The gang reacts to Mario's beatification

The Great Hall of SMG4’s castle was a riot of neon streamers, golden balloons, and the intoxicating scent of high-end catering. For the first time in years, the air didn't smell like burnt spaghetti or stale grease. There was no screaming, no sudden explosions, and no one was currently being hit in the face with a stray ping-pong ball or a rogue projectile. It was peaceful. It was organized. It was, quite frankly, the best party the crew had ever thrown.

SMG4 stood on a small decorative podium, raising a glass of sparkling cider to the crowd. "A toast, everyone! To a new era of content! To a world where I don't have to spend half my budget on property damage repairs!"

"I’ll drink to that!" Bob shouted, waving a gold-plated microphone in one blade. "Finally, I can be the main star without some fat Italian stealing the spotlight with his butt-cheeks! My rap career is about to go intergalactic, bitches!"

Meggy sat on a nearby sofa, looking surprisingly relaxed. Usually, she was the one trying to keep Mario out of trouble, her face a permanent mask of exasperation. Today, she looked like she had just finished a ten-year marathon. "I love the guy, I really do," she said, taking a sip of her drink, "but I forgot what it was like to just... sit down. Without being used as a human shield or having my ramen stolen."

"It is quite tranquil," Saiko added, leaning against the wall with her hammer resting idly by her side. "Though I do miss having something to hit every five minutes. The silence is almost... eerie."

"Don't ruin it, Saiko!" Tari chirped, her robotic arm whirring as she played a peaceful simulation game on her visor. "Look, even Luigi is enjoying himself!"

Luigi was currently face-down on a massage chair, weeping softly into the headrest. It was hard to tell if they were tears of grief or the sheer relief of no longer being the designated "victim" of his brother’s various schemes. "He’s in a better place," Luigi muffled into the fabric. "A place with infinite spaghetti and no gravity to hurt him."

The celebration continued for hours. Fishy Boopkins was busy showing off his latest anime figurines to a captive audience of Toads, and SMG3 was already drafting a contract to take over the plumbing business—mostly just to spite the memory of his former rival. It was a perfect, celebratory wake.

Then, the television flickered.

It was a massive 80-inch screen mounted above the fireplace, usually reserved for watching memes or security footage of Mario breaking into the kitchen. The upbeat party music suddenly cut out, replaced by the solemn, echoing tolls of a cathedral bell.

"Hey! Who touched the remote?" SMG4 grumbled, shielding his eyes from the sudden bright light of the broadcast.

The screen didn't show the Mushroom Kingdom News. Instead, it showed the sprawling, sun-drenched plaza of St. Peter’s Square in the Vatican. Thousands of people were gathered, holding candles and weeping openly. The camera panned up to the balcony, where the Pope stood in his ceremonial white robes, looking more somber than anyone had ever seen him.

"Is this a prank?" Meggy stood up, her brow furrowing. "Since when does the Vatican broadcast to the Mushroom Kingdom?"

"Shhh! Look at the banner!" Boopkins pointed a stubby finger at the screen.

A massive tapestry was being unfurled from the balcony. As the heavy fabric fell, it revealed a painted portrait. It was unmistakably Mario. However, it wasn't the Mario they knew. He wasn't covered in sauce or making a stupid face. He had been painted in a classical, Renaissance style, his eyes gazing upward with a look of divine wisdom, a faint, holy glow radiating from his red cap.

The Pope leaned into the microphone, his voice echoing across the globe. "Today, we gather not to mourn a man of flesh, but to celebrate a vessel of the divine. Through his countless 'stupid' acts, he showed us the fragility of the human ego. Through his hunger, he taught us of the soul's eternal longing. We officially announce the beginning of the beatification process for the one known as Mario."

The castle fell into a silence so heavy it felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. SMG4’s glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the pristine floor.

"Beatification?" SMG3 whispered, his eyes wide. "That’s... that’s the first step to..."

"Mario... a Saint?" SMG4’s voice cracked. "He’s a Saint? He once tried to eat a live pigeon because he thought it was a marshmallow!"

The Pope continued, his voice dripping with reverence. "Reports have reached us from across the dimensions. Miracles performed in the heat of chaos. He survived falls that would kill a god. He consumed quantities of starch that would defy the laws of physics. He was a holy fool, sent to remind us that we are all, in the eyes of the Lord, absolute idiots."

The camera panned to the front row of the congregation. There, sitting in seats of honor, were Mario’s parents. His father, looking dapper in a suit that actually fit, wiped a tear from his eye with a silk handkerchief. His mother clutched a rosary, her face a mixture of profound grief and soaring pride.

"Our boy," she sobbed quietly, her voice picked up by a nearby directional mic. "I always knew his penchant for screaming at inanimate objects was a sign of a higher calling."

"He was always special," Mario’s father added, nodding solemnly to a cardinal. "Most kids learn to walk; Mario learned to clip through walls. Truly, the hand of the Creator was upon him."

Back in the castle, the envy began to rot the festive atmosphere like a fast-acting mold.

"This is garbage!" Bob screamed, throwing his gold microphone at the TV. "I’ve been a saint my whole life! I give to the poor! I give them my music! Where’s my cathedral? Where’s my giant painting?"

"He’s going to be a Saint," Meggy muttered, her hands shaking. "I spent years training him, trying to make him a functional member of society, and the universe decides that his idiocy was actually 'divine intervention'?"

"It’s not fair," SMG4 hissed, gripping his head. "I’m the one who makes the videos! I’m the one who edits the reality! Why does he get the holy recognition while I’m stuck here paying for the insurance on his 'miracles'?"

"He literally set my house on fire three times last month," Saiko said, her voice low and dangerous. "If that’s a miracle, then I’m the Goddess of Patience."

On the screen, the ceremony reached a crescendo. Choir music swelled—a hauntingly beautiful arrangement of the 'Super Mario' theme played on a pipe organ. The Pope raised a golden staff.

"We hereby decree that Mario shall be known henceforth as the Patron Saint of Spaghetti and Unintentional Consequences," the Pope declared. "Let his name be whispered in the halls of the righteous, and let his 'Oof' be our prayer."

Luigi, who had been watching in stunned silence, finally sat up. He looked at the screen, then at his friends, then back at the screen. A small, bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You know... he did always say he was 'number one.' I just thought it was the ego talking."

"Shut up, Luigi!" the entire room shouted in unison.

"I can't believe this," SMG3 groaned, sinking into a chair. "The afterlife is going to be unbearable. Can you imagine him at the Pearly Gates? He’s probably already trying to trade the Golden Keys for a slice of pepperoni pizza."

"It’s worse than that," SMG4 said, staring blankly at the image of his dead friend being hailed as a martyr. "If he’s a Saint, that means he was right. Every time he did something stupid, every time he ruined a take, every time he humped a bowl of pasta... it was 'holy.' I haven't been dealing with an idiot for ten years. I’ve been dealing with a prophet."

The crew looked at the party decorations. The "Good Riddance" banner suddenly felt very blasphemous. The cake, shaped like a Mario-free world, felt like an insult to a deity.

"We're going to hell, aren't we?" Boopkins asked softly.

"Probably," Meggy sighed, leaning back and watching the Pope lead the crowd in a moment of silent prayer for the Great Red One.

Outside the castle, the sun began to set, casting a long, red shadow across the Mushroom Kingdom. Somewhere, in a realm beyond mortal understanding, a fat Italian was likely sitting on a cloud, scratching his stomach and wondering why everyone was making such a big deal out of him just trying to find the kitchen. But in the castle, the party was over. The silence was no longer peaceful; it was judgmental.

Mario was gone, but his "holiness" was just beginning to haunt them.