it up with an arcing headbutt, flinging the swordsman away and dangerously close to the edge of the stage.

"So how long do you think," asked Goroh as the combatants continued to clash, "until Cloud takes it?"

"Okay," began Midna. "Okay. Okay, I have nothing against Dr. Mario, but I do not see him lasting two minutes against Cloud. Even with the adjustments they got for this tournament."

Indeed, a series of quick slashes on Cloud's part had sent the doctor flying away and off the stage. It was only by a well-timed leaping uppercut that Dr. Mario was able to grab the stage's edge.

"Easy money," said Rodin with a small shake of his head. "Easy money."

"Easy money is right," concurred Midna. "If this was during the height of the last tournament, this match'd be over by now."

The fight went on, with Cloud keeping Dr. Mario on the defensive, slowly whittling away at his defenses, and the three spectators watching with slowly waning interest, until Dr. Mario was knocked off the stage once again. He tried to make it back to solid ground, spinning rapidly with his arms outstretched, but Cloud had already chased after him. A decisive midair slash from Cloud put an end to any hopes of recovery, sending Dr. Mario careening into the chasm above which the stage floated.

"Game!"

"Okay then!" declared Samurai Goroh as the display switched to Cloud standing solemnly in a rocky area as confetti rained from above. "Time for the payoff!"

Rodin snapped his fingers, and a dark red leather-bound book, glowing with dark energy, materialized in front of him. He produced a black quill from somewhere on his person and scribbled a few numbers inside. The book glowed even more intensely, and after a moment, more Rupees, space credits and halos spewed forth from its pages, landing in front of each of the bettors.

Samurai Goroh's face split into a grin as he pocketed the money, Midna doing the same beside him. "That's what I'm talkin' about!" he chortled as he counted up his winnings. "Who's up next?"

"Incineroar against Game & Watch." Rodin peered over his book for a moment before snapping it shut, the book disappearing in a puff of red smoke. "Who you got?"

"Five hundred Rupees on Game & Watch," said Midna, sliding her cash to Rodin.

Samurai Goroh thought for a long time. "Eight hundred space credits on Incineroar."

"Y—what?!" Midna's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Even Rodin looked bewildered. "What?! You're going for Incineroar?! Do you want to lose?!"

"Listen, listen," said Goroh, holding out an open, hopefully-pacifying hand. "Game & Watch doesn't have the endurance to hold out for that long. The minute Incineroar so much as sneezes on him, he's a goner."

"Odds are five to one, Game & Watch's favor," said Rodin. "I ain't gonna stop you, but are you sure about this?"

"Positive." Goroh's face was set, his brows tightly knit. "Once Incineroar gets that Revenge boost, you'll see. Eight hundred on Incineroar."

On the screen, a black silhouette wandered onto the stage along a row of LCD frames, while a red-and-white ball was thrown onto the opposite side, releasing a muscular, humanoid feline creature with red and black fur.

"Three… two… one… Go!"

"C'mon, Game 'n Watch," muttered Midna. "Mama needs a new pair of shoes."

Samurai Goroh frowned. "You don't even wear shoes."

"Figure of speech, ya dunce."

Incineroar held its ground, arms positioned to prepare for a wristlock, as Mr. Game & Watch charged forward full pelt. When the two met in the center of the stage, Incineroar quickly switched its stance, pointing its chest outward, and Mr. Game & Watch leapt upward, fishbowl in hand, to—

"Ca-caaaaaaaw!"

A loud rumble sounded from below, the room shaking with the noise. The three spectators scrambled to regain their bearings as a creature with the head of a bird and the body of a snake (bizarrely, wearing a headset) burst forth from the ground. It regarded the three for a moment, and let out another deafening squawk.

"Burrowing Snagret?!" asked Samurai Goroh. "What the hell's going on?"

When this particular not-entirely legal betting association had first begun, Rodin had somehow enlisted the help of the Burrowing Snagret to act as a sentry of sorts, to keep watch in case anyone were to dig up something they'd rather not see. (Rodin's words.) With its ability to sense the vibrations of intruders above ground, it would make a fine guard dog, or guard snake-bird, as it were.

…But wait. If it was here, then that meant—

"Someone's found us," said Rodin. "Set up the front."

The three of them set straight to work, taking down charts and bulletin boards, gathering up the cash of dubious origin and stuffing it into Goroh's duffel bag, tucked safely under the table, and turning off the television, complete with throwing a tarp over it to cover it completely. Now it looked less like a technically illegitimate betting ring and more like a dusty, abandoned storage room that an imp, a racecar driver, and a fallen angel had made their stomping ground. Still shady, yes, but very much legal!

