O’rangers

“Geez, it sure took a long time to get here… Did we have to be blindfolded the whole way?” 

“It wouldn’t have taken so long if Tangerin had just listened to the GPS.” 

“There was a road closure! I wasn’t going to bust down a fence to cut five minutes off our trip.” 

“You should have let me drive.” 

“Okay, that’s enough spoiling the mood out of the two of you. Rango, if you’d be so kind as to let our racing duo see their reward?” 

“Certainly.” 

What Clementin and Orangin saw as their blindfolds were removed and their vision returned was a room decked out in black-and-orange decorations; classic O’rangers banners and glittery Halloween baubles blending together seamlessly in the low light. The centerpiece of it all was a squat black table stacked high with handsomely-sized pumpkins, each tagged with a name like a Glassmas present arrived two months early. To the side was a toolbox’s worth of pumpkin-carving equipment, ready for slicing and gutting and all other techniques of true pumpkin artistry. Also provided was a veritable buffet of Orlangian snacks, the likes of which they hadn’t seen since departing their home region. 

“No way!” exclaimed Clementin, rushing towards the haphazard pile with an unabashed grin. “I thought for sure we weren’t even going to celebrate this year.” 

Orangin was a little more cool-tempered, but even they couldn’t completely constrain their excitement. “Helarvians don’t even have pumpkins on Halloween. How did you get these?” 

As they herded Kinnowin and Tangerin to the pile, Mandarin shrugged knowingly. “I always get my way,” they replied cryptically, and Orangin knew it to be true. The best pumpkins had been reserved for the two racers, with Orangin’s so heavy that they were almost tired just carrying it to the sanitary mat which was laid out on the floor. Meanwhile, Clementin loaded up two bowls of snacks, one for them and one for Orangin. 

When they sat down Orangin was already hard at work, carefully marking out an arcane plan on their pumpkin’s orange exterior. Clementin, meanwhile, got straight to the disemboweling, filled with a single-minded vision of their pumpkin’s fate. Hunks of pumpkin gore fell wetly to the ground until an orange heap formed out of skin, spare flesh, and seeds. The two worked together in mostly-wordless unity, gnawing occasionally on the snacks provided. 

Midway through a chocolate snack cake, Clementin looked around the empty room. Having the entire family in one place again was nice, but it was all almost too much for the six of them to enjoy in a single night. “We should have had a party,” they mumbled, quietly dismayed. 

Orangin shook their head dismissively. “Nobody would have come.” 

“There was one last year, during the league,” Clementin protested. At that party the entire team had dressed up in tabby-cat costumes and gone around knocking things off of tables and other high surfaces; a joke only appreciated by the joker. 

Orangin didn’t concede. “It’s different. This late in the season everyone is your enemy. Playing nice is only possible when you forget what’s at stake,” they mused as they put the finishing touches on their O’rangers-themed pumpkin. 

“What if… We only invited the teams that are doing badly?” suggested Clementin. Their own design was long-finished, the stereotypical Halloween pumpkin with its haunting grin and triangular eyes, though with the addition of a whimsical mustache above. 

“Parties are always the best when everyone there is existentially frustrated and ready to fight each other for scraps,” Orangin countered sarcastically. “Oh, and the Balls of Chaos and Team Primary are both there too.” 

“Okay, okay!” Clementin laughed, though a certain tension underlied it. “Only a suggestion.” 

Orangin drooped to face the floor. “Sorry… I feel weird. I’ve got so much ground to make up if we want a shot at the podium, and when I think about it, I just can’t imagine enjoying being around the other teams.”

“Yeah… I get what you mean, I think,” Clementin replied, nodding. 

“That, and I’m not happy with my season. Everything but the race win was meh. That’s not what our fans expect of us, and it’s not what I expect of myself,” surmised Orangin. 

Clementin nodded again. “But success always comes and goes, doesn’t it? You could be Royal… or Aryp. The way I see it, at the end of this season, we’re still going to be the only team to go blow-for-blow with the Crazy Cat’s Eyes at full power and win. That has to be worth something.” 

“Well, will we be?” Orangin asked, speaking to the elephant in the room. 

Clementin chuckled. “…I suppose that depends on how much faith you have in Mallard. Hey, how about we bet a month of chores on it?” 

“Two weeks,” Orangin countered. 

“Deal,” Clementin replied, and they shook on it. 

