Waluigi knew he was in a dream from the moment he opened his eyes. He knew this dream because he'd had it several times before, and it always began the same way. He was in a ballroom, completely empty, royal purple curtains cascading from the windows, a slow waltz playing from an invisible orchestra.

And because he had had this dream several times before, he knew to turn around before he even heard her footsteps, pumps clacking against the tile, tangerine mermaid gown trailing behind her.

And he took Princess Daisy into his arms, swaying in time to the music, stepping and sliding, rising and falling. She leaned her head against his chest, the smell of honey wafting up into his nose.

"Oh… Daisy…" Waluigi purred. They never kissed in this dream. He would always wake up at the last minute. In that sense, he thought wryly, she remained just out of his reach, even in his dreams.

"My treasure," Daisy sighed in return. "My sunshine. My sweet little plum." She was looking directly at him now, her turquoise gaze piercing past his eyes and into something long forgotten within him, making his chest swell. That was another difference between this and the real world: she could stand to look at and speak to him. "How could I have been so blind for so long?"

"Waaah," Waluigi waaahed. "Just say my name, my rose, and I'm yours." That was all he really wanted here, he supposed. To hear his name on her tongue, without the scorn that usually followed or accompanied it.

Daisy ran a hand through his hair. The music picked up in tempo. Somewhere in Waluigi's peripheral vision, he thought he saw a flash of green. Good. Let him see firsthand what they deserved. Let him wallow in despair, like he always had for years!

And still, Daisy remained silent.

"Please," Waluigi whispered. "Say my name." A rose that wasn't there before appeared in his hand, and he slipped it behind Daisy's ear.

Daisy's lips parted. The music grew faster. The ballroom became a blur, fading to pastel watercolors, bubbles surrounding them.

A dainty gloved hand reached up to stroke his cheek. "Wa… Wa…"

Yes. That was it. He felt his heart pound faster in his chest. His mustache quivered with anticipation. "Say it," he near-pleaded.

"Waa… Waa…"

"Please, my darling, my angel." His hands began to tremble. "Say my name." Oh, please, please, anything to hear his name!

Daisy's lips parted, but no sound came out. She beckoned him closer with a single finger. He leaned in, his very skin tingling. No, no, she wouldn't dare… Would she?

She drew nearer to his face, to his pointed ear. Her breath was hot and smelled of rosemary. A thumb traced the outline of his chin, and there she whispered:

"…Wario."

The music, which had quickened past exhilarating and had become exhausting, abruptly fell silent.

"...Waah?"

Daisy stared up at him, smiling serenely.

The world around Waluigi cracked and shattered, a yawning chasm opening up where the ground once was.

"Waaaaaaaaa—"

Waluigi reached a futile hand out as he fell, only to be met with Daisy's tranquil, unblinking smile. He blinked, and that guy had manifested next to her, dressed in repulsive green, mustache groomed in an infuriating curve, rubbing the small of her back.

"If I'm second fiddle," he sneered, "what does that make you?"

The last thing Waluigi saw and heard was a jagged black mustache and a bellicose, thundering laugh, and all went black.


"They were all so impressed with your Halston dress

And the people that you knew at Elaine's,

And the story of your latest success

Kept 'em so entertained…"

Sunbeams, harsh and bright, shone directly over his eyes. He groaned and turned over in his bed.

"Aw, but now you just don't remember

All the things you said,

And you're not sure that you wanna know,

I'll give you one hint, honey:

You sure did put on a show…!"

A single lanky leg fell out of bed, tapping at the floor for a slipper. Finding its prize, the other soon followed, sliding into its twin, a purple felt slipper with an upside down letter L monogrammed onto the toes.

"Yes, yes, you had to be a big shot, didn't you?

You had to prove it to the crowd!

You had to be a big shot, didn't you?

All your friends were so knocked out!"

Waluigi stood and stretched, the pop-pop-pop of his spine sounding like the world's grouchiest xylophone. After that, he slumped and sighed, scratching the base of his back and smacking his lips and scrubbing at the residual eye crust.

Mornings had never been his strong suit.

"Well, it's no big sin to stick your two cents in

If you know when to leave it alone,

But you went over the line!

You couldn't see it was time to go home!"

Waluigi's jaw ticked in irritation. He slammed a hand on the radio, and Billy Joel's chorusing came to a close.

As he took to brushing his teeth, his mind wandered to other matters. There was the recurring dream with Daisy, but that was nothing new. Well… almost. It hadn't ended like that before. For one, he never showed up like he had there. In fact, most of the time he didn't even have a face. And that laugh… that was—

Something deeply bitter, different from the regular amount of bitterness he felt, bloomed in his chest, and Waluigi made himself stop thinking about the dream altogether.

Teeth properly cleaned (to an extent), Waluigi slipped into the shower, letting the water (colder than usual, he huffily noted) wash over him. Scrubbing his favorite eggplant-scented shampoo on his head, his mind turned to the day ahead of him. What was on the agenda for today, besides breakfast? Perhaps this would be the day he'd get summoned and score the game-winning point for whichever sap was lucky enough to summon him. Then everyone would see that he was the superstar they'd been asking for! All the love, all the adoration, all the popularity would finally belong to him! Then he'd finally—

…Oh.

Oh, wait. His mood, which had begun to unsteadily rise, came crashing down again.

No, that wouldn't happen. He wouldn't get summoned. Not today.

After all, he was technically still on his suspension.


It was not the deep, booming voice of Master Hand that had called Waluigi into his office some days after the… spectacle he'd made at the party. Instead, it was that of Dr. Wright, stiff and taut with barely controlled anger, that had sounded over the intercom. The chorus of ooooooh's that had followed did nothing to stop the chill in Waluigi's spine. The eyes he felt on him only made things worse, with everyone watching him as he marched to the office, looking fittingly like a man awaiting execution. (Well, that was according to eyewitness reports in the Smash Gazette. Where those reports came from still remained to be seen, no matter what investigation Dr. Wright had initiated.)

Speaking of whom, Dr. Wright was waiting when he'd gotten there, mustache bristling and nostrils flaring. The Hands were nowhere to be seen. The Mii that had shown Waluigi in had fled the scene upon making eye contact with the green-haired man.

Once the door had closed, Dr. Wright took a deep, calming breath (which failed to do so), and said, in a low voice, "Do you have any idea of what I've had to deal with after that night?"

Waluigi shook his head.

Another allegedly calming breath. Somehow, it only made him look angrier. "I just want to know one thing, Waluigi. What, in this or any world, were you thinking?"

Waluigi remained silent. He knew very well what he'd been thinking, but somehow, it didn't seem like the correct answer.

Evidently, silence wasn't the correct answer, either, because for the first time in all the three tournaments that Waluigi had known him, Dr. Wright exploded, with all the force of a Bob-omb detonating in one's face.

(The Smash Gazette would again corroborate the comparison. And once again, the eyewitness reports remained anonymous, much to Dr. Wright's chagrin.)

"A PR nightmare, is what it was! We were comfortable never making it to the front page, and how do we get there? Because you—" he jabbed an accusing finger at Waluigi, making him flinch— "had to go and make a fool of yourself in front of who-knows-how-many worlds!"

Waluigi swallowed. He was a tall fellow, but even he cowered before a man who was half his height, not counting the hair. As if he thought he would dare try to interrupt him, Dr. Wright began to pace and continue on his tirade.

"Phone calls day and night! Submitting ourselves to all sorts of gossip! Calling for investigations, calling for your removal from the tournament outright! Journalists from all over creation and then some, making their own conclusions about us—about you, especially! To say nothing of what they're saying on social media! They've probably lost all respect for us as an institution! All because you couldn't handle not being in the spotlight for once, three years after the fact—three years!" He stopped there, his chest heaving, and scowled at Waluigi, the suddenness—and intensity—of the action nearly making him jump out of his skin.

"Well?" he asked in a venomous whisper. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Before Waluigi could even try to fumble for an answer, a voice rang out, "Aww, did I miss the rant already?"

Both men jumped as Crazy Hand, who was decidedly not there before, manifested in the office. A little black grocery bag dangled off his pinky.

"Man, I did miss it!" Crazy Hand snapped his fingers. "Did he threaten to fire you yet?"

"I—" Dr. Wright adjusted his tie and wrung his hands. "I wasn't… I don't have that jurisdiction to—"

"The guillotine, then?"

"I beg your pardon?!" Somehow, Dr. Wright choked on nothing. Off to the side, Waluigi went pale. That the guillotine was the second thing Crazy Hand suggested was unsettling in itself. That it was impossible to tell if he was joking or not was even worse.

