Mario's tragedy

The afternoon sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the Mushroom Kingdom’s newest castle, casting long, colorful shadows across the velvet carpet. For once, the air was still. The usual scent of burnt spaghetti and gunpowder was absent, replaced by the faint aroma of SMG4’s overpriced roasted coffee.

SMG4 lounged on the center of the massive sofa, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the rare, blissful silence. To his left, Meggy was busy polishing her Splattershot, though her movements were sluggish and relaxed. Saiko was scrolling through her phone, her boots resting on the coffee table, while Tari was curled up in a corner of the couch, quietly playing a handheld game. Even Melony was there, snoozing peacefully with her head resting on a plush pillow.

"You know," SMG4 murmured, not opening his eyes. "I love the guy, but Mario being gone for a whole day is… it’s a miracle."

"It’s peaceful," Meggy agreed, a small smile playing on her lips. "No explosions, no stolen property, and no one trying to eat my hair because they thought it was orange pasta."

Luigi sat on the edge of the group, nursing a cup of tea. He smiled weakly, but his eyes darted toward the door every few seconds. He was used to the chaos; the silence felt almost heavy to him, like the breath held before a plunge.

Suddenly, the massive flat-screen television on the far wall flickered to life. The screen didn't show the usual static or a meme-filled YouTube homepage. Instead, it glowed with a soft, grainy light, like an old home movie.

"Hey, Four? Did you turn that on?" Tari asked, pausing her game.

"Not me," SMG4 said, sitting up and frowning. "Maybe Mario’s trying to prank us remotely?"

The screen cleared. It showed a small, cramped room with peeling wallpaper. In the center of the frame sat a tiny child—a miniature version of Mario, barely more than a toddler, wearing oversized overalls. He was playing with a wooden block, a wide, innocent smile on his face.

Luigi’s tea cup hit the floor with a dull thud. His face went pale, his skin turning a sickly shade of gray. "No… not this. Why is this playing?"

"Luigi? You okay?" Saiko asked, her brow furrowing.

Before he could answer, a shadow fell over the little Mario on the screen. A booming, roaring voice—deep and jagged with rage—erupted from the speakers. It was a voice that sounded like Mario’s, but stripped of all joy and replaced with pure malice.

"You worthless brat!" the voice bellowed. "I told you to stay in the corner!"

The little Mario on the screen flinched, his smile vanishing instantly. His large, watery eyes looked up at the unseen figure of his father. What followed was a sound that made everyone in the room freeze. It was the sound of a heavy blow, followed by a scream—not the comedic, high-pitched "Mamma Mia" they were used to, but a raw, blood-curdling shriek of agony and terror.

"Turn it off!" Meggy shouted, leaping to her feet. "SMG4, turn it off now!"

SMG4 scrambled for the remote, jamming the power button, but the TV remained on. "It’s not responding! It’s like it’s hardwired into the castle!"

They watched in silent horror as the montage began. The screen flickered through the years. They saw Mario as a young boy, hiding under a bed while the house shook with the sounds of shouting. They saw him at ten years old, sitting alone on a curb with a black eye, staring at a discarded pizza crust like it was a treasure.

With every year that passed, the light in Mario’s eyes dimmed. The vibrant, energetic spark they knew was being systematically snuffed out by a life of neglect and cruelty. He grew larger, but he looked smaller, his shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow at any second.

"He never told us," Tari whispered, her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He never said a word."

The scene shifted again. The background was different now—a lonely, dusty apartment. A teenage Mario sat on a crate. He looked utterly broken, his face gaunt. In his hands, he held a simple, uncarved melon.

The crew watched as Mario gently stroked the green rind. He pulled the fruit close to his chest, hugging it with a desperation that was painful to witness.

"It’s okay," the Mario on the screen whispered, his voice cracking. "I’ll take care of you. I’ll call you… Melony. You’re my best friend, okay? You won't hurt me."

The room went deathly silent. Melony, who had been woken up by the shouting, was staring at the screen with wide, trembling eyes. Her hand went to her chest, right over her heart. She looked at the screen, then at her friends, her breath hitching in her throat.

