M1S4 Memo #9: Stargazing at the Accelerator

“…you really don’t have to do this.”

“Are you kidding?! Two bronzes in a row, Orangin?! Keeping us in championship contention?! I have no choice but to—-good evening, I—yes, I’m doing outstanding, how are you?… Amazing. I’m calling to ask if you sell gluten-free donuts.”

Clementin and Orangin, ever the dynamic duo, waited as the traffic in front of them advanced along Galakonur’s Starlit Street. Clementin declined Quasar’s invitation to dinner for obvious reasons. They rented a car, picked up Orangin, and now were at their third donut joint in search of gluten-free products.

“Oh, darn. That’s okay, do you at least sell gluten-free bagels?”

“Clem, I’m allergic to sesame too.”

“Oh, right…sorry, marb, thanks for your help.” Hanging up the phone, Clem reclined in the driver’s seat and sighed. “I just…wanted to do something to celebrate you. We wouldn’t be on the verge of repeating if you hadn’t carried us to the last race.”

“Carried us?” Orangin laughed. “Without your win at Misty Mountain, I wouldn’t have felt motivated to even try.”

“You know, not to be sappy. But we make such a good pair. There’s no other athlete I would rather be racing with than you,” Clem said.

“Well,” Orangin beamed. “You believed in me from the start, you know. And I’ve believed in you. Once you started believing in yourself…there was nothing we couldn’t accomplish. That was what pushed me to try harder.”

Clem, caught in the middle of dialing yet another phone number, looked up, sighing. “When you said you didn’t think we had a chance to repeat—”

“Oh, I lied so hard. Talk about stirring the pot. We’re the most disruptive duo in all of marble sports, and if there’s anyone who can beat the odds and win a repeat championship, why can’t it be us?”

With traffic clear in front of them, Clem put their phone down, turned on their blinker, and headed towards the speedway. “I think we should get a head start on this week. Get the first flight back to Orlango. Hit the Raceway.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Orangin said, grabbing their phone and dialing home. “Hey, Kinnowin? We’ll be back tomorrow morning. Mind ordering some Bonkin’ for when we’re home? …Clem’s favorites. Put it on my card.”

Quasar and Starry were out of the city soon after the podium ceremony. After their first Marbula One silver medal on the home track, Quasar was a bit too excited to stay put. Before they left, Coach Black Hole simply instructed them, “Don’t get lost! We still have another race you know!” They both knew their coach was simply teasing.

It would be nearly impossible for either of them to get lost in Galakonur; they had lived there nearly their whole lives. The teammates looked up to see the stars peek through the darkness as they entered the city square. At night, the lights go out for five minutes on the hour to let the stars be seen at their brightest. Besides Isle Hyu, few places were better for watching the night sky.

“This place looks way cooler on race night when you’ve just come off the podium,” Quasar said as they rolled down the sidewalks of their hometown.

“I would have to agree,” Starry replied, “There’s nothing quite like watching the stars and feeling like one too.”

“You would know,” Quasar said with a chuckle, “Being a star is kind of your thing. I just hope that one day, I might be able to catch up,” Quasar’s smile softened some. Starry looked down from the sky to their teammate.

“Catch up? Come on Quasar, you don’t need to catch up. If you were behind, you wouldn’t be here with me. Don’t forget that you’re one of the best in the world. Not everyone is good enough to have a silver medal, you know.”

“I don’t know. That was a fun race, but I can’t help but feel like I could’ve changed our season if I was just a little bit better,” Quasar said, beginning to look back down as well.

“Hey, that’s no way to look at it. I think you need to stop feeling like you’re in the shadows and realize you’re part of the light. You’re not just Pulsar’s sibling, you’re a fully-fledged member of Team Galactic. You’re family, Quasar, and that’s all I could ask for in a teammate.”

The two sat in silence for a moment. Quasar looked back up before giving Starry a hug.

“You know, for being a star, you sure know how to make others feel like one too,” they said.

“Nah, I don’t need to make you feel like a star,” Starry replied, “Because you are one.”

Aryp is used to the whole team greeting them after every race, and they first felt let down with no one in sight after the Stardust Accelerator. But Coach Secondary took them straight from the podium back to the garage.

Aryp could not see a thing as they fumbled down a dark hallway until suddenly there was light. “SURPRISE!”

Aryp looked again now that the lights flipped on, as each of their teammates jumped out from their various hiding spots.

“Huh? It’s not my birthday, what’s this for? Why are you all here?” Aryp asked with a bit of confusion over this whole situation.

“Well,” Prim rolled out from behind a chair, “We have something for you. Rima?”

“On it.” Rima grabbed something from their bag. It was… Something. The object they were handing to Aryp looked like an entire craft store card on a piece of cardstock. Glitter, ribbons, fake flowers, and what must’ve been an entire stick’s worth of hot glue coated the surface.

“We all added our own touch to it. I hope you like it, we got so excited that we may have gotten in a bit of a rush.” Mary chimed in.

“I like it, and I don’t mean to be rude, but what exactly is this?” Aryp held the object up to the light.

“It’s a card! We made it to celebrate your final race of the season. Go on and open it!” Imar tilted from side to side, hardly able to contain their excitement.

They obliged, opening it to see the messages written for them.

Congratulations on the win! I’m sure there will be more to come. It’s Prime Time! – Mary

You’re showing Marblearth what it’s like to race with flying colors! – Imar

You’re hard carrying us to a bright and beautiful future! – Prim

Here’s to the best teammate I could ask for. You Red, Yellow, Blew us all away! – Rima

“Oh, you all, come here!” Aryp pulled the whole group into a hug. “I could never wish for a better team than you.”

Aryp, Quasar, and Orangin atop the podium at the Stardust Accelerator. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

M1S4 Memo #8: Good Eats at Electron Expressway

Mallard had been competing in top-level tournaments for long enough to keep their composure throughout the podium ceremony and press conferences, but on the roll back to their hotel room their emotions were fragile. They had come close to winning a race before, but this was the first time Mallard had truly felt the victory in their grasp until they overshot the hairpin on the last lap while Starry executed the turn flawlessly. With the first 29-point weekend on the line, the cost of that mistake had affected Mallard more than any of their previous close calls, and Mallard couldn’t hold back their tears as they entered their hotel room.

