Mario's backstory

The Grand Hall of SMG4’s Showgrounds castle was unusually quiet. The air was thick with a rare, peaceful stillness that usually only occurred when a certain red-clad plumber was either asleep or miles away. Today, it was the latter. Mario had mentioned something about a "secret solo mission" involving a limited-edition spaghetti discount across the kingdom, and for once, the rest of the gang was content to let him wander.

SMG4 sat on the floor, leaning against the base of his massive computer monitor, scrolling idly through his phone. Bob and Boopkins were debating the merits of various anime waifus in the corner, while Saiko tuned her guitar with aggressive precision. Tari was engrossed in a handheld game, and Meggy was busy sharpening her Splat-shot, looking restless without her usual sparring partner to annoy her. Melony was curled up on a beanbag, drifting in and out of a light nap.

"You know," SMG4 remarked, breaking the silence. "It’s actually kind of nice to have a day where the castle isn't being demolished by a stray Goomba or a rogue microwave."

"I’ll say," Saiko grunted, pluckering a string. "I haven't had to kick anyone through a wall for at least six hours. It’s a record."

Suddenly, the massive television screen on the wall flickered to life. It wasn't the usual static or a meme-filled broadcast. Instead, a grainy, old-fashioned video interface appeared.

"Uh, SMG4? Did you start a stream?" Tari asked, looking up from her game.

"No, I’m not even touching the remote," SMG4 replied, standing up and walking toward the screen. "Is this a glitch?"

The screen cleared, revealing a setting that looked like a cramped, dingy apartment from decades ago. A small child, barely a toddler but wearing a familiar oversized red cap, was sitting on the floor playing with a wooden block. It was undeniably a young Mario.

"Aww, look at him!" Boopkins squealed. "Mario was such a cute baby!"

The sentiment lasted only a second. A door in the background slammed open with a violence that made everyone in the room jump. A tall, shadowy man and a woman with a sharp, pinched face stormed into the frame. They didn't look like the loving parents one would expect. They looked furious.

"You little brat!" the man screamed, his voice distorted by the old recording but dripping with venom. "I told you to stay in the closet! You’re a waste of space and a waste of our money!"

The gang watched in paralyzed horror as the man kicked the wooden block out of the child’s hand. The young Mario didn't cry at first; he just shrank into himself, trembling with a practiced, terrifying familiarity. What followed was a barrage of verbal abuse that quickly turned physical. It wasn't a "cartoon" beating. There were no stars or funny sound effects. It was the raw, ugly sound of a child being struck by those who were supposed to protect him.

Luigi, who had been coming down the stairs with a tray of tea, froze. The tray clattered to the floor, spilling everything. He didn't look at the screen; he looked at the floor, his face pale and his hands shaking.

"Luigi?" Meggy whispered, her voice trembling. "Did... did you know?"

Luigi didn't answer. He just turned away, his shoulders hunched, looking as though he wanted to disappear into the drywall.

The video jumped forward. Mario was older now, perhaps ten or eleven. He was covered in bruises, hiding under a bridge in the rain, clutching a half-eaten crust of bread. His eyes, usually so full of chaotic energy, were hollow and dead. The montage continued, a relentless assault of misery. Each year showed a Mario who was becoming more eccentric, more "stupid," as a defense mechanism to block out the trauma of a world that hated him.

"Oh my god," Tari sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "We... we call him an idiot every day. We hit him when he’s annoying... we didn't know."

Meggy felt a cold stone form in her stomach. She thought of all the times she had lost her temper with him, all the times she had used him as a punching bag for her frustrations. She had always justified it because he was "invincible" or "too dumb to care." But the screen showed a different story. It showed a man who felt everything.

Melony was wide awake now, her large eyes brimming with tears. She watched as the screen shifted to a scene from a few years ago. Mario was sitting alone in a field, looking tired. He was holding a plain, green watermelon.

The gang watched as Mario’s expression changed. The vacant, "stupid" look faded into something soft and incredibly lonely. He began to carve a face into the melon, talking to it in a gentle, hushed voice.

"You’re gonna be my best friend," the Mario on screen whispered, patting the melon. "I’m gonna take care of you. I won’t let anyone hurt you like they hurt me."

Melony let out a choked sob. She remembered being that melon. She had always known Mario was the one who found her, but she had never realized that she was born out of his desperate need for something to love—something that wouldn't judge him or strike him. In a very literal sense, his care and his weird, chaotic energy were what had given her the foundation to eventually become who she was. He wasn't just her friend; he was her creator. He was her father.

The screen flickered one last time, showing Mario’s current bedroom in the castle. It was late at night. Mario was sitting on the edge of his bed, the glow of a single lamp illuminating a framed photograph in his hands. It was a picture of the entire crew at a picnic, laughing and smiling.

A single, heavy tear fell from Mario’s nose and landed on the glass of the frame. He wiped it away quickly with his sleeve, put the photo on his nightstand, and forced a wide, goofy grin at his own reflection in the mirror, practicing his "It’s-a me!" before falling into bed.

