ML2024 Memo #1: The More Things Change

After the Ice Dash ended, Billy found Smoggy in the Hazers’ common room as usual, slumped dejectedly against the couch watching local news play no louder than a hum.

“Hello, Billy,” Smoggy greeted them, not turning their gaze from the TV. If Smoggy wasn’t interested in talking they would have had no qualms ignoring them entirely, so Billy took that as an invitation to make themself comfortable on the couch adjacent to their Hazers equivalent. 

(Art Credit: Piney)

“I watched the final,” continued Smoggy. “Congratulations.” 

Billy smiled. They’d left their bronze medal with Mallard and the team, but even now the pride was warm in their heart. “Thanks. Sorry you couldn’t be there.” 

“It’s fine.” Of course it wasn’t- Billy wasn’t much for emotional intuition, but even they could tell it was far from fine. That sort of feigned detachment was ultimately par for the course with Smoggy, though. “Shame that Swifty won, though.” As was the barely-disguised bitterness. 

“At least they seemed happy about it.” Truthfully, Smoggy wasn’t alone in coming to resent the Speeders. It being Swifty in particular brought back memories of P-Mine Tunnel, too. At least this time there’d been someone cushioning the blow. 

Smoggy dialed down the volume on the TV. “Probably because it’s Swifty’s first individual gold.” 

Oh? “You don’t usually remember that sort of thing.” 

“If you don’t keep an eye on the Speeders, you’ll be in big trouble.” 

The same is true about the Hazers, you know, Billy thought, but didn’t say. All that sneaking up from behind during races… “Well, it was Ruzzy I should have been keeping an eye on. Swifty was a lost cause.” 

Smoggy thought for a second. “You’re not alone in losing to Ruzzy,” they said eventually, just a hint of heat to the words. 

“It even happened to Rapidly,” agreed Billy, nodding. 

“And me,” Smoggy grumbled. “This is just Arctic Circuit all over again, but without Clementin…” 

Billy did their best to muster a neutral expression at the mention of Clementin’s name. The last thing Smoggy needed or wanted was to be dragged into their problems.

Smoggy didn’t seem to notice either way, continuing unabated. “…but if I was strong enough, I would’ve shoved Starry back.” 

“It’s Starry’s fault, really,” agreed Billy mindlessly. 

“Speaking of Ruzzy, do you know where they went?” Smoggy asked. 

“Something about going to get burgers.” 

With a sigh, Smoggy leaned back against the couch. “Figures.” 

LOCATION: Glidavik

DATE: 02/12/24

ESTABLISHMENT: Far North Burgers & Grill

ORDERED: Double Goat Burger, Tato Wedges, Cheese Nuggets & Cheese Dip with Orange Soda

VENUE RATING: Immediate plus for being warm. Glidavik is freezing! Anyway, it’s a nice place, slick and super clean, but a bit less personal than some places I’ve eaten at. Chairs were comfortable enough. Spacious interior and nice staff. Must be popular with the locals, as most of the other customers weren’t wearing team gear and they didn’t notice me. Nice to be anonymous for a bit. 4.5/5

FOOD RATING: Glidavikians sure love their cheese! My burger had cheese, my cheese nuggets had cheese, and my cheese dip had… cheese. I’m surprised there was no cheese in my soda. Rezzy gave me some of their fried pickles and there was cheese dust on that too, but besides the cheese overabundance it was good. Goat has a really unique flavor- it was either that or lamb. Generic buns & cheese nuggets didn’t have much flavor, but the “tato” wedges were well-seasoned. All nicely cooked. 3.25/5

FINAL RANKING: 3.875/5

In the wake of the redone Halfpipe medal ceremony, the Solar Flares were bunched together in the shadow of the podium steps. They howled like hyenas, flailing their medals around and talking in ecstatic tones. Jump rolled over slowly, as if they would be sucked into the energetic vortex if they moved too quickly.

A marble turned — Flare, the captain. As Jump smiled in greeting, Flare’s face lit up. Professionalism abandoned in the heat of the moment, they pranced over like a deer. They shook Jump around and grinned when they reached each other, stars in their eyes. “We did it! I knew we did!”

“Yeah, you did!” Jump laughed. “I’m glad the appeal worked out.”

“Yeah! Part of me was worried nothing would change, but it turned out it was just a little mistake. Still, our first Marble League medal! I’m so happy! And you guys were great out there, too; it looked like you were flying!”

“Sure felt like it,” Jump said.

“I know, it was so much fun! It made me kinda dizzy, though; I guess that’s why I didn’t notice the score discrepancy immediately. Going back and forth and back and forth like that…”

“Yeah, definitely,” Jump replied. They got the feeling they would be here for a while.

“Oh hey, don’t you think it’s funny that our teams got medals in this event when we’re both from such warm places? If it snowed in Meteorine, the world might as well be over! I don’t know if it fits as well for the Ducks, it can get pretty cold in… are they from Bermenghank or Draklin?” 

“Oh, I think they’re fr—” Jump started to answer.

“But anyway, I’ve been waiting for this forever! I was wondering if it’d ever happen, y’know. And I can’t wait to see what my family will say! My friends, too. I know one of them said they have the League playing on their work TV pretty much 24/7 now. They must’ve seen, right? No way they didn’t. Oh, and—”

As Flare kept going, Jump began to think that if they never stopped them, they would talk themself to death. With another marble, they might have been irritated, but here, it was endearing. It felt as if they were peering back in time, at themself in the beginning of Surculo. Back then, Jump felt the same all-consuming joy that Flare was feeling. Eventually, time and experience eroded it into something more reasonable, but it had been a long, long time since Jump last saw it in its purest form.

At some point, Flare started to slow down and trail off, after going into detail about some dish their parents made that they couldn’t wait to eat again. They stared at the snow on the ground. 

Jump’s brow furrowed. “Are you—”

With no warning, Flare exploded into tears. The force of their sobs shook their body; wails bubbled from their throat. 

“Woah, hey, it’s alright,” Jump murmured, more than shocked at the sudden switch. They rolled a bit closer.

Flare only wept harder. They wheezed, trying to get a breath in. Tears glistened on their cheeks and made little dots in the snow below. They met Jump’s worried look with one of realization.

“W-we really did it…” they croaked.

Jump’s gaze softened. They pulled Flare in for a hug. “You sure did. Make sure to cherish it, okay?”

There was a small nod against their side, now wet with tears and snot.

“Well, 9th isn’t ideal, but it’ll do. Way to make things work, everyone.”

9th in what? What’d just happened? The team had just been at the top of the slope to retry their run, and then–

“You hanging in there, Momomomo? Sounded like you were in a bit of pain during the run… hope you’re doing alright now.”

Their eyes turned upwards, their teammates reduced to blurry silhouettes of green in front of a clouded afternoon sky that managed to harbor bright and colorful stars at this hour. They could barely focus on how impossible something like that should be. Snowflake Slope was spinning and everything hurt.

“Hey, are you okay!?” the voice asked, inklings of panic obvious in their words nearly drowned out by high pitched ringing. “What’s wrong!?”

Momomomo opened their mouth to say something – but nothing followed, not even a lie about how they felt perfectly fine as their consciousness flickered. “…’m okay,” they managed to slur out before wincing as a torrent of pain crashed over them.

“S-someone, help! Something’s wrong with them! Hang in there, please!”

They couldn’t. It was too much.

Everything went black.

Things couldn’t be more different between now and nearly seven years ago. Back then, Team Momo had sunk to the penultimate position in the standings after Bobsled, with the three healthy team members in disarray over how to save a season that had barely started. Now, the team stood on the provisional podium’s second step and in prime position to steal the lead away with another good showing.