Wiping their tears with one final tissue, Mallard threw the empty tissue box at the wall as they heard a knock on the door. “It’s unlocked,” they called out.

Billy rolled in, closing the door calmly behind them. “I figured you’d want space to clear your head before dinner. Wouldn’t want Starry to get the wrong impression.”

“Fat chance,” Mallard laughed. “They’ve spent enough time on the track with me to know I don’t take defeat personally. I’m fine.”

Billy looked at the pile of balled-up tissues, then back at their sibling. “Mallard, quit acting like a captain for once. You’re allowed to be sad, you know? It was a tough loss.”

Mallard sighed. “I know. I just hate the idea of being that marble that cries over second place. Especially when I’m one of the highest-scoring racers of all time. It feels like I’m being ungrateful for all that success if I get upset.”

Billy shuffled closer and pulled Mallard into a hug. “Come off it. Getting upset is fine so long as you channel it in a healthy way. Heck, I’m always a little upset to end the season with a win and still be outscored by you!” Billy smiled.

“Being successful is never a reason not to be upset. Nobody’s perfect, but that just means everyone’s got things they wish they could do better.”

Mallard smiled back at their sibling, another tear flowing across their glass. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just feel like I have to be professional in front of the crowds.”

“Well, the crowds aren’t here now, are they?” Billy replied with a grin. “Come on, take your game face off for a minute, then we’d better go. You don’t want to keep Starry waiting.”

After spending a good two hours celebrating their gold medal with the rest of Team Galactic, Starry left their hotel suite for dinner. After taking the other podium finishers for a meal after winning the very first race at Savage Speedway, it had become a tradition in Marbula 1 that whenever Starry podiumed, they would go for dinner with the other medallists. They’d stopped paying whenever they won a race fairly quickly, though – it had always felt a bit condescending.

Orangin had already made plans for that night, but Mallard was waiting for Starry in the lobby. “Sorry I’m late,” they said as they rolled out of the lift. “The rest of the team are still partying upstairs.”

Mallard laughed. “I’m not surprised! After the season you’ve had, it’s about time you had a medal to celebrate.”

“I could say the same to you!” Starry replied as the pair left the hotel and started making their way towards a diner down the street. “It feels weird being on such a long downward streak this season when I’m used to being at the top of the game.”

“To be fair, it’s nearly the same as last year for us,” came Mallard’s response. “Billy’s win in race 8 was our first medal then as well. The only difference is how many races are left to go.”

Starry smiled, remembering their hosting experience the previous year. “True. I guess the shorter season is skewing my perception a bit.” As the pair rolled up to the diner and were directed to their table, they had to fight their way through a small wave of fans who’d noticed their arrival and rolled over for an autograph, which Starry and Mallard were happy to provide.

As the pair ordered their food, the conversation quickly turned to the race. As they reminisced and joked about their fight for the lead, a question popped up. “How do you manage to keep from thinking about all your close calls?” Starry asked as their server carried two burgers over to the table. “You’ve come close so many times, but not having a win yet must be frustrating.”

Mallard sighed. “It’s not easy. Every time I podium, I’m always left thinking about what I could have done better to get that win. Like today, pretty much since the race ended I’ve been wondering what could have happened if I hadn’t overshot the hairpin, or if I’d nailed the quad split again at the end like I did earlier on. But there comes a point where you have to stop obsessing over it. As Bombay likes to say, if I raced differently I would have won, and if they had wheels they’d be a wagon.”

Starry smiled. “That’s pretty good advice,” they replied. “I guess I’m wondering because having wins under my belt feels like it amplifies that pressure to be perfect. Sure, you can’t win every race, but I often feel like since I’ve proved I can win, I can’t settle for anywhere else on the podium. If I did well enough to get that far, I could have done well enough to win. Not really relevant today, I know, but it’s come up a lot recently.”

“I can imagine,” Mallard replied, thinking back to the finale of the Marble League, one of the last times they’d competed against Starry. “For me, it just helps to have those experiences behind me. Keeping a consistently high level in this league is so tricky, you don’t have to win all the time to earn respect for good results.”

After pausing for a quick bite of their food, Mallard winked. “Although between you and me, having a good cry after every close call helps too.” Starry couldn’t help but laugh as they tucked into their meal. It felt good for things to be back to usual, no matter how long it would last.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

“Howdy! I’ll take a baker’s dozen – choose your favorites. All of them will be my favorites.”

“Sure thing! That’ll be…wait a second, you’re…”

“Doesn’t matter who I am,” Clementin said, passing the cashier their credit card. “I like supporting small businesses.”

“And we like you! Here you go. Congrats on that win last week!”

“Thanks! Hey – congratulate Orangin too – they just got bronze today.”

“OH HI! So sorry I didn’t recognize you. Those fedoras are a little low on you both. But now that I think about it…I don’t know who else wears cool hats like that in Zuro.”

Clem sighed. “Such a shame. At least you make good donuts.”

“Well, I hope you two enjoy them! Safe travels!”

As the two O’rangers rolled away, Orangin chuckled to themself. “I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I’m gluten-free. Are those any good?”

Clem shrugged, having gulped down their first donut. “They’re donuts. The fact that they exist at all is good enough for me. By the way, nice race today. You think we have a chance to repeat?”

“Nope. But it sure is fun seeing half the fanbase get scared about it. I’m ready to cause some chaos next week. Stir the pot a little,” teased Orangin, smiling. “Are you?”

“Almost…just let me finish these first. And then, please. Don’t let me buy another box until after the season ends.”

Orangin laughed. “I don’t know if I can promise you that.”

“…Good.”

Starry, Mallard, and Orangin atop the podium at Electron Expressway. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

M1S4 Memo #7: Illusions at Misty Mountain

The checkered flag waved and Clementin crossed the line for the win. The O’s in the stands were louder than they had been in a long time, and nobody was happier than Clem. They immediately jumped over the wall and rolled over to their rowdy fans and celebrated like a youth athlete who had just won their first race. Soon Orangin and Rango joined them and some of the fans too; a scene of uncontrollable excitement reminiscent of their Season 3 team championship. Hopping up and down, rolling side to side, everyone was thrilled to see Clem finally get the first M1 win in their career. 

