"Are you sure about this? You've done so much for us already…"

"Don't worry, Doc Wright! We'll be fine!"

Callie tapped the side of her beanie, a dark-blue cap with the tournament logo stitched onto the front. She now wore a blue cardigan over a white shirt, and a satchel, filled to near-bursting with letters, rested at her hip. She swayed from side to side, her smile as wide as the sea. "It'll be fiiiine!" she reassured.

To her right, Marie stood wearing a matching, just-as-fashionable (and far less flattering, in her opinion) pale blue polo shirt with a navy vest, tournament logo printed onto the chest. On her head sat a white helmet that, in another life and another outfit, could have passed as a lovely cloche. But Marie had no time to lament its fate. She had work to do. "It's really the least we can do."

Indeed, once the Squid Sisters had recovered Master Hand's COPTR, the foundation of all mail sent to and from tournament grounds, they quickly found themselves playing catch-up, as it were. Roughly two weeks of mail, plus over one hundred fighters, assistants and tournament staff meant almost a literal mountain of mail to deliver. To that end, Callie had graciously volunteered to play the role of courier, something for which everyone—especially Nikki, whose passion lay in postage—was grateful. (Marie was less "gracious volunteer" and more "got volunteered". But her help was appreciated all the same.)

Dr. Wright seemed to relax a little bit. "Well… if you're sure." No more was said from him after that, except for his giving the floor over to Nikki, who was keen as mustard to talk about their assigned routes, how to handle the mail, when to collect on delivery, and certain… details about their patrons.

"Red leaves his door open but doesn't have a slot, so if you're going there, make sure you don't open it immediately, his Ivysaur gets spooked easily, but Leaf's Pokémon are much more relaxed at least—" She hurriedly shoved a satchel into Callie's arms. "Ridley has a drop box outside his room, it goes without saying that you're better off just leaving packages there, even though you two can take care of yourselves, it's better safe than sorry, I always say—" A map was haphazardly shoved into Marie's hands. "If there's something they need to sign for, just take it back to the post office—"

Nikki's eyes went as wide as dinner plates as her hands flew to her mouth. "Ohmigosh, the post office! I forgot I have to give the boys the rundown! Gonna have to do that by video… And the mailroom; am I gonna have to call Starman again?"

Marie gave her a fond smile. The scene put her in mind of herself, in her younger years, desperate to cram the last few facts she needed for the next day's test. How simple those times were, back in the day…

…Okay, now she was putting herself in mind of her grandpa. She loved him dearly, but she wasn't that old.

Luckily, Callie stepped in just in time, placing a hand on Nikki's head to calm her down. It was surprisingly effective, her shoulders slumping. "Don't worry. We can handle it! We'll get that mail delivered faster than a sailfish!"

"I should hope so," came a deep, booming voice, making everyone jump. Master Hand had manifested behind the group without so much as a peep. He floated over to Dr. Wright, who was still trying to catch his breath. "I hate to rush you, but we are rather behind on bills. I'd like to get them paid as soon as possible."

"Bills?" Marie blinked. "You, like, actually pay bills?"

"Yes," said Master Hand simply. "Is there an issue?"

"No, no, I just…" Marie floundered. "I just didn't think you needed to pay bills."

Master Hand seemed incredulous. "What? Did you really think this tournament pays for itself?"

"I—"

"Well… it does, in a sense." He chuckled at his own joke. "But in all seriousness, the items that appear in matches are imported from several universes. And some of the people… or organizations that loan them out charge very high prices to use them."

"I tell you what, those guys from Silph are so draconian, they make Ridley seem tame!" said Crazy Hand, popping out of what looked like a broom closet. He shook off the debris that had gathered on his knuckles.

Master Hand paid his brother's sudden appearance no mind, mostly because he'd rather have him popping out of the broom closet instead of his desk drawer. Not after the last time. "At any rate, are there any further questions?" he asked.

Marie raised her hand.

"Yes," sighed Master Hand, "you will be paid. Considerably."

Marie lowered her hand.

Callie's hand shot up next. "Why is it called that?"

"...What?"

"The COPTR. Why did you name it that?"

Master Hand's fingers drooped. He shifted in midair, as though ashamed of the answer. "We… we actually did rock-paper-scissors for the name."

"And I won!" Crazy Hand cheered. "Good old rock, ain't nothing can beat that!"

Master Hand's thumb curled inward, evidently his equivalent of a pout. "I still say the Cosmogram 3000 would have been a better choice."

"But that sounds so pretentious."

"It does not!"

Sensing the beginning of a shouting match (an unpleasant thing to witness, regardless of whether the participants were mere mortals or glove-shaped gods), Nikki hurriedly ushered the Squid Sisters out of the office. Once the door closed behind her, she went right back to it, chattering on and on about the day ahead of them.

"If Dark Pit is in his room, he's probably going to be listening to music—and it's loud, so make sure you ring the bell… Oh! Speaking of, make sure you knock at least three times when you're delivering to Piranha Plant. Don't ask me why, it only answers then. And watch where you step when you deliver to Mr. Game & Watch, there's some bizarre geometry there, but you should be fine as long as you're careful. And don't mind the Pikmin, they just get excited when they see someone new—"

"Nikki," said Marie at long last. "This is…" She stopped herself before she finished that with too much. "This has been nice, but we should really get going."

Nikki snapped to attention at once. "Yes, of course! I shouldn't keep you here any longer." And then she pulled both Inklings into a hug.

It was a bit awkward, given that she was just over a head shorter than either of them, but she still managed to get her arms around their necks and pull them downward, squeezing ever so slightly. One of Callie's tentacles flopped down onto Nikki's shoulder.

Callie was quick to reorient herself, returning the hug and squeezing just as hard. Marie was a bit slower in that regard, her hand awkwardly hovering over Nikki's back before going for the comforting, sisterly back pat.

"We'll be fine," said Callie, straightening up. "We're gonna get this mail out so fast, it'll knock you off your feet!"

"Uh, yeah," said Marie, going for one last back pat. "What she said."

Nikki nodded. "Yes, of course!" At last, she let go and stepped back, if only to give them one last once-over. "Good luck out there!" she called out to the Inklings' retreating forms. "Be safe!"

"We will!" called Callie. Jeez, she really was starting to remind them of Grandpa.

"We'll get this done," declared Nikki, "or my name isn't Nikki Filatélie!"

The Squid Sisters turned a corner and disappeared. A very full day lay ahead of them.

"…and she just has those big nudibranch eyes, you know? You just wanna pick her up and squeeze her. Like a plush toy. You get me?"

"Pretty sure she's older than us, but I kinda get it, yeah."

Callie and Marie were ambling along their route, mailbags crowded with correspondence from across many worlds, and then some. A stray letter slipped out of Callie's bag, prompting Marie to pluck it out of the air and tuck it back inside.

"But anyways! Who knows what kinda mail we'll be delivering!" Callie pulled the same letter out and held it up. "Maybe it's birthday cards! Party invitations? Or maybe…" She gasped in delight, her eyes twinkling as she turned to Marie. "Maybe it's love letters?"

Marie's eyebrows drew together. "Who do you know that would get a love letter?"

"…Iunno." Callie shrugged. "Maybe Agent 3? …Oooh, what if it's Dr. Wright?"

"Oh, cod!" Marie fake-gagged. "…Isn't he, like, 'married to the job', though?"

"Fair enough. Maybe… maybe Hammer Brother?"

The image of the Hammer Brother, one of Bowser's elite servants, sitting at a desk and writing billets-doux to his blushing bride formed in their minds, and they had to stop walking from how hard they laughed.

"But seriously, though," said Marie, clearing her throat, "who's first on the route?"

"Let's see…" Callie took out the map and scanned it down. "Oh, it's Mario! And his brother!"

"Alright." Marie reached into her bag. "That's, like, a floor down. You got the stuff?"

Callie nodded. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"I'm going," said Marie, pulling out a handful of letters. "Just, y'know… it's not like we're in a hurry."

"Well, we kind of are, though," countered Callie, giving her satchel a little shake. "And besides, that's boring! The faster we deliver all this mail, the sooner we'll be done! So let's-a go!" She hopped in the air, a fist aimed at the sky and the other bent at her side."To Mario!"