Momomomo laughed to themself between sips of hot chocolate. Team Momo won Bobsled of all events and returned in one piece. It seemed too ironic to be the truth, yet here they were, surrounded by their closest friends all proudly adorning gold medals that perfectly matched the beaming smiles they’ve had all day.

“You all look so good in gold,” they spoke up. “Way to kill off a narrative, huh?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Momo answered with a laugh. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m so ready to not be pitied anymore because of one fluke back in 2018.”

Momomomo hummed in agreement as they adjusted the blanket around them. A tiny tap against their side followed. When they looked to see what had bumped them, they saw Mimo, holding out their medal towards them.

“Do you want this?” Mimo quietly asked. “I feel bad that you couldn’t get the gold you deserved so much because of what you went through and I got one in your place, so–”

“Of course not! This is the gold you deserve for being so brave and stepping in back in 2018.” They gingerly shoved the medal away. “Wear it proudly.”

“I agree,” Momomo chimed in. “Why does it matter who technically won a medal and who didn’t? At the end of the day, no matter who wins what, it helps all of us.”

Momo nodded. “At the end of the season, they’re not gonna ask anything about who did the hardest work or how we did the work. Nothing about the technicalities of our medals or who deserves the credit more than the others.” They took a moment to collect themselves. “All they’ll look at is points… and they’ll see us at the top of the standings.”

The room went silent at the declaration. Finally, Mo asked, “Are you saying we’re gonna do it this time? For real?”

Before the captain could respond, it was Momomomo who spoke up. “We will. We’ve already changed the narrative surrounding this event, so why not change the narrative around this season?” 

Within one of the medals, they saw their reflection in gold; maybe it was a sign of things to come.

“…we’re not retreading our winter tragedy again. The story’s changing this year, whether the others want it to or not.”

Credits

ML2023 Memo #16: Faster Than the Eye Can Bee

Event 16 of Marble League 2023: Honeydome GP.
(Design Credit: Yume)

Watching Red Eye, Bumble and Pinky Panther vanish with their coaches into the podium preparation room, one they hadn’t come close to stepping into themselves, left Speedy feeling strangely deflated. Another championship was on the line and they’d only advanced a single place in the order. Keeping the overall bronze was a cold comfort, though they were sure they’d feel differently on the podium later. 

It was Rapidly who approached them first after the race, bringing them off to the side. 

“You did your best out there,” they said quietly. “Don’t let anything anyone says get to you.” 

“It wasn’t enough,” Speedy mourned. “What happened to me out there? I couldn’t even overtake Razzy.” 

“You know… Whether you want to hear it or not, you’ve been working hard this season. We couldn’t have gotten this far without you as captain, so don’t write this off as something you’ve failed at.”  

“Red Eye’s captain too,” Speedy muttered obstinately. “Bumble as well.” 

“Well, we’re still on the podium, so we’ll beat them when we see them next year.” 

Though they remained sulky, Rapidly seemed to have gotten the last word over Speedy, who went obligingly quiet. In the distance, almost too far away to hear, a familiar bell rang. 

“Sounds like they’re getting everyone ready,” Rapidly muttered. “Let’s muster a little enthusiasm for them, alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I promise.” 

Everything since they’d crashed into the basin of the elevator was only a blur. They were waiting with Bumble and Red Eye to be admitted onto the podium and receive their medals, but they could hardly remember how they had got there. At some point Pinky Toe and Pinky Promise had joined them backstage, along with Queen and White Eye. 

A second final-event bronze was theirs. But with Bumble grabbing the silver, it wasn’t enough. A sheepish smile was all Pinky Panther could offer their captain and coach. 

“Have you ever heard the expression, to win the battle but lose the war?” they joked, feeling horribly awkward. 

“It’s the other way around,” Pinky Toe corrected them. “But more importantly than that… You haven’t lost anything.” 

“Except a podium spot.” 

“Maybe. But if you knew we would one day get fourth in the League back in 2020… That would feel like an impossible victory, wouldn’t it?” 

“Don’t be harsh on yourself,” added Promise. “You fought hard out there. Nobody could say you didn’t want to win.” 

Before Panther could reply, Red Eye took their attention with a brief nudge. They were utterly composed, resplendent in their victory. And yet to Panther’s surprise, Red Eye bowed slightly before they could ask what the matter was, deferring both to them and Pinky Toe. 

“It was an honor to race against you. And it’s an honor to inherit the championship from your team. You’ve been worthy opponents.” 

“I… thanks, Red,” Panther stammered, though they were secretly relieved. “Hey, have fun finding confetti in everything you own for a month.” 

A bell rang, and a steward began to shepherd Pinky Toe away from them, leaving just the racers and their coaches. 

“Looks like it’s time.” 

As they were led away from backstage and towards the final pre-podium holding pen, Bumble watched Stinger’s shape fade into the distance. Soon it was only them, Queen, and the other racers who had made their way onto the final podium. 

Since the end of the GP they had been running on fumes. They had done what they needed to do, and they had little else to give. It hardly occurred to them that Red Eye was trying to catch their attention until they received a light tap to their left side. 

“How are you feeling?” they asked, somewhat awkwardly. It was a question Bumble had to sit with for a while. When they’d left the track they hadn’t really felt anything. Not in the abstract sense, at least; they’d felt the urgency of everything and the sudden slowness surrounding them, but they hadn’t really been in the mindset for introspection. 

Now, though, with everything finally at its end—whatever that looked like—how did they feel?

For so long they had lived in the ambiguity of promise and potential; chasing points and placements in every event, always trying to get ahead. Now, for them, the score was settled. It recalled in some strange way the M1 race that had made the greatest impression on them, their DNF at Misty Mountain. Everything was moving until it wasn’t, the momentum stolen out from under their wings at just the wrong time. Unable to move any further, what could they do? 

“I feel… strange. I don’t know.”

It wasn’t much of an answer, but Red Eye didn’t seem to mind. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to race alongside you at home. And thank you for your hospitality.” 

“And I’m happy to have hosted you here.” Though Red Eye had taken the top step of the podium, they couldn’t bring themselves to resent them. “I…I hope it’s something you’ll remember fondly.” 

“I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.” 

A second bell rang, and the six of them were shepherded from the holdings out to the three steps of the podium. 

As the season’s final podium-sitters came into view, a roar of applause bloomed throughout the spectating crowd. Red Eye spent the slow climb up to the podium’s top step with their gaze fixed on the Crazy Cat’s Eyes’ section, watching as if they could zero in on their elation alone. There would be more to come later; they did not have to drink as if parched. But they did, rejoicing in how the familiar feeling of victory had been a thousand times amplified. 

It didn’t need a closing ceremony; they’d seen the numbers and they’d heard the cheering. The Crazy Cat’s Eyes were the 2023 Marble League champions. The first of the day’s gold medals was draped around them as they waved to the crowd that adored them and the team they captained wholly, receiving a second intense roar of applause in return. 

How amazing it feels, Red Eye thought to themselves. And how perfect it is! 

One deep breath in, one deep breath out. 

It’s finally over. 

Far from the now-empty podium and the delirious joy of the home crowd, Frost had found themselves a solitary hideaway within the stadium’s insides in which to catch their breath. An unlit dead-end corridor, dark and cool, suited them just fine, and for a while- five minutes, half an hour, it was impossible to tell- they shut their eyes and rejoiced silently that their imperfect efforts had just barely managed to raise the Glaciers out of last place. 

They were precariously awake when a familiar voice rang distantly through the empty space, slowly rousing them. As they gradually awoke they came to recognize their own name being called. 

“Frost? Can you hear me? Frosty?” It was Glide’s voice, no doubt about it. 