“To all our amazing fans who stuck with me this entire time….. I DID IT!!!” Clem yelled excitedly. They rolled over to the podium with Rango, and stood proud holding the impressively big trophy. The Non-Descript soda they were given was poured on Clem by Orangin once they got off the podium, and the celebration continued all the way to the locker room.

Red Eye rolled away from the podium more upset than they should have been, given they were carrying a silver medal, two weeks in a row of falling just short of two of their biggest competitors. They had already passed Clementin, who had begun a makeshift party within minutes of the podium ceremony. What was it like to be that excited for a victory? 

Nothing could ever feel as simple as their first season in Marbula One, when the Crazy Cat’s Eyes went from a team “to fill space” to a runaway champion. A party for the podium was a long-gone illusion to Red Eye – an accomplishment that didn’t need such an exuberant reaction, but was simply expected. 

The heaviest crown in marble sports, the Racer’s Championship, continued to rest on their head; their expectation had been that it would never leave. All of these challengers, Royal, Cloudy, Momo; none of them had even the slightest understanding of what it meant to be the best in the world, and Red Eye was only just starting to understand it themselves. Looking around the gray and foggy landscape, Red Eye wondered what might have been if it weren’t for their Greenstone showing as the standings flashed across the stadium. Heading inside, Red Eye couldn’t wait to get away from the crowd of racers and reporters. 

Momo briefly caught up with Clementin in the hallway to congratulate them, but Clem was swept away by their teammates before they could respond. In the locker room, Clementin got out their celebratory donuts and finally got to enjoy them as a winner. 

“To the sweet taste of donuts – I mean personal victory,” Clementin said, toasting to their teammates as they practically inhaled their first donut. By the end of the night, janitors found only the empty donut box left in the locker room, with no crumbs in sight.

By now the crowds had cleared and the racers had been escorted away from the mountain. Momo and Mimo sat side by side on a bench, looking into the dimly lit evening, the former still buzzing from the bronze medal they had earned mere hours ago. Momo looked over at their teammate to see a different emotion. Not quite sadness, but they weren’t sure exactly what.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Momo asked. It was unlike Mimo to seem so glum after a race. 

“Yeah,” Mimo replied, “I just remember sitting here two seasons ago and wondering what went wrong. It’s not my favorite track, you know that. I just wish I could get a second chance.”

“That wasn’t your fault and you know it, Mimo,” Momo said calmly, “This place? It’s a Team Momo track. Just think about it! They had to restart the whole race to keep you from dominating. I’m sure you’ll get another chance, and when you do it won’t get taken from you again.” The two looked at each other in silence for a few seconds, before Mimo looked down at Momo’s bronze medal. 

“You’re right,” Mimo said, “I will get another chance. Then I’ll truly be the first reserve.”

“You always have been the first reserve. No one can take that away from you, either,” asserted Momo, gazing into the haze as dark as the night sky above them. “Remember what happened last year for me in Zuro? Go show up where I didn’t.”

Clementin, Red Eye and Momo atop the podium at Misty Mountain. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

M1S4 Memo #6: Dancing in the Sleet

The stands in the Thunderbolts section were shaking in excitement, the most lively they had been all season. This podium had jolted the fanbase back to life, and they were as happy as ever. Thunder rolled back to the locker room, feeling an immense amount of joy, and was greeted with a champagne shower from their teammates. They hadn’t won the race, nor had they finished second, but their bronze piece of hardware was still something to celebrate.

Bolt stood on a bench. “A toast to the Captain!” 

“To the Captain!” The rest of the team cheered. Thunder and Bolt performed their special glass shake, which they called “The Static Shuffle”. Both of them had built up a strong connection over the last two seasons, bringing them together in a way they hadn’t before. Although the team was very split as a group in their first two years, the bond they had formed by now was as strong as ever. 

“Thank you. Thank you,” said Thunder. “I’m just as enthusiastic as all of you. We finally got a solid result, and we are out of the bottom of the league. Now, let’s keep this up and go break some curses at Misty Mountain!” 

The team erupted in cheers again. While some may say it was an over-celebration for a team still 82 points out of first, Thunder’s bronze meant so much to the team after the horrible first five races. To get a solid finish, let alone podium, was monumental to their self-esteem.

Thunder walked outside into the cold night, and just sat there, taking it all in. The cold was where Thunder felt the most at home, as they always loved playing in the Thorston winters, racing on the ice, sledding, making snowmarbles. Looking up at the beautiful stars in the sky, Thunder whispered to themself:

“Maybe this is a sign of good things to come,” and smiled. 

Meanwhile, despite the organizers’ best efforts, the snow in Glidavik had again piled up to an inconvenient degree. Sand had many faults, but at least it didn’t leave Red Eye dripping water all over the floors after wading out of it.

The other racers had congregated indoors to get away from the cold. Red Eye gave them little notice, sweeping past them without a second glance: Cerulean, Rima, Speedy. Some would have said it was too arrogant a look for them this season. But victory had been so close – today’s duel replayed in their mind over and over again, too similar to last year’s.

There was one racer missing, and the rest of the paddock already knew who it was. If the Hazers weren’t barely tolerating the media, they were avoiding them altogether, and Cloudy was no exception. But as Red Eye rolled down the halls, they saw them talking on the phone with the door slightly creaked open.

“No, Misty, we have to get out of here now. That super creepy journalist is back; I thought I was seeing things but no, they’ve been there all season and they saw me and they’ll definitely be there next week, how have they not been banned yet –”

Red Eye opened the door fully. Cloudy reacted with immediate alarm, scrambling to act normal, but no amount of non-suspicious leaning could erase the accidental eavesdropping.

“Red Eye,” they greeted awkwardly. “Um, you didn’t hear anything.”

“A journalist?” This was good. They could estimate what their competition was like.

“The race was nice,” Cloudy said, ungracefully trying to redirect the conversation. “Smoggy said you were good, but it’s not the same as actually competing against you.”

“You’re similar to each other,” Red Eye remarked.

They became hard to read again, slipping back into cheerful politeness. “They gave me some tips for this track. I’ve had everyone’s support since the beginning, that’s all.”

“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” Red Eye made sure their frustration wasn’t audible. It couldn’t have been as simple as a few tips. “It doesn’t matter. I have a record to keep. I’ll be aiming for the top regardless.”

