The O’Rangers had granted Mellow Yellow free roam of the orange grove—a fairly unremarkable privilege valuable because they handed it out rather arbitrarily. If they were being honest, Yeller didn’t understand the appeal. It wasn’t yet harvest time, so orange trees were just trees, and trees simply weren’t interesting. But since Yellow was so intent on wandering the dirt paths, it was a perfect opportunity to get them alone.
It was only when the rest of the team was out of earshot that Yeller sidled up to Yellow, who’d just finished speaking with a lucky cohort of fans in the audience. “Say, captain,” they began, as if the conversation they’d been rehearsing in their head for months was an idle passing thought, “I’m a real reliable member of the team now, aren’t I?”
Yellow smiled their usual super-star smile. Their gaze was fixed on the sun, which descended behind the horizon in a glowy haze—not Yeller. “You always have been.”
“I was real honored when you said I could take a shot at relay. And look at that—a medal! Pretty sweet, huh?”
Where Yeller had expected Yellow to respond in adulation, they rolled on wordlessly, leaving fine dust flying in Yeller’s face as they trailed behind. Masking a cough, they followed.
“So, anyway… Since I’m so reliable, you’re probably thinking of giving me some more responsibilities, right?”
Yellow finally stopped to look behind them quizzically. “Er… you already have four events.”
“No, like… Well, I’ve done so good in Funnels, Hurdles… on the circuit at Honeydome…” they replied, anxiously stressing the last word. “And I’ve always wanted to race by your side!”
“But you already do that. Just today, even.”
Yeller frowned invisibly. The conversation wasn’t going anything like they’d planned—asking without asking was way harder than the Youroll video said it would be. “I know… but, like… you know…”
“Hey. How about just taking the evening to relax? We need you in good condition for Triathlon.”
“…Right.” Yeller couldn’t tell if Yellow had sussed out their intentions, or if they were sincerely too engrossed in the pleasant evening to worry about matters of the team. Either way, the conversation was over.
–
3,250 days between then and now.
To any sane marble, the only proper way to respond to your first medal in nine years was to celebrate. Celebrate until you drop from exhaustion, never mind the consequences ‒ like Meepo, who had excitedly rolled around in circles until they were seized by their coach with a weary command to stay still.
Azure was not a sane marble, then.
They tried to stick around for the post-event festivities. They really did. But something felt off; and one look at their silver medal explained it.
You got this by mistake. You don’t deserve this. What’s the worst marble in the League doing with a silver medal? Your teammates carried you. You can’t do anything right–
“Hey, Azure!”
Azure turned around and saw Mimo, who donned a matching bronze medal. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with your team?” they asked.
Mimo shook their head. “I wanted to find you before we do any sort of celebration. Y’know, tell you congratulations. I figured I should do it now, because I’d never forgive myself if I had to wait nine years for my next shot,” they said with a nervous laugh.
“…whatever,” Azure muttered. “It’ll take more than nine years for me to get another one.”
“Nope,” Mimo asserted with a stern bump. “Don’t give me that. We both agreed to leave our self-doubts in those stream waters almost three years ago, right?”
Whatever rebuttal Azure had silenced itself as they remembered the aftermath of the Water Race that had brought them close to Mimo – back then, it had been them reassuring Mimo that they weren’t useless after what happened.
Mimo glanced at the silver medal. “So, um… your team likes silver, huh?”
Azure’s own gaze fell to the medal, and they chuckled. “I guess we do. It feels like gold after nine years, though. Honestly, this could be the only thing I leave Orlango with and I think I’d be happy,” they said.
“Well, you can’t leave Orlango without stopping into this incredible ramen house me and my teammates found!” Mimo exclaimed. “I know how much you loved the one we found after that dumb Water Race, and this one might be better than that!”
Any traces of their prior mood vanished in an instant. “That’s nice of you. I’ll make a note of it-maybe I can take my teammates there –”
“But I wanna go now,” Mimo interrupted. “I wanna go with someone who did amazing in today’s event and earned their silver. And I’m starving. Keeping the Speeders off the podium sure does work up an appetite.”