“Over here,” Frost called out. 

When Glide arrived, they found Frost silent and slumped in the corner. 

“Thought I’d lost you. You look beat.” 

“I am. Please don’t make me get ready for the closing ceremony.” 

Glide tutted cheerfully. “Afraid I have to. But you can take a nap after, alright?” 

Woozy and reluctant, Frost nonetheless got back up and allowed Glide to lead them deeper into the Superhive’s guts. Only when they reached an unmarked meeting room did they realize that they had been led in the opposite direction of the changing rooms. 

“This isn’t—” they objected, but Glide cut them off. 

“Just sit down,” they said as they opened the door and hurried Frost in. 

Sat around a table in front of a projector were the rest of their team, all looking equally clueless. Polite applause rumbled throughout the room as they took the last remaining seat. 

“Now we’re all here…” Glide mumbled, then trailed off. The projector kicked to life as they got behind their laptop. “Team, I know it’s not been a good year for us. We all did our best, but things didn’t work out like we planned. As your coach, I hope what I’m about to show you can make up for it.”

A photo of the team together, taken earlier that year, flashed onto the screen. They had all already seen it. What was new was the text overlay, which read in bold text- 

“Gliding Glaciers – Your 2024 Marble League hosts!”

All thoughts of fifteenth place dissolved as the room erupted with cheers, celebration, and the promise of another year of fierce competition to come.

Dear Em,

I would like to first apologize for not writing back sooner. No other fanmail has had such a profound impact on me. It took until our relay gold to begin collecting my thoughts, and until now to finish writing them. Even though I’ve spent years healing, it’s still difficult to recall the months after my injury. I’m sure you understand.

When I was in hospital, I was surrounded by so much love and support. I am truly sorry you didn’t have that. I am blown away by the resilience and determination you had to push through it all by yourself. Though I am truly humbled to have inspired you to keep pushing then, the strength came from you and you alone. You are truly remarkable.

One of the doctors told me during my recovery that I was less than a millimeter away from never being able to compete in marble sports again. At the time I brushed it off. I didn’t see how lucky I was. I don’t know what I would have done in your position. Your optimism, your determination, and your sense of wonder are irreplaceable gifts. Hold on to them. I have no doubt in my mind that, one day, I’ll be seeing you on the League’s medical staff.

It’s an honor to be part of your favorite team, and a greater one to be your favorite athlete.

Sincerely,

Momomomo

P.S. I’ve included a copy of our best dumpling recipe. Keep it a secret!

(Art Credit: Momoikkai)

Credits

M1S5 Memo #5: Like Clockwork

Accellaise (27/10/24)

Yellup: hey sorry for the short notice but we’re gonna be canceling on the boat ride
Yellup: yellow thinks they saw yelley 

“Ah, crap… Slimelime?” 

Slimelime turned back from tracing the intricacies of the winding, web-like map of Accellaise and towards Lemonlime and the off-blue waters of the small harbor. “Hm? Is something wrong?” 

Lemonlime groaned frustratedly. “Mellow Yellow canceled on us,” they mumbled. “Something about Yelley.” 

Slimelime spluttered and stormed over to Lemonlime, peering over to read the texts on the screen for themself. “We’ve had this booked for a week! Tell me they paid in advance,” they grunted. 

“I don’t know, I- just a second.” 

“Maybe put a message out in the group chat,” Slimelime proposed. “But not the Razzies.” 

“Still locked. I heard Blizzard had to drag Snowy away from Red Eye last night…” 

Lemonlime gestured for the attendant at the dock, a young and disinterested marble unimpressed by the presence of the Limers duo. “Our other riders canceled. Can we still get on?” 

The attendant shrugged. “As long as you can pay,” they said pointedly, gesturing back to the sign declaring the eye-watering cost of the tour, disinterest only increasing. Lemonlime whined under their breath, but just as they were about to open their own purse Slimelime intervened with a wad of their own cash foisted on the attendant. 

“It’s on me,” Slimelime declared. An unnecessary gesture, as they were both pulling from the same team purse, but Lemonlime flashed them a grateful smile anyway. A few minutes more of waiting and the red velvet rope came down, allowing them onto a cherry-colored boat that looked straight out of a century ago. 

The captain of the boat, a cheery marble, waved from their small cabin at the head as they sat on the plush open-roof seating. A table of fine produce and charcuterie was included on the central table. 

“Well, I suppose it’s more for us…” pondered Lemonlime, just to be drowned out by the sound of the motors whirring to life beneath them. 

The boat broke from the harbor and took off at a comfortable clip through the middle of the river. The journey, about an hour in length, would take them from the more residential edge of the city, through the center to the other end and then back around.  

“It’s not too fast,” quipped Slimelime, halfway through a bunch of grapes. “I suppose we’re getting our money’s worth.” White spray peeled from the side of the boat as it pushed through the river’s surface. Neither of the Limers noticed, caught in observing Accellaise as it passed around them.

“Such a beautiful city… The Speeders really are lucky, getting to live here…” mused Lemonlime, gazing up as the buildings gradually became bigger and more ornate. 

“You could retire here,” Slimelime suggested, hoping to be helpful, but Lemonlime responded with a pout. 

“I know I’m not as good as you, but you don’t have to talk about my retirement to my face.” 

Panicked, Slimelime tried to walk back what they’d said. “Not like that, I mean- you’re my best friend, you know that. I just, you know, when we all retire, you could, and I could come with you.” 

“That’s very sweet of you, but-”

“Hey! You two!” 

Out of nowhere, their conversation was interrupted by a neighboring boat, aboard which was Starry and Quasar. The boat, a more modern model, was moving much slower- perhaps for the benefit of Starry, who was immersed not in the beauty of the surroundings but in their laptop and a work call. 

“You two!?” exclaimed Lemonlime, signaling for the captain to slow their boat. 

“Can I get on yours? Starry is such a buzzkill,” exclaimed Quasar. Judging by Starry’s unchanging expression of complete focus, they hadn’t heard a word. 

“Well, if it’s safe-” 

“Nope, it’s all ours,” Slimelime yelled through a mouthful of wine and crackers, flashing the captain an opposite signal- floor it. They obliged, and as the boat kicked into high gear, it churned up a massive spray of foam underneath it, shooting across the water and blanketing the opposing boat- Starry, Quasar, and Starry’s laptop alike. 

“Slimelime!” Lemonlime shrieked, Team Galactic slowly vanishing into a white blob behind them. 

Helarve (01/11/24)

Snowstorm had no fond memories of Midnight Bay. During Season 1, so distant that it might as well have been another lifetime entirely, they’d watched Snowy fall just short of the individual championship. A year later in Season 2, actively competing, they’d just been glad to see the tail end of an existentially disappointing season. Season 3, watching Iceberg come second… Some things were best not dwelled upon. 

Still, it was in Helarve, a city so frigid that it took a native to the cold to withstand being outdoors for any substantial length of time. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to sit at the abandoned rooftop bar of the hotel for hours, overthinking everything, with an unobstructed view of the floodlit clocktower just in case impending doom ever slipped from their mind. 

Occasionally, between losing and regaining their senses, they moved to the side of the building where the entrance sat and watched that instead, wondering if they might see Snowflake leave before deciding again they didn’t want to know. All they knew was that Snowflake had shown up, and everything beyond that was out of their control. 

It was one of these times—times when they couldn’t see the door to the rooftop—that they were startled by the sound of the door. When they turned to face the new arrival, they found looking at a be-scarfed Yellow Eye, locking gazes for an unbearable few seconds. 