“I know you will,” Cloudy replied, acknowledging their declaration. “Is it lonely?”

“What?”

“The team – we’re pretty isolated, which sometimes sucks, but we always look out for each other. We try, anyway.” The hint of regret in their voice betrayed their sunny disposition. “If I win, will I become like you?”

There was no malice in the question. It wasn’t supposed to conjure up an image of Blue Eye and Yellow Eye wearing identical expressions. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Never mind,” Cloudy said. The conversation had turned distant long ago. “I made a promise, and I’m going to keep it. I don’t care about your record.” A pause, then a horrified realization. “That was rude. I’m so sorry, I meant –”

“It’s fine.” So both racing and tact were similar, but was that it? What had begun as an attempt to gauge a rival had resulted in more questions than answers. They expected Cloudy to be unforthcoming and vague, but not to be a disorienting combination of cordial and unapproachable. At least the others were more straightforwardly reserved. 

“It was nice talking to you, but I have to go,” Cloudy said, not that Red Eye could tell what they were actually thinking. “Oh, watch out for a journalist named…Crawlies, I think? They’re really, uh, intrusive, you should stay away from them. Maybe they’ll get lost next week. Say hi to Blue Eye for me.”

Carefully, Cloudy edged out the door, no doubt heading to the shrouded (and haunted, according to Clutter) highlands they called home. Red Eye stayed behind, ruminating on what little they had just learned. They weren’t able to get a read on them at all.

What had Crazy Cat’s Eye said to them on the dunes of Felynia? Not to let the drama of a championship get to their head? But fame, success, glory, everything they’d already done…

They’d already come so far.

Cloudy, Red Eye and Thunder atop the podium at Sleet Street. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

M1S4 Memo #5: Halfway Havoc

The euphoria Momo felt from crossing the line in P1 hadn’t simmered down, despite several hours passing since the climax of the Tumult Turnpike Grand Prix. In the weekly team debrief after each race, Coach Momomomomo and the Marbula pair were typically laser-focused on the next steps; always looking for how to maximise the following result. 

However, quite contrarily, the marbles had all loosened up this time around — clearly revelling in the thrill of their first victory of the season. Momo was admiring the team’s Marbula poster plastered on the wall of their garage at the race — while Mimo’s admiration was more directed at their fellow racer themself.

“Finally, my nickname holds true,” said Momo, smiling at the thought. “I’m now truly a winning dumpling.”

“You always were,” replied the Coach. “This is your first victory, but your mindset was always one to win. It’s just that now we get to enjoy this shiny new trophy along with it,” they continued, holding Momo’s race-winning trophy out of pride.

The marbles rolled out of the garage, looking to take pictures with their friends, Team Primary. Both teams were delighted by each other’s success this weekend, with the Tumult Turnpike GP becoming the first ever Momary finish on the top two steps of the podium.

Momo thought about all the criticism regarding their inclusion in S4 after their disappointing previous season. Almost on cue, Mimo spoke:

“You’re here to stay now, Momo. We’re so proud.”

Royal rolled away from the podium quickly after pictures were taken. They were hoping to catch up to Blue Eye after their fourth place finish. Royal themselves had taken their third consecutive podium finish, holding onto third after a late charge from the Cat’s Eye. After searching for a minute, they finally caught up with Blue Eye in the pits.

“Hey Blue! Great race today!” Called Royal. Blue Eye turned around quickly, and smiled when they saw who it was.

“Thanks, Royal. You too!” They replied, “I was so close to taking third,” Blue Eye finished with a chuckle. They rolled over to join Royal.

“Anytime. Feel free to join me, there’s always room for more blue on the podium. Just make sure you stay behind me,” Royal said with a smile.

“We’ll see about the last part,” Blue Eye retorted, as the two laughed.

“Well, I should probably get back to my team, they’re probably wondering where I rolled off to,” Royal said as they began to roll away, “I’ll see you around.”

“Sounds good. Congrats on the medal!” Blue Eye responded as the two parted ways. 

As Royal came to the stadium exit, they thought about their career to this point. With just 9 races under their belt, some people were beginning to say that they were the best on the circuit. Royal finally had the chance to make a mark on the world, but the best part was the fact that, since their win at the O’raceway, those expectations had become fuel. And that fuel made the ride all the more fun. 

The streets of Hunluen, usually bustling, were quiet now.

The rain beat down upon the roof of the café as Aryp sipped a cup of tea and gazed out the window. They had chosen a small, quiet place deliberately. It was a little shop they’d never been to before and had found from Clutter’s recommendation.

The excitement of the race was fresh in their mind, and midway through the season, they’d decided they needed to take this chance to step back a little. Aryp turned back to their teammate who took a glance at them up from their cup of coffee.

“So,” Rima cast a glance over to a flickering lightbulb “What drags you all the way out here instead of going with the other racers?”

“Didn’t feel like it.” Aryp replied simply while watching the rain trace down the window.

“There’s gotta be something else on your mind. C’mon, I know you, you love winning.” Rima chuckled.

“That’s exactly it.” Aryp paused to take a sip of tea, “I love winning.”

Rima gave a quizzical glance. “We all do, isn’t that the whole point of competing…?”

“I guess, but my point is it’s far too easy to get caught up on points and medals and forget that there’s life outside all that. You forget that you have worth outside victory. And I don’t want you, or anyone, to fall into that.”

Aryp rolled over to the window to watch the lights reflect off of raindrops and then continued, “I’ve been successful, and sometimes I worry about whether I’d be worth anything if I wasn’t… So I started coming to places like this to remind myself that there’s life outside medals.”

There was a pause as Rima took a sip of their coffee. “…Huh. Yeah, I guess I see what you mean. We could all do to be a little kinder to ourselves sometimes.” 

“Agreed. And speaking of, don’t worry about paying. It’s my treat.”

With that, the two returned to silence as the rain finally began to let up.

Momo, Aryp and Royal atop the podium at Tumult Turnpike. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

M1S4 Memo #4: Second Chances at Greenstone

Draklin was full of memories. Not necessarily all bad ones, but they still rung fresh.

The silver lining, aside from their newly acquired bronze, was that they’d managed to duck away from the post-race press conference. Cloudy, now alone, let the race settle in their mind, flicking the corners of their notes. The pages were covered in cramped, meticulous writing that wasn’t theirs: knowledge gifted to them to complete a dream.