"That was a really bad impression," yawned Marie.

"C'mon. C'mon. Let's-a goooo."

Something tugged at Marie's fingers. She looked down to meet the eyes of her cousin, shifted into swim form, a tentacle wrapped around her pinky. The squid blinked innocently up at her. "Let's go," she squeaked.

Marie had long grown resistant to Callie's brand of big, sad nudibranch eyes. "Eh," she grunted.

"Oh, I get it," said Callie, her golden eyes gaining that mischievous twinkle. "You're just worried that you can't keep up with me, right?"

Marie froze. She recognized the gambit for what it was. Just keep walking. Just keep walking. "And?" she heard herself say.

"So, y'know, if you don't want to lose to me in a race, then we can just—"

Marie's gaze slid down to her cousin. Callie was still looking at her, but her eyes were squinted, tentacles steepled like she was the devious, greedy owner of a nuclear power plant. Marie knew she'd lost the minute she made eye contact. Her and her competitive spirit…

"You got your roller?"

Callie popped back into her humanoid form, grin wide and victorious. Marie ignored that.

"On your mark…" said Callie, pressing her roller to the ground. Pink ink coated the cover.

"Get set…" By her side, Marie crouched low to the ground, pulling out a long sniper rifle, loaded with green ink.

"Go!"

Two trails of ink flew, one long and thin and green, the other shorter and colored pink. Both Inklings dove in, and the race was on.

Marie had been correct—walking could have gotten the Squid Sisters to the Mario brothers' lodging fairly quickly, given that they were on the first floor. But, as Inklings, swimming in their own ink was a far more feasible option. It was a good thing, then, that they always had their weapons on hand, just in case of emergency. And as Inklings, competitive as they were, racing was just such an emergency.

Ink splattered on the ground, on the walls, and even on a vase that wobbled dangerously on its shelf. If their observations in tournament matches were right, the ink would simply vanish after a while. And if it didn't… well, someone would clean it up later, right?

Marie was slowly gaining on her cousin. The Mario brothers' door was just a few feet away. Theoretically, pragmatically, she could just paint the ground in front of Callie and win that way… but there was no honor in that. Instead, she decided on a technique she'd seen on television when she was a kid, and that her mother had warned her not to do. Well, her mom wasn't here now, so she figured it was fair game.

Leaping out of the ink, Marie turned around and fired her charger in midair, hard enough so she could propel herself backwards, just enough to catch up to Callie. The blast of ink rang out like cannon fire.

Speaking of Callie, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head as she watched Marie glide above her. The two Inklings made eye contact, and Marie grinned ever so slightly. Watch her fly…!

She did, for roughly two milliseconds, before gravity reasserted itself and she fell, face first, on the floor.

"I win!" came Callie's voice.

Carp. Well, it was worth a shot.

Not only had Callie won bragging rights (a feat she teased Marie about for three straight minutes), but she had also won the rights to knock on the Mario brothers' door. This was news to Marie, considering they hadn't bet anything.

Singing, loud and high, sounded from behind the mahogany, and shadows darted to and fro from underneath. Callie knocked five little raps on the door, and the movement ceased. "Hoo-hoo! Just a second!" came Mario's voice.

The door began to open, but suddenly stopped, halted by an unseen object. "Eh? Ah, come on…" One more jostle, and the door swung open. Something—or somethings—fell over behind it. "Ah, buongiorno! You two delivering mail today?"

Marie nodded. "It keeps the lights on," she said wryly. It really didn't, considering Master Hand prided himself on using several different energy resources (all of them green, he would add with the utmost self-satisfaction) to power the mansion's implements, but a joke was a joke.

Luckily, the joke did land with Mario, and he laughed, leaning on the doorframe with mirth. Callie looked past him to peer inside his room. "Say, where's your brother? There's mail for him, too!"

"Oh, Luigi? He went to the store to get-a some wheat. But he should-a be back right—right about now…"

Mario looked past the Inklings and attempted (poorly) to stifle a laugh. Callie and Marie turned, already having a hunch as to what, or who, it was he was laughing at.

There was Luigi, a bag of wheat in hand, both it and himself covered in lime green ink.

"Ah—"

Mario burst into peals of unrestrained laughter, while Luigi just sighed. "Oh, cod, I am so sorry—"

"It's-a fine," said Luigi, walking inside and setting the wheat on the table. "This is normal. For me, at least."

"Um… well… anyway, we got mail for you!" Callie theatrically placed a pile of letters on the table, which Marie hastily neatened. "Enjoy!"

Mario picked up the letters, his brother heading to the sink to wash his face. "Let's-a see here… junk… junk… oh! 'Ey, Luigi, you got something from E. Gadd!"

"Is it from Gadd Science, or actually from E. Gadd?"

"It's actually from—oh, wait, never mind, it's-a just from the company." Mario tossed it back on the table. "Hey, thanks for the delivery," he said to the Squid Sisters.

"Oh, yeah," said Luigi, shaking his face clean of water. "Grazie mille!"

"Aw, no problem!" Callie glowed under the praise. "You two have a great day now!"

With nothing left to say or sign for, the door closed behind them. Callie stretched and scratched the side of her neck. "That went well, I'd say."

Marie leaned against the wall, exhausted from the strenuous effort of having to hand six envelopes to exactly two people. "Two down, like… a hundred-something left to go."

"C'mooon, you make it sound like it's not gonna be fun!" Callie hoisted the satchel on her shoulder. "We'll get to talk to people!"

Marie remained unconvinced. "But over a hundred of them, though?" She began to walk towards the next stop—Fox, if she was reading the map right. "It's like an autograph session, but we have to go to them."

Callie couldn't really argue with that. "Well, yeah, but… look on the bright side! We'll get to talk to cute people!"

Marie turned to her. "Like who?" she asked.

"Um…" Callie wordlessly gestured at the door they had just left, with a bright red M printed on it.

Marie's mouth fell open. "... Seriously?"

"I mean…!" Callie gestured with her hands, face turning pink. "He's kinda cute! He's cute in a weird human way!"

Her explanation only served to knock the wind out of Marie in a sound somewhere between a cough and a bark. That sound gave way to laughter, light and airy, and contagious, and Callie giggled along with her.

And the thing was, Marie thought, she wasn't even wrong.

At last, both Inklings caught their breath. "C'mon, Callie, let's get this done. Hey, who knows? Maybe the boys are having a harder time of it than we are."

A couple turns away from the main lobby sat the mansion's official (and only) post office, where all sorts of mail and mail-adjacent services were provided to beings from all different worlds. From there, anyone involved in the tournament—or indeed, even those who had saved up enough cash to travel directly to the World of Trophies to witness the battles themselves—could send letters or parcels to whatever world they wished… provided they had the proper postage.

And it was there that two assistants were beginning their first day on the job, suffering a harsh, unrelenting trial that would make even the mightiest of warriors fall to their knees and weep, and the nastiest, most pitiless of villains to turn over a new leaf. The ordeal known colloquially as retail service was about to begin.

"I'm tellin' ya, Bomby, I've got a pretty good feeling about today!"

Sukapon smiled as he adjusted his name tag, magnetically attached to his torso. The office opened in five minutes, so he and his coworker had retreated to the back to pep each other up. Boxes were cleaned, shelves were stocked, and stamp books were arranged by issuance date right down to the second.

"What makes you say that?" asked Bomberman, idly flipping through a stamp catalog.

"We're gonna be interacting with people from all over creation!" Sukapon spread his hands wide, an easy task, considering they floated by his side. "That's a huge eye-opener! It'll be an experience, that's for sure!"

Bomberman nodded along. "Yeah, same! …Wait, like a good experience, or a bad one?"

Sukapon waved a hand. "…Ehhh, a little of both. At any rate, I'll be able to get great material for my next show!"

Before Bomberman could ask for elaboration, a screen on the wall lit up with life, an image of a bell ringing displayed. Bomberman pressed a round pink hand to the screen, and Nikki's face flickered into view.

"Hello? Bomberman? Sukapon?" came Nikki's voice. "Can you hear me?"

"In the highest of high definition," Sukapon answered.

