Mario's angst

The living room of the Showgrounds castle was unusually quiet. It was a stifling, heavy sort of silence that usually only occurred when a major disaster had just ended. Today, however, there was no smoke, no eldritch deities, and no screaming. There was just the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the soft hum of the air conditioning.

"It’s... weirdly peaceful," Bob remarked, sprawled across the sofa with his blades tucked under his chin. "I don’t hear anyone humping a spaghetti bowl or screaming about their pingas. I could get used to this."

"It is a bit of a relief," SMG4 admitted, leaning back in his chair with his laptop closed for once. "Mario said he was going out to clear his head. Or find a secret stash of ravioli. Honestly, I didn't ask questions. I was just happy to have a morning without a hole being punched through the wall."

Meggy looked up from her manual, her brow furrowed. "He seemed a bit off this morning, though. He didn't even try to steal my breakfast. He just... walked out. No jokes, no nothing."

"Maybe he’s finally maturing?" Saiko suggested, though her tone suggested she didn't believe a word of it.

Suddenly, the large flat-screen TV on the wall flickered to life. Static hissed through the speakers, making Tari jump and clutch her meta-runner arm.

"Uh, 4? Did you turn that on?" Tari asked nervously.

"No," SMG4 said, standing up and walking toward the screen. "Remote’s right here. It’s probably just some weird glitch or a broadcast from the TV station."

The static cleared, but it wasn't a news report or a meme. It was a grainy, home-video style recording. The date in the corner read decades ago. A small, chubby child with a red cap that was far too large for his head appeared on the screen. He was sitting on a dirty floor, playing with a single wooden block.

"Is that... Mario?" Melony whispered, her eyes wide as she hugged her pillow.

"He looks so small," Boopkins chirped. "Aww, look at him!"

But the cuteness was short-lived. A shadow fell over the child, and the sound of a door slamming echoed through the speakers. Two figures stepped into the frame—a man and a woman whose faces were obscured by the harsh backlight of the hallway.

"Mario!" a man’s voice roared, distorted and thick with venom. "I told you to stay in the basement! Why are you in the kitchen?"

The little boy on the screen flinched so hard he fell backward. "I... I was hungry, Papa. There was no bread left downstairs."

What happened next silenced everyone in the room. The man didn't respond with words. He lunged forward, his belt already in his hand. The group watched in paralyzed horror as the man began to rain blows down on the small child. The sounds were sickening—the sharp *crack* of leather against skin, and the high-pitched, desperate wailing of a child who didn't understand why he was being punished for being hungry.

"Stop it," Meggy whispered, her face turning pale. "Turn it off, 4."

SMG4 scrambled for the remote, his hands shaking. He mashed the power button, but the screen stayed on. He tried to unplug it, but the cord seemed fused to the wall.

"I can't! It’s not turning off!" SMG4 shouted, his voice cracking.

On the screen, the woman—Mario’s mother—didn't intervene. She simply watched, her voice cold as she spoke. "You’re a waste of space, Mario. Why couldn't you be more like your brother? At least Luigi knows how to stay out of the way."

The camera panned slightly, catching a glimpse of a tiny Luigi hiding in the corner of the hallway, his hands over his ears, sobbing silently.

In the present-day living room, all eyes turned toward Luigi. The tall plumber was huddled in a ball on the floor, his face buried in his knees. He was shaking violently.

"Luigi?" Tari reached out a hand, her voice trembling. "Did... did you know about this?"

Luigi didn't look up. "I tried to forget," he choked out, his voice muffled by his overalls. "I tried so hard to forget. They... they hated him. I was the 'good' one because I was quiet. Mario... Mario took everything for me. Every time they were mad at me, he’d do something stupid or loud to distract them. He’d take the beating so I wouldn't have to."

The video jumped forward in time. Mario was older now, perhaps a teenager. He looked disheveled, his clothes torn and his eyes vacant. He was standing in front of a mirror, trying to stitch a wound on his arm with a clumsy needle and thread. He wasn't crying anymore. He just looked tired.

"He’s been carrying this his whole life?" Saiko asked, her usual bravado completely gone. She looked at the screen with a mixture of rage and profound sadness. "All those times we called him an idiot... all those times we kicked him out or yelled at him..."

"We thought he was just being a nuisance," Bob said, his voice unusually somber. "We thought he didn't have a brain in his head."

"He doesn't show it," Meggy said, tears finally spilling over. "He smiles and eats spaghetti and acts like a moron because... because if he stops, he has to remember this. He’s not stupid. He’s traumatized."

The screen flickered again, showing a montage of Mario’s life as he grew. It showed him arriving in the Mushroom Kingdom, his eyes brightening for the first time when he met Peach, only for that light to fade as he became the kingdom’s personal tool. It showed him meeting SMG4, the excitement of having a best friend, and then the slow progression of years where that friendship turned into being the butt of every joke.

The footage shifted to more recent events. It showed the "Mar10 Day" incident. The group watched from a new perspective—not as participants, but as observers of Mario’s internal state. They saw him standing there, holding the "Best Friend" award, his heart swelling with a rare moment of genuine pride.

Then, they saw the prank. They saw the look in his eyes when the award was revealed to be a joke, when he realized that even on his day, he was still just the punchline. The camera lingered on his face after everyone had walked away. He wasn't angry. He looked broken, the same way he had looked as a child in that basement.