Snowballs

It was a long time since Snowy had last been to Helarve. In those three years the city hadn’t changed much, if at all, and they followed the same paths to the same hotel they’d stayed in the last go-around without issue. Not that it made much difference, as since the incident in Dunduei three weeks prior they’d gotten into the habit of not going out if they didn’t have to. 

Instead, it was Snowstorm handling the team’s publicity for the day, taking interviews about their prospects for a first-ever team podium before attending a fan gathering and meeting with the Gliding Glaciers in nearby Vanillsinki. At least that was the schedule as had been briefly communicated over text. Though they’d never said it outright, Snowy knew what was going on – whenever possible, Snowstorm was avoiding them. But it was fine. Once they were on the podium together, they’d get over it, and soon everyone else would follow. An audience could judge and jeer to their heart’s content, but there was no such thing as a medal for good sportsmarbship. 

Still, there wasn’t much to do alone in a hotel room. Over the past few weeks they’d exhausted their collection of favorite films on streaming, and now they were left to browse their phone endlessly between showers and eating room service at their leisure. Sometimes they glanced outside, watching a wet morning’s rainfall sputter on the city below. 

It was just as they put their phone down to pace around the room that it began to ring. 

“Is this Room 181?” asked the speaker. They picked it up expecting the call to be from Snowstorm or Blizzard, but the caller’s voice was unfamiliar, as was the number. 

“Who is this?” Snowy asked, tensing up. 

“Oh, sorry. It’s the front desk at the Grand Helarve. There’s a visitor for you, saying that Snowstorm sent them.” 

Snowy let out an involuntary sigh of relief. Snowstorm was just ordering takeout for them again, they thought. “Send them up, thanks,” they mumbled, hanging up right after. For lack of anything better to do, they sat motionless at the foot of their bed and anticipated the knock on the door. 

When it came they opened the door expecting an anonymous deliverymarble, but at the turn of the doorhandle they were greeted by a face that, even after two years of separation and a change of uniform, was recognizable enough to send Snowy’s blood running cold. 

“Snowflake?” they gasped, more an animal noise than a conscious expression, and the marble at their door smiled back.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” That their voice hadn’t changed a lick made Snowy’s heart race. They welcomed Snowflake inside eagerly, cautious to shut the door in their stead. Ever since the incident at the Hivedrive with Glide, Snowflake had weighed endlessly on their mind. All of the pain and dysfunction of years was theirs to take away, and now they were back. 

Snowy spoke through held-back tears. “I’m so glad you’re here! I have so much to tell you about,” Snowy exclaimed, their voice at fever pitch, as they eagerly guided Snowflake over to their desk. “You’ve been watching the season so far, right? Pretty great, huh?” 

Snowflake smiled, and Snowy immediately mirrored them. “It’s been fantastic, Snowy. I told you it wasn’t over, and I’m glad you took that to heart.” 

“Yeah!” Snowy squeaked, now overflowing with pride. “I knew we weren’t actually going to be down and out forever after Season 2. It was just that we weren’t getting the recognition we deserved – and look how well things are going now we are!” Snowy declared, their mouth running away from their thoughts. Nevermind that they had said and thought all that before – Snowflake was back and everything was different. 

Slightly uneasy – not that Snowy noticed – Snowflake nodded. “It’s very impressive.”

Snowy continued, unabashed. “Now things are actually going our way, I bet I could get Blizzard to put you back on the team again – have you been training? You’d love -” 

“Snowy, wait a moment,” Snowflake interjected. “You’re talking too fast.” 

“Oh.” Even mild criticism was a dagger through the heart coming from Snowflake. “Sorry.” 

Snowflake took a shallow breath and averted their gaze. “I’m not going to rejoin the team, Snowy. That’s not what I’m here for.”  Hearing that sent Snowy’s stomach lurching. “I said I’m really proud of you, and I am. Really, I should have told you sooner. But I’m also worried about you.” 

Snowy scoffed at the ridiculous sentiment. “Worried? I’m doing amazingly! I’m finally on the right track. I’m finally winning again.” 

“You know there’s more to it than that,” Snowflake countered. “Snowstorm is worried too; that’s why they asked me to come.” 

“Worried about what?” Snowy laughed. “I told you, I’m fine. Better than ever, now you’re here.”

