In this world, there was only one rule that the Balls of Chaos obeyed- there are no rules. A Balls of Chaos season could be anywhere between excellent and dismal, and knowing which in advance was impossible. All you could reliably bet on was that it would be interesting, because the Balls of Chaos would do anything to make a season interesting. Even if that meant sneaking in their first and only medal during the final, championship-deciding event.
Naturally, all four of Tumult’s teammates had evaded the security and surmounted the field barriers just to get to their newly-silvered captain on the podium, practically pushing Astron and Hop off in the process. Were the stadium not still in uproar over the deciding match, they might have gotten in trouble for it.
“Go cap! Knew you wouldn’t leave us hanging!” Disarray cheered, eager to express their cheer the only way they knew how- bumping them enthusiastically on the side until they were gently asked to stop.
“On a list of all the seasons we’ve finished with only a single silver medal, this would easily be the number one,” quipped Clutter, never too proud to take pot-shots at their own team. Tumult opened their mouth like they had a retort behind it, only to suddenly think better of it and stay silent.
Anarchy wrapped their captain in a big hug from behind. “Better late than never! Just don’t tell me you were trying to teach us a lesson in delayed gratification, eh?”
“Nothing of the sort,” retorted Tumult, stowing the medal away with their coach where it wouldn’t be exposed to the antics of their teammates. “You wouldn’t learn it even if I tried.”
“Classic Tumult,” laughed Anarchy sardonically. They held up their phone- an old model with a glittery protective case that had long outlived its protectiveness- and angled it so the whole team would fit within the eye of its camera. “Hey, while we’re here…”
“Right now?” Tumult didn’t look all too enthusiastic. “You just invaded the field, and I look like a complete mess, and-”
A loud faux-shutter sound announced what Tumult should have known from the start- resistance was futile. “C’mon, this is your moment! Live a little,” Anarchy laughed, flashing the photo in front of their captain. They’d been caught mid-blink, as had Snarl.
“Don’t you dare post that,” Tumult barked, to no avail.
“Two words: too late.”
(Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)
As the antics of the Balls of Chaos kept the crowd entertained, Astron and Hop departed the podium entirely. Not ten minutes after the ceremony’s conclusion the five Galactic team members and their new coach were sequestered inside the team offices with standard-issue laptops sitting in front of them. At first they shared glances and gestures across the meeting table- knowing winks, sighs of relief, gentle bumps of reassurance- but when Cosmo sat the invisible noise died down into nothing.
“Good evening,” they announced, and the meeting commenced. “Welcome to our postseason debrief meeting. I’ve ran Celestina through the format and approach, so we’ll be proceeding as usual. Does anyone have anything they’d like to raise before I deliver my report?”
A brief silence followed before Pulsar raised their pen. “Congratulations to Astron on their gold. Without them, we’d be coming into this with nothing to show for ourselves.”
Polite, measured applause followed. Astron sat pride of place at the table, but the mood was too subdued for celebration. They accepted the tempered adulation of their teammates in its stead.
“Congratulations, Astron. It can’t be overstated how much we owe you,” Cosmo concurred. “Anybody else?”
Starry rose from their seat, notes already prepared and neatly organised in their grasp. “If I could go ahead.”
Cosmo nodded. “Of course.”
“I am not blind to my own personal reputation and role within the team, and I consider it a duty to deliver on the expectations that others set for me. I take full responsibility for my failure to perform and its impact on our team and its reputation. In return, I can only ask for patience as I begin to right some of the mistakes made over the last year,” they recited, practiced and effortless at once.
A self-contained whirlwind of emotions played across the faces of Starry’s teammates. Hearing Starry speak so critically of themself was novel, but the sentiment was clearly from the heart.
“It’s not your fault-” Cosmo began, only to be faced with a sharp look from Starry. The message understood, they went quiet. “What I mean to say is that we’re all culpable for this. For our joys to be shared, so must our responsibilities. I share Starry’s sentiment, and I commend it. Our work begins now.”
A tempered round of applause broke out around the table.
“With that said…” Cosmo continued, “we’ve worked hard. Tonight is for celebrations, so please, go and enjoy yourselves.”
Just a few months before they secured bronze in the 2024 Marble League, the Black Jacks had been relegated.
It wasn’t a single thing that had landed them in the predicament, rather a convergence of factors, though in the moment it hardly appeared that way. Eighth, fifteenth, seventh, sixth, eleventh… Fifteenth again. At Honeydome Club slipped past the line at a slow clip, pursued only by a similarly unfortunate Blast, and that sealed the deal. Relegated.