"I’m a monster," SMG4 whispered, dropping the remote. He sank to his knees, staring at his hands. "I made that video. I laughed at him. I thought it was funny because 'it’s just Mario.' He’s my best friend, and I treated him like a prop."

Melony was weeping openly now, her head resting on her knees. "Mario..." she sobbed. "He’s always so nice to me. He brought me fruit when I was sleeping. He told me I was a good protector. And we... we let this happen."

The TV finally flickered to black, leaving the room in a heavy, suffocating darkness. No one moved. The silence was no longer peaceful; it was an indictment.

"Where is he?" Meggy asked, her voice sharp with sudden urgency. She stood up, wiping her eyes aggressively. "Where is he right now?"

"He said he was going to the cliffs near the old castle," Luigi whispered, finally looking up. His eyes were bloodshot. "He goes there when he wants to be alone. He thinks no one notices."

Without another word, Meggy bolted for the door. The rest of the gang followed suit, fueled by a collective, crushing weight of guilt.

They found him an hour later. The sun was beginning to set, casting long, orange shadows over the jagged rocks of the Mushroom Kingdom’s outskirts. Mario was sitting on the very edge of a precipice, his legs dangling over the drop. He wasn't eating. He wasn't humming. He was just staring out at the horizon, his red cap pulled low over his eyes.

"Mario!" Meggy called out, her voice cracking.

Mario didn't turn around. "Oh. Hey, Meggy. Hey, guys. Is it time for another challenge? Does SMG4 need me to get hit by a bus for views?"

The flat, emotionless tone of his voice was worse than any scream. It was the voice of someone who had accepted that his only value lay in his suffering.

SMG4 stepped forward, his breath hitching in his chest. "Mario... no. No more challenges. No more jokes."

Mario finally turned his head slightly. "Then why are you here? I’m not doing anything funny right now. I’m just sitting."

"We saw," Luigi said, stepping past the others. He walked right to the edge and sat down next to his brother. "We saw the tapes, Mario. The ones from home."

Mario stiffened. For a moment, the mask of stupidity flickered, revealing a raw, jagged pain that made the others flinch. He looked down at his hands, picking at a loose thread on his glove.

"You weren't supposed to see that," Mario said quietly. "That’s... that’s old news. It doesn't matter."

"It matters more than anything!" Meggy cried, dropping to her knees behind them. "Mario, how could you not tell us? How could you let us treat you like that after everything you went through?"

Mario gave a small, sad shrug. "Everyone treats Mario that way. My parents, Peach, the villains... even you guys sometimes. I thought... I thought that was just how the world worked. If I’m the funny fat man who gets hurt, then everyone stays happy. If I’m happy, then Luigi is safe. That was the deal."

"There is no deal!" SMG4 shouted, tears streaming down his face. "Mario, I am so sorry. I’ve been such a horrible friend. I took your trauma and I turned it into content. I ignored your feelings because it was easier to pretend you didn't have any."

Mario looked at SMG4, his blue eyes searching the developer’s face. "You... you really mean that? You’re not just saying it for a bit?"

"No bits," SMG4 promised, his voice thick with emotion. "No more bits at your expense. Never again."

Tari and Melony approached, sitting down on the grass behind them. Melony reached out and gently hugged Mario from behind, burying her face in his red shirt.

"You’re our family, Mario," Melony whispered. "We’re supposed to protect you, too."

Mario sat there for a long time, frozen by the sudden influx of genuine affection. It was a sensation he had spent decades starving for, something he had convinced himself he didn't deserve. Slowly, tentatively, he leaned back into Melony’s hug. A single tear escaped his eye, tracing a path through the dirt on his cheek.

"I'm tired, guys," Mario whispered, his voice finally breaking. "I'm so tired of being the joke."

"Then stop," Saiko said, her voice unusually soft as she stood nearby. "You don't have to be the joke anymore. You can just be Mario."

Bob, who usually had a witty remark for everything, simply sat down in the dirt and looked away, his blades resting still. "Yeah. What she said. Except with more gold and bitches, eventually. But for now... just Mario is fine."

Luigi wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders, pulling him close. "I’m sorry I didn't say anything sooner, Mario. I was scared. I was a coward."

"You were a kid, Luigi," Mario said, finally turning to look at his brother. "We both were."

The group sat there on the cliffside as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and gold. For the first time in years, the air didn't feel heavy with the expectation of a punchline. There were no cameras, no scripts, and no slapstick violence.

Mario took off his hat, looking at the "M" emblem that had become a symbol of both his heroism and his humiliation. He looked at his friends—his real friends—who were all crying for him, hurting for him, and finally seeing him.

"Hey, 4?" Mario asked softly.

"Yeah, Mario?"

"Can we go home? I... I think I’d like some spaghetti. But, like... the good kind. Not the kind I have to steal."

SMG4 wiped his eyes and gave a shaky smile. "The best kind, Mario. I’ll pay. And we’ll get as much as you want."

As they all stood up to walk back toward the castle, Meggy stayed by Mario’s side, gripping his hand tightly as if afraid he might vanish if she let go. Mario didn't pull away. He walked with a slight limp, a reminder of a lifetime of being broken down, but for the first time, he wasn't walking alone.

The red of his overalls was still stained with the dust of his past, but as they reached the lights of the Showgrounds, the shadows behind him didn't seem quite so dark anymore. He was Mario—not the meme, not the avatar, and not the victim. He was just a man who was finally, after a very long time, being loved for exactly who he was.