"Oh, I get it." Crazy Hand nodded sagely at the wrist. "You're gonna go for the slow-cook, non-lethal corporal punishment. In that case," he continued, digging into his bag. "I've got plenty of devices for—"

"We are not spanking him," came Master Hand's voice. The hand himself soon popped into existence, on the opposite side of the office from his twin. "The last thing we need is for his skeleton to pop out before I'm done with him."

Sulkily, Crazy Hand stopped rustling around in the bag. "I wasn't gonna say spanking, but okay," he pouted.

"And you," continued Master Hand, turning to Dr. Wright, who shrunk back like a dying flame. "While I do appreciate your…" He turned to Waluigi, who sat rigidly in his chair. "...zeal for this situation, I will remind you that I am technically your superior. That is to say, I'm going over your head."

Dr. Wright flustered wordlessly, looking back and forth between Waluigi and the Hands. But, as someone who was all too familiar with the perils of red tape, he knew when to surrender. "I… I see," he said at last, his face schooled into an almost neutral expression, a twitch in his eyelid the only thing betraying his feelings. He straightened his hair and rather briskly left the office, not even sparing a glance at Waluigi.

Waluigi took a moment to relax. At least he wasn't getting fired. He turned back to the Hands. Master Hand had already seated himself at his desk, his fingers placed in a manner that communicated: this will not be fun for either of us.

"So," began Master Hand.

Before I'm done with him, he had said. Suddenly, Waluigi began to hope he was getting let go.

In the end, there was no shouting loud enough to blow out Waluigi's ears, no strangulation, or vaporization, or even hospitalization at the hands of… well, the Hands. No threats to banish him to the furthest corners of the universe. (Although, according to Crazy Hand, it was something they had considered. Master Hand refused to confirm or deny the claim.)

Instead, the final decision had been—

"Suspension," boomed Master Hand.

According to the incredibly dusty book that Master Hand had placed on the desk, suspension—which had been used only twice before in the history of the tournament— entailed ninety days without being summoned in any battles. No appearances in any public events, or interviews with the press. (That last point was a bit moot—Waluigi had all but holed himself up in his room since the party, and not entirely because of the looks that the other assistants gave him.)

Effectively, he was to remain hidden—forced onto the sidelines, again—for two and a half months.

"Since you seemed so intent on being in the spotlight," explained Master Hand, adjusting some papers on his desk, "we have decided that the best punishment would be to keep you as far away from it as possible." A snap of his fingers, and the papers and the rulebook disappeared. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Waluigi's gaze remained fixed on the desk, and the odd-looking red printer that sat upon it. "Yeah, sure."

Master Hand tapped on his desk. He sighed, and it was that sigh, the kind that preceded some of his trademark words of wisdom. "It's quite an honor to be invited here, you know."

Waluigi couldn't help the roll of his eyes. Here it was, the spiel about how this was the greatest tournament in the galaxy, and that he should be lucky to even be here out of thousands upon thousands of people, et cetera, et cetera. "Yeah…"

"But of course, this is just a drop in the bucket for you." Master Hand shook his… hand, as it were. "I mean, look at you. You've gone kart-racing, golfing… I hear you're a world-class tennis star. You've even gone to the Olympics! That's far more than most other assistants, or even, fighters, can claim."

Waluigi chose to remain quiet. Obviously this was an attempt to butter him up. Well, it wasn't gonna work! …But still, might as well pay attention and see where he was going with this.

"And yet…" Master Hand came to a stop. "And yet, it's this tournament of all things that gets your goat, so to speak. …But my first point still stands. I don't mean to brag, but it is still quite the honor to be invited here.

"My only regret," the hand continued, "is that you, of all people, have not yet realized that."

Whether it was his tone of voice or the words themselves, Waluigi felt something discomforting blossom in his core, like bugs crawling all over him. It reminded him of that talk he'd had backstage, with that cricket-looking guy… whoever that was.

"Although…" Crazy Hand began to pull something long and wooden out of his grocery bag again, snapping Waluigi out of his musings. "If you really want to be the center of attention that badly…" The hand's voice took on a cheeky lilt. "I do have an idea in mind that will—"

"We are not using the stocks," Master Hand interjected.

The bag fell to the floor with a sad whump. The spirit of destruction's pout was near audible.

"You're no fun, you know that?" sulked Crazy Hand.


So it had come to pass that Waluigi was to be removed from the summoning rotation, effective immediately. And, true to Master Hand's word, it was indeed a fitting punishment.

That is to say, Waluigi was absolutely miserable.

Ninety days away from the public eye. Ninety days without anyone to watch him, to admire him, to worship the ground he walked on. Ninety days with him left on the sidelines again, but even further away from everyone else. Barely even second fiddle at this point. It was like, fourth or fifth fiddle at this point.

And the worst part was, the rest of the tournament had gone on quite swimmingly without him.

Indeed, after the media firestorm, things had settled down fairly quickly. The hype around Sora had settled down once he had settled into the routine. The rest of the Smashers, meanwhile, had simply continued on with their lives, although some of them were all too eager to give their two cents on the matter. (The residents of the Mushroom Kingdom notably declined to comment.)

And as for the other Assist Trophies… well, he had mostly avoided them since that day. Or perhaps they had avoided him. At any rate, he barely said two words to any of them on a good day. (Well… save for one.)

By now, Waluigi had finished his shower and gotten dressed, slipping into his trademark purple shirt and dark indigo overalls, with a monogrammed purple cap to match. Charlotte, his beloved tennis racket, was propped up at the foot of his bed. Taking her in hand, he took the time to admire her.

Her rim shone like it was the first day out of the box. Grommets were in good shape, too. The strings were still taut and open, but not too open. That was how he got a good spin on the ball.

She really was perfect, wasn't she? Over the past couple of weeks, she'd been Waluigi's most trusted companion. It put him in mind of his first tennis racket. Oh, that one had excellent reach. He remembered it like it was yesterday, the day he'd first taken the court with—

With…

Waluigi suddenly placed Charlotte in his closet and slammed the door. Right now, some things were better off not picked at. Just a week to go, and he'd be back on the rotation once again.

It was only one more week. How hard could it be?


The main lounge was mercifully empty, save for Dillon sitting at the table, sipping at his coffee. He offered no greeting to Waluigi as he walked in. Either he was giving him the cold shoulder, or it was just Dillon being Dillon, as usual.

A scowl came to Waluigi's face. He never liked the so-called strong, silent types. Always thinking they were better than everyone else. Nothing else to do but get his own coffee, he supposed.

All that was left in the pantry was Blue Mountain and Kilimanjaro. They were fresh out of robusta, Waluigi's favored blend, because of course they would be out. Meh. Might as well go for Blue Mountain.

He sat down and sipped idly. Dillon was still sitting at the table, now facing away from the lanky man. The sun, climbing ever higher into the sky, shone softly on the room, birdsong drifting in through the open window. It was, by most people's estimation, a perfect, picturesque morning. And it was the perfect condition for Waluigi to be lost in his own thoughts.

One more week. One week and the suspension would be over. One week, and he'd finally be back on the rotation, and the spotlight would be all his. Oh, it was so close and so sweet, he could nearly taste it.

…Or maybe that was the coffee.

Papers were slapped down on the table in front of Waluigi, snapping him out of his fantasy before he could go any deeper. Some of the coffee splashed out of his mug and dripped onto the floor.

"The list of chores for today," Dr. Wright was saying. He was rushing about the lounge, taking his own cup of coffee and knocking it back in one go, not even bothering with the cream he usually liked. "Meetings, meetings, meetings… Ah, the detergent is in the second drawer from the left, if you get lost, ask Mr. Saturn for help, and at eleven-thirty, someone should be coming with a delivery, so make sure you sign off on that. Oh! And whatever you do, don't provoke the Metroid." Dr. Wright's coffee was quaffed in one go, and he was gone.

Waluigi blinked, not at the relative lack of context for his instructions, but for the last instruction in particular. Don't provoke the Metroid. Did that mean that he—?

On the list of chores for the day, there, nestled in between inventory and laundry, was Metroid containment maintenance.

Waluigi's face went ashen. Taking care of the Metroid, the alien life-form that latched onto the head of its prey and drained their life energy in a process that Samus Aran had described in no uncertain terms as incredibly painful, was a very delicate exercise. A single mistake could end in a trip to the emergency room, in the best of cases. And now, he had been chosen to take care of it, seemingly alone.

If this was the work of some higher power, they surely had a sick sense of humor.