"Okay, great." Nikki adjusted a few papers in her hands. "Just a last-minute memo before you open." Her glasses slipped down her nose, hastily pushed back into place with a finger. "Now, remember, if a customer hands you money that you can't process, direct them to the Convert-a-Cash machines located in the lobby. And alcoholic beverages can't be sent through us, regardless of how small the container is. And if someone threatens to kill you or conquer the world, there's a button right under the counter. But you two can take care of yourselves!" Between each reminder, Bomberman and Sukapon nodded along. "And remember, a smile is—"

"—understood in every language," finished the robots.

Nikki slumped back in her chair, sliding her papers off to the side. "Okay, now that that load of corporate bull is over with… Good luck, and don't let them get to you."

"We won't," said Bomberman.

"As you wish," asserted Sukapon, saluting and bowing simultaneously.

Nikki nodded, and the screen went blank once more. It was thirty seconds to opening. Time to get this show on the road.

Registers were opened, key was inserted into lock and turned, and the doors swung open. Bomberman and Sukapon took their positions behind the counter just as the clock struck on the hour.

"Alright, the doors are open," declared Sukapon. "Let the mailflow commence!"

…

…

…

After about ten minutes of eagerly staring at the post office entrance, Bomberman said, "No one's here."

"Yet!" corrected Sukapon. "Plenty of people are gonna be comin' through those doors any minute now, with their letters or parcels or tax returns or what have you! And it's up to us to make sure they get there! We owe it to Nikki to see it through!"

Bomberman nodded his agreement. "Hear, hear! But, um… what were you saying earlier, about material for your show?"

"Huh? Oh, that! Y'know how they say the best jokes are universal?"

Bomberman, who was more into demolition than drollery, shook his head.

"Well, what could be more universal than this?" Sukapon swept a hand around the yet-still-empty office. "The retail experience. Long wait times. Standing on your feet for hours on end. Being forced to work at a clumsy pace by obnoxious customers!"

"You are… not doing a great job of selling me on this," said Bomberman after a pause.

"Yeah, it's not a great thing to go through in real life… but it's great for comedy! A really good joke is built on something that everyone has in common. And what's more common than this?"

Bomberman still looked unconvinced.

"...Look, worst case scenario, I can still make, like, a mail-themed gimmick routine. You got any good—any good postal puns…?"

Sukapon had trailed off, for a faint rumbling sound had made itself known from the word gimmick. A water bottle, no doubt left behind by the last clerk who had worked there, had begun to shake on the spot, its water rippling inside.

Slowly, both clerks looked up. A crowd of fighters, assistants, staff, and an assortment of spectators were making their way towards the post office, some carrying letters, others bearing bunches of boxes in their hands. One patron, a diminutive suit of armor, carried a tall crate in each arm, pen balanced precariously in its helmet.

Bomberman and Sukapon stared at the oncoming crowd, eyes wide and mouths (metaphorically) fallen open. Clearly, it was going to be a very long eight hours.

Sukapon leaned over to his coworker. "Let's hope one of these folks is mailing our paychecks."

Back in the main halls, the Squid Sisters were still hard at work, delivering mail at a steady, diligent pace. Mail dispatch was going pleasantly smoothly, if not atypically. And their small talk with some of the residents had given the Inklings a… different outlook on some of their neighbors.

"Who knew Ganondorf was into model kits?" asked Callie out loud.

"I guess it makes sense," said Marie, not looking up from her map. "In between all the evil scheming, you gotta have some kind of hobby."

"I guess so." Callie shrugged. "But he still seemed kinda embarrassed when we saw him. I mean, he slammed the door in our faces and said that it's a secret to everybody," she boomed in her best Ganondorf impression, which was actually rather subpar.

"At least we got this out of it!" Something small and plastic was shoved into Marie's vision, and she had to blink and put down her map to see what it was.

It was a figure of Ganondorf himself, sitting smugly on a mahogany throne, its corners carved into skulls, given to Callie as a bribe to prevent her from speaking on the matter. At the figure's feet, Link was being used as a footrest. The arrangement was actually quite nice, when the macabre subject matter was ignored.

"So, who's next?"

Callie and Marie had done a good job following Nikki's instructions. They had knocked three times on Piranha Plant's door, and it had indeed opened the door to receive its mail with a docility that was charming as it was unnerving. Ridley's door, meanwhile, was marked with both a drop box big enough to hold several packages and several deep claw marks across the redwood. The Inklings had wisely placed the few parcels he had in the box and scurried off without a word, the low hissing from inside more than enough to warn them off.

But mercifully, Ridley's mail had been safely delivered, and the next patron on their route was—

"Toon Link! Toon Link! We got mail for you!"

The door creaked open, and a bleary-eyed young boy with a messy mop of blond hair on his head came stumbling out. He gave a yawn like a kitten as he leaned against the door, fighting to keep his eyelids from drooping.

It was only nine in the morning. Marie felt a pang of empathy.

"We got some mail for you!" repeated Callie, bouncing on her heels.

The words woke Toon Link up, and he straightened up, pushing off the door and sending it open a little wider. Inside, a pile of his personal belongings stacked haphazardly against the wall—bags of Rupees, empty quivers, a compass, small keys, large keys, pinwheels, and various other treasures threatened to swallow the bed whole, a pillow barely able to escape.

And from the way Callie struggled to pull out something from inside her satchel, it seemed that the pillow would soon be buried as well.

"Marie, help me out here, I can't—I can't get—it—out!"

Both Inklings pulled and pulled, making slow but sure progress. From the feel of it, it was a parcel, packed in a wooden box. And from how tough it was to actually pull out, it made up the bulk of the satchel's weight.

"Almost there—just a little—!"

A loud pop sounded out as the box came flying out of the bag. A well-timed roll out of the way saved Callie from having her face flattened by a box half as big as her patron.

"How did that even fit?!" asked Callie, helpfully voicing her and her cousin's thoughts. She cast a glance at the bag, still worryingly as packed as before.

"Who cares?" responded Marie. "The box is out, isn't it?"

From the way Toon Link's eyes widened and his hands began to clap, it was something he had been expecting for a while. Callie followed his gaze, focused on an image of a seagull childishly painted on the side.

Before Callie could open her mouth to ask, Toon Link leapt on the box, wresting the top of the box open with his bare hands and diving inside for its treasure. "Aw, man, it's the soup! Yes!" he said from inside.

The boy blinked at the Inklings' confused faces. "Care package from home," he explained. He held out his prize: a glass bottle filled with rich-looking soup. His eyes grew softer as he rolled it over in his hands. "It's my grandma's soup. I didn't know Aryll knew how to make it, though…"

For some reason, both Callie and Marie felt a twinge of… something in their hearts. It was hard to place, but it was something thick and unpleasant, roiling slowly in their chests and leaving a hollow feeling in its wake.

For a brief moment, the smell of seaweed passed through the air.

"Um… hello?"

Callie blinked, Marie doing the same a moment later. Toon Link was staring at them, his head tilted to the side like an inquisitive nudibranch.

"Uh. Yeah, I—it's fine." Marie cleared her throat. "Is… is that all you need today?"

Toon Link nodded, engrossed in a letter that was attached to the package. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks!"

As he absentmindedly closed the door behind him, Callie shifted the satchel on her arm. "Aww, that was nice," she said, her features soft.

"Yeah," said Marie, her voice oddly quiet. "Imagine not knowing if your grandkids were okay or not."

"If it were me, I would have—wait, what?" Callie turned to her cousin, her brows wrinkled. "I thought his little sister sent it?"

"I—" Marie blinked. "I mean—yeah, like—that's—that's what I meant. Ahem."

A long, awkward silence fell, save for the crunching of leaves underfoot from passersby. A ladybug crawled up the window, unaware of Marie's gaze stubbornly fixed upon it.

"…Anyways," said Marie, clearing her throat. "We should get going. The mail isn't gonna deliver itself."

The route continued, and a breeze kicked up, fresh with the scent of sauteed seaweed.

As a comedian robot, Sukapon liked to think of himself as a people person. He knew how to act, what to say to get a good laugh out of others. Laughter is the best medicine, the good Dr. Emon had always told him. It's always a good skill to have. It's the language of the soul!

Now, in the throes of dealing with postal customers from all walks of life, Sukapon was beginning to wish he could pass along some of that fluency to Bomberman.

