Marble League 2025: High Noon

The O’rangers had themed the league around sand, cacti and tumbleweeds, but Orlango was more than that- it was the meeting place of ocean, desert, field, and swamp. The O’Marbles farmed the flat and fertile lands, but while the orange groves had a lot of charm, they weren’t exactly flashy. Pinky Winky found Billy relaxing in the sun on one of Orlango’s rare hills, overlooking the presently fenced-off O’Raceway in the distance. 

“Looks nice. Mind if I join you?” 

“…Sure. Congrats on the win.” 

Pinky Winky flopped on the soft green grass and let out a blissful sigh. Warm, dry weather and butter-soft yellow light made the summer sunsets in Orlango perfect. A gold medal made them even better. 

“This view must be pretty nostalgic for you, right?” 

“Hm? …Yeah, I suppose so. I’ve never looked at it from this angle, though.” 

“More used to the top step of the podium, aren’t you?” Pinky Winky teased. 

Visibly flustering, Billy began to deflect. “I’ve only won twice… Er, but you raced here once, didn’t you?” 

Pinky Winky smiled fondly. “Good catch! My first ever race. I did pretty decent, too. Sixth, or something..?” 

“Fifth,” Billy corrected. “You actually beat me.” 

Pinky Winky smiled. “Yeah, that’s it! Always wished I didn’t have to stop racing. Hey, remember when we were on the podium together, too?” 

“Domino Bowling, 2022.” Billy barely had to think about it, the look of recognition in their eyes instant and confident. 

“Amazing! Eh, with a memory like that, no wonder they picked you for Maze.” 

“Technical events suit me, I guess. I even let Mallard take Sprint so I could focus on this… But that kind of thing is your whole teams’ specialty, right?” 

Pinky Winky sat with the notion for a moment. Perhaps that was true- what the Pinkies lacked in the triple crown they made up for where tactics mattered. “I guess we are more of a thinking team. And you know what that means?” 

“…No, sorry,” conceded Billy apologetically.

Pinky Winky nudged them playfully, meeting with a surprised squeak. “Bowling, Rafting, Water Race- we owe a bit of our victory to your team for giving us the events we needed to win!”

Pinky Winky and Billy watch Orlango’s wild plains as the sun sets in the distance.
(Art Credit: Toffeeshop)

–

Underneath the sweltering Orlango sun, it was hard to tell which was the wound and which was the salt: the zero, or the DNF that had earned them the zero. Where once it would have reduced them to a sobbing mess, now it simply compounded the emptiness inside them, just one more crushing failure on the list of crushing failures that defined them. 

“I’m sorry,” was the only thing they had to offer upon returning to the locker room. 

Royal gritted their teeth. “Azure, don’t you dare. It’s going to be okay, got it? If anyone says a bad word against you, I’ll…I’ll…”

It brought a hollow smile to their face. “It’s nothing that hasn’t happened to me before. I’m used to it.”

Royal’s worry only flared harder. “Hey –” 

“You’re a good captain, Royal. I’m glad you’ve grown so well into it.” Through their shaky vision they could see Smokey standing at a distance—even the thought of tonight’s debriefing made the locker room feel unbearably stifling. They shoved Royal away. “I have to go.”

“Azure, wait!”

Truthfully, the corn wasn’t planted too densely—it explained how marbles like Sheep had simply mowed straight through—but it was still dense enough to block out most of the sunlight. Azure sprinted through the stalks in the dark until the world blurred in black and green, a phantom voice chanting inside their head. 

Useless, stupid, dead weight, failure –

In the dark, they missed the bump in the soil. Azure shrieked as they crashed into the dirt, the voice cackling at them all the way. A flock of crows burst out of a faraway patch of corn.

Failing to advance into the top half today hadn’t been enough, failing to finish at all in the loser’s round hadn’t been enough, limping back to the lockers by themselves hadn’t been enough, the eyes in the stands boiling with disgust and schadenfreude hadn’t been enough, but now, covered in dirt and alone in the fields, Azure began to cry.

“I’m sorry,” they sobbed to the open air. Below them, patches of dust dissolved into mud.

All that time and energy and kindness and sacrifice everyone had spent on them, all the opportunities they could ever want, and what did they have to show for it? A trail of broken promises and humiliating failures, each one dragging them all down even harder. Every chance they got, they let it go to waste. They only had themself to blame.

“I’m sorry…”

But only the crows circling overhead could hear them. 

–

As the Limers marched out of the athlete’s waiting room and into the arena, bumping themselves and yelling their chants, Stinger trailed to their space by the exit and leaned against the wall. Bumble, Honey, and Hive all followed suit, but they were already fading into the background as Stinger drifted away from the stadium, back to the orange grove a week ago. 

“Yeah but, you’re like, such a Bumblebee now.”

Stinger had frowned, a stark contrast to the lopsided smile on Wasp’s face. 

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” Wasp shrugged, “you’re a Bumblebee now. You practice on the Honeydome and talk about Swax like you’re old friends.”

Stinger spluttered. “Well—”

“Forget it, cap.” Wasp chuckled teasingly. “Let’s go. We’re meeting the Gorbs for dinner, aren’t we?” Then, they had stood up, trailing off behind Vespa and Hive before Stinger could say another word.

What Wasp had said bothered them more than it should have. You’re such a Bumblebee now, with the wry smile plastered across their face. Like being a Bumblebee was a bad thing. Stinger knew it wasn’t, yet Wasp’s smirk made something inside them flare up in shame. 

The truth was, they were a Bumblebee now. There was no point denying it—in fact, that had been the goal ever since the fateful day the Hornets sent in their resignation letter. And now, after two years, they were finally at peace with it. 

But sitting at that quaint little table in the O’rangers’ orange grove with the Hornets had sent Stinger spiraling into confusion and doubt. The way they talked and laughed together so naturally, the way they still called them “cap”, like nothing had changed. 

Through the haze, Honey and Hive’s chatter blurred in and out. Wasp was right—they looked like old friends. But they were still Hornets, Stinger was still a Hornet; even though the Hornets were long gone, even though Stinger was now a Bumblebee, and they had lost their true team—

“Stinger, what’s wrong?”

Bumble’s face pulled Stinger back as thunderous cheers erupted from the stadium behind them. Stinger looked up, and their gazes met; Bumble’s eyes were as calm and soothing as waves. 

“I’m just…nervous.” Stinger stammered. 

“Why? We do marathon training and you’re scared of a meter-long beam?” Bumble chuckled. “All you have to do is stay by my side.”

Stinger blinked. “Yeah…”

“Hey.” Bumble rolled closer, nudging against Stinger’s surface. “We’ve worked hard for this. And we can do it. I promise you.”

“Yeah.” Slowly, Stinger nodded. “Yeah, we can do this.”

“And, in a way,” Bumble smirked, “balancing works out better for us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Swax is off having burgers with Ruzzy, so… it’s just us four. Two of us, two of you.

We’re perfectly balanced.” 

Bumble and Stinger head to the basin together in Balancing, securing the team’s silver medal.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

–

Theme parks were supposed to be fun. But Orlango in the summer was somehow even hotter than Sotsevsa, and Limelime was rapidly growing impatient waiting in an unshaded line for It’s A Magnificent Marblearth. 

“This place sucks,” they protested in between brief nudges forward in the line. “Why did we come here again?” 

Sharing their position in the apparently endless procession of marbles was Goolime, halfway through a novelty popcorn bucket and donning the park’s iconic Non-Descript Mascot Animal ears, who had no such complaints. “Sublime did say we’d go to the Non-Descript Theme Park if we won an event.” 

Limelime let out an impatient huff of protest. “I thought they were joking! One time Sublime said they’d get me a puppy if I got an M1 podium, but it was actually a rat in a costume… I miss Squeaky.”

“I miss Squeaky too. But you’re not seriously complaining that we’re at ‘The Most Non-Descript Place on Marblearth’, right?” replied Goolime. “Let loose! Have fun! I’ve always been so jealous of you getting to visit Orlango for M1, and this is precisely why.” 

Limelime remained uncompelled by Goolime’s appeals. “I don’t win events for the privilege of queuing up. Don’t they let famous marbs skip to the front anymore?” 

Goolime stammered. “Er, well, there’s the QuickPass system, but you’ve got to-” 

“Whatever. I’m outta here,” replied Limelime, hopping the barrier with an athlete’s perfect form and rolling off. “Have fun with the dancing robots. I’m gonna go find cap.” 

Meanwhile, across the park, Lemonlime and Slimelime had found and queued for the park’s least popular ride- a small orange-themed coaster- just to be spotted and brought to the front anyway. Limelight had been too wary of them exhausting themselves to let them visit during M1, but now Sublime was around to overrule them, they were finally getting their chance. 

As the pair of heat-tired attendants fastening them inside the train withdrew, Slimelime smiled promptingly at Lemonlime, who’d been mysteriously quiet for a while. “Woo! You know, I feel bad for reaping the rewards without actually being in the event, but this is fun, right?” 

“Yeah…” replied Lemonlime quietly. 

Slimelime pouted. “Everything alright?”  

“I have to confess something, actually…” Lemonlime squeaked, drawing as close as they could get to Slimelime with the seatbelt wound around them. Their gazes met, filled with emotion, as the carriage rode higher. 

“Y-yes?” 

Lemonlime’s stammer only worsened. “I… I’m… Uh…” 

“It’s okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Scrunching their eyes shut, Lemonlime whimpered gently through the sound of metallic clanking in the background. “I’m… I’m terrified of roller coasters! And I get sick really easily when they go fast!”

Slimelime went pale. “Wait, what?” 

“I’m sorry! I just wanted to spend time with y- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” 

–

Montoya had hoped their own event would be some small redemption in the eyes of their fans, and it had. Yet neither a good performance nor lifting the Stars from the clutches of relegation were much comfort to Montoya themself, and they left the post-event celebrations somehow more sombre than they’d entered.

Without any destination in mind, they rolled slowly across the O’Marble family fields and towards the horizon, dwelling so intently on their thoughts that even the vast form of the stadium eventually vanished out of sight. Rolling and rolling and rolling, until they rolled into a small sunken pool of yellowish sand; the remnants of a long-dried-up pond from an era where swampland stretched across Orlango. When they finally looked up, Montoya saw Pinky Toe sat meditating in the centre, surrounded by finely-raked and impossibly-neat concentric ripples of sand… which they’d just broken with their carelessness. Ugh! 

Shyly, Montoya backed off and settled at the tufted ridge where the grass dissolved. It was an odd situation; both leaving without apologising and interrupting Pinky Toe’s meditation were unforgivably rude, and so they were stuck. 

For a while they studied the circles in silence and wondered if they’d been noticed. Was Pinky Toe simply too in the zone to have even heard them, or was it a conscious choice to block them out? The more they sat and waited the more Pinky Toe’s perfect concentration seemed to rub off on them; they began to stare at the circles, mind emptying, eyes flickering shut. 

Eventually, they awoke to a darkening sky and the sound of Pinky Toe’s voice. “You’re Panther’s friend, right?” they asked, apparently done with their focus state. 

Oh yeah. As if it couldn’t get any more awkward. “Uh… Yeah, I know Panther. Sorry about your circles. Seems like you need them for something.” 

Pinky Toe was surprised, but not perturbed, to see the disturbed outer circles. “Nothing to worry about. They’re of no use to me once I actually begin meditating.” 

Montoya sighed, deflated. They weren’t exactly sure what they’d expected to happen, but Pinky Toe was taking it remarkably well. “Um… Then why do you make them?” they ventured. 

“To put myself in a place where I can abandon all thought.” 

“That sounds nice. I can’t stop thinking. It’s like a machine in my brain just… whirs and whirs on forever. Uh- that’s not your problem, though.” 

“What is it that you’re thinking about?”

Montoya had to consider that for a moment. What felt inescapable internally was surprisingly difficult to articulate to someone else. “Um… I screwed up Sand Rally really badly, my team DNQed- you know this bit- and now I get to ‘enjoy’ a good Sand Moguls result while Diego handles an event they’ve never done before. Which makes me feel great.” 

“Hm… How much can you do about any of that now?”

“None,” Montoya conceded with a frown. “And that’s the worst part.”

“And that means you can move on,” countered Pinky Toe. “It’s beyond your control. Support Diego the best you can, then let everything else go.” 

Montoya pouted. They sounded so confident, and for what? “It’s not that easy, though.” 

“I know.” Pinky Toe approached them gently, the rest of the circles in the sand breaking as they rolled forward. “But you’re doing your best.”

Cerulean, Club, Pinky Toe and Siren bound down the Sand Moguls course to determine the winner.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

–

In a break from tradition, the 2025 Marble League had designed its athletes’ village so that the coaches were kept separate from their teams. On one end, it restricted impromptu meetings to the locker rooms, but on the other end, it meant that the coaches were exempt from the chaos caused by squeezing 160 marbles into the same space. Last year, the fire alarm had been tripped at least twice by an athlete wanting a midnight snack. 

