In Marbula One, champions don’t boil down to just their best racer. Teams that were once broken can learn to lift each other up.

“Another Day”

by Stynth

A flash of orange blinded Rango, coach of the O’rangers, as their private plane touched down at sunrise. They stepped down onto the runway incognito, donning sunglasses and a Poker Face suit curated by 52Styles, taking a breath of fresh air as engines of commercial jetliners roared in the distance, waiting for their escort to arrive.

Rango had been as involved in coaching Clementin and Orangin as they were in pursuit of the O’rangers’ Season 3 championship; using the same tactics that kept the duo towards the top of the standings, Mandarin had been as optimistic as ever that despite their midpack status, the O’rangers would triumph by Season 4’s end. It was Coach Rango that put pressure on themself when things didn’t go as hoped. After watching Clem finish in a dismal 11th at the Sleet Street GP, the coach urgently requested a meeting with the O’rangers manager.

Mandarin laughed. “Why are you worried? I’ve never seen Clem and Orangin have this much trust in each other. I wish you could trust yourself as much as they do.”

Rango sighed. “I wish I could, too. But I’m different than them – they’re siblings, and I’m not even related to y’all – why do you trust me to get this right? Because I got it right last year?”

“Because you’re an O’ranger. And you don’t have to be related to us to be an O’ranger. We all share that orange pride in everything we do, and few represent our spirit as much as you.”

Coach Rango paused, remembering when they cheered to O’rangers fans as they scaled a palm tree at the Iris Oasis. “If that’s true, you can trust me to step back. And you can trust Clem and Orangin to take the season from here.”

It had been days since Rango had spoken up at a training session. The coach remained present for public appearances, answering questions from the press and posing with their racing duo, flashing smiles as wide as one of Clem’s donuts. Away from the cameras, Rango kept their distance from the rest of their team and hadn’t spoken to Mandarin since their meeting. 

Spotting the same palm tree hanging over the Iris Oasis in downtown Felynia, Rango motioned to the driver to let them off there. Rolling out of the car, Rango watched as the tree’s leaves sprawled toward the still water, and a marble, sitting against its trunk, gazed into their reflection. “Coach,” they called out as they rolled to the shore.

White Eye didn’t flinch. “I got your message,” they said quietly, almost to themself. “You didn’t tell me, but I know why you’re here. You want to know what it’s like to win again when your team is so popular that it won’t matter to your fans whether you succeed or not.”

A moment passed. “I shouldn’t be so harsh. Quickly told me once that there will always be too many pairs of judging eyes, anticipating the moment you fail.”

“Quickly can be brash,” said Rango. “You’re just being honest.”

White Eye sighed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is…winning doesn’t mean anything if you don’t trust yourself. As accomplished as I felt when Red and I hoisted last year’s Racer’s Championship trophy, I still felt guilty we couldn’t win for our team.” 

Rango noticed White Eye was no longer looking at their reflection in the oasis. Their eyes fixated on The Prize, a sculpture gifted to Felynia depicting themself, Red Eye, and Yellow Eye hoisting the Season 2 trophy into the air.

“But I’m starting to realize it’s not my responsibility to defend every choice I make, despite every outcome I face. It’s unhealthy to put that kind of pressure on myself, and more productive to have hope. So let me ask you again. Why do you put that pressure on yourself?”

At first, Rango didn’t know how to respond. What came next were fragments of their life story, which they pieced together amidst profuse apologies for “oversharing” and “acting nonsensical”: having grown up in foster care, learning to advocate for themself with the skeleton of a support system, pursuing a management degree towards the bottom of their class, and somehow, with a stroke of luck, landing a job with their favorite marble sports team after organizing a charity event for disadvantaged youth during their ML2017 victory parade.

“No, thank you for trusting me,” replied White Eye. “All of this makes perfect sense. The only thing that doesn’t make sense is why you don’t feel you’re worthy of being an O’ranger when you dedicated yourself to ensuring their success when you didn’t have to, when your overwhelming, outstanding fanbase would support you no matter what. That’s the orange spirit.

You told yourself that one day, you would experience what it was like to win. I promise there will be another day that you, Coach Rango, will believe in yourself again.”

Parting with a light bump up on each other, Coach White Eye departed to begin their training routine for the day. For a moment, Coach Rango spent some time gazing into their reflection from the Iris Oasis. An orange blur, caused by the slightest breeze of wind, gazed back.

Another moment passed as Rango took out their phone to make a quick call. “Hey, Tang. Is Mandarin there? Tell them I’m coming home. I’ll see them at Clem’s training later.”