They’d obtained them a few months ago, after a friendly race underneath the lights of Halifern. They still remembered opening the door, freezing in shock at who they saw, then rushing into them with a tight hug. The words came out tumbling over each other: how are you, what are you doing here, I’ve missed you, we’ve missed you.

“To see you,” Hazy had replied.

It had been nice, catching up, but Cloudy couldn’t stay.

“I get why,” Cloudy had muttered, “but this whole facade is more trouble than it’s worth sometimes.”

“I know,” Hazy had said. “You did really well out there today, you know? You’ve grown so much since I last saw you.”

It had been that last line that broke them, bringing forth the tears they had been holding back through the entire conversation. Hazy had held them without judgment, looking a little confused but sympathetic. 

“I mean it,” they had continued quietly. “I’m not involved in the decision making process, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Smokey chose you for Marbula 1 after today.”

“And how do you know I’m ready?” 

“I trust you. All of you.” But not myself. Their gaze had turned distant. “Doubt’s something that will seep into everything you do until it swallows you whole and you lose your way. I tried to hide so much for so long, I…thought you were all better off without me.”

“We all regret things,” Cloudy had said. The wind outside sent a snow flurry past the window. 

“But I let it consume me.” They shook their head. “Pass my message to Misty, would you? In the end, it all comes back to what we do now, in the present. We can’t see into the future, but there’s always hope. Show the world what we can do. We can climb.” 

“Hope,” Cloudy echoed, taking the notes that Hazy passed to them.

“‘The past isn’t important.’ That’s what we’ve always operated on. This isn’t any different.”

To carry a dream. Back in the present, Cloudy steeled themselves with new resolve.

“I’ll see you again, then, at the top of the podium.”

“I would wish for nothing less.”

“Knock knock!” Rima announced their presence at the Coach’s door.

“Who’s there?” Spoke a voice from the other side.

“Rima.”

“Rima who?” Secondary chuckling at their lame joke.

“Rima, your second place racer! Now let me in, I wanna talk.” 

The door opened and Rima rolled in. Secondary was studying race footage, no doubt to look at the strategies and analyze every move.

Rima flopped down next to them while fidgeting with their new medal with a grin plastered across their face.

“Y’know Coach,” they started, “I just have to say thank you. Thank you for… Well, everything!”

“Really?”  Secondary sounded surprised. “Why’s that? You’re the one who just nearly won a race, don’t give ME the credit-“

“Secondary, shush for a second and let me finish. There’s something different about me than all the other racers. Have you ever realized that?”

“Well, obviously.” Their gaze shifted back to the race footage scribbling down a note while watching marbles shoot through the accelerator. “Everyone has their unique skill sets. If they didn’t, then this series would be really boring, wouldn’t it?”

“Well… yes, but no. Look at everyone else’s roster, and then look at me. I’m the only one who’s gotten taken out and then given a second chance.” Rima’s gaze shifted to the ceiling as they let out a breath. Secondary stopped writing.

“You believed in me. You could’ve tried to race Prim again, they’re tried and true despite the bad season. Or you could’ve brought Imar in, fresh new talent. But you picked me. You thought I deserved another chance at this, and you believed in my abilities. And now?” 

Their gazes met. “Me and Aryp are going to make this our best season yet as long as you keep believing in us. I’ve seen it in me and I’ve seen it in them, it really does go a long way.” They got up again and looked towards the door. “I’ll leave you to it now. We’re gonna crush it out there from now on.” 

As they rolled away, a ceramic clink was heard on the table and Secondary glanced down. Placed before them was a gift shop mug of a duck with a caption reading “Quacktastic!” And a note attached saying “To Marblearth’s best coach.”

It was a good race.

Without a doubt, their first race win had catapulted the team up in the standings, yet Swifty couldn’t help but feel disappointment that that was all they got from their captain before they slinked out of the podium ceremony. 

“Swifts you good?” a voice called out.

Swifty blinked. Right, hotel, video call, Whizzy. 

“Yeah,” Swifty nodded.

Whizzy frowned over the screen, “You weren’t actually paying attention were you?”

“No…” Swifty murmured.

“You seem… off,” Whizzy squinted at the screen.“You’re not even smiling! Come on, it’s your first win, you can’t be sulking!”

The trophy had been discarded onto the floor after beelining it back to the hotel room. They thought that sharing it with Whizzy would have made them feel better, but through the shaky wifi and warbling static, all it did was compound the feeling of emptiness.

“I wish you were here…” Swifty’s voice started to crack. If it were anyone else they’d have been embarrassed to be seen like this, but not when it was Whizzy.

“Aw Swifts, please don’t cry-”

But it was too late as four weeks of frustration started to come hurdling out.

“It feels so lonely without you…race after race, everything comes so fast, it feels like there’s never enough time.” They took a breath. “I went to this great concert but I haven’t talked with Cerulean or Royal since! It’s all stats! Boom! Race data! Bang! Press conferences!” They wanted to scream into a pillow. “And don’t get me started on Speedy.”

Whizzy laughs, “Same old Speedy?”

“Worse! It’s like they can’t even look at me! I’m doing everything right and it feels like it’s still not enough for that kid!”

Whizzy knew that feeling personally. “Hey, remember, whatever their deal is, it’s not your fault. You’re doing so well right now and I’m so proud of you.” They wink. “Takes my breath away watching you race, ya know?”

“You’re so corny,” Swifty sniffled, earning a laugh from Whizzy.

“You’ll have to just ask them directly,” Whizzy hummed.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Swifty sighed, “We’re flying out Sunday so I’ll try to have a chat with them on the plane ride over to Hunluen. They can’t avoid me there…theoretically.” They sunk deeper into the bed, suddenly exhausted. “I think I’m gonna pass out now. That track was like a roller coaster combined with a funhouse.”

“Yeah rest up, you’ll need it,” Whizzy smiled then paused, “Oh, One last thing, do you mind passing a message to Speedster from Rapidly?” 

“Uh I guess?”

“It’s not that urgent; just remind Speedy to call home.”

Swifty, Rima and Cloudy celebrating on the podium at Greenstone. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

M1S4 Memo #3: Fear and Fanmarbling in Rosaka

The flowers reminded Misty of home.