“No need for the deer-in-the-headlights look, you know,” Yellow Eye reassured them, but it was of little comfort. “Promise I’m not spying for Red Eye.” Even the bite of the cold through their knitted vetements couldn’t knock Yellow Eye’s practiced confidence off-kilter. 

Snowstorm swallowed speechlessly. Spying for Red Eye or not, they couldn’t put it past Yellow Eye to be attempting some sort of mind game with them. If so, maybe it was better to lean into it and outmaneuver them. They weren’t leaving, anyway; rather, they were coming closer. 

“I didn’t even know you were here, actually,” they added, sounding more like they’d just re-encountered an old friend in a foreign city. Snowstorm kept their gaze level as they approached, trying to size them up. “Where’s Snowy?” they asked, and what they’d said about not spying for Red Eye began to feel slightly hollow. 

“I don’t know.” It was the right thing to say, and it was also the truth. Their phone had been turned off and locked up ever since Snowflake arrived. Yellow Eye flashed them a quizzical glance. 

“Why not?” they asked, curiosity barely concealed. Snowstorm weighed their options. Lying was promising, as was deflecting. But there was a guilty part of them still, desperate to confess their transgressions to anyone who’d hear them. 

Snowstorm looked to the sky. “I took the nuclear option.”

Yellow Eye was caught off-guard, unusually for them. “What?” 

“I called in Snowflake to try and set Snowy right. I haven’t seen them since.” It was freeing to say it out loud. 

“That’s… Well, maybe it’s for the best,” Yellow Eye concluded, frustration poking to the surface between their words. “But you could be on two whole podiums together tomorrow—”

“Not going to happen,” Snowstorm interjected, waving away the ridiculous notion. 

Yellow Eye furrowed their brow. “You qualified well,” they added, a heavy unspoken sentiment weighing the retort down; and I didn’t, so don’t you dare be a downer about your situation. 

“When I line up on track and everyone sees we’re the only team whose other teammates didn’t even bother showing up to watch, I’m going to cringe to death, and I’m pretty sure that’s a DNQ.”

Yellow Eye’s expression wrinkled. “Grim. What, none of them?” 

“Snowblast is a maybe,” replied Snowstorm, glum. “If it’ll boost Snowy’s ego again, we don’t deserve to win anything. That’s how I feel.” 

Yellow Eye turned quite suddenly to look them directly in the eyes. Snowstorm winced. “Do you want my honest opinion?” Yellow Eye asked. 

Suspecting they might not like it, Snowstorm nodded anyway.

“I came to a conclusion, earlier: race for yourself. Be selfish. I threw my entire career away for the sake of my captain and I wasn’t even asked to. Guilt, bitterness, love… Whatever you think of Snowy right now, if you give up on your own ambitions for someone else, you’ll kick yourself for it for the rest of your life.”

Snowstorm peered over the stone railing, to the lamplit streets where a thousand strangers trudged the wet pavement, their minds and lives unknown to them.

“It’s not the same,” they protested vaguely. Still, their mind filled with thoughts of an overall podium, from which they could look down on everyone just like now. 

“Of course it is,” countered Yellow Eye. Before Snowstorm could think to argue further, they wandered off slowly to the exit, ending the conversation just as strangely as it had started. “But if you don’t get it, I can’t help you.” 

—

Berry had only just finished their first brief look at the provisional overall standings when Razzy paraded through the door to the radio control rooms, one of the first to depart from the track. The race having been reset, it wasn’t long since they’d last seen each other. Back then it had been under much less auspicious circumstances-  Razzy restarting in seventh, behind Swifty. That called for a brave face and an honest assessment: do it right, and it’s not over yet. 

Now there was no need for that. Razzy’s borderline infectious smile shone under the fluorescent lighting as they hunted for their team amongst the crowd of coaches and racers. Tension ruled the room—it was the finale, after all—but as their eyes met and Razzy dashed towards them, Berry felt a weight that had lingered for almost five years lifting invisibly from the both of them. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Berry sighed, pulling Razzy in for an embrace. “That was amazing. Every moment of it.”

Razzy giggled out some leftover adrenaline. “I can’t believe it,” they squeaked. “I did it again!” 

“This is your track,” Berry declared. “And I always knew you could do it.” 

As Ruzzy completed the hug and delivered their own congratulations to Razzy, Berry glanced behind the pair to where a few of the lowest-placing racers were finally filtering out. Swifty, Mallard, and Orangin entered with various levels of despondency on their faces, and where Mallard and Orangin received a firm hug from Bombay and Mandarin respectively, Berry could read the disappointment in Quickly’s face like a book. 

Razzy must have caught them staring, following their gaze and nudging them gently. “I beat Swifty… Did we hold seventh place?” they asked, too frazzled to math it out in their head. 

“We came fifth.” 

Razzy’s eyes went wide, and the smile vanished from their face. “There’s no way. Don’t say something like that.” 

“One point. And you’re eighth individually.” 

“When I find out you’re lying to me, I’ll…” Razzy declared, but the conspiratorial look on Ruzzy’s face had them grinning. “We beat the O’rangers? How? I knew I never saw Orangin, but—”

“They came 17th, cap,” Ruzzy laughed. “O’rangers, Speeders, the Kobalts, Team Momo—we beat them all.” 

“I’m dreaming, then,” concluded Razzy. 

“Bookending an M1 season with podiums? I couldn’t have dreamed this, even if I wanted to,” Berry declared. Then they glanced back to see White Eye with Yellow Eye and Blizzard with Snowstorm at the gate to the podium area, and the attendant looking their way. 

“They’re waiting, Razzy. Let’s go.” 

“White Eye and Blizzard, huh? What a winning combination,” Ruzzy laughed. 

“Hey, now. I declare a one-hour embargo on stressing me out, okay?” retorted Berry, rolling pointedly towards the podium gates for the second time in the season. “See you soon.” 

“Yeah, alright. Just don’t hog the champagne!” 

(Art Credit: Piney)

Credits

ML2023 Memo #15: Penultimatum

Event 15 of Marble League 2023: Sand Rally. (Design Credit: Yume)

At the bottom of the sand slope, still covered with a thin film of sand, Pinky Toe was greeted enthusiastically by the rest of their team. A mood soured by anxiety after their first-race wipeout only made their victorious comeback sweeter, and the Rosakan team was by far the loudest amongst those greeting their racers near the finish line basin. 

“Amazing! Absolutely amazing!” Pinky Rosa cried, drawing Pinky Toe into a breath-stealing hug.

“Never let me doubt you again,” added Pinky Winky apologetically. 

“You really gave it your all out there,” Pinky Promise mused. “I knew I made the right decision putting you in here.” 

“Everyone… Thank you! Let’s go to karaoke again tonight, alright?” said Pinky Toe in return, and the cries from the group grew into a frenzied celebration.

Standing slightly back from the rest was Pinky Panther. The team had agreed early on that they were the natural choice for the finale event, regardless of how the season would go for them. In turn, and as captain, Pinky Toe had put themselves in the position of having to secure them a good start. Now it seemed that fate was conspiring to put Panther in the same position they’d been in the year before; facing down the final event with a podium finish hanging in the balance. 

Their eyes met, and with a glance Pinky Toe could tell Panther was thinking much the same. They had light-heartedly cheered their captain on after their first-race DNF, but the sinking-in of reality played out in their distant and stormy expression. 

“One moment, please,” Pinky Toe requested calmly, and they broke through the encircling mass to stand at Panther’s side. Understanding the situation, the others dispersed. 

“Are you feeling okay?” they whispered. 

“Just thinking,” Panther replied. “That’s all.” 

“Is it too much pressure? I’m sorry.” 