“The Last Dance”

by Fouc

Swifty read through Quickly’s letter one more time. When the Marbula One rookie wore their heart on their sleeve to Whizzy last month, they didn’t expect the Coach themselves to play therapist. Swifty opened up about how awkward it was to be with Speedy – a captain who seemed they could care less about their teammate’s performance.

“Force Speedy to consider you their equal,” Quickly had said then – and still wrote now, laid down in bullet points about keeping your composure or sounding like a tough marble.

Waiting in front of Swifty at the Casino Square Circuit, their racing partner was ready to climb the belt. “Start it on the slowest gear,” Speedy had ordered the stewards. “It helps me mentally.”

“Speedy, my buddy!” exclaimed Swifty. They were five words in before the veteran racer cut them off. “You know I practice alone.”

“It’s…” Swifty glanced at the letter again. “It’s not about what we want. It’s for the good of the team.” Speedy turned their back again. “It’s a race, not a relay.”

Now the letter slipped away. Swifty rolled around Speedy, and they stared at each other. “Captain, this race is too important for us not to talk it over.”

With a push away and a leap, Speedy was off the track and rolling away. Swifty whipped past the team garages, accelerating in pursuit. Off they went toward the horizon until they disappeared behind clouds of dust.

One bystander, Mallard of the Green Ducks, remarked: “I don’t quite quack what’s the deal with those two.” Billy, next to them, was all smiles: “I’d just let them be, marb! Maybe the Speeders want to freak us out!”

The sun lay low above the sand plains beyond Las Veglass. Still giving chase to Speedy, Swifty could still notice the Speeder ahead was slowing down. The two were finally rolling at each other’s side, Swifty about to raise their voice, when Speedy made contact.

That first hit didn’t hurt, but slamming into a boulder to Swifty’s right did. Their following ricochet into Speedy stopped Swifty in their tracks, letting the one ahead speed down the incline up ahead. Once again, just as Swifty was close to screaming at Speedy, they butted in first.

“I’m sorry that had to happen,” shouted Speedy from afar. “But do you see where you need training? You lack physicality. You thought you could overtake me when I checked you. Just like I checked four racers at Rosaka.”

“Oh, is that the greatest of all time’s secret?!” yelled back Swifty. “How well did your bullying work when Cloudy and Royal beat you? You should study how I pulled back at Greenstone to control my racing line! I won the race there!”

Speedy stopped rolling and turned. “You pay no attention to others. Wasn’t it clear I tried exactly that at Misty Mountain?”

With that, the two of them were racing again. Though the dry heat weighed on them, keeping track of the other maroon blur was all the motivation they needed.

It was dusk when the two Speeders raced back to the circuit grounds. Every breath Swifty took felt like hot air until they noticed Speedy giving them a quick embrace.

“Thanks for that,” said the Speeders captain. “I haven’t raced that hard with anyone other than Rapidly. Let’s do it again tomorrow.”

Fatigue, shock or joy: whatever Swifty felt, it came out as a dry coughing fit first. Only after some deep breaths did they settle down and ask:  “Oh wow, then what was training like with Rapidly?”

“We are each other’s worst critic,” said Speedy. “We race hard and yell out every weakness we see in each other. I’d rather hear it from family than from a rival in defeat.”

For the first time all season, Speedy had small talk to share with their teammate. They gossipped about the team, wondered if Rapidly misses them while they train for the Marble League, and traded laughs over Swifty’s best impression of Royal at the Rosaka concert.

“You seem good at understanding other marbles,” said Speedy back at the garage. “Why do you think Quickly stopped complaining about me closing?”

“Hey, I think Coach knows where each of us thrives the most,” chuckled Swifty. “All of us know you shine at the last race… it’s what you crave. So we trust you all the way.”

Now both racers were chuckling. “No use denying it… no one is on my level,” said Speedy. “It feels like Season One all over again.”

Quickly also kept a letter that they had pinned to the wall against their desk. After dinner with Swifty and Speedy, the Speeders coach rolled back to work and stared at it again:

Quickly wouldn’t forget the organization nearly firing them. Nor would they forget that announcement sending the garage into chaos last season, ruining Speedy’s final race week. But what has their coaching career been apart from triumph over adversity?

“How am I still here? What would Speedy say?” the coach thought. An easy answer: “No one is on my level. I know the Speeders better than anyone.”

