Dear Diary,

The memoir is humming along at a good pace. We just finished the middle parts of the war, including the battles of Solar—goodness, I had to drink more water just hearing about that mission—Macbeth, and Zoness. Zoness, being Falco's home planet, was a personal matter to the team. Fox told me, to this day, he's never seen such cold anger from Falco before or since.

So, with so much done with the memoir, and with a couple meetings with Fox under my belt, I want to write down some thoughts about the man himself. There are a lot of them. I already figured being so close to a celebrity would make for a thoughtful experience, and reality does that pan that out. With a hot cup of tea at my side and a beautiful Cornerian City sunset at my window, I'll put some words down.

The most standout thing about Fox is something I've touched on before. It's the public perception of Fox versus how he actually is.

In my daily life in Corneria City, whenever I'm out for a walk or grabbing groceries or doing other errands, I hear conversations and chatter throughout the day, and being a journalist it's my job to be politely nosey. Whenever those conversations are about Fox, I raise my ears. It helps that Fox goes out in public rather than incognito—I've bumped into him a few times, delightfully—so people see him often and talk about him often. He's rarely hounded like a celebrity—respect for him as a warrior, I suppose—but you can never stop gossip. They wonder about his private life, whether he has a mansion, if he has multiple girlfriends, if he has endless amounts of money. Beneath the mild-mannered exterior must be a wild child or something of a spendthrift. After all, if they had that money, they would probably be too. So many young celebrities usually are. In the words of the public, Fox is larger than life. He simply must be.

Then there is the part of his public reputation that isn't spoken. While on a walk through the city I chanced to see an abandoned lot, along a side of which was the tall wall of a warehouse. And on this tall wall was a mural of Star Fox. Four Arwings blazed along the expanse of space, and above them were the profiles of all four members. In Fox's one visible eye was pure determination. Corneria knows—Lylat knows—who their saviors were, and who led them. Fox and his friends belong to that cohort of historical figures that loom large over a culture without ever being spoken of. To countless millions, Fox is a hero, and it never needs to be said.

Then there is the man himself, who stands apart from such a reputation.

First there is his manner. Fox, in all the times I came over to his home so far, was the perfect host, and I got to see him at rest. He's kind, subtle, and carries himself with a quiet dignity. There are times where he's even a little awkward, but not painfully so; in fact it is incredibly adorable. He can be bashful—I've caught him blushing at me, the darling—and he's never the boisterous lout you might expect comes with the reputation of a war hero. He isn't the man to turn too inward at his experiences either; he has his friends, and his life, and that's good enough. His manner of dress is similarly tasteful and easy; jeans and a shirt, a polo and chinos, or a cardigan or denim shirt, some comfortable button-down or other. Never the loud and ostentatious style you could expect from someone young and popular. His voice is warm but firm, and when he speaks of the war he is exact, somewhat subdued, and never boastful.

In so many ways he enjoys the civilian side of his life, as much as he does being in the cockpit. He keeps a clean home, and is a homely decorator, giving his country house a nice rustic look. He enjoys cooking in his spare time, baking especially—his muffins are to die for—and he reads plenty. I see no signs of a caged animal longing for the next conflict or job, but rather someone enjoying a peace bought with effort. I have no doubt that the Fox I see during trips to his home, as I'm sitting down in a chair in his living room and watching him pace back and forth and tell his story, is as much the real Fox McCloud as the one in those stories, fighting those battles.

In the times we sit down together on the porch, talking after a session, he asks me about myself. I tell him about my writing life—idle poems, my journalism work, the unfailing support of a family that thinks everything I make is a masterpiece—and he smiles and listens. I tell him about Cerinia too. It's one of the few planets he hasn't visited. He wants to, sometime.

…I am aware that professional distance from a subject is important to projects like these. But…I find myself becoming more and more fond of Fox every day.

Text conversation between Krystal and her mother, Lapis:

Krystal: So, yes, this is how I would describe him.

Lapis: Dear, if I was there, I'd tuck him into my pocket and take him home.

Krystal: Mother…