"Listen," said Bomberman, forcing some patience into his voice, "that stamp isn't in our rotation right now. Every two weeks—"

"Yeah, I know, I know," said the customer, a burly-looking turtle dressed in gridiron football gear. "You rotate 'em out every two weeks. But you gotta have somethin' else in the back, right? I don't need these—" He gestured forcefully at the selection of postage stamps Bomberman had placed on the counter. "This pile of—"

"Sir."

Sukapon swallowed as the turtle began to raise his voice, and Bomberman grew visibly agitated. He turned to his own customer, a bee with a white ruff around its neck. "If you don't mind? This won't take long."

"Fine by me," shrugged the bee.

Sukapon nodded, and sidled over to Bomberman's booth. Just in time, too, as both parties were turning concerning shades of red. "Sir! Sir, I've got some great stamps for you right here! What's the occasion?"

"D'uhhh—" The turtle blinked, not expecting Sukapon's intervention. "Ummm. Well, they're actually for my cousin's wedding. Yeah, she's really particular about what kinda stamps she wants…"

"Great, great!" Sukapon plonked a binder onto the counter and began to flip through it. "Let's see here… ah-ha!" He stopped and pulled out a selection of stamps. "Would these suit your fancy?"

The turtle peered at the stamps for a while. Eventually, he nodded and pointed at one of them. "Yeah, I'll take those ones. The ones with the little flowers on them."

"Perfect!" Sukapon put away both the stamps and the binder, leaving only the floral stamps in his hand. "The Silent Princess is a great choice! They say that couples who swear their love on one will be destined for a charmed life with their beau!"

"Really?" The turtle stroked his chin. "Hmmm. Might have to get some for decorations…"

"You should!" Sukapon nodded. "Try hitting up the street market when they come around!"

The turtle was much more relaxed now. "Alright, I will! Thanks a bunch!"

Money was collected (Mushroom coins were an easy conversion) and stamps were placed in a glassine envelope and handed to the customer. "No problem!" called Sukapon, waving the turtle off.

When he settled back onto his stool, Bomberman was looking at him differently.

"…How did you do that?" asked Bomberman.

"Eh, I'm a comedy robot." Sukapon shrugged. "It comes naturally."

"Still." Bomberman's eyes were turned toward the ground. "You handled that pretty well."

"Yeah, I was gonna get to that." Sukapon took a deep breath. "Look… in this business, you're gonna meet up with a bunch of…" He scanned the crowd, making sure no children were watching or listening, and decided he still couldn't bring himself to say it. "…A bunch of cretins. But! You can't let the cretins get under your skin. In this business, there's two keys to success: kindness and adaptability. I read it in a book somewhere."

From within the crowd, a new customer approached the counter. And as far as Sukapon could see, she seemed lost and confused. Perfect.

Sukapon gestured at the woman. "Observe." A single floating hand shot up, waving the woman closer. "Excuse me! Over here! Ahoy!"

The woman, clad in an orange and black beret and matching coat, bustled closer. "Ah, bonjour. Pourrais-je—"

"But of course!" Sukapon leaned over into Bomberman. "Luckily I spent a summer learning French," he winked. "Comment puis-je vous aider aujourd'hui, madame? Un colis? Ou une lettre?" He whipped out the binder again. "Or perhaps you'd like to peruse our collection of stamps? We cycle them out every couple of weeks! Right now…" He flipped through until he found what he was looking for. "Ah-ha! Les timbres de la planète Pikmin! Wouldn't you like to decorate your letters avec un bee—un scarabée—un… un millionnaire?"

The woman blinked and gave a nervous, apologetic smile, which was the first sign that Sukapon had dropped the ball somewhere. The second was what she said next. "I speak Galarian," she said, a Kalosian accent curving her words.

Sukapon deflated. "Oh," he said.

"Also, I… just need change for sept mille Poké dollars."

"O-oh," repeated Sukapon, sweating bullets (a technically impossibility, which made it all the worse).

…

…

"…Ahem." The woman held out her hand.

"Oh! Um, yeah, uhhhh…" Sukapon fumbled and bumbled for a moment, nearly confusing his hand for a coin, before coming up with the correct change. "La monnaie, madame."

"Ah, merci beaucoup." The woman gave him another smile, this one a bit more genuinely, and she promptly turned to go.

Once she was out of sight, Sukapon collapsed in his booth, his extremities tumbling and rolling around his head. Beside him, Bomberman smiled in a way that suggested that were there not yet more customers, he would have been in hysterics.

After a while, Sukapon pulled himself together. Good thing for these magnetized limbs. "See, and that is how you… that is the secret third key to success: the ability to admit you don't have all the answers."

Bomberman wrangled a laugh into a throat-clearing cough, just in time for a round, metallic suit of armor to approach his booth. Sukapon immediately noted the robot's much more relaxed posture.

Well. Progress was progress. And only six more hours to go.

"Hey. Marie. Hey, Marie. Marie. Marieeeee."

Marie's stride was pokey, but her eyes were still forward. "What is it?"

"Why is it called that?"

Marie looked over at her cousin. "Gonna have to be a little more specific, Cal."

"This Smash Brothers thing. Why is it called that?"

"The—" Marie blinked. "What?"

"Like, it has to be named for someone. Some people, I guess. Who are the Smash Brothers? Is it like the Mario Brothers?"

Marie stopped walking. "You know, I… I never really thought about it. I thought it was just, like, Wharfer Brothers. Like, the movie studio."

"Yeah, but we know who they are. Who are the Smash Brothers?"

"Uhhh…" Marie thought for a moment. "Master Hand and Crazy Hand? I guess?"

Callie did not seem satisfied with the answer. "Eh. Wouldn't it be Hand Brothers if it were them?"

"I don't know," Marie conceded. "I don't know. Who's next on the route?"

As it chanced, a large chunk of the fighters on the route hadn't received any mail over the two weeks the COPTR had gone missing. It was a mild surprise that they had to skip Ken, who had no mail to deliver, but it was a bigger surprise that Falco had several credit card statements in his name. Neither Inkling had any idea why, but Falco had refused to comment, and slammed the door in their faces. Regardless, the satchel (which Marie had taken, on the basis that they should take turns) was twelve pounds lighter now, so Marie was willing to mark it as a net positive.

But now, all the fighters' mail had been delivered, so it was time to move on to that of the assistants. And right now, their next patron was someone they knew very well.

"Baito! Baito! Mail call!"

Callie only managed to knock twice before the rabbit came to answer. His smile upon spotting the squids was wide and gleaming, and it made Marie want to smile, too. "Ohmigosh! Callie and Marie!" he greeted, his ears quivering. "H-hi!"

Callie was eager to match his enthusiasm, her own tentacles shaking as she waved at him. "Hiii, Baito! We got some mail for you!"

"Really?" Somehow, the stars in Baito's eyes shone even brighter. "Oh, man! It feels like it's been months since I've gotten any letters! And now I get it delivered by the Squid Sisters themselves!"

"Yeah, I get you," nodded Marie. "Lead time can be a nightmare."

"What?"

"…Anyways, uh, here's your mail." From the satchel, Marie plucked a single envelope, almost snow-white were it not for the slight pink tinge of the paper inside.

Callie blinked in confusion, her cousin doing the same. "Is that it?" she whispered as she watched Marie hand the letter to Baito. "I thought there would've been more than that…"

If Baito himself was baffled by his apparent lack of mail, he didn't show it. Instead, he just mumbled, "Is that it?" before sliding the flap open. The treasure inside procured, he unfolded the letter and began to read it.

Callie and Marie were familiar with Baito's line of work, the Badge Arcade—he had told them and others many times. He had told them of this; his dream job, his pride and joy, very vibrantly, hopping up and down and with a variety of hand gestures, and even shifting his very form in ways that made them wonder if he wasn't part-Inkling. (He was not, as he told them. But that had led to a nearly three-hour-long tangent where he had weighed the pros and cons of becoming an Inkling. When Callie brought up the topic of Octolings, it would have gone one for two more hours had he not been summoned to assist in a match at that exact moment.)

With those experiences in mind, it was a deep, searing shock for Callie and Marie to watch Baito read the letter and slowly, inch by inch, bit by bit, see his ears droop, his smile fade, his shoulders slump, and his eyes, the stars from seeing the duo still shining, go completely and utterly dull. Baito kept reading. Most people would agree that it would be very difficult to see someone turn pale, stark white as a sheet, through a furry face, but Callie and Marie were learning new things about mammals by the minute.