Azure felt the slightest bit warmer. “Don’t you wanna go with–”
“Nope! I’m not leaving until you feel like a great athlete who deserves your flowers.” Mimo smirked. “That, and I can see it in your eyes. You can’t fight wanting a bowl of ramen.”
All Azure could do was laugh at Mimo’s correct assumption. “Lead the way, then!”
–
By the time they had trudged up the field, Rapidly was completely covered in sand. At their station was a towel—the team was waiting in the stadium.
Though other athletes were frantically drying off, Rapidly lazily slung the towel around themself. Sure, they were happy to medal, but silver was no longer a cause for celebration. Instead, it was merely expected—a measly second place could never make up for their failures in Hurdles and Sprint anyway. The sight of Yeller whooping with their team further soured Rapidly’s mood. It was a simple pass to the side—at least the marble behind them also couldn’t make the move.
Wispy was right beside Yeller on the beach. Like Rapidly, they were alone, sluggishly brushing the sand off themself in a daze.
Rapidly’s mind drifted. They remembered Wispy thanking them for helping Wospy after O’Raceway, remembered the way they made them and Wospy laugh every night in season 2. But 2022’s triathlon clawed back: Wispy surging past at the qualifiers, only to crumble in the League and get shoved off the track. That was the last they’d known about Wispy as the Wisps slipped further and further into darkness until, ultimately, they gave up captaincy. But it was all okay, Wospy said, as long as the team was together.
Now Wospy was gone.
Flash! The camera clicked, and Rapidly snapped back. They were on the podium, their medal slung around them. Yeller towered above, gloating, but behind them stood Wispy. They stared straight ahead, gaze so blank it was almost serene.
It was then that Rapidly realized they didn’t know Wispy at all. The Wispy they knew was the one by Wospy’s side. The Wisps they knew were a family.
Then Yeller leapt off the podium, and as the crowd swarmed, Wispy slipped away. Suddenly, something washed over them. Rapidly pushed forward and called out, “Wispy!”
Wispy stopped and turned around, facing them.
Rapidly blinked. “…Congratulations.”
Something flashed across Wispy’s face. The ghost of Wospy, of who they’d both been—but then, Wispy smiled, and the crowd came and swept them away.
—
You were amazing!
Five hours after their fateful win, the weight of Yeller’s hug and their rote congratulations lingered like an invisible weight. Running off to the beach at night was seemingly the only way to escape the sudden Yeller-mania overtaking the athletes’ village.
Yellim didn’t like to angst, and they rarely indulged—but a balmy summer’s night beside the wine-dark sea was perfect for it. Between the almost-full moon and the distant insomniac glow of a parking-lot streetlamp, their reflection was just about visible in the waves, which crashed against the sand with no real conviction and occasionally stung them with the spray.
It was just them, the sand, and the water. They’d rehearsed their self-indulgent speech silently inside their mind, but now they were alone, they could inject it with the pathos and self-pity of three years’ worth of theatre classes. Facing the sea, they took a deep breath.
“You know… I always thought I was good at handling failure. When I was jealous of Orangin getting into M1, or Ruzzy racking up gold medals, I could always tell myself: ‘that’s their journey, not yours’. Doesn’t matter that it’s been six years and you haven’t placed above 13th in an individual event—at least you’re here. But when I look at Yeller, who’s blown me out of the water as my junior with half the opportunities I’ve had, how am I not supposed to feel inadequate?”
They’d tried everything. Denying the difference, clinging to their previous Duos successes, accepting that Yeller completely deserved it and that this was just the way things were… Nothing stuck, and nothing helped. They had a good feeling nobody wanted to hear it, either. Nobody but the ocean.
“I like Yeller,” Yellim mumbled, confidence wavering. “They’re my best friend; I’d lose my mind without them here. And I never want to be the kind of athlete who resents their teammates. I just…”
What was there to say? Nothing could broach the gulf growing between them.
