The Bounce Lounge was unlike any place Marco had ever seen. Neon lights pulsed in rhythm with the heavy bassline, casting the crowd of dancing alien creatures in shifting hues of pink, blue, and green. The air vibrated with energy, filled with laughter, movement, and the unmistakable scent of something sugary and slightly burnt. This was the kind of place that catered to teenagers—well, average teenagers.
Marco, however, was not one of them.
"Where is this place?" he asked, glancing at Star, who twirled in place with a giddy smile.
"The Bounce Lounge! My favorite place to chill!" she announced. "Just stay away from the edge."
Marco followed her gaze. True to her words, the outermost part of the dance floor had no railing—just a sheer drop into darkness, where jagged spikes jutted out ominously. And there, impaled on one of them, was a skeleton.
Marco's eyes lingered on the remains. Perhaps it was due to the nature of interdimensional beings that such physical hazards were considered irrelevant. A minor inconvenience, even. But to him, it was fascinating. A place that allowed recklessness to take its natural toll. Interesting.
Meanwhile, Star and Ponyhead had already thrown themselves into the chaos of the dance floor. They moved with wild abandon, laughing, spinning, bumping into each other. Marco watched in silence. He never understood the appeal of such frivolities. It was inefficient, exhausting, and ultimately uninteresting.
Still, he smiled. Star was enjoying herself. That was enough.
But beyond simple observation, he saw opportunity. This was an entirely different plane of existence—one he might never have encountered on his own. A place with no apparent security, no visible authority. The only figure of control was the DJ, too engrossed in his own music to be of any real significance. The idea sat in Marco's mind, settling like a seed. A place without rules. Noted.
His thoughts were interrupted when Star caught sight of him. She beamed. This is my chance, she thought. A perfect opportunity to prove she wasn't just some reckless troublemaker. And maybe, just maybe, she could get Marco and Ponyhead to bond.
Then, she spotted the photobooth.
"Marco! Photo booth, photo booth! Come on!"
She grabbed his arm—
—and in an instant, he snapped it away from her grip.
A brief, awkward silence followed.
Then, Marco smiled, his face smooth, effortless. "Lead the way."
Star hesitated, a surge of panic bubbling in her chest. But Marco's reassuring smile made it feel like nothing had happened. So, she smiled back—awkwardly—and this time, without touching him, led the way, shoving Ponyhead into the booth ahead of her.
Inside, the photobooth lit up with its bright countdown. Star and Ponyhead immediately threw themselves into making a spectacle—grabbing props, making ridiculous faces, striking poses. Star stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. Ponyhead, ever dramatic, tossed imaginary hair with exaggerated flair. The camera flashed.
Marco, meanwhile, simply smiled. Unmoving. Unchanging.
After a few photos, Ponyhead finally noticed. "Okay, wait, HOLD UP." She turned to Marco, floating closer with a smirk. "Dude, are you, like, serious? That's your only face? You don't even know how to use a photobooth, do you?!"
Marco's response was gentle, practiced. "I suppose I'm not well-informed in this type of culture."
But inside, a flicker of irritation stirred. He had yet to master the variations of expression necessary to appear truly natural. Something to work on.
Star just laughed, pretending to nudge him playfully—without touching. "Don't worry, Marco, we'll teach you!"
After a few more shots (which Marco tried his best) Star was satisfied. Then she left the photo booth, saying, "Whoo! Now... just you two! A souvenir from the night my besties became besties. Yay."
Leaving only Ponyhead and Marco behind. The air shifted slightly in Star's absence, the high-energy buzz of her presence leaving a faint void. The flashing lights and pulsing music carried on undisturbed, but for Marco, the atmosphere had changed—less vibrant, more focused. He turned his attention to Ponyhead, who, freed from Star's presence, let her expression slip into something more unreadable.
Star out of the picture, Ponyhead immediately changed her attitude. Even her last sense of manners seemed to have disappeared.
"Listen. We are not gonna be besties. We are not even gonna be second-besties."
Marco grinned.
"Sure, you don't have to. I'm sorry if I was an inconvenience."