Baito's hands dropped to his sides. The letter fell from his slackened grip and blew away on a cold, cold breeze.

Callie and Marie exchanged a glance as Baito continued to stare beyond the floor. "Um… Baito?" asked Callie in a small voice. "Are you okay?"

Baito started, blinking at the Squid Sisters as thought he'd just realized they were there. "Huh? Oh, yeah, I… I just…" He coughed raggedly, a rasping, hoarse sound. Callie's heart twisted at the sound of his voice; suddenly he sounded so tired and so, so spent. "I just need some… some time." He turned and trudged back into his room, the door closing with a soft click.

The Squid Sisters were silent for a long time. Slowly, Callie turned to her cousin, eyes welling up with tears, as Nikki's had a couple days before. This time, the subject was a little more solemn than lost mail.

Marie spoke first. "Someone died," she murmured.

Callie smacked the Inkling on the arm. "Marie!"

"I mean, what else could it be?" Marie led Callie away from Baito's eerily silent door. "Look, Callie, it's obvious that whatever was in that letter really messed him up. I know you wanna go and ask him what's wrong; I do, too, but he's clearly not in the mood. We still have some mail left to deliver—" she shook the satchel for emphasis— "so why don't we just give him some space right now?"

Callie opened her mouth to say something, but closed it back into a pout. It was the same pout she wore when she knew Marie, or her grandfather, or either of their parents were right, but she didn't want to admit it. "I… I guess," she mumbled.

"Good. Now, come on." Marie adjusted the satchel on her shoulder. "Still got some mail left before we're done."

The two Inklings walked on, worry hanging over them like a guillotine.

"Alright, is that everything you'll need today?"

"Oh, no, I'm quite alright, thank you."

"Okay… your total comes to… one thousand and eighty Smash coins! Will you pay by Smash coin, Rupee, or card?"

"I'll pay by Rupee."

"Roger!" With a flourish, Sukapon opened the register and took the money from his patron, a constantly-smiling man with a rucksack filled to the brim with masks of all kinds. Good thing the registers had a stockpile of five different currencies. Pity that they didn't have Scarabs, it would have helped him with that dinosaur guy a couple minutes ago.

Change was exchanged, and the receipt was printed. "Aaaand don't forget to take our survey!" said Sukapon, circling the web address on the bottom. He wasn't sure if this guy had internet access, or if he knew what the internet even was. He was just following the guidebook.

"Thank you, thank you!" The man bowed deeply, his smile never fading. He clasped his hands, and Sukapon blinked, because he'd never seen him so much as move his arms. "…My, you've made a great deal of people happy. I'll see you again… someday."

Man, Sukapon thought to himself as he watched the man go. What an utter freak.

"Hey!" came Bomberman's voice from the back. "Hey, Sukapon! Look!"

Ah, what great timing. Sukapon was really starting to feel the pressure now, and a break in the back was just what he needed.

"Whaddya need?" asked Sukapon, briskly trotting to the backroom. "Boy, lemme tell you, I had to deal with this weirdo with a bunch of masks. Doing a half-rate Game & Watch impression, too."

"Oof. That sounds rough," said Bomberman. He was facing away from Sukapon, crouched over something big. "But seriously, though, come look at this!"

"Okay, I'm coming, I'm coming." Sukapon didn't know what Bomberman found, but from the way his antenna was twitching, it surely must be something interesting.

It was… a box.

It was big, and made of cardboard, and very old-looking. But other than those attributes, it was, by all appearances, a normal box.

"This is a box," said Sukapon.

"…Yeah, it's a box," conceded Bomberman. "But look at the date on it!"

Sukapon stepped closer. There was a shipping label stuck on the top, worn and smudged with age. The address, in writing so neat Sukapon could have sworn it was done by a computer, was almost illegible, years of dirt and dust obscuring it. And on all sides, the words "REFUSE" and "RETURN TO SENDER" were stamped in angry wine red, faded to near chestnut.

The address read:

Haltmann Works Company

Access Ark

DREAM-1992

And it was addressed to:

Super Smash Brothers Headquarters

Attn His Royal Highness, King Dedede

World of Trophies

RYUO-000

Sukapon scratched at the top of his head. "Huh. Wonder why it got returned."

Bomberman shrugged. "Beats me. Do you think we should bring it to Dedede?"

"Hmmm…" Sukapon picked up the box, and holy smokes, was this thing heavy. What was even in this thing? He gave it a shake, and something—somethings metal inside rattled. Yeesh. "Nah."

"Then what do we do with it?" Bomberman gave the package a tap. "It feels like it's been here for years."

"Eh, just leave it here for now. Or maybe we could ask Nikki if we should—"

Staccato ringing sounded out from the counter like machine-gun fire. The mumbling of a crowd followed after. From the sound of the call bell, it was either a small child receiving their auditory stimulation, or a very impatient adult.

Sukapon sighed. "Ring, ring, ring, goes the bell," he muttered, hurrying back to the counter.

"Zing, zing, zing, went my heartstrings," Bomberman finished.

"From the moment I saw him, I—"

Both robots stopped as they reached the counter. The person who had rang the bell was not, as they'd hoped, a small child. It was a human, a tall, muscular man with a ruddy face. His eyes narrowed upon seeing them slide into their booths. "Finally," he muttered. "Some service for once."

Sukapon's eyes slid over to meet Bomberman's. Evidently, he was thinking the same thing: So much for peace and quiet.

Sukapon made the sacrifice. "I'll help you, sir!" He put on his best customer-service-smile that Nikki had taught him. "What do you need help with today?"

A pile of letters were tossed haphazardly onto the counter. "Can you mail these?"

Sukapon blinked, less at the curtness of the man's request and more at the way the letters were handed to him. Nevertheless, he pressed on. "Well, okay then! What's the occasion?"

"Wedding invites."

"A wedding? Gosh, that's the second one I've done today! Must be that special time of year, haha!" Sukapon smiled agreeably, and faltered when it was not returned.

He took the invitations into his hand, humming with satisfaction as he felt the wax seal on the back flap. It almost reminded him of the invitation he got that day. In fact it—

Wait.

Wait.

Sukapon flipped the envelope over. In the corner, there was a stamp depicting… well, it was a guy with a beret and sunglasses, but that didn't matter. What did matter was that it had the tournament logo in the corner, colored a vibrant green. The stamp attached was not enough postage.

The robot's gaze flicked over to Bomberman, who was busy with another customer. Oy. Just his luck.

Sukapon took a steeling breath and said, "Uh, sir? I don't think this is the right postage."

The red-faced man blinked. "What? Whaddya mean?"

"I mean, this isn't the right amount of postage for this type of mail." Sukapon tapped at the stamp, then turned it over and pointed at the wax seal. "It's 'cause of the seal. It has to be a non-machinable stamp."

The man sputtered and blinked rapidly for a moment, as if he wasn't believing what he was hearing. "Wha—But—But I send 'em like this all the time."

"That may be so," explained Sukapon, "but if you do send this letter like this, it runs the risk of being destroyed." He reached for the binder again. "We do have some lovely—"

"Can't you just—" The man waved away the binder. "Can't you just send 'em through?"

Sukapon tapped his hands against the counter. "Again, if we do send 'em like this, it'll go through a machine and get destroyed."

"So, what? I gotta buy more stamps?"

"I… pretty much, yeah."

"Unbelievable…" The man scowled as he fished for his wallet, big, meaty hands slapping at his pants. "How much is it gonna be?"

Sukapon rearranged the letters. "Well, how many do you have?"

The man bent downwards under the counter. Sukapon stretched over to look. Was he just tying his shoe?

While he was pondering, the customer rose and placed a large cardboard box, stacked with stacks of invitations, onto the counter with a muffled thud. "How much is this gonna be?"

Sukapon's eyes went wide. Bomberman shot a sideways glance, then did a double take. Even the latter's customer, a turquoise jellyfish, seemed curious.

After a moment of gaping, Sukapon remembered where he was and counted up the invitations. "This is gonna cost you… Five thousand, five hundred and ninety Smash coins."