At least it means most of the evenings are quiet, Smokey mused as they poured hot water into two cups. As the tea leaves unfurled, they put away their notes for the day – handwritten, of course, even if Gnome complained that digital versions were superior in every way. There were still Collision strategies to review, but that could wait. They had a guest tonight.

“My apologies that it’s taken this long for a proper conversation.”

Hazy shook their head, accepting the tea their former coach offered them. “I don’t mind; you looked busy. How’s Cerulean?”

“Pleased.” They’d handled the medal as preciously as they would have for a family heirloom.

“I can imagine.” Five years ago, Hazy had stood on the podium themselves, also with a silver, and under the same guidance. “The Kobalts…it’s like you’ve breathed new life into them.”

It was textbook flattery, but even Smokey knew there was truth in it. The Kobalts’ resurgence had not gone unnoticed, whispered in corners and commented directly to their face alike.

“They always had the potential. Sapphire was right to see that in them.” Smokey sighed. “Not to mention at least nine years of experience and access to state-of-the-art equipment at a moment’s notice. Sometimes I wonder…no, never mind.”

“You could win.”

And there was the ugly truth, that they could win. Years of imagining they’d win with the Hazers, and here the chance laid with the Kobalts; with Zuro, not with Mt. Huaze. Of course they would try to deliver the Kobalts to victory, but…

“I suppose so,” Smokey said instead. Hazy tilted their head at them, as if trying to read their mind. 

“We wouldn’t begrudge you for it,” they offered softly. 

Outside the window, the crickets and cicadas had stopped their chirping for the night. 

“You’ve done well,” Smokey said, trying to change the subject. Plenty of bronzes. “Adapting to an event change, and out of relegation with Block Pushing handicapping you? Be proud of that.”

Hazy took a sip of their tea, obscuring their face with steam. “I had a good teacher.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Smokey warned dryly, bringing their own cup to their mouth.

“Yes, Coach.”

“I’m not your coach anymore, Hazy.”

Hazy looked out the window, where a tiny orange speck on the horizon belied the stadium’s torch. “…I know, but…” They faced Smokey again. “No matter how much time has passed, or how far away you are, you’ll always be Coach to us.”

To that, Smokey appeared to be at a loss for words. Eventually, they relented, closing their eyes with a sigh.

“As you wish.”

–

“Welcome, team, to tonight’s debriefing. If any of you have upcoming plans scheduled for tonight, rest assured. This meeting will be a short one.”

Orbit swallowed, gazing out at the sullen faces of their audience. They gazed back at them, dull and despondent. Orbit continued.

“As of today, we are confirmed to be relegated to next year’s Showdown. We will not be participating in the 2026 Qualifiers.”

Dwarf and Saucer were huddled together in dual misery next to Sulfur, and Blast was blankly staring ahead. A fourth place finish – twelve points – hadn’t been enough to save them.

“But we will go down with our dignity intact. Pointless as it may be, I pledge that I will not give up at the starting line of the Sand Rally.” Their breathing was speeding up, hitching, getting shakier. “When this tournament is over, I, Orbit, as your captain, will take full responsibility for what transpired here this season of the Marble League.”

Saucer looked as though they wanted to say something, but Orbit made a gesture, and they fell silent again.

“I want you all to know that this is not the fault of any one marble. I want you all to know this is not the end. We will return next year, stronger than before, and show the world that we are one of the top thirty-two teams in all of Marblearth.” 

Deep breath. Calm down. Don’t…don’t cry.

“Meeting adjourned.”

–

The O’Rangers and Balls of Chaos send one marble each into a tiebreak round to determine who gets to compete for the win.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Rango liked quiet nights on the O’Marble property. Their first night on the farm so many years ago was the first time in their chaotic life they’d ever heard it- the complete and utter silence of nothing and nobody around for miles. With the entire population of the League on-site at the nearby athletes’ village those nights were long gone, but having the final few events in sight had apparently put a damper on everyone’s appetite for late night and noise, so now things were at least tranquil. 

Most of the athletes stuck around the village, but occasionally some would slip over to the farmhouse proper, either to snoop or just because they were lost. Usually Rango gently redirected them, but when a green-and-brown marble showed up wandering by the porch the night after Collision, Rango knew exactly who they were and why they were there. 

“Hey, Minty Hint. Wandering around at night for any reason in particular?” 

“Er, nope. Went for a walk and got lost again.” It sounded like a half-truth, but Rango wasn’t in the business of judging. They’d been expecting a house call like this from their old friend for a while. 

“No worries, I’ll show you back to the coach’s building.” Rango had their own room there, but it rarely saw any use. Either way, they could roll there blindfolded. 

Minty Hint grinned. “Thanks. Feels like I never get used to new stadiums until the moment we leave for home… Sorry we haven’t talked more recently, by the way.” 

“Don’t worry yourself about it, Hint. We’re all busy.” As they rolled down the dirt path Rango noticed Hint lagging behind. Clearly they wanted to talk. Rango slowed to match their pace. 

“Still, I should’ve congratulated you earlier. Must’ve been fun getting to put the hurt on the other Fruit Circuiteers, huh? Berry was complaining for an hour.” 

Rango shrugged and laughed the notion off light-heartedly. “I liked the medal too. No complaints about the team unity, either… The Tangerin stuff’s still sore, but we’re building our resilience.”

“It’s showing! You really have your momentum back.” 

“That’s the O’Rangers way.” Rango took a deep breath, still hemming and hawing over how to stop beating around the bush. “How about you?” 

“Bad,” Hint replied curtly. “We had this… meeting earlier, me and a few of the other Showdown coaches. And the whole time I kept thinking about how what happened in 2023 felt like the worst thing that had ever happened to me, then I got bailed out, and now I’m here doing it all again.” 

Rango only realised they’d stopped still on the path when they began to speak. “I’m sorry, Hint. Promise I didn’t mean for your time here to be so rough on you.” 

“It’s not your fault. I’m trying to look on the bright side- did you know how funny Palette is? I thought we were about to have a serious conversation about it being one or the other between our teams, and the whole time I was cracking up.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. And what’s even funnier- you know who’s taking it the worst?” 

Rango grinned, eager to hear. “Afraid not.” 

“White Eye! Pouting in the corner about not being able to win. You know, I hate to put it like this, but some of us have actual problems.” 

Rango nodded in amusement. “Can’t say it’s out of character. What about Splint?” 

“Confident the Sliders have it in the bag. Rolling around on cloud nine.” Hint shrugged. “At least someone’s having a good time.” 

“That’s the Sliders for you…” Even as they joked about, sadness and apprehension clung to the mood like a dark fog. Rango appreciated the Orlangan habit of long-winded politeness, but sometimes Quickly was right- you had to rip the bandage off. “Hint?” 

Hint stiffened, sensing the return to formality. “Yeah?” 

“I respect you. Whatever happens. There’s not enough tribulation on the whole of Marblearth to get coach Minty Hint and the Minty Maniacs down and out, y’hear me? And that means I won’t stand to see it get to you.” 

Perhaps it was some comfort to Hint; perhaps not. Their expression betrayed nothing but wistfulness, eyes looking onwards to the horizon where the coach’s building sat. “Thanks. But you can just say it- we’re getting relegated,” they murmured, quiet. “I should go.” 

“‘Course. Take care of yourself.” So rarely was Rango lost for words that Hint’s uneasy early departure stunned them into silence. All they could do was watch with an odd pang of regret as they vanished back into the darkness and left them to the light.

–

As Momo stepped off the podium, silver medal glimmering proudly in the sunset, it came as no surprise that Mimo was waiting for them. It seemed as if Mimo’s beaming smile could outshine their new medal; it wouldn’t shock Momo if their assumption was right.

“Way to go!” Mimo cheered with a bump to their captain. “Good show you put on, we needed that bad.“

Momo chuckled. “You said it, not me.”

A laugh from Mimo followed before they turned their attention to the silver medal. “Imagine being able to go back in time and tell ourselves in 2021 this would happen,” they said to nobody in particular. “That we’d finally have something to show for in an event that had just cost us in the fight of our lives.” 

When Momo looked towards Mimo, their expression had fallen considerably. “Hey, it’s alright,” Momo assured. “That year is in the past now, remember?”

Mimo didn’t respond. They wanted to speak, yet nothing tumbled out of their mouth aside from wobbly exhales and hollow sobs. They’d been so cheerful just a moment ago – what was going on?

“Mimo, are you okay?”

An uncomfortable beat of silence came and went before Mimo squeaked out, “you’re so amazing, you know that?”

Momo froze. They heard things like that all the time now – the high praise and flowery declarations had started two years ago after their unlikely victory in Marbula One, and they were borderline unavoidable these days with a Marble League championship to pair with it. Even now, amidst a struggle of a title defense, it was nothing but blind admiration and praise, even if they barely deserved it.

Yet in spite of being so exhausted with praise, the words pulled at their heart. “…I’m amazing?”

“You’re the one who won it for us in this same event last season, and you’re the reason we still have the slimmest chance of something amazing… how could you be anything less?” Mimo took a deep breath before continuing, “I don’t care that you didn’t win. You don’t need to win to be as amazing as you are. Now let’s finish the season strong, okay?”

Momo’s gaze fell to their medal, where the silver reflected the deep orange of the sunset. It was undeniable that it’d been a hard season, one that at times hardly resembled the one that came before it, but for a moment, all those worries were silenced in the presence of someone who meant more than a medal and a final standing.

Let’s finish this season strong.

–

Sixteen teams, sixteen events, eight thrilling weeks- Marble League 2025 is finally coming to an end. On Wednesday, the best marble sports teams in the world will compete on a winding Sand Rally track for the final points on offer in Marblearth’s biggest and most exciting marble sports tournament. 

Six teams are still able to win the championship title; four more have a shot at a lower rung of the podium. The Kobalts, considered the year’s miracle qualifiers, have made it to the head of the pack under the guidance of ex-Hazers coach Smokey, followed closely by 2018 runners-up the Oceanics and 2018 champions the Midnight Wisps. Slightly behind the Wisps are two more ex-championship teams, our hometown hosts the O’Rangers and 2022 champions the Pinkies, both of whom will need to pull off a stunning Sand Rally showing in order to pip the top three to an all-important AQ slot. With an outside shot are Mellow Yellow, who’ll need to win just to be in with a chance at the championship. Each of these teams will be giving it their all on Wednesday, but their competitors lower down the rung aren’t down and out yet- in a remarkably tight League so far, 25 points can still make all the difference. 

Also being decided on Wednesday is the ML Showdown title, where the 16 non-qualified teams will duke it out not only to win the Showdown title but to avoid relegation. It’ll take some catching up for ex-SD champions Team Plasma and the Indigo Stars, or 2022 runners-up Shining Swarm to pip the currently-dominant Turtle Sliders, who’ll be looking to overcome their weak Sand Rally record and finally seal an SD win. Meanwhile, with the Purple Rockets already relegated to next year’s Showdown, the Minty Maniacs, Team Primary, Rojo Rollers, Solar Flares, Thunderbolts, and Gliding Glaciers will all be fighting to escape the drop zone too. 

Who’ll make their dreams come true come Wednesday, and who’ll have their hopes crushed? It’ll all be decided here in Orlango. 

Credits

  • Writers: Io Twelve, Millim, Momoikkai, Toffeeshop
  • Copyeditors/Editors: GhostDM, Io Twelve, Millim, Phoenix
  • Artists: Toffeeshop
  • Reference: Marble League 2025 Events 11-15 
  • Release: 26/08/2025

Marble League 2025: Sunrise

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. 

(Art Credit: Kanzaki)

–

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. 

By blocking access to the pallino from the ramp, the Kobalts block off the Pinkies’ access to the first-place match.
(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?” 

Two heavy hits seal a win for Team Plasma in the Showdown and the Blackjacks in the League.
(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

Marble League 2025: Sunset

“That’s okay. Bye then—come with us next time! We’ll be back before it’s too dark.”

Wispy opened their mouth to respond, but they had nothing to say and just smiled sweetly. Twila and the rest of the team happily grinned back before turning around in a synchronized line and rolling off, still chattering away. 

Wispy shut the door with a sigh. They stalked to the living room and collapsed on the couch, the euphoria of the day’s medal having completely evaporated and leaving only a strange nagging feeling that began to gnaw at their insides. Usually, they would have loved to go and party with their team. 

Evening was starting to fall. Wispy could hear the birds singing softly outside the window, and as they lay there, a thought sparked inside of them. They rose, swiftly grabbing their pass and stalking to the door. 

Orlango’s summer night air was crisp and cool, and leaves rustled gently along the breeze. The coach’s building appeared in Wispy’s vicinity a few minutes later. As soon as they entered, they beelined for the elevator, quickly exiting on the third floor. After swiping their pass, they opened the door. 

Wespy was asleep. On the bed, but sat upright, with papers strewn across the duvet. 

Wispy just stood, watching for a minute, before they scooped the papers up in a neat pile and quietly sat down on the opposite end of the bed. 

Just two years ago, it had been them. Wispy and Wespy, together after their medal in the first event, though admittedly in a more dramatic spot. That was Wispy’s first event without their captain’s badge in five years. And now you’re captain again, Wispy thought.