A knock came from the door, making them all jump. "Who's there?" asked Goroh, breaking the silence.

"Hello?" came a voice, timid and soft. "I'm, uh, here for your delivery…"

Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was only Chef Kawasaki, who wouldn't dream of ratting them out. In fact, he was actually one of the only people privy to their situation… to a certain degree.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, come on in," said Midna. Beside her, Rodin dismissed the Burrowing Snagret, but not before tossing it a few golden coins from his pocket.

The door opened, and Chef Kawasaki hesitantly stepped into the room. He carried a large paper bag in one hand, and a basket of dirty clothes in the other. "I, uh… I brought the stuff you need."

Samurai Goroh snatched the bag from his stubby hand, frowning as he inspected it. "What, no oregano?"

"Yeah, I've been trying to order some, actually." That same hand went to the back of Kawasaki's head. "Feels like it's been on the wait-list for weeks. …Oh! But I did throw in some of those jalapeños you like!"

"Much obliged, chef." Midna took the bag of foodstuffs from Goroh while taking the dirty clothes from Kawasaki, placing the latter in Goroh's hands. "Always a pleasure working with you."

"No problem!" Chef Kawasaki gave a bright smile. "I'm always happy to help people with their culinary aspirations!" His smile faded. "But… what exactly are you doing down here?"

"Laundromat," answered Midna, at the exact same time Samurai Goroh said "taco stand".

Chef Kawasaki blinked. "It's a taco stand… and a laundromat? Like one of those combination stores?"

Midna and Samurai Goroh shared a look. "Yes. That's exactly what this is."

In the back, Rodin pressed his hand against his forehead, slowly dragging it down his face.

Chef Kawasaki just stared at them for a moment. Then, at last, he said, "Well, okay, then." He turned to go, but paused midway through the door. "But wouldn't it be easier to just use the upstairs washing machi—"

Midna shut the door in Chef Kawasaki's face with her hair, making sure to lock it, just in case. She turned back to Rodin and Samurai Goroh with a smile. "I think that went pretty well."

The unimpressed state that Rodin gave her and Goroh told her that it did not, in fact, go very well at all. "Remind me what you said the front for this place was gonna be again?"

"Okay, well, I wanted it to be a laundromat," began Midna, "but Goroh wanted it to be an underground taco stand, 'cause that wouldn't give us away."

"Of course it wouldn't!" said Samurai Goroh. "People love tacos, they wouldn't blink an eye at a taco stand all the way down here!"

"They wouldn't blink an eye at an underground laundromat, either," countered Midna.

"Okay, but are you really going to go to the basement for laundry?"

"Y—Are you seri—? …Yes. That's literally where it's supposed to go."

"What, you don't do your laundry in the kitchen?"

"…Who does their laundry in the kitch—"

"Guys." Rodin's voice cut through the argument, making both parties stand at attention. "I don't give a damn what the front is. Just make sure you're on the same page, alright?" He sat down in his chair and placed the cash back on the table. "Now then, where were we?"

Midna pouted as her hair stretched out to turn on the television. "Still think a laundromat makes more sense."

The television screen lit up, where two well-dressed Miis sat at a desk. Incineroar and Mr. Game & Watch were nowhere to be seen.

"—don't think anyone expected that outcome! Truly an amazing showing from both fighters, but Game & Watch just could not close it out in the decisive moments—"

"Oh, what the hell!" shouted Midna, pounding on the table with both her normal fists and her hair morphed into one. "How the hell do you botch this matchup?!"

The display switched to a replay of Incineroar unsteadily getting to its feet just as Mr. Game & Watch rushed at it. He held up a sign displaying the number 9, and swung with a hammer…

…Right as Incineroar puffed out its chest, causing a flash of flame. Its fur glowed orange as it flashed a toothy grin.

"Oh, come on," groaned the imp as Incineroar grabbed Mr. Game & Watch and suplexed him off the stage. To her left, Samurai Goroh cackled and Rodin wrote in his book, more money spilling forth and onto the table.

Samurai Goroh, for his part, was all too happy to gloat. "Told you Game & Watch doesn't have the endurance," he crowed, counting his cash. "Five to one odds…" He chortled as he pocketed the cash. "Hoho, I'm treating myself tonight! Who's next on the schedule?"

Midna scowled as she checked her phone. "Mac n' Puff. Ugh, and it's on Omega Distant Planet. Screw it, five hundred fifty on Mac. He's too volatile for Puff to catch up."

"Mmm…" Samurai Goroh rubbed his chin. "I'm feelin' good about this one. Seven hundred on Jigglypuff."

"Three hundred on Mac," said Rodin. "Sit tight, fellas. This is gonna take a while."