“To Keep On Rolling”

by Ramen Powder

In the final hours of the first training day in the prelude to the Casino Square GP, Momo and Coach Momomomomo watched as Mimo rolled lap after lap on a technical, makeshift circuit in the Om Training Facility. With a shot at the teams’ title, Mimo was desperate to close out their season with something they could be pleased about — a performance reminiscent of their previous seasons in Marbula One.

“I’m worried for them,” the Coach stated abruptly, breaking the pin-drop silence surrounding the marbles at the circuit. 

“I’m worried because I can see the pressure getting to them. I can see it through their movements on the racetrack; they’re less fluid, more turbulent. I know it when I see it.”

“Are you concerned we won’t win the team title?” Momo inquired. “Or make the overall podium?”

The Coach rolled around for several seconds in deep thought on the floor of the dimly lit training ground. What were they concerned about?

After struggling to piece their troubles into words, the Coach finally found their voice. “I’m not concerned about the team’s title or even the team’s podium. Sure, if we can claim it, we’ll go all in. But I’m not losing sleep over the thought of losing either merit.

I’m worried about Mimo’s confidence as a racer. Their drive to keep on rolling.”

Momo gazed upon the Coach, now several centimeters away, who stared back blankly.

“Mimo’s an accomplished racer. They’ve been better than me in all of the previous seasons! Surely, they remember that.”

“That’s exactly why I’m concerned,” replied the Coach. “Mimo can be a great racer, you’re right. But they haven’t dealt with this kind of slump, coupled with your guaranteed overall podium—”

“What?!” 

Momo teetered slightly in their place— they couldn’t help interrupting because of what the Coach had just uttered.

“My guaranteed what?” Momo asked again, this time at a lower register to avoid disturbing Mimo’s flying lap. “But I thought… Royal, Speedy, and Red Eye can still beat me.”

“Uh-uh,” affirmed the Coach, their tone rising out of excitement. “You see, Speedy and Red Eye both need a win. They can’t both win — you’re 100% beating a former racer’s champion.” 

Momo gasped at that thought. The Coach was grinning, smirking; they were delighted to see the rush of joy manifest on Momo’s glass upon the live revelation.

“So – that’s our second overall podium already, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Coach Momomomomo replied. “Six months ago, we had never placed top 3 overall in a JMR tournament. Now, in half a year, we have twice already. You’ll remember, I always told the team we had the minerals — we just had to put it all together.”

“Coach, we wouldn’t have done this without you,” Momo said, shedding a few tears. “We couldn’t—”

“No, Momo,” interrupted the Coach. “It is you who I should be thanking. You’re the marble that captained this team to a fantastic gold in Block Pushing, getting us on that Showdown podium. You’re the marble who got three Marbula podiums and not a single finish in the bottom half. We’ve had so many great momoments because of you.”

“Coach—” Momo started, almost in hysterics, but got cut off again.

“I’m sorry for asking this from you, Momo. This shouldn’t be your burden, but now that your season’s over, I want you to help me. Help me help Mimo before this finale.”

“I don’t mind if we miss the teams’ podium or even lose our top 5 spot. Both of you have done enough to make the team satisfied enough, I promise. I’ve just…I’ve seen you two grow as racers since I started with you four years ago, and I would hate for this season to affect Mimo badly in the long term.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Momo mumbled. Among all the glory and success they had achieved in the past few weeks, Momo realized that how this season was affecting Mimo went over their head. Every memory they had as a duo since Season 1 came flooding back…going forward, Momo would be determined to make more memories.

The pair of Momo and Coach Momomomomo gazed back at the faint image of Mimo, who persisted in rolling laps on the circuit. As they saw Mimo riding one of the curbs inadvertently, Momo let out a slight wince, but Mimo continued without hesitation, as if they hadn’t made any misstep.

“That’s the mark of a true member of Team Momo,” said the Coach. “One that keeps on rolling no matter what.” Momo nodded in agreement.

“So… will you please help me give Mimo the support they need?” asked Momomomomo.

“Yes, I will. We’ve had our momoments this season. Let’s get Mimo their mimoment.”

“Parallels”

by Toffeeshop

From this distance, the city lights blurred together in a mass of color. Misty exhaled slowly, letting the updraft envelop them in the dry desert air.

They had “explored” the city ghosting through the streets as a mere passerby for all of five minutes before the lights and the noise and the crowds became suffocating. Twilight had barely begun settling in, but the lights below had wiped out the stars that should have decorated the clear night skies.

So now they were on the roof, gazing at the streets from afar. No one would find them here.

“There you are! I was looking for you.”

