A sad day

The afternoon sun streamed through the stained-glass windows of the Mushroom Kingdom castle, casting vibrant hues of blue and gold across the sprawling lounge. It was a rare moment of absolute serenity. SMG4 was slumped on the far end of the sofa, his eyes closed and his laptop finally shut. Tari was focused on her handheld console, the soft clicks of buttons providing a rhythmic backdrop to the quiet. Saiko was tuning her guitar with uncharacteristic gentleness, while Meggy leaned back with a sigh, her boots resting on a coffee table.

"It’s… quiet," Meggy remarked, her voice barely above a whisper as if she were afraid to break the spell. "Almost too quiet."

"Don't jinx it," SMG4 groaned, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "Mario’s been gone since nine this morning. He said something about a 'secret spaghetti quest' in the next kingdom over. I’m just happy the castle isn't currently on fire or filled with sentient ping-pong balls."

Bob, lounging on a beanbag, let out a metallic snort. "I bet he’s just stuck in a vent somewhere. But hey, I’m not complaining. No fat Italian means no chaos for Bob."

Luigi sat on the edge of the sofa, wringing his gloved hands. While the others enjoyed the peace, he felt a nagging sense of unease. He knew his brother better than anyone—knew the masks he wore and the noise he made to drown out the silence. But even Luigi didn't expect what happened next.

The massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall flickered to life. It wasn't the usual static or a glitchy meme. The screen displayed a grainy, vintage-style video feed.

"Hey, who turned that on?" SMG4 sat up, reaching for the remote. "I didn't touch it."

"Neither did I," Tari said, looking up from her game.

The screen settled on an image of a cramped, dimly lit kitchen. A toddler-aged Mario, wearing oversized overalls and a tiny red cap, was sitting on the floor, playing with a wooden spoon. He looked innocent, his eyes wide and sparking with a light that none of them had seen in years.

Luigi’s face went pale. He froze, his breath hitching in his throat. "Oh… oh no. Not this. Not this one."

"Luigi? You okay?" Meggy asked, noticing her friend’s sudden rigidity.

Before he could answer, a booming, distorted roar erupted from the TV speakers. A shadow fell over the little Mario on screen—a tall, imposing figure whose face remained hidden in the darkness of the recording. It was a voice that sounded like grinding stones and thunder, dripping with a terrifying, drunken rage.

"You useless brat!" the voice screamed. "I told you to stay in the corner!"

The screen blurred as a heavy hand swung down. The sound that followed was a sickening thud, followed by a high-pitched, piercing scream of pure agony. It wasn't the comedic "Wahoo!" or the exaggerated "Mama mia!" they were used to. It was the sound of a child who was genuinely terrified for his life.

The crew sat in stunned silence. Tari covered her mouth with both hands, her cybernetic eye flickering with distress. Saiko’s grip tightened on her guitar neck until the wood groaned.

"Is that… Mario’s dad?" SMG4 whispered, his face draining of color.

The video didn't stop. It began to fast-forward through the years, a montage of misery. They saw Mario as a young boy, then a teenager, then a young man. In every clip, the light in his eyes dimmed further. He wasn't the energetic, goofy hero they knew; he was a hollow shell, flinching at every loud noise, curled into balls in dark corners, his face bruised and tear-stained.

The silence in the lounge was heavy, suffocating. They wanted to reach into the screen, to pull that boy out of the darkness, but they were forced to watch the history they never knew existed.

The scene shifted. The quality improved, looking more like a modern recording. It showed a slightly younger Mario sitting alone in a field. He looked profoundly lonely, his shoulders slumped. In his lap, he held a simple green melon.

The crew watched, confused, as Mario began to stroke the melon gently. He carved a tiny, crude smiley face into its skin with a pocketknife.

"There you go," the Mario on screen whispered, his voice cracking. "You’re my best friend, okay? I’ll call you… Melony. You won’t leave me, right? You won't hit me?"

He pulled the melon into a tight, desperate hug, burying his face against its cool rind.

In the lounge, Melony, who had been dozing off in the corner, was now wide awake. Her eyes were lunchbox-wide, shimmering with unshed tears. She remembered being a melon, of course, but she had always assumed her life began when the Fierce Deity mask touched her. She never knew that her very name, her very existence as a "friend," had been born from Mario’s desperation to find something that wouldn't hurt him.

"He… he named me?" Melony whispered, her voice trembling. "He loved me before I was even me?"

The video feed glitched again, the tone shifting abruptly. The music turned somber, a low, mournful cello. The screen began to play a compilation of recent events—events the crew recognized all too well.

It showed SMG4 kicking Mario out of the castle for a joke. It showed Meggy screaming at him for failing a challenge. It showed Saiko slamming him into a wall, and Bob mocking him while he was down. It showed them all laughing as they used him as a human shield or a punchline.

The footage slowed down, focusing on Mario’s face after each "joke." The camera caught the split second where his goofy grin dropped, replaced by a look of profound, crushing sadness before he forced the mask back on to keep them happy.

The guilt hit the room like a physical weight. SMG4 looked at his hands, the very hands that had scripted so many "funny" moments of Mario suffering. Meggy felt a lump in her throat so large she couldn't swallow. She remembered the times she’d lost her temper, thinking Mario was just being an idiot, never realizing she was echoing the trauma of his past.