Even as Ponyhead leveled her sharp horn at him, Marco merely smiled.
Ponyhead hesitated for a moment, thrown off by his calm reaction, but quickly regained her glare. "Look here, Earth Turd. This night is really important to me. You mess that up, and you're gonna get the horn!"
Marco's expression remained unchanged. "Like I said, by all means, enjoy yourself. But I am curious—why is this night so important? You have dimensional scissors. You can visit Star whenever you want."
"None of your business, Earth Turd." Ponyhead huffed, flicking her head back. "And—"
"'Princess' Ponyhead," Marco interrupted smoothly. "Hmm. Aha... So that's it. Trouble in your own kingdom, isn't it?"
Ponyhead's nostrils flared, but she didn't answer. Instead, she let out an irritated grunt and shoved her way out of the booth. "Just stay out of it. You suck."
Marco watched her go, then reached into his pocket and pressed a small button on his recorder.
A truly beneficial conversation.
Marco grinned as he stepped out of the booth, his eyes trailing after Star and Ponyhead as they laughed and played. If his understanding was correct, this would be one of the last—if not the last—times Ponyhead would be able to see Star like this. Whether the issue lay with her or her kingdom didn't matter. What mattered was that Ponyhead had threatened him.
And now, he had a leash on her.
The beast just didn't know it yet.
He considered showing Star the recording now, but after a moment, he dismissed the thought. It wasn't enough. With just this, Ponyhead could smooth things over with a fake apology and a forced friendship—exactly what he didn't want.
There was a gamble forming in his mind, but not yet. He needed a better reason. Something more natural.
While Star and Ponyhead continued dancing, Marco simply sat back, watching. It didn't take long for Star to notice. Her excitement faltered, and she quickly made her way over to him with an awkward smile.
"Marco! What are you doing just sitting there? We should dance! Play! Party!"
Marco's expression remained unreadable. "Have fun, Star. I hope you two enjoy yourselves... especially since it won't last long."
"Won't last long? What are you talking about?" Star pouted. "We'll be best friends forever! But since you don't like dancing—hmm... Ah! I know! Ponyhead! Let's go to the Amethyst Arcade. Marco will have more fun there!"
Marco watched as Star adjusted herself to him, trying to bridge the gap between them. It was nice. A significant improvement from the first day they met.
"No! Way! Girl! I'm! Getting! My! Dance! On!" Ponyhead called out, her voice punctuated by each bounce. Marco raised a brow as he noticed she was... riding someone. A horse head horseriding a person...was quite ironic.
Before he could react, a flicker of movement caught his eye.
Three figures emerged from a portal, stepping onto the Bounce Lounge's neon-lit floor. Their faces were obscured by smooth, black masks, illuminated only by a faint red glow. They wore sleek black suits, blending into the flashing lights with eerie precision.
Ponyhead saw them, and her entire demeanor shifted.
Gone was the carefree energy. In its place, urgency. Fear.
Without hesitation, she grabbed her dimensional scissors and sliced open a portal. "Yes, you're right, Star! Marco would like the arcade better. Let's go!"
Then, without another word, she disappeared through it.
Star, oblivious to the change in atmosphere, beamed. "See? This is going great! Ponyhead's getting along with you way better than I thought!"
Marco didn't respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the three masked figures standing far away. Even with the pulsing lights and shifting shadows, he could see it clearly—they were the ones Ponyhead was running from.
Interesting.
Finally, he tore his gaze away and looked at Star. "…Sure."
Then, he stepped through the portal after her.
Marco's eyes widened slightly as he took in the sheer number of arcade machines packed into the Amethyst Arcade. Rows upon rows of glowing screens, flashing buttons, and buzzing sound effects filled the space, bathing everything in an eerie neon glow. Yet, despite all the futuristic lights and the fact that this was another dimension, most of the games were... pixelated.
He walked past a machine that looked suspiciously like Street Brawler II, only the characters were replaced with bizarre, multi-eyed creatures. Another resembled Asteroid Blaster, but the asteroids had little screaming faces.
Marco frowned.