Wespy looked peaceful. Stars had begun to emerge outside, showering the sky in a beautiful web of glittering lights.

(Art Credit: Shimmer)

—

Meanwhile, the rookies of the Midnight Wisps had decided to go on a trip across Orlango’s urban coast after their stellar silver performance in the Swing Wave. After exploring landmark after landmark, they stumbled into a colossal shopping district—Orlango’s most famous one. Yvaine, Amaya, and Eve all rolled off to explore the area in more depth, but Twila stayed rooted to the spot. They were not used to their surroundings at all.

“Twila! We don’t want to lose you! Hurry up!” Eve’s calls were able to break Twila out of their trance.

“Uh—coming—”

Just as Twila was about to roll off towards the rest of their team, they suddenly bumped into two other marbles—with familiar blue streaks and shiny gold medals slung around them. 

“Heya, Twila! Wanna join us? We’re going shopping with Tarocco.” Siren rolled over with Nereid by their side.

Twila turned around to face their team, looking at them with a playful glare. “Ah, newbie reunion, huh?”

“Exactly! Come on, let’s head to that cafe over there. ‘Rocco’s waiting.” Nereid grinned, looking right ahead.

—

Orlango’s beach was perfect for a postcard — its sun-kissed sands and glittering waves, its cotton-white clouds in the sky which were trimmed with silver in daytime and gold in sunset, its seafoam which swirled in hypnotic eddies, round and round. Murky took a meditative breath, drinking in the coastal air and listening to the water lapping against sand.

Funnel Endurance, as the name implied, was a test of attrition. Feeling the seconds tick up as the number of opponents trickled down, down, down, like water from a leaky faucet, until it was their own turn to drip down the final funnel. 

The sharp cry of a seagull shook Murky out of their stupor, and they uncrumpled the square of printer paper they’d been holding. It read:

Party on the beach 2nite awesome podium marbs only!!! Come down to the citrus lagoon at 4. There will be drinks. There will be sand. There will be sliding k thx pls come

The watermarks were still visible on the clipart. 

“I’ve come to the right place, right?” they murmured, glancing around them. It was empty, save for a crab scuttling over a pile of seaweed.

“Murky!” called a voice from far away, and they whirled around in its direction. Indie was there, waving at them. “Over here!”

Oh.

“Sorry,” Murky apologized as soon as they caught up. “I didn’t realize I went to the wrong place. The invite, uh…wasn’t very specific,” they finished lamely.

“You’re totally fine,” Indie reassured, passing them a bottle of juice. “Besides, you’re not the only one; we just found Astron a few minutes ago. Kinnowin couldn’t come, but Shelly texted Ounce earlier — oh, hello, Shelly.” 

Murky opened their mouth to greet them too when Shelly embraced them with a startling eagerness, hugging them so tight they were briefly breathless. “Murky!” they exclaimed. “Congratulations!”

“You too,” they managed to squeak out. Shelly giggled.

“Heehee! You know, it’s so strange to me that you didn’t even see the ocean until you were all grown up! If I hadn’t been able to go to the beach as a kid, I don’t even know what I would have done…” 

“A-ah…” Murky couldn’t quite think of a way to ask Shelly to extricate them from the hug — luckily, they didn’t need to, because as soon as Ounce came into view they were off in the other direction immediately, loudly calling out their name. 

—

When Starry retired from the post-podium celebration and returned to their team’s private quarters, Astron was already there waiting for them, half-asleep in the waning evening light. They perked up at the sight of their teammate entering, Starry’s bronze medal a magnet for Astron’s gaze. 

“What made you change your mind on coordinating accessories? You always said bronze wasn’t your colour,” Astron quipped, pouting for dramatic effect. 

Starry didn’t reply until their evening shawl was on the coathanger. “Eve and Snowy,” they eventually conceded, and not without a certain reluctance. 

Astron sighed sympathetically. “I hope you don’t take losing to a rookie to heart. Seems like that’s the trend this year.” 

“I never would. I’d only like to have done better for our team’s sake. They’ll have enough trouble from Snowy, besides.” 

“Oh?” 

“Well…” Starry glanced to the side, unsure how frank to be. ”You know what I mean.” 

—

“Here,” Tangerin said leadingly, decanting a tall bottle of lemon soda into Eve’s glass and winking the whole time it poured, “it’s on the house. Congrats on your first medal.” 

Everything between Tangerin’s departure from the O’rangers and the opening of their new bar on the outskirts of town was spoken of only in conspiratorial whispers and ambiguous turns of phrase. It was fair to say that Eve didn’t know the half of it. But they knew a good bar when they saw one, and Tangerin’s was more than satisfactory. Too bad it smelled like sawdust and leather — though that in itself was part of the charm. Occasionally the saloon doors swung open and the atmosphere chilled, everyone looking towards the entrance in unison, anticipating the new entrant.

“Say,” Eve asked, curiosity finally overtaking them, “who’s everyone waiting for? Event nights are athlete-only, right?” 

“Oh, that. I can’t tell you for sure, but… Ah, you shouldn’t worry about it. Keep your head clear and keep going.” 

“What?” replied Eve. But if Tangerin heard them, they pretended they hadn’t, returning to scrubbing the counter in the vain hope of clearing its eternal layer of stickiness.

—

Berry had no love for post-event coach conferences. By their own estimation they’d never gained anything from attending, and it was only through Rango’s insistence that the 16 of them learn to coexist that they were at the post-Rodeo one. 

Apparently, nobody else had gotten the message, and now they were alone with Rango- the last place they wanted to be. 

“It’s impressive! You really beat us at our own game.” Smiley as Rango was, Berry couldn’t help but read an underlying current of frustration into their words. No doubt their plan for the first themed event of the League wasn’t for their biggest rivals to snap up two of the podium positions. “And here I thought you folks were a bunch of city slickers.” 

“Well, not Razzy, but…” Berry paused to recompose themself. “It’s a physics question, mostly. Avoiding impact is nice, so you should run close to the center whenever possible, but if you’re going to hit the wall, it’s better if one of your teammates is buffering you.” 

“Really?”

Berry nodded. “It’s all to do with the dispersal of force, shock, energy, that sort of stuff. I ran a lot of simulations. You saw it with the Pinkies—” 

“Say, I never heard of those other two Thunderbolts members, is there another roster overhaul coming our way?” interrupted Rango jokingly. “Listen, I’ve gotta head off to HQ, but you keep it up. And come to the BBQ later!” 

“Ah.” Well, it’s Rango, after all, Berry thought. “You too…” 

Meanwhile, back in the team’s common room, Rozzy was already recuperating on the couch. Occasionally they picked at a bowl of oranges, peeled manually by Razzy as an apology for the rough treatment they’d endured during the event. Rizzy sat on the woven rug, flicking through TV channels. 

“Hey, Speeders are getting interviewed. Want to give it a watch?” 

“Sure,” Rozzy replied. “I could use a laugh.” 

A veritable flock of reporters had shown up to grill Quickly outside the stadium walls, but as always, the Speeders’ coach was taking it in stride. “…nevermind that the deciding factor in a championship is often who can persevere with the cards on the table, not who sprints out the gate. I only need to bring up 2020 to prove my point.” 

Rozzy feigned a yawn. “Or how you won the Ice Dash and then flunked 2024.” 

“That said, we appreciate the criticism we’ve faced for our progress so far. This medal should go somewhere in proving that the Savage Speeders are not, and never will be, down and out.” Occasionally the camera lost its focus and brought Speedy, lingering blurrily in the background, into view. “For everything else; have patience.” 

“Psssssh,” Rozzy sighed. “All bravado.” 

“Sounds convincing to me. But maybe that’s just Quickly’s magic.” 

“Whatever. I’d rather worry about us, anyway… Hey, any news on the food they’re bringing back?” 

—

Razzy extends their lead over the other Sprint finalists in a wall-to-wall victory. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

“Been a while since I’ve had an actual medal around me. Feels good… feels natural.” 

Snowy’s disinterested expression spoke a thousand words, most of which were can’t relate. “Congratulations. You’re lucky I didn’t catch up.” 

“Yeah, I suppose so. And we’re both lucky that Bumble kept swaying. Say—I vaguely remember it being customary to ask the other podiumsitters to dinner.” 

Snowy shrugged. “I can’t. Business with the Glaciers… Maybe go find Dash.” 

“Oh.” Sea’s face fell. “Enjoy, then.” 

“See you around.” 

—

Bumble was glad to escape the press conference room. They were promptly excused when Razzy arrived—fourth didn’t make for an exciting news story. They emerged in the now-deserted stadium and turned into the hallway, but stumbled back when they smacked into—

“Clutter! Sorry, I—”

Bumble apologized profusely, but Clutter only sparked to life after a few seconds. “Oh! Bumble!”

Bumble was perplexed. Clutter seemed to notice and grinned shiftily. “Uh—congrats today!”

Bumble scoffed. “Yeah, I didn’t choke my final run.”

The awkwardness quickly faded from Clutter’s face and was replaced by their signature smirk. “Yeah, I didn’t choke my semi-final run. But no, you had it worse.”

Bumble froze, to which Clutter chuckled. “Kidding. 4th is good. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Yeah.” Bumble smiled. They started to roll down the hall together. “Thanks. Hey, this was your team’s first top-half finish, right? That’s good!”

“Yep. We’ve been doing great.” Clutter drawled, “Okay, but for real, I hope it helps. Tumult’s been stressed. I can tell they’re trying to hide it, but they are.”

Though they said it lightly, Clutter’s eyes suddenly filled with a dull sadness. Bumble flustered. 

“Uh—hey, we made it out of that heat! That’s….something to be proud of.”

Clutter grinned, instantly returning to their usual state of excitement. “Oh my gosh, I was calculating my odds when I saw the pot assignments.”

Bumble laughed. “I was doing the same thing!”

They chuckled again, but quickly fell into silence—the struggles of the athletes they had beaten hanging over them. Together, they turned into the next hallway, the locker rooms, when Clutter opened their mouth to speak. 

“But I feel so bad for—”

“I just—I don’t know what happened!” A new voice echoed around the room. 

Bumble frowned. It was distant, drowned by layers of metal and concrete. They both subconsciously edged closer to the door beside them.

“This is all I’ve been training for! I actually thought I was good at sprint, and hurdles too—I did this two years ago! What’s wrong with me?”

Bumble’s heart panged. The words were laced with hurt, and sharp gasps hogged space between each sentence. They glanced at Clutter beside them, who grimaced. We shouldn’t be hearing this, this marble’s upset, Bumble wanted to say, but the words died in their throat as another voice cut through the air.

“Rapidly.”

Bumble stilled. 

“Don’t cry.”

Quickly’s voice was soft. What happened after, Bumble didn’t know—heart pounding, they backed away from the room, but Clutter was frozen by the door. Their expression was hollow and hauntedly drained of color—for a second, Bumble could see the shadows of a certain ex-coach across their face. Only when they raced back and tugged at Clutter’s surface did they snap back and hastily follow them down the hall. 

Credits

  • Writers: Io Twelve, Toffeeshop, Kanzaki, Millim
  • Copyeditors/Editors: GhostDM, Io Twelve, Toffeeshop, Millim
  • Artists: Shimmer
  • Reference: Marble League 2025 Events 1-5
  • Release: 30/07/2024

SD2024 Memo #2: Sticking Together

While Rosaka had a karaoke bar on every block and street corner, Glidavik had only one, a small place hidden underneath a busy city street mostly popular with students and the occasional Rosakan tourist. A limited offering wasn’t going to stop the Pinkies from celebrating a win in their usual fashion, however, and in the quieting darkness of the night, Pinky Winky strolled down to the small neon sign announcing the existence of the venue, later than the rest of their team for having freshened up after the event. 

The bar consisted only of a lobby, three singing rooms and a hidden kitchen. Whoever was meant to be at the front desk-slash-bar had deserted the post, and thus the lobby was empty—or at least they thought before they saw Ounce waiting in one of the leather chairs. 

Winky startled briefly, but quickly composed themself before Ounce could take their eyes off of their phone. “Hey, Ounce. What are you doing here?” 

Ounce looked up from where they sat. “Oh! Good to see you. You might be able to guess, but I’m here to sing karaoke.” 

Winky smiled and drew closer, thoughts of a drink or meeting their team briefly put aside. “Is Gloomo here with you? I’m here with my team, you know.” 

“I’m afraid not,” Ounce replied. “I did chat with them, though. Thought of asking them, but then they said they have their own celebration plans.” 

“You’re with your team, then?” asked Pinky Winky. 

Ounce smiled meekly, averting their gaze slightly. “It’s just me, actually. I quite like karaoke—I got good at it while I was visiting relatives in Rosaka. Or, I think I did.” 

Pinky Winky entertained themself briefly with the image of Ounce in Rosaka, enjoying the cherry blossoms, before they dwelled on the fact they were here alone. “So, you’re too embarrassed to sing in front of your team? I understand.” 

“A bit of that, and I’m not sure if they’d want to join even if I asked.”

“But isn’t Siren a professional singer?” asked Pinky Winky. By then the staff at the bar had returned, but neither paid them any mind yet. 