“You’re starting public arguments that nearly get physical with other athletes. You’re desperate to win things, and you break down if you don’t. You bully your own teammates, sometimes you disappear randomly without telling anyone where you’re going, and when anyone tries to call you out on anything, you just deny it.” As they spoke they began to sniffle, teardrops building. “Snowstorm said… they said you miss me; that if you won’t listen to anyone else you might listen to me.”

Snowy’s expression went blank. For once, they had no answer, and the gulf between what they had wanted to say and what could bring Snowflake around to them yawned into the distance. In their absence of retort they were paralyzed, facing an old friend who could not face them back. 

“You lost everything to me, Snowflake. Everything you worked to build. I’m trying to protect it for you.” Everything was unraveling before Snowy, and they were rambling more than talking. “I’m trying to make you happy.” 

“So when you and everyone around you are miserable, how exactly will it make me happy?” 

It’s not like that, Snowy wanted to say, but the words never came. 

“I don’t know.” 

Hazers

Fittingly for the host city of the Midnight Wisps, Helarve’s night life was teeming with activity, so Misty appreciated Cloudy’s company as they glided through the streets together.

There was no goal, just some wandering around in the crisp autumn air, relying on their honed navigational sense to lead them back to the hotel whenever they were ready. There was no goal, and yet, Misty felt themselves being drawn to the clock tower in the distance, so they’d gone and snuck onto the racetrack grounds. It was a fairly simple matter, and Misty wasn’t sure whether that said more about the Hazers’ stealth or the Wisps’ security.

The track loomed high above them, casting long shadows across their forms as they threaded underneath the support beams.

“The moon’s so bright,” Cloudy said, entranced by its soft glow. “It’s a night race, right? It’s already so pretty from down here, it’ll look even better from the track.” They skipped ahead of them into a patch of moonlight, avoiding the cracks in the pavement in a spontaneous child’s game, but Misty slowed to a halt.

Misty hummed in agreement, still clearly distracted. “It’s pretty.” The fresh air had done wonders, but the daunting task before them – now visibly laid out above them – still weighed on their mind. Helarve’s chill was from latitude and sea breeze, not altitude and mountain breeze, but their breath fogged up the air all the same.

Cloudy’s face fell. “You know I could have vouched for you, right?” they fretted. “I could’ve taken Midnight Bay, you could’ve taken the bronze in Accellaise, or at least – ‘cause that track’s easy, we’ve run a different racer each time and we keep getting top five.” They declared that last part with a Smoggy-like certainty, and Misty smiled a little.

“Don’t say that, you’ll get a lecture on humility from Coach,” Misty warned playfully. The Speeders wouldn’t be happy to hear it either. “It’s just that… this is where it all started, right?”

They’d only seen the aftermath the first time: a barely perceptible infection of doubt in every movement from then on, which grew more and more until Misty was left thinking they could pick up the pieces, with them having made a final gambit to pass the torch. And now they were here just as they once were, about to undergo the same trial.

Cloudy fell silent, lost in memories themselves.

“The cycle I mentioned last year… I thought it was over,” Misty said. “I thought it was over after what I did last Showdown, or in Sotsevsa, but it’s not.” Helarve’s harsh cyan lights left an afterimage, inverting into the red glow of Fantum whenever they shut their eyes, so they stayed in the shade. “And now I’m here, where it all started, and I have to complete it.”

Cynicism was a familiar, bitter poison, but it was the best shield they’d ever known. It wasn’t something they expressed outright anymore for the sake of team morale, but Midnight Bay was their personal stage to collapse on.

“Misty…”

“I’m scared,” they admitted softly, embarrassment and fear welling up in their voice.

It hadn’t been too long ago when they were standing numb under the lights of Casino Square, reeling from what they’d just done. They must have felt something similar here.

“But I want it to end,” they whispered. The night is silent; they may as well have shouted it. They shook their head, a different memory resurfacing: Murky, desperately trying to suppress all signs of terror as they took their place on the Honeydome starting grid. They wondered what they looked like right now. “You’re with me, right?”

They didn’t dare hope again. They had to. They couldn’t. They would.

“I’m with you all the way,” Cloudy promised, smiling at them with determined, earnest loyalty, and Misty let themselves be pulled into the moonlight.

At the base of Mt. Huaze there laid a pile of stacked stone.

“Base” was relative; specifically, the cairn was just several lengths away from the secret trailhead up to the supposed summit, acting as both a landmark for the start of the climbing route and as the cenotaph it was intended to be.