The screen went black.

The silence in the Grand Hall was deafening, broken only by the sound of Melony’s quiet weeping and Saiko’s knuckles cracking as she gripped her guitar neck so hard the wood groaned.

"We’re monsters," Bob said, his usual robotic voice sounding uncharacteristically flat and hollow. "I mean, I know I’m a piece of trash, but... damn."

"He just wanted to belong," SMG4 whispered, staring at the blank screen. "Everything he does... the jokes, the stupidity... it’s all just to make us laugh. To make us stay."

Before anyone could say another word, the silence was shattered by a familiar, loud crashing sound. The stained-glass window at the end of the hall exploded inward as a red blur came flying through, performing a series of unnecessary mid-air somersaults before landing face-first on the marble floor.

"Wahoo! Mario is back from his quest!" the plumber shouted, popping up like a spring. He was covered in spaghetti sauce and had a stray pigeon perched on his hat. "I didn't get the discount because the store was actually a bank, and the police were very mean to Mario! But I brought back a half-eaten taco I found in the parking lot! Who wants a bite?"

He held up a soggy, sad-looking taco, his eyes wide and twinkling with his usual manic energy. He expected a reprimand. He expected SMG4 to yell about the window or Meggy to groan about his hygiene.

Instead, there was a blur of movement.

"Oof! Hey! What the—?"

Mario was nearly knocked over as Meggy and Tari collided with him first, wrapping their arms around him in a crushing embrace. SMG4 was right behind them, grabbing Mario’s shoulder and pulling him into the huddle. Even Saiko and Bob joined in, creating a chaotic, suffocating wall of affection.

"Guys? Is this a new game?" Mario asked, his voice muffled by Meggy’s beanie. "Is there a bomb? Do I need to run?"

"We’re so sorry, Mario," Tari sobbed into his shoulder. "We’re so, so sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Mario asked, his body tensing. "Did you guys eat my secret stash of emergency ravioli? Because I forgive you! Just don't do it again!"

Melony pushed through the group, her face streaked with tears. She didn't say a word; she just wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest, holding on as if he might vanish if she let go.

Mario’s eyes wandered past the group and landed on the giant TV screen. His expression shifted instantly. The goofy, wide-eyed look vanished, replaced by a pale, flickering mask of pure panic. He saw the "Video Playback Complete" icon and the file names that had been accessed.

"Oh," Mario whispered. The taco slipped from his hand, hitting the floor with a wet thud. "You... you saw that?"

He tried to pull away, a nervous, high-pitched chuckle escaping his throat. "Hey, hey! That was just an old movie! Yeah! Mario was an actor! I was-a very good at the drama! It wasn't real! None of it! Mario is the superstar, remember? Nothing hurts Mario!"

"Stop it, Mario," SMG4 said softly, refusing to let go. "You don't have to do that anymore. Not with us."

"But I’m the funny one!" Mario cried out, his voice cracking. He was shaking now, the bravado crumbling like dry cookies. "If I’m not the funny one, then I’m just... I’m just the broken one. And nobody wants to play with a broken toy. You’ll throw me away! You’ll find a new Mario who isn't... isn't weird!"

"Never," Meggy said, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. Her own eyes were red and fierce. "You’re our idiot, Mario. But you’re also our family. And if anyone ever tries to hurt you again—including us—I’ll make them regret being born."

Mario looked at them, his eyes darting from face to face. He saw no pity, only a deep, aching love and a fierce protectiveness he had never truly believed he deserved.

Luigi finally stepped forward, wiping his eyes. He walked up to his brother and took his hand. "I should have said something sooner, Bro. I was just... I was so scared of those memories."

Mario looked down at Melony, who was still clinging to him. He reached out a shaky hand and patted her head, the same way he had patted that green watermelon all those years ago.

"You guys are really weird," Mario whispered, a genuine, tired smile finally touching his lips. It wasn't a "Mario" smile; it was just a man’s smile. "But... I guess that’s okay. Mario likes weird."

"We love you, Mario," Boopkins wailed, hugging his leg.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Saiko muttered, though she didn't loosen her grip on the group hug. "Just don't expect this every day. You’re still paying for that window."

Mario laughed, a real, hearty sound that didn't have a hint of performance in it. For the first time in his life, the red plumber didn't feel like he had to be a superstar or a clown. He just felt like he was home.

"Okay, okay!" Mario shouted, his spirits rebounding with the resilience that only he possessed. "Group hug is over! Mario needs sustenance! Does this mean I get to pick the movie tonight?"

"Anything but those old tapes," SMG4 laughed, wiping his eyes.

"Great! Then we are watching 'The History of Spaghetti' for the twelfth time!"

The gang groaned in unison, but as they followed Mario toward the kitchen, nobody complained. They walked a little closer to him than usual, a living shield of friends around a man who had spent far too long standing in the rain alone.