The avatar's hardmanship

The new Showgrounds castle was unusually quiet. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the floor of the main foyer. SMG4 sat on the edge of the fountain, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Meggy was leaning against a pillar, polishing her Splatshot with a rag, her movements mechanical and bored. Tari and Luigi were playing a quiet game of cards on the floor, while Bob and Fishy Boopkins were arguing in hushed tones about whether anime or rap was more culturally significant.

"Is it just me, or is it weirdly peaceful today?" Tari asked, laying down a card.

"Mario’s not here," SMG4 replied without looking up. "He said he found a 'secret spaghetti stash' in the woods and wouldn't be back until sundown. To be honest, I’m enjoying the lack of explosions. My ears are finally stopping that ringing sound."

Meggy sighed, putting her weapon away. "Yeah, it’s nice. But it’s also kind of... dull? I mean, usually by this time, he’s at least tried to set the kitchen on fire or used my beanie as a napkin."

"I for one do not miss the smell of burning trash and grease," Saiko muttered, walking into the room with her hammer slung over her shoulder. She sat down on a velvet sofa, kicking her boots up on the table. "Let the idiot stay in the woods. It’s the first time this week I haven't had to peel him off the ceiling."

Suddenly, the large monitor mounted on the wall—the one SMG4 used for editing and announcements—flickered to life with a loud burst of static. Everyone jumped.

"SMG4, did you turn that on?" Luigi asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"No, I didn't touch it," SMG4 said, standing up and walking toward the screen. "Must be a glitch or a virus. Maybe SMG3 is playing a prank."

The static cleared, but it didn't show a meme or a taunting message from a rival. Instead, it showed a grainy, low-quality video feed. The setting was a cramped, dilapidated kitchen. It looked like a memory, or perhaps a hidden camera from decades ago. A small child with a red cap—far too large for his head—was sitting at a table, clutching a small piece of bread.

"Is that... Mario?" Meggy whispered, stepping closer.

The child in the video looked different. He wasn't the loud, boisterous, and often annoying man they knew. He was small, frail, and his eyes were wide with a kind of hyper-vigilance that didn't belong on a child’s face.

The silence in the castle was shattered by a booming voice from the screen. A man, tall and shadow-obscured, stormed into the frame, followed by a woman whose face was twisted in a permanent sneer.

"You little brat!" the man screamed. The audio peaked, distorting with the force of his rage. "I told you not to touch the food until we were finished! Do you think you're special? Do you think you earned this?"

"I-I was just hungry, Papa," the young Mario whimpered, shrinking into his seat.

What followed was a sequence that made the air in the castle turn cold. The man didn't just yell. He lunged. The screen blurred as the young boy was thrown from his chair. The sound of a heavy belt being unbuckled echoed through the speakers, followed by the sickening thud of impact and the shrill, heart-wrenching screams of a child who didn't understand why he was being hated.

"Turn it off," Luigi whispered, his face deathly pale. He was shaking, his hands pressed hard against his ears. "Please, turn it off. I remember this. I don't want to see this."

SMG4 scrambled for the controls, hitting the 'Power' button repeatedly, but the screen remained ignited. "It’s not responding! It’s like it’s hardwired into the system!"

The video jumped forward. Mario was older now, perhaps a teenager. He was standing in a hallway, his clothes tattered and his face bruised. He was trying to fix a broken plate, his hands trembling so violently that the pieces kept clattering to the floor.

"Look at you," his mother’s voice hissed from off-camera. "Useless. A drain on this family. You’re nothing but a fat, stupid clown. Why can’t you be more like your brother? At least he has the decency to stay out of the way."

The teenage Mario didn't fight back. He didn't scream. He just stared at the floor, his expression becoming a blank, hollow mask. It was the look of someone who had learned that feeling anything only made the pain worse.

The montage continued, a horrific highlight reel of a life defined by trauma. Every time Mario tried to do something right, he was beaten down. Every time he cried, he was mocked. They watched as he began to act more 'stupid'—as if he were intentionally retreating into a world of nonsense and idiocy just to escape the crushing reality of his existence. The 'stupidity' wasn't just a trait; it was a survival mechanism. A shield.

The screen finally went black, leaving the gang in a suffocating silence.

Tari was the first to break. She was sobbing into her hands, her robotic arm sparking slightly from her distress. "That... that was horrible. How could anyone do that to a child?"

Meggy felt like she couldn't breathe. She looked down at her hands, remembering all the times she had lost her temper with Mario. She remembered the 'training' sessions where she had pushed him too hard, the times she had called him an idiot, and the times she had physically struck him for his antics.

"We... we treat him like that," Meggy said, her voice barely a whisper.

"No, we don't!" Bob shouted, though his usual bravado was completely gone. "We’re his friends! We just... we just give him a hard time because he’s annoying!"

"Is he?" Saiko asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft. She looked at the blank screen, her grip on her hammer loosening until it clattered to the floor. "Think about it. He loses his home every other week. We scream at him daily. We’ve abandoned him in dangerous places, mocked his intelligence, and treated him like a punching bag because he’s 'durable.' We saw what his parents did. They treated him like he was worthless. And we’ve just been continuing the trend, haven’t we?"

SMG4 slumped against the fountain, staring at his reflection in the water. He thought of all the videos he’d made, all the times he’d used Mario as the butt of a joke or put him in harm's way for views. He remembered the times he’d looked at Mario with genuine disgust.

"He’s always smiling," SMG4 said, his voice cracking. "No matter what we do to him, he wakes up the next day, puts on that red hat, and acts like everything is fine. He makes jokes, he eats his spaghetti, and he tries to make us laugh. Even when we’re being jerks to him."