“Home” was a secret they would keep to themselves for the rest of eternity, something reporters never quite understood even after all these years. They were all smiles today, a sharp turnaround from last week. They’d already shown their true colors anyway, Misty mused. The right thing to do would be to let go, but it was easier said than done.

Back then, the flowers had barely started budding.

“Explain this,” they had demanded.

Smoggy had replied in a perfect monotone. “I refuse to participate.”

“Two entrants without experience? You know how risky this is.”

There had been a long pause before they found their words. “Last year,” they began quietly, “From the beginning, I could tell something was off. But I didn’t –”

Smoggy’s voice wavered, then cracked.

“I just watched.” They smiled bitterly. “If only I could go back in time.”

Misty had stood there speechless, numbly taking the notebook Smoggy handed to them.

“Here. I won’t be using it. It’s not as detailed, it’s not organized, and you’ll have to retape the pages back together, but maybe it’ll help.”

“Y-you can’t trust me.” The doubt had crept in on them again, ever-present and persistent. “Look at what I’ve already done.”

Smoggy had met their eyes solemnly. “Do you honestly think Hazy would have nominated you as captain if they didn’t know you had it in you? They chose correctly. Don’t forget that.”

But even now, clutching their new bronze, Misty wasn’t sure if it had been the right choice. Everything looked smaller from atop the podium: the journalists in the media pen, the rows of judging eyes in the grandstands, and a familiar smile of gentle pride.

Wait, you’re–

And then Speedy leapt off their podium, and Misty instinctively shied away, and when they looked again the marble had vanished.

Oh. It was just their imagination, they told themselves, watching the breeze kick up another flurry of petals into the open air. Stop looking back. There was still so much work to do. They had to keep moving forward.

Royal, Speedy and Misty on the podium at Sakura Garden (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Sometimes Swifty just couldn’t understand Speedy at all. It had been a great race, a second podium, and they were sitting second in the championship. They should have been over the moon; instead, all they got was a dry “it was a good race” followed by a slammed door.

“They said the exact same thing last week!” Swifty huffed wandering aimlessly down the halls, hoping to find someone in a better mood to hang out with. There was an odd air of animosity between nearly everybody that they weren’t expecting – what Rapidly had described in their first season as a fun little time filler had seemed to evolve into its own beast in just a few years.

“This is hopeless,” they thought, making their way through the spiraling halls, until something caught their attention.

“Royal. Listen to me, this secret is coming with us to our graves.”

“Hey, guys! What are you two up to?!” Swifty called, peeking into the Kobalts drivers room, both blue marbles yelping in surprise.

“Royal,” Cerulean warned, gaze darting back and forth frantically between their teammate and a witness to what they’d just said.

“Oh well if it’s important you don’t -”

“CERULEAN AND I ARE GOING TO THE HANASUNE BIIKU CONCERT BUT THEY MESSED UP AND NOW WE HAVE THREE TICKETS INSTEAD OF TWO,” They paused to let out a sob, “NOW SOME POOR FAN OF BIIKU WILL NEVER GET TO EXPERIENCE THEIR GLORY AND IT’S ALL OUR FAULT!! ”

“Wait, like the fictional character?” Swifty asked innocently.

“FICTIONAL CHARACTER?!” Royal scoffed. “Biiku is so much more than that!”

“They have lore,” Cerulean interjects.

“They have lore! One hundred and eighteen comic issues worth of lore!” Royal lowered their voice, teary eyed, “An android cursed with the emotions of a marble. Unable to connect to the world around them yet burdened with all the feeling it brings them! Oh how lonely a fate!”

“How ever did they overcome it?” Cerulean responded, somewhat sarcastically.

“By simply doing what they were good at all along! Sing! Through music they ended their loneliness, connecting to the hearts of fans and other androids just like them! The power of love, friendship, and music makes Biiku learn to love the world!” Royal finished dramatically, then blushed. “Sorry, I get really passionate when I talk about this stuff.”

Swifty was definitely confused but entertained. “Wow, I didn’t know there was so much to it! Is there more?”

“Canonically, no, but–” Royal started, their talking pace almost as lightning quick as their racing.

“Oh, you’ve really got them going now.” Cerulean quipped, rolling back a few lengths and nodding along to Royal’s story.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard this before?” Swifty asked.

“Oh yeah, about a million times. The first was back when Royal was the Phantom of the Dorm Rooms, blasting Biiku music from their room constantly. I made the mistake of saying it’s just a voice bank, and they gave me a seminar in return!”

“And then the brave knight-” Royal stops to catch their breath before jumping right back into it.

“So the concert’s a reward for doing so well, right? Double golds, what a feat!” Swifty whistled.

“Nah, we’ve had this thing planned for months now. Win or lose, Royal would be singing their heart out tonight. Only downside is that it finishes 2 hours before the morning flight out of Rosaka.”

“Won’t you be tired? It could affect your performance at Greenstone,” Swifty pointed out. Oh, no. They sounded like Speedy.

Cerulean thought for a second, as Royal worked their way through the third act.

“Maybe. But I think sometimes it’s better not being perfect in everything we do. Ordering pizza when a game of Marbles and Monoliths runs a few hours too long, taking a day off to binge watch a new show that we’d been chatting about, staying up to see a singing hologram,” Cerulean laughs, “Sometimes it really does just feel like our lives are solely for other marbles’ entertainment, but in those moments it feels like we’re people too.”

“Don’t get it wrong! We obviously take competing really seriously, so much so that Royal’s starting to revert back to a nervous wreck, but what good would it be if all we did was worry?”

“Probably not for the best.” Swifty mumbled.

“I’d hate to be the poor athlete who lives thinking even the smallest acts of enjoying themselves is going to throw them off their game,” Cerulean smiles, giving Swifty a nudge “Okay, now act like we were paying attention.”

“-and that is the briefest explanation I can possibly give,” Royal exclaimed with a flourish.

“I like the part where it’s revealed the knight was actually Biikus’ childhood friend Aroyl.” Swifty responded, much to Cerulean’s surprise.

“Thank you! That’s my favorite part too!” Royal exclaimed, then frowned. “It’s a shame I can’t tell you about the sequel, I don’t think I can cover that before we need to catch the bus to the Ampinktheatre.”

