The tragedy of a friend again

The Showgrounds castle was unusually quiet, a phenomenon that usually only occurred when the world was ending or if Mario had finally found a refrigerator large enough to trap himself inside. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful fractals across the floor where the gang sat scattered in various states of boredom. SMG4 was mindlessly scrolling through his phone, Meggy was polishing her Splatgun for the fifth time that hour, and Tari was trying to teach Bob how to play a peaceful sheep-herding game—a task that was failing miserably.

"Ugh, it is way too quiet," SMG4 groaned, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. "Where even is Mario? Usually, by now, he’s at least tried to ignite the kitchen."

"He said he was going for a walk to 'find his brain,'" Luigi murmured from the corner, though his voice lacked its usual upbeat tone. He was fiddling nervously with the hem of his overalls, his eyes downcast. "He’s been... quiet lately."

"Probably just a glitch in his system," Saiko remarked, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "Enjoy the peace while it lasts."

Suddenly, the massive television mounted on the wall flickered to life. It didn't start with the usual colorful intro of a meme video or a glitchy broadcast. Instead, the screen remained grainy and grey, showing a timestamp from decades ago.

The image sharpened to reveal a small, cramped apartment. A very young Mario, barely more than a toddler in oversized overalls, was sitting on the floor playing with a wooden block. The room was dark, smelling of stale smoke and unwashed dishes even through the screen.

"Oh, look, it's baby Mario," Boopkins chirped, leaning forward. "He looks so cute!"

But the cuteness was short-lived. A heavy door slammed open on screen, and two figures loomed over the child. They were Mario’s parents, their faces blurred by the haze of memory, but their voices were crystal clear—and they were dripping with venom.

"You useless, fat brat!" the father’s voice boomed, a sound so violent it made Meggy flinch. "Can’t you do anything right? You’re a drain on everything we have!"

What followed was a sequence that silenced the room entirely. They watched in paralyzed horror as the man raised a heavy hand. The beating was relentless, a sickening display of cruelty directed at a child who didn't even understand what he had done wrong. Young Mario didn't scream at first; he just curled into a ball, trying to make himself smaller, his large eyes filled with a terror no child should ever know.

"Stop it," Melony whispered, her hands trembling. "Make it stop."

Luigi turned his head away, his shoulders shaking. He knew. He had lived in the shadow of those sounds, protected only because Mario had often lured their parents' wrath toward himself to keep his little brother safe.

The video didn't end. It became a montage of misery. It showed Mario growing up, his bright eyes slowly becoming dull and glazed. It showed him being mocked at school, coming home to more bruises, and eventually, the emergence of the "stupid" persona—a defense mechanism, a mask of idiocy worn so thick that the world would stop expecting anything from him, and therefore, stop hurting him when he failed.

As the years progressed on screen, Mario looked worse. His physical form seemed to glitch and fray at the edges, his smile becoming more forced, his antics becoming more desperate for a laugh—any kind of positive attention to drown out the echoes of his childhood.

"We... we did that too," Meggy said, her voice breaking. A tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered all the times she had yelled at him, called him an idiot, or kicked him out of the castle for being an inconvenience. "We treated him just like they did."

"I made videos mocking him," SMG4 whispered, staring at his hands in horror. "I turned his trauma into content."

Melony was crying silently now, her heart aching for the man who had always been a chaotic, yet strangely gentle presence in her life. The screen shifted again, showing the day Mario found a simple melon in the middle of a field. He was alone, sitting in the dirt, talking to the fruit because he had no one else.

"You’re gonna be my best friend," the Mario on screen whispered to the melon, his voice cracked and raw. "I’ll call you Melony. You won’t yell at me, right? You won’t hit Mario?"

The Melony in the room let out a sob, clutching her deity sword to her chest. She hadn't just been a creation of a mask; she had been the manifestation of a lonely man's desperate need for a friend who wouldn't hurt him.