To his side, Waluigi thought he heard Dillon snort into his coffee. Stupid armadillo. Let's shove him in a room with a Metroid and see how he liked it!

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Time to take care of business.


Waluigi sauntered down the halls, taking long strides with his cap turned down to cover his eyes and his hands in his pockets, all coming together in a manner he was absolutely sure made himself look cool. It did not.

As he walked, he was left to his own thoughts once again. All he had to do was toe the line and play nice with the rest of these losers, and he'd be home free. Just another week of this suspension drivel, and he'd finally be back on center stage, where he belonged!

He passed by an open window, allowing him a clear view of a billboard just outside. Once displaying an image of Sora, proudly touting him as the final Decidedly Late Challenger, it now showcased a Inkling, the one on the roster with bright pink tentacles and dark skin, sitting on a bench with another, both of them showing off fancy looking shoes. Bold text in a language Waluigi couldn't read was printed on either side of them, a bold letter I with an eel constricting around it placed tastefully in the corner.

The lanky man's mood came crashing down, giving way to sullenness he was all too familiar with at this point. That should be me up there, he thought, not for the first or last time. That should be me with all the fame and attention and advertising deals!

For as long as he could remember, Waluigi was plagued by misfortune wherever he went, in whatever sport or activity struck his fancy. Whether it was kart-racing, tennis, or golf, he was always cursed to be surrounded by either morons that brought his team down, or cheaters that always seemed to pull ahead at the last second. That last one was a bit of a sore spot, because they had the gall to out-cheat Waluigi, and nobody cheated better than him!

Ugh! All this talk of cheaters reminded him of the first time he'd gone racing. It had been the last lap of a race on Luigi Circuit (itself a nauseating fact). Just as he was about to cross the finish line, he'd been assailed by a Spiny Shell thrown by that dumb dinosaur! And as if that wasn't enough, no less than three red shells had been launched at him immediately afterward! He'd bet fifty—no, five hundred coins it had been Luigi, with his stupid home field advantage!

Waluigi had placed sixth place that day. Sixth! He remembered it well, because that had been the first and only time they had allowed two-person karts. When the dust had settled, he blamed it all on his racing buddy, Wa—

…For some reason, thinking about who it was made Waluigi's chest hurt. He decided he just didn't remember. Maybe it was Paratroopa or something.

But enough of that! He had more important things to get to. The first of which was… cleaning out the rotting stumps from the courtyard. Well, time to get this over with.

From the moment he stepped outside, Waluigi regretted not bringing his coat with him. The cold air hit him like a slap in the face. He almost considered going back and getting it, but figured the walk would be too much trouble.

The stumps were right there, up ahead and to the right. As luck would have it, a shovel was just nearby, propped up against a tree.

Right when he was about to get to work, something else caught his attention. The quick thk-thk-thk of metal hitting wood. It was not, as he immediately thought, the drumming of a woodpecker. After a pause, the sound continued, and he turned to its source. There was Takamaru, slashing away at a wooden dummy.

It took every fiber in Waluigi's being to prevent him from groaning aloud. Evidently, Takamaru felt the same, from the way his jaw clenched and his sword dropped to his side.

"What are you doing here?" asked Waluigi.

Takamaru sighed raggedly. "I should ask you the same thing."

"I was sent here—" Waluigi jabbed a thumb at his chest— "to dig up those stumps." He gestured at a cluster of stumps by the northwest side. "Now what are you doing here?"

"…Training." Takamaru had schooled his face into a neutral expression.

"Training?"

"Yes."

"…Waaah."

The conversation dead, Takamaru turned back to the dummy, while Waluigi turned back to the stumps. Shovel in hand, Waluigi marched over to the closest stump, digging a ring around it to expose the roots. Once that was done, he planted the shovel under a particularly thin root, and pushed down to…!

…To barely move the stump at all.

Waluigi spared a glance at Takamaru, who was still focused on the target. He certainly wasn't checking to see if the samurai was watching him (or laughing at him). He moved over to the other side of the stump. No, he was just… making sure the poor sap didn't get hit when he finally dug out this stump!

…Ahem. When he finally dug out this stump!

The stump refused to budge.

Okay, one more time. To dig out this stu—

At that moment, Waluigi's hand slipped, and the handle sprang up to strike him clean on the chin. He cursed and fell backward, the shovel's shaft vibrating cheekily at him.

Groaning, Waluigi righted himself and touched a finger to his chin. At least nothing was bleeding or broken. There was only the throbbing pain left, both of his chin and his pride.

For a brief moment, he thought he heard Takamaru snort. Or maybe it was just the wind. But still, seeing the samurai swiftly turn away sparked a flash of irritation in his core.

Waluigi continued to glare at Takamaru's back, the heat in his chest rising up to his throat and making him forget about the cold. He longed to go over there and give him a piece of his mind, but the last thing he needed was to provoke Wright or the Hands any further. A very, very small part of him told him to just ignore him, to just shrug it off and get back to work. Another, slightly larger part of him told him that Takamaru wasn't worth the effort, that he was just jealous of his fame and skill.

But, seeing him there… Well, he couldn't resist.

"Your form's lousy!"

Takamaru ignored him, continuing to slash at the dummy.

"You call yourself a master swordsman? A Goomba could swing a sword better than you!"

Still, Takamaru ignored him, switching to his windmill swords.

"Booo! Come on, where's the pizzazz?"

Still nothing. What could get under his skin?

"How did someone like you defeat all those ninjas? They probably didn't take you seriously enough!"

Takamaru paused only for a brief moment before returning to his drills. It wasn't brief enough for Waluigi, who grinned and twirled his mustache.

"And that empty suit Murasame? Please! Probably fell over from laughing too hard!"

The samurai's eyes narrowed a fraction. This time, he angled his sword to slash the dummy across the chest.

Waluigi had often heard that three was a magic number. So here, he figured, the third time was the charm.

"I've seen better cuts from the Black Knight!"

Takamaru's sword caught the light just so for an instant before it swung, slicing cleanly through the dummy. Its head slid off its body, falling to the ground and rolling to a stop at Waluigi's feet.

Waluigi, however, was not cowed in the slightest by the display. He just stood there, sneering at him, arching an eyebrow and crossing his arms. "So," he hummed.

Takamaru scowled, sheathing his sword. "So, what?"

"What'd he do," asked a snide Waluigi, "to get your goat?"

The samurai exhaled sharply through his nose. "It's nothing to do with you."

Waluigi decided that it did, in fact, have plenty to do with him. "Take it from me, I've been through this before. Heck, I'm going through it right now!" He chose to ignore Takamaru rolling his eyes. "So, lemme guess. He beat you in… I dunno, some kinda sword contest or something?"

Takamaru stiffened. "…In a sense," he muttered.

"Waaaah." Waluigi regarded him, twirling his mustache. "And now, after you've been slighted from victory that was rightfully yours, you've sworn to outdo him by whatever, right?"

"No," said Takamaru after a pause. It wasn't completely inaccurate.

Waluigi squinted, a hard smile crossing his features. If the Hands wanted him to play nice, why not start with him? Dispense some of that life advice Master Hand was oh-so-fond of. "Yeah, well, take it from me: if you wanna make it to the top, if you wanna be number one—" A pointer finger shot towards the sky— "you can't afford to be nice and helpful to people! You gotta be mean to get what you want!"

"Yes. Of course," said Takamaru, leveling an unimpressed glare at the lanky man. "Because that's worked out so well for you."

"Puh-lease." Waluigi raised an eyebrow. "If being such a goody-two-shoes gets you rewards, where has it gotten you? Stuck as an assistant, same as me!"

The jab would have nettled Takamaru, or indeed, anyone, at the start of the tournament. But after everything that had happened since the party, it was just exhausting. "…Maybe," he said after a deep breath. "But you've been in this role three times, compared to my twice. It hasn't gotten you very far, either."

"Waaah. It's not my fault. Everyone else keeps cheating!" And here he goes again, Takamaru thought. "Which is why I've gotta keep cheating to beat them! And then, I'll be the superstar, just you wait!"

"I doubt it." Takamaru pursed his lips. "In my experience, helping others is better for everyone in the long run. For instance…"

Waluigi's retort was cut off by the sound of Takamaru unsheathing his sword, and when he blinked again, he was gone.

When he looked again, Takamaru had taken the shovel in hand and dug up the stump in one swoop, the force of the lift sending it airborne. As the stump hung in midair, Takamaru rushed at it and swung in choppy motions, the speed of his slices turning his sword into a blur. When at last he stopped, all that remained was a pile of wood chips and dust.