One year on the podium, one year as far from it as possible. Three years in exile from the main show. Perhaps the life of a bit-player was the ugly reality of returning. That it had happened to long-time friends the Minty Maniacs as well was only a small comfort, especially when the Bumblebees had reached the podium that year. Then to lose M1, and go out early in MS100…
I’m not going to quit. I won’t quit. Quitting means I- we- came this far for nothing. I couldn’t forgive myself for that, not for the rest of my life.
And so, the hard road to return began.
Save for the winter season, where foreboding desert mountains were briefly tipped the colour of zinc sunscreen, there was no snow in Las Veglass. But there were indoor slopes. A dozen opened their doors in the months where all other trails in the hemisphere had vanished into nothing, welcoming hobbyists and tourists alike, offering every winter sport imaginable. They didn’t need favourable terrain. They didn’t need facilities. But they needed to work hard. Even if the qualifiers were off-limits, each of them knew that another relegation was likely a death blow to the team’s esteem, and potentially even their place in the League itself.
Just keep moving. It was a life philosophy as much as it was an event philosophy. If they kept moving, they would get where they needed to be.
The urgent letter came two months before the qualifiers began, bearing information for their eyes only. Relegation was cancelled; their team freed both from disappointment and certainty. Like a candle’s flame in the darkness of night, there was a chance, however weak and far-away.
Just keep moving.
Consistency mattered in the qualifiers- a weak beginning into three solid shots. The team celebrated privately, with none of their usual ostentatiousness. They expected nothing; even this was hard to believe.
The medals came in slowly, inconspicuously, a whisper rather than a shout. Bobsled first, overshadowed by Team Momo’s legendary redemption, then Ice Bowling, once more their dimmer star. Even Ski Jump, the event that for the first and last time put the Blackjacks atop the standings, had Momo just two steps behind. Snow Tubing, one step ahead. By then the press had begun its chattering about ‘the rivalry nobody saw coming’.
Certainly, neither team had expected it. Did it exist? Nobody was ever quite sure. The Blackjacks kept going.
Two big missteps in the Snow Snake and Skiing Rally waylaid all but a distant shot at the championship, but Heart’s Funnels pedigree had all but carried them to a confident shot at third.
Ice Maze ended early. It didn’t matter. Everything added up as they needed it to, and just like that, the Blackjacks had gone from relegated to standing on the podium steps within the span of a single League. Fans who’d expected nothing cheered in their numbers from the stands, their eyes turned to the team who’d defied the odds and done the impossible.
From atop the podium steps, all the problems of the past seemed so far away.
I’m glad I kept going, Heart thought.
(Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)
It was the day the Snowballs were due to stand on their first ever League podium, and Snowdrift was nowhere to be found. Not too long ago they’d crashed out of the grand finale during the first run of the Ice Maze track, and since then nobody had seen hide or hair of them. At least that was what Snowy surmised, twenty minutes before the ceremony was due to begin.
They’d held out some hope that they’d have taken their captain’s period of futile searching to return to the Snowballs’ team room, but no dice. Only Snowfall sat waiting underneath the fluorescent office lighting, having not joined the rest of the team in the holding pen beside the event space. That was odd, Snowy thought. And if anyone knew where Snowdrift was, it would be them.
Snowy slung their scarf around the coat rack, where it hung relaxed in the shape of a lazy brown snake. Occasionally they cast glances over at Snowfall, who in their quiet absence of presence was almost serene. Apparently their entry wasn’t even worthy of a greeting. A clock on the wall ticked its predictable tock- how Snowy resented its reminder.
One, two, one, two, one, two…
Coaxing word from Snowfall through the silent treatment wasn’t working. Snowy marched to the table with a huff, and the corner of Snowfall’s eyes twitched. “No sign of Snowdrift,” they stated, so weighty with implication that it risked collapse.
Snowfall remained silent. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Snowy counted each individual beat; sixty-two passed before they were obliged with a response.
“No. But they’ll come.”
Of course they know something, crowed the voice in the back of Snowy’s mind. Their composure vanished and their voice shook as they spoke. “You know, don’t you?”
Snowfall’s mouth twitched, an almost-imperceptible moment, but it was an immediate giveaway. Not to mention that they couldn’t meet Snowy’s gaze without wrenching theirs away, all this feigned ignorance was so affected that it looped around into transparent guilt. But it meant nothing if they stuck to their guns and kept mum.
“Just tell me!” they insisted, impatience growing, only for Snowfall to shrug it off once more. “You know this looks bad for you too, don’t you?”
Snowfall exhaled, one long breath drawn out just to test Snowy’s patience even further, before they spoke. “Snowy?”