No one remembered when it was built: the dawn of time, perhaps. They were old stones, carved with tiny, wind-weathered names, each one rendered illegible by the passage of time. Nowadays, the fallen were engraved on small silver discs and draped across the stones to immortalize them. Though freed from the threat of wind erosion, they could not escape the fog, which corroded them away anyway – names upon names, most of them erased, none yet forgotten, and all of them ultimately a footnote in the long, long history of one of Marblearth’s last unconquered peaks. 

How many more attempts will it take, how many more torches will be passed, will it all be worth it in the end…

“You’re not coming back for Buzzpig? But it would fix everything – I can’t replace you. I can’t be like you, I’ve tried.”

There was something painful in their expression when Misty said that. For a moment they seemed to struggle to answer them, but then they simply replied, “Well…you’re not me. You’ll succeed where I couldn’t.”

“You really believe that? Even after everything?”

They nodded unwaveringly. “I trust you.”

Interlude – Kobalts & Raspberry Racers

A Halloween market had been set up in the city center, framed by a distant view of the famous clock tower. After a vigorous session of afternoon shopping both teams had now retired to a second-floor restaurant overlooking the glowing lights below. From a heated balcony, they watched some of the first light snows of the colder season fall on the shoppers below. 

“You know, I never saw real snow until I was an adult,” Cerulean mused, gazing out onto the crowds below. “We have some fake snow centers, but it’s not the same.” 

Royal pushed a forkful of herby cream pasta around in their dish. “It’s gorgeous, but it’s a world away from Zuro in September… I can’t believe the season’s almost over. Or, well, it’s over for me.” 

“And me,” Ruzzy chirped. “So now I can eat whatever I want!” they exclaimed, laughing before they took another bite of their reindeer burger. 

“You were doing that the entire season anyway,” Razzy corrected in vain – though they did get a laugh out of Cerulean and Royal alike.

Cerulean pushed their winter salad around with their fork. “I can’t say I’m not jealous. I made Sapphire draw up a list of the food I should be eating before the race, and it definitely doesn’t have ‘burgers’ on it. Even this tastes too good to be allowed.” 

“You have nothing to worry about,” proclaimed Razzy. “You’re basically unbeatable at Midnight Bay.”

“Except the two times I got beaten,” Cerulean corrected them. 

“Yeah, but you’ve gone super-Cerulean mode now, so you’ll be fine,” followed Ruzzy. Cerulean had to hold back a laugh.

“You’ll do great as well, Razzy,” they added instead. “It’s been a good season for you two. I was… Well, I don’t want to say surprised, but–” 

“It’s fine. I know it’s unexpected. But I feel better than ever. And I want to end it on a high,” they declared. 

Cerulean nodded. “We’ll have to give everyone a taste of Season 2, then. Maybe this time without a Speeders win.” 

“How about a toast, then?” followed Royal. Everyone looked around the table in agreement before holding their glasses aloft, peach-toned champagne swirling around as they clinked. 

“To Midnight Bay!” Cerulean declared, and everyone followed, cheering. 

Green Ducks

A gray sky opened up to blue in patches, the sun obscured through gauzy clouds, as if a great sheet had been hung over the world. Most of the day it had been raining at a steady and unrelenting pace, and even now that it was dry, they’d had to lay down towels to sit on the picnic bench outside of the cabin. Water still dripped from the wooden eaves, though Bombay only made the mistake of leaving their mug of tea perfectly placed to catch the runoff once. Meanwhile, Mallard and Billy had already left the decking for the holiday park’s beach, pristine and otherwise empty in its sloping towards the sea. 

“It’s typical, isn’t it?” Bombay quipped, one eye on the twins and one eye on their tea. “First day of your holiday and it’s raining until it’s too late to go anywhere.” 

“Look on the bright side – we didn’t have to drive anywhere with them,” laughed Gadwall. They followed Bombay’s gaze to Billy and Mallard, who by now were mere dark specks on the horizon. “Besides, they’re having fun. And we have a few more hours of sunlight for the barbecue.”

Unconvinced by Gadwall’s optimism, Bombay grumbled under their breath. “And if it turns again?” 

“We’ll order a pizza, then. I get a break from work, you get a break from cooking. That’s only fair, isn’t it?” 

Bombay did not reply. Their gaze was now fully cast out to the water; to where Mallard and Billy were leaving tracks in the pearl-toned sand. 

Gadwall let out a pronounced cough. “Is something wrong? Be honest with me.” 