“Not at all. I did it last year, didn’t I? And I wasn’t really any good at Elimination Race before either. So, I’ll be fine.” They seemed to be reassuring themselves just as much as they were reassuring their captain. That could only worry Pinky Toe more, and they cast their gaze back down to the sand. 

“Well, whatever happens… Know that I’ll always be proud of you, alright?” 

“Awwww, cap. You’re gonna make me cry.” 

After the heart-pounding finish to the Sand Rally, Snowy and Alpine reconvened at the bottom of the slope. Though spirits were high amongst both of their teams thanks both to their placements and their first real head-to-head of the season, all of their attention was on each other. 

“Another medal,” Alpine began, impressed. “I guess there’s no stopping you, huh?” 

“Not now I’ve got a good start at Honeydome, too. Next week, I’ll be on the podium again, y’hear that?” 

Alpine sighed under their breath. “About that… Don’t you think this might be a little too much for you to handle? Two events already, then another two in a row…. You’re good, but three’s the usual limit for a reason, right?” 

In an instant, all of Snowy’s cheer melted away. “Do I have to listen to you about the decisions I’ve made for my team?” 

“I… no, you don’t. I didn’t mean to imply that at all.” A more experienced captain’s plans were beyond reproach. And if there was an athlete out there capable of truly handling four individual events in a single season, Snowy was a compelling candidate. 

“You only want to do your single strongest event? Fine, then,” Snowy continued unabated. “That’s your choice as captain. But that’s only what’s right for your team.” 

Alpine couldn’t argue with that either. Snowy was right. And they could read the unspoken facts, too- that amongst the Snowballs, ever since Snowflake’s departure, Snowy was the unquestioned star. The team’s savior, too. And that wasn’t something they could understand. 

Maybe they were being silly. Maybe this really was just their own lack of perspective. 

“Of course,” Alpine replied sheepishly, the wind taken out from under their wings. “I don’t mean to tell you what to do.” 

Snowy turned their back on them. “It’s all settled, anyway. Make sure Frost knows to watch out for me, because I won’t be going easy on you.” 

“Sure,” Alpine replied. Too late, perhaps, because Snowy wasn’t waiting around for their reply. They had vanished already, leaving only their tracks in the sand as evidence that they were there in the first place. 

The difficulty of the new sand rally course had caught Momomo off guard. Two successive DNFs had not put them in the greatest of moods, either. But they weren’t alone in having failed to finish twice; so they sought out Razzy, who’d experienced the same. 

They found the Racers’ rallyist on an embankment of sand a short distance away from the course’s end, alone and muttering to themselves. Momomo approached tentatively, and Razzy seemed not to notice them as they did. 

“Tricky course out there,” they said, smiling. “Sorry you had the same hard time as me.” 

Razzy stared intensely at the sand, not making eye contact. “It’s fine,” they mumbled, though Momomo gained the distinct impression that it wasn’t. 

“Still, I think we both did our best, right?” 

Razzy gave no response. Their expression was dark and distant, and they seemed to have barely registered Momomo’s words if at all. 

“It will all be fine,” Razzy replied, low and cold and not to Momomo’s words. “I’ll fix things. It’ll all be okay.” 

Momomo laughed nervously under their breath. “Yeah, I kinda wish that I was the one running next week like you. I for sure don’t envy our racers.” 

Without replying, still mumbling, Razzy moved past them and into the distance, away from the informal congress area where everyone else had gathered. Momomo did not stop them. It seemed futile to try. 

Though at the bottom of a sloping sand hill, Red Eye felt on top of the world. What their gold implied was evident to them. What was usually just points was now a massive advantage awaiting them, perhaps a greater award than the points themselves; pole position in the following week’s Honeydome finale event. 

As they breathed in the crisp Buzznya winter air, White Eye sidled up to them wordlessly, hanging like a shadow. 

“You can see it, can’t you?” they said, voice full of conviction. “How they’re all looking at you now, captain of the next Marble League champions.” 

Truthfully, it wasn’t something they’d paid attention to. Others’ impressions of their victory hardly mattered. It was theirs and theirs alone. “It’s not over until it’s over,” they replied, mustering humility. 

“Now, now. Think about it — Red Eye on pole for a circuit race. Who in their right mind on Marblearth would bet against your win?” 

Red Eye glanced across the cold sands at Speedy. They’d gathered with Quickly for what looked to be a tense conversation with Whizzy. “I could think of a few,” they said. 

“Then don’t think,” White Eye said. “Just do. Do what you’ve always done. You know that I have the utmost faith in you.” 

Beset suddenly with a creeping unease at the grand prospects ahead, Red Eye nodded nonetheless. “Of course. I promise to make you proud.” 

An Excerpt from: Buzznya’s Excellent Hex Cell Bent Streets: A Guide

While most of Marblearth uses a standard square grid system, cities in the Buzznya metropolitan area use hexagonal tiling instead. Although this may be disorienting to some, it has a plethora of benefits. For example, each intersection connects incoming drivers from a maximum of three directions rather than four, and with much shallower angles. Furthermore, the inability for vehicles to “go straight” at an intersection promotes heightened driver awareness and slower speeds in. It also encourages marbles to simply walk to their destination.

While historically in Buzznya, words such as “avenue,” “street,” and “drive” have had specific meanings, nowadays, they are all practically synonymous. In larger cities, roads that run along the north-south direction are named, while the smaller roads running easterly and westerly are numbered, and are often called “chutes.” Addresses are almost always include the nearest named street, although in some cases with particularly long lateral stretches of road, numbered streets may be used.

For longer journeys, the extensive subterranean railway (or sub-way) system is your go-to. An elegant system of train lines connect each city in Buzznya, from Buzzpig to Buzzkill, as well many places of interest between and within. It is the cheapest publically funded transportation system on Marblearth. In fact, traveling inside a city is free for all residents! For ease of identification, each line of the sub-way has a distinct color coding, and as of 2021, a typological character for those with color-blindness.

A diagram of a small portion of the Buzznyan Sub-way system. (Design Credit: Yume)

Credits

ML2023 Memo #14: Shadow of a Doubt

Event 14 of Marble League 2023: G-Force Endurance. (Design Credit: Yume)

They’re going to be the first Marble League champions to not win a single event.

It’s as if with every revolution around the bell that statement made its own loop back into their minds, a reminder of what they couldn’t reach four times over this season. At least those saying it admitted to their eventual win come December, but to win without winning? As much as it would have been a feat in some way, it would have been a shame at the same time.

Thankfully, the evergreen statement holds true even near the end: never count out the Savage Speeders.

“They’re not gonna win an event,” Rapidly said while looking at their gold medal with a smile. “I think everyone forgot who we were.”

“I’m not sure how you’d forget about the greatest team to ever breathe, but I’m not opposed to everyone forgetting so they let their guards down and then we remind them we exist in the best way possible,” Velocity replied.

Speedy rolled up to the conversation, clearly overjoyed about something. “The gap to the hosts is nineteen points! There’s absolutely no way we’re not leaving this place without our third trophy!” They got between their sibling and teammate. “Either of you want to help me start planning the victory festivities we’ll see when we get back home? I think we should designate another citywide holiday so everyone can celebrate…”

As the premature victory parade was being discussed, Whizzy elected to stare at their medal. There were no thoughts about parades or holidays in their mind, only the task that was ahead of them next week. 

The extremely simple and mundane task to clinch the title before the final event. No big deal.

“Hey,” Swifty greeted. “Are you doing okay?”

Whizzy weakly nodded. “Nineteen points is a lot for them to make up… but what if I blow it? What if they come out of nowhere to win and I falter?”

“You won’t do that,” Swifty assured, “I know you better than anyone. And I know you have what it takes to give us that third trophy, or at the very least make it hard on the others going into the finale if you can’t seal the deal.”