“Singers have to preserve their voices.”

“Well, I’m terrible at karaoke whether I preserve my voice or not, so why not come and join us? It’ll save you some money,” Pinky Winky replied. 

Ounce thought on the proposition briefly before nodding. “Sure. You owe me a drink, though, how about that?” 

“I can agree to that,” Pinky Winky replied, signalling to the bartender. “An iced tea for us both, please!”

–

Miles away from the karaoke bar, in the guts of the Moraine Domain, a much less fortunate team gathered not to sing but for an emergency meeting. All members of the Indigo Stars bar Diego were gathered around a formal and utilitarian office table, the atmosphere drowned in solemn disappointment. 

Having reached an impasse in discussing their downturn, Ringo was attempting to corral them back to productive discussion. “Look, we can’t just wallow in this,” they declared, “we just have to figure out why.” 

“Because we’re hopeless in the winter,” Bingo surmised. 

“Because we’re hopeless in any case,” retorted Gogo.

“Let’s face it—we’re doomed, completely doomed,” added Indie to the chorus of miseries. 

Ringo sighed and faced down to the desk. “See, this is what happens when Diego isn’t here.” 

“Well, what do you want us to do about it? Two nul-points three events in. This is—”

“You’ll do twenty laps each, outside, and then we’ll talk about this again.”

“What!?” the rest of the table exclaimed in unison. But Ringo would not budge. 

“Now!” they barked. “And no fudging the numbers.” 

Meanwhile, atop the stadium roof, Diego peered over the banister at the out-of-season snow falling over the city. Though it chilled the air, it hardly stuck to the ground, each flake gradually melting away. 

Only temporary, they thought, swallowed by the silence of night. 

—

Its growth constrained to the shore of a frozen island in the ocean, Glidavik was a much more modest city than those of previous Leagues. Nevertheless, Mellow Yellow could always find somewhere interesting to hang out. This time was a wood-and-leather bar near the airport, mostly trafficked by tourists and buzzing with post-event energy. A baseball game from back home in Amalanta played over the booth television, watched whenever the team were free from the attention of fans and staff alike. 

Having just won the team’s first Ice Dash medal, Yellow’s face was decorated with a smile; the familiar grin that had been absent for so long. “It’s not so bad, huh? Showing up in the Showdown,” they proclaimed, toasting to their success with a mugful of tart berry juice.

Yellup, sitting to their right, laughed as their drinks clinked together. “You’re lucky,” they protested in jest. “You medalled, and I lost out to Ounce. Ounce!” 

Across from them by the mouth of the booth, Yeller snorted and thumped the table in mock-protest. “What’s with the hating on Ounce? Ounce is cool. Cooler than you.” 

“I suppose we’re doing alright,” Yellah added. “We should’ve gone to Rollorado to train in the first place. Worry less about business and more about qualifying.” 

“Well, we’re here now,” replied Yellow, mood only slightly dampened. 

To their left was Yellim, who hadn’t said a word since they’d arrived, preferring instead to gaze half-focused at a party of somber orange-clad fans occupying the venue’s center table. When Yellow looked they found them locked in heated debate, too distant to hear but familiar enough for Yellow to guess. 

“Besides,” they added, “could be worse, huh?” 

–

Mellow Yellow hadn’t left the athletes’ village to celebrate just on a whim. Back at base, the heating was sputtering, leaving the rest of the podium to seek warmth where they could find it. In the Swarm dorm, a single valiant space heater sat in the middle of the room, spitting out orange-hot heat as Glimmer and Shimmer passively shuffled closer and closer towards its cozy embrace. 

“And you told me not to buy it,” Shimmer joked, angling just so their breath turned to crystals in the cold air. 

“Because we’re technically not allowed to have it,” countered Glimmer. 

Blustering past Glimmer’s reminder of the dorm rules, Shimmer just smiled. “Another tally on the ‘Shimmer Is Always Right’ chart, thank you.” 

Neither had the energy to get up for the unexpected knock on the door that followed. “Come in,” Shimmer shouted, “door’s unlocked.” 

So cold was Rojo Dos in the light of the heating failure that they’d turned a shade closer to Azul Dos, and they all but forced themself in front of the warm breath of the heater before either Marbeat could object. 

“Much better,” they sighed as they scooted as close as comfortably possible. 

Shimmer and Glimmer exchanged bemused glances. “You’re always welcome here, Dos, especially after today, but how did you know we have a heater…?” 

“Oh, that,” Dos giggled. “It’s funny, but I can actually smell heat. Really! Ever since I was a young marble.” 

“That’s…” Shimmer shrugged. “Sure. Happy to have you. But don’t tell anyone else!” 

Credits

The Tropical Collage

Art Credit: Toffeeshop

32nd. Tumult

The parties were over, leaving Tumult alone and ashamed. Sleep was elusive— punishment, maybe. 

…

They awoke on a racetrack in a meadow, bounded by sunflowers, their surface chipped. The scoreboard loomed, flickering: (1st: HARMONY / 32: TUMULT)

Harmony leaned against a sunflower in faded uniform, smirking. 

“Funny. What happened to your League silver?” 

‘…I don’t know,” Tumult mumbled. 

Harmony rolled closer, eyeing Tumult’s fractures. “You froze under pressure.”

Everything dissolved, and they suddenly stood in Hunluen at sunset.

Harmony’s expression softened. “I’m sorry.”

Tumult couldn’t respond. The city collapsed, and Harmony’s face blurred as buildings crumbled. 

Tumult woke, startled. Dawn bled across the sparkling walls. 

31st. Ecto  

“I’d think this team had enough experience to know stopping on track isn’t a sensible strategy anymore”, a Plasma fan said, frustrated to see Ecto, stranded on an obstacle, be the second marble to leave the tournament.

“It’s disappointing to come here and just come to a halt so early. Our fans were looking for a great show, but we simply aren’t delivering as of late”, Ecto themselves recognized the team has had a rough go since its 2022 Showdown title, as they looked to regroup and use the idle time to plan for this year’s major tournaments.

30th. Shock

Come taste the musubi so good it’s worth getting eliminated for! read the sign, angled straight at the seafront for beachgoing fans to gawk. Groaning, Shock leant back against their hotel pillow

“That’s not what happened,” they grumbled down the phone. 

“You did get eliminated. How many did you eat, anyway?” came Wrath’s voice, all the way over in Stormholm.

“Wasn’t counting,” Shock grumbled. “Look, it’s late here, we’ll talk tomorrow,” they added, hanging up before Wrath could object. 

In their room, everything was dark. Shock shut their eyes, replaying their battle with Speedy over and over until sleep came.  

29th. Sheep

“You’re so heavy, you know that?”

“Rude. Lift higher, please.” 

Fudge was beginning to regret going along with Sheep’s request. They’d claimed it was nothing shady, but Sheep wasn’t exactly trustworthy around tracks- and holding a grown marble up over the track walls wasn’t exactly easy.

“You’re eliminated. Why do you care what the next track is?”

“Oh, I don’t want to see it. I want one final race!” 

Fudge felt great relief, then horrible panic, as Sheep rolled off of them, down the grassy slope, and onto the track- only to be immediately slammed hard by the bell carousel. 

Shimmer beats Sheep to the line in a high-stakes chase.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

28th. Rojo Uno

“Seems like the student has become the teacher, or something like that.”

“I know, right?” Gnome added to Rojo Uno’s statement, excited for the upcoming redemption arc that they had going for their team. 

Rojo Uno added, “I’m happy for you, don’t get me wrong, but I just wish I could say the same for myself.” Their expression turned somewhat pensive, “I’m a pro at this, I wish I could return to those days…”

“I guess we could invent a time machine for that!” Gnome joked.

Rojo Uno nodded with concerning sincerity. “I wish we could.”

27th. Momo

“You’ll do alright, Momo.”

To not even make it a quarter of the way after finally reaching the highest high of their career? Momomo’s encouragement seemed hollow in retrospect.

Momo watched as a butterfly landed on a bright pink flower. They took a deep breath of salted air and allowed their mind to wander, and it wandered back to that awful colorful track in no time.

It hurt to recall their lethal mistake, but could anyone else say they won the first race of the tournament? With no advantages, nonetheless? 

After a bit, Momo smiled. They did alright after all.

26th. Snowy

Their appeal to the race authorities fruitless, Snowy’s time in MSS2 had ended not with a bang, but with a vertical whimper. Late afternoon heat bore down through the stadium’s sweeping shadow as Snowy put the call through to Snoronto. 

It rang twice. Apparently, Snowdrift had something better to do. 

“Captain.” Snowdrift always called them that. 

Snowy took a deep, hesitant breath. “What’s that restaurant you recommended?” 

Silence.

“I have the time now.” 

“It’s, er…” Snowdrift mumbled, “Tidal Catch.”

“Right. I’ll-” 

“It’s not so easy to replace me, is it?” Snowdrift blurted, only to hang up before Snowy could retort. 

25th. Minty Mint

Minty Mint wanted to scream. Kinokolu was supposed to be their getaway. 

Beach strolls with Swax and Bonbon were over. The second season had arrived, only to be ripped away. 

Aren’t you good at this, Mint?

They paced around the hotel room. Nothing had changed: the cream walls, the big bed, the pretty ocean view— like they’d never left. 

Slumping, they grabbed their phone. Scrolling past Fresh’s texts, something caught their eye.

Snowdrift: Hey mint

        Sorry about the elimination

        Unlucky

Minty Mint’s throat tightened. Snowdrift’s hopeful lucky 13th jolted to mind. Looking back now, they didn’t know how to respond. 

24th. Quacky

“Alright, go again. You joined the tournament because…” 

“Because Slimelime said you’d be competing..” 

“Okay,” Hop replied, lying opposite Quacky on the ‘hang-out couch’. “And I joined because Slimelime told me that you were going.” 

Hop watched Quacky’s eyes empty as their sun-taxed brain slowly added two and two together. 

“So, um… Slimelime tricked both of us?” they eventually mumbled. “But why, though? Slimelime knows I don’t get along with Rezzy. Just yesterday, they had their towel on a pool lounger at six A.M! Six! And you won’t believe the shouting match we had.” 

“Quacky?” Hop groaned. 

“Yeah?” 

“…Nevermind.” 

Hop and Quacky, long-time friends, fight to the finish ahead of Shimmer.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

23rd. Sea

“Sacrifices had to be made to progress, they said. You have to let go of your dreams for the sake of others, they said.” The words that Sea had disregarded as completely foolish resonated with them after they blasted off the track during the race. They’d blown their perfect record by DNF’ing further up than Tarocco and Radiance. 

“But why, Sea?” Tarocco asked them.

“Too vague.” They didn’t even bat an eye at the other marble.

“Why’d you do that for me and Radiance?” 

Sea, not knowing how to respond, sighed: “You do realise accidents can have deeper meaning, right?”

22nd. Red Eye

“I just… don’t think MS is for me.”

Red Eye was curled in bed, warm and cozy in a cover cocoon. Green Eye’s soft chuckle came through the phone next to them. 

“It’s good you think that. You were pretty upset last time.”

Faintly, Red Eye smiled. “Too many obstacles. I’d rather do bobsled.”

“Hah. Yeah.”

Silence hung between them. Red Eye took a sharp breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to coach about racer decision more. I know you really wanted this.” 

It took a little while for Green Eye to respond. “Thanks, cap. It’s…Just come home. Yellow—we—miss you.”

21st. Slimelime  

“So what’s your deal with them?”

Slimelime looked up from their elaborate plate of sushi into the curious gaze of Tarocco. The rookie indicated the opposite side of the café, where a certain Raspberry Racer was ordering at the counter.

The Limer scoffed a little. “You know this. It’s a rivalry.”

“Sure,” Tarocco said. They exaggerated their vowels slightly, injecting an artificial Orlangian drawl into their native Sostevsan accent.

Slimelime took a noisy sip of their tropical drink, as if its cloying sweetness could counteract the bitterness of elimination. “Newbie, it’s just who we are. You’ll get it one day.”

20th. Aryp

“I’m not as beat up about this as I thought I’d be,” Aryp mused, staring out the hotel lobby’s window at the sky. “I got far last time, so I guess I’m satisfied.”

“You got beat up in another way, though!” Palette wailed.

Aryp just laughed. “Really, I’m fine. And I’m tired of sitting around. I’m going to the craft store, whether you want me to or not,” they countered, sticking out their tongue teasingly.

Palette let out a breath. They couldn’t complain. They’re relaxed again now that they’re not captain, they thought as Aryp disappeared through the revolving door.

Aryp is flung from the course by the battering ram in an unlucky Race 13.
Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs

19th. Astron

“What’s next? We become the worst purple space team?”

Astron was in complete disbelief after their last race, where they endured both the Bell Carousel’s wrath and a DNF. 

Celeste patted Astron gently. “It’s fine. Hey, you didn’t get eliminated early. You did what you could.” 

“Oh. Thanks, coach,” Astron reluctantly responded.

“No problem. Learning is like space, you know,” Celeste said. “Once you know more, you can go further and further.”