Bombay turned reluctantly and sighed. “It’s not worth worrying you about,” they replied, failing to meet their gaze. Gadwall had been able to sense the oddness they were carrying since the day before the drive, and they’d taken it for pre-trip anxiety. Clearly it had not been alleviated. 

Gadwall nudged them encouragingly. “A problem shared is a problem halved.” 

Bombay nodded. “Fair enough,” they said, and produced an opened letter from their bag. Gadwall had never seen it before, though it was addressed to the both of them. On one corner of the envelope was written PRIVATE in ominous block text. “It came the day before we left. I couldn’t get the time to talk to you about it alone.” 

Gadwall’s brow caved with concern. “What is it?” 

“It’s from the school. It’s, um – about the bullying stuff.” Bombay spoke hesitantly, and Gadwall knew already that the news was nothing good. “They, ah – there’s nothing they can do about the perpetrators, and they won’t cover the cost of what got broken. And they recommended a school transfer for Billy if we ‘still believe there’s a problem.’”

“Unbelievable,” Gadwall exclaimed, briefly losing control of their volume. “They’ve got some nerve to suggest that we’re at fault here.”

Bombay let out a soft sigh. “There’s a reason I didn’t bring it up.” 

“We can’t have them separated. It’s ridiculous.” In the distance, Mallard and Billy had reached the water, leaping and playing in the surf together. “We’re not going along with it.” 

“We could transfer them both,” Bombay uneasily proposed. “I suppose we don’t have to worry about it until September, but…” they added, trailing off at the end. 

Gadwall lowered their gaze. “Right. We paid good money for this trip, and there’s nothing we can do about it over the summer.” 

–

Evening turned slowly into night, and the gentle pitter-patter of rain outside returned alongside the darkness. Fireplace crackle and the rustic warmth of burning wood permeated the confines of the small cabin, pizza long since devoured and Bombay already in bed. Mallard was cuddled up to Gadwall, whose new book was illuminated by the fire’s distant glow. 

“Hey. Heeeeeey. Between me and Billy, who’s older?” Mallard chirped through the silence. 

“You’re twins,” Gadwall replied, sterner. 

“Twins can be older and younger,” objected Mallard. “That’s what someone at school said, anyway.” 

Gadwall considered the proposition for a second. Across the room was Billy, back to constructing an elaborate tower of blocks by the fireplace. “Well, that’s true,” they eventually conceded, pulling Mallard ever-so-slightly closer. 

“Okay,” replied Mallard, and they glanced towards Billy with an expression of curiosity, as if they were trying to guess for themself. “So, which one of us is the oldest?” 

“I can’t tell you that,” Gadwall declared. 

Mallard groaned a warbling aaaaaa noise in protest. “Why not?” 

“Why do you want to know?”

The question caught Mallard off guard. “…I dunno.”

“If I tell you who’s the oldest,” Gadwall began, “you might think I’m telling you who’s better, or who matters more, or who should be in charge. But I don’t want you to make comparisons. Even if you don’t always get along, you joined this world at the same time. Being together is the most precious gift you’ll ever have.”

“Um… okay, whatever,” Mallard mumbled, pouting and still clearly unsatisfied. Gadwall patted them gently and repressed a sigh. They’re probably too young to understand, they thought, looking back over to Billy. 

“Just take care of Billy, alright? I know they’ll do the same for you.” 

Mallard glanced over to their sibling, and then they spoke quietly. “Alright.” 

–

From a slim porthole window on the side of their descending plane, Mallard observed the surrounding Helarve-Vanillsinki region stretched out before them. It wasn’t much different from the Brace Isles, flat green fields broken up by hills and residential areas, though in the darkness it was itself only cold and vast darkness, illuminated by the warm homes others kept. 

The plane landed with practiced precision, though rain rendered the runway black and slick. Mallard descended the short staircase down once everything had come to a complete stop, followed by Bombay, the rest of the Green Ducks, and finally Billy, who still donned the vintage goggle-scarf combo they wore each time they flew. 

“Word from air traffic control: we’ve got a crowd awaiting us,” Billy said, a smile beaming from their face. “Ready to go and face the music?” 

“I still can’t believe you can actually fly a plane,” Mallard replied. “You bet, though. I’m glad we went to go and visit the gravesite… But we didn’t come this far just to go back home.”

Billy nodded. “We’ll be fine. It’s you, and I know you can do it.” 