"What?!" The man's face grew even redder, his eyes bulged, and his nostrils flared. Several heads had turned to him, including the jellyfish. For a moment, Sukapon worried that he might have a stroke.

No such tragedy came, and the man sighed—groaned, more like—and pulled out his wallet. "I don't know who put you clowns up to this, but this is some highway robbery, lemme tell you."

Sukapon only shrugged. "Yeah, it can't really be helped." He collected the charge and handed the stamps to the customer. "You can just put the new stamps next to the old."

The man snorted and rolled his eyes, snatching the stamps out of Sukapon's hand. As he stomped away to a nearby desk, he called out, "Y'know, in a coupla years, you scrimblo-bimblos will be out of a job!" He huffed as he bent over the desk.

Whatever sharp retort Sukapon had planned evaporated in his core, along with whatever anger was smoldering inside of him, his hand lowering to his desk. His expression went slack as he blinked several times and said "I'm sorry, what?"

The man did not answer, for he was still bent over the desk, furiously sticking on stamps.

Sukapon looked over at Bomberman, who had since finished up with his customer. His expression was plain—he was just as confused as his coworker, if not a bit amused. Part of him wanted to ask the man to repeat himself, but he knew that would just be a fool's errand. But still…

A what?

A what?

A scrimblo-what?

Sukapon sighed, readjusted his name tag, and thumbed through the binder. Just two more hours left, and he'd be done for the day.

How hard could it be?

Callie and Marie's moods had taken a sharp downwards turn after their encounter with Baito. The former's back was hunched over, her hands were limp, and her tentacles dragged behind her with each shuffling step. Marie, for her part, was much more subdued in her despondency, her ears drooping and the occasional heavy sigh leaving her lips.

At Marie's seventh sigh, Callie stopped suddenly, her back straight. Marie recognized the motion immediately: the Callie-is-trying-not-to-cry signal.

She took a breath. "Callie—"

Callie whirled around to face her, and Marie immediately regretted it. Her eyes were big and wet, and not in the sad-nudibranch way, with tears threatening to spill over her mask.

"Do you think…" She sniffled plaintively. "Do you think Baito's gonna be okay?"

Marie was quiet for a long time. "…I don't know," she said at last. She gripped the satchel a little tighter. "Look, it's… It's Baito. You know how he is. He'll pick himself up at some point."

"But from what?" asked Callie. "We don't even know what's got him upset! Shouldn't we at least ask him?!"

"Like I said, we still have mail to deliver. So, you know, just… let him figure this stuff out on his own for now. We'll talk to him after, okay?"

Callie pouted, and whimpered. But she cast her eyes to the ground, blinked back the tears that threatened to spill, and mumbled, "Okay."

Marie nodded. "Alright. Who's next on the list?"

The volume of mail for the assistants was much lighter than that of the fighters. Marie had several comments about that, but held off on speaking them aloud, seeing how downcast Callie still looked. Shovel Knight had received an advertisement from someone named Chester, asking him to keep an eye out for the next street market. Alucard, meanwhile, had received a rather elegantly made card from home. It was a small surprise for the Squid Sisters when he had scowled slightly and claimed that the card was from "Death". Both Inklings wisely decided not to pursue the subject any further. But currently, their next customer was…

"Isaac! Open up!"

Several seconds passed before Isaac opened the door. Callie and Marie were immediately blasted with the smell of outside—of freshly-cut grass and trees, and of sweaty clothes and clay and dirt. But mostly the smell of sweaty clothes.

"Oh, hey guys," he said, squinting as the door swung open. "You guys are mail carriers now?"

"Hi, Isaac!" said Marie, kindly ignoring the scent. "We got mail for you!"

"Really?" Isaac's brows drew together. "From who?"

Callie shrugged as she dug around in the satchel. "Dunno. But it looks like you only have the one—oooh!" She gasped as she pulled out a single envelope. "Oooh, I dunno who this is from, but it's adorable!"

It was about as adorable as an envelope could be. It was pink, actually colored pink, unlike the one Baito had received, sealed with bright crimson wax inlaid with a symbol resembling a dragon. For some reason, it smelled faintly of smoke.

Isaac made a quizzical sound as he took the letter. He turned the envelope over and scanned the address on it.

Once again, Callie and Marie were caught off-guard by someone's reaction to receiving an apparently shocking letter that day. But Isaac's was a far, far different reaction from that of Baito. It began with a sharp intake of breath. Stars seemed to appear in his eyes, which widened with each passing second, and the first hints of color crept into his cheeks.

"Oh, my god," Isaac whispered.

"…Isaac?" said Marie, confused at both his reaction and the mispronounced oath. "You good, man?"

"No, I—I mean, yeah—uh—" Isaac shifted from foot to foot, smiling slightly, and dusted at his clothes, like he was suddenly aware of how weird he smelled. "Yeah, no, it's fine, it's just… it's from my—" He cleared his throat. "I mean, it's from… from a friend. From back home." His gaze bounced from the ceiling, to the window, to the floor, to a painting on the wall, anywhere but Callie and Marie. "I should… Yeah, thanks. I should… I should…" He nodded silently, fumbled for the doorknob, and closed the door on his own cape before hastily pulling it through.

Callie and Marie slowly turned to stare at each other.

"That was definitely a love letter, right?" said Callie.

"Oh, yeah," nodded Marie. "One hundred percent."

"That was a love letteeeerrrr!" Callie seized her cousin's shoulders and shook her vigorously, then made a beeline for Isaac's door.

Marie yanked Callie back by the hand. "Wait, wait, waitwaitwait! Okay, okay, Callie, I know you're excited, but—come on, he can hear us!"

At that, Callie stopped and slapped her hands over her mouth, but her smile was still very visible. "Okay. Okay, yeah, I get it," she whispered. "But still, oh my caaawwwd!"

"I know, I get it." Marie tried to get Callie to calm down, smiling at how wide she was smiling. "We still got work to do."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, right!" Callie stopped and tapped at her face. "But we're totally interrogating him after this, right?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

The duo walked on, both the satchel and their steps feeling lighter than before.

For most people, in most scenarios, the phrase "the end of the day" would signify just that: the end. Things like shutting off computers, activities winding down, and, most importantly, drawing whatever business one had to a close. The end of the day meant that most businesses would gradually see less hustle and bustle.

Not so for the Smash Brothers tournament's post office, on that day. And not so for Sukapon and Bomberman.

"Sir, if you don't mind just scooching over a little bit—"

"I'm almost done, just a minute."

"But sir, there's a line."

"I'm almost done."

Sukapon took a steeling breath. "Sir, the line is nearly out the door." Indeed, several customers were waiting, some of them carrying stacks of boxes. "If you don't mind just stepping aside for five, heck, maybe even two minutes—"

"Just give a minute, okay?! Just let me write this down."

Sukapon glanced over the counter. The walrus, hunched over and scribbling furiously on the label that Sukapon had provided (after insisting that the package he needed to send did, in fact, need the address to be written down on the package itself) was very clearly not going to finish in a minute, for indeed, he had been writing for nearly twenty, and had not moved from his spot since. He glanced over at Bomberman, who was once again busy, this time with a taller fish man. Sheesh. Some people had all the luck.

Sukapon shook his head and gestured towards the next customer in line. "Miss, I can help you over here—"

"Done!"

"Oh, for the love of—"

The walrus plonked the crate onto the counter. Something metallic rattled inside. "I'd like to send these."

Sukapon bit back a sigh, forcing a smile into his eyes. "Where to, sir?"

"Uhh… Kitchen Island."

"Okay. Okay." With great difficulty, Sukapon hoisted the crate onto the scale, which creaked under the new weight. "Any dangerous goods or biological substances, sir?"

"…That depends, how dangerous are helmets?"

"Not very. Press the red button."

The rest of the transaction proceeded with surprisingly little incident, although there was a small hiccup in the security of the package. After a long back-and-forth over whether or not Sukapon had any nails to close the crate, the walrus eventually acquiesced to having it be sealed shut with tape, which took four-and-a-half minutes.

"Alright, your total comes to six thousand and seventy four Smash coins! Will you pay by Smash coins or—"

"You're kidding me!"

Sukapon stopped, his hands faltering. "Hmmm?"