“Alright, but what do you mean by that?”

“Because you were able to learn a lot when you were still in. And I like curious marbles.” Celeste smiled.

18th. Tarocco  

It took two and a half dial tones for Mandarin to pick up.

Tarocco spoke first. “Howdy!” they chirped down the phone. 

“Howdy, ‘Rocco,” came the reply. There was some sort of muffled activity in the background. “One second, it’s real noisy…hosting prep’s a doozy.”

Tarocco had been aware of the hosting planning chaos, but the specifics had eluded them while they were in Kinikolu. There had been a lot that had eluded them. There still was. 

“Well, I’ve got some free time now,” they joked. It fell flat. “Need any help?”

“It’s alright. Just enjoy the island for now.”

17th. Speedy

Speedy and Quickly sat on the locker room floor, angst lingering in the chasm between them.

“I’m such a loser.” Speedy’s faint voice cut through the silence. 

Quickly sighed. 

“You’re not.” 

The words echoed around the room.

“It’s okay. You’re strong. Talk to Rapidly after press, ‘kay?” Oh shoot, they were late. “Come on, Speedy. I’m here.” Quickly grimaced, nudging their athlete.

Speedy’s typical recalcitrance had evaporated. They rose, slow and obliging—but stopped.

Quickly gritted their teeth. Almost out.

Speedy wouldn’t meet their eye. “Could we… not call Rap- home? Tonight?”

Quickly’s expression softened. “Sure, Speedy. Come on, let’s go.”

16th. Radiance

“Another top half? Way to go!”

Radiance turned around to see Momo – a captain of a championship team going out of their way to talk to them still felt strange.

“Crazy, right? I know barely making the top half in this isn’t anything life changing, but it’s huge for us!” Radiance exclaimed.

Momo nodded. “Be proud of yourself. Both for your performance and that voice of yours. That was you singing earlier, right?”

Radiance blushed. “Ah, yeah… you wanna hear me with my teammates next time we all get together again?”

Their response was a smile from Momo. “Of course.”

Tarocco and Radiance DNFing together in an earlier race, where they were saved from elimination by Sea.

15th. Diamond

The contrast was striking. A surfboard in the corner, a pineapple mascot with sunglasses against the wall, and Diamond in their sleek designer uniform sighing over a sand-encrusted picnic table.

“Gambled and lost,” they lamented. “It’s a shame, but it happens.”

“You were the favorite to win and everything,” Shimmer remarked across from them. Idly, they drummed the table to match the background ukulele. “So, what now?”

“Well, in honor of this year’s hosts…” Diamond separated out four cards, then slid two of them across the table. “Orlango Hold ‘em?”

“Against you? I’ll lose!”

“Only one way to find out.”

14th. Rezzy

“Yes, Rezzy, we’ve heard how you think the tournament was cheapened,” Razzy said, peering down unflatteringly at the screen. “You got a better reason to call during lunch?”

“Yeah- my dignity?! Imagine you’re leading the race, you get stuck, everyone passes you without looking, and- and- there’s no cookies waiting for you at the hotel! Like a loser!”

“Maybe 14th doesn’t deserve cookies,” quipped Razzy through their croissant.

Rezzy winced at the mention of their placement.

“Nah, but really, shipping times suck,” Razzy continued, “or we’d have sent some!”

“Should’ve been three months again…” Rezzy muttered.

“Oh well.” Razzy took another bite. “Woe is you.”

13th. Saucer

In Kinikolu’s downtown were two space marbles on a boba outing. Both of them had been eliminated from competition, but that didn’t stop some light banter between them.

“Did my luck finally run out? Was it the heat?” Saucer questioned Astron.

“Not used to it, huh? Worse than Sheetersburg?” Astron shot a snarky glare at Saucer.

Saucer rolled their eyes at Astron’s mockery. “Oh, shut up. I endured 96 days of the heat.”

“At least we both had embarrassing eliminations.” Astron retorted.

“Loser pays for both bubble teas.” Saucer sipped their taro milk tea, side-eyeing Astron, who returned the look.

12th. Sheet

“Sheesh! Sheer sad sircumstances sink Sheetersburgian survivalists Sheet and Saucer in sunny… Kinikolu. How’s that?” 

Jet felt Launchpad’s steely gaze burn cold into them as they surveyed the drafted article, due for urgent release the next day. 

“Firstly, circumstances begins with a C, so this won’t work.”

“Awwwwwww,” Jet groaned. “This school newspaper stuff is hard!” 

“Maybe so,” their editor continued, “but Sheet and Saucer are alumni of Sheetersburg Academy, so as writers, we have to do them justice!” 

“Alumni?” Jet squeaked. “What’s that?”

Launchpad paused. “I dunno. That’s what my teacher says when we watch the events in class…” 

Sheet slides to a win a few races before their elimination.
Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs

11th. Wispy

The beach was serene. Gentle waves lapped the shore, yet the storm in Wispy’s mind raged on.

Hop studied their sullen expression. “Hey, don’t stress it. Course sucked, honestly. I’d rather be here.”

“Yeah.” Wispy smiled faintly. “We had good runs.”

“Exactly.”

As they talked, Hop heard something buzz.

“Ugh. That’s mine.” Wispy grabbed their phone. Hop struggled upright, rubbing their eyes.

Wispy swiped, and their expression turned strange. Stricken, they set the phone down and turned around. “Spam call,” they murmured.

Hop frowned. Impulsively, they tapped the screen. “Missed call: Wospy” lit up across Wispy’s Helarve national park wallpaper. 

10th. Misty

Take care, and congratulations.

Though brief, the conversation lingered in the back of Misty’s mind, tinged with the memories of days long past. There was too much to say, and too little time.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Misty answered. They stretched, watching the singular cloud in the sky drift across the blue expanse. “…I could have gone farther.”

Only a fool would expect endless victory, but the losses still stung.

“You were top ten on debut,” their companion said encouragingly. “That’s really impressive.”

Misty hummed. “That goes for the both of us then, right? Coach.” They giggled as Hazy jolted, caught off guard by a still-unfamiliar title.

9th. Hop

“It’s to the north,” Jump had disclosed. “Once you traverse this dense thicket patch, you’ll reach the best spot on the island.”

Hop replayed the instructions in their head as they swatted away a curtain of leaves, revealing the fabled beach. They were just in time. The sky was on the precipice of golden hour.

Normally they were a party marble, but tonight they only wanted the view: to privately bemoan their final eight near-miss, of course, but also because they felt guilty about spying on Wispy’s notifications earlier that day.

Meanwhile, they settled into the sand and waited for the sun to set. 

8th. Gnome

Hotheadedness.

The good news is that you’re not alone in it. The bad news is that it’s ruined many an athlete better than you. 

“…I move another ten rolls to the left, dismount my pegasus, and end my turn.”

“Alright. Gnome?” 

Smokey really didn’t mince their words. Sapphire wouldn’t have dared to say something so boldly critical, but for better or worse, that was the past.  

Work on yourself, because I can’t. 

“Gnome?” repeated Azure, tinny through laptop speakers. “Sure you don’t want to reschedule?” they cooed, voice thick with concern. 

“No, no,” Gnome muttered. “You need me, after all.” 

Gnome, Diego, and Dash all bunch together in the blue section early in the first race of the finals.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

7th. Fudge

“Seventh and six. Well, could be worse for reserves,” Swax mused, gazing out from the balcony to the distant jungle. 

“So much for beating Bonbon, though,” bemoaned Fudge between bites of ice cream. 

“Maybe not beating your boss is for the best,” Swax laughed. “Are you still going to push for that promotion? Demoting Cocoa, yeah?” 

“It’s pointless now,” groaned Fudge. “Remember? I’d like a word with Wispy for that, honestly.” 

“Oh, right,” Swax replied. “Shame…” 

“Well, what are you going to do now?” Fudge asked, tossing their wrapper into the bin. 

“Me? Go to the beach, I think.” 

Fudge blinked. “No, in general.”

“Well…”

6th. Swax

“…and the thing is, Wispy probably doesn’t even have anything to do with that decision, so it’s pointless.” 

“Right. Well, there’s never any use in chasing promotions, we know that,” agreed Ace, their nodding gesture and tired voice coming through  the shaky beachside internet connection.

“So much for valuing yourself no matter what. Being happy with what you have is a lost art, I’m tellin’ ya,” Swax replied, one eye on the sun’s descent over the horizon. “Woulda been nice having you here, though.” 

“Sorry! I couldn’t say no to Diamond.” 

“Well… Maybe next season. In my head, I’m basically there already.” 

5th. Shimmer

“I know it’s not original,” Shimmer prefaced, “but I don’t have one yet, so I’m getting one.”

“Stop speaking in tongues and show us,” Glimmer heckled.

With a grin, Shimmer drew out their souvenir. Custom-made by a local craftsmarble, the ukulele featured traditional Kinikoluan patterns spiraling across the wood, even incorporating the team logo into the intricate motifs.

“Diamond recommended the shop to me,” Shimmer said as Sterling leaned in to admire the design. “It’s not just for show either, the sound quality is amazing.” As proof, they began to strum, recalling a tune a local had taught them the other day.

4th. Diego

Fourth.

Diego already had an ugly history with the number. Fourth in 2019, fourth in 2021, fourth now… A proven talent was better than nothing, but losing out from the top stung more than crashing at the bottom. 

“You good?” asked Rezzy, bringing another bottle of pineapple juice to the hammock where Diego had begun daydreaming. 

“Just sour-grapesing. M1’s a lot of travel, I wouldn’t like the attention…” They took a swig. “How’s the medal going?” 

“Good!” Rezzy, the juice, everything in proximity- all covered in glitter and glue. This would be the best 4th-place medal yet. 

“I can tell.” 

Diego denies Wispy access to the finish line in a miracle redemption to make it past Race 11.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

3rd. Dash

I’m not good enough, Dash thought to themself as they feared the vibrations from their phone. Someone was calling them, and they knew of the chewing out they would inevitably get.

They picked up the phone, but rather than Splinter, they heard Shelly instead.

“Hey, champ! Heard about your medal,” they said mirthfully. Dash, however, could only respond with silent breathing. “Look, Splinter thought you did good,” Shelly continued, concerned but not panicked.

I’m… good enough?

“We’re gonna order some pizza, anything you want?” Shelly asked.

Dash looked to the window, greeted by the Kinikoluan atmosphere smirking back.

“I’m good.”

2nd. Yellah

Fans of every delegation choked Kinikolu from downtown to the beach district, the largest amongst them the Amalantan and Rosakan crowds, who mingled separately yet excitedly in great colour-coordinated masses. 

Watching the convocations out of sight from a balcony high above was Yellah, accompanied only by a room service drink and a vintage fan. Occasionally they sighed and gently fanned the heat away, brief relief followed by inevitable frustration.

Something that leaves, comes back, and leaves again… Is there any point in having it in the first place?

Caught in their contemplation, they failed to register the sound of next door’s balcony doors cracking open. 

1st. Pinky Panther

“It’s funny, isn’t it,” Pinky Panther said. “All this time, I had no idea we were neighbors.” 

Briefly startled, Yellah smiled across the gap. “Me neither. Congratulations, neighbor.” 

“You too.” 

Yellah idly tapped the railing. “We’re two great arguments for quitting your job, huh? Though I never understood why you suddenly pivoted after you got into the field.” 

“It’s complicated,” Panther surmised.

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Well… I wanted to be a philosopher, but I realised there’s no money in it. I thought about living without money, but I like things too much for that to work. And then I picked forensics because I hoped all the investigating would get me closer to what I wanted to understand.”

Yellah leaned closer. “And what’s that?” 

“How people truly are at heart. But suspicion and understanding can’t coexist. If you want to truly know someone you have to accept them unconditionally, and refuse to presume.” 

“But why sports?” 

Panther thought briefly. “Here, nobody has anything alone. I can only be first because you came second. And so on.” 

“Interesting,” Yellah laughed. “Well, I don’t get it. But I hope winning gets you closer to it.” 

“Yeah.” Panther paused. “I think it has.” 

Pinky Panther, Yellah, and Dash sit atop the podium as the second Marble Survival Season draws to a close.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

The Rainbow Palette

Take Two

A visitor to Kinikolu eventually learned one hard lesson—being alone on the beach required an obscure beach or an inconvenient time. On a good day, the sunrise was quite remarkable, however. Yellah was glad that Mellow agreed with them, and was always happy to join them on a stroll across the empty sands at the crack of dawn. 

“Can I be honest with you, coach?” 

They’d gotten so far that the hotel was only a line on the horizon, hints at the surrounding tropical foliage now suggestions. Usually they returned earlier, but that morning something compelled Yellah to keep wandering forwards. Mellow always followed without complaint, flower necklace jostling in the slight morning breeze. 

“Always!” Mellow replied, painted with their usual amicable smile. 

Yellah stopped, feeling the wave-soaked sand crease beneath. “I won’t win this time around. I doubt I’ll even podium,” they said plainly. 

Mellow’s smile didn’t falter. “Well, why is that?” they asked. 