"We… we were just like him," Tari sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "We were just like the man in the first video."

"No," Saiko muttered, her voice thick with self-loathing. "We were supposed to be his friends. That makes it worse."

Melony stood up, her hair glowing faintly with her inner power, but her expression was one of pure heartbreak. She looked at the crew, her gaze accusing and wounded. "How could you? He just wanted to be loved."

The TV cut to a loud, garish commercial for "Spaghetti-O’s," the upbeat jingle clashing horribly with the atmosphere in the room. No one moved. No one spoke. They sat in the flickering light of the advertisement, forced to sit with the reality of their actions. They had taken a man who was already broken and treated his cracks like a comedy routine.

After what felt like an eternity, the commercial ended. The screen returned to a live-looking feed of Mario’s bedroom inside the castle.

The room was messy, as usual, but the lighting was dim. Mario was sitting on the edge of his bed, his hat off, revealing his thinning hair. He looked exhausted—not just tired, but soul-weary. In his hands, he held a crumpled, faded photograph.

The camera zoomed in. It was a picture of Mario, much younger, standing in a small garden. Next to him was a toddler—a little boy with a shock of brown hair and a gap-toothed grin, wearing a tiny blue shirt.

"I miss you, Junior," Mario whispered to the empty room.

The crew gasped. Mario had a son? A child no one had ever heard of?

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep you," Mario choked out, his voice breaking into a sob. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to keep the family together. I’m sorry you have to grow up without a 'stupid' dad."

He clutched the photo to his chest and began to cry. It wasn't a loud, theatrical wail. It was a deep, guttural sound of a man who had lost everything and had been holding it in for decades. He rocked back and forth, the bed creaking under his weight, his sobs echoing through the speakers and into the hearts of everyone in the lounge.

"I just want to be good," Mario wailed into the silence of his room. "Why can't I be good enough for them? Why do they hate me so much?"

Luigi was the first to move. He stood up, his legs shaking, his face wet with tears. "I… I have to go to him. I thought he forgot. I thought he’d moved past the old house and the… and the baby."

"Luigi, wait," SMG4 said, his voice cracking. He stood up too, followed by the rest of the group.

"We're all going," Meggy said firmly, though her voice was thick with emotion. "We’ve been the biggest idiots in the world. We don't deserve him, but we’re going to spend every day making sure he never feels like that again."

They moved toward the stairs, the sound of Mario’s sobbing still playing from the TV. As they reached the hallway leading to his room, the castle felt colder, larger, and emptier than it ever had before.

They reached the door. SMG4 hesitated, his hand hovering over the knob. He looked back at his friends—at Tari’s red eyes, at Saiko’s grim determination, at Melony’s silent grief, and at Luigi’s trembling form.

"On three," SMG4 whispered.

He didn't get to three. The door creaked open slightly on its own. Inside, the room was quiet now, save for the occasional hitch in Mario’s breath.

They filed in slowly. Mario didn't notice them at first; he was still curled up, his back to the door, the photo pressed against his heart.

"Mario?" Luigi whispered softly.

The red-clad plumber stiffened. In an instant, he shoved the photo under his pillow and wiped his eyes with his sleeves. When he turned around, he had a wide, manic grin plastered on his face, though his eyes were bloodshot and puffy.

"Oh! Hey guys!" Mario said, his voice forced and high-pitched. "You’re back early! Did you see? Mario found a really big coin today! It was-a so cool! Why are you all looking at me like that? Is there a spider on my head? Is it a spaghetti spider?"

The sight of him trying so hard to be the "funny one" even after what they had just seen was the final straw.

Meggy didn't say a word. She ran forward and tackled him into a hug, burying her face in his red shirt.

Mario froze, his arms hovering awkwardly in the air. "Uh, Meggy? You okay? Did you lose a Splatfest? It’s okay, Mario can go beat up the winners for you—"

Then Tari joined the hug, sobbing openly. Then Luigi, who clung to his brother as if he were afraid he’d vanish into thin air. One by one, the entire crew surrounded him, forming a tight, protective circle of warmth and genuine affection.

Mario’s fake grin slowly faltered. His eyes searched the room, landing on the doorway where he could see the TV in the distance, still glowing with the image of his own bedroom.

He realized they knew. The secret he had kept buried under layers of spaghetti, memes, and idiocy was laid bare.

"You… you saw?" Mario asked, his voice small and vulnerable.

"We saw everything, Mario," SMG4 said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And we are so, so sorry. For everything."

"You don't have to be the joke anymore," Saiko said, her voice unusually soft. "You're our friend. Our real friend."

Melony stepped forward, reaching out to touch his cheek. "Thank you for naming me. Thank you for loving me when I was just a melon."

The dam finally broke. Mario didn't try to hide it this time. He let out a long, shuddering breath and collapsed into the group’s embrace, his tears soaking into Meggy’s hat and Luigi’s shoulder.

"I'm so tired," Mario whispered, the words muffled by the crowd of people who finally, truly saw him. "I'm just so tired of being alone."

"You're not alone," Luigi promised, squeezing his brother tighter. "Never again."

Outside, the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the kingdom. But inside the room, for the first time in his life, Mario felt like the light wasn't something he had to pretend to have. It was something being given back to him, piece by piece, by the family he had chosen, and who had finally chosen him back.