"He… he named me?" she whispered. "Before I was even… me?"

But the video wasn't finished. The tone shifted, the colors becoming more vivid, more modern. The grainy filter disappeared, replaced by the high-definition clarity of their recent adventures.

The guilt hit them like a physical weight.

The screen showed a montage of the crew. It showed SMG4 kicking Mario out of a window for a joke. It showed Saiko slamming him through a wall. It showed Meggy screaming at him, calling him an idiot and a burden. It showed them all laughing while Mario was used as a literal punching bag or a distraction for their own goals.

On the screen, the modern Mario took the hits. He made the funny faces. He yelled his catchphrases. But now, with the context of his childhood fresh in their minds, the crew didn't see a buffoon. They saw a man who had been conditioned to believe that the only way to be loved—or even tolerated—was to be the victim.

"Oh god," SMG4 choked out, dropping the remote. "What have we been doing?"

Melony turned toward them, her usual sleepy demeanor replaced by an expression of profound shock and cold disappointment. "You treated him like that… knowing he had nothing?"

"We didn't know!" Saiko protested, though her voice lacked its usual bite. She looked sick to her stomach. "We thought… we thought he liked the chaos. We thought he was indestructible."

"Nobody is indestructible," Luigi sobbed, burying his face in his hands. "He just wanted to make people laugh so they wouldn't hit him anymore. He thought if he was the joke, he was safe."

The screen flickered one last time. The music turned somber—a low, haunting cello melody.

The image that appeared made Tari scream and Meggy turn away, unable to look.

It was a funeral. The setting was grand, a golden casket sitting in the center of a cathedral, surrounded by white lilies. The Mario brothers' extended relatives—faces blurred but their grief palpable—stood around the perimeter.

Lying in the casket, dressed in his finest red suit, was Mario.

His face was peaceful, finally free of the tension and the hidden sadness, but the sight of his lifeless body was too much. It felt like a glimpse into a future that was rapidly approaching—a future where the weight of his past and the thoughtlessness of his present finally snapped him.

Luigi collapsed to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "No… no, Mario… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

Melony walked up to the screen, her hand trembling as she touched the glass over the image of the golden casket. She felt a cold chill run through her. To her, Mario wasn't just a friend or a teammate; he was the creator of her identity, the one who had given her a name when he had nothing else to give.

"He's still out there," Meggy said suddenly, her voice sharp with desperation. She wiped her eyes aggressively, her grief turning into a frantic need for action. "He’s out there right now, probably thinking we don’t want him back. We have to find him."

"She’s right," SMG4 said, his voice shaking but determined. He looked at his hands, the same hands that had animated countless videos of Mario being tortured for views. "We’ve been terrible friends. We’ve been worse than his father, because we claimed to love him while we did it."

The TV screen suddenly went black, leaving the room in a suffocating darkness. The silence of the castle, which had seemed so peaceful an hour ago, now felt like a tomb.

"Where would he go?" Saiko asked, her usual bravado completely gone. "Where does he go when he’s alone?"

Luigi looked up, his eyes red and puffy. "The old house. The one in the outskirts of the kingdom. He goes there every year on this date. I thought… I thought he just wanted to be alone. I didn't realize it was the anniversary of when he left."

"Then that’s where we’re going," Melony said. Her voice was quiet, but it carried a weight of divine fury and protective love. She gripped her deity sword, the blade glowing with a faint, sorrowful light. "And we are never letting him feel like that again."

As the group scrambled to gather their things, the image of the golden casket remained burned into their retinas. It was a warning—a grim reminder that the "bundle of chaos" was a human being with a soul that had been chipped away for decades.

They ran out of the castle doors, the setting sun painting the sky in bruises of purple and gold. They didn't care about memes, they didn't care about the castle, and they didn't care about the next video. For the first time in a long time, the only thing that mattered was the man in the red hat.

They had to find him. They had to apologize. And most importantly, they had to prove to the boy who once hugged a melon in the dark that he finally had a family that wouldn't hit back.