Turning to the waves, Yellah let out a sigh and leaned into the course of the wind. “It’s too convenient, isn’t it? A ‘redemption season.’ Things only play out that neatly in movies.” 

“Team Momo had a redemption season,” countered Mellow. 

Yellah chuckled. “Well, I’m not Team Momo. I’m just someone who likes to watch the waves. And when I think about it probabilistically, well, it’s an even worse chance than before. 

“I understand,” Mellow replied. “Well, do your best. You have my full support whatever happens, of course.” 

Yellah smiled. “Thank you, coach.”

Encore, Encore 

The last gasp of an electric guitar. A backing track extinguishing itself. Drumbeats vanishing into silence. All replaced by cheering, unbridled cheering, a chorus of adoring fans full of sound and joy. 

“Thank you, everyone! For one night only, this has been Shimmer of the Shining Swarm, coming to you live from Palm Tree Disco!” 

Ideally they would have made a swift exit and wandered back out, but of course it was rarely that easy. As they hopped down from the ledge adoring fans mobbed Shimmer, autographable items and phones held aloft in the hope of securing a moment with their idol. It wasn’t anything they weren’t used to. 

“Alright, alright. Orderly queue, please!”

–

Going straight from a race to a live concert was one thing, but going straight from a race to a live concert to the airport the next morning was another. Sterling and Glimmer had flown in for the week, and it wouldn’t do to keep them waiting. 

“Hey! Missed you two, you know. Your flight alright?” 

Glimmer greeted their old M1 partner with a hug, while Sterling stood aside. “Of course,” Sterling said. “You look well. It must be the island air.”

“Funny, because you looked ragged after you came home.” 

Sterling laughed. “How cruel! Well, I’ll tell you now that I’m lousy with jealousy over how well you’ve done.” 

“Bet you weren’t expecting it,” Shimmer chuckled. 

“Of course I expected it. It’s you. Now come here,” Sterling said, pulling Shimmer in for their own warm hug. 

Fudged It

A nice warm morning in Kinikolu called for a lazy morning in and a big breakfast to follow. At least that was Fudge’s philosophy, hence the waking up at ten AM and sauntering down to the lobby of the hotel-turned-athletes’ village—where they were promptly pulled aside and handed a package by the receptionist. 

“For you,” said the floral-uniformed marble. “Arrived this morning, express.” 

The box was made of sturdy brown cardboard, large but not particularly heavy, plastered with high-strength tape and stamped as having originated on Mt. Bonsel. With no Marblearthly clue what it was, Fudge thanked the receptionist and wandered off to their usual table. 

It had to be opened with the sharp knife used for cutting meat, which was then taken away by the waiter who took their breakfast order. Once they were past the layer of stuffing, they found inside a tightly-packed collection of sleekly-designed chocolate boxes, alternated in rows with bags of flavored and shaped chocolate candies. All were products of their team—that explained the origin and the quick arrival. 

Atop all was a note: 

“We sent this the moment the final race ended. Congratulations on your race win, and congratulations on getting this far.

Now, see if you can beat my placement. 

– Bonbon”

Aha, Fudge thought. Well, I can’t eat it all… but I don’t have to share it yet, Fudge thought, tucking the box under the table and cracking into a bag of chocolate eggs that smelled just like home. 

A Winning Shot

Sometimes, Kinikolu reminded Dash of Aslipi. It had no wild high desert, just city slowly turning to suburbs and blending into the jungle, but when they sat at the seafront and watched the surfers and beachcombers potter about on the sunbleached sand, they were almost back home—at least where had been their home for almost the past decade. 

“It’s scary that you can eat the fish raw here. What if it’s poisonous?” 

“I think they’d go out of business if they served poisonous fish, you know. Dash? You eaten poisonous fish yet?” 

“No.” 

For their final week of grand finale preparation, they’d invited Crush and Squirt to visit the island for them, though for what good they weren’t sure. Just like back home, they paid attention only to each other, addressing Dash only when they came to an impasse. 

Maybe I should’ve invited Shelly, Dash thought, lounging back against the rickety wicker chair. Frank would just be getting mobbed by fans right now. As they gazed past their teammates to the undulating ocean waves, a vision of the future formed in their mind. Them, atop the final podium as Sea had been, receiving the tournament’s highest honor in front of the massed crowd, achieving the first overall podium in Turtle Sliders history. The bottom two steps weren’t important—they could be anyone. They would be the champion.

“Hey, Dash.” Crush’s voice snapped them out of their trance. “Think you’ll win it?” 

Dash chuckled, waving the notion off. “No way.” 

Like Flies To Honey

On a quiet avenue near a subway stop in Kinikolu’s beach district was Paradise Cafe, mostly serving day-trippers and locals, and very rarely international sports celebrities. 

It hadn’t intentionally become Swax’s favourite, but it served good food at prices Queen couldn’t complain about, and they were often taking the subway to hike the nature trails. A few things had changed since last season—new staff, new menu items, new pictures on the wall—but otherwise, it was familiar. Wind rustled the foliage through the broad front windows, and the vintage clock in the corner quietly ticked the hours away. 

“Been a while,” said the waiter delivering their omelette. 

“I thought you quit,” Swax replied. They knew this marble—they’d served them during most of their visits last season, but they’d been mysteriously absent all month. 

“I did. I’m just picking up a shift for one of my old coworkers.” 

Swax smiled, recalling their previous ninety-eight days of conversation. “How did your final exams go?” 

“Great! I’ll be working downtown soon.”

“Well, congratulations! Really, I’m thrilled,” Swax exclaimed. “Come on, have a drink with me.” 

The waiter laughed. “I’m working, aren’t I?” 

“Not anymore you’re not,” Swax said, beckoning for the seat opposite. “I’m the only one here, they’ll live.” 

After some cajoling, Swax was obliged, their old friend accepting the offer graciously. “I’ll have to serve someone if they come in, you know.” 

“So what?” Swax laughed. “Get a soda. I have to toast to good fortune with someone.” 

Miracle Star

Hello and welcome to KBA’s five P.M. sports broadcast, coming to you live from downtown. In marble sports news, yesterday was the semi-final of the second season of the Marble Survival tournament here on the island. Wispy, Misty, and Hop were eliminated, and the finale of the day’s first race is viral on social media right now.

Diego didn’t need to watch their race to relieve it in their mind. They’d thought of it and only it from the second they’d left the track—while they ate, before they slept, as they did reaction-speed exercises. Hopelessness stuck like tar, they thought. Impossible to wash off. 

Such an embarrassing race was their own fault. Near-DNFing at the start, stumbling at each chance for redemption. Forcing the Stars fan section to watch them struggle past simple roadblocks. Rezzy had been cheering while they passed the Raspberry Racers section, but no matter how sincere they’d seemed, Diego couldn’t believe they were still hopeful. Nobody was. But Wispy was being held up… 

Oh, this is within sight! The Midnight Wisps might have a chance here! 

Going for Wispy was mandatory. Their best move was to knock them off course and slow their finish by forcing them to hit the funnel walls. 

And they do! Right at the end, getting by Wispy, Diego! Snatches advancement from the jaws of elimination! 

Diego sighed and switched the TV off. They’d finished top three twice after that. They had to think of that. 

They had to win. 

Gno For The Gold

“—listen, don’t let this get to you. You were right to come here, and you know that now.” 

“I suppose we’ll never know what might have happened had we picked someone else…”

“Enough. This self-effacement helps nobody.” 

“Right.” A brief pause. “I should go. Take care, and congratulations.” 

From their concealed vantage point behind a heavy electronics closet door, Gnome watched Misty ghost away from their under-the-table prep room meeting with Smokey. Tracking a Hazer down was nightmarishly tricky, but it was worth it to confirm their suspicions. Even now, Smokey was speaking with the Hazers.

Smokey had unintentionally chosen a good location for a confrontation; no exits other than the hallway they’d hid in. With Misty gone, Gnome lurched out. “Hello, coach,” they drawled, thick with villainous emphasis. 

For once, Smokey appeared genuinely startled, though they rapidly recomposed themself. “Hello,” they echoed, unaffected. 

“Why are you talking to Misty?” Gnome blurted jealously. “I- I’m in the final eight! And you’re my coach, not theirs.” 

Smokey frowned, their brow furrowed. “We had… a short conversation. We’ll talk more later. Strategy, and…” 

“In your head you’re still the Hazers’ coach, aren’t you?” 

Smokey’s face flashed briefly with indistinguishable emotion. Sensing they’d gotten somewhere, Gnome struck again. “And you wish it was Misty here now, too.” 

“That’s preposterous. And this entire confrontation is deeply unprofessional,” Smokey barked.

“Whatever,” Gnome snarled, turning their back on Smokey, imagining their guilty face. “When I win—- and I will—- it’ll be no thanks to you.” 

Pinky Persistent

The penultimate races of the tournament had concluded, and from then until the finale, there was nothing that could be done to change the odds save for training and keeping well. Boat rides didn’t come recommended as part of either, but it wasn’t going to stop Pinky Panther.

The small tropical-patterned pink motorboat bobbed like a rubber duck atop the tiny waves, piloted by Pinky Promise with all the experience of a summer job at a theme park decades ago. So long had they been on the boat that the sun had begun to set over the horizon, painting the sky a warm and rosy orange-pink. And Panther was ignoring it all, fixated on their phone.

Speedy: But what I admire about you is really your resilience. You’re tough. 
Speedy: Being tough might be better than being great. 
panther: i dunno, is it? 
Speedy: I think it’s yours this time.

Panther typed and deleted a response, stumbling over their words as they tried to articulate their feelings. They groaned, frustrated—had Speedy made it as far as them, they would be able to say it to their face. Texting felt pointless, ineffectual. 

“Hey. Panther.” From the other side of the boat, Promise reached over and tapped their star athlete gently. “Put the phone down and enjoy the sunset.” 

Panther glanced up from the screen and towards the sky, where a thousand colours melted into one another, and wispy grey clouds left streaks of ash across the sky. 

“Right,” Panther replied. “Sorry.” 

Credits

SD2024 Memo #1: Rain Mountain

Now in the tail end of winter, the very worst of the Glidavik cold had passed. Daytime temperatures occasionally rose beyond the negatives, and the brief daytime itself had gradually crept later and later into the day. Too bad was that the warming conditions turned the charm of snowfall into the burden of rain, an influx of which had delayed the event and looked to continue long into the night. 

From behind a glass windowpane that reflected them more than it did the outside world, Shimmer mourned the conditions over a steaming mug of coffee. “You’re lucky you got into All-Stars, you know,” they quipped, watching raindrops catch on the eaves of the on-site cafe. “You got the last of the snow, and all I get is this.” 

“You hate the snow,” Pinky Panther countered between sips of their milkshake. 

Shimmer scoffed. “What? I don’t.” 

“Well, that’s what you said when it was snowing during MX,” Panther retorted. 

“I hate the snow in Hunluen. It’s just mud waiting to happen. This is different,” they replied, gesturing vaguely around them. “And since when do you remember everything I say?” 

Panther shrugged as one of the waitstaff came over to refill Shimmer’s coffee. “I’ve been thinking about the tournament today, that’s all. Blame Orbit.” 

That got a smile out of Shimmer. “You two still geeking out about comics nowadays, then?” 

“Comics are art, you know.” 

“Sorry. Geeking out about art nowadays?” 

“Obviously. Want me to bore you?” 

Shimmer looked back towards the window. Rain, darkness, and nothing in between. “Sure. I’ve got time.” 

Pinky Panther and Shimmer hang out at one of the Moraine Domain coffee shops after the Ski Rally.
(Art Credit: Shimmer)

Every time they blinked, the number appeared behind Smokey’s eyes. Twelfth. It was… Well, it wasn’t good. It wasn’t Royal’s fault, not entirely- shoving was a perfectly valid technique in Ski Rally, Smokey had already learned- but as a black mark on the now-blank slate of their career, it was less than desirable. As they returned to the assigned team strategy centre from their locker-room debrief with the Kobalts captain, the ambient black cloud of malaise that had followed them since the Hazers hit rock-bottom in the League was almost tangible. Smokey had learned this, too- that even on the good days, it never quite went away.

Dodger was waiting for them alone. They’d spent the whole day in the room, a tale told in the mounting piles of snack wrappers and spreadsheets assembled by their sophisticated custom-built laptop. “Good to have you back, coach,” was all they said as Smokey lingered awkwardly by the doorway. No mention of the poor result or of Royal’s performance at all. 

“Twelfth,” Smokey replied. Dodger didn’t need telling- the live broadcast of the event was still open on their screen- but Smokey loathed to beat around the bush. “I can only apologise.” 

The atmosphere was stifling, and the air between them was far from clear. But rather than turning cold or critical, Dodger merely nodded understandingly and smiled. “It’s the first event,” they declared, “and you haven’t had time to train them yet. I understand.” 

The dark clouds parted slightly, and Smokey let out a silent sigh of relief. “Thank you. As there’s nothing else, I’ll be returning to my room for the night.” Scot-free, they thought, turning to leave as they’d always done. 

Except- 

“Nothing else? You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

Smokey’s heart sank. “…What is it?” 