Waluigi opened his mouth to say something, but this, too, was interrupted by Takamaru holding up a large shogi piece, flashing gold in the sunlight. His hand began to glow, and he flicked his wrist, sending three fireballs blazing straight ahead.

"Waaah—"

The flames sailed right past Waluigi, each one hitting the other stumps next to the hole where the first one had once stood. The stumps ignited, sending tiny sparks and bits of wood scattering. Flashing a handful of windmill swords, Takamaru threw them at the burning stumps. These, too, splintered and cracked into pieces, where the embers, having very little fuel left, sputtered and died.

Takamaru turned back to Waluigi, his smile soft and triumphant. "Like that. See?"

Waluigi could only gape, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. His mouth opened and closed, trying to find some sort of witty comeback, or any sort of comeback at all. "Yeah? The—You know what? I—" He glanced over at the remains of the stumps, reduced to ashes. Ah-ha! There was something to work with! "Yeah, well… Thanks for doing my chores for me, loser!" Waluigi chortled. Yeah, that'll teach him!

But to his surprise, Takamaru only bowed, still smiling. There was no trace of malice on his face… at least, according to anyone normal. To Waluigi, however, it was about as conceited and vainglorious as you could get. And the way he turned back to his training, the way his head very clearly tossed his hair back… probably sneering while his back was turned, too! Lousy, cheating, self-righteous dunce! Well, good luck with that!

He left, turning on his heel and marching brusquely away, making sure to kick aside a burnt wood chip as he did so.


With one item crossed off the to-do list, Waluigi moseyed through a corridor and down a flight of stairs. He sure got the best of that dolt Takamaru! Tricking him into taking care of those stumps for him by appealing to that goody-goody nature of his! All according to his plan! Obviously. Anyone with eyes could've seen that.

Well, what was next on the list? …Oh, great. Inventory duty. From what he'd heard, the place was a maze—quite literally, if Spring Man was to be believed. A sprawling, seemingly endless labyrinth, with twists and turns and passages that seemed to teleport between places at random. Crazy Hand's idea. Of course it was.

Waluigi sighed. He could only hope that Crazy Hand had undone the enchantment before this. If not… well, he'd be lucky if he made it out by dinnertime. Might as well get this out of the way now. Time to—

"Mister Waluigiiii!"

Oh, for the love of—

There was Starfy, who Waluigi hadn't seen since the party, tottering towards the lanky man with all the vigor of a puppy who'd just spotted its favorite person. Nobody in the mansion could claim to match such interest in Waluigi, and Waluigi himself couldn't hope to match such interest towards Starfy as the little star came to a clumsy stop in front of him.

"Hi, Mister Waluigi!" chirped Starfy, smile wide. If he had a tail, it would most certainly be wagging.

"...Waaah," said Waluigi by way of greeting.

"Waaah," mimicked Starfy, giggling after like it was their own little in-joke. "I haven't seen you in forever! I thought they were gonna kick you out ever since the suspension! But now there's only one more week until—"

"Whaddya want, kid?" cut in Waluigi.

Starfy blinked at the interruption. He glanced up at the door. "Oh. Um, what are you doing?"

"Inventory. It's on my list of chores for the day," Waluigi grouched. He hoped Starfy would lose interest and be on his way.

The star did not leave, his eyes shining with curiosity and his feet planted firmly in place. "So cool," he whispered. "Can I help?"

This time, Waluigi hesitated for a second before saying, "No."

"Why not?" Starfy visibly deflated. "We won't get lost! I can help!"

Waluigi looked away sharply. "No, you can't," he said just as sharply. He began to make for the door. "You'd just get in the way."

"Aww, come on!" Starfy clung to Waluigi's leg before he could react, thereby necessitating he either try to peel him off or take him along. "I won't get in the way! I promise!"

Waluigi opened his mouth to retort, but stopped upon looking at Starfy. He was using those big, sad, pleading eyes that nobody could resist. Even Dr. Wright found himself caving… but only on occasion.

But aside from the sad eyes (which Waluigi was finding harder and harder to resist, stop looking at him like that), there was also that sincerity with which Starfy behaved around him, the way he'd proudly declare their friendship aloud to anyone who asked, and vehemently defending him when they inevitably pointed out his (few and far between, Waluigi insisted) flaws. And how Starfy had apparently come from nowhere to find him… Had he… sought him out, specifically? That was something nobody (who wasn't asking a favor) could claim, to track him down just to talk to him.

Certainly not Daisy, he noted sullenly. And these days, certainly not Wa—any of the other assistants. Ahem.

"...Fine," he relented, watching as Starfy released his grip and cheered aloud. "But don't get in my way, and don't get lost. Got it?"

Starfy nodded, his entire body moving along with him.

Waluigi opened the door and stepped aside, arm extended to let the star go first. "Let's-a go," he muttered, not even trying to imitate the plumber.

"Let's-a go!" parroted Starfy, too busy charging into the room to bother with any impersonations. The door shut behind them both with a click.


"How many crates of… Lip's Sticks are there?"

Waluigi idly twirled his mustache as he looked up from the clipboard. By some miracle, they hadn't yet gotten lost. Either the enchantments had been removed after all, or Waluigi's excellent sense of direction had seen them through. Eh, probably fifty-fifty. …Most likely, thirty-seventy.

"Ten boxes!" called out Starfy from behind a crate. He popped out a moment later. "I think that's… five hundred, I think?" He plucked one out of the box, the flower-like wand opening as he took it in hand. He swung it around as only a child could: recklessly and pretending he was a superhero.

"Hey, hey, careful with that!" Waluigi snatched the flower out of Starfy's hand. "Didn't I tell you not to get in my way?!"

Starfy dropped his gaze and shifted from foot to foot. "Oh. Sorry," he mumbled.

Waluigi considered kicking Starfy out and sending him on his way so he could finish the job himself… but only briefly. He did seem sorry, and he just looked so small…

A pang of… something he hadn't felt in almost a year throbbed in his chest. Drat it all, he was starting to get soft, wasn't he?

"Just…" Waluigi took a wholly unnecessary breath. It wasn't like he was actually upset with Starfy. "Just be more careful, okay?"

Starfy brightened almost immediately. "Okay!" He tottered over to another crate, and slowly, deliberately, removed the lid. "Deku Nuts," he read out loud. "Ooh. We should be really careful with these!"

Waluigi walked over to the box, picking a nut out of it. From what others had told him, these were filled with a special substance that created a large flash and stunned people if struck. They were still non-lethal, and weren't too dangerous… as long as they were careful.

The purple-clad man turned it over in his hand. The Deku Nut had been introduced in the third tournament, alongside the Assist Trophy program. And, subsequently, it had been introduced alongside—

Oh.

Right.

He scowled as he put the nut down. Some memories were better left alone. Especially those that involved so-called friends who couldn't even help each other in their time of need, or even invite them to anything they were doing. Like, it was as easy as asking hey, are you busy this weekend? But nooo. Never even crossed his mind, did it? Just like he never bothered to—

"Mister Waluigi?"

Waluigi blinked, snapping out of his miserable musings. Starfy was staring at him, his eyebrows drawn together in worry. "Are you okay?" he asked.

He turned away, his mouth dropping into that familiar scowl. "I'm fine," he lied. He hadn't been fine in eighty-two days.

"You look sad," came Starfy's voice.

"I'm not sad."

Starfy's footsteps came closer and closer. Oh, great. A hand tugged at the leg of his overalls. "Are you still upset," he asked, "about the suspension?"

Drat. And there he'd been, thinking that Starfy was just a simple scatterbrain. He pulled his hat over his eyes. "Yeah."

"Well, it's okay!" The cheer returned to Starfy's demeanor. "You only have a week left! And then after that, it's gonna be Waluigi time! Right?"

Despite his efforts not to, Waluigi smiled. "Heh. You got that right, kid."

"Uh-huh!" Starfy nodded. "It's gonna be great!"

Waluigi stood up a little straighter. "Darn tootin' it will!" His smile faded and his shoulders slumped. "Waaah. Too bad no one else seems to realize that."

Starfy paused, and tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" He swept his arms around, gesturing at the room, the sea of crates, the very air they breathed. "…Everything! Everyone here thinks I'm just a runner-up, a no-hoper, a loser! Well, I'm not!" A stamp of his foot accentuated his denial. "I'm number one, but nobody here wants to take me seriously!"

Starfy's face had smoothed out into a neutral expression. Then, he said, in a voice uncharacteristically flat, "Yeah, I know that."

Waluigi stopped midway through counting Rocket Belts. "Waaah? What do you mean?"