Almost no one would find them here. Cloudy stood behind them, wearing a cheerful smile.

Misty straightened up immediately. “Does Coach need something?”

They shook their head. “It’s just me.” They joined them at the edge. “Is everything okay? Cool, you can see the racetrack from here.”

They could. It stood out starkly against the glowing streets as if someone had dragged a black knife between the buildings. “It was getting a little overwhelming. This place is pretty….” Ostentatious. “Lively.”

Cloudy nodded. “You needed to get away from everything.”

“I needed room to breathe.” Misty gestured vaguely to the open space on the rooftop. “You get a nice view from up here. It’s still a bit bright, but there’s always something interesting happening below.”

“Oh, did you see Clutter try to bring in fireworks? I heard they got caught.”

“That was Clutter?”

“Yeah. Wild, right? Any news from home?”

“No, the signal’s still blocked, you know how it is…”

They traded gossip until the sky had darkened completely, revealing the true expanse of the Las Veglass lights. They were blindingly bright, accentuating the dark buildings that populated the city. It hadn’t been quite enough to make the pre-race nerves and dread go away, but Misty felt lighter by the end of it.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The press conference today was kind of horrible.”

It had started positively, with marbles congratulating them for being championship contenders. Then it had turned ugly.

Given the last time you ran the final event, you must be feeling the pressure. 

Cloudy, do you really trust Misty to close off the season?

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” Cloudy muttered. “It’s obvious! Besides, we’re so close this time. We’re almost there.”

Misty glanced at them. “Are you alright?”

Cloudy smiled. “Of course. What are you worrying about me for? You’re the one racing the finale.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

 “I…” The façade broke. “I was so close, you know? One misstep, and they turn on you. Look at what happened to you, and Hazy, and…”

“Oh, Cloudy.”

“It doesn’t matter. It already happened, it’s not like I can go back and change things, right? It’s not important. If I let it – if I let them get to me then it’s over. I just have to put it behind me, that’s all.”

“That’s not true,” Misty said quietly. “There’s a difference between moving on and running away. We’ve been doing too much of the latter.”

“Smoggy would have –”

“Cloudy, look at you. You were a reserve, and now you’re dueling the likes of Speedy, Red Eye, and Momo. It’s amazing what’s happened these last few months – we’re all proud of you. You’ve grown so much.”

For a moment, Cloudy stared back at Misty in pure shock, but it faded just as quickly as it appeared. “You too,” they offered weakly. “You sound just like…” They let it trail off. “Never mind.”

Misty gazed at the horizon, where the sharp edges of the skyline framed the glow coming from the streets. “What happened at the press conference…they had a point, you know. Captain’s running the final race again. Speedy will be there. Everything’s hinging on the finale. There’s no better place for me to fall again.”

“It doesn’t mean you will,” Cloudy said.

“It’s all repeating itself,” Misty remarked, “like we’ve turned back the clock. Different city, same race.” They laughed. “That’s all this is, isn’t it? An old nightmare we have to relive? Yeah, that’s exactly it. We haven’t moved on, we’ve been running away. And it just keeps coming back to haunt us.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t hide it anymore.”

Cloudy looked at them sympathetically. “Sounds like you needed to say it.”

“Fate enjoys its games,” Misty remarked. “It’s all come full circle. And this is my chance to finally break the cycle, but I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know why any of you trust me to do it. If I’m the one who drags us down…”

Cloudy leaned against them. “You won’t be dragging anyone down, and you never were. I don’t want you to carry this alone.”

“I know,” Misty said. “That’s one mistake I refuse to make.”

The city, bright as it was, hadn’t quite drowned out the starlight above. The dark glass underneath them reflected a few twinkles in the sky.

“Whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll break the cycle regardless,” Cloudy declared. “I know it.”

“Racing’s fun,” Misty said. “It’s nice to have gotten this far. It’ll be nicer when I bring a trophy home. We’re really close, after all.”

“I like to think we’ve exceeded expectations,” Cloudy said innocently.

Misty smiled. “Just a little.”

“Behind Enemy Lines”

by Fouc & PippinPlover

On the highway down to Las Veglass were the Van Gotterdam Gothics, the most artistic of Marblearth’s diehard fans. It was mere days before Team Primary could win a Marbula One championship for them. They rocked a bus painted in splotches of red, yellow, and blue — Or they had been until a convertible blocked their way to parking.

“The name’s Eccentric,” shouted a slightly elliptical marble who hopped out of the car. “I need some Primary superfans to interview, and then I’ll let you go.”

