Back in the days of the Hubelino Classic, Heart was a name both feared and respected. Achieving both great wealth and athletic success from humble backgrounds, the development of a certain mythos around the Blackjacks was unavoidable, but of the quartet they attracted the most of it.
So cool. I heard that they only say five words a day. Have you ever seen them smile? Nobody even knows where they’re from.
Back then, they’d relished it. The proud and successful Heart never had to think deeper about themself. Every day could be filled with events and team meetings and fancy dinners and training sessions. Eventually, they could squeeze themself out of their own life.
Fame and success made them feel whole, even as it made them unapproachable. Transitioning from the Herbotamia Classic to the Hubelino Tournament was just another step towards something better, more beautiful, more whole. And when the Marble League became the marble sports tournament du jour, they were sure of being able to conquer that, too.
Except-
It’s been a good run, but… Maybe this is a sign to think about something other than competing.
…as sudden as a flash of lightning, it was all over. No more events to win or medals to obtain; the four of them going their separate ways, pursuing their own lives. On the surface they agreed with the collective mood; inside, they were adrift on a vast and formless emptiness.
What would they do now?
I don’t know.
What had been the end goal of all this time and effort?
I’ll do anything so long as I don’t have to be alone with myself.
And so it had begun: the most painful few years of their life. Going solo was always an option, but it was too much of a betrayal of their teammates and the decision they’d made together to consider seriously. But Heart without marble sports wasn’t really anyone. They certainly weren’t the marble they’d presented to the world for the last fifteen years of their life, but there was no real alternative to them, either.
Nowadays there were some hardcore Herbotamia Classic or Hubelino fans who complained about how much they’d changed. That they weren’t the Heart who used to belong to them. Some felt proven right by the 2023 relegation- they’d changed too much to be competitive. They’d never accomplish anything again.
“Hey, are you doing okay?”
Oh. That was Radiance’s voice. They and Remus had dragged them off to get dinner, some upscale fast food place that was all over social media nowadays. It had uncomfortable metal chairs that caught the chill of Glidavik and lighting so dim it left you with concerns about the food, but maybe their tastes were just unattainably upscale nowadays. In any case, Remus was shovelling fries in their mouth Wolfpack-style, so it probably tasted okay.
“Yes, I’m fine. Was I spacing out?”
Radiance shrugged. “You looked tired. That’s all. Don’t let your food get cold,” they giggled.
Both they and Remus were so young. Back when they were their age they resented being treated that way, of course- what was the difference between them and any other adult? Now, though, it was obvious, even if that youthfulness couldn’t be pinned down to any one factor. It was something you had or didn’t, and if you were zoning out and reminiscing on your life’s regrets with any regularity, you certainly didn’t have it.
In fact, they’re so young that they’ve probably never even watched the Herbotamia Classic…
That thought alone was enough to make Heart smile.
Anyone familiar with the life of a Marble League athlete could easily assume the hardest aspect of that life – the countless hours of rigorous training, the stress that no experience could fully remedy, or having to deal with crushing disappointments
Few ever talked about how hard it was to have medals to your name in any color but gold. Nobody talked about how hard it was to see those around you do what you couldn’t for so many years so effortlessly, as if earning the right to have your own gold medal was as automatic as breathing.
When the duo had taken their place for the event, they didn’t expect it to happen. After all, their careers were practically defined by how they were consistently good at what they each specialized in without ever being the best; why would anything suddenly change after so many years? If it had been nine years now with nothing golden in color to show, their legacies only written in silver and bronze, that was surely proof they were meant to never see the top of the podium.
And that was okay – but they weren’t sure if it was genuine acceptance of the fact or simply acceptance of a harsh reality that would only begin to hurt less if they accepted something.
“They’ve done it! They’ve beaten the record!”
On the last run of the last heat, those words were spoken. Momomo and Mo had bettered the record in the dying moments of Climbing, leaving no questions about where the duo would place in the event.
No words were spoken as they donned their long-awaited gold medals at the top of the podium, but the tearful glances they shared with each other said it all for them.
It’s about time you earned this.
Ah… What a night, Mocha thought, exiting the athletes’ village.
Lost in thought, they only noticed the two sullen marbles sat on the steps of the building when a soda can clattering down the stairs alerted them to their presence. It was Rezzy, something of an arch-nemesis of theirs, sat beside a Hazer they didn’t recognize.
“Hey, Rezzy,” Mocha laughed, still standing a few steps up from them. When Rezzy looked up and realized it was them their despondency somehow deepened, eyes creasing at the edges as they frowned. “Don’t you two sad sacks usually hang out with Billy?”
Rezzy did not answer. Neither did the Hazer. A heavy aura of defeat surrounded them, as did a veritable collection of empty soda cans. “I’m Foggy, not Smoggy,” the Hazer said, but that didn’t matter to Mocha.