"I mean," Starfy said, in a quieter voice than normal, "nobody takes me seriously either."

Waluigi stared at the little star, his eyebrows rising. "What?" he said, though it came out more like one of his "waaah"s.

Starfy sat down where he was. "Everyone thinks I'm just some kid," he explained to the floor. "They all say I'm just some dumb, scatterbrained kid that can't do much on his own."

Waluigi had gone silent. This was not the answer he'd been expecting. "…Really?"

Starfy nodded, a slower, more mournful effort than the last. "You remember back when I was the only one that could be defeated? That's where it started! Everyone saw me as a joke!" He waved his stubby hands, flailing as he recalled. "'Oooh, Starfy, why did you even come here?' That's what they all said! Everyone just thinks…" His arms fell to his side. "Everyone just thinks I'm a… damp squib."

Waluigi could only stare as he watched Starfy pout. The boy's words had struck a chord in his cold, shriveled, vaguely raisin-esque heart, one that had rung again and again, for as long as he could remember. "Yeah, well…" He paused. "You don't gotta listen to them."

Seeing Starfy's confused blink, he continued. "Listen, kid. I've been in your shoes more times than I can count. And what I've learned is that everyone's gonna be against you from the word go." His gaze was far away, staring at old tennis courts and bygone racecourses. "You can't afford to give those nobodies a minute of your attention. Ya know why?" He stood up straight and set his jaw. "Because they're all just a bunch of cheaters. They're all jealous of you."

It all sounded very odd coming from Waluigi's mouth—insincere, some would call it—but he decided to ignore that. A boy with blond hair, eyes blazing and veins straining against his forehead, flashed across his mind's eye, and he chose to ignore that, too.

Starfy stared up at him, eyes wide. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Waluigi drew himself up to his full height. "You gotta be tough, you gotta not care who or what gets in your way, and when that spotlight shines on you, you gotta own it! You got it?"

"I got it!" Starfy saluted, smiling wide. "Thanks, Mister Waluigi! See, I knew they were wrong about you!"

Waluigi's hands paused as they browsed over a row of clocks. Something new began to bloom in his chest, something warm and soft and (dare he say) fuzzy. It made his chest feel tight, but it felt good, for some reason.

…Of course, he knew what it was, but it didn't feel right to admit it. At least, not out loud.

It took a long time before Waluigi was able to respond with a genuine, content-for-once "Waaah."


After the inventory was accounted for (they would need to order more Home-Run Bats), the two of them went their separate ways for the day. Starfy gave Waluigi a gentle pat on his knee, expressed his wish for him to feel better soon (itself a rarity, for no one had wished him well in years), and scooted off after a friendly wave.

As Starfy left, he took Waluigi's rare good mood with him. Well, not all of it—that soft, fuzzy feeling that had made itself known when Starfy implied others were wrong still remained. It stayed there, warming him from the inside out like a small flame in the vast darkness.

He glanced down at the checklist. Metroid containment maintenance was next. Ah. The flame was promptly extinguished.

Two hallways and three flights of stairs later, Waluigi found himself standing in front of an average-looking, dark blue door, virtually unmarked save for the small symbol that resembled a jellyfish on the front. But Waluigi knew that such doors in this mansion—in this world—tended to veil strange and terrible secrets.

The Metroid was no secret, but Waluigi couldn't help the shiver that ran up his spine. After scanning the keycard attached to the back of the clipboard, a light by the doorknob glowed green, and he pushed the door open.

The darkness was the first thing Waluigi noticed about the Metroid's containment room. The chill in the air was the second. Metroids were very vulnerable to the cold, and so Samus had insisted on such low temperatures as one of the many, many security measures for the room during the third tournament. Master Hand had promptly installed a refrigerant, so in the event of catastrophe (like, say, a containment breach), the Metroid would not get very far before growing sluggish, and would be subdued before long.

But the room was small. It had always been too small.

Waluigi swallowed as his eyes adjusted. It was generally empty, save for a single containment tube standing in the center, the only source of light in the room. Two computer monitors, their screens dark, extended on either side of the base of the system. And in the center of it all, the jellyfish-like lifeform floated within the tube, encased in a glass storage capsule. The Metroid chirped upon noticing its visitor, pressing its gelatinous body against the glass.

Sweat beaded down Waluigi's neck. Maybe it wasn't too late to turn back…

The door shut behind him with a click. Of course.

As he stepped closer, he tried to reason with the tight feeling in his chest that most certainly was not fear. Fearful was what Luigi was, and he was better than Luigi. It was just a simple matter of sweeping the floor around the containment tube and… and checking that both containment software and hardware were working and up-to-date. No problem, really. It'd be a cinch. A cakewalk. Small potatoes. Child's play. A walk in the park. No, stop that, knees. Stop shaking like that.

One leaden footstep came after the other. A broom rested against a monitor, and Waluigi picked it up. Slowly, carefully, he swept in short lines, letting dust pile up at his feet and trying not to make eye contact with the Metroid. Or was it that he should make eye contact to assert dominance? Did it even have eyes? How did it even see?

The Metroid's claws flexed in its tube. Waluigi suppressed a shiver. Probably best not to think about it. Now that the room was properly swept, it was time to provide the biological assessment.

Slowly, haltingly, Waluigi approached the containment tube. Okay, easy, easy…It was within arm's reach now. Just touch the monitor and—

The Metroid let out a sudden high-pitched screech, like its own claws scratching on a chalkboard. It took all of Waluigi's self-control not to flee the room. It was enough to actually keep him in the room, but not enough to completely subdue a reaction, and so he leapt backwards a good three feet, falling gracelessly on his back.

Waluigi blinked into the darkness, his muscles aching. The Metroid was still floating almost innocuously in its tube.

Scoffing, Waluigi got to his feet again, pushing down the chill he felt rising in his chest. "…Okay, nice jellyfish…" he muttered. "Please don't hurt me…"

The Metroid bumped against the glass of its capsule, which was enough to make him hop back a good five inches. For a moment, silence reigned, the soft hum of the containment system doing its job the only sound.

…Oh, what was he doing?! Waluigi dragged a hand down his face. This thing was sandwiched between two pieces of glass! It couldn't hurt him if it tried!

The Metroid bumped against the capsule again, making it wobble within the tube. Waluigi swallowed. It wouldn't take much, after all. A single mistake, remember?

Deep breaths. Focus. These were the words Waluigi repeated to himself as he approached the monitor with quaking steps. He prodded a white-gloved finger at the monitor's screen and punched in the login information, flinching at the tiniest of the Metroid's movements.

What are you doing? said a prickly voice in his head. It was one he'd heard plenty of times in the past, usually when something was going wrong. You're acting like Luigi, that's what. And the last thing you want to be is that loser.

Waluigi bristled. If there was one way to motivate him, it was to bring up something that hat rack would do. He browsed through the system menus with a little more vigor.

Most of the information displayed on the medical readouts showed several jagged, but still stable-looking lines. There were a lot of numbers and words that Waluigi couldn't pronounce, but the important part was that most of the text was green, which wasn't his favorite color, but it meant that everything was normal. Okay, great, done finally. Now he could (at last) get out of here.

The door shut behind Waluigi with a click and a beep. He had to take a moment to adjust to the light and let out the breath he was holding.

…Ha! It had gone perfectly! There had been nothing to be afraid of after all. He'd like to see Luigi do tha—

"Excuse me?"

"Waaaaaaah—!" Waluigi leapt a good three feet in the air, hitting his head on the ceiling. Once he'd righted himself, he whirled on his assailant, hackles raised. "What's the big idea, you—?!"

The Mii standing in front of Waluigi regarded him with an unimpressed expression. "Yeah, nice to see you, too," she sighed. "Anyways, I was told to get you to sign off on a delivery, so…" She gestured at the hallway, indicating that he ought to follow.

Oh, right. That thing at eleven-thirty, which a quick check of his watch told him was thirty seconds ago. "Waaah," he muttered. "Lead the way."


It was much brighter outside. Far too bright. Or maybe it was the sunlight reflecting off the truck. Either way, Waluigi had to squint as he stepped outside, where the truck and several blue-skinned creatures with palm trees growing out of their heads (Waluigi recognized them as Piantas) were milling around.

"Yeah, this is the guy," said the Mii from behind him, quickly skittering off back into the mansion.

One of the Piantas, colored pink, stepped forward. "Alright, buddy, just sign on the X, and my boys and I—" He gestured at the other three behind him— "will load the POW Blocks onto the dock."

Waluigi scrawled a signature onto the clipboard presented to him, and subsequently, the other Piantas began stacking crates on pallet jacks and bringing them to the loading docks. He watched them stack and carry, almost like an assembly line. It was kind of hypnotic.