This entire dimension-hopping experience had already raised plenty of questions, but now a new one lingered in his mind: Just what is the cultural level of Mewni and these other dimensions? They had access to technology that allowed them to traverse different realities at will, yet their entertainment, their very aesthetic, felt… underdeveloped. A strange paradox.
Why?
But it seemed neither Star nor Ponyhead had given it a second thought.
The moment they arrived, Star was drawn to the nearest game like a moth to a flame, practically squealing with delight. Ponyhead was hovering beside her, shouting encouragement as Star mashed buttons with reckless abandon.
Marco, meanwhile, took a step back, slipping away from their immediate attention.
Good. That made things easier.
He casually strolled through the arcade, blending into the dim glow of the screens. There was no rush. He had to wait—wait for the right moment.
His eyes scanned the room until he caught sight of the suited figures stationed near the entrance. They stood rigid, their expressions hard, scanning the crowd. Yes, they were the ones that Ponyhead was being chased by. They chased all the way to here.
Carefully, he approached, keeping his steps measured. The moment he got close enough, one of them turned sharply.
"You there," the guard barked. "You're the Earth boy traveling with Princess Lilacia, aren't you?"
Marco feigned a slight hesitation, as if nervous. "Uh… yeah? Something wrong?"
The guards exchanged glances before the leader spoke. "We are here under orders to retrieve the princess. She is a fugitive. Have you seen her?"
Marco blinked, feigning ignorance. "Ponyhead? Fugitive? Since when?"
The guard narrowed his eyes. "You don't know? The princess has been evading capture for some time now. She was meant to be placed under correction but escaped before the process could begin."
"Correction?" Marco echoed, tilting his head. "What does that mean, exactly?"
Another guard, older and seemingly less patient, let out a low sigh. "We are from St. Olga's Reform School for Wayward Princesses. We specialize in disciplining royalty that do not behave as they should. Princess Lilacia was deemed an unfit representative of her kingdom."
Marco crossed his arms, his expression neutral. "And what happens if you catch her?"
The first guard straightened. "She will be returned to the institution immediately. Her education will start, and her behavior will be corrected. The longer she remains free, the worse her punishment will be."
Marco absorbed the information, piecing things together. He knew Ponyhead well enough to understand why she'd want to avoid this fate. But more importantly, he saw an opportunity.
A slow smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "And what if I could help you?"
The guards regarded him with suspicion. "Why would you?"
Marco shrugged. "Let's just say Ponyhead and I don't see eye to eye. If you want to catch her without making a scene, I can make sure she comes to you willingly. No chase, no mess."
The guards exchanged glances again. The older one folded his arms. "And how do you plan to do that?"
Marco smiled. "Leave that to me. Just be ready when I give the signal."
With the final details of his plan in place, Marco approached Ponyhead, who was completely engrossed in one of the arcade games. He didn't rush. Instead, he stood beside her and, without a word, pressed a button on his recorder.
The audio crackled to life:
"Listen. We are not gonna be besties. We are not even gonna be second-besties. "
Ponyhead's entire body stiffened at the sound of her own voice. Her head snapped toward Marco, her eyes burning with fury.
"Remember the things you said to me after this?" Marco gave her a calm, almost sympathetic smile. "I think you wouldn't want Star to hear this. Imagine how disappointed she'll be."
Ponyhead stole a quick glance at Star, who was still lost in her own game, unaware of the conversation. Then, she turned back to Marco, her voice a sharp whisper. "What do you want, Earth turd?"
Marco's voice remained soft, composed. "Just a little chat. Somewhere more private."
Marco and Ponyhead left for somewhere quieter. He turned to Ponyhead, who was already glaring at him.
"Alright," she snapped. "Erase it. Now."
Marco sighed, shaking his head. "I could…" He held up the device, showing her the button. "Just one press, and it's gone."
"Then do it," Ponyhead growled.
Marco tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "See, that's the thing. The guards from St. Olga's? They're here. Right outside. The ones you've been running from."
Ponyhead froze. He could see the panic flicker in her eyes.
Marco let the moment linger before offering his next words carefully. "But I can help you."
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "How?"