The screen flickered one last time, displaying a glowing, translucent shape—Mario’s soul. It wasn't a solid heart. It was a jagged, red orb covered in thousands of spider-web cracks. With every insult from his friends that played in a fast-forward audio loop, a new crack formed. The soul looked like it was held together by nothing but sheer will and scotch tape.

The TV went black.

The silence in the castle was suffocating. No one moved. No one spoke. The guilt in the room was a physical weight, pressing down on them until the sound of the front door creaking open made everyone jump.

Mario walked in. He didn't have his usual swagger. His shoulders were hunched, his hat pulled low over his eyes. He looked exhausted, as if he were carrying the weight of the entire Mushroom Kingdom on his back. He didn't notice the tear-stained faces of his friends as he trudged over to the couch and slumped down, letting out a long, heavy sigh.

Before he could react, the entire gang moved as one. They didn't stand; they knelt. They surrounded the couch, closing in on him not with anger or demands, but with a wall of protective presence.

Mario looked up, blinking in confusion. "Uh... did Mario sit on the remote again? Why is everyone looking at me like I’m a piece of spaghetti?"

"Mario," Meggy said, her voice thick with emotion. She reached out, taking his hand in hers. Her grip was firm, a silent promise. "We saw. We saw everything."

Mario froze. The mask he had worn for decades didn't just slip; it shattered. His eyes widened, darting from face to face, searching for the mockery he expected. But he only found love, grief, and a fierce, burning loyalty.

"We are so sorry," SMG4 said, his voice cracking. "We didn't know... and that’s no excuse. We should have been better. We should have seen the cracks."

Melony stepped forward, kneeling directly in front of him. She took his other hand, her eyes glowing with a soft, protective light. "You created me because you were lonely," she whispered. "You gave me life, Mario. And I vow, as long as I draw breath and hold this blade, no one—not a god, not a monster, and certainly not your past—will ever lay a finger on you again. You are my creator, but you are also my family. I will love you and protect you until the end of time."

Mario looked at her, his lip trembling. He looked at Luigi, who was already sobbing, reaching out to pull his brother into a hug.

The dam finally broke.

Mario let out a scream. It wasn't a comedic scream or a shout of frustration. It was a raw, primal howl of anguish and buried pain that had been bottled up for thirty years. It was the sound of a soul finally allowing itself to feel the weight of its own fractures.

"It hurts!" Mario sobbed, his voice high and distorted. He collapsed forward into Luigi’s chest, his fingers clutching his brother’s green shirt. "It always hurts so much, Luigi! I try to be funny! I try to make everyone laugh so they don't hate me! Please don't hate me!"

"I could never hate you, Mario," Luigi cried, squeezing him tight, burying his face in the red cap. "I’m so sorry I didn't do more. I’m here now. I’m not letting go."

One by one, the others joined the embrace. Saiko placed a firm, comforting hand on his shoulder, her usual toughness replaced by a somber softness. Tari hugged his arm, her metallic hand pulsing with a warm, rhythmic glow to help soothe his racing heart. Bob and Boopkins sat at his feet, offering their silent support.

Even SMG4 joined the pile, resting his head against Mario’s back. "We’ve got you, Mario. You don't have to be the funny one anymore. You don't have to be the idiot. You just have to be you."

Mario continued to break down, his sobs racking his entire frame. For the first time in his life, he wasn't crying alone in a dark room or talking to a piece of fruit. He was surrounded by a fortress of people who finally saw him—the real him—and chose to stay.

The cracks in his soul didn't vanish. They were too deep for that. But as the gang held him, the jagged edges seemed to stop glowing with pain, beginning a slow, agonizing process of knitting back together, held in place by the hands of those who truly loved him.

The castle was no longer quiet with boredom; it was filled with the sound of a family finally healing a wound they never knew was there. Under the afternoon sun, the broken hero finally found the one thing he had been searching for his entire life: a home where he was allowed to be hurt.