–
Yuan Rong and Pinky Promise had developed an… interesting relationship. It wasn’t like Smokey had enjoyed the passive-aggressive posturing between Harmony and Pinky Promise either, but at least they kept their personal grievances personal. This new electric, high-volume, all-out inter-coach competition confronted everyone in the vicinity. And Smokey wasn’t just in the vicinity—they were stuck between them on a couch in a private karaoke room, listening to them bellow the latest Rosakan hits over tinny yet explosive microphones.
“Hey! You literally forgot the lyrics halfway through!” accused Yuan Rong as the last few wordless notes played over the machine. Pinky Promise snorted and pointedly swiped the mic from them.
“That was you, not me. And you sing like a dying fish.” They flicked through a few pages of the catalogue and settled on the opening of a new cartoon. “Have fun with this one. It’s got a beatbox portion.”
Yuan Rong snorted. “Bring it on.”
Each time a song finished, the argument resumed. It was in that cycle that Smokey had been trapped for two hours, forgotten about but required to endure out of politeness. Yet just as they’d resigned themself to going through it again, the door cracked open, and Dodger peered through.
“Smokey!” they exclaimed cheerfully. “Sorry to ruin the fun, but I’ll have to requisition you for some paperwork. Needs must.”
Smokey couldn’t have sat up faster. “I suppose there’s nothing I can do. Please enjoy your night without me.” Before either of the other coaches could say a word against them, they slipped away, grateful to leave the noise behind.
Dodger stopped at the athletes’ room before they left, and Smokey took the chance to peer inwards. It was much bigger than the cubby the coaches had holed up in, but with three whole teams inside, there was barely enough room to swing Red Eye. Somehow, Panther, Disarray, and all of the Kobalts were playing M&M unperturbed by the raucous belting of karaoke that surrounded them; Tumult was even managing to read a book in the corner. Everyone seemed to be having a good time—a strange sight for Smokey, whose old team would have balked at it immediately.
“Taking Smokey home!” Dodger announced, only to be barely heard over the noise of the crowd. Smokey watched for a little while longer, curious to observe their new team’s mannerisms when they didn’t know they were being observed. But they left when Dodger left, a calm night’s rest on the mind. Except—
“…This paperwork, then?”
“Don’t worry about it. I made it up.”
Smokey halted in the hallway. “What?”
“There’s no paperwork. I just thought you might need an excuse to get out of there.”
Huh. Dodger had never been that prescient—or considerate—before. It was strange, but there was no point complaining. “We should both sleep early tonight,” Smokey suggested, deftly avoiding the “thank you” that Dodger was no doubt looking for.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)
–
When Cosmo and Pulsar slipped into the locker room, Pulsar immediately threw themself onto the bench, still grinning widely as their medal hung from them. Cosmo had long abandoned their own, though, winding the ribbon tightly and stashing it in the back of their locker. Seeing Pulsar in a vegetative state on the bench, their face twitched briefly before they turned back.
“Come on, Pulse, we have press to get to.” They’d already spotted the Team Momo and Kobalts duos heading there earlier.
Pulsar smirked before they rose, yawning as they leaned against the lockers by Cosmo’s side. “Ready when you are.”
Cosmo nodded in acknowledgment but continued to dig through their locker with increasing urgency. Pulsar watched as their face morphed into a frown until, finally, Cosmo defeatedly swung the locker shut.
“I can’t find the files. Let’s just go.” They sighed, turning to the door. Pulsar quickly followed suit, nudging their teammate playfully. “Why so sad, huh?”
Cosmo snorted. “What do you mean? We won.”
“Yeah, and you’re worried about files.” Pulsar looked at them expectantly. Cosmo didn’t understand.
“Yeah? I’m captain. It’s what I’m supposed to do.” They said tiredly. “And I’m not sad. The team’s up seven spots. We’re doing okay now—I’m doing my job now! I can’t let last year repeat itself, can I? I’m finally an actual captain. How could I be sad?”