Out came Rollock of the Gothics, a petite marble sporting some big hoop earrings and a wild wig in Primary’s colors. “Marb alive,” said Eccentric. “You’re dressed like it’s 2019. You’re gonna rumble in the stands again or what–”

Eccentric’s reward for that sarcasm bit was a slap from Rollock’s handkerchief. “That is so inappropriate! What kind of person annoys someone for an interview and then insults them? What kind of media do you work for, anyway?”

“If you want to know, the Hunluen Herald,” said Eccentric. The boos rained down from the Gothics’ bus, and Rollock was already halfway back to the bus while fuming out loud. “The Balls of Chaos rag! If you want another hit piece, get lost.”

“Hey hey, look…” said the reporter. “What do you want me to say? I’m on deadline anyway, so I’ll just write that.”

“Well, we’d love to talk to someone passionate about our fashion choices… or the time we spent painting this bus to tell Marblearth we’re here,” said Rollock. “But we’ll save it for some journalists who know about respect.”

As the bus turned around, Eccentric knew this would not be a fun day.

Eccentric had front-row media seats at the press conference right after the Marbula One racers finished Free Practice. They kept quiet during the other teams’ turns; on their notepad were their editors’ demands for the Primary piece:

What are their weaknesses? How can our Balls of Chaos beat them again?

Get us 800 words before Qualifying.

Finally, Aryp and Rima from Team Primary were next to their mics. The younger Aryp, the team’s “Wheel of Fortune,” took most of the questions from the Marblearth press. “The past is not the present,” they would say. “We’re tied for the championship now, and Rima will win it all this weekend.”

“We loooove you, Aryp!” Eccentric and everyone else turned around. The Gothics, all lined up waving around their banners and paintbrushes, got Aryp laughing. “And we love our fans, too.”

“Eccentric from the Hunluen Herald,” the reporter announced. “This question is for Rima specifically. As a racer closing out the most important season in your team’s history, is the pressure getting to you?”

Rima started to stutter a few times, then looked to their left to Aryp. Aryp nodded and whispered: “Don’t let them get you down.”

“Well,” replied Rima. “I’d love to lap you on Casino Square and show you why I’m here.” A real applause line: the audience laughed, and the Gothics screamed in joy. With each question after, the more confident Rima looked with their snappy answers. Right below them was Eccentric, slinking more and more into their chair.

After the press conference, Rima and Aryp were rolling around the circuit grounds, admiring the architecture as these former artists do. “You handled some nasty questions well there, Rima,” said Aryp. “Truly rimarkable.”

“We’re both learning from each other!” said Rima. “It’s like what I told you last week. You’ve grown so much and learned to keep your head cool to win. You remind me a lot of Prim now.”

“There’s not much I can teach you in return, but I guess I helped you see one thing… forget the haters, right?”

It took just one of the Gothics freaking out at sighting them to get a swarm of Primary fans around both racers. With other teams’ fans watching in anticipation, Rollock of the Gothics roared from a megaphone.

“I want every camera rolling so Marblearth joins our celebration! This is Rima, the most rimarkable racer of all time! And to celebrate all they’ve done for us, we worked with Aryp on a special gift.”

Unwrapped from its velvet packaging was a portrait of Rima, drawn with impressionist strokes. Rima in it looks like they’re shooting down the track and leaping out of the canvas, while specks of the other racers are only visible in the distance. Handing it over as they saw Rima shed tears of joy, Aryp just said: “You’ll win. I’m sure of it.”

Off to the side of all this was the reporter, Eccentric, who just had it with all this. Taking out their pen, they scratched out all the notes they’d written. On a new page, they started scribbling:

Teamwork turned Primary from zeroes to heroes. What stops all the other teams from doing the same?

“The Amateur”

by Mystic & Nonagon

Staring out across the vast desert outside Las Veglass that was so similar to their own home, Red Eye contemplated what Speedy had told them just a year ago:

“Meet the amateurs who view you as a hero and who want to race against you one day.”

Red Eye chose training over an invite to the first Marbula One season, but every week they’d watch Speedy race live. Speedy’s victory had lit a fire in Red Eye’s heart, a competitive flame that had all but faded away after the disheartening Marble League they had just left. Red Eye could never forget coming face-to-face with their hero a year later, and seeing the look of beaming pride on the face of the rookie who had stolen the fateful lead in the eleventh hour of Mirage Meowntain, Red Eye knew that they had already become that hero for Royal in turn.