“…are you sure?” They sighed while continuing to stare at their medal. “I wish it wasn’t all up to me. I think I’d be having more fun if it wasn’t.”

Speedy and the others rolled over to Swifty and Whizzy. “You’ve got this,” the captain reassured with a smirk. “After all, the fun’s just begun.”

It has been over four years since the Thunderbolts won an event.

Did that thought zip through Shock’s mind as they started spinning on their side, as all they could see was the G-Force arena spinning around them, save for a fleeting glance of Rapidly flying out of the other corner? It certainly rang in their head, over and over, as the whole team spun back up to hear the JMA’s call.

“This is going to be very close!” shouted Greg. “I think the Savage Speeders held on… they did!”

Was it shocking to be runners-up again? Did they feel anything one way or the other? From the outside the Thunderbolts were nothing but serene stepping up to the podium. Apart from a dedication to a pair of newlywed fans in the stands, the athletes left without saying a word.

Half an hour later, Shock and Bolt had packed up in their locker rooms when they heard arguing outside. Out on the field were the Team Plasma athletes, with Captain Fearo stared down by the team. “We thought you had a plan, Fearo! What were you thinking?” yelled one Plasma marble.

Now Shock remembered how their team advanced past Plasma in the quarterfinals: with four Plasma marbles spun out one after another, and Greg in disbelief. “What on Marblearth,” they had announced. “Did they put their trust in that leading marble, hoping they would find a wall and stay on it… and there’s nothing there!”

It was then just the two Thunderbolts athletes and Fearo next to each other, the rookie Plasma captain needing a second opinion. “I know we’ve never talked… at all, and it’s been over a month here,” said Fearo. “But you guys handled the event like a champ. You just got a bit unlucky at the end. How did you guys stay so calm during all that?”

“Well… some days we get lucky, some days we don’t,” said Bolt. “We’ve been in the League longer than you. You learn, as an athlete, that so much of any event is out of your control. You just stay focused on the best you can do.”

“Bolt’s better at it than me. I’m not good at that,” said Shock. “But our coach taught all of us this one tip, three years ago during Collision. Before you really start to spin at a certain speed, you close your eyes. The world boils down to only you in that one second, and you stand your ground as if no one’s watching you. If you flinch and panic, you lose that one chance to maintain control and not fall out.”

Shock closed their eyes after speaking their thoughts. There were thoughts flashing before them: fantasies of gold medals around their neck this Marble League, or three years ago at the Andromedome, or four years ago at Seven Seas Stadium.

But those thoughts don’t matter. Fantasies were all that they were good for.

“Just tell me the truth, Red Eye,” said Coach White Eye while looking straight at the Captain in front of them. “Do you really want to close both events this Marble League? I know other people put the pressure on you, but we have a Plan B–”

But before the Captain could turn White Eye down yet again, there was banging on the locker room door. “Hey, Coach! Red Eye!” shouted Green Eye outside. “You need to get over here right now. We’re up against the Bumblebees in three minutes!”

Of all the coaches, it was to White Eye for whom the second half of this Marble League felt most like a blur. With three events to go, the team is in another slump and down to eleventh in the standings. It’s been five events straight of the coach playing mediator between every one of their Cat’s Eyes, because every event had two or three of them arguing why they should be chosen and be the one to turn the season around.

In the first round of G-Force Endurance, all White Eye could notice were each athlete’s flaws. Blue Eye tried too hard to speed up at the start and spun off the stage. Red Eye got too aggressive going up against the Bumblebees and spun off after. They could see no rhyme nor rhythm in what Cyan Eye’s doing.

When White Eye would try to give their athletes notes between rounds, they could tell each athlete was only half listening. Yet, despite all this, the team pushed deeper and deeper into the bracket. By the end it was Blue Eye, the marble with whom White Eye found so many flaws, who outlasted all of Team Momo to pip the Bronze.

After the podium ceremony, the Momo athletes were good sports and took the Cat’s Eyes out for afternoon tea. White Eye nibbled on a Buzznyan honey biscuit while banter swirled around the table.

“That event had such bad mojo for Momo, but we know we did our best!” said Momomomo. “The same could be said for you all too! You seemed so coordinated.”

“It may seem like that from the outside,” said Green Eye, “but we were plenty scared as well! But we couldn’t have done it without our Coach, who’s right there. You know, I don’t think they’ve had a full night’s sleep for two weeks as they researched this League’s events.”

“Oh, no, you’re too much,” blurted White Eye, like they snapped out of a daze. “I don’t work nearly half as hard as any of you.”

“NUH-UH!” shouted not just the Cat’s Eyes all together, but all of Team Momo as well. Something clicked inside White Eye. Maybe the issue isn’t with any of them. Maybe it’s with yourself. 

Then the Cat’s Eyes coach said something they did not expect: “You know, I think all of us deserve a day off after that event. How about all of you can hang out as much you want? I think I’m in the mood for a nap.”

Rain pours down from the cloudy sky as Em trudges silently homeward, hours after sunset.

They had watched the fourteenth event at a hole-in-the-wall ramen shop; Saffy and Ruu had set up a farewell party, but their usual energy wasn’t there.

Em turns a corner, splashing dejectedly through the deep, murky puddles.

It was impressive that Em had gotten signatures from thirty of the teams in such a short period of time. Thirty was not thirty-two.

A car goes by, driving slowly, spraying Em with a mist of cold rainwater.

Ruu said it was technically thirty-one, since they had gotten signatures from the Hornets. It wasn’t much consolation.

Em coughs as smog pours from the car’s exhaust pipe.

If they hadn’t gotten so excited watching the Relay, they’d have remembered to get an autograph from the winners.

A brilliant thunderclap lights up the foggy night, illuminating the silhouettes of the figures inside the car. Em gasps.

They were so close, but they stumbled, right at the end. No one had expected them to succeed anyways.

Em rubs their eyes, their mind hazy with fatigue as midnight passes, but they’re certain they recognize who’s in that car.

Maybe they would fall short. Just like they always did.

Maybe, if they’re fast enough, they can catch up.

Maybe they would never be good enough.

Maybe, even if it’s a longshot, they still have a chance.

Maybe there was never a chance at all.

Maybe, at the eleventh hour, lightning could strike twice.

Credits

ML2023 Memo #13: To Roll and Roll Again

Event 13 of Marble League 2023: Elimination Race.
(Design Credit: Yume)

As Snowdrift took a long and deliberate breath the contours of their mind began to sharpen. The fuzzy edges of their frenzied flurry towards the finish line became clearer and cleaner. There was no single fatal mistake, but they simply hadn’t kept up in such a field of four that was enough to guarantee elimination. 

It wasn’t a medal. But it was progress. Something to show for their efforts. And for next time, they would just have to train more and try harder. 

It was Snowfall who came to visit them behind the scenes before the medal order matches played out. A smile wide on their face, they drew Snowdrift into a tight and enthusiastic hug. 

“You were amazing,” they proclaimed, “absolutely amazing.” All of their cheering had made their voice hoarse and squeaky.

“Not amazing enough,” Snowdrift mumbled. “Thanks, though.” 

“At least one of us has to be a credit to the team.” Snowfall winked and beckoned them to the exit. “If we hurry, I can get you to our viewing box for the rest of the matches.” 

“I want popcorn,” Snowdrift whined. Now all the adrenaline of the event was wearing off, they were suddenly conscious of just how hungry they were. “Do you have popcorn?” 

Snowfall grinned and nudged them affectionately. “Of course. As much popcorn as you want.” 