“Press duties, coach! Every Zuronian outlet worth its salt has a reporter here, you know. They’re waiting for you as we speak.” 

Turning back to face Dodger, Smokey couldn’t help the way their expression twisted, nor could they hide their disappointment. “Aw, no need to be so down. I’ll accompany you!” Dodger said, still smiling. Perhaps it would have been worth trying. 

“I… Very well.” The clouds regrouped. 

Dodger grinned as they rose from their seat. “See, I knew you’d come around…” 

The finalists dash down the Ski Rally track in the first event of the 2024 Showdown.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

The rocket to victory was getting closer to its destination. Now the Purple Rockets sat atop the standings, like astromarbles watching Marblearth from afar. The rest of the competing athletes in the Showdown took the Purple Rockets being at the top with a grain of salt. But for the Purple Rockets it only fuelled their motivation. Two silver medals, back to back, was something they never dreamed of. They wished to the stars to maintain this momentum. 

Having finished one of their long and testing hikes, Blast and their two silver medalling friends stood in the isolated regions of Glidavik. Saucer was still feeling exhausted from the earlier event. Blast rolled over to Orbit, noticing how they were frozen in a train of thought. The sun was starting to set, and the stars began to illuminate the frigid sky. However, while rummaging in their bag, Blast noticed they had forgotten their telescope.

“Oh stars…! I forgot my telescope! Did I leave it at the hotel? Did I lose it on the hike here? Ah, what do I do…?” Blast rummaged through their bag, but to no avail. “You know what, I’ll go back the way I came! See ya!”

The two medalists watched as Blast rapidly rolled away. Now it was just the two of them and the stars. Saucer tilted their head to see the first stars light up the dusky sky, while Orbit remained unmoving, their mouth agape. Saucer took note of Orbit’s lack of reaction.

“Orbit, are you alright..? Look at the sky, we’ll-” 

They were cut off by Orbit responding. “I…It’s fine. I’m faring alright, why?” 

“You look distressed,” Saucer begun. “And when Blast was around, you weren’t reacting to anything. Are you sure you are doing okay?”

Orbit sighed. “Yes, I think I’m a bit too overwhelmed by everything. I feel like the Showdown is… you know, stressful? Even if we have nothing to lose this time.”

“It’s okay to feel that way. I used to feel like that in my professor days. Stop thinking about the tournament for the moment, have some fun.” Saucer then handed Orbit the ornate telescope they had given Saucer after Marble Survival 100. “Take this back, you deserve it.”

“No. You do. You got a silver medal too. Besides, I meant for you to keep that! And to top it off, you did much better than me. I could never endure the funnels for that long.”

The two exchanged words until Blast came back, breaking the silence. They brought two marbles with them, marbles that Saucer knew all too well. One of the marbles had a lime-like aroma, and the other was drenched in primary coloured paint. Blast had retrieved the other podium members.

Orbit looked at Saucer with a faint smile on their face. “Go, Saucer. Celebrate with Rima and Limelime. You deserve it, and I’m always proud of you..!” 

Just as Rima and Limelime were about to reach out to Saucer, the latter fell to the icy floor. Noticing how they were going to scrape their glass, Rima and Limelime pulled Saucer into a hug. The three remained silent, until Limelime spoke up:

“Hey. You did very well.” Rima nodded at Limelime’s statement, giving Saucer a melancholic look. “C’mon! Let’s go celebrate at one of my favourite restaurants. Rima’s paying.”

Rima pouted at Limelime. “Oi! Don’t punish me! I didn’t do anything!”

Seeing the two banter made Saucer chuckle a bit, and they wiped themself with a cloth. “Haha, sure… Let’s go.”

Credits

MRS7 Memo #10: Fireworks

Superball and Lollipop overtake RN3 from behind as Blue Moon takes the lead in the A-League final.
(Photo Credit: JMR)

That’s why I think you could beat me this season. You’re only six points back, after all, and you were in perfect form today.

–

Right now, whatever happens, I’m going to remember it forever. So, I want to get it all right.

–

In the span of four races, Lollipop had managed to acquire two medals and enough points to put them in fifth right before the final race. Now, in said final race, they added a third medal to that count with another last-second overtake, completing a medal rainbow for the first time in their career. 

The best races were the ones where they stepped onto the podium, but the very best of the best were the ones where they rolled off with Superball by their side. The black-and-white marble net a silver in the same race after a shaky season, and all that was left now was to check the scoreboard for the final time that season. 

Amongst the last to arrive, they found themselves at the back of the teeming crowd. Points ticked up on the screen to the silence of collectively held breath. Lollipop had worked it out in their head; now, they watched the screen particularly attentively, waiting for their calculations to be reflected in reality. They hadn’t paid attention to Reflektor’s position in the race- all they knew was that they’d placed ahead of them, and with a third, that was hopefully just enough. 

The numbers ticked down, and there it was. One final good result and they were shot into fourth place, nine points in front of Superball, whose silver was enough to reach fifth. Reflektor, their competition for the lowest rung of autoqualification, was down in sixth. 

Lollipop turned to see Superball grinning. “You did it!” they exclaimed, no mind paid to their own place in the standings. “I knew you could. I’m so happy for you.” 

Autoqualification. 

A fourth was never as flashy as a podium spot. They wouldn’t be standing high, lapping up the attention of cheering crowds and jealous peers. But come the next season, they’d be amongst the four marbles kicking things off with a friendly round and no need to worry about whether they’d be able to race at all. And Superball…

They’d need to qualify. For the first time since their debut.

“I really did, didn’t I?” laughed Lollipop, exhilarated, still not quite reconciled with the situation. “I hope you don’t feel too bad, because, you know…” 

“I’ll be fine. You’ve always tried your best to join me, and I’m going to do the same, alright?”

Lollipop pulled them close, into a powerful hug. Tears welled up at the back of their eyes. “I know. Thank you… Thank you for everything.”

For the first time in Pollo Loco’s racing career, the steps of the final podium were theirs to ascend. Many race podiums had passed over the years, but it was only from the final podium that one could truly preen and celebrate. Even just the sight of Dragon’s Egg being led up to that first step set their heart racing, skipping, thundering with the anticipation of the years that had built up to this one singular moment- 

An attendant nudged them forwards. This was it. A silver medal slung around them, the crowd breaking out into raucous cheers and fervent clapping, clapping for them, a thousand eager faces all smiling in unison-

– in the distance, El Capitan, still wearing their own gold medal, their smile the widest and brightest of anyone’s. 

–

The day’s celebrations calmed like the breaking of a fever, cooling and cooling as an afternoon’s worth of parties gradually wore at the celebrants. In their youth, Pollo Loco would have laughed and danced through sundown until sunrise, but their ability to endure crowds of hundreds had apparently declined as their racing improved. Not that they weren’t young now, though, they thought as they tapped out after just a few hours, lounging around in their room with El Capitan back at the athletes’ village.

Despite their earlier happiness, the older marble had become distant over their hours together. It was unusual for them, Pollo Loco thought. 

“Feeling alright?” they asked, passing another glass of iced tea, making the most of the lobby’s free dispenser for the last time. 

El Capitan accepted, wordlessly gulping down the entire glass at once. They appeared briefly lost in thought before turning back to Pollo Loco with a sullen expression.

“It’s all over now, isn’t it?” they mused eventually, as quietly as someone so boisterous could ever be. 

Pollo Loco was perplexed “Of course it is. What do you mean?” 

“The season,” El Capitan clarified. 

“Well… yeah. I know that”

El Capitan nodded, less agreement and more acknowledgement. “I feel I may have… Burned some bridges, you know. With Big Pearl and Wisp of Darkness.” 

What? You’re only realising that now? Pollo Loco thought. “Well, they probably won’t take it personally. Racing is racing,” they said instead. 

“I overreacted,” they continued mournfully. 

Pollo Loco agreed. “…Can’t say you didn’t.”

The two sat in silence by the window and watched the sun descend past the horizon. 

“Congratulations,” El Capitan eventually added. “I didn’t say it earlier, so…” 

“Thank you. And right back at you.” 

The MRS7 B-League podium, featuring El Capitan, Wisp of Darkness, and Big Pearl.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

As they watched their abortive attempt at a final “race” play out as a replay on the screen, Big Pearl decided there was nobody on Marblearth they loathed more than Dragon’s Egg. They certainly wouldn’t object to a competitor ruining their own shot at the championship,  but stopping them dead in the middle of the track was an act of wanton selfishness that bordered on unforgivable. Yet each time they met Dragon’s gaze, it was as if they were watching only the clouds move in the sky. Apparently, watching the incident that had ended their potential championship run merited no emotion whatsoever. 

That… Big Pearl couldn’t stand that. 

“How on Marblearth can you just stand there and watch this like it means nothing to you?” they barked above Greg’s narration, marching up to Dragon and meeting their steely gaze with an expression of pure fury. 

The emerald marble remained unperturbed, acknowledging them only with the upturn of their brow. Hotter, angrier, bitterly furious- the rage in Big Pearl’s heart swelled and puffed out black smoke. 

“It’s your attitude that disgusts me. Standing around and acting cool because you won’t take accountability. That’s what you’re doing right now!” 

No response. Big Pearl could huff and puff all they wanted, but Dragon’s Egg would only stand and watch as Ghost Plasma crossed the line to win. Incensed,  they leered further until there was but a breath between them and Dragon’s Egg, briefly, finally, catching them off guard. 

“Aha! I knew you could hear me. Now, how about you tell me what your problem is-” 

“Whew! You guys sure were hiding from me, huh?” 

Crap. That was Ghost Plasma. Big Pearl quickly withdrew, assuming an innocuous stance as Ghost Plasma wrapped them both in a hug and drew them closer for a picture. 

“Congratulations to the both of you. You gave me a real run for my money, you know.”

Big Pearl sighed under their breath. Their inability to read the room was almost astounding… but if they hadn’t shown up, they might have done something unwise. 

Plasma beamed. “Say cheers!” The flash of the camera blared in Big Pearl’s face, drowning the room in white light.

When it dissipated, they were back in the present, a bronze medal around them and Dragon’s Egg to their side. 

“I’m sure I’ll feel better about it later,” Big Pearl muttered. “But this was the worst of all outcomes! And you know I’m competitive.” 

“I hate to say it, but it could have been worse for me. If things had gone any better for Lollipop… Gratefulness is an art, let’s say that.” 

“Could’ve been better,” sulked Big Pearl. 

“Could have been better,” concurred Dragon’s Egg. “But look at it this way- we’ll always have next season.” 

From the moment they’d rolled out of the collection basin at the end of the final race, Blue Moon hadn’t spent a second alone. First, it was the other racers, then the press, then the fans who had flocked to the sand and the streets in celebration of their win. Only as the sun dipped low and rosy in the evening sky were they released from the furore- not that they were being left to their own devices, as they’d been booked to speak one-to-one for several sports news networks in the area afterwards. The night crept in, and they were finally done with all engagements but one: a talk at a social club for Waxingtonians living in the sandhills region. 

For their whole life, nobody had been as interested in them as they were now. Attention like that, so fawning and unreserved, was like eating syrup plain off the spoon- vaguely pleasant at first, then quickly veering off into the unpleasant and overwhelming. Surely their victory spoke for itself. Surely all of the fumbled speeches and press questions were unnecessary. At least here they had been paid for their attendance with a buffet of the venison jerky and berry cider they’d missed from home, but the exhaustion that plagued them remained. Perhaps it would change later, but right now, it felt like they hadn’t won anything at all. 

“Are you feeling any better? Ready to go up, maybe?” 

That was Buck. Buck owned the clubhouse, and they’d gotten acquainted a few weeks prior. They were a nice marble, and Blue Moon knew that they’d let them go with no hard feelings if they threw in the towel and canceled, yet knowing that made it even harder to do so. They sat and frowned and sighed indecisively in the cramped single room backstage. 

“No? I get it,” they added, nodding. “We still have some musicians scheduled, so take your time.” 

When they left, Blue Moon sighed and reclined back in their seat. A single overhead light flickered on-and-off in uneven intervals, broadcasting dark shadows at odd angles over the vintage wood panelling. Gnawing at another strip of jerky, Blue Moon returned to the script being built bit-by-bit in their head. 

I’m honoured I was able to bring the championship to Waxington– 

A knock on the door interrupted their thoughts. Buck again?

“Hi,” came the voice, and it was Buck’s. “Sorry to bother you again, but there’s someone here to see you.” 

“…Alright.” After all, what was one more marble?

The door opened just a crack, then fully. Reflektor rolled in alone, Buck all too eager to desert them. They moved slowly, cautiously, gaze never fully meeting Blue Moon’s, as they shuffled in and produced a bouquet of white tulips and midnight-blue anemones. 

Blue Moon blinked slowly. “…Are those for me?” 

“I… Um… Yeah. I wanted to congratulate you. I thought…” 

Blue Moon took the flowers. Perfectly fresh and wrapped in a shroud of silken white cloth, they were a pleasant reminder of the world outside of press junkets and sitting behind microphones. 