The walrus gestured at the screen displaying the fees. "It costs six thousand coins?!"

"…Well, yeah," said Sukapon. "It's going from here all the way to Kitchen Island. I don't even know what world that's in."

"And I have to pay that much for it?!"

"Given the size and weight of your package, yes."

"Ugghhh." The walrus dug in his pockets and practically threw the money in Sukapon's face. Sukapon shut his eyes and counted to ten. "Uggghhh," he said, again, as he collected the receipt. "Ugggghhhhh," he groaned as he walked out the door.

The minute the walrus was out of sight, Sukapon deflated once more. "What was that?!" he said to Bomberman.

"I know, right?!" said Bomberman, nearly dropping his packet of stamps. "Oh, sorry, here you go."

"It wouldn't have been so bad if he just moved at some point. But no, he just stays there! You know he went through three of those little labels I gave him?"

"Yeah, I saw."

"See, that's the issue with people now!" Sukapon began to pace in his booth. "No spatial awareness anymore! They just sit wherever they are and don't move! Like barnacles!"

"Like barnacles." Bomberman nodded sagely.

"And I—ah, hold that thought, Bomby." A new customer had approached his booth, a small Nopon with light green fur. "Hello, sir! How can we help you today?"

"Outta my way! Comin' through! Don't you know who I am?"

Sukapon stiffened at the sound of the voice, which definitely did not come from his customer. The next couple of sounds were not encouraging, either; it was shouts of protest as several people were being shoved out of the way.

Oh, great, thought Sukapon. He didn't even need to look at Bomberman to know that he shared the same sentiment. Already, he knew that the next five minutes were going to be a whirlpool of misery.

The Nopon in front of the counter was booted aside. The culprit—a tall tanned man with silver hair and a gold chain around his neck—sneered down at Sukapon.

Let's shoot for two minutes, Sukapon thought. He matched the man's sneer with a far more genuine-looking (he hoped) smile of his own. "Sir, I was helping a customer there," he said politely.

"Were you?" The man glanced over at the Nopon, who was glaring incredulously at him. "I don't see anyone."

Oh, the heck with this. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to move to the back of the line—"

"Aw, come on." The man spread his arms wide, a just-as-wide smile revealing a golden tooth. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, I don't."

"Jeez. I know this Smash place is crawling with deadbeats—" Sukapon's eye twitched— "but don't tell me you've never heard of Super Macho Man!"

Sukapon blinked. He remembered reading about him in the library, but he'd never matched a face to the name. Looking at him, at least the name seemed to fit. "Doesn't ring a bell," he said.

Super Macho Man rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Now you get to meet me in the flesh." He spread his arms again and grinned like a vainglorious bishop. "Anyways, can you get me some postage stamps? With me on them, preferably."

Sukapon took a deep breath and brought his hands up to his face, like he'd seen Dr. Wright do when Midna had spilled paint on his head that one time. "No," he said.

"What, do you not have 'em?"

"It's not that. It's that there's a line, as you can see—" Sukapon gestured at the people in the line— "and you oh-so-rudely pushed your way to the front, so…" His smile turned a bit more strained as he gestured with his hands. "Are you picking up what I'm putting down here?"

Another eye roll. "Yeah, but come on. Surely, you can make an exception for celebrities?"

"No," said Sukapon, a bit more forcefully.

Super Macho Man ignored him. "What do you have right now? A bunch of plant people?"

"Sir," repeated Sukapon, much louder than he'd intended. Something was boiling in his core. Again with the lack of spatial awareness! He cast a split-second glance at Bomberman, who, much like the line of patrons, had forgotten his business and was unabashedly watching the quarrel unfold. "Sir, please, just move to the back of the line," he grit out, "and I promise you we'll take care of you when we are able to, okay?"

Super Macho Man's expression grew pinched. "Do you know who I am?" he growled.

"No, we've been over that."

"I'm Super Macho Man!" A fist struck the counter. "I'm a professional boxer!" ("Okay, cool," said Sukapon.) "I could buy out half of you!" He rose to his full height. "I could buy you out."

Sukapon was unimpressed. Nikki had said the button was for cutthroats and world-conquerors, but perhaps just this once…

"Who even are you?" he continued. "Some kind of limbless freak?"

Sukapon gripped the edge of the counter. "I'm a robot, sir."

Super Macho Man scoffed. "No wonder you're here. Not good enough to fight with the big boys, huh?"

You can't let the cretins get under your skin. Sukapon's words came echoing back as he gripped the counter a little harder. Kindness and adaptability are the keys to success.

Bomberman sensed the danger, as he had once long before. "Uh, sir, I'll be able to take care of you—"

"You stay out of this," snapped Super Macho Man.

The last of Sukapon's patience evaporated. "Sir, please leave."

"Oh, what? You're gonna kick me out?" The man's hands went to his chest, mouth round with false shock. "Me, a paying customer?"

"You haven't paid yet."

Super Macho Man leaned in close, his gold tooth glinting maliciously in the light "Maybe I'm going to, if only someone would serve me. And you can't kick out a paying customer, can you? I haven't done anything wrong."

Sukapon was silent.

Super Macho Man rose again, his chin high. "Hmph. Rejects like you oughta know their place."

Bomberman made a sudden movement, and Sukapon instinctually reached out for him, to prevent him from making an irrevocable choice.

"Oh, what? You gonna hit me? Me, an innocent paying customer! Who, uh, also, by the way…" Super Macho Man leaned in close. Too close. "Is also ranked number one in the WVBA's World Circuit. You really wanna risk that?"

Bomberman froze, his antenna twitching. Sukapon gripped the counter hard enough to break it.

Super Macho Man sneered. "Yeah. That's what I thought—"

Bomberman raised a hand, his face flushed. He took a deep breath, but he never got to say a word. Sukapon had already stepped over the counter, eyes blazing.

A stack of letters was clutched tightly between a pair of white-gloved hands. Luigi whistled a merry tune as he walked to the post office. Receiving that letter (well, it was more of an advertisement) from Gadd Science had struck a chord with him. It had been a long time since he'd spoken to the professor, and he'd really like to know how he was getting along.

It had also been a long time since he had penned a personal letter. He only hoped he wasn't out of practice.

As Luigi gripped the doorknob, several shouts from inside grabbed his attention. The same shouts were also his only warning before the glass pane next to him shattered with the force of a six-foot-tall man sailing through it. Said man skidded and bounced across the floor after impact, narrowly missing Luigi and making impact with the wall on the other side.

An understandably stunned and shaken Luigi peered inside the post office. Several people were pressed against the wall, hoping to avoid the projectile that was once Super Macho Man as he went flying. Bomberman, behind the counter, looked as though he was about to have a heart attack, eyes wide as saucers. Sukapon was standing on the counter, huffing and puffing, floating hands clenched, everyone giving him a wide berth, not unlike the impact site of a meteor.

Sukapon stopped and raised his hands to his torso. He turned a placid smile on the crowd.

"I can help whoever's next!"

"We're done, right? Please tell me we're done."

"Did you get all eight Villagers?"

Callie and Marie had reported back to Master Hand's office, the satchel now magically empty. The last legs of their route had proved especially brutal; not only did they have to deliver to the Chain Chomp (which was as perilous as they imagined), but they had to visit Rodin's Gates of Hell in the midst of happy hour. There were no demons present… at least, none that they could see. Rodin had claimed that the floating glasses filled with sparkling liquid were just a parlor trick. The Inklings chose to take his word for it.

"Well, then…" Dr. Wright made some small notes on his clipboard. Then he made what looked like a check mark and smiled. "Yes! You're all done!"

"Oh, thank cod." Callie made an exaggerated show of wiping her brow, while Marie slumped over into a chair.

"And well done, might I add," continued Dr. Wright. "Thanks to you two, the mail volume is back to the level it was before the COPTR went missing. And I'm fairly certain the Hands have gotten caught up on their bills!"

Nikki popped out from behind him like she had been summoned by an Assist Trophy and pushed past to clasp both of Callie's hands. "Oh, you two are lifesavers, you know that?"