Crazy Cat’s Eyes

Every time they looked at the standings, the numbers wouldn’t change.

136. 117. 112. 111.

19. That’s all that stood between a second title and returning home empty handed.

Yellow Eye sighed as they took another look at the top of the standings; why they were still so fixated on this was beyond them. Maybe a part of them possessed a bleak hope that something, anything would change if they stared long enough – but the numbers unceasingly stared back no matter how long they looked.

This wasn’t their first time on the track. They’ve been here before. Midnight Bay was familiar territory. There was no reason to be a scaredy-cat about something so familiar to them; but here they were, sitting in silence with their fear. IBit was the only thing they knew how to feel in the face of one more race either making or breaking a championship.

“Yellow?”

Yellow Eye finally quit the self-imposed staring contest they were having with the standings and turned to face the voice. Expectedly, it was Red Eye. Seeing their beloved teammate brought comfort to them, but at the same time made the unease from within them that more potent.

“Oh! You look… happy,” Yellow Eye pointed out. Despite being Red Eye’s teammate for what felt like ages now, seeing them adorning a joyful look was a rare sight. “I, uhh… I hope that continues into next week… or something like that.”

Red Eye was silent for a moment before quietly laughing. “You know I don’t need to hope and pray for that sort of thing.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We’re leading the championship as we should. It would take the team right below us second at a minimum to beat us. Really, all you have to do is show up and we’re bringing our rightful title back home,” they explained, the confidence in their words unwavering.

Yellow Eye kept staring at their teammate. “But I still have to race well–”

“I said, all you need to do is show up to the track.” They gave a light nudge to their teammate. “After all, you showing up and success is as synonymous as it gets around here.”

Any rebuttal they might have had fizzled out of existence. They opened their mouth hoping that something, anything would come out about how Red Eye was wrong and being much too assumptive about a race that hadn’t happened yet; but the pair was only met with uncomfortable silence as nothing came out.

How could they be the very definition of success if their first season back after being forced out was nothing of the sort? They had no medals to their name and no awe-inspiring performances that fans would remember for years to come – their “shining moment” this season was blowing a commanding lead to some rookie they’d never met until the season’s youth back after the Momotorway red flag.

In what world could they finally bring a victory back to Felynia when failing to do so before was the reason they’d been shunned away from the circuit a year ago in the first place?

“But… what if I fail?” Yellow Eye finally managed. “W-what if I blow it like I always do and one of the racers threatening to take this away from you does enough and everyone hates me and you hate me too and want me gone again–”

Red Eye gave them a strong bump to the side; it was one of those bumps they only reserved for when team discussions got considerably heated. “Yellow, why would I want you gone again? You and I know well that I don’t want that for you –”

“Then what do you want from me!?” they shouted, their voice breaking. “Someone like you who only knows victory should have rejoiced when the coach rightfully threw me out a year ago! I bet you were disgusted to see that I was coming back to drag the team down again! But here you are, trusting someone like me to do something I’ve never been able to do and have proven so many times I can’t do…!”

“Yellow, please–”

Yellow Eye weakly fell forward into Red Eye’s grasp. “I… I just wanna be someone you can finally say you’re proud to race alongside…”

Where they’d usually expect an immediate counter from Red Eye never came; quiet once again invited itself between the two whenever it wasn’t drowned out by quiet and hollow sobs that did nothing to remedy how oppressive the silence had grown between the two racers.

“…don’t say you’re dragging us down. You never have,” Red Eye whispered after an eternity. “No matter what happens out there, I’m going to be so proud of you. If anything, I think this is going to be the best season I’ve ever shared with you.”

“B-but… we didn’t clinch anything again. You’re still in danger of losing your third individual title…” Yellow Eye weakly looked up at their teammate, blinking away tears. “So why say that? Are you just that confident I can do something I’ve never been able to do for you before? Are you just that happy about leading the standings?”

The gaze they were met with was one they seldom saw from their teammate – it was perhaps the softest and most sincere smile they’d ever seen from anyone.

“It’s because you’re here again, where you’ve always belonged.” Red Eye’s smile went from one of gentleness to one of confidence. “Now let’s give the world a show they’ll never forget.”

Credits

• Writers: Millim, Momoikkai, Toffeeshop
• Copyeditors/Editors: Evolution, Stynth
• Artist: Piney
• Reference: Marbula One Season 5 | Jelle’s Marble Runs
• Release: 01/11/2024