"Open a portal," Marco said smoothly. "Take us back to the Bounce Lounge. They won't expect you to return so soon. It's the safest place."
For once, Ponyhead didn't argue. Reluctantly, she opened a portal, leading them back. Marco stepped onto the floating platform and moved toward the edge where the drop below was vast and deadly.
Ponyhead stayed back, eyes darting between Marco and the void. "Okay, we're here. Now, erase the record."
Marco sighed. "You know, Ponyhead… I actually feel kinda bad for you." His voice was almost pitying. "You just wanted some fun before getting locked away, huh?"
Ponyhead's glare hardened. "Shut up."
"But the problem is…" Marco continued, his voice smooth, almost conversational. "You make it so easy for people not to like you. Do you know how stressed Star looks when she's around you? So for the good of Star, I don't think I can let you erase this. She deserves to know what kind of...beast you are."
That was the final push.
Ponyhead snapped. With a furious growl, she lunged forward, headbutting Marco with full force.
Marco grinned.
And he fell.
Ponyhead barely had time to process what she'd done before gasps rang out from behind her.
She turned.
Star. The guards. Her father.
All watching. All horrified.
Marco had told the guards to take Star and Ponyhead's guardians to exactly where he was, at the precise moment.
"MARCO!"
Star's scream pierced through the neon-lit air.
Ponyhead froze. Her pupils shrank as realization dawned.
The St. Olga's guards stood motionless, their weapons lowered. The king, a massive floating horse head adorned with a heavy crown, clenched his jaw. His gaze burned into his daughter, who remained frozen in place, her whole body trembling.
Star didn't even glance at Ponyhead. She bolted forward, reaching desperately toward the edge. Her face was unreadable—silent fury beneath wide, betrayed eyes.
Marco landed with a heavy thud, rolling to a lower ledge. Blood smeared the floor where he lay.
Ponyhead panicked. "No—Star—listen, I didn't mean—"
And then—
Click.
A voice crackled from the recorder Marco had dropped onto the floor before falling. The device whirred, and then Ponyhead's own voice, raw and unfiltered, spilled out into the stunned room. It was deliberately edited to make Ponyhead sound more aggressive, but no one here except for Marco and Ponyhead knew that.
"Just stay out of it. You suck. Earth turd...We are not gonna be besties."
"Sure, you don't have to. I'm sorry if I was an inconvenience."
"You're gonna get the horn!"
A cold silence followed. The recording ended.
Ponyhead's dimensional scissors slipped from her grasp and clattered onto the floor.
Star turned toward her, and this time, there was no warmth in her eyes. No confusion. No hesitation. Just an icy, suffocating silence.
"...Star?" Ponyhead's voice wavered.
Star didn't answer.
She bent down, scooped up the recorder, and clutched it tightly in her hands. Then, without another word, she walked past Ponyhead and knelt at the edge of the platform, looking down.
Marco lay far below, groaning in pain. Blood stained his hoodie, a deep crimson soaking through the fabric. He wasn't dead—just bruised, battered, and barely holding himself up.
Ponyhead moved instinctively toward Star, desperate, but the king's voice boomed through the room.
"Enough."
She flinched.
Her father's glare was heavier than she had ever felt before.
"You...You...Wretched child. After all the trouble you caused, I still believed that you were a good child in heart. Yet you have disappointed me once more. You won't be coming out for a long time," he said, his voice slow, yet furious. He turned to the guards. "Take her."
"N-No—wait, this ain't—"
The guards moved swiftly, dimensional restraints wrapping around her in an instant. She kicked and thrashed, but she was weightless in their grip.
"Daddy, please! He framed me! I just—I just wanted one last good time before—!"
"Silence."
The finality in his voice crushed any further protest.
The portal to St. Olga's swirled open.
Ponyhead turned to Star one last time, her expression pleading. "Girl—GIRL, YOU KNOW ME! PLEASE!"
Star didn't look at her.
She only reached out, extending a trembling hand toward Marco, her focus entirely on him.
That was the last thing Ponyhead saw before she was dragged through the portal, her screams cut off the moment it sealed shut.