Their brisk roll down the hall continued. Only when they realised Pulsar was no longer by their side did they turn back around to see their teammate rooted to the spot.
“What’s your problem?”
“What?”
“You’re wrong,” Pulsar said simply. “This isn’t your captain’s redemption badge. It’s a gold medal. Okay? Gold.” They rolled to catch up. “Sure, we were in 14th, but that’s not on you. You don’t have to hold the whole sky up by yourself.”
Cosmo’s throat tightened. “Sorry, I—”
Pulsar shook their head, smirking once again. “Stop apologizing. I just want you to know that this is our medal. Here—”
Before Cosmo could even nod, Pulsar lifted their medal from themself and slung it around them, stepping back and admiring their medal-donned teammate.
Cosmo flustered. Say something.
“I’m really proud of—us, by the way. First medals since 2022.”
Pulsar smiled. Slowly, Cosmo did too—until Pulsar suddenly skipped off.
“Come on!” They called. “No time to get sappy. We have press to get to.”
–
A shared podium and a disappointment to cheer up from called for a Hubelino picnic in the park. Hive and Stinger had been handed over to the ex-Hornets for the day, replaced by the old Golden Orbs, in attendance for an exhibition Rodeo match against their fellow retirees. Minty Mint poured tea for the senior members as the teams descended into nostalgic chatter, the anxiety of the day melting away.
“I’m so glad to see you four again, really. Everything’s so crazy nowadays, you know?” declared Minty Flav, polishing off a glass of tea. “Expansion, showdown, relegation… It was all so much simpler back in the day,” Next to them, Spade nodded in agreement.
Pixie giggled, toasting with their own cup. “It’s good to see you too! We would’ve come over anyway, but it was nice for the O’Rangers to fly us in.”
Fairy smiled at the notion. “Say what you will, they know we’re still crowd-pleasers.”
Meanwhile, Spirit was scanning the small crowd they’d formed, piping up when they noticed an absence. “Where’s Heart?”
“They said they were going to meet someone before we got together… Guess they’re still held up.”
—
Halfway across town, in the hastily constructed back garden of Tangerin’s bar, Heart had poured Fearo and themself a glass of champagne each. Having intended only to meet and talk as captains, they’d long gotten carried away reminiscing over the past few years.
“I do miss competing with you. The whole time before the Showdown, I was second-guessing coming back, but when we were up there together, I knew we’d both made the right decision.”
“Yeah… You know, after that season of Marbula One, I really thought we’d be rivals… Guess it wasn’t meant to be, huh?” Fearo confessed sheepishly.
“Now, now. A performance disparity has never gotten in the way of a good rivalry. You know the only thing that pushed the Limers into the semi-finals was trying not to get shown up by the Racers… and vice versa.”
Fearo sniffed amusedly. “We’d still need to see each other more.”
“There’s your incentive to avoid relegation, then,” Heart teased.
“I guess so… Not that I don’t want to talk more, but didn’t you say you had to be somewhere soon?”
“…Ah. Well, I’m already late. Want to come with me?”
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)
–
“There,” Vespa proclaimed, a satisfied smile on their face. “No more sticky bar. A bit of Tavernkeeper’s Ally can take care of anything, you know.”
“Really? See, I’ve been thinking of doing BBQ nights here, actually. Spice it up a little. I have a little smoker back at home I haven’t picked up, but it might need cleaning…”
“Yeah?” Vespa wasn’t convinced. “Think you can handle it?”
“I dunno,” Tangerin said, pulling up a photo of the smoker on their phone. Far from being a little thing, it was almost the length of the car it stood in front of, and Vespa found themself gawking at the sight of it.
“Er… I mean, it’s got good capacity, that’s for sure…”
Credits
- Writers: Io Twelve, Millim, Momoikkai,
- Copyeditors/Editors: Io Twelve, Toffeeshop, Millim
- Artists: Kanzaki
- Reference: Marble League 2025 Events 6-10
- Release: 16/08/2025
Project Marblearth 