In the spectator box reserved for the other athletes and their teams, Yellah made themself comfortable in the spacious seats as they watched Gloomo and Rojo Uno be hurried to the starting gate by race officials. With the event over and their teams’ congratulations issued they could finally take a breather; a welcome change from another exhausting track run, even if not being able to move higher up the podium stung somewhat. 

“So, who do you think’s going to win?” Yellup asked them, leaning over from their own seat. 

Yellah was used to them insisting on these sorts of (in their opinion, pointless) wagers. “I don’t know,” they replied. “Either Rojo Uno or Gloomo.” 

Unimpressed, Yellup dangled a bag of freshly-roasted pistachios out in front of them. “Fine, if you’re not going to play along I’ll sweeten the deal. Pick correctly and I’ll give you these.” 

It was a tempting proposition. “But you already have them, so what’s the catch if I’m wrong?” 

Yellup smiled smugly at them. “I get to be real annoying about it.” 

This is the dumbest thing ever, Yellah thought to themselves. “You’re on,” they replied. “I pick Uno.” 

The smug smile only grew. “I’ll take Gloomo.” 

Each trap now reset and the gate primed for opening, Yellah counted the ticks until release in time with their breaths. When it finally broke free Uno and Gloomo sprung from the basin with characteristic speed and competitiveness, seemingly unfettered by the gauntlet of exhausting races they’d just passed through. Through the first few lengths of the course they were almost neck-and-neck. Yet as it continued Yellah watched with vague disappointment as Gloomo increasingly held the lead. 

“Told you,” Yellup laughed as Gloomo plunged downwards into the final portion seemingly unabated. 

But just as the satisfaction rose in their voice, Gloomo rolled back against a ball bearing chute and was momentarily lodged against the track wall. All of their momentum had vanished. Gravity compelled them to keep moving downwards, but not with speed, and that was all Uno needed. A brief gap opened between them and the wall was swiftly taken advantage of in the form of a final lunge; a single fluid straight-line move that propelled Uno across the line a few fractions of a second faster than Gloomo. 

As Yellup remained stunned by what had just unfolded, Yellah seized the pistachios from underneath them. 

A feverish mood had overtaken the Rojo Rollers fan stands since Rojo Uno’s miracle move had won them their stand-off with Gloomo at the very last second. Standing alone beneath their roaring fan section for the first time in years, watching the explosion of riotous applause grow louder as they paraded their gold in front of everyone, Rojo Uno couldn’t help but feel utterly exhilarated. They bathed in the excitement and love from their fans until they were unceremoniously bundled off by Rojo Dos and Rojo Cuatro with no word as to where they were going or why. 

Even as they went along with it, Uno frowned and complained. “I was enjoying that, you know.” 

“Someone special is here,” Cuatro whispered to them, clarifying nothing. 

They were hurried into an area of the stadium closed to the public, intended mostly for pre-event meetings between athlete and coach. But Oro wasn’t there- Uno hadn’t seen them since the podium. A voice from behind caught them off guard before they could wonder further; one they remembered but hadn’t heard so clearly for a long time. 

“You were incredible,” said Red Number 3. “I wasn’t sure whether to tell you I was here, but after that… Ah, I couldn’t help it,” they added, uncharacteristically bashful. 

Uno stood and gawped. What they were seeing was hard to believe. 

“I can leave if you want,” Red Number 3 offered, evidently growing nervous. 

“No, you’re welcome, it’s just —” Uno began, the words coming together slowly and unsteadily, just to be interrupted by the opening of the door that Dos had shut behind them. Their fellow podium team unnoticed in the low light, Plasma’s Gloomo and Ghosto marched in with Ghost Plasma alongside them. 

“-yeah, it was a tough one, but a silver’s better’n losing —” continued Gloomo from a previously unheard conversation, though their words too fell apart when they bumped into Uno once more. Confusion turned into surprise as Ghost Plasma flicked the lights on, filling the room with a fluorescent glow. 

“No way,” Ghosto squeaked, “it’s like a little reunion in here!” 

For a moment Ghost Plasma and Red looked between each other, bewildered until the onset of reality. Then they smiled in mutual acknowledgement. 

“Happy with the silver, then?” Red teased gently. 

“Of course. I’m sure you’re happy with the last minute overtake for the gold,” Plasma replied. Beside them, Uno and Gloomo exchanged a mutual eye-roll. 

Uno fake-coughed loudly. “Um, it was actually us on the course, so this has nothing to do with your rivalry, alright?” 

“Nice to see you both, but Uno’s right,” agreed Gloomo. 

Red Number 3 smiled. “Forgive me if I implied anything different. It’s just hard not to be proud.” 

Ghost Plasma nodded. “Likewise. If you’d be open to celebrating together, it’d be on me.” 

Between the turning of heads and exchanging of glances, the room was awash with silent agreement. 

“That settles it, then.” 

The sun is just dipping below the horizon as Em enters Vespa’s Diner.

“Ah, there you are! My favorite riddle master!” Vespa chirps. “We’ve got thirty ’til the party shows!”

Em sometimes helps out at the diner, usually washing dishes, particularly around the holidays. Vespa makes sure to compensate them with an endless supply of snacks and more than a little pocket change.

Vespa ushers Em into the kitchen, where a plain vanilla cake sits on a turntable.

“I need you to decorate this thing,” Vespa explains. “I’m gonna prepare the other food, gotcha?”

Em looks at Vespa quizzically. “I can’t do that,” they protest. “Remember how many dishes I’ve dropped?”

“Eh, dishes are meant to be broken. I trust you on this.”

Em rubs their eyes, baffled by Vespa’s endless optimism, but they shakily pick up the icing bag regardless. They use a simple pattern, alternating yellow and black frosting along the sides, mimicking the times they’ve seen Vespa do the same. Finally, they create a small flower design on the top and nestle a small sugar bee inside of it.

They exhale, and look up to see Vespa grinning like a proud parent. “Looks great!”

“It’s not perfect,” Em replies.

“Who said it had to be? They’re gonna love it.”

“And who is… they?”

“Well, I have some friends that I’ve heard you wanted to meet.” With a cheeky smile, Vespa leads Em back into the seating area where three bees and a pair of hornets are waiting.

Credits

ML2023 Memo #12: Rolling Waves In The Tide of Change

Event 12 of Marble League 2023: Legion March Wave.
(Design Credit: Yume)

One left, two rights. A full rotation and back to the left. 

Even now, they can remember it as clearly as day. 

“I need you to take over the team,” Rosa had asked, quiet and resolute. “My resignation letter is on Promise’s desk.” 

To say they hadn’t seen the resignation coming would be a lie. Rosa had been the obvious candidate for captaincy, but they weren’t the right one. Their closest confidante even amongst the team of long-time friends, Pinky Toe had seen all of Rosa’s late nights crying over paperwork, the half-finished training schedules, the despair at the overwhelming failure of their 2020 season. They’d seen the writing on the wall as it was being written. 

But to be named as the replacement— 

“I can’t be captain. I can’t, Rosa.” Too shy, too nervous, too introverted. 

“Who else?” 

Who else? There was nobody else. Nobody who hadn’t refused the first time. Rosa had nothing left but to hope for someone to understand why they couldn’t continue. And without that person, there would be no more Pinkies. 

That job, they could do. An actual captaincy could come later. 

“I don’t know,” they murmured. “I’ll do it. I promise.” 

Three twirls, a pause, a flourish and then back to neutral. 

Reality comes back all at once. Captain Pinky Toe, donning a gold medal, dancing in front of a mirror in the quiet of their room. No matter how often they were on the podium nowadays, it still overwhelmed them. Being in captain mode even longer than usual was draining and withdrawing from everything afterwards was liberating. 