Royal also came from a relatively wallflower team and quickly gained notoriety as a world-class tour de force in such a short amount of time, Red Eye had realized. Small wonder I see so much of myself in them.

“Competition means greatness inspires others to strive for greatness,” Crazy Cat’s Eye had said after Red Eye’s first championship. “Never think of your victory as a throne you can lose; think of it as an honor you will always have, to be the one who pushes everyone else to be better versions of themselves. That is the best part of this next chapter in your journey.”

It’s my honor to compete with you again, Red Eye thought as they saw the blue marble approach from their dune buggy.

“I was so glad to get your message to come to train out here,” Royal puffed as they rolled across the sand to where Red Eye waited. “If I had to spend another minute watching Dodger do all of their calculations, I would’ve gone cross-eyed.”

“I feel you. I always let White Eye do the numbers. Racing has always been more my thing.”

“Maybe that’s a part of being the best, you just race,” Royal mused before taking a glance around at their surroundings. Despite how well-traveled they were, it was a first to be in the Marjave Desert. “So, you said you wanted to train, but I’m not seeing a track.”

Red Eye laughed, “Sometimes I forget that not every marble has been trained by a world-class sand racer.” Looking around the mass of sand, they said: “This is the track to me.”

“Alright then. How far are we going?”

“As far as you want,” Red Eye answered with a grin.

Royal smiled in return, “I’m cool with that. Two hundred meters, there and back. Loser buys dinner.”

“Okay hotshot, be ready to pull out your wallet!”

“I only have to do that if you can catch me,” Royal joked as they sped away.

“You’re on!” Red Eye called before setting chase.

The two championship contenders raced through the sands of the Marjave. Royal quickly found themselves even with Red Eye despite their slight head start. The two bumped slightly as Red Eye burst ahead through the first hundred meters. Royal quickly turned up the pace, nearly drawing even with the crimson cat as they turned around at the halfway point. The two jostled for position as they neared the end of their course. Royal took a short-lived lead just before the finish, but one last burst of energy brought Red Eye level as they crossed the line.

“I’m pretty sure I won that one,” Royal smiled as they caught their breath, “What do you think, old cat?”

“Very funny, kid,” Red Eye teased back, “We both know that was a tie.”

Royal laughed, “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. Good race, marb.”

“Same to you. That was a lot of fun. It’s not very often I get to work with people outside my team,” Red Eye replied, “Love my cats, but sometimes it’s nice to do a little teaching on the side.” Red Eye gave Royal a friendly nudge.

“Well, looks like we’re both paying for our own food. Come on, we can head back toward my buggy. I’ll drive us over to the city,” offered Royal.

They rolled off toward the sunset, the sky slowly turning from warm shades of orange to a deep, calming navy blue.

“So, how do you handle being a two-time champion? What changes about your mentality?” Royal asked.

“It’s all in the mind,” Red Eye responded, “I always know I can do it, so there’s no reason for me to doubt anything anymore. The only way one can truly beat me is to defeat my mind, and I try very hard to make sure that doesn’t happen. You know, sometimes I need something like this to loosen my guard up a little bit.”

“That makes sense. Has your training changed at all since you won it all?”

“You’re one of the best in the world now. I certainly don’t need to tell you how to train hard; you already know that,” Red Eye chuckled. “Just make sure you take care of yourself, and make sure you’re always looking out for your teammates.

Last season I was competing against myself… And I know others felt the same way. Racers like Prim, Clutter, or Starry. When we obsess over being the best racer, the rest of the team suffers.”

Royal saw a brief flash of pain cross Red Eye’s face, it dawned on them how hard Red Eye must be taking Blue Eye’s struggle to live up to the sky-high expectations. I should check in with Cerulean more, Royal thought. They get less credit than they deserve.

“It’s easy to forget sometimes what effects individual success has on your teammates, I know that all too well. Just, don’t forget to be there for each other. As long as you do that, what happens will happen, and you and your team will be athletes Zuro can be proud of.”

Six teams. Seven racers. Who will be going all in to win?

Credits

• Writers: Fouc, Mystic, Nonagon, PippinPlover, Ramen Powder, Stynth, Toffeeshop
• Copyeditors & Editors: Fouc, Mesp, Stynth
• Artists: B.J.V. Dimafelix, Thinkdoodler, Toffeeshop
• Graphic Designers: Emmun_Isaac, Fouc, Pim Leurs, Tim Ritz
• Photographer: Jelle’s Marble Runs
• Reference: Marbula One Season 4 (2023)
• Release: 30/06/2023