"Because he thinks that’s all he’s good for," Luigi said, finally looking up. His eyes were red and watery. "He told me once, a long time ago, that if he wasn't making people laugh, he didn't see a reason for people to keep him around. He thinks he has to be the clown, or else he’ll be the victim again."

Luigi wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I tried to help him, but he’d always just make a joke and run away. He buried it so deep I thought he’d forgotten. But he never forgot. He just didn't want us to look at him the way you’re all looking at the screen right now."

Boopkins was hugging a Rocker pillow, tears streaming down his face. "I feel like a monster. I called him a 'fat Italian' yesterday because he ate my snack. I didn't know... I didn't know he was hungry as a kid."

The realization hit them all like a physical weight. Mario wasn't just 'stupid.' He was broken. He was a man who had been told he was a failure since the day he was born, and instead of becoming a villain—instead of taking that pain and turning it on the world—he had chosen to be a fool. He had chosen to be the person everyone could laugh at, just so they wouldn't have to cry with him.

"He could have been another Niles," Tari sobbed. "He could have been another Waluigi or Francis. He has the power to destroy everything, but he only ever uses it to get a laugh or a plate of pasta."

"He’s better than all of us," Meggy said, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek. "I’ve spent so much time trying to 'fix' him, trying to make him a better athlete or a better friend. I never realized he was already the strongest person I knew."

The heavy front doors of the castle creaked open. The group froze, turning as one toward the entrance.

Mario walked in, covered in leaves and dirt, a half-eaten meatball sub in one hand and a giant, muddy mushroom in the other. He looked up, seeing everyone gathered in the foyer, and his face immediately split into a wide, toothy grin.

"Ooh! Is it a party?" Mario shouted, his voice echoing loudly in the quiet room. "Mario found the secret stash! It was under a log! It tasted a little bit like dirt, but it was-a delicious!"

He hopped over to them, his movements jerky and energetic. He stopped in front of SMG4, waving the muddy mushroom in his face. "Hey, Glitchy! Why the long face? Did you run out of memes? Don't worry, Mario is here to save the day! Watch this!"

Mario proceeded to balance the mushroom on his nose, cross his eyes, and do a clumsy little jig. "Wahoo! Look at me! I’m a funghi!"

Usually, this would be the moment where SMG4 would yell at him for getting mud on the floor, or where Saiko would threaten to punt him out a window. Usually, they would roll their eyes and call him a moron.

But today, nobody moved. They just watched him. They saw the way his eyes darted between them, searching for a reaction. They saw the slight tremor in his hands that he tried to hide by moving faster. They saw the mask.

Mario’s smile faltered slightly when no one laughed. He lowered the mushroom, his expression shifting to one of confusion and a hint of genuine fear.

"Uh... guys?" he asked, his voice losing its exaggerated tone. "Is something wrong? Did Mario do a bad thing? I-I can go back outside! I can wash the floor! I’m sorry about the mud!"

He started to back away, his shoulders hunching up toward his ears—the exact same movement the little boy in the video had made when the man entered the kitchen.

"Mario, stop," SMG4 said, his voice thick with emotion.

Mario froze, his eyes wide. "I'm-a sorry! Don't be mad! Mario will be good, I promise!"

Before he could say another word, he was hit by a blur of orange. Meggy had lunged forward, throwing her arms around him in a crushing hug. She buried her face in his red shirt, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

"Whoa! Meggy? You’re leaking!" Mario said, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air. "Did Mario sit on your hat again? I'll buy you a new one! I'll sell my kidneys!"

Then, Tari joined the hug, gently wrapping her arms around both of them. Then Luigi, who was weeping openly now. One by one, the rest of the gang moved in. Even Saiko and Bob, who usually avoided any display of affection, stepped forward to place a hand on his shoulder or join the perimeter of the group.

Mario stood in the center of the huddle, looking completely bewildered. The muddy mushroom fell from his hand, forgotten on the floor.

"I don't understand," Mario whispered, his voice finally dropping the act entirely. He sounded small. He sounded like the boy in the video. "Why is everyone being nice? Mario didn't do anything."

"That’s the point, Mario," SMG4 said, reaching out to ruffle the plumber's hair. "You don't have to do anything. You don't have to be a clown. You don't have to be 'stupid' for us to want you around."

Mario was silent for a long time. The castle was quiet again, but it wasn't the bored silence of the morning. It was a heavy, healing silence.

Slowly, Mario’s hands came down, and he hugged Meggy back. He leaned his head against hers, and for the first time in a long time, the mask slipped. His eyes closed, and a single, silent tear traced a path through the dirt on his cheek.

"Oh," Mario whispered. "Okay."

They stayed like that for a long time. Outside, the sun began to set, casting long, golden shadows across the room. They knew that tomorrow, Mario would probably go back to being the chaotic, spaghetti-obsessed idiot they were used to. They knew he would probably break something or cause a disaster within twenty-four hours.

But they also knew that they would never look at him the same way again. The red hat wasn't just a costume, and the jokes weren't just nonsense. They were the armor of a survivor. And as they stood there in the fading light, the gang made a silent vow to be the family that Mario should have had from the very beginning.

"Hey, Mario?" Meggy said, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye.

"Yeah, Meggy?"

"I’m sorry. For everything."

Mario looked at her, and for a moment, the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes seemed to flicker in his blue eyes. He gave her a small, genuine smile—not the exaggerated grin of a cartoon, but the soft smile of a friend.

"It’s okay," Mario said. "Mario is just happy to be here."

And for the first time, they realized he actually meant it.