“You know what, Swifty? We’ve got a spare ticket, why don’t you come with us to the show?” Cerulean asked. Royal gasped, before grinning excitedly.

“Me?”

“Well? What do you say?” Cerulean and Royal both looked so excited that Swifty only had to think it over for a second.

Royal and Swifty at the Hanasune Biiku concert, illustrated by Thinkdoodler.

Credits

M1S4 Memo #2: The O’raceway Press Conference

The world’s best left the O’raceway after a hard-fought day on the pavement and sand. The podium finishers rolled off with their teams after bidding their farewells to the masses of fans longing for autographs and pictures. Royal and Red Eye had slowly built a history of electric battles in Marbula One, but Red Eye’s poor qualifying performance allowed Royal to finish the race relatively unthreatened. Sandwiched between the two rivals was the newcomer, Ecto. The Plasma marble made their mark on the circuit by charging to a silver medal. The three went to their respective post-race press conferences, where reporters waited patiently for the day’s star performers.

Red Eye settled themselves at the stand, setting their bronze trophy and Most Valuable Marble plaque on the table. Despite being the greatest attraction in Marbula One, Red Eye never had been terribly fond of interviews. 

“So, what do you want to know?”

One reporter piped up immediately, “Red Eye! You were incredible today. Seventeen positions gained in one race is crazy! How did you do it?”

“It’s simple,” the two-time champ replied, “I refocused myself after the setback and stuck to my training. I know I’m the best, that was the time to prove it.”

“Prove it you did,” another analyst piped in, “what’s next for you Red Eye?”

“What’s next?” Red Eye repeated before pointing at the bronze trophy they had received, “I’m going to make that thing gold.”

Ecto found themselves in a huge gaggle on their way to the conference room. One race into their career and they already gained a silver medal!

“Come on Ecto, we’ve got a schedule here,” urged Cell, “I’d really rather you not be late to your first podium press conference.”

“Just one more autograph?” asked Ecto jovially.

“Fine, but I’m not taking the blame when marbles are wondering where the silver medalist is.”

“Oh pipe down Cell, I’m just messing with you. Come on, let’s get going,” Ecto replied. It took the whole roll to the conference for Ecto to truly process what was happening, the fans wanted to see them, the O’raceway silver medalist, as much as they wanted to see anyone else… “Ecto, the silver medalist,” they thought, looking at the shining trophy they’d earned, “I could get used to that.”

Royal had gotten used to the spotlight. After adjusting to being a star in the world of Marbula One, they had begun to expect good results, as is the mindset of an athlete. Who could blame them? In their last two races, Royal had taken two gold medals, one of which came by a clutch pass on the individual champion, Red Eye. They had beaten the very best multiple times now, confidence was to be expected.

“Hey, Marblearth to Royal? You still there, champ?” Coach Sapphire whispered to Royal. They had zoned out on the roll to the conference room.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just thinking,” replied Royal. They were thinking hard too. Having become such an exciting prospect in such a short time, Royal hadn’t really thought of the pressure of fighting for a title until just now. The fans didn’t just want them to win, they expected it, and Royal couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing those fans.

“Hey, don’t worry about them,” Sapphire said, as if reading Royal’s mind, “your job is to compete. Whether you get first or last, we’re all behind you. You could never let us down, Royal. Don’t even let yourself think that you might.” 

“Thanks,” Royal said quietly, “I needed that. Now let’s go talk to them.”

Royal, Ecto and Red Eye celebrate on the O’raceway podium. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

M1S4 Memo #1: Return to the Razzway

As the closing ceremony concluded, the adrenaline and smell of champagne beginning to wane, the three podium sitters shared one curt glance between them and nodded before wordlessly parting paths. They had said all they needed out on the track.

Momo was the first to take their leave, nervousness clouding their mind as their bronze trophy lagged behind them. Making their way through the crowds was like returning to your old house, standing on that doorstep hoping to fix things you’d left behind.

This trophy: an apology for the wasted hope, and the selfishness, letting passion override your good judgment. They’d seen the comments, the calls for their exit from the roster, all this noise they couldn’t avoid, as if in one bad season everything they’d worked for was being put into question.

But as they reared closer to the grandstand, all they could hear was one loud uniform chant.

“MOMO! MOMO! MOMO!”

Camera flashes and waving signs, cheering and screaming intensifying as they looked up into the audience.

Welcome home.

They were wrong about everything. These marbles weren’t here to pass judgment, didn’t beg them to play it safe, stick to tradition, or chase a dream passed down from person to person, these were the people that had gotten them out of all of that.

This wasn’t an apology. This was a gift they’d brought to them, one that they’d all get to share. 

Momo tried to find something else to say, mumbling something, sputtering out nothing. At the sight of their distress, the crowd began to lower their volume.

“Are you okay?” They seemed to ask, hundreds of marbles anxiously waiting for a reply.

Momo let out a shaky laugh, then lifted the trophy as high as they could, the sun making it gleam like gold.

“Thank you, guys,” they said, tears spilling freely but grinning nonetheless. “Thank you for everything.” The roar of the crowd drowned out all of that background noise.

The fans were cheering, but Speedy barely registered it, hearing only a dim echo of its true volume. Instead, playing over it was lap 13’s commentary, right in front of the grandstands, bits of the race replaying like a video reel. Pause, unpause, scroll a bit, and freeze that frame. Again. Once more.

 Perhaps as exciting as running the race was picking it apart afterwards. A race was an elaborate puzzle that had to be made sense of, broken apart and reassembled over and over again, but today, it felt like a piece was missing. How exciting.

Cloudy overtakes Speedy for the lead on lap 13. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

“Speedy,” Quickly nudged, snapping them back to reality. Speedy blinked.

“Pay attention and don’t say anything… unpalatable,” they muttered. Speedy grimaced. That was clearly code for “You don’t want to retake PR training for the third time, do you?“

“Right. Right,” They waved up to the sea of red, “So what do I say to them?”

“You didn’t think about that before we came over here?” Quickly strained a smile waving beside them.

“Normally it’s not me who does this.”

“Well, you better get used to it. Rapidly can’t bail you out anymore.”

They looked at the trophy hoping to find something to say, but all it did was add a new set of eyes looking back at them. Speedy suddenly felt singled out in a way that they haven’t felt in nearly a decade.