“Can I be Billy?” they asked, sidling up. “I’m guessing you’re sad ‘cuz me and Fudge beat you hard, yeah?”
“Shut it,” Rezzy snapped. “Alright, you won. Very special, great job, let’s all clap and cheer. Your prize is that you get to go-”
Foggy fake-coughed loudly, interrupting Rezzy’s stream-of-conscious ranting.
“Hey!” Mocha exclaimed, feigning hurt. “You’re no fun when you’re sad. Half the reason I liked beating you in funnels is because you were so confident.”
Just as Rezzy was primed for a retort, it was Foggy who actually spoke. “Forgive me, but are you just here to provoke Rezzy, or..?”
Mocha swiped a full can and hopped down the last few steps of the stairs. “Eh, sort of. I do have some actual advice, though.” Not like Rezzy would ever want to hear it from them, but….
“Go on,” Foggy said.
“If you convince yourself you’re in a hopeless situation, you will be,” they said, before turning the fence corner out to the exit road.
“By myself?” Cloudy’s voice had shaken ever so slightly.
Misty had had the unfinalized event list and athlete assignments laid out in front of them. “I was discussing it with Coach last night – you’re more than capable. And look,” they had pointed down the list, “we’ll be together for two duo events first.”
It was a little silly, Cloudy could admit, being this anxious about individual events when they’d already done some in the Showdown and ran plenty of races in M1, but the League was different. And yet…well, there was no avoiding them anymore, especially since they were no longer the reserve.
They had looked down at the list, then at Misty. “…Okay.”
Run the event alone; stand atop the podium alone. Three years ago Cloudy had clambered up the steps with Misty by their side, and in M1 Smokey accompanied them, holding the champagne whenever Cloudy didn’t want to. But today, they stared out at the stadium, starry-eyed, from the vantage point of a gold medalist all by themselves.
It didn’t feel real. They were clumsier than usual going up the steps even with Smokey directing them up, but that was fine. There was always next time, they thought as they made their way through the interviews – interviews that Cloudy had badly wanted to skip, but it was courteous to humor a few journalists today. By this point, they knew better than to ask overly invasive questions, lest they end up blacklisted from interacting with the team altogether.
Misty was waiting for them at the exit of the press conference room. “Cloudy,” they gasped, embracing them as they stepped into the hallway, Smokey trailing behind.
It set off a small squeak of protest. “Misty,” Cloudy whined, making a halfhearted attempt to wriggle free.
“Sorry.” They let go. “I just…I’m just proud.”
“It was just like practice,” Cloudy deflected, twisting around to beam at Smokey, who was comparatively impassive. “I was ahead by a lot, right?”
“Three-tenths clear,” Smokey confirmed. “Well done.” There was an undercurrent of relief in their voice, albeit suppressed and hidden. Cloudy basked in the praise, waiting expectantly for more and receiving a flat stare instead. “Humility is a virtue, Cloudy.”
“Worth a shot,” they chirped. Misty smiled.
Smokey sighed, then prodded them forward. “Go celebrate,” they said. “Remember –”
“I’m representing Mt. Huaze, so act accordingly, et cetera,” Cloudy finished dutifully.
“Good,” said Smokey. They glanced at Misty. “Go on, both of you.”
Misty nodded, then their face fell. “Coach, this League…”
The lights hummed above them. It wasn’t difficult to guess what they were referring to – the situation had been barely rescued by Cloudy’s heroics today, but there was still far to go.
“I’m aware.” Smokey’s expression remained controlled. “But the important thing is that it’s not over yet, so I need you to focus on what’s ahead of you right now.”
Misty swallowed, as if they had more to say, then met their words with a determined stare. “Understood.”
Satisfied, Smokey turned away. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a word with Foggy for tomorrow…”
“They’re not going to be near the reporters’ nest,” Cloudy quipped, giving a lazy glance towards the press conference room.
“South side, with the other two,” Misty said, and Smokey nodded a thank you before sweeping past them into the depths of the stadium.
It was Cloudy who leaned into a hug with Misty this time. “You know, speaking of them,” they whispered conspiratorially, “Murky’s really homesick.”
“Don’t pretend like you weren’t back in ’18,” Misty countered. They sighed, tilting their head in contemplation. “Hmm, what to do…”
Cloudy laughed, rejuvenated by their new gold.
It’s a turning point, they thought happily. It’ll all get better after this, it’ll all settle down and stabilize…
And then we can all go home together.
Credits
- Writers: Millim, Momoikkai, Toffeeshop
- Copyeditors/Editors: Millim
- Reference: ❄️ MARBLE LEAGUE 2024 ❄️ E10 Ski Jump ⛷️ | ❄️ MARBLE LEAGUE 2024 ❄️ E11 Mountain Climbing 🏔️ | ❄️ MARBLE LEAGUE 2024 ❄️ E11 Mountain Climbing 🏔️
- Release: 28/02/2025
Project Marblearth 