On the screen, Little Mac jogged onto the stage, flinging off his pink jumpsuit when he reached his position. Across from him, another ball was thrown, this time revealing a round creature with catlike ears and big, glassy eyes.

"Three… two… one… Go!"

Little Mac did not go; in fact, he stayed firmly in place, face guarded, keeping a close eye on Jigglypuff, who had immediately leapt up and begun to float towards him. It took a deep breath and inflated its body, simultaneously floating a few feet higher and backpedaling away from the boxer. As it began to fall again, Jigglypuff reinflated itself to float back towards its opponent, bobbing just out of swinging distance. The moment Little Mac took a step forward, Jigglypuff immediately changed direction, narrowly dodging the swing of his fist.

"If either of you want to interact," Midna told the television, "please be my guest."

After roughly thirty seconds of this dance, Little Mac's patience finally ran out. He charged at the Pokémon, crouching low to the ground, and swung with an uppercut in hopes of knocking it out of the sky. He swung at empty air, just long enough for Jigglypuff to glide right into his face to strike him with a dropkick. Evidently, Jigglypuff had no intention of pushing its luck, for it puffed back out of range just as Mac recovered.

This tango continued for a full minute, with Jigglypuff bobbing and weaving out of the range of Little Mac's punches, only striking once and zipping away before he could strike back. His damage percentage, placed at the bottom of the screen next to Jigglypuff's, grew steadily higher.

"Come on, commit!" Goroh scowled as he sighed through his nose. "Why doesn't it just follow up?"

"Ain't it obvious?" answered Midna, leaning back in her chair. "You've seen how Mac fights. One more attack and he'll just power right through it. And with how light Puff is, it'll get launched like that." She punctuated her assertion with a snap of her fingers.

On the screen, Little Mac darted in for another hit, with all the same luck that his previous attempts got him. This time, Jigglypuff pivoted around to cuff him with a roundhouse kick. The boxer went flying off the stage, and by the grace of some higher power, his general flailing and spinning uppercut was enough to let him grab the edge of the stage.

"Okay, this is gonna take a while." Samurai Goroh rested a cheek in his palm, while Rodin took out a cigar and lit it with his thumb. "At least my guy's still in the lead."

Keeping his eye on Jigglypuff, Mac reared back, preparing to unleash a haymaker. Jigglypuff stayed away, floating in place, preparing to counterattack once the attack whiffed.

A second passed. Two seconds. Jigglypuff finally landed, putting up its shield, and Little Mac swung with a rather vicious body hook.

Jigglypuff's shield shrunk to nearly the size of a fist. Before it could react, Little Mac threw a punch at its foot, which was just enough for its shield to shatter. The force of the shattering launched it up, up and away, out of the boundaries of the stage.

"Game!"

"Oh, what?!" Samurai Goroh threw his hands up. "What was that?! Why would you try to shield that?!"

"I'm tellin' ya," sang Midna with a wag of her finger. "Mac, man. C'mon, you of all people should remember this. Remember when he first became a fighter and he just bulldozed over everyone in those first few weeks?"

Samurai Goroh sat back down, a bit calmer, and nodded, stroking his chin. "Yeah, I remember the media coverage about that. Man, they were on that like piranhas to gristle. All those articles in the Smash Gazette, all those pretentious opinion pieces… the—the rigging allegations!" He covered his eyes and shook his head. "God, that was a rough start. Don't know how Master Hand got through it…"

"Heh. Speaking of a media firestorm…" Rodin paused, steepling his fingers. Midna stifled the sarcastic reply forming on her tongue to look at him, with Goroh mirroring her action. His eyes were hidden by his dark sunglasses, but the way they glinted in the scant light sent the clear message that he had something important to say. "…How do y'all think Waluigi is holdin' up right now?"

Somehow, the light bulb dimmed even further. Midna's expression suddenly became very pinched, while Samurai Goroh pressed a fist to his mouth and avoided Rodin's eyes. Even the vibrations from above, caused by either rowdy footsteps or the digging of the Burrowing Snagret, had ceased.

The… events of that night had attracted the press like moths to a flame. But it was to be expected: for such an interruption like that to happen under Master Hand's watch on live television was unthinkable for those close enough to him. The articles in the Gazette that had come out over the following month seemed almost endless, with some of the more rabid (Midna's words) of them calling for a serious investigation into the situation, if not demanding that Waluigi be outright removed from the Assist Trophy lineup. But even those faded out after a couple more weeks, and things had gone quietly back to normal. For their part, the Mario brothers had dismissed his little stunt as just business as usual for him—just typical Waluigi, acting out as usual.

…But if the official summons Waluigi had received the morning after (and Dr. Wright's shouts that could be heard from Master Hand's office) meant anything, things weren't quite back to normal. There was still tension simmering behind the scenes, if the way the worker Miis whispered when they thought no one was listening held any value.

Speaking of Dr. Wright, had he really felt the need to give everyone a particularly emphatic lecture after he'd finished dressing down Waluigi? Sheesh. That jerk always seemed to drag everyone down with him.

Midna sighed and shook her head. "He'll be fine, probably. If Mario and Luigi are telling the truth, he's probably gotten over it by now."

Rodin kept a stone face. "I, for one, find it weird how Wario's suddenly made himself scarce. Ain't they brothers?"

"I don't think so," shrugged Samurai Goroh. "And I don't blame him. Most likely, he figured it wasn't worth all that trouble with the Hands. He probably got out while the gettin' was good." He slouched back in his chair. "Speaking of getting out, I'm surprised Wally actually—"

"Hold up, hold up, hold up," said Midna, eyes fully trained on the screen. "Last match is starting."

Rodin nodded, his book snapping shut. "Here we go.. Who you got?"

"Six hundred on Captain Falcon," declared Midna, plunking down a hair-handful of Rupees on the table.

Rodin leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Eight hundred on Falcon," he announced.

Both assistants turned to Samurai Goroh. "Well?" asked Midna. "What's your handle?"

Goroh's hands were folded in front of his mouth. His glasses caught the scant light above, supplying a hard glint to his eyes. "All in, Min Min."

Rodin quirked an eyebrow as Goroh slid his money across the table. "Odds are fifty-five-forty-five, Min Min's favor. You sure about this?"

"All in." Goroh's face was set, beaded with sweat.

On the television, Captain Falcon vaulted out of his Blue Falcon racing machine, while Min Min corkscrewed onto the opposite side.

"This is it, folks! Three… two… one… Go!"

Immediately, Min Min threw a punch with her right arm, equipped with a flaming orange ring—a Ramram, if Rodin remembered correctly. Captain Falcon hopped up to dodge, stray embers barely licking his skintight suit. The stage—Wuhu Island—was big, but Goroh had spoken true: Falcon was fast. He closed the gap in seconds, his punches coming as quick and precise as a thrown medical scalpel. No sooner did Min Min try to block than Falcon caught hold of one of her arms, body-slamming her to the ground and striking with two kicks on the rebound.

Min Min stretched out an arm to grab the edge, narrowly dodging a bicycle kick. She climbed up and threw another punch, this time, hitting the recovering Falcon square in the chin. It wasn't quite enough to knock him out, but it was still enough to throw him off-kilter, forcing him to jump up from below to grab the ledge. By the time Captain Falcon had climbed back up, Min Min had already retreated a bit, choosing to swap from the Ramram to a mechanical dragon head.

"What is she doing?" asked Samurai Goroh. "You have the Ramram; that's the fastest one! Why switch now?"

The fighters clashed in the center of the stage. Or, to be more accurate, Captain Falcon slapped the mechanical dragon, which answered by opening its mouth and firing a laser directly into his face. He took another step forward, and was greeted by its twin, who was all too eager to introduce him to its own laser.

The racer hit the ground and tucked into a roll to get out of range and gauge his next move. The latter action lasted all of two seconds as he burst forward with a flaming kick.

"Falcon Kick!" cried Rodin and Midna in time with Captain Falcon. Samurai Goroh remained silent.

Captain Falcon gave Min Min very little room to breathe. He was in hot pursuit, assaulting Min Min with a flurry of midair kicks and knee strikes, bringing her dangerously close to the edge of the stage. ("Go for the Knee!" shouted Midna.) Leaping up above her, he stomped with both feet, sending her hurtling down into the chasm the stage floated above. Goroh's fists clenched, and the unseen crowd sucked in a breath.

A dragon caught the edge in its mouth just as she slipped by it, barely saving her, but causing her arm to stretch nearly to its limit. Min Min dropped just short of the lower boundaries. The crowd held its breath. The assistants leaned forward, gripping the arms of their chairs. Captain Falcon stood at the edge of the stage, leg lifted to deliver a final kick.

Min Min's dangling arm twitched, almost imperceptibly, and it snapped back into position, rocketing her up back to safety, past the ledge, and directly into Captain Falcon's thigh.

The crowd hollered even louder, watching Falcon stumble backwards. This time, Goroh cheered with his fellow bettors as Min Min landed gracefully on a higher platform.

Speaking of which, she wasn't quite done yet. Just as Falcon regained his bearings, Min Min sent another dragon towards him, its LED eyes glowing. It bounced harmlessly against his shield, which distracted him long enough for Min Min to send the other dragon and hook it around his upper arm.

"What the—"

Min Min yanked, and sent Captain Falcon spinning in place, his body becoming a blur. The crowd rippled with laughter. For his part, Goroh's cackling did not ripple so much as it gushed forth like a high-pressure washer. Min Min switched to a large, mine-shaped weapon, the Megawatt, and moved in closer for the end.

Just as she was within swinging distance, Falcon delivered a sudden, flaming backhanded punch to the side of her head, using the spin as a torque and planting a foot down to stop himself once he had made contact. Min Min tore through the air and back towards the stage.

Samurai Goroh stopped laughing. "What?" he said.

Min Min was able to right herself in midair and send out the Megawatt, electricity sparking dangerously over its surface. Captain Falcon darted past it and leapt up to deliver a powerful knee strike, directly into Min Min's ribcage. Once again, she was sent flying, a magnifying glass graphic highlighting just how close she was to the stage boundaries.

Midna cheered wildly, pounding on the table with her fists. "What?" shouted Samurai Goroh.

The television was small, but it was large enough to see the smirk on Captain Falcon's face. He rushed off the stage, jumping directly towards stage boundaries. His right fist glowed with fire.

"Falcon…!"

It was a miracle no one discovered their hiding spot, so loud were Midna and Rodin's cheers. On the television, the crowd nearly screamed themselves hoarse. Confetti rained down as Captain Falcon stood in the same rocky area that Cloud stood in not fifteen minutes ago.

"What?!" screamed Samurai Goroh.

"All right!" laughed Rodin. His book glowed a dark red as Rupees and halos burst forth like a fountain, the currencies landing in neat piles in front of their bettors. The book glowed again, a dark plum, and all of Samurai Goroh's winnings were sucked right into it, as if someone had turned on a vacuum. Once it was all gone, the book snapped shut with a thud (and, if Midna and Goroh's ears were correct, a distinct belch).

"Oh, come on," grouched Samurai Goroh. He looked towards the ceiling, hands raised. "How do you lose when you can hit someone from halfway across the stage?!"

Rodin could only shrug. "Hey, I tried to warn ya." His smile was sharp and sardonic. "Can't push your luck too much around here."

"Yeah, and considering how badly you lost out there," drawled Midna, "that's probably a walk in the park for you."

Samurai Goroh snorted as he turned his eyes towards the ground. "Yeah, that's real swell. Another day, another point where Falcon screws me out of a prize."

"Well, you know what they say." There was a cheeky glint in Rodin's shades. "You roll the dice, you pay the price."

Midna pulled a face. "God, that was cheesy even for you."

Rodin chuckled. "Couldn't resist." He rose, making the light bulb above sway. "Well. If I stick around here too long, people are gonna start lookin' for me." From the way he stressed 'people' it sounded like a very specific group thereof. "And I'd bet people'll start looking for you, too, if y'all don't clear outta here."

He stooped down and picked up the duffel bag, clapping his hands twice when it was over his shoulder. "Pleasure doin' business with ya."

"Pleasure doing business with ya," Samurai Goroh mimicked. It wasn't a very good impression but that was the point, and Goroh was too cross to care. "Fifty-five to forty five odds… Hey, wait a minute, isn't that my—"

He turned, and Rodin was gone. The light bulb went out with a soft pop.

Midna let out a low, impressed whistle. "I gotta learn how to do that. And you oughta learn how to hedge your bets. Well, see you later." She patted Goroh's shoulder with a hair-hand, snapped her fingers, and disappeared in a cluster of black and yellow rectangles.

Samurai Goroh glared at the place where Midna once floated. "You oughta learn how to hedge your bets," he mocked. It was even worse than his earlier impression. "Sometimes, it feels like nobody takes me seriously."

The Burrowing Snagret popped up from the dirt, knocking over Goroh's chair. It looked around the room before settling on the only other occupant, regarding him for a moment.

"What?" asked the racer. "You here to make fun of me, too?"

"Ca-caaaaaaw!" it said.

"Quiet, you."

The Burrowing Snagret blinked at him, and retreated back underground.

Samurai Goroh huffed as he looked around the empty room. "And he took my freaking bag," he murmured.

He turned to go, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. One day, he'd be the one to claim his prize right in front of Falcon.

Someday.

Author's Notes: I've been wanting to do this for a while now! Certainly not because they butchered Spectator Mode. Nope. Nosiree.

Jeez, Chef Kawasaki certainly is a busy man (egg?), cooking for the participants and delivering food to technically-illegal bettors! I wonder if this will come to a head...