“You see this?” They lifted up their prize. “This is only the first one! Everybody take a good hard look at it because this is the one that’s starting us off!” Impulsively, they tossed the prize into the crowd, earning them a glare from Quickly.

Still, it satisfied the audience. Reinvigorated by the promise for more, they passed the trophy among them, from old fans to new. Speedy watched carefully as it made its rounds. Some from their second championship, others from their first, and most memorable were those from before any of the Marble League stuff, fans who hadn’t known them by their name but a variety of monikers – Wunderkind, Rising Star, the Prodigy of Accellaise.

As the trophy made its way back to them, the grandstand was alight, yet the whole thing felt empty even with the increase in noise. The silver now standing next to them hogging up space, a missing piece.

Maybe if it were golden, Speedy thought, searching the crowds hoping to catch the one who’d run off with it.

The screams were deafening, but exhilarating. Cloudy raised up their new trophy, letting the sounds of elation replace the last dredges of adrenaline in them.

They should be happy. They were happy; there was a sea of gray in the grandstands celebrating the Hazers’ first win in a year. Still shaking with triumph, they gazed over their fans, even spotting a few familiar faces. But for a moment, Cloudy remembered the fans as they were a few months ago, their expressions twisted in disgust and disappointment under the overcast skies of Draklin.

One misstep, and they’ll turn on you.

Cloudy blinked, trying to clear the thought from their mind. The trophy they held suddenly felt heavier. They’re here to support you, Cloudy had to remind themselves as they approached the stands. They wouldn’t suddenly stop, they believed in them! It wasn’t naïve to think like that, it couldn’t be, so why was it so unsettling?

They navigated through the crowd anyway, trying to ignore their unease. Hoping their smile didn’t look forced, Cloudy managed to sign a few autographs before preoccupying themselves with the team tradition of dodging reporters. Repetitive was an understatement: despite their best efforts, they received seventeen “cloud nine” puns before they finally evaded the last of the press. 

Solitude. No crowd, no noise. No fans in front of them to disappoint, no journalists there to twist their words, just themselves. Alone, Cloudy withdrew two worn notebooks – their teammates’ last gift to them – and recalled an echo of some months-old conversation.

“‘The past isn’t important.’ That’s what we’ve always operated on. This isn’t any different.”

Ironic, then, that it was their guidance aiding Cloudy’s victory today.

“Me? I’m breaking my promise.”

“Smoggy –”

“Hey, listen. No matter what happens, we’ll be proud of you.”

All their dreams. Everything Hazy and Smoggy entrusted to them. They were going to make it happen.

Cloudy, Speedy and Momo atop the podium for the Razzway GP. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits

MRS6 Memo #10: Spirit

At the halfway point of the final race, Ghost Plasma and Slimer were locked in a battle for 7th position; a battle with such great championship implications, for these two contenders were tied on points going into the final. Ghost Plasma saw Slimer go slightly wide at one of the wider left-handers and seized the opportunity; diving on the inside to get ahead. Ghost Plasma was now provisionally a two-time Marble Rally champion.

Right behind them in 8th, Slimer knew they had to make up that spot no matter what. Lunging around the outside, they closed right up on their title rival, but Plasma’s blocking game was famously second-to-none. Slimer grew anxious as it seemed like the championship was slipping away and not for the first time.

Only in the next few turns, the championship was turned completely on its head again. As Crazy Cat’s Eye veered off the course, Ghost Plasma simultaneously lost control, overshooting their turn a moment later. Millions of voices around Marblearth gasped as the marble that was looking so dominant for most of the season had lost it all in a matter of seconds.

Ghost Plasma beaches midway through the final race. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Slimer, similarly shocked by Plasma’s DNF, honed in their cat-like reflexes to barely avoid ploughing through the sand as well and to keep themselves rolling. Suddenly, the championship was wide open for their taking; the top two were out and Ducktape, the closest marble in points, was nowhere to be seen.

As they rolled down the course, Slimer could feel the championship within reach, getting closer and closer with every second. They continued to gain whatever ground they could — Amethyst still had an outside shot ahead of them and Ducktape, they noticed, was creeping up as Ducktape typically does. 

With one straight to go, Silver Bolt had gotten by for 3rd place. As they saw Lollipop’s charge on Grasshopper for the win, Slimer sprinted forward, willing themselves back on the podium for one final time. Vindication for 2017 had been achieved — six years later, Slimer was a Marble Rally champion at long last.

Slimer’s charge ahead of Silver Bolt reverses their fortune from Race 3, when it was Silver Bolt who won in a photo-finish. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Grasshopper at the bottom was still in awe at the sheer speed Lollipop displayed to overtake them at the line; despite losing out on what would’ve been their first win, Grasshopper was graceful nonetheless. Lollipop knew they had to do whatever it took to finally emerge into the top half of the standings — fuelled by that desire, they were able to hit the speed boost perfectly to capture their first and only win of the season.

As the rest of the field reached the bottom of the course, the marbles lifted Slimer in the air in celebration of their championship. Everyone knew that this redemptive win meant the world to them, but perhaps the marble that knew it most of all, Ducktape, was beaming the widest.

“I told you,” said Ducktape, as Slimer was brought down to the sand. “I told you that you didn’t need to worry today. You truly were the best racer out there.”

The overall podium of Marble Rally Season 6, with Slimer and Ducktape in the top two above Superball in third. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Slimer thought back to their hike with Ducktape in Tapai earlier that week, realising that their friend was indeed right. The pair of them had climbed to the peak of the mountain that day, and today they had completed their climb to the peak of the Marble Rally. “Look at us, top two in the standings!” Slimer exclaimed.

As they stood on the final race podium to receive their medals, Lollipop and Grasshopper were jubilant, but Slimer was looking around in search of two marbles in particular. They knew just how dejected Superball and Ghost Plasma must have been feeling — losing the title with a DNF reminded Slimer in every way of what happened in 2017.

Unfortunately, neither Superball nor Ghost Plasma were anywhere to be seen. Slimer’s smile waned in the slightest bit, but as their bronze medal was handed to them, thoughts of their spectacular season came back and their spirit lifted once more.

Lollipop, Grasshopper, and Slimer atop the podium for Race 10. (Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs)

Credits