Snowy whipped round to face them. “What is it?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
Snowy flushed so feverishly red they almost glowed. “I… What did you say?”
“Don’t be stupid,” echoed Snowfall, no more phased than the first time round. “Snowdrift will come back. But with everything that’s happened, how do you think they’re going to respond when you’re chasing them down in the hallways?”
For another long minute the silence returned. Even the clock seemed to cease its ticking. All Snowy could hear was their own pulse thundering inside their head.
“I’m not gonna get mad! I don’t do that any more!” they blurted eventually, just to meet with a small sigh from Snowfall. Their transparent exasperation only frustrated Snowy further. “So, what, I haven’t changed?”
Snowfall fixed them in a square, appraising glance. “Have you?”
A final glug of water hit the white ceramic, splashing Snowdrift with tiny specks of water before thundering down the drainpipe with an unpleasant gurgle.
Once more they scrutinised themself in the mirror. The redness in their eyes had all but vanished, and when they pushed themself to smile they were almost convincingly cheerful.
Ten minutes left. They could look the part of someone who’d just won a spot on the Marble League podium in ten minutes. Kinnowin, Mallard, Speedy… Better athletes than them had been here and survived. They could do it.
They could…
Augh, what am I doing?
It was back in 2018 when Momo first laid eyes on colorful lights decorating the dark sky, the inky midnight illuminated with broad strokes of vivid hues reminiscent of the paintings their closest friends made. It was a welcome sight back then – a beautiful celestial scene made the stress of contacting everyone they knew in bleak hopes to save a season melt away, even if only for a moment.
Nearly seven years later, the same splendor of the aurora graced the skies of Glidavik tonight; perhaps the only similarity between then and now.
It was hard to find similarities between a disappointing season held together by a lifeline of kindness and a season which ended with seeing Marblearth from its highest point, after all.
“Pretty, right?”
Momo kept their gaze on the sky in spite of Prim’s voice. It surprised them that the other captain agreed to meet up somewhere much colderthan where the first of many victory celebrations for Team Momo were taking place. “Mhmm. Makes braving the cold worth it.”
“…does the sky remind you of all those years ago?” Prim’s question was hushed, the thin puffs of white their breaths the only proof they’d asked anything.
“2018, right?”
Prim nodded. “Yep. 2018 has been on my mind all day, honestly.”
“Why?” It was now Momo’s turn to wonder if they’d said anything, with how silently their words.
After a few beats of silence, Prim finally spoke up, “I remember that first night. Mary and I arrived in Hailfern as Team Momary members, and you invited us to see the sky. It was just like this. You were beyond excited, saying you’d never seen anything like it after years of wanting to.” They laughed softly. “I get why you were so excited now. It’s amazing to see something you’ve wanted to witness for so many years, right?”
Whatever Momo wanted to respond with took the form of silence, their words caught in their throat and refusing to voice themselves. They knew what Prim was talking about – yet it still felt so foreign.
“There’s nobody on Marblearth who deserved to hold up that trophy more than you,” Prim continued, the suddenness of their words holding Momo in place. “You’ve endured so much, having to see the world fall apart around you so many times, having to be the one everyone blames for your team’s shortcomings, having to wonder if a decision you made out of the blue over a decade ago would ever pay off… I hope this victory is everything you’ve ever wanted. Because seeing you and your friends finally reach the top is everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Momo looked at the other captain. “But… don’t you want that for your team?”
“Of course,” Prim started, “but until that day comes, if ever, I want to be happy for your team. I want to be happy for you.” They sighed. “Focusing on an unstable future does nobody any good. Why do that when I can enjoy this moment with someone who deserved this for years?” Momo noticed Prim’s eyes drift back to the fluorescent colors adorning the darkness, and their own gaze followed suit.
Sure enough, the overhead display hadn’t changed a bit; whether from earlier tonight or almost seven years ago. Momo smiled softly as they observed the lights, nudging their longtime friend.
The words to properly explain how much had changed eluded them tonight, and perhaps would evade them forever – but tonight, Momo couldn’t care less. It was as Prim said: why worry?
The countless afterparties could wait until dawn chased the colors away, Momo decided with a smile.
Credits
- Writers: Millim, Momoikkai
- Copyeditors/Editors: Millim
- Artists: Momoikkai
- Reference: Marble League 2024 E16: Elimination Race | Jelle’s Marble Runs
- Release: 31/3/2025
Project Marblearth 
the story here is so lovely! i love momo and prim’s interaction at the end so much… i also love the characterizations of the marbles here, especially the snowballs (given their history, snowdrift’s throw, snowy carrying them virtually all the time)… great memo!
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