“Yeah?” asked Blue Moon. 

“You deserve them. But, um… I thought I should thank you, too.” 

“For what? You lost to me.” 

Reflektor sat awkwardly on the room’s single other seat. “Well…  I don’t like saying it, but before this season, I was starting to lose my passion for racing. Yeah, I was having fun, but I wasn’t going anywhere. Nothing I did mattered. I met big fans of the Rally who couldn’t even remember my name or what I’d scored previously. Sure, it’s not my real job, but I just thought I’d have achieved more by now. And… Um, this bit is kind of…” Reflektor trailed off nervously. 

“Go on,” Blue Moon nodded

“When things were going back and forth between us, I started having fun racing again for the first time in a long time. I know we didn’t really talk- I figured you probably didn’t want to- but I thought about you a lot. How I’d beat you the next time round, or what I’d say to you before the day of the final race for the championship. Our rivalry made me finally think and feel like a real racer.” 

A heavy silence, the product of a world that had not come to pass, lingered between the two. 

“Then I got overconfident, and I messed it all up. I even lost the autoqualification. But you… You’re really something. And now I know I can’t even compare.” 

Blue Moon blushed. “…Thank you. That’s really- um, if it makes you feel any better… that whole time, I thought I was going to lose hopelessly.  I mean, you’re so experienced and confident…” 

“No way you thought that,” Reflektor laughed, expression relaxing.

“I did, though! Compared to my record, yours is still way better….” 

A more comfortable silence overtook the room, the two finally able to exchange friendly glances. 

“Um… I have to go up there and give a speech and stuff soon, but once this is over, do you want to go get ice cream or something?”

Reflektor considered the proposition briefly. “I’m a little tired of ice cream right now. How about a proper meal instead? And I can stick around while you’re speaking if you’d like.” 

“Alright,” Blue Moon smiled. “I think I’d like that.” 

The MRS7 A-League podium, featuring Blue Moon, Pollo Loco, and Dragon’s Egg.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

  • Writers: Millim
  • Copyeditors/Editors: Io Twelve
  • Special Thanks: Foucaulf, Toffeeshop
  • Photo Credits: Jelle’s Marble Runs
  • Reference: Video Link
  • Release: 09/04/2025

ML2024 Memo #6: One Final Aurora

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.” 

Astron rolls unimpeded to the win in ML2024 E16: Ice Maze, securing Team Galactic’s first medal of the tournament.
(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. 

The final podium of ML24, featuring Team Momo, the Snowballs, and the Blackjacks.
(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

ML2024 Memo #5: Beyond The Horizon

Winning a gold on a day so close to Glassmas had side effects: the fanfare of the podium celebration was quickly overshadowed by a mad dash to decorate the entire athlete’s village in time for the holidays.

“Alright, this is the last one,” called Stinger, dragging an enormous box behind them. They peered up. “Shouldn’t you move away from the edge?”

Foggy looked down from their position on the roof. “I’m not scared of heights,” they said passively, paying no heed to their precarious position. Stinger snorted, then tossed up a Gordian Knot of string lights to them.

“Untangle those, then,” they drawled, diving back into the box. Foggy frowned at the cluster of wires they’d been saddled with, but got to work anyway.

Glidavik’s limited daylight had run out by the time all the decorations were put up, but it was just as well. As Bumble rounded the corner, Foggy connected the plugs, causing all the lights to turn on at once and a gasp of delight from the captain.

“Thank you so much for your help,” smiled Bumble as Foggy descended. “Any way I can return the favor? Buzznya goes all in for Glassmas, but I don’t know what Mt. Huaze does…”

“It’s probably classified,” snarked Stinger, closing up the ladder. Bumble shot them a disapproving look.

“It’s an outsider holiday,” Foggy evaded, prompting an eye roll from Stinger.

“Can’t give a straight answer, can you –”

“I’m so sorry about them,” Bumble said quickly. They withdrew a box of cookies. “Take these, I insist. Congratulations on your gold, Foggy, and Merry Glassmas.”

Foggy nodded in thanks. The decorations that the Hazers had applied to their little spot in the athletes’ village were more for the sake of blending in than anything else, especially with the winter solstice having already passed them, but a holiday was a holiday, and no one would refuse a reprieve from the chain of nonstop tournament events. The cookies they had just acquired would at least be a welcome addition to the dinner they were attending tonight with the Raspberry Racers and the Green Ducks.

On the way back, Foggy stopped at a doorstep, placed down a box tied with silver ribbon, then moved on to disappear into the snow flurries and rejoin their team.

The tag attached to the ribbon fluttered in the wind. Thank you for the advice, Mocha. – F.

The flat Snowfall and Snowdrift shared was rather nice. Two bedrooms, a modern building, an open-plan kitchen-dining area from which one could observe Osnow city center. But Osnow wasn’t much to look at on a midsummer day like this, the humidity of early August bringing with it only dreary clouds. 

Snowfall passed a hot coffee over the dining counter through to a lounging Snowdrift. 

“Aw, thank you,” they replied. 

As Snowfall sat down themself, the window’s view made them grimace. “This weather’s terrible, isn’t it?” they mumbled, counting back mentally to the city’s last sunny day. Five days, at least. “We really should move.” 

“You always say that,” Snowdrift replied, muffled by their being pressed up to the sofa’s armrest. “I’m bored. Show me more of those baby photos of you with reindeer.” 

Snowfall rolled their eyes, but obliged anyway. “You always ask for that.” Phone, apps, gallery – ugh, so many notifications. I shouldn’t have slept in. 

Out of some sense of anxiety, Snowfall detoured to their emails anyway, scrolling past a package delay notification and chainmail from their grandmarble to [URGENT] Marble Athletes Needed For Tryouts. 

It sounded too good to be true, but it wouldn’t hurt to give it a scan. 

Across the room, Snowdrift was growing impatient. Snowfall had promised them adorable photos of giant gangly-legged herbivores snuffling at a swaddled tiny them, and so far they were failing to deliver. “What’s the hold-up?” they grumbled. 

“Snowdrift. Are we free Tuesday next week?” 

Snowdrift’s entire demeanor sharpened. “Sure. What’s up?” 

Snowfall almost couldn’t say it. It really was good. “Duos tryouts for a ‘major league team’, held in Osnow.” 

“No way.”

Snowfall beamed. “Yes way.”

Neither said anything, but they knew it all the same – if not now, when? 

Foggy, Snowfall, and Stinger on the E13: Snow Snake podium together.
(Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Rezzy and Jump strolled slowly across the central brick-paved path of the athletes’ village snow-dusted courtyard. Dark clouds broke in patches to reveal stray stars, and wind whipped against their woolen scarves and cloaks. 

“…you know, because I always have Sand Rally, my team gave me Snow Rally ahead of time, and that’s how I ended up skiing… well, it worked out.”

Caught in the middle of a sip of coffee, Rezzy shrugged before speaking. “Two words: Fearo incident two-point-oh. Or the track melts, and boom, water race.” 

“It’s so cold out here,” Jump grumbled. “Nothing’s going to melt.”

“Missing home?” Rezzy asked. They’d gone in circles two, maybe three times. Heading indoors was an option, but the air was clean and crisp out here, and it was easier to think. 

“Home, Kinikolu, anywhere where the temperature’s above the negatives every day. Jokes on you, though, because you’ve got to stay here for All-Stars, and I get to go home.” 

“Will you come back to watch the Showdown?” Rezzy asked. “I will.”

“If I’m not busy. But you’ve gotta support Diego, right?” 

Rezzy beamed through the darkness. So predictable. “Yeah! You know, they’re flying in with their team to watch the finale on Sunday.” 

“You two get along so well. Heck, I remember when you cried after me and Diego left!” 

Rezzy stopped dead in their tracks. “Wait, what? I didn’t – I didn’t do that.” 

Crap! Thought Jump. They had seen Rezzy crying – but Rezzy didn’t know that. They’d been spying on them, after all.  “Uh, well. The thing about that is that, um… I sort of –” 

“Ahem.” Somewhere in the middle of their conversation, Snowy had snuck up behind them and began to observe. “Since when were you two so buddy-buddy?” 

Rezzy grinned smugly and nudged Jump in the side. “We’ve been pals since back in Kinikolu, haven’t we?”

Phew, Jump thought. Snowy came right on time. “Yeah! Plus, we’re the two winners of the Glassmas races, so it makes total sense that we hang out.” 

Jump grinned and leaned against Rezzy’s side, creating a casual half-hug. “Yeah! Actually, we were just hanging out on Glassmas. We thought we’d give back to everyone, so we spent the whole day delivering gifts to the rest of the athletes.” 

Snowy’s eyes went dark and their bottom lip curled, startling Jump. Somehow, the air around them had gotten even colder. What? What’s Snowy’s problem with us giving out gifts?  

“Snowy, I –” Jump began. 

“So, it’s one of you who put a copy of ‘The Guide to Workplace Conflict Resolution’ through my mailbox in the dead of night?” 

Jump grimaced. Ugh, Rezzy…!

Rezzy overtakes Tumult before overtaking Jump while Snowy leads in the final of E14: Ski Rally.
(Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Celeste: I didn’t even know they had Rosakan food in Glidavik. 

Celeste: Did your flight land safely?
Black Hole: Yes, thank you. We touched down about half an hour ago. 

Black Hole: Apologies for not being able to meet you when you flew in. 

Celeste: Don’t worry about it. Take care. 

“Coach, is everything alright?” 

It was still so strange to hear Cosmo call them coach. Until now it had always been Celeste, or Celestina, or occasionally their actual title, Assistant Coach Celestina. 

They placed their phone down next to the half-empty bowl of noodles. “Apologies. Just a few important messages.” 

“Well, feel free to go outside if you need to.” Cosmo’s own hot, brothy soup, mostly untouched, hid their face through a curtain of steam. 

“It’s fine. Let’s not interrupt a team dinner.” 

“Cheers!” 

All six members of the Raspberry Racers clinked glasses of champagne to the tune of festive music from back home in Rubow, stickying each other with tiny drops of foam. The centerpiece of their common room table was a short-notice red velvet party cake, now mostly cut apart. 

With the schedule passing at such a fast clip, there was barely any time for post-event celebrations. Rizzy needed to be in good condition to face the final event, after which there would be much grander and more formal celebrations. That wasn’t even considering the fatigue they’d put on after having their joint Glassmas dinner with the Green Ducks and Hazers and Rezzy’s Ski Rally celebration in such quick succession. Still, to avoid the backlog of festivities growing even more unmanageable, it was best to have some small party now. 

Things were going entirely to plan until there was a knock at the door, unusual for the time of night. 

“We’re probably being too loud,” Berry suggested. 

“I’ll go and see who it is,” Rozzy offered, being the one closest to the door. They vanished briefly, before returning with a message – “Razz, it’s for you.” 

“Oooh, I bet it’s Snowy out for revenge,” Rezzy suggested. “I didn’t even beat them the other day, and they were still fuming mad at me!” 

Razzy left to meet their unexpected visitor as the conversation continued. 

“And you didn’t do anything else to make them mad at you?” Rizzy asked, skeptical. 

“I only gave them some friendly advice – it’s not my fault they didn’t want to hear it.” 

Shutting the door behind them drowned out the conversation. Their mysterious guest was not Snowy but Heart, lurking silent and concealed in the dark corridor. 

“Do you need me? We’re busy,” asked Razzy, blunt. 

“It’s not urgent,” Heart replied, cool as usual, “but if you’ve got the time for me, I’d like to have a brief word.” 

Heart led Razzy to the elevator and up to the rooftop of the athletes’ village. Here the cold bit and the winds were high, but they were both nonchalant, used to the extreme conditions. Near the railings was a vent that spewed hot air where the two eventually settled. 

“Why did you bring me here?” Razzy asked. 

“You agreed,” said Heart. “Can I call you Dory?” 

The mention of that name briefly startled Razzy, but they quickly composed themself. “It’s outdated. But if you like.” 

“Well, it’s up to you. We’ve both changed a lot.” 

Razzy found themself nodding on instinct. 

Heart continued. “You remember competing against me, right? We didn’t use personal names then, but…” 

“I remember,” confirmed Razzy. “You were the best of the best, winning two years in a row. I was….” Fifth place, ugh. “Not impressive,” they said with a shrug. 

“Well, I wanted to say that I noticed you back then, and I’m impressed by your progress. The League is tough – not that you don’t know that. It takes even more to win here than it ever would in Hubelino. ” 

“Right.” 

“My team went from strong there to DNQing against you in the ML and disbanding. We got our redemption in 2022, and here… Well, I won’t say anything before it happens. But I do want to ask you – when you were at the cusp of winning everything, how did you find the confidence?” 

Razzy blinked. “I never lost it.” 

Heart could only smile. Well, they’d asked. “Of course. I suppose that’s what it takes to win the League, isn’t it?” 

Lost for a response, Razzy remained silent. 

“Ignore me. Go and enjoy your night.” 

Just as suddenly as they’d appeared, Heart was gone. 

The eventual Funnels podium continue to circle downwards in E15: Funnel Obstacle Endurance.
(Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits