Blizzard Blaster: The Snowmaster

The official portrait and wordmark for Blizzard Blaster.
(Design Credit: Tim Ritz)

With its steep peaks, ski resorts, ice lakes, and native Iron Birds hockey team, Winterpeg is a paradise for marbles in the winter. It’s also the home of Marble Rally competitor Blizzard Blaster, who has raced down the hills and mountains of Winterpeg countless times. Across seven years of competition in the rally, Blizzard Blaster has become known among fans for their consistency, having raced in the A-League in five out of the six seasons they’ve been active for. An overall podium placement eludes them, but to Blizzard Blaster, competing isn’t about where you are in the standings—at least not entirely.

Life has not always been simple for the fan-favorite rallyist. A prodigy on the snow from an early age, they were a fixture of Winterpeg’s youth ski team throughout their teen years, but they were passed up later on in their career for what they considered to be a guaranteed team captaincy by up-and-comer Polar Vortex. One of the fastest and most aggressive youth skiers in all of Winterpeg, they set the record time on the notoriously perilous K16, a ski trail which only the most adept—and most reckless—could challenge and live to tell the tale. Brash and boastful in a way Blizzard Blaster couldn’t stomach, the spurned marble eventually left the team entirely.

With their dreams of professional skiing dashed, Blizzard Blaster resorted to the family business—a local ice cream parlor that played 80s music on loop. Bitter thoughts of Polar Vortex replayed in their mind throughout dull days spent serving scoops and managing the store playlist. How could they improve enough to beat them? That question, never answered, plagued them constantly. Adding insult to injury, Polar Vortex was a repeat customer at the creamery, and during their frequent visits they would never go very long without mentioning the K16 race that had put their name on the map.

Blizzard Blaster had also raced the K16, but they had never been able to marry their high-risk approach with the precision needed to make good time. Their record lagged far behind Polar Vortex’s—when they made it down at all, and the trail was an insurmountable shadow on the horizon. Aimless, Blizzard Blaster became tunnel-visioned, losing sight of their goals beyond one-upmarbleship. Things only got worse for Blizzard Blaster when they crashed their car drag racing with two marbles from the old ski team—Boreal, who never spoke, and North Wind, who very rarely spoke. Though they escaped uninjured and without drawing the ire of the law, Winterpeg’s isolation and altitude made it notoriously difficult to leave without a vehicle. All of a sudden, they had rendered themself virtually trapped.

Frustrations seemingly unending, it wasn’t long before they lashed out. Polar Vortex had returned to the parlor once more, bragging and passive-aggressively insulting Blaster and the other customers. That was the last straw for Blizzard Blaster, who confronted them angrily in front of the other customers.

“Why don’t you shut your stupid mouth about the K16 for once? You think you’re a champion in the making, but you’re just an unbearable idiot who finished a single hard trail!”

Polar Vortex was startled to see someone challenge them, but they weren’t about to take it lying down.

“Your best days are behind you. I’d like to see you beat me even once,” they bragged.

Now with nothing to lose, Blizzard Blaster saw their in.

“Alright, then. Five days from now, the two of us, one race… down the K16!”

Now it was really on. The heated argument caught the attention of everyone in the creamery, none of whom were about to miss a heated battle between two athletes with an icy relationship. Blizzard Blaster spent the next few days practicing on the mountain down which the K16 descended, pushing themself further each time. They expected to see Polar Vortex training on the trail as well, but they were conspicuously absent, as if perfectly confident in their victory. Faced with the cold reality that they had made a mistake in challenging them and fearing humiliation, Blizzard Blaster decided to counter Polar Vortex’s perfection by forcing them to adapt their highly-practiced approach to their own unpredictable style of skiing.

On the day of the race, they thought it would be just them, Polar Vortex, and a sparse few spectators. But word had spread around Winterpeg and the surrounding region. When they arrived at the trailhead, they arrived to a thousand-plus crowd of marbles, all of whom had come to watch one of two things—either Polar Vortex would grind an inferior competitor into the dirt, or Blizzard Blaster would tame the untamable mountain and defeat their archrival.

The two battled fiercely down the perilous incline, staying unexpectedly close the whole way down the track. Marbles watching with bated breath were shocked to see the two tied as they descended the final slope. But those watching from the bottom would never see Polar Vortex at all. The last spectators to catch sight of them were bunched around the end of the second third, where Blizzard Blaster—trailing Polar Vortex unexpectedly tightly—took a hard last-second turn down a challenging time-save portion of the course, prompting Polar Vortex to do the same just a few seconds too late. Blizzard Blaster made it onto clear snow—Polar Vortex, having lost control, wiped out and had to be hauled back to the top of the trail, never seeing their rival take the victory. Blizzard Blaster was, however, unable to beat their top time.

The sight of Polar Vortex lying injured on the snow killed the celebratory mood. Blizzard Blaster had won, but only Boreal and North Wind would celebrate with them, and the underlying mood was dour. Moreover, though Blizzard Blaster had envisioned the race as a grand return to skiing glory, and Polar Vortex was looking at months of recovery time during which their regional throne would be left unguarded, their move was regarded by the local scene as intentionally reckless and at least partially responsible for Polar Vortex’s injury. Other marbles refused to race with them for fear of ending up in a hospital bed. For all their effort, Blizzard Blaster had apparently only returned to where they started.

It was not all bad news. One of the marbles who attended the race was Snowy of the Snowballs, who videotaped Blizzard Blaster’s win and posted it on social media. It became hugely popular, and an invitation was promptly sent to Blizzard Blaster requesting their participation in the 2017 Marble Rally. Blizzard Blaster was initially hesitant to accept. Their dream was to ski, not simply to race, and their sand experience was lacking. At the same time, they needed money, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime invite to compete in a professional sports league. Besides, it was their chance to make it big—to leave their wrecked skiing reputation and a broken Polar Vortex and their lonely hometown Winterpeg behind. After watching the 2016 Rally in full, they packed their bags and headed to Doornse Gat.

Blizzard Blaster had rarely raced without skis before. They were fit and swift, but the Rally was going to be an entirely new adventure, especially with the dramatic change in climate. To prepare for the new format they took part in two practice races around Glassmas, finishing in an encouraging fifth and seventh respectively.

As they were getting ready to take part in the qualifier race for Marble Rally 2017 nearby to the sandhills, they met Big Pearl, the inaugural season’s runner-up, while exploring the nearby town. They chatted and enjoyed a coffee together, with Blizzard Blaster unconsciously seeking reassurance from the more experienced rallyist. In the midst of the conversation, it was Big Pearl who asked what many observers of the rally had been wondering since Blizzard Blaster was announced for the qualifiers.

“Back in Winterpeg, you could’ve made it big. Why give that up to come all the way here?”

It was a good question, but difficult to answer, both for the obvious reasons and because it wasn’t yet clear if their promising early training could make them competitive among practiced Rallyists. Meanwhile, when it came to skiing, there was no room for doubt.

Blizzard Blaster went silent. “I don’t know,” they eventually confessed. “Sometimes, things just… compel me.”

The two ended up being paired in the same qualifiers race, alongside Slimer, Silver Bolt, Rastafarian, Starman, and Fantasy. Only the top four in the race would qualify for the Marble Rally.

Blizzard Blaster jumped out to the lead at the start of the race and found themselves in a close battle with Big Pearl and Slimer. Slimer being held up at the split with Fantasy gave Blizzard Blaster some breathing room later down the course, and they were able to finish in second behind Big Pearl—meaning that despite their inexperience on the sand, they’d qualified in their debut season.

“For a marble that’s more familiar with snow, you seem to be at home here in the sand,” Big Pearl told Blizzard Blaster after the qualifiers.

“It’s a similar texture to race on. The only difference is that sand is coarse, rough, irritating, and it gets everywhere.”

The rookie made an immediate impact in their first race, going up to the front alongside Nemo and Crazy Cat’s Eye and staying in the top five for nearly the entire race. When the plinko board held Nemo up, it left Blizzard Blaster and Crazy Cat’s Eye alone in front, until a late challenge manifested from Black Knight and H2 Blue. Blizzard Blaster held onto third ahead of Black Knight and behind H2 Blue, ending their first official race on the podium. Until Amethyst’s Season 6 debut race win, it was the only time a competitor ended up on the podium during their debut race outside of 2016.

Blizzard Blaster hangs on in second during their rookie debut, behind Crazy Cat’s Eye. They would fall to 3rd by the race’s conclusion.
(Image Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

However, Blizzard Blaster’s success was short-lived. A bad start in the next race left them as one of six marbles that did not finish. They were also a non-factor in the next three races, though they did manage to eke out a few points from two of them; then a late surge in Race 6 gave them a top five finish for the first time since Race 1. At the halfway point, Blizzard Blaster was in eighth place overall, 28 points behind the lead but only 15 behind a podium spot. It was a respectable position for a rookie, and a second-half surge could still lead them to the podium. That was not to be, however, as they would DNF the very next race after getting caught early near a split.

It took until Race 9 for Blizzard Blaster’s energy to really return. The frustration from the past few races was unleashed and they shot out to the lead. They led for most of the race with Fantasy close behind, up until Fantasy got caught and left Blizzard Blaster all alone until the plinko board. There, Ghost Plasma took advantage of a bump by Blizzard Blaster to take the lead. Blizzard Blaster fought to take the lead back, but their energy was being fast expended and a particularly agile Slimer overtook them just past the swing gate. Slimer won, but Blizzard Blaster took home a silver, and their best finish in 2017.

“I had some near misses and a couple slow races, but this felt like a prime opportunity. I got tripped up by the obstacles, so I’ve got to adjust for those if I ever want to win. But it’s Slimer’s win, so congratulations to them.”

–  Blizzard Blaster, speaking at a press conference after the race.

Having overcome the obstacles of the season so far, Blizzard Blaster and Slimer celebrated together that night in a venue near the sandhills. For Slimer, it was their first podium all season, but they were in even higher spirits than Blizzard Blaster was.

This new spark of success was as ephemeral as the first. Finishes of 13th, 11th, 8th, and then 14th in the double points final race ended the mediocre first season of Blizzard Blaster’s sand career. They finished in 13th with 85 points. It was hardly a momentous finish, but it was certainly better than some spectators had predicted. Most importantly, it was all theirs, free from the twin spectres of rivalry and revenge.

For a marble that was used to ice-cold temperatures and snow, the venture to sand marked a turning point in their life. The Rally had also gotten very popular internationally, and when they returned to Winterpeg, Blizzard Blaster’s recognizability had skyrocketed enough for the “K16 Incident” to be mostly forgotten about. Business had improved for the local ski resorts; the creamery had a record year of sales, and Blizzard Blaster was honoured by their original team for their work and Winterpeg’s increased visibility. Who would have thought a skier from a cold town would compete in a dry sandy tournament? Blizzard Blaster was filled with pride, and more than a little smug satisfaction with the knowledge that neither being superseded by Polar Vortex or the K16 challenge had stopped them becoming a famous athlete. As Blizzard Blaster’s popularity rose in and outside of Winterpeg, Polar Vortex’s public image shrank. After a lengthy stint in rehab they made a full recovery, but captaincy of the ski team had already been passed to their deputy, and they found themself accepting a laid-back instructor position at a resort in Old Zeldan, two planes and many time zones away.

Blizzard Blaster received VIP seats to Marble League 2018 at the nearby Arctic Circle, where the Snowballs were hosting their own version of the annual event. There they enjoyed most of the events from the comfort of a luxury box provided on the Snowballs’ dime. They made good friends with Snowy years prior to their ascension to M1 fame. A few of the other Marble Rally competitors also came to watch particular events, enjoying that same VIP treatment courtesy of Blizzard Blaster. The good times kept rolling—before a semifinal match against the Las Veglass Sliders, the Iron Birds had Blizzard Blaster perform the ceremonial puck drop. Although Winterpeg lost the game and did not advance to the final, it was a remarkable year of events for the city. More than anything, it was a remarkable year of events for Blizzard Blaster. They had gone from being disenfranchised and spurned to one of Winterpeg’s most recognizable and well-respected citizens, and there was no Polar Vortex to remind them of what it had taken to get there.

Success perhaps got to Blizzard Blaster’s head, and they ended up eating humble pie. In the qualifiers for the 2018 Sand Marble Rally, they had one of the worst races of their career. They spent the entire race in last and failed to advance to the main league, getting sent to the B-League. For a promising marble with plans to improve on their debut, it was a massive disappointment. In enjoying the social privileges and travel opportunities their newfound popularity granted them, they had neglected a proper training routine. Any hope of future success would ride on them picking up the slack.

That they were able to participate in the inaugural B-League was some solace to Blizzard Blaster, who was not yet ready to write the year off. The first race of the B-League helped silence some critics, with a late charge near the end of the race landing Blizzard Blaster a silver medal behind White Widow. While it was a podium, it didn’t feel right being in the B-League. They didn’t know if this one was worth celebrating like they had the two medals from 2017. It was followed by a dead last finish the very next race, further dampening any positive feelings they might have had. The subsequent race saw Blizzard Blaster lead for the first half of the race before being passed by H2 Blue—then a bad decision at one of the splits sent them spiraling to sixth. The final race saw them settling for fourth. They finished the B-League in fifth, a result they weren’t particularly impressed by, but something else quickly came to occupy Blizzard Blaster’s mind anyway.

Winterpeg had always been a seasonal city; a place whose prosperity came and went with the changing of the weather. Tourists flocked in for the winter but left in the summer, when the only slopes that kept their coat of snow were too challenging for mere hobbyists. Faced with the uncertainties of success after slipping into the B-League, Blizzard Blaster decided to invest their athletes’ fees and prize money into a bold business venture intended to keep the ski trade open year-round. The dream of an indoor ski slope was realized about a year later when, in July of 2019, SnowWorld opened its doors to a raucous crowd. For their financial contributions to the project, Blizzard Blaster was rewarded with a largely ceremonial managerial position and a share of the proceeds from the first few years of business. There was a throwback-style party to celebrate the grand opening with some classic acts from across Marblearth coming in to perform, including Talking Beads, Psychedelic Spheres, and New Division. Reflektor also showed up to photograph the event.

“I always wanted to open my own ski resort, but we already have plenty of those. Instead, SnowWorld really opens the doors for novices and experts to share the passion that I once had, year-round.”

– Public statement from Blizzard Blaster.

The successful opening of SnowWorld started a new chapter in Blizzard Blaster’s life, but while they had free roam of the facility, they were very rarely there, dedicating the majority of their time to training for the Rally outside of Winterpeg. In September of 2019, Blizzard Blaster turned in a much better qualifier race than they did in 2018. They finished second in Race B and returned to the top tier of the Marble Rally, putting the B-League behind them. Things could only get better from there.

Newly motivated, Blizzard Blaster’s first race saw them shoot right up to second place after the first split, although Crazy Cat’s Eye was well ahead at that time. After shuffling in and out of the top four for most of the race, they went straight on a zig-zag to gain some ground on CCE and separate from the rest. This move paid off in the form of a silver medal, an almost perfect start to the season. The second race saw them finishing in twelfth, but remaining strong in the provisional standings.

On the morning of the 12th of October, Blizzard Blaster arrived at Doornse Gat early. There they saw Phoenix getting ready, overlooking the sunrise over the hills. The two very different marbles hung back silently to observe the changing skies and the beginning of a new race day. What felt like a premonition overtook Blizzard Blaster—it was going to be a good day for them.

Starting in the middle, they took a shortcut at the split that allowed them to go straight to the lead while those on the main path lost ground. It was one of the boldest moves ever seen in the Rally, and once second-place runner Marbly McMarbleface got held up, Blizzard Blaster was all alone at the top. Their first career win in the Marble Rally A-League was a dominant one, finishing two seconds ahead of second-place finisher Reflektor. It was a huge relief for Blizzard Blaster to feel so secure early on in the season, to say nothing of the crowning achievement that was standing on the top step of the podium for the first time. Not only that, the two medals in three races were enough to put Blizzard Blaster on top of the provisional standings.

         “Having been here for a few seasons now, it feels amazing to finally have my own race win. This is a dream come true.”

– Blizzard Blaster, in a post-event interview

Unfortunately, the rest of the 2019 season would not carry through this initial success. Race after race passed in which Blizzard Blaster struggled to get anywhere close to their early-season performances. Fan optimism melted away as they recorded a 14-7-16 streak and descended in the standings just as they had once descended the K16. Rumors also spread at the time that they had ended up in an argument with Superball—false rumors, but it was true that the inscrutable sophomore got under Blizzard Blaster’s glass in more than one way. Feeling trapped in a cycle of poor performances, they sought out Red Number Three, who was once again ascendant in the standings. The advice they received was brief but sensible—rocketing out of the gate right at the beginning of the season was depleting their stamina. That in itself was something they’d neglected, focusing solely on going fast and improving their times. It was a tough pill to swallow, and unfortunately, it was too little, too late. Their next race was a 9th; respectable, but not good enough to keep them in contention for the podium.

A 13th place finish in the final race was the anticlimactic conclusion to Blizzard Blaster’s 2019 in racing. Their stronger start to the season and general consistency buoyed a sixth place finish overall; however, a significant improvement from their prior seasons, and that in itself represented a personal victory for Blizzard Blaster. Winning a season wouldn’t have suited their schedule, anyway—they were quickly called back to SnowWorld, where they were being requested to take on extra promotional duties for the facility. Days spent racing on sand or snow were replaced with days in front of a different camera, recording adverts and endorsements for SnowWorld. Fortunately, their star power had survived their 2018 sophomore slump, and the response from fans was largely positive.

SnowWorld was a definitive success, but it had yet to reach what Blizzard Blaster believed to be its full potential. Between shoots, Blizzard Blaster formulated the idea of a snow race, held at SnowWorld, to give the rest of the field a little taste of their home turf. Their request to Jelle was—to their surprise—accepted.  Even more surprising was that Jelle said that the next season would be split in two, and that instead of a one-off, they could schedule a couple of races at SnowWorld in the second half of the season. This was excellent news for both SnowWorld and Blizzard Blaster, whose proficiency in the snow and in the cold would hopefully give them the edge in the new non-sand races.

         There were no qualifiers for Marble Rally Season 5, though Blizzard Blaster was still invited. Their start to the season was nowhere close to as strong as their prior seasons. It began with a DNF in the first race after Blizzard Blaster got caught up with a bunch of other marbles and came to a stop, followed by a streak of tepid mid-pack finishes that continued through the first half of the season. Their best finish in the first half was a rather uninspiring seventh place, and by its conclusion they were in an equally uninspiring fifteenth place overall. Having spent a lot of their time over the break trying to actually attend to SnowWorld’s business affairs, the situation harkened back to 2018, where other responsibilities had similarly kept them away from training. Though they were loath to admit it, the issue was clear; if they wanted to train enough to win, other things would just have to take a backseat. During the season’s hiatus, Blizzard Blaster doubled down on their training in response, hoping to excel in the upcoming snow races. They had the unique advantage of being one of the few marbles able to race as well in snowy conditions as they did in sand, and they weren’t about to take it for granted. Two race wins could change their career forever.

However, in the month prior to the resumption of the season and the first SnowWorld race, they received some unwelcome news from Boreal and North Wind, who they were still friends with. Polar Vortex had returned to Winterpeg. Blizzard Blaster had occasionally checked in on their old rival’s career in Old Zeldan, but as the years passed, their own career interested them more. They hadn’t thought about Polar Vortex for a long time. But there was no avoiding their rival in such a small city, and it was eventually Polar Vortex who cut short the mutual avoidance and came to find Blizzard Blaster. 

For the first time in years, Blizzard Blaster and Polar Vortex spoke face-to-face. It was also their first time visiting SnowWorld, which was much quieter—though still catering to beginner skiers—during the winter season. In the conversation, which Blizzard Blaster had been reluctant to have in the first place, Polar Vortex explained that they’d returned to watch the SnowWorld races and to see their family still living in the area in-person again. They weren’t there for Blizzard Blaster—to blame them or reclaim the glory of years past—but they were down for a friendly challenge if they wanted one. In said demo race, Polar Vortex held their own against Blizzard Blaster. Between Polar Vortex’s injury and Blizzard Blaster’s move to the Rally, their old killer instincts had mutually dulled. The race was never filmed, and the winner has never been named.


The Marble Rally season resumed shortly after, and it was time for Blizzard Blaster’s beloved SnowWorld to welcome the rest of the racers. As a courtesy, Blizzard Blaster invited the rest of the marbles to compete in some short practice runs prior to Race 7 and 8 so they could get acclimatized prior to the actual races. Most of them enjoyed the change of pace that racing on snow brought, though there was hesitance among some of the marbles used to warmer climates. Blizzard Blaster excelled in both practice races, and though the results were also never officially released, there was some good-natured ribbing among the competitors about Blizzard Blaster being uniquely suited to the conditions.

The two snow races, Race 7 and Race 8, were landmarks in Marble Rally history. Red Number 3 returned to their old championship form in the first race and rocketed to the top step of the podium, while Blizzard Blaster would have an uncharacteristically middling finish on the ice, landing in twelfth. The second race was a big improvement, however, as a better starting spot led to a faster start out of the gate, and after spending some time on the edge of the top five, Blizzard Blaster had a jolt of speed and sped past Cool Moody into second. Their vision locked onto Comet, the race’s leader, and further sudden momentum brought the two into a fierce battle for the rest of the race. At the three-quarters mark, momentum carried Blizzard Blaster into the lead, where they stayed for good. On their home track, they celebrated their second career victory.

The Season 5 field line up at the beginning of the second SnowWorld race. By the time it was over, Blizzard Blaster had taken the lead and won.
(Image Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

     “Out of my whole time here, I’d say this is my favorite moment of it all,” Blizzard Blaster reflected after the race. “After all this time, I finally got to prove my worth in the snow.”

“We should do more races here soon,” added Comet, who had earned themselves a comfortable seat on the podium too.

After the race, Cool Moody made an offhand quip to reporters about “Blizzard Blaster, the Snowmaster,” a nickname that took Marblearth by storm.  Initially taken by surprise, Blizzard Blaster has since come to embrace the Snowmaster nickname.

Blizzard Blaster was set to depart the frozen city and return to the sandhills among their fellow competitors in short order, but Polar Vortex wasn’t done with them yet. Energized by Blizzard Blaster’s win and also planning to depart their home city in short order, Polar Vortex made a bold proposition—another one-on-one showdown on the K16, a straight shot with an agreed-upon path, to end their rivalry once and for all before their paths diverged again. After a period of deliberation, Blizzard Blaster accepted the challenge, hoping it would give them both some closure and allow them to move on from the rivalry that had defined their youth.

Huge crowds showed up for the K16 race despite the impromptu announcement. The route had been designed with caution in mind—Blizzard Blaster had to preserve their physical condition for the latter third of Season 5, and Polar Vortex wasn’t eager to relive their career-defining injury. The two marbles lined up at the starting line together, eyes fixed on the descending slope. The starting gun fired, and they were let loose.

The race that followed was, to the disappointment of many spectators, expectedly tame. Polar Vortex pulled out all the stops skill-wise, as did Blizzard Blaster, but keeping a sustainable pace was the name of the game. Dueling across soft snow and sharp slopes, Polar Vortex crossed the finish line with a modest yet uncontested margin over Blizzard Blaster, and what had sounded like a spectacle turned out to be nothing of the sort. The years of bold, reckless racing were over for Blizzard Blaster—at least on the snow slopes.

In the end, both marbles got what they wanted. Polar Vortex got, after so long, the win against Blizzard Blaster they coveted, dignified and reflective of their skill on the slope. Blizzard Blaster, tempered by the fierce competition of their Sand Rally peers, was able to lose with grace. The two kept in touch, but rarely discussed skiing or career matters from that point onwards.

Blizzard Blaster was not totally out of the woods yet. With the bugging incident targeting Superball tarnishing SnowWorld’s reputation, Blizzard Blaster issued an apology on the establishment’s behalf to the public and to Superball and Lollipop.

The rest of the season saw the rallyists return to the sand, bidding SnowWorld farewell. Though Blizzard Blaster lacked the home-turf advantage, they backed their performance on the snow with a sixth in the first race back. The final three races wouldn’t be as fortuitous, with a rough 10th, 19th and 18th meaning that they ended the season in 12th place overall, a step down from 2019 and only slightly above their debut. They were becoming a racer of peaks and troughs, culminating in mostly middling results.

Returning to Winterpeg, Blizzard Blaster didn’t have much to do except train and carry out their SnowWorld duties. Though they attempted to take a page out of Marbly McMarbleface’s book and act as spokesmarble and face of the venue, polite interviews and PR smoothing didn’t mesh well with their hotheaded personality, and they preferred to let the slope quality speak for itself. When business quieted in the winter and the slopes were choked with tourists, Blizzard Blaster took some time to themself and traveled, skiing and meeting with fans at slopes across Marblearth.

Season 6 began with Blizzard Blaster rejuvenated and confident. Not even the cuts to the A-League field bothered them. Pre-qualifier interviews brimmed with confidence.

There’s no question that I’ll qualify. Not for me. It’s my year, and I know that for a fact.

Uncharacteristically, Blizzard Blaster’s self-assured confidence wasn’t punished- quite the opposite. In their qualifying race, they were able to win confidently, notching their best qualifying finish ever and placing them securely within the narrowed field. They had only one thing to say in the post-qualifying interviews.

Well, I said it was going to happen, and it did. It’s not fortune telling—I just put the effort in.

The first race of the season was remarkable for Blizzard Blaster only in how it impacted their record. Amethyst, the season’s rookie, managed to win their first race, and thus erased Blizzard Blaster’s record for the best rookie performance ever—3rd in 2017. Having assumed it safe after the rate of new athletes slowed post-2018, a mix of frustration and genuine admiration for the rookie’s guts colored Blizzard Blaster’s response to the new rallyist’s presence. If one argued—as many fans did—that Blizzard Blaster was a perpetual midpack marble, the early half of Season 6 was the opposite of a refutation. Another 7th followed their first 7th, then a 9th, then a DNF, then a 14th—early traction slipping unremarked into successive failures. At their best, Blizzard Blaster had consistency as a weapon, and now even that was exhausted.

The anticipation of further failure was broken up by a charity livestream arranged by and featuring Reflektor. As their old skis were signed and auctioned live, Blizzard Blaster talked SnowWorld, season ambitions, and the K16 race.

Don’t get used to seeing me on the slopes again. I mean, I’m literally selling these! For a steal, too, ‘cause I signed them and everything. Not that I’ve used this pair for a while. Still in good condition.

Reflektor: Do you want to give the audience a bit of a demonstration?

Uh… You kind of need snow around to ski, not sand. Have you ever watched one of my races before?

Reflektor: …Nevermind.

Blizzard Blaster picked up the pace a little as the second half of the season began, with a 5th in Race 6, though they were far behind the top competitors assembling at the front of the pack. Blizzard Blaster only managed to repeat the high-point low-point pattern with an 11th in Race 7, though the real wound was in the subsequent race, where a DNF locked them out of any long-shot podium hopes still held.

Their best finish of the season—and the closest shot at a podium—came in the penultimate race. Blizzard Blaster spent much of it at the front or close, a strong contender for the podium almost all the way to the finish line until Slimer—one of the season’s real stars—snatched the lowest step of the podium right out from Blizzard Blaster’s grip. Sensing with the same pre-season premonition of qualification that their shot at clearing the season with a medal was likely over, they allowed themself an evening of moping in one of the area’s late-night coffee shops. They met with Slimer on the dark road back to the athlete’s village, neither with much to say about the passive divergence of their fate.

In a pre-finale athlete poll, Blizzard Blaster threw their weight behind Superball to repeat their Season 5 victory. Here their powers of premonition failed them—Superball DNFed immediately and underwhelmed expectations with a 3rd place that satisfied them all the same. Blizzard Blaster placed a less glamorous 12th and rolled away from the Sandhills medalless—but at the very least, absence had made the heart grow fonder, and they threw themself back into SnowWorld during the busy summer operating period. They had become a fixture of Winterpeg’s external identity, though over time the opinions of the townsfolk had settled somewhere between the marble non grata of the K16 incident and the beloved hometown star of the 2017 Rally. Loved, hated, or tolerated, Blizzard Blaster helped put the isolated resort town on the map.

As part of their own training, Blizzard Blaster went back to basics on Sand Rally theory with Snowy, now captain of the Snowballs. Rarely, Blizzard Blaster got along with the prickly personality, perhaps due to their honesty and mutual inclination towards revenge-based hangups. The idea was to make their 2022 Showdown victory more durable for the upcoming League, and in the 2023 League, they ended up with a bronze medal to show for it.

In their grand tradition of unpredictability, Blizzard Blaster’s Season 7 qualification was much hairier than their Season 6 attempt. 0.06 seconds separated them from failing to qualify under the new time-based system. Perhaps the ambiguous moments where their participation was up in the air spooked them, because Blizzard Blaster’s season opening held at or above average for the first three races of the season—8th into 5th into 10th. Also encouraging was the news that they—as a representative of SnowWorld—were being invited to advise on the development of an indoor ski slope for the 2024 Marble League in Glidavik. Though it invited some gentle ribbing from Snowy over their deflection to the other side, all complaints vanished when Snowy netted a podium-making finish in the event come the winter.

17th in Race 4 was seen as heralding a decline, but even Blizzard Blaster fans had called it too soon. An 8th in the subsequent race kept them towards the upper end of the field, but paled in comparison to what came next.

Blizzard Blaster had finished Season 6 medalless despite the narrowed field. Prior to the beginning of Season 7, they’d spoken with confidence to the press and other competitors about their chances of redemption in the season ahead.

Yeah, well, that was just a one-off. I’ve gotten a medal every other season, even when I was in the B-League. Would’ve gotten one in Season 6 if it wasn’t for Slimer… uh, who won that fair and square, obviously. Anyway, don’t count me out!

Blizzard Blaster would once again bring their premonitions to bear on the track during Race 6, when a blistering run down to the finish earned Blizzard Blaster their first win since their home-turf Season 5 victory. The sight galvanized the fans who had fretted over whether Blizzard Blaster had gotten too comfortable since being allowed to return to ice and snow, and most importantly, it shot them to a flattering position in the standings.

Blizzard Blaster clears the fields by lengths during Race 6, winning the midseason race entirely unopposed by the end.
(Image Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

The magic of winning was not to last, though by that point in their career few Blizzard Blaster fans—forged through proximity to Winterpeg, appreciation for their blunt style and risky racing, or preference for a racer who never surprised them too badly—expected it to. In almost comical fashion, Blizzard Blaster DNFed in Race 7, having perhaps exhausted their reserve of racing fire, and followed it up with an unimpressive 15th in Race 8. They at least managed to finish the final two races, something that not all competitors could say, and in the spirit of summer, ice-cream catering was provided to the pre-finale and post-finale parties according to their family’s traditional recipe.

Blizzard Blaster finished Season 7 in 10th, with 63 points and a gold medal to their name. Their second best finish ever was overshadowed by Blue Moon’s miracle win, but Blizzard Blaster still took a quiet pride in having bettered their previous performances by a respectable margin. Large crowds greeted them upon their return to Winterpeg, where the rest of SnowWorld’s on-season awaited them and their managerial priors.

One journalist jokingly referred to Blizzard Blaster as the anti-Ghost Plasma in a season coverage piece that went viral on Clicker—Ghost Plasma could be good or bad, but with Blizzard Blaster, you always knew what to expect—a mid-pack finish. It was Ghost Plasma who actually commented on the comparison during an interview back home in Ionise.

Yeah, I heard about that. I think it’s a little unfair. I mean, why not call me the anti-Blizzard Blaster?

As the burnished maple trees shed their leaves for the winter, Polar Vortex returned to Winterpeg for the funeral of an old ski-team senior who’d passed that autumn. Blizzard Blaster was also in attendance, and after the proceedings concluded, they met again in the forest overlooking the K16’s trailhead, closed for pre-season maintenance.

It was odd, Polar Vortex said, that they had both embarked on the initial ill-fated K16 challenge hoping not just to make it as great skiers but to condemn the other to failure. Yet in the end, it had unceremoniously ended both of their professional ski careers before they’d even gotten off the ground. Of the four of them, only North Wind had ever achieved the shared dream of their youth—in the intervening years since Season 5, they too had moved to Snoronto as a transfer to a local team. Boreal had settled down and started a family in the city further down the mountain, and Polar Vortex had all but made Old Zeldan their home. The small-town drama that had subsumed their lives almost ten years ago had gradually become background noise. Blizzard Blaster had even managed to keep all of their later cars intact… mostly. Their rivalry was over—it had been over for a while.

You know, PV, you say it’s over, but you’ve never beaten me in a Rally race…

Shut up! Can’t you tell when someone is trying to have a moment with you?

Blizzard Blaster and Polar Vortex watch the K16 from above, overlooking the Winterpeg landscape.

Credits

  • Writer: Nordique Whaler, Millim
  • Copyeditors/Editors: Toffeeshop, Io Twelve, Fouc, Stynth
  • Artists: Toffeeshop
  • Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs
  • Release: 26/07/2026

The Narrow Road To Rosaka

The dawn of the penultimate day began like any other in the eternal spring of Rosaka, with a soft golden glow that oozed across the horizon and out to the edges of every tree and cloud that framed its celestial border. The dark hues of nighttime and its accompanying stars ebbed away, giving way to the soft blues of early morning and rousing the local songbirds from their rest, and behind them, the last crisp breeze of the day rustled through the trees they called home, carrying with it the faintest trace of petrichor.

The gym was a fine substitute if the weather was bad, but barring that, Cloudy would choose to complete their morning jog outside every time. There was nothing quite like it no matter where they were—the gardens of Rosaka, the mountain paths of Mt. Huaze, even the desert where Iron Marble was held. Glidavik was an exception. And a morning jog was—well, it was sort of like mediation, the way time melted away until Cloudy remembered to start their cooldown lap.

They were particularly absentminded today, leading to an unusually long exercise session. Exhaustion was already settling in as Cloudy began their post-jog stretches, and their companion had already collapsed onto the grass, staring skywards with a glazed look in their eye.

“Tired?” Cloudy asked sheepishly.

Murky emitted a thin wheeze from the ground. “You’re…very fast.”

“Aw, thanks,” Cloudy chirped, sitting down next to them. The grass was still wet with dew. “Don’t sweat it, I’ve got four years of experience over you. But also, if you want to slow down a bit, I don’t mind. Just let me know.”

Murky shook their head, still breathing hard. “I need to catch up, not the other way around.”

They had been like that too, once: sitting on the bench, wide-eyed at their teammates’ accomplishments, being cheered on by them as they dreamed about matching them one day. Cloudy flopped down to watch the sky with them, where the morning light had outfitted the clouds with a rosy golden tint.

“Are you nervous?”

Cloudy craned their head up. Feathery strands of cirrus drifted in packs across the pale blue expanse. “A little,” they admitted. “Our chances are pretty slim, anyway, so there’s not much pressure there.”

“I’m sorry. If I’d done better in Short Track…”

Cloudy shook their head. “It’s not on your Short Track result any more than it is on my Archery score,” they said.

“Still…” Murky persisted.

Twenty-two points between the Hazers and the Stars, Hazy had pointed out between rapid, anxious taps of their pen against their desk. Then their only pathway to the championship would be to win, and for the Stars to place…14th or lower. No, 13th, with the medal countback. And they couldn’t have the Pinkies or the Snowballs earning silver, or they would win.

Slim chances indeed. Winning wasn’t even one-third of the battle. All the days the team had trained together, all the nights that Misty had spent pouring over team strategy, and their sliver of victory came down to this one single event. Slim chances, which was exactly why they had to give it their all.

“It’ll be alright,” Cloudy declared. They turned to Murky and grinned just as sunlight beamed down on the dewy grass around them, turning the field into a sea of diamonds. “Just watch and see. If I can pull off Casino Square, I can bring home a victory here too.”

Perhaps it was the morning light, or perhaps Cloudy’s optimism really did awaken a glimmer of hope in Murky, because their eyes sparkled like the sunlight as they nodded.

The Hazers race to a dominant win in Relay against the Snowballs, Raspberry Racers, and Savage Speeders. (Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

June was nearing its end in Rosaka, and the meek spring warmth of April had swollen without fanfare into the pervasive heat of summer. Chatter abounded, blaming the initial heatwave week on the Snowballs’ sudden slowing—vending machines in the athletes’ village sold out of iced drinks in a matter of hours, and air conditioning hummed above silent long into the light and balmy evenings. Bombay complained every day that it was the humidity, not the heat, that got you, and Berry agreed on autopilot every day as the Raspberry Racers staked out their training grounds for the final event.

The dry-wind season blowing through June to August in Orlango took much of the misery out of the season, as well as giant jugs of sugary iced tea “for electrolytes” and orange trees awning every path. Sakura trees were less merciful and barley tea wasn’t quite the same—yet even that difference never bothered Kinnowin. Well, little ever seemed to bother Kinnowin, who’d found Rizzy in the nearest city park, rolling off a day of training through the golden hour and into the twilight. 

“A moment?” Kinnowin hailed them, country-polite. Rizzy had managed to go as incognito as possible amongst the Racers fans, but there was no keeping eyes off of the O’Ranger’s captain, who never hid their identity and had already attracted a distant crowd of chattering fans. “You look well.” 

Rizzy smiled. Kinnowin never turned off the charm offensive, either. “I’m trying. Want to join me?” 

“If you don’t mind it,” replied Kinnowin.

The Village had sprung up adjacent to one of Rosaka’s largest and oldest ornamental parks, inhabiting the space where an aching, labyrinthine entertainment and business complex had sat before an unceremonious demolition. It was built after the Pinkies’ league win but prior to the successful League bid, hosting regional tournament delegations in the shadow of the Ampinktheatre, but its capacity and its state-of-the-art equipment betrayed its true purpose. Razzy had told them all that; it was the sort of thing their captain cared about. Rizzy preferred the urban convenience over the O’Ranger’s more scenic all-on-site strategy, and that was as much as they could say. 

“You’re racing tomorrow,” Kinnowin asked, leading, as they passed the cooling breath of an ornamental fountain. 

Rizzy blanched. “Yes,” they stammered. “Well, I don’t have a choice. Apparently Stone Toss doesn’t count—I wish!” Intending to laugh, they only managed a dry chuckle.

Kinnowin reciprocated, warm and quiet. “Finale as your only event. You’re the bold type.”

“Someone has to throw away all the hard work we’ve done.” Razzy’s Sprint, Rezzy’s Funnels, their Relay and their Stone Toss—two belonged to them, but not really, not like an individual event would. 

Kinnowin frowned. Rizzy didn’t like how a frown looked on Kinnowin. It wasn’t natural. They swallowed and thought hurriedly of something more reassuring to say. “Or it’ll be fine. How’s Tarocco doing?” 

“I’m not worried about a thing.” It wasn’t much of an answer. Rizzy couldn’t name it exactly, but there was a distance to the words, as if they were speaking through a pane of frosted glass, like they didn’t know each other at all. But they hadn’t exactly overflowed with sincerity either. “Crepe?” Kinnowin offered, passing a vendor. 

“If you’re buying.” 

Rizzy knocks Speedy out of the way to put the Raspberry Racers as close as possible to the stone in Stone Toss. (Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

They hadn’t always had these chances. Since their debut, all the Snowballs knew was heartbreak—missing qualifying, relegation, being cut from m1… Snowstorm had slugged it out like trekking through a blizzard. Eventually, they’d escaped: it came with a price, and they’d left the weight of two behind. Now, with every medal, the blizzard days receded.

Fighting them through was Snowy, dragging their broken team with a burning drive to right their wrong. They stared down the dunes before saving them from relegation, single-handedly taking the fight to Red Eye and putting “Team Snowy” on the map. Yet their efforts could only drag them so far; shunned to the shadows of the Cats or the middle of a standings table—and every blow drove the fractures between the team deeper. 

Perhaps they’d never escaped the blizzard. As their bridge to the past, Snowstorm couldn’t guide Snowy to the future. The task left them helpless, forced into a room above the blizzarding field where they could only watch the others struggle in the snow. 

They’d had this chance once; poor Snowdrift bore the weight. Their nothing of a team didn’t deserve nice things, and Team Momo emerged victorious without a fight. After they’d lost it, the fracture threatened to tear them apart, and Snowstorm felt freshly twenty-one, hearing Snowflake sob through the night.

Still, they worked hard. In a twist of fate, Snowstorm would prove themself on the biggest stage yet. 

–

“You don’t need to be nervous.” 

Snowstorm didn’t like how Snowy saw through them. They’d been sitting in the lounge where they’d meant to discuss last-minute strategy, cotton-candy skies outside inching them closer to the fateful day.

“Whatever. We don’t have good odds anyway. I’ve just gotta race.”

Snowy’s face flashed knowingly, carefully. “You don’t have to rub it in. I know I didn’t do so well. I should’ve helped… our position.”

Snowstorm scoffed, wearily. “Dude, you’re Snowy. Don’t talk as if you suck.”

Snowy pursed their lips. Just as Snowstorm expected a smirk, they spoke. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“… What?”

“I’m sorry.” Snowy took a breath. “For being so… stuck in my head for so long. I should’ve helped you.”

“What, you mess up in some races and now you feel like the rest of us?”

“Huh?” Snowy was taken aback. “No, I’m saying I was an ass and I’m sorry.”

Snowstorm shot up from the table. “Really? I’m racing for the championship tomorrow, and you pull this on me?” The words boiled over, and heads began to turn, but Snowstorm didn’t care. “It should be you, huh? It’s always you.”

“Storm—” Snowy spluttered. 

You have no idea how nervous I was when I screwed up. How stressed I was when I called Snowflake for the first time in three years. How selfishly happy I was when I outscored you.

“No,” Snowstorm stopped. You don’t get to make things right. “You don’t respect me.”

“Snowstorm!” Snowy exclaimed. “That’s not—what do you want me to say? I don’t want to keep hurting you! I don’t—”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Snowstorm said coldly. 

Snowy’s expression changed. Something retracted, and for a second it pulled Snowstorm from their rage. Snowy looked… young.

“You’ve worked hard. It’s too late for me now.” To help. “But I believe in you, Snowstorm.”

I believe in you, Snowstorm. 

From then on, Snowstorm’s memory was hazy. Snowy had got up and left, probably, leaving them alone in the lounge to think about only one thing.

What am I doing?

–

Snowstorm clambered into bed, curling away from Rosaka outside their window. The last time they’d raced a finale, someone had told them to race for themself.

Don’t think about what Snowy said. Or what you said. Or how you’ve waited for that for years. Of course, the most selfish fantasy of clinching the victory still lingered, but Snowstorm forced it away too. 

You don’t have good odds, but just think about how nice it’d be if you won. Surely then you’d be out of the blizzard, for real.

As the rented microvan paced down the highway, Rosaka’s skyline began to disappear behind the horizon, and Yellah got their first glimpse of the countryside since their arrival. Pinky Toe, riding shotgun, passed them a sakura candy from a bag in the centre console, politely unwrapped for ease. 

“So you’re immediately a better player two than Kinnowin ever was,” Yellah declared. “That fry hoarder. ‘Split an extra-large’, what a scam. We should’ve been riding together in Impact from the start.” 

Pinky Toe smiled, flustered. “It’s okay. I owe you for this, after all.”

“Owe me?” Yellah snorted. “For what? I always wanted to drive one of these things.” 

“Helping me fetch my parents to watch the final event together… It’s a lot to ask of someone from a different team. They have their own car, but Rosaka isn’t built for cars like Amalanta, so it’s too stressful for them. I’m surprised you even have the time.”

“Beats doing more event drills with Mellow.” Yellah glanced ahead and behind as another car passed. “I never knew you grew up on a farm.” 

Pinky Toe nodded. “I’m not surprised. I only really talk about it on Rosakan news programs. That kind of thing probably isn’t interesting to someone from another region. Speaking of news, they’ll be talking about us on the evening radio show soon. Do you mind if I…?” they said, gesturing to the AM dial.  

“Go ahead. I didn’t even notice it was on, honestly.” 

Low radio hum filled the car. “It’s still on the business talk segment,” Pinky Toe mumbled. “Can I ask you something?” 

“You don’t need to ask permission every time. Aren’t captains supposed to be assertive?” 

Pinky Toe brushed off the remark. “Your captain… It’s my fourth event, will Yellow take it badly? With MVM on the line.” 

Yellah scoffed. “After what happened with Sand Rally, Yellow has no right to worry about your impact on MVM. And maybe if they hadn’t come 14th, the whole season wouldn’t have become such a salvage job for me.”

Pinky Toe went quiet. Everything above the soft hum of the electric engine was silent. “Sorry. Did I sound too mad?” 

“It was very… honest,” Pinky Toe replied, “and I’m not sure if it answered the question.” 

Yellah sighed, and Pinky Toe handed them another peeled candy. “Actual answer? You’re fine. Yellow doesn’t hold grudges. They and Razzy are even better friends than they were in 2019.” They merged from the highway down a quieter regional road, towards the village of Pinky Toe’s origin. “I actually admire it.” 

Pinky Toe frowned. “Is this about Panther?” 

“It’s not not about Panther.”

“Panther’s good,” Pinky Toe conceded quietly. “This should’ve been their event, and yet… Well, if it’s a question of winning at home, maybe the captain has to take responsibility. That’s my excuse.” 

“Okay, you really are a captain,” Yellah laughed. “I bet Yellow would say the exact same thing.” 

High in the cloud-patched sky, the sun was starting its gradual descent towards evening, tinting the world pink and orange. The roads turned nostalgic, fresh tarmac became worn, and dark, dry dirt turned under the wheels of the microvan. 

“Did you have a good time?” Pinky Toe asked, catching the first glimpse of their childhood home from the window. “When I think about it, that’s what I want. For the memories to remain.” 

The car drew to a stop in the dirt driveway. “Are you kidding?” Yellah laughed. “I had the time of my life.”

Pinky Toe and Speedy come down to a photo finish in the Hurdles. (Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Following the Rosakan trend, a pop-up version of Vespa’s diner had been launched near the Village, only to become so overwhelmingly popular that Honey had caught them talking about a permanent move. A new influx of fans attending only for the final few events kept lines long from dawn to dusk, opening hours creeping earlier and later than Vespa had hoped—or planned—for. Minty Mint had endured Ruzzy’s pleas for insider access for weeks without ceding ground. But Vespa, ever-loyal, had still rented out the venue free of charge for the Hubelino teams the night before the Showdown finale, Buzznyan-style burgers and milkshakes lining every faux-vintage surface and metal-lined table. 

Minty Mint, Swax, and Ace sat together in the cozy corner booth they’d requisitioned, vaguely sequestered from the chatter of their more senior teammates. A slick modern action blockbuster played fullscreen on Minty Mint’s laptop, nested in a collage of yellow-and-black burger wrappers and paper plates. 

“You just don’t know when to quit,” a grizzled marble growled through the screen, shrouded in darkness. “Because of you, Sharkmarb will return and terrorise the citizens of Aslipi.” 

“But as long as Sharkmarb remains on the loose, Aslipians can never know true peace,” replied the unseen protagonist. “Sharkmarb and I grew up together. And as Turtlemarb, it’s my responsibility to bring them to justice once and for all… Even if it costs me my own life.”

Minty Mint stubbornly turned the volume higher as Minty Flav and Hive’s laughter sounded from behind them. “Then you’re a fool, Turtlemarb.” 

Swax reclined against the plasticky booth seating. “Am I missing something? Why are we watching a bad movie?” 

“Hey, it’s… Okay, but it’s not that bad,” Mint protested, guarding the laptop. 

“Objection. It’s bad,” Ace declared. “Diamond’s made me watch enough of this heroes-and-villains stuff to know a lump of coal when I see it. 

“Just because you went to law school—look, a 60% on Spoiled Oranges isn’t bad, it’s just mediocre.” Mint protested further, voice rising. “Besides, I don’t even want to watch it! We’re trying to get in Frank’s head so I can win the Showdown.” 

“By watching their movies and eating our body weight in burgers and ice cream?” Ace asked. 

“What’s the problem? The ice cream represents the Jawbreakers, and we’ll be howling at the full moon later to understand the Wolfpack, too,” Swax added. Minty Mint shot them a you’re not helping look and returned to watching the movie, where Turtlemarb and Sharkmarb had just begun to duke it out with CGI laser beams and flurries of ocean water. 

“I don’t think Frank can do that in real life,” Ace added unhelpfully. 

“But you can never be too careful,” joked Swax. 

Mint kept watching. Any other time they would’ve laughed, confessed to their bad taste, and talked loudly over the dialogue. Watching Frank, though, smiling through the screen with the signature movie-star twinkle in their eyes, one irrational thought whirred and kept them silent—I’ll beat you, and when I do, everyone will see in me what they love about you. 

It was a busted old pen that leaked its contents while it wrote, but Diego couldn’t bring themself to care enough to switch it, leaving ink stains smeared from the notebook to the table and their glass. Every time the dice landed, they marked another notch in two columns. It was a 10-sided die; one through eight meant a stroke in the left column, rapidly outpacing its neighbour, nine or ten meant a mark to the right. Two words were written in messy scrawl above the columns: WIN and PODIUM. 

Ringo’s diagnostics—via Berry—were clear; a four out of five—or eight out of ten, Diego reasoned—chance to win, and a one-in-fifty-five-thousand chance to lose their grip on the podium completely. They were under strict instructions to not even consider that as an option, though Diego’s mind drifted naturally to it anyway; what else in their life had such low odds, yet still happened? 

They didn’t apologise for the strange behaviour—it looked strange, no doubt about it—when Bingo rolled and  began to watch them silently. Ringo had taken everyone else out from the village to thank the Hyuvian fans camping out in Rosaka Castle Park for the open-air finale screening; Bingo had been delegated, in Ringo’s words, the responsibility of ensuring Diego didn’t spontaneously combust from anxiety. 

“Are you stressed?” Bingo asked, a few dice rolls in.

“Yeah,” Diego mumbled. The sight of a 9 filled them with unease. They marked it dutifully anyway. 

Bingo rolled close enough to read the notebook page. “All events and no fan meets makes Diego a dull marble?” 

“I’m running sims,” they replied. 

“I’m under direct orders from Coach to stop you getting in your own head. Diego, bud, your dream journal is getting confiscated.” 

Diego grumbled noncommittally and marked another tally in the PODIUM column. It had been a bad few rolls. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re anxious,” Bingo diagnosed to the contrary. 

Some foundation of Diego’s mind creaked. Their grip on the pen tensed; the plastic cracking. “No, it’s only winning the biggest marble sports tournament on Marblearth for my team, the thing I’ve—technically—been training my whole life to do and that’ll define my entire future career. Why would I be anxious about something like that? Am I stupid?” 

Bingo recoiled and rolled their eyes. “Fine, worry about it until you pass out if you like. Sorry for doing my job, I’ll tell the boss I tried.” They left with no fanfare, before Diego could protest or apologise, abandoned to their notes.

Diego looked over the second filled-out page.  Taking a deep breath, they found their phone, and called Rezzy. The phone barely had to ring. 

“I was wondering if you’d call. Getting ready for the big day?” 

“In a way.” They paused. “I’m losing my mind. Does that count?” 

Rezzy’s voice softened. “It’s hard to recommend.” 

“You know why,” Diego said, dry.

“I have in fact been looking at the scoreboard. Not that I wasn’t impressed before, but seriously, you’re something else.” Rezzy’s voice was warm, and Diego felt themself relax in some fragile way. It was the most relief they’d gotten since Sumo, clearing out the ring in 4th and realising suddenly how impossibly close yet terrifyingly far away winning the League was. 

“Winning the Marble League. Or not. Whatever I do tomorrow, everything changes forever. I can never go back.” Diego swallowed. “Only forward.”

“Half true,” countered Rezzy.

“What?” 

“You’ll go forward,” they said, “but you’ll have your team, and you’ll have me, and everyone else. Just in case you were thinking of letting the fame get to your head.”

Diego almost smiled. “And if I lose it?” 

“Stars keep shining.” 

Darkness hung over Rosaka, a thousand twinkling city lights drowning out the starry sky. Diego shut the notebook and peered through the half-open curtains, imagining the constellations of pink and purple hanging over a place so far from home.

“I hope,” Diego muttered. “Talk tomorrow, alright? I have to apologise to Bingo.” 

“If you can fit me in with the press conferences.” 

“… I’ll do my best.”

The Indigo Stars and Green Ducks face off against each other in Sumo, the penultimate event of the Marble League. (Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

Partial Bloom

Rosaka was a city with a lot to offer, and it had the habit of splitting the Racers apart. Razzy, Rizzy, and Ruzzy had won the Stone Toss together—truly together, with an under-anticipated system of utilising turn order to bait any given opponent into a fatal mistake. Now, even in the same building, they’d split the difference evenly: Ruzzy and Rizzy to the labyrinthine arcade, Razzy and Berry to an illuminated night-garden exhibit overlooking Rosaka’s skyline. 

“I’d like to win the League again,” Razzy said, straightforward and unprompted as they wandered through a maze of tall irises together, both hoping the other remembered their last turn. 

“Sure. Same here. We haven’t lost it for six years in a row for not wanting to win.” It came out harsher than intended, but it couldn’t be taken back. 

Razzy paused, but only briefly.  “We have a shot,” they continued, “and I won’t waste it for Indie’s sake.” 

 “Indie?” Berry sniffed. “Indie’s the least of our worries. I wish I was worried about Indie and Ringo. You saw the look Quickly gave me after Stone Toss.” They shuddered, and not for the Rosakan night, balmy with the promise of approaching summer. 

Razzy smiled, Berry’s faltering only water off their back. “I didn’t. Are you scared?” 

Berry froze, briefly silent. “I’m not answering that,” they replied eventually, straightening. “I think about it,” they confessed tightly, failing to meet Razzy’s eyeline, “obviously I do. I don’t do my prep thinking—oh, it’s fine if we don’t win, it won’t happen anyway. Then everyone else gets involved and oops, you miscalculated and you’re desperate to just not be last.” 

“You’re thinking about last year,” replied Razzy coolly.

Berry couldn’t help but laugh. “Worse. I’m talking about it.” 

They passed an artificial haptic fern, which sprang, bounced, and spat scented pollen at Berry’s touch. Razzy was less enchanted. “There’s a vendor here. Takoyaki.” 

“Weren’t we getting sushi for dinner? At the nice place, with the others,” Berry grumbled. There was sushi at the hotel restaurant already, all-you-could-eat—and Razzy could eat a lot—but no well-meaning artisan could stand up to the CCE like a conveyor belt could. They’d been lucky to get the oddball cuts—sea critters that proved too challenging for the unrefined landlocked Rubovian palate anyway. 

Razzy didn’t see the contradiction. “I’m hungry,” they declared plainly; as soon as they were briefly out of Berry’s sight, their money was spent on six glistening fried octopus balls. 

“What? I got a small. We can share,” Razzy offered in defiance of Berry’s judgemental side-eye. 

“It’ll ruin my appetite,” Berry huffed, abstaining and continuing down the crunchy gravel-lined paths as fantasies of creamy uni and fatty tuna weighed on their mind. The paths took them past a grove of hybridised, willowlike cherry blossom trees and through to the final promenade of oscillating synthetic azaleas, genetically modified into a thousand subtle shades, using the same technology that kept cherry blossoms flowing on tap long past the season’s natural end. 

“Some tech they’ve got here,” Berry mused out loud, though Razzy was too preoccupied with the last of their octopus balls to comment. They rolled from red to green to purple to white, then to the end where one could pay and wait in line for a professionally-taken commemorative photo with a lifesize cutout of Saku-reimi. 

Two could make them late for dinner. Not deterred by having met the real deal, Berry joined the queue. Five minutes later, ushered up beside the flat cardboard replica, Berry thought not of Rosakan pop stars or flowers or even sushi, but of the last-second tiebreak that had decided between the O’Rangers and the Speeders long after the Razzies had safely qualified, and smiled with rare sincerity as the flash went off.

–

It’s enough that we won Iron Marble.

It’s enough that we qualified.

It’s enough that we won a medal.

It’s enough that we won a gold. 

Where do you go when “enough” runs out? 

The 2026 Marble League was half completed, and the Indigo Stars were—somehow–in the lead. Pundits Marblearth-wide had thrown away predictions and renounced their expectations while a small selection of cranks and hardcore fans had been proven unexpectedly right, and fans waged arguments about their ability to keep the momentum going long into the night. Indie vacillated between elation and fear on the hour, the combined efforts of Diego and Ringo only going so far in keeping them grounded.

The standard Stars victory retreat was on the mainland, just a few steps up from a dive, a relic from before the League and Ringo and the last seven years of triumph and defeat in unequal measure. Tinny speakers played optimistic interpretations of nostalgic favourites over twitchy neons and couches that had seen better days, everything was cheap and free-flowing, and their patronage was such good marketing that the room rate was magnetically low.

The Pinkies had invited them somewhere vastly different. Besides the front desk and the kitchen, it was futuristically unmanned. Little hatches in the wall delivered food and drink, while thick and soundproofed walls reminded Ringo of a recording booth (and Indie of a journeying submarine). They sat in rough order on the ultra-modern couches encircling the central table and fed their drink and food orders through the same tablet that picked songs for the karaoke machine. Bingo put their order in last; two servings of glossy fried chicken and one of Ringo’s band’s old songs on the screen.

“You’re kidding,” Ringo huffed in complaint as “Going Better” loaded into the queue.

“One rule,” Montoya concurred, rolling their eyes. 

“I never said coach had to sing it,” retorted Bingo, outing themself as the one who’d picked it as Diego glared at them across the table. Gogo picked up the bill and microphone, sparing Ringo the indignity of having to remind everyone that they were the band’s instrumentalist, not a singer, thank you very much. 

“Testing, testing,” they repeated, tapping gently, and the mic rumbled to life. “I’ll do it. Bingo, you owe me a drink.” 

It was Gogo’s turn to draw Diego’s ire. “Don’t tire each other out before Javelin.” 

Gogo grinned. “Spoilsport. I’ll get my vitamins in by then, don’t you worry.” 

Indie did the honours of doling out drinks and food to the table before reclining in place with a bright-blue fizzy novelty drink full of twinkling jelly stars; a picture-perfect scoop of lemonade sorbet melted gently atop the heart-shaped ice cubes. Their captain had said nothing all night, nodding and smiling in lieu of words, their expression dazed and far away. Diego watched them for answers, but none came. 

“I suck at singing, just in case you don’t remember,” said Gogo, the closest they’d come to humble since unexpectedly topping the MVM charts. “So if you roll out of here with hearing damage, it’s Bingo’s fault.” 

“Booooo,” Bingo heckled, followed by peals of laughter and the gradual kicking in of a familiar guitar-drum backing track. “Just sing the song!” 

“Whatever. Hey, how about I give you an encore when we win the League—” 

“Gogo, it’s started! Catch up!” Indie called, loud over the first lines’ instrumentals. 

–

Cyberpunk was an understatement. Despite the many phone calls they’d had with Speedy and Swifty in Rosaka on tour, no amount of verbal description could have prepared Rapidly for when they stepped out of the cab and into the city that threatened to swallow them whole. Speckled lights in windows, each of them teeming with life, spread vastly across tall, skinny buildings that shot towards the sky, reminiscent of the stars that loomed just above. Cherry blossoms lined the streets in brilliant bursts of pink, genetically modified to shrug the seasons off, indifferent to how Marblearth spun. And even though they’d reached the halfway point, the city mesmerised Rapidly as if they’d arrived the very same day. 

It was so dense that the athletes had been squeezed into shared rooms. But Rapidly didn’t mind: the stadium’s prime location and the city’s innate need to exploit vertical space meant Rapidly’s view captured the bustling city in all its tall, cherry pink glory. 

A snore from their right seemed to nag: Rapidly and Speedy’s view. Rapidly rolled their eyes. Yes, Speedy, they thought, our view. Their eyes drifted from their sibling on the other bed towards the window beside them, which they’d been staring at for the past ten minutes while refusing to budge from their own mattress.  

It was pretty remarkable that they’d come from some small town out from Accellaise to here, they thought. The tallest building in their hometown was a whopping three stories tall, and entertainment involved pushing each other into the sea of questionable water quality surrounding it.  

Perhaps that was why they wanted to escape so badly. 

Beside them, Speedy looked peaceful. Rapidly watched as their chest rose and fell. The knot of unacknowledged feelings sat clenched in their stomach at the sight, but there was no doubt that it brought relief. Rapidly had seen Speedy after Bowling: they’d never been good at hiding things, and Rapidly knew their sibling better than anyone. 

They tore their gaze from Speedy’s sleeping self and allowed it to wander around the—you guessed it—cherry-themed hotel room. In 2023, they’d managed to win two medals in hurdles and sprint, by themself. In 2025, they’d failed in both. Now, Speedy had lifted the burden and placed it upon their own shoulders; and it seemed to have paid off—Speedy’s silver had singlehandedly diverted them from their nosedive of a League run, comprised of Whizzy’s tears and their own lacklustre showing, yet the knot clenched harder. 

How many times had they been there before? How many times had Rapidly walked in on their sibling slumped against the floor of a locker room or abandoned office? How many times could Speedy have won another silver and saved them from the same cyclical fate? Last year, in Orlango, the year before that, in Glidavik… the years flew by, and Rapidly found themself in Felynia’s team garage. 

Maybe Speedy couldn’t always bail them out. 

They forced themself up from the bed and stalked towards the window. The night breeze brushed against their surface, cool and indifferent. Behind them, Speedy shifted in sleep, mumbling something unintelligible before settling again. 

Gradually, the Felynian fireworks faded. Beneath them, the cherry trees swayed.

–

“Though I felt we had adequately covered the tactics of Bocce before the actual event, it is—undesirable—to all immediately swerve directly past the target. Now, even though the Bumblebees did the exact same thing…”

Red Eye slumped across the table with a sigh, but White Eye droned on with seemingly more passion. Red Eye’s teammates seemed to have more patience, sitting flat-faced and only slightly drooping in their chairs. 

Red Eye frowned. They weren’t sure why White Eye had decided to save event debrief for last; perhaps to rub salt in the wound for plunging 5 spots to the bottom four, which they’d already analysed in excruciating detail. After all, they’d reached halfway, and they needed to step up their game. 

In their periphery, Orange Eye was unmoving, gazing up at their coach. Cute, Red Eye thought, to actually pay attention. Did I do that as a rookie? Bet I—hold on…. you’re getting up! 

They were disrupted by the screeches of chairs against the floor, and Red Eye jolted to discover that the meeting was over. Yellow Eye had already bolted—perhaps Red Eye had underestimated their tolerance. 

Just as they were about to depart, Orange Eye approached, somewhat skittish. “Hey, Red?”

Red Eye turned. “Yeah?”

“So… you still think I should be in the back for Javelin, right?” They hesitated. “‘Cause I asked Coach and all, but you’ve done Snow Snake, so—”

“Oh, yeah. I talked to Yellow too, so, just stick with it.” 

“Okay, thanks.” Orange Eye turned, but Red Eye felt off. 

“Orange?” They called. 

“Yeah?”

“Listen, I know White Eye can be… a downer sometimes, but don’t stress yourself out, okay?” The words felt a bit foreign, but Red Eye kept going. “We’re in a rough spot, but it’s not on you. I mean, you’ve already podiumed on debut!” Orange Eye couldn’t help but grin. 

“So don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve worked hard. And you’ve got this.” 

Orange Eye nodded firmly. “Thanks, cap!” Cheerfully, they rolled off, bouncing slightly.

Even though Red Eye meant to leave as well, they couldn’t bring themselves to follow; with a foggy mind, they sat back down. Only a knock on the door snapped them back, and they looked up to see Green Eye peering in. 

“That was nice of you,” they offered, rolling past them into the room. 

Red Eye stopped. “Why’re you back?”

“Left my phone,” they responded, now coming back having found it. They glanced at the door, then at the slumping Red Eye, and sat down next to them. 

“So… have you talked to Cyan recently?”

Red Eye sighed, grimacing. “Not really. No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” Red Eye couldn’t bear to face them. “I just… feel bad. I know how much they didn’t want that. I didn’t want that. But when coach asked me, I just—I couldn’t…”

Green Eye softened. “It’s not your fault.”

“But still, we’re here now.”

Green Eye paused, then nudged Red Eye gently. “With how management operates, we’ve got no control. It sucks. But we’ve just gotta move forward, right?”

Red Eye nodded, and Green Eye smiled slightly. 

“But Cyan… misses us.” 

Something flashed across their face, and suddenly, Red Eye realised: this was bigger than them. 

“I’m sorry. I knew you guys were close.”

It was Green Eye’s turn to look away. “I don’t know. We’ve gotta move on, right?”

The silence seemed to scream, so Red Eye pushed themselves up. “Let’s head out?” They gestured to the door and mustered a smile. 

“Yeah.”

–

Panther didn’t expect HQ’s door to come open without a key when they arrived in the early hours of the morning for prep, or for the light of a screen to shine through the doorway from the cluster of tables they’d requisitioned as a command centre for the League. Pinky Toe sat at the same table they’d been sitting at when Panther clocked out early the night before, laptop open in front of them with its fans whirring into the silence. The pre-dawn darkness mostly obscured them, but Panther didn’t need to see any more than the sagging, tired eyes between sips of lukewarm barley tea that the screen glare illuminated. 

“Cold with melted ice, or warm that you’ve left too long?” Panther asked, gesturing to the jug as they set their bag down and rolled over. 

The question buffered in Pinky Toe’s mind. “What?” 

“The tea,” Panther repeated, pouring themself a glass. “Tastes like cold-gone-lukewarm to me. It’s diluted. You like it strong.” 

“I suppose,” Pinky Toe muttered noncommittally. It had barely occurred to them that someone had traipsed in through the door and started drinking their tea. For all they cared, Panther could have been a stranger. 

Panther pulled their chair up behind their captain and glanced at the screen. They liked to flatter themself with the thought that they were good at the ugly admin side of being an athlete, but what Pinky Toe was looking at might as well have been written with a cypher. They had given up changing anything—if they ever had been—and were just clicking between cells to inspect them over and over again. 

“You haven’t slept tonight, have you?” 

Pinky Toe ignored them and wrote another inscrutable jotting on a digital sticky-note. Panther chose a different angle of attack. “What are you looking at?”

“Javelin practice stats,” replied Pinky Toe, between two more mouthfuls of weak tea. Panther looked at the document again—it refused to make any more sense even with its purpose in mind. 

“Are you allowed to?” 

“Someone emails them to me,” Pinky Toe mumbled, not really answering the question.

“Well, are me and Rosa going to win?” asked Panther in return. Pinky Toe made a sleepy, universal gesture that stood unmistakably for you won’t lose, but good luck. “Alright. Who’s going to lose?” 

Pinky Toe went quiet.

“Kobalts?” Panther ventured. They took another look at the spreadsheet and found no mention of them, or themselves. It was the Showdown stats. “Cap. You’re still worried?”

They went even quieter, closing the document and shuffling out of the seat. Panther shut the laptop lid for them, but not before sneaking a glance at the specific cell they’d been inspecting. 

Balls of Chaos; Final standardised event test: 49.50. One step above rock bottom.  

“I’ll go to bed.” 

“Cap. It’s not your fault. It’s not our fault, but it’s definitely not yours. You can’t control them. You didn’t even pick the event.” 

They’d been down this road before, each word familiar and known, like a stack of blunted arrowheads. 

“I’m sorry,” Panther tried. “I know it feels bad. Just close your eyes and wait til the Swarm and Galactic come on, alright?” they joked. 

Pinky Toe looked up, distant and tired from portents of unknown doom. Tender rays of dawn poked through half-closed blinds.

“I wish they’d qualified.”

Panther’s humour faltered. “I know. And that’s why, when we win at home, we’re going to dedicate it to them, alright?” 

–

Reaching the halfway point of the league, the Snowballs found themselves in the middle of the pack, but when it came to points, they weren’t too far behind. Team captain Snowy knew that, and they figured that a moment of peace under a cherry blossom tree wouldn’t hurt. A marble soon found them relaxing and rolled over to them; it was their teammate Snowstorm. 

“Everything good, Snowy?” asked Snowstorm. 

“Yeah, just trying to ease my mind for a moment, you know?” replied Snowy. Snowstorm asked if they could relax alongside them, to which Snowy told them they could use someone to relax with.

 As they got a nice view of the tree they’re sitting under, Snowstorm noticed their teammate feeling a bit pent-up. They asked Snowy, “Are you sure everything’s good?” 

Snowy told them, “I’m not too sure. Something feels off.” 

Snowstorm replied, “Whatever it is you need to get off your mind, I’m here to listen.” 

Snowy then opened up, “We’re making the same progress as last year, but we’re taking a different path. I showcased my talents and was recognized as the Most Valuable Marble, but our efforts as a team weren’t anywhere close to that.” 

Snowstorm responded, “And this year is like a flip of a switch, with the team events going really well for us, and your individual performances…” 

Snowy chuckled, “Yep.”

As they paid close attention to the petals falling from the tree, Snowstorm comforted their captain, telling them to look at things from a positive perspective. “There’s a whole half of events that haven’t happened yet, so there’s a lot of time for you to not only find your stride, but to show the rest of the league that you are, in fact, the best captain.” 

Snowy felt a smile appearing on their face. “Thank you, Snowstorm. I really do appreciate that kind of sentiment coming from you.”

After they finished relaxing, they rolled over to the rest of their team at a nearby park. Their teammates noticed that Snowy appeared to be more laid back than usual. It was a pleasant surprise.

“You seem to be more relaxed compared to how you normally are,” said Snowblast. Snowy informed them that it was a change of pace that they’re trying to get used to. As the team discussed what they needed to work on in the second half of the competition, Snowy had something to say to their team.

“After how things went for us as a group last year, it feels very delightful knowing that our team events have been going well. I wish I could be doing better for you all as an individual competitor, but I am somewhat at ease knowing that I’m fulfilling my role as captain.”

Coach Blizzard told their captain that as long as they were looking to improve not just themselves, but their teammates, then they would find themselves reaching for the success they once had in 2024.

Snowy called over their team for a group huddle before saying, “Let’s remind them about who we are as a unit.”

–

In the bowels of a department store in downtown Rosaka lay a gleaming maze of capsule machines. They lined the walls, stacked to the ceiling in a sleek, glowing grid, promising susceptible passerbys tiny acrylic stands or novelty magnets or some other collectible trinket, and, in a special promotion of the Marble League, limited edition keychains for every competing athlete and more. 

Royal had no luck with them whatsoever. Their noble quest to obtain their desired keychain was currently a table littered with failed attempts, a chaotic garden of empty capsule shells that stood in stark contrast to their Rollstagram-worthy melon soda. Supplemented with teal food coloring and a white straw with a green gradient, it was the crown jewel of the pop-up cafe they were in.

“Bad luck?” Cerulean ventured. They stirred their own drink, a vibrant pink concoction garnished with dried cherry blossoms. 

Royal sighed. The reflection in the warped glass of their soda sighed back. “I keep pulling Team Plasma.” They gloomily arranged the keychains to look like their heat in Stone Toss, with a capsule half-shell as the stone. 

“We were pretty close.”

“Close isn’t enough.” Royal nudged a miniature Ecto closer to the stone in a curve, mimicking the move that sentenced the Kobalts to a bottom half finish. “We’re dead last, Cerulean. I don’t know how to lead, or how to be a captain.”

“You won the Best Captain Award last year.”

“So?” Royal said. “What’s one award, from one point in time? We were Showdown champions one year, and relegated the next. I used to be good at M1, too, and then I wasn’t. Azure used to be the best of us—“ They remembered to breathe. “—and now they’re gone.”

I miss you. I know you retired on your own and that you’re happy where you are but I miss you anyway. Now I have to do it all without you. Lapis looks up to me. I don’t know why they still do.

The day Meepo had blitzed past the Sand Rally finish line seemed so far away now. It had, in a way, been easier back then, to swim up from rock bottom instead of treading water at the top.

“I don’t like disappointing marbles,” they said instead. “We’re better than this. I want to think we’re better than this. We can’t stay last forever.”

They’d said something similar last year, before they’d qualified, their voice just as weary with frustration. Smokey had simply peered at them in a way that made meeting their gaze difficult, and said, then show them so, as if it was so easy. 

And then it actually happened.

Cerulean stirred their drink again, this time lifting the straw to see the liquid spiral inside the glass. “I can’t promise a gold in the next event, or the next one after that, or in this League at all, because it’s the future,” they said. “But I can promise that we’ll get through it together.” 

To that, Royal could manage a nod. “Okay.”

Credits

The Final Gamble

Green Ducks & Kobalts

Las Veglass was known to all as the city that never sleeps. 

Where Midnight Bay had tough restrictions on nighttime light meant to preserve the environment and the city’s unique ambiance, Las Veglass had foregone all of that for its signature enchanting rows of city lights and blinking billboards, advertising a menagerie of pleasures and parties everywhere you looked. Billy hated it, and Meepo didn’t fare much better with the overstimulation either, so they’d driven out to the desert to tour old rocket sites while their coaches and paired racers toured the almost-mean streets surrounding their hotel. 

Cerulean watched Mallard cross from one side of Las Veglass’ central road from behind, pondering how the tricky season hadn’t broken or swayed their confidence. In two days, they’d be fighting on the track over the one-point difference between their teams. Right now, they were just… hanging out. 

Bombay did the same idle introspection with Smokey, a natural convergence of thought. Smokey’s job had changed, their team had changed, but Smokey hadn’t changed- at least not in the way Zuro wanted them to. Seeing them still write on paper and scribble schedules on whiteboards and blow whistles to draw training to a close was a relief. Yes, you could take Smokey out of the Hazers. But there was no power on Marblearth that could take the Hazers out of Smokey. 

“Is there anything you three want to do?” Mallard asked once they’d gotten to the biggest cluster of theaters, not the type amenable to aimless urban wandering. “I’m okay with anything. Really.”

Conscious of their clashing tastes as a quartet, Cerulean settled on something as inoffensive as possible. “How about classical? There’s an orchestra.” 

“Classical? In Las Veglass?” Bombay’s response wasn’t a sneer so much as it was disbelieving. And it was true that the atmosphere of general decadence felt unfit to contain soft strings and weepy piano. But a city that could entertain anyone could entertain them with anything. 

Smokey wasted no time in agreeing. “If it’s settled, I’ll go. There are too many strange marbles around here for my liking.” 

“Those are fans,” Mallard said. Smokey gave them a look that said I know, and I didn’t stutter. “Anyway. Classical is good.” 

Bombay stammered, and tried to dig resistance in further. “What about the circus?” 

The idea got a cold reception. “I don’t like clowns,” Cerulean confessed. 

“And if you’ve seen one clown, you’ve seen them all,” Mallard added. 

Smokey declined to throw their opinion about the circus in the ring, but it was obviously the sort of nonsense that the Kobalts coach didn’t entertain. Training Gnome was enough experience with a clown for one lifetime. “I believe you’re outvoted, Bombay,” Smokey declared. “Cerulean. Mallard. Fetch some tickets.” 

Frowning, Bombay threw out one desperate last-gasp effort at swaying the decision. “Orchestras are horribly expensive, you know,” they said, full of concern, but nobody was swayed. 

“B- Coach. We’re buying on-the-day tickets for a Friday night show in Veglass. It’d be cheaper just to lose your wallet,” Mallard joked. “We’ll be back soon, alright?” 

So thick were the crowds that Mallard and Cerulean vanished as soon as they were absorbed into the moving mass of marbles, leaving Bombay and Smokey by the crossing lights. Bombay let out a little sigh. Even in winter, Las Veglass never got cold enough to turn your breath into steam. “Classical it is,” Bombay concluded.

“You said you liked classical. Maybe in 2022. It was playing in your office, I think, at the stadium…” reminisced Smokey. 

Nothing ever escaped their memory, Bombay thought as they huffed indignantly. “Of course I like classical. I’m no rube, contrary to what you might think. But, er, Gadwall got me listening, so it always puts me in a certain mood, you know?” 

Smokey went quiet. As long as they’d known Bombay, they’d never known quite how to deal with mentions of Gadwall. Nobody lingered in their own past the same way. “I… Well, you needn’t go if you don’t want to,” they said eventually, like a compromise between their inability to say anything helpful and the need to not leave Bombay hanging on their confession. 

“No, no. But if I cry, you can’t hold it against me. That’s my ground rule.” 

Smokey turned back away from sincerity. “Right. Of course.” 

“And don’t exploit my emotional weakness come Sunday,” continued Bombay. “If you want that fifth place, you’ll have to win it fair and square.” 

Smokey nodded. “And if Bumble jumps them both?” 

“The end of days, I suppose,” Bombay joked.

Billy fends off Snowstorm before Snowstorm wins at Castle Howl, the 9th GP of the season.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Savage Speeders

They were here. A few minutes ago, they’d finished the season’s final training session, the sky having darkened to an inky black. Quickly retreated for the night, and as they rolled out of the stadium and into the cold and gaudy streets of Veglass, Speedy knew to follow them—but they didn’t.

They rolled to the base of the towering stands, gazed up at it for a moment, and clambered to the top, sinking onto the final row like a ball bearing before shifting themself over to face the stadium. It was massive—the stands wrapped around, and each section was the size of the grass field where Speedy used to train. They swallowed the dark, skinny track suspended in the middle. For nearly three years this track, this stadium, this city, had appeared so stubbornly, in their dreams of this distant land. 

It was strange seeing it empty—tomorrow they’d be full, jam-packed with audience and indistinguishable bright flashing lights. Speedy wasn’t sure what they were—cameras were in there, but the rest—

“Speedy!”

Speedy turned. Left, then right—then they realised the sound was coming from beneath them. Swifty called up from the floor. “What are you doing?”

Speedy couldn’t answer. Swifty seemed to understand; they stood for a minute, sort of awkwardly, then began to ascend the stands. They appeared at their side a few minutes later, sitting down gently next to them and leaning back. Speedy could tell they wanted to say something, but they didn’t—perhaps the sight of the stadium mesmerised them all the same. 

Suddenly, something possessed Speedy. “So Whizzy isn’t coming?”

If Swifty was surprised they’d started a conversation, they didn’t show it. “Yeah, it’s just too long a flight. Especially ‘cause they’d be going alone.”

Speedy nodded. It’d be strange not to have anyone else there—usually the team would be right at the front, cheering Speedy on. But Rapidly’s flu had unexpected complications, and Velocity needed to be on standby for Impact. Veglass was far. 

“Ready for tomorrow?” Swifty asked. 

“Yeah,” Speedy replied. 

The insurmountable challenge hung between them—the faintest possibility to scrape a podium finish, one that had slipped away from them just a week ago. At least everyone was too focused on the battle up front to notice their choke. 

“You’re getting another medal. I can feel it.” Swifty shrugged.

Speedy smirked. 

It wasn’t Swifty’s fault. Snowstorm had turned into a beast from seemingly nowhere—Speedy wondered what Snowy thought of them.

“We’re gonna need a miracle.” They said finally. 

“Well…” Swifty suggested, “We’ve pulled them off before.”

“The team was there.”

Swifty paused for a second, before turning to face them. “We’re a team! You and me. And maybe we do need a miracle. But no matter what happens, I’ll be proud of the way we raced. And as long as you are too, that’s what matters.”

Speedy thought for a little. “You talk too much.” 

Swifty laughed. “I’ll take it.”

They sat for a little longer, before Swifty suggested they get back. Speedy agreed, and together they descended the stands.

“So, the Hazers and the Cats,” Swifty started as they headed towards the door, “Who do you think’s gonna win?” 

“Cats,” Speedy replied.  

“But who do you want to win?”

“Hazers.” Speedy sighed.

Swifty chuckled. “What about the individual?”

“Red Eye, realistically,” Speedy said. “But—”

“I know,” Swifty responded, “I’d cheer for Smoggy too.”

This time, Speedy chuckled. They were almost at the exit. 

It was strange racing Smoggy again. The way they’d flashed by made Speedy feel like they were back at short circuit. But it’d nagged them more than most overtakes did, and overtakes already nagged them a lot. 

Smoggy gave them a brief glimpse into the past: one where they were all six years younger, had snowball fights in the offtimes, and Rapidly was by their side. By now it was long gone, frozen in time and buried with fresh memories of Yeller and Cloudy’s young faces. In front of them, Swifty pushed the door and stepped into the night.

It happened whenever they saw Smoggy, in the press conferences or the cafeterias. When they crossed paths and their eyes met briefly in between them, they wouldn’t linger; they’d just roll by— yet Speedy wondered if Smoggy felt it too. 

Cloudy waves goodbye to Speedy over the radio after their definitive Misty Mountain overtake.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Snowballs

Twenty points. 

That was how far Snowy had to jump just to tie. 

Not to overtake. And not to overtake Red Eye, or Smoggy, or Speedy, or some rookie upstart. 

To overtake their own teammate. Snowstorm. 

In a way, it was their own fault. It was self-evidently much easier to win a race against Yellow Eye than it was to win one against Red Eye- Snowy’s own double silvers testified to that. In calculatedly giving themself the races they suspected Red Eye would show up, like a hunter tracking its prey, Snowy had given themself the harder job- and Snowstorm the easier. 

That was what Snowy wanted to tell themself. The typical thought, the standby excuse, the default setting on their mental washing machine- it’s Red Eye’s fault. 

It lasted until Snowy rewatched Snowstorm’s race at Sparkle Central, for no other reason than to reassemble the puzzle from its component parts.

Thank you for believing in me, everyone, the radio blinked. 

Snowy rose, and began to pace. Snowstorm was out in Veglass, a well-earned break, a reward for putting their team in the position they were in. All Snowy had to do was defend 3rd against Speedy.

Everyone.

Snowy’s phone blinked from where they’d left it on their bed. A little sprightly chirp that quickly repeated itself. They scooted the desk chair over to check what was going on. 

Snowfall: Boarding for the transfer flight is on. See you two in a few hours.
Snowblast: Unless Snowfall loses the boarding passes!
Snowblast: (joking)
Snowdrift: make that three
Snowdrift: me and Misty are just getting something to eat at a diner
Snowdrift: we’ll be there ahead of you

Snowy’s body couldn’t decide whether to relax or tense up. Relax, because nothing unexpected had happened. Tense, because they were coming to watch the final race, and just the idea reminded them of sitting alone in the stands during the previous season, pretending there was no bite to being the only team without any of its other members there to watch the final showdown. 

It was also hard not to think of the past. If Snowstorm had equaled them last season, the Snowballs would have won. If Snowstorm had equaled them in Season 2, they wouldn’t have been cut. And if Snowflake had equaled them in Season 1, then everything might have- 

Snowy forced themself to think no further, to scrunch their eyes and blank their mind. 

Casino Square. Racing. Red Eye. Defending 3rd place. Getting to grips with a new track their team hadn’t raced on before. There weren’t many of those left, so it was a rare pleasure. Next season, Mellow Meadows and Mirage Meowntain would have to come back, and the Glaciers too, with Sleet Street- Glide was hanging around with Sheet, actually, and their ridiculous new lap record that had overwritten Red Eye’s, so perhaps they could make a personal appeal…

The thoughts of Snowflake gradually vanished. In their place, the future stood.

–

Snowstorm waited by the dusty curb for the car they’d seen a picture of in the photo message, a smart white rental with an open roof that was vastly more modern than the grubby minivan they were used to driving back home in Snoronto. Snowdrift and Misty would be inside. 

In the Las Veglass traffic they seemed to wait forever, but eventually it rocked up casually, all sleek lines and modern engineering. Ironically, Snowdrift was the one driving. 

“Snowstorm! King of the Castle!” Snowdrift exclaimed from the open seat, echoing the embarrassing nickname Blizzard had given them (and which the radio had decided to run with). Snowstorm bit back the instinct to push it back, and put forward the biggest smile they could manage. 

“That’s me,” Snowstorm reaffirmed. “Been too long.” 

“Eleven weeks. Almost twelve.” Snowdrift unlocked the doors, freeing them both, and went in for a hug. Misty was polite enough to look away as Snowstorm reciprocated.

“Aren’t you two worried about missing the next Impact event?” they asked. But Snowdrift just brushed it off. 

“What are they going to do? Penalise us? Most of us are here,” they laughed. “My first M1 finale. In the audience. But, my first.” 

Snowstorm sighed, loosening their grip. “It’s exhausting. Do not recommend.” 

“Those are the words of someone who wants to keep the wins to themself,” Snowdrift retorted. 

Behind them, Misty had already taken their bags and disappeared. Snowstorm didn’t blame them. 

It was different, to try and do what the Snowballs hadn’t managed. To try and beat the Crazy Cat’s Eyes. 

Snowstorm leads Pinky Rosa, Smoggy, Indie, and Billy in the penultimate lap of Sparkle Central.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Indigo Stars & Solar Flares

Ringo had a taste for luxury that their racers didn’t share. Years as a famous musician had accustomed them to fancy hotels and shining lights long before the League and M1 were even thought of. Indie and Diego, meanwhile, had spent most of the season dazzled by just how good the M1 racer treatment could get. Sitting in Las Veglass’s biggest and best buffet, Diego got the feeling that this was Ringo-good, not Stars-good. 

Ringo had already loaded their plate up. Coconut shrimp, fatty Hunluen-style roast meat, a whole grilled steak still relaxing in its own juices, and plump fresh fruit doused in ice cream in a bowl to the side. Diego’s plate sat next to it, dishwasher white and empty. 

“Eat,” Ringo insisted. “You need the energy.” 

Diego hesitated. “I’m not hungry,” they said, and pushed the plate further away. “Too many nerves. And I don’t want an upset stomach while I’m racing.” 

“Bold words from the racer who said they didn’t think they had a shot at beating Bumble at Casino Square,” Ringo teased as they pushed the empty plate back where it had sat before. The bead of flop sweat dripping down their brow made Diego feel like a cartoon; they blamed it on the heat, too many marbles, too much food. 


“I should still try. And whether I’m cut from the roster or not, I’d like to break out of the bottom twenty.” Half of what was being implied- and I can’t do that if I’m full of pizza and mini pastries– went unsaid. Ringo seized on the rest. 

“So now you think we’re coming back next season,” Ringo quipped. 

Diego went still. They’d been through the numbers- the chances of them dropping below 10th were tiny. Maybe the Pinkies and Mellow Yellow could get the jump on them if Diego couldn’t muster a third good performance, but even dropping to 11th required the kind of terrible luck that only existed as dread and apprehension in Diego’s mind. 

Numbers didn’t lie. But they didn’t convince the primal instinct of disappointment that Diego had nurtured through years of being snubbed. The part of their brain that said you’re not meant to be here. And of course Ringo had witnessed those anxieties firsthand. 

“I… Coach. Fine. I think we’re getting another season.” Even the nascent sense of pride that had burned since the 2023 Showdown couldn’t make Diego care whether it was with or without them. A top ten meant their waiting wouldn’t have been for naught. But admitting that good things could happen made Diego twitchy, and they didn’t let the sentiment sit for long before obligingly taking their plate to the serving stations. 

“I’ll go eat,” they declared, penitent. “We’re in Veglass, after all.”

–

Even in the vast gulf between their points and their situations, the Solar Flares had landed on the same idea as the Stars: when in Veglass, eat food. Indie met Ember at the end of the queue for dessert, two plates piled high, one savoury and one sweet. They were drizzling a skewer of marshmallows and strawberries with the sticky melted chocolate that flowed hypnotically from a big metal fountain at the end of the line. 

“That looks good,” Indie said. They’d been much more conservative with their selections where Ember had gone all out. “You must have quite an appetite.” 

“You work one up doing nothing,” Ember joked, chocolate dribbling on little mousse cakes and tender mini pancakes. “What about you? You deserve it.” 

Indie blinked. “Deserve it?” 

“Sure. Deserve it. On consistency, you’re the best rookie we have this season. Yeller- uh, I can’t talk, but at least one of you can race in the fog.”

Faced with an all-consuming blush, Indie’s immediate instinct was to brush the compliment off and deny it. Scrambling, they went for the diversion. “Rosa still has a race tomorrow,” Indie said softly. 

“Sure, but you went five races without placing in the bottom half. You and Diego could be the next Bumble and Stinger,” Ember declared confidently. “We’re rooting for you two, anyway. Me and Radiance.” 

“Even though we’re beating you?” Indie asked. 

Ember shrugged. “Someone’s got to light the coals under the old guard.” 

“The O’Rangers-” Indie almost said, before thinking better of themself. “Well, I’m happy. And I had a lot of fun.” 

Don’t stress about the positions, Ringo had said, all the way back at Sakura Garden. 

“Then that’s what matters,” Ember concurred. “And for what it’s worth, I had fun too.” 

At Orion’s Belt, the Indigo Stars’ new home track, Indie wins a hard-fought battle with Speedy for 4th.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Hazers

Wakefulness came to Cloudy in steps – slow, meandering, the same way fresh fog rolled into the valleys every morning back home.

The first step was to linger on the threshold of lucidity, not so much awake as much as it was no longer asleep. Senses came to them as if filtered through thick cotton: bedsheets, a pillow, the slight chill of air conditioning. Beyond their closed eyes there was a dim light. The desk lamp.

They hadn’t meant to fall asleep, just take a ten minute break from race prep by curling up on the hotel bed and listening to Hazy’s pen scratch away, but clearly, they’d dozed off somewhere in the middle.

“Keep your voice down.” Hazy’s voice sounded as if it was coming from far away.

Smoggy’s reply was laced with amusement. “Still? It’s been over ten minutes.”

A tired chuckle. “They’re still asleep. Let them rest.”

I’m awake, Inner Cloudy offered, a little sluggishly. Outer Cloudy made no comment. Everything felt heavy.

The room dipped further into shadow as Smoggy shifted, blocking the lamp. “Discuss it with me, then. How’s it looking?”

Bad. Not impossible, but bad. Not even a perfect weekend guaranteed success, depending on how qualifiers went.

“Slim.”

Smoggy made no reply, but Cloudy could imagine their face – a mix of frustration and resignation at another possible season where they came so close yet so far. 

Cloudy remembered Casino Square, viscerally. They remembered the lights, the glamour, the night they’d joined Misty on the rooftop and gazed at the city skyline together with hope in their hearts, and the night where it all fell apart. 

I don’t want that to happen ever again.

So much had changed since then; now Smoggy was the one accompanying them, giving advice like brake here, you’ll carry more speed out of the turn or you can make fun of Speedy on the radio, they won’t find out. And Hazy now stood where Smokey once did, working on strategy docs until the dead of night and mingling with marbles who remembered them better as league captain than league coach. It was easy to imagine them now, leaning over a desk with papers strewn wide, putting together an analysis only possible by someone who had raced M1 themselves.

So much had changed, yet so much had stayed the same; Smoggy tearing through the field with a grin of pure audacity, Hazy rising to meet them like old times. Smokey was there too, reduced, but present in reciprocated greetings, plates of cut fruit, and a stern whisper behind closed doors: if White Eye ever does that again, tell me. 

“Hazy.” Smoggy’s voice cut through the silence. “Put the pen down. You’re stressing yourself out.”

Cloudy cracked an eye open as Hazy sputtered. “I’m not.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m…” Hazy broke off whatever retort they had with a sigh. “Don’t tell me you’d be satisfied with second. I know you.”

“‘Course I don’t want second,” Smoggy said. “But you know what I’m talking about. Finales, and….” they trailed off.

“…it’s my job, Smogs.”

“Then talk to me.”

From Cloudy’s vantage, their teammates were only two shadows on the walls. Hazy’s shadow lowered their head, reluctantly.

“We’ve been matching CCE blow for blow all season,” they murmured. “It all comes down to this.” The silhouette looked up. “If we win, then we pull off the impossible: defeating them on equal ground. If we don’t…we continue our legacy. We go home again saying ‘we did all we could, and it wasn’t enough.’”

Smoggy said nothing, just listened with rapt attention. 

“But giving up isn’t who we are, is it?” Hazy continued. “It’s not over until it’s over. As long as there’s a chance, no matter how slim, we go all in on it.” They paused to take a breath. “I have full faith in Cloudy. A perfect weekend to start, a perfect weekend to finish – and then we’ll be champions. We’ll make history.”

Smoggy laughed, a little breathless. “…I’m so glad you’re back.”

I’m not racing without them, Smoggy had whispered, the day before Cloudy had left for Razzway.

Hazy smiled back. It was in their voice. “…me too.”

–

“Okay, so I’ll pick up Misty in the afternoon… anything else?”

“That’s about it. Thanks for taking care of that.”

Papers shifted – Hazy, probably – while someone – Smoggy, probably – patted the base of Cloudy’s bed.

“Do you still want to wake them up? There’s still tomorrow morning.”

There was a pause as Hazy considered it.

“No,” they eventually decided, and Cloudy kept still as they heard them approach. A few seconds of rustling later, they felt the comfortable weight of a blanket settle around them. 

“Good night, Cloudy.”

The lamp turned off with a click, plunging the room fully into shadow, and Cloudy waited for the door to close before turning over to stare at the window. A sliver of light bypassed the blackout curtains, a golden cat’s pupil shining from the dark.

Taking a deep breath, Cloudy let their mind wander, imagining themselves gliding across the track, each move so practiced they could do it blindfolded. 

Please let this be it, they thought, sinking back into the realm of sleep with every passing second. Please…

In their dreams, the championship lingered ever closer.

Cloudy wins at Sakura Garden, the season’s inaugural GP, securing their first of two perfect weekends.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Crazy Cat’s Eyes

Being the second racer was all Yellow Eye had ever known. It was so ingrained in them that they’d never dreamt of wanting more. Winning team championships was already the happiest they’d been in sport, and the joys of winning an individual one on top of it were reserved for Red Eye and Red Eye alone. 

But they’d put together their best season yet, complete with a medal rainbow, all by themself. They didn’t expect celebration, and they knew to keep their head down; but the joy of their success filled them with an unwavering glow. It followed them everywhere, like a stress-free reality filtered through permanent sunshine. Its arms were outstretched, inviting Yellow Eye in; you’ve done a great job, you can relax now. You’ve earned it.

It even stayed with them as they leaned against the doorframe in the garage, listening to Red Eye and White Eye’s rapid-fire discussion. Yellow Eye could barely decipher their words… catch them on the draft, don’t let them stretch the lead.

They yawned like a lazy cat basking in the daylight, which, to their credit, they were. Usually they’d be squashed right up between them, fighting for helpful remarks that’d maybe make White Eye go, damn, I didn’t think of that. But they weren’t today, that gave Yellow Eye the slightest smidge of satisfaction. 

They barely registered the meeting’s end. Red Eye and White Eye shuffled around before heading out. White Eye stalked through the door, but Red Eye waited. 

“Yellow? Let’s go?” They asked. 

“What?” Yellow Eye jumped slightly, rubbing their eyes. “Yeah, sorry.”

They rolled together in silence, emerging on the street. Late afternoon sunlight ricocheted across the city, and various shadows stretched dramatically across the shiny roads beneath them. Yellow Eye saw one that looked like a face. 

“… We have good odds, just as long as the track doesn’t mess me up I’ll be right up there for first.”

They arrived at the crossing. The traffic lights in Veglass blinked a cheery tune Yellow Eye didn’t recognise. 

“… I still can’t believe there weren’t any consolation points awarded,” Red Eye droned on.  “Like, I know I was caught up in the wrong place, but there was definitely a starting gate malfunction.”

The traffic light stared back stubbornly, refusing to turn green. Yellow Eye blinked sleepily. “The team argued everything they could. There’s nothing you can do.” 

“I know,” Red Eye groaned. “But still.”

Finally, the traffic light beeped its celebratory theme, and the two cats rolled forward. 

“White Eye’s already told me I’ve got the individual, but it’s much nicer with the team trophy too.” 

You think? Yellow Eye looked down at the striped crossing, which was painted rainbow. “Yeah, for sure.”

Red Eye continued, but Yellow Eye couldn’t focus. It almost felt strange; Red never talked this much. Just another privilege of being a worthy teammate… life was unfair. 

They reached the other side of the street. “Like I said though, that conveyor belt is out for me. We should have looked out for Smoggy more. Cloudy was who I was worried about.”

Suddenly, Yellow Eye stopped. 

“We need to keep Smoggy behind!”

Yellow Eye grit their teeth, frantically darting over their shoulder to check the gap. 

“Smoggy’s the priority. Please confirm.”

What could they do? It was for the team, for Red Eye. They knew that. 

But I want this, they thought. 

It’s not about you. It’s never about you. 

“… copy”

“Again, it’s all because of that conveyor belt.” Red Eye’s voice sounded from next to them. They had turned, and the hotel appeared amidst their vision. “Otherwise I’d have won by now. But there’s still a chance something goes wrong and I—”

“Why are you so worried?” Yellow Eye said. The sun made them dazed, and they just kept rolling forward, but Red Eye slowed down. 

“What?”

Yellow Eye was almost amused. “You’re gonna win. You’re Red Eye.” 

“… You really think so?” Red Eye frowned. 

“Yeah,” Yellow Eye shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It was the truth. Yellow Eye simply couldn’t see a different outcome. Everything we’ve done for you. 

Red Eye paused, then they grinned, slightly.. “That means a lot to me, coming from you.”

Yellow Eye blinked. The sun was as bright as ever. Red Eye didn’t seem to notice though, still talking animatedly by their side. “Like, honestly, I don’t think I could’ve done this without you, y’know? And you’ve been amazing this season. Three medals! I’ve gotta watch for my job.”

They bumped them, hard against the side. Yellow Eye wasn’t expecting it, so they stumbled on the concrete floor. Red Eye laughed as they regained their footing. We’re here,” they remarked. “The hotel’s right there.” 

They marched past them into the entrance, signaling for Yellow Eye to follow. They obliged, trailing after their teammate into the building. The sun had just started to set, reflecting Red Eye’s glass surface with hints of gold. 

What would I do without you?

Red Eye stands atop the Electron Expressway podium with Snowy and Razzy, reclaiming the Team Championship lead.
(Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

  • Writers: Toffeeshop, Io Twelve, Millim
  • Copyeditors/Editors: Toffeeshop, Io Twelve, Millim, GhostDM
  • Graphic Designers: Emmun_Isaac
  • Reference: Marbula 1 Season 6
  • Release: 18/01/2026

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