But they had done it, hadn’t they? With twenty-five more points added to their total, last year’s victory was beginning to look less and less like the fluke it was accused of being. Difficult as it might be, all they had to do was keep going. 

A good captain can handle that, can’t they?

“You like your new medal, don’t you?”

Mimo didn’t look away from the medal despite hearing Momo’s voice. “Yeah! It’s been so long since I’ve been able to hold a medal for something that’s not Marbula One… it feels so good,” they replied as they continued to admire their reflection within the silver, soon seeing the reflections of their teammates joining their own.

“This has been a long time coming for us,” Momo said pridefully. “I’m so happy this day has finally come.”

Mimo put the medal down. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Well, think about every time we’ve medaled as a team,” they began. “If you count the number of team members involved, it’s always been four. For seven years it’s been that way… but today it wasn’t four.”

Mimo continued their confused staring. “I don’t get it.”

Momo rolled their eyes at the reply. “I’m trying to say that it’s never been all five of us on the podium. It was never like that until today. I guess history repeats itself even in moments that have never happened before.”

“Huh?”

Momo rolled to their side. “The last time you stood on a team event podium was 2017. The year you saved our season by stepping up in the face of uncertainty and tragedy. And while this season hasn’t been any of that, you’re doing it again. You’re a crucial part in saving a season that felt so uncertain, a season where it felt like hope was dwindling… I hope you realize how important that is to us. How important you are to us.”

Blinking away tears, Mimo looked at the silver medal again. “But I’ve never given us gold… silver isn’t enough to repay you all for changing my life all those years ago—”

Not even a second passed before Mimo found themselves in the center of a group hug courtesy of their teammates. “You don’t need to win every event for us to love you,” Momo whispered. “We love you because you’re a part of our family. Getting to celebrate what my family can do and being able to celebrate with them? That’ll always mean more than a medal of any color.” The other team members hummed out their agreements.

Swallowing down any fighting words, Mimo smiled into the embrace. “Thank you,” they managed to squeak out.

“So, Alpine. How are we going to celebrate this occasion?” Rojo Uno asked a pondering Alpine.

The Gliding Glaciers and Rojo Rollers decided to celebrate their success from their particular heats, as they got 4th and 3rd respectively. They agreed that a food fest was in order. They had been stuck in a loop of suggestions, however.

“I think we should have ice cream to celebrate a well-fought battle!”, Frost shouted from behind Alpine.

“Y’know, that isn’t a bad suggestion.” Rojo Tres mused as they considered the flavors of ice cream they could eat.

However, Rojo Dos in a more bashful shade of red than usual, murmurs “Um… I don’t think I can eat something with milk. Milk is gross to eat, if I’m being honest.”

Alpine sighed, “Welp, sorry Frost, but we cannot get ice cream.”

“It’s not like we can have chili anyway. I’m sure your recipe tastes good, but I don’t think Polar can tolerate spice…” Sheet interjected, sounding rather disappointed that they cannot try this new food. “Man, if only we didn’t do that agreement.”

Sheet recalled how both Alpine and Rojo Uno made a wager that if one of them won the whole event from their heat, they would eat something, as long as all of the Rojo Rollers and Gliding Glaciers could enjoy it. However, their battle benefitted both of them, so they decided to do it regardless. So far, they have yet to be proven successful with how different their tastes are. They have suggested many things, but it is revealed that at least one team member dislikes the food.

Iceberg was thinking out loud, “I saw this flier for Vespa’s Diner, and it has a lot of items on its menu. Maybe we can go there?”

Rojo Cuatro nodded. It was obvious that they were tired of thinking of other foods that they could collectively agree upon.

Rojo Cinco added, “We could simply say that the food we shared is Vespa’s Diner, but have different foods that we could order. Personally, I like their baklava.”

“That’s fine by me. I’m more for their soup though. I especially like the hexagon bowls.” Polar said with a smile across their face.

“Then, I guess it’s settled!” Rojo Dos started racing towards Vespa’s Diner.

As soon as Rojo Dos shouted that the last marble had to pay for everyone’s meals, everyone in the group started racing to Vespa’s. Rojo Uno and Alpine stayed behind, however.

“Hey, thank you.” Rojo Uno told Alpine. “Thank you for being friendly with us. I know our impression when we first met in 2021 probably wasn’t great, but thanks for looking past that.”

“Don’t worry, Uno. We don’t judge people for their mistakes here.” Alpine replied. Both of the marbles seem to be elated just from this exchange, as their bond as team captains has strengthened.

“Anyways, are you gonna pay for us, Rojo Uno?” Alpine teased as they started rolling towards the diner.

“Hey, wait!”

Em sits at a small table in the athlete’s village, across from Mallard and Indie.

“Sorry to cut things short, but we’ve got to go now, or else we’re going to miss scrutineering,” Mallard says apologetically. “But I’m so glad I got to meet you in person.”

Indie nods. “Like we said, your story really resonated with us and our teams.”

“It was an honor talking with you,” Em says, trying their hardest to keep their voice steady. “You’re a huge inspiration to me.”

“Fans like you are our biggest inspiration, too,” Mallard says with a wide smile. “I’ll get my team to win the Relay for you, alright?”

“Yeah, well, my team’s gonna win the whole Showdown for you,” Indie quips.

“In your dreams,” Mallard replies, laughing.

“Oh, and we didn’t forget about your mission,” Indie adds. “Take this.”

They hand Em a postcard depicting four marbles in a lush, dense forest, illuminated by moonlight and five purple stars shining in the night sky. “Even when it doesn’t feel like it, it’s gonna be okay” was printed in neat handwriting, and it was signed by each member of the Ducks and the Stars.

The three marbles say their goodbyes, and Em stands from the table. They make their way to the entrance, holding the postcard delicately as if it could dissolve into the air at any moment.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

Em turns to see Mallard smiling back tears.

“Tell your parents you love them for me, alright?”

Credits

ML2023 Memo #11: Lost Ways in the Marble Maze

Event 11 of Marble League 2023: Maze Run.
(Design Credit: Yume)

Under the fluorescent lights of the Superhive’s changing rooms, Kinnowin’s gold medal shone like the sun. Their entire team had gathered to celebrate its acquisition before they’d even made it back to the athletes’ village. 

“It’s a nice little reclaim, isn’t it?” hummed Tangerin, watching it bob as Kinnowin held it proudly aloft. 

“Of what? We’ve never done this before,” Orangin replied. 

“Amazing Maze Race. Back in 2018, remember?” added Clementin, swooping in to compare it to their own Hurdles bronze. “We came second. But I guess you weren’t on the main team back then.” 

Mandarin interjected with a friendly nudge to Kinnowin, who responded in kind. “Who was and wasn’t doing things back then doesn’t matter,” they added, “it’s our captain who deserves our congratulations now, right?” 

Agreeable murmurs spread throughout the room. 

“Wish it coulda been a team event, but you all did mighty fine cheering me on from the sidelines. When we get back I’ll hang it up in the dining room, alright?” 

Amidst the increasing cheer, Mandarin took Kinnowin briefly to the side. “A word, if that’s alright.” 

“Of course.” 

“It’s good we’re facing renewed prospects. So I owe you my thanks. But I’m worried about how we’ve been trending compared to… Well, I don’t have to tell you who.” 

Kinnowin brushed away the concern with a smile. “There’s nothing to worry about. We’ve seen time and time again that there’s nothing the Speeders can do to make themselves unbeatable.” 

“But can we beat them?” Mandarin replied sharply. But Kinnowin, wrapped in the lightness and joy of their newly-acquired gold, seemed to float above the gravity of Mandarin’s words. 

“We’ve got five events to do it in. Well, if you ask me, I don’t mind those odds one bit.” 

Post-event parties