Callie rocked back and forth on her heels, while Marie simply rubbed at the base of her neck. Both Inklings had saved the world together on two separate occasions, but this felt… different somehow. Perhaps it was the way Nikki lavished such genuine, enthusiastic, overemotional praise upon the two. It made the whole situation feel more… personal. Like they were making a tangible difference. The path of a hero is a lonely one, their grandfather would often say. And that reminded them of some business they needed to take care of…

"If there's anything," Nikki sniffled, her voice tremorous, "anything at all we can do to repay you, you need only say the word."

Oh, yeah, that also reminded Marie. "How about our actual pay," said Marie, speaking over Callie, who was beginning to say that no reward was necessary, and that the job was its own reward.

"Ah, yes. Of course." Dr. Wright reached into the desk, while Nikki pulled the Squid Sisters into yet another hug. This one was much more comfortable than the one they had received at the start of the day. At least, it was comfortable enough for Marie to go for the sisterly back-pat again.

The checks, crisp and fresh like any banknote worth their salt should be, were pressed into Callie and Marie's hands. Ah, how sweet it was! The feeling was unparalleled!

"Nothing quite like payday at the end of a hard day's work, eh?"

"Sukapon!" cried everyone in welcoming unison. Indeed, the limbless robot stood in the doorway, his coworker Bomberman flanking him. He looked exhausted, but relieved, like someone who landed from BASE jumping with only one parachute, which was, as everyone knew, significantly less perilous and soul-sucking than working in customer service.

"Oh, you didn't even call me!" said Nikki. "I guess it must have gone pretty great, huh?"

"In a sense," said Sukapon after a pause. "It was an experience, I'll tell you that! But hey, at least I got plenty of material for my next show!"

"And nobody threatened you or anything?"

"…Well, nobody threatened me, per se. On that note, I think I'm legally obligated to turn in my two weeks."

Marie gave a sympathetic wince. "That bad, huh?"

"You should see the other guy!" laughed Sukapon.

Everyone waited for Sukapon to elaborate. He did not.

"…I'm gonna hit the hay early," said Bomberman, trudging off.

An awkward silence settled on the room. Luckily, Callie was quick to speak up. "Hey, hey, y'know what? I see this as a win for everyone! Everyone is getting mail again. Nobody's missed out on anything financial! Everyone's happy!"

"Except for Baito," mumbled Marie.

"Wait, what?" said Nikki, pulling away from Callie, who shushed her cousin too late. "What do you mean, 'except for Baito?'"

"Whoa, what happened to Baito?" asked Sukapon, looking concerned. "Is he sick?"

"Um… uh…" Marie floundered for a second. "I think he's coming down with something?"

"Aw, the poor guy," Sukapon tutted.

Nikki wrung her hands together. "Oh, I hope he's alright. It'd be horrible if something really bad happened to him."

If you only knew, thought the Squid Sisters. But neither of them said anything.

Callie cleared her throat. "Well, as I was saying, we're finally on the up and up! There's plenty to look forward to!"

"Indeed," chimed in Dr. Wright. "And I'm especially looking forward to the trip to—" He suddenly caught himself, a hand flying over his mouth.

"Trip?" asked Marie. "Trip to where?"

"Oh—ah—" Dr. Wright smiled in an unusually cheeky manner. "Oh, nothing. Nothing that I would know of. Hmm hmm!"

Callie narrowed her eyes at him, not unkindly, but still enough to let him know that she was on to him. "Anyways, my point is that things are finally looking up. And hey, who knows what's gonna happen? As long as we're together, everything will be fine, right?"

Dear Gramps,

Hiiii! It's me, Callie! I'm gonna be doing most of the writing, but Marie will speak up when she's able to!

Yo.

How's it been back home? Safe, I hope! But we've been holding up alright too! We certainly haven't been slacking off, either in music or in training! And neither has Agent 3! …I mean, I think they're doing fine. We never get to talk to them, but I think they're adjusting to life here pretty smoothly.

Yeah, they seem really… lighter here. More at ease, I think.

Did you know they have humans here?! Real, live humans! They have hair and teeth and bones! So. Many. Bones. o_O

It's weird how they're still so athletic. Maybe they just train really hard?

It's not even just humans! There's other mammals too, like dogs and monkeys, and something called a fox. You'd like Fox, I think. He's a fox. That's another type of mammal.

Anyways, I hope the Octarians aren't giving you too much trouble. Master Hand told us that nothing was really gonna happen while we were gone, but… y'know. Better safe than sorry, am I right?

Oh, yeah, before I forget. Tell Agent 4 I said hi!

…I'll be honest, I kinda forgot about them. (._.;)

Dang. And I thought I could be absent-minded.

Oh, come on! I had to remind you to write this letter, didn't I?

Oooh, before I forget! Say hi to Agent 8 and Pearl and Marina for us! Especially Marina! I hear she's working on some big project? I dunno if it's music or something else, but make sure to tell her not to overwork herself!

Yeah, you should check up on her. If you don't, who knows how hard she'll burn out. Anyways, we're sending over some crabby cakes. We know how much you like them. It took us hours to get them just right, but we hope you like them. Taste-testing them really reminded us of home.

…I really miss you, Gramps. I mean, we miss you. Even if Marie won't say it out loud.

Hey, I'm not that distant! I miss you, too!

I miss Inkopolis. And I even kinda miss the missions we'd go on. To tell you the truth, I don't know what home is gonna look like when this tournament's over and we come back. But, y'know, whatever's waiting for us there, it's gonna be fine as long as we have each other!

Okay, if I keep writing, I might actually cry from missing you so hard, so I'm gonna end it off here. Bye, Gramps! Love ya!

Take care of yourself, Gramps.

Until we see you again…

Stay fresh!

All our love,

Callie and Marie

"And how goes the development, Albert?"

"I'm just about complete. The technology was a pain to deal with, but once I cracked it, the rest of it practically fell into my lap." A wide grin stretched his wrinkled features. "I'm certain the finished product will be finished within the month."

"And what of the original mailing device?"

"Safe and sound in Master Hand's office. Nobody suspects a thing."

"Outstanding. Well done, Albert."

Snickering echoed from a dark corner. "Keep up the good work, and we'll upgrade you to 'slightly useful'."

"Tsk, tsk. It seems I won't have to run you through after all." Ghirahim sounded disappointed, and nobody could tell if he was speaking in jest.

Dr. Wily bristled. "I-I'm very useful, thank you very much!"

"If I recall correctly," came Devil's voice, "it was your proxy that stole the mailing device, not you."

"Ah, but who among us has the technological know-how to reverse-engineer it? And who managed to get that proxy to steal it in the first place?"

"Albert is right, for once." Mother Brain sighed, the metal of her capsule's inner workings grinding together. "Normally, I would have taken charge and reprogrammed his cybernetics, but my current body gives me no choice but to leave it to you."

Dr. Wily folded his arms. "Hmph! Reprogramming him was an even bigger nightmare! All that complicated code… I'm definitely taking notes! Whoever built him must have been ahead of the game!"

"Speaking of my newest follower…" Mother Brain's eye swiveled over to an armored figure in the corner. "I suppose I should give you some credit. You were quite tenacious in your theft of the COPTR. And going undetected for so long! You've certainly left an impression on me…"

As Mother Brain spoke, the figure automatically knelt down, his red armor reflecting the room's scant light.

"…Haven't you, Zero?"

"The theft was no easy task, Master." Zero's voice was flat, his eyes lifeless. "There were countless obstacles that delayed me." His free hand clenched. "But ultimately, the door was quite literally held open for me. As Dr. Wily said, nobody suspects a thing."

"Marvelous." Mother Brain's eye shone with sadistic glee. "Full marks, my fortuitous vassal."

Zero bowed his head. "I live only to serve you."

Mother Brain's brain swelled up. "Of course you do. And when the time comes, you and Demon Lord Ghirahim, at the head of my legion of Space Pirates, shall bring those Hands to their knees. And we shall bring this world—this universe and beyond, and all of its inhabitants —under my control!"

Zero's baleful grin grew wider.

"As you command… Master."

Author's Notes: Lots of stuff happening here! This was a fun one, especially because it's based on personal experiences! (I'll let you guess which parts were.)

But jeez, poor Baito. If you've been following recent Nintendo news, you'll know exactly what Baito read in that letter. Let's hope things turn out for him okay...

And lastly, Zero's fate is finally properly revealed! Who knows what's gonna happen with that guy...