He suddenly felt eyes on him. The boss Pianta was looking at him in a strange manner.

"What?"

"You… You're Waluigi, ain't ya?" asked the Pianta. "One of the Assist Trophies, right?"

Waluigi blinked, surprised at both the fact that someone recognized him, and the traces of what sounded like admiration in his voice. Finally, someone else knew who was, and didn't think he was a loser! He set his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. "Why, yes. Yes, I am! I'm basically the frontman for that entire shindig."

"Yeah, I knew I knew you from somewhere!" said one of the other Piantas, this one colored blue. He and his boss shared a look. "You were on the news!"

The news? Well, that was news to Waluigi! Perhaps they were finally starting to uphold him as the VIP he truly was! But he had to play it cool. No use intimidating his newest fans. "Oh, really?" he asked with mock surprise. "If I'd known, I'd have given them an interview!"

"Yeah, I remember that," said the boss, nodding. "There was a whole thing about you after you made a fool of yourself at that party for that Sora kid, remember?"

Aaaand there it was. Down Waluigi came crashing again, his face quickly becoming downcast.

The Piantas laughed between themselves. The blue one shimmied in place and made an attempt at moonwalking, only stopping when he nearly tripped over a rock, causing his boss to laugh even harder, slapping his knee and nearly dropping the clipboard. Neither of them noticed Waluigi silently fuming in front of them.

Eventually, the boss' mirth faded into a few chuckles, and he pressed a sheet of paper into Waluigi's hand. "Yeah, give that to your boss, pal." The other two Piantas brought the pallets back, hopped back into the truck, and they were gone, leaving Waluigi to quite literally cough and choke on their dust.

The door back into the mansion was slammed open as Waluigi stomped his way back inside. His nostrils flared, his jaw ached with how much he was grinding his teeth, and the invoice crumpled in his white-knuckled grip.

Most people had the decency to wait until he was out of earshot to laugh at him, but these two? Laughing right in his face. In his face!

"Lousy, no-good, miserable, sneaky, low-down, tasteless little gnats…" And who were they to laugh at him?! What gave them the right? When it was he who was the big star? He, who was far more deserving of the autograph sessions and shopping discounts and free parking spaces! There had been a lovely space, close enough to the courtyard with a pleasant view of the lake. But, nooo, Falco had claimed it first! Stupid bird.

As much as Waluigi's temper would have loved to continue, he very quickly had to put the stopper on it, because he was in front of Master Hand's office. Heaven only knew how he'd react if he found him in the midst of yet another hissy fit. Probably make him scrub out the fourth floor bathrooms, or subject him to another lecture. He'd prefer the scrubbing.

Waluigi swung open the door, and—oh. No one was inside.

Indeed, the office was completely empty. There was no sign of either of the tournament organizers, and no sign of one of Crazy Hand's pranks.

Approaching the desk, Waluigi found a note, hastily scribbled onto a sheet of paper. Judging from the penmanship, it was probably Crazy Hand's doing.

Out shopping! Be back in a jolly old jiffy!

Hugs n' kisses,

Crazy Hand

To the right, a red, printer-shaped device sat humming idly.

Meh. Whatever. As tempting as it was to fiddle with the printer and see what it did, Waluigi was not in the mood to waste time… especially when the Hands could be back at any moment. Besides, for all he knew, it would probably teleport him to the farthest reaches of deep space. Crazy Hand would probably rig it like that.

Waluigi turned to go, leaving the invoice on the desk. He swung open the door, so engrossed in his thoughts that he failed to consider that someone might have been waiting on the other side. And because his very existence seemed to be a joke, someone was indeed waiting on the other side, about to knock on the door, fist raised level with Waluigi's forehead.

"Waaaah!"

"Gah! What the—?!"

To his credit, his assailant's fist didn't hurt too badly. But it still left him a bit sore, and so he rubbed at his forehead and scowled at the figure standing in front of him.

"Oh," said Zero, his lips pressed tight. "It's you."

Waluigi scowled. "Waaah. Don't act so disappointed." He paused, regarding the Reploid in front of him. "Whaddya want, anyways?"

"I'm here for…" Zero's eyes flicked past Waluigi into the office. "…on an errand."

Waluigi's eyes narrowed. What, had Dr. Wright made him a bellboy, too? Pah. No wonder he seemed so cross.

…A little too cross, if you asked Waluigi. There was a hardness in Zero's face that he'd never seen before. It reminded him a lot of Shadow on his worst days.

But if it was anything like Shadow on his worst days, then it was probably best to just let him have it. Besides, what would he accomplish by barring him from entry? A lecture, if he was lucky.

So, he opened the door and let Zero in.

Zero gave him a curt nod before stepping into the office. Checking the rest of the list, Waluigi marched off towards the stairs, glad to be at least halfway done.

No sooner had he rounded the corner than Zero made his swift exit from the office.


Laundry had never been one of Waluigi's favorite activities. Not that he hated it, no—he simply saw it as a necessity, neither good nor bad. Which, he figured, was basically how everyone else felt about it, too. So what made him special in that regard?

What makes you so special, indeed, came a voice in his head. Waluigi tried his best to ignore it.

But, as he placed another load into the machine (who around here wore star-print boxers?), his feelings on laundry shifted from "fairly neutral" to "not to his tastes".

Said feelings shifted even further towards "dislike" once Shadow showed up.

"Waaah—What are you doing here?!" asked Waluigi, once he had pinched himself to make sure Shadow's appearance wasn't a dream. "You don't even wear clothes!"

"It's a hobby of mine," answered Shadow, pointedly walking over to the machine that was farthest away from Waluigi. He frowned as he noticed the "out of order" sign taped on, and begrudgingly moved to a working one.

"Waaah," Waluigi said in lieu of something normal people would say. "Just stay out of my way."

"Gladly," came Shadow's response.

The two worked in silence for a while. For the first few minutes, Waluigi expected Shadow to simply leave and find another laundry room. Or maybe use one of those laundry boards to wash his clothes by hand? Maybe. He never thought Shadow as the type to use one of those things.

"Hey, you got any more of the detergent?" called Waluigi. "The one for darks."

A jug of detergent suddenly manifested on top of the washing machine, nearly crushing Waluigi's hand as it landed. "Gwaa—hey! You trying to break my head, bucko?!"

"Move your hand next time," said Shadow, still loading clothes into the machine.

Waluigi snorted. The least he could do was give him a warning! Well, at least he had the detergent now. Loading it into the machine, he closed the door, twisted the dial to his preferred settings (wrinkle control and cool water), and waited.

And waited some more.

Waluigi hazarded a glance towards Shadow. Mercifully, he was still facing his machine. But a twitch of his ears told him that he wasn't in the mood for small talk. Especially, he'd learned through experience, not with him.

The lanky man scowled, turning back to his machine once he noticed Shadow turning and taking out a phone from somewhere on his person. Three tournaments, and he was still the same cold, distant, uppity guy as ever. Heck, he'd been like this ever since the Olympics! He'd noticed that Shadow tended to stay far away from him during those events. And when they did talk, he never tried to say more than three words to him. The fox kid who was there had told him (from three feet away) that he shouldn't take it too personally, and that Shadow was someone who wasn't the best with people (the last part was said in a hushed tone).

Some things never changed, Waluigi supposed. Ah, wait a moment.

"Where's the dryer sheets?" he asked, suspecting nothing.

This time, the box was thrown in his direction, over the hedgehog's shoulder. Only through quick maneuvers and five seconds of fumbling was Waluigi able to catch it. "Waa—Waaah!" A harsh scowl was aimed at the back of Shadow's head. "Hey, what's the big idea?!"

"You should've been prepared," said Shadow coolly. He plucked another box from beside the washing machine.

Waluigi crossed his arms. "Yeah, well, next time, I'll just get it myself!"

A single, haughty "hmph" was all the response he got.

Waluigi's lip curled into a sneer. "Ya know," he began, "I don't get why you don't like me."

Shadow's hands stopped in their work. "What's not to get?" he said softly. "You're a pompous, miserable braggart, drowning in your own self-pity while you insist that you're better than everyone else." He turned to face Waluigi, his crimson eyes trained directly on him. "And you lack the skills to back up your talk."

The words were like knives: cutting and terse, and they hit their target well. Waluigi's breath came out in a harsh puff through his nose. "I lack skills?" he repeated. "I've got plenty of skills!"

"Sports don't count."

The ends of the lanky man's mustache twitched. "O-of course they do! It's just that everyone else is cheating, so I—"

"And there you go," said Shadow, putting a hand up to end the inevitable tirade before it began. "You're quick to accuse others of cheating, and never once does it occur to you that it's just your own incompetence—your own shortcomings—that holds you back." He poured detergent into his own machine's slot. "And you never get tired of complaining about it, either."

A flash of irritation sparked to life in Waluigi's core. "Yeah? Well…" He sputtered, searching for a good comeback. "Well, I—I've never seen you beat that blue speedy guy, either!"

Shadow's expression remained unimpressed, though one of his quills barely quivered. "And?"

"So you're not one to lecture me about skill!"

Shadow's eyelids drooped. "I don't have to," he said with a shrug. "My results speak for themselves." He turned back to his machine, clearly done with the conversation.

The same could not be said for Waluigi, still sitting there, fuming. Who did he think he was, strutting around, demeaning everyone else like he was the top banana around here? That was his job!

…A thought suddenly came to Waluigi. He stared at the hedgehog over his shoulder with an unreadable expression.

"You know, we're not so different, you and I."

That got his attention. Shadow turned back to Waluigi, brows raised. "I don't want to know how you even came close to that conclusion."

Waluigi was all too happy to explain. "I mean, look at us." He spread his arms wide. "We've been part of this program for three tournaments now. Always hoping to get a spot as a real fighter, but always coming up short." He crept closer with every word. "Always competing with someone else, trying to be better than them, and no matter how hard we try, it's never enough! Always stuck in the shadows of someone else." He loomed over Shadow, grinning both at his own pun and the point he was making. "We've always been second best. No matter how much we deserve it, the recognition we deserve is always just out of reach."

Shadow just stared up at Waluigi. The temptation to punch him in the crotch was very strong. He managed to rein it in. "I think you have me confused with someone else," he said, turning away.

"Ah, come on!" taunted Waluigi to Shadow's quills. "You can't handle the truth, can you? Aw, are you gonna get all broody because the truth hurts?"

A tense silence fell. The washing machines shook slightly with their loads. Waluigi continued to leer down at the hedgehog, grinning teeth gleaming.

"The recognition we deserve," said Shadow after a pause. "Let me ask you a question. What have you done to deserve such recognition?"

Waluigi blinked. "Waaah? What kinda stupid question is that? I've done plenty! I've gone to tennis tournaments, kart races…" He began to count on his fingers. "Golfing events, baseball…"

"I know that," said Shadow. Though his voice was even, the disdain in his voice was quite palpable. "All of your… friends have done that. But… Mario has fought repeatedly for people, entire kingdoms he's known for all of five seconds. And Luigi…" He crossed his arms when he spotted the scowl that came to Waluigi's face at the mention of his rival's name. "Luigi has braved his worst fears to rescue those he loves. That's why they were chosen over you. My question is, what have you specifically done to prove yourself? What makes you so special?"

Waluigi felt his face grow hot. "I… well…" His gaze bounced from place to place, to the washing machine, to the door, to anymore but Shadow's withering glare. "I've been… they were…" He shook his head suddenly, like he was shaking off moisture, and bared his teeth. "You wouldn't get it! They invited a plant over me!"

Still, Shadow was not intimidated in the slightest. "Really," he said. "I'm surprised he never brought you along."

Waluigi cocked his head to one side. "Waaah? Who?"

Shadow tilted his own head in response, brows slightly raised like he was surprised he didn't know. "Your cohort. The yellow one."

A sharp bitter feeling made itself known in Waluigi's gut, like a razor pressing in on his lungs. He coughed and cleared his throat in an attempt to stall for time. "What…What about him?" he asked.

"He's been on plenty of adventures," answered Shadow. "Without you. As I said, I'm surprised. I thought the two of you were close, considering the two of you are siblings."

Waluigi coughed again. It was suddenly far too cold. He directed a burning stare at the floor. "He's… He's not my brother," he spat.

"Really?" said Shadow. From what little Waluigi could see of his face, he was genuinely perplexed.

"Yeah. If I had a coin for every time I heard that, I'd be rolling in it."

"Hmmm. I could have sworn you two were related. But that's beside the point," Shadow continued. "I'm more surprised that he wasn't at the scene of the crime at that party."

That bitter feeling intensified, sitting gloomily in Waluigi's chest and making him feel like he was trekking through mud. "Yeah, join the club," he muttered.

Shadow nodded imperceptibly. "I see." He exhaled, barely audible over the noise of the washing machines. "Well, as long as you're here, may I give you some advice?"

Waluigi's eyes narrowed. "Oh, what is this, some kind of after-school special?"

Shadow ignored him. "Your shortcomings are what's holding you back from what you want to be. But sometimes… what holds us back doesn't come from within. Sometimes, what's holding us back is external."

The lanky man blinked. He felt like the word external had a name behind it, but he wasn't sure whose.

"Maybe," said Shadow, who was looking directly at Waluigi now. His eyes carried significantly less scorn than they usually did when he looked at him. "Just something to think about. Perhaps then you can step out of someone else's shadow."

And with one final smirk, Shadow was gone, leaving Waluigi to cogitate on his words.


Waluigi's mood had soured on his way to the cafeteria. The events of the morning were swirling in his mind like a whirlpool. From his encounter with Takamaru, to his escapade with Starfy, to his meeting with those Piantas, to his little chat with Shadow, his mind was running in circles, tossing and turning and lurching like a raft on a stormy sea, his gut moving in rhythm with his turbulent thoughts.

And every time, he landed on it should've been me.

It should've been me, he thought. It should be me with the prestige and the premium tournament amiibo deals and the fancy custom return labels!

…And what was worse, he was starting to get sick of saying that.

Rumination on other subjects provided no comfort. The words he and others had spoken over the course of the day so far continued to haunt his thoughts.

You gotta be mean to get what you want…

What makes you so special…

A pompous, miserable braggart, drowning in your own self-pity while you insist that you're better than everyone else…

You were on the news after you made a fool of yourself at that party for that Sora kid…

What have you specifically done to prove yourself…

What makes you so special…

What makes you so special…

What makes you so special?

Waluigi's eyes snapped open. There was… something in his chest, but he couldn't place it. Noise from the cafeteria faded into existence. The scent of grilled fish and (more vividly) garlic filled his nose.

…Garlic, huh? Must be that mushroom dish Chef Kawasaki was—

Wait a minute.

A surge of memories spread through Waluigi's mind, slowly, like old ketchup poured from a bottle. This time, they were all about something else, or rather someone else, someone he'd avoided thinking about for the whole day.

I'm surprised he never brought you along. Your cohort. The yellow one—

Venting his frustrations, Starfy, little Starfy, the boy who had always idolized—

Sixth place in his first kart race, which he'd blamed on his partner—

His very first tennis racket, the day he'd first taken the court with—

A jagged black mustache and a bellicose, thundering laugh that could only belong to—

To…

To…

"Wario."

Waluigi blinked, and his vision cleared, sharpening until he could see that blue robot boy chatting with the happier angel, and the puppy giving that green-haired girl the most pitiful pleading eyes, begging for scraps until she acquiesced—

And at the center of it all, one lone stout figure, dining alone, his back turned, heartily tucking into a submarine sandwich. He would recognize that yellow hat and purple overalls anywhere.

Waluigi's legs began to stomp towards Wario as if they had a mind of their own. Only the trace amounts of spittle at the corners of his mouth betrayed the whirlwind of rage billowing inside of him. One of the swordsmen, the one with red hair, Waluigi had never bothered to learn his name, gave him a wide berth as he stomped towards his target.

His shadow, thin and gaunt, loomed over the man. It took him a while to notice and turn.

"Wah?" asked Wario through a mouthful of hoagie. "Oh, hey, Wally. Been a while. …What's eatin' you?"

"What's eating me, he asks," hissed Waluigi.

Wario paid his tone no mind. "Ya wanna know what's eatin' me? Nothin'. But I'll tell what's eatin' this sandwich: Me! Waaa ha ha ha!" He downed the rest of the sandwich in one go, chortling as he went and spraying crumbs everywhere, and onto Waluigi's overalls.

Disgusting, Waluigi thought. He took a leveling breath. Goodness knew he needed to. "Well, buddy?" he asked, spitting out the nickname. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Whuh? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Lemme get that for you." Wario reached out to wipe off some of the crumbs, only to be stopped when Waluigi slapped his hand away. "'Ey! What's-a matter with you?! I'm just trying to help!"

The words struck Waluigi as though he'd been slapped right back. As any good tennis player would, he struck back just as fiercely. "Trying to help? Trying to help?! Oh, and where was this 'trying to help' when I was trying to sabotage the party, eh?!"

Wario stared idly into the distance as he twirled his mustache. "Oh, yeah, that party for the key boy. Say, uh… didn't they suspend you for that? Is that why I haven't seen you around?"

Oh, for the love of—was he truly so dense?! "Of course it's why!" Waluigi bellowed, making his neck feel tighter. Some of the other residents turned their heads towards the scene. "I got suspended for ninety days, and it's your fault!" A finger pointed accusingly down at Wario, because really, it was his fault, wasn't it?

"M-my fault?!" Wario repeated, eyes wide with disbelief and indignation. "How is it my fault?!"

"If you had been there," hissed Waluigi, leaning down to look him directly in the eye, "if you had answered my texts, I would've actually gotten the spotlight I deserve!"

"Aw, come on! Don't be ridiculous!" A crowd had started to gather. Waluigi could see a flash of green in his peripheral vision. It made him feel sicker than normal. "I didn't think you were actually gonna do it!"

"Wh—Buh—Of course I was!" Waluigi snarled. Spittle flew from his gums. His rage was a maelstrom, clawing at his chest. "If you were really a friend, you'd know that!"

"Oh, for crying out—" Wario rolled his eyes and dragged a hand down his face. "Wally, listen—"

"Wally" did not listen. "Don't give me that! If you were a real friend, you'd actually invite me to things other than tennis tourneys, or golf tourneys, or kart races, or—anything! No treasure hunts, no game development, no nothing!"

Wario sighed. "Okay, listen, I—"

"You even helped out Starfy before me!" Waluigi's skin was flushed with anger "Starfy, of all people!"

At once Wario became very stern, his (relatively) gentle tone melting away in an instant. "Now, see here, I know you're still peeved about this for some reason, but leave Starfy outta this, alright?"

"Oh, suuuure! How quickly you jump to defend Starfy, but never once did you lift a finger to help me!"

Wario got up from his seat, fists balled tightly. "Where's all this coming from, eh? If this is about that scheme you tried, I thought you'd be over it by now!"

Waluigi began to pace, his very form brimming with loathing. "It's about my scheme, it's about that game company of yours, it's about everything!" His breath came out in livid huffs. "It's about you."

"Me?!"

"Yes, you!" Onlookers would later swear they saw literal sparks flying between the two. "If you'd helped me with my plan, I wouldn't be in this situation!"

"Yes, you would!" Wario jabbed a finger in Waluigi's chest. "You think I wanna be dragged down into your mess?"

"Yes! Because that's what comrades do! That's what friends do!"

"It's. Been. Years," spat Wario. "Let it go." He sneered up at Waluigi, who looked ready to burst. "Sheesh. All this time, nothing, and now you go and throw a tantrum because you don't have what it takes to join the big leagues—"

Wario's derision was suddenly cut off by Waluigi removing his glove and slapping Wario clean in the face with it.

The crowd gasped. An Inkling guffawed, taking out a phone. Waluigi puffed hot air from his nose and replaced the glove. Wario stared in shock at the taller man, touching a palm to the spot he'd been slapped.

"Waaah," leered Waluigi. "What would you know about—"

The rest of Waluigi's breath left him in a hoarse cough as Wario lunged, knocking the lanky man clean off his feet.

As Waluigi landed on his back, Wario stumbled over to reach his face and began to pummel him. It was a far cry from the bizarre pokes, slaps and claps others saw him use in official matches. Here, his brute strength was brought to bear, making Waluigi's head jolt with each meaty strike.

But Waluigi was not to be outdone. He pushed Wario off him with a well-placed knee, and began kicking and stomping on his prone form. "Cheater!" he cried, kicking him in the eye. "Everyone thinks I'm a joke because of you!" He didn't have what it takes, huh? Well, allow him to prove this chucklehead wrong first-hand!

The fight went on, the two of them rolling across the cafeteria floor, the crowd that surrounded them pushing in and pulling back as they did so. Waluigi thought he heard Mario calling for them to stop. Ugh. Figures he'd try to get involved.

His thoughts on the matter were cut short, as Wario bit down hard on his elbow. Waluigi squawked in pain, and responded in kind by driving the butt of his tennis racket into Wario's cheek. It worked, and Wario released him, but not before seizing him and slamming him into the ground.

Waluigi blocked a fist aimed at his face, but suddenly felt a soft, heavy pressure on his back, knocking the air out of him. His eyes widened as the stench of garlic and sweat filled his nose. Wario was sitting on him.

"Oh, they don't think that," said Wario, his voice honey-sweet. "You're a joke with or without me! Case in point…"

By the time Waluigi reached for his tennis racket to do something, anything, it was already too late.

The screams of the crowd was the first thing Waluigi noticed. The stench was the second. Wario's malicious cackling, the same he'd heard in his dream, along with the pressure on his back being quickly released, was the third.

Tremulously, Waluigi got up, his eyes stinging. There was a flash of green through the ripples in his vision. But that was unimportant. Right now, he needed to focus on getting back at—

"What is going on in here?!"

Silence fell as Dr. Wright, flanked by two Miis, stormed into the cafeteria. He looked just as incensed as he did the day the suspension had begun. Even more so, now that he looked and saw one of the two culprits.

"You," he said, the anger leaving his voice and exhaustion filling it. "Why does it always have to be you?"

Waluigi blinked and tried to right himself into a sitting position. He could feel the swelling in his left eye, and there was something warm and wet oozing from his cheek. But at least he was (hopefully) doing much better than him, who was missing a couple teeth and some of the hairs in his mustache. Served him right, the filthy little brute.

One of the Miis pulled him rather roughly to his feet, the other doing the same with Wario. Dr. Wright slowly shook his head, his mouth a thin line. "Bring them to Master Hand's office," he sighed.

The crowd parted as they were shoved out of the cafeteria. Now Waluigi could look around and get a good glimpse at his surroundings. He could see one of the Inklings still filming the scene on her phone, only to be shushed by Lucario. That dog with the duck was there, the dog biting back a laugh with difficulty, and the duck with a wing over its eyes. Isabelle stood watching, both paws over her mouth in shock. Luigi was there, his shoulders slumped, and Princess Daisy was right next to him, her face a mixture of shock and revulsion. Surprisingly, Waluigi found he didn't care too much about that.

What was even more surprising was that Starfy was staring at him, eyes wide, looking very, very small next to Lyndis. For some reason, Waluigi couldn't bear to look at him too long. Maybe he was just too injured. Yeah, that was it.

This… this was how it always ended for him, wasn't it? Every time he tried something, to get ahead, to win, for once, it always ended up like this. An utter failure, everyone watching him with nothing but the greatest disdain. He really couldn't win, could he? Not against Mario, not against Bowser, not against Daisy, certainly not against Luigi, not against that stupid plant…

And evidently, not against Wario.

"Waaah…"

Maybe… Maybe Wario had a point. Maybe he really didn't have what it takes…

So, what? Was that it, then? Destined to be at the bottom of the barrel forever?

Shadow's words rang in Waluigi's head once more.

What holds us back doesn't come from within… Sometimes, what's holding us back is external…

External, eh…? Waluigi looked over at Wario. He was scowling, eyes turned towards the ground, and spat bitterly as he walked.

And there, realization struck him like lightning, galvanizing him and setting his back a little straighter.

All the misery, all the misfortune, everything bad that happened to him, it was all because of Wario. Every loss, every failure, every misstep on his way to glory… it had all been because of him, hadn't it? It was Wario who held him back, Wario who hindered him. Why, without him, who knows where he'd be by now? On top of the world, that's where! At the very least, he'd have something of merit to claim for himself and himself alone. Perhaps he'd have a big mansion, or the adoration of the masses, or the adoration of Daisy, at least. Well, she'd see. They'd all see!

Waluigi knew that he was looking at a twenty-day extension on his suspension. Heck, thirty days. He didn't care. None of it mattered, because he had a new lease on life, and it didn't involve his officially-now-ex-partner-in-crime.

No longer would he be held back by that oaf! No longer would he be stuck in his shadow, like that green beanpole loser! From now on, he was going to be his own man, his own champion, no more as some measly Player 2, with nothing and no one to stand in his way!

Despite the wounds on his face, Waluigi grinned, broadly and wickedly. His convictions were clear, and he had a new lease on life.

It would be Waluigi time soon enough.


Author's Notes: He's back, despite everyone's wishes!

Ouch, poor guy. Never could catch a break, could he? And that falling-out with Wario, yeesh. But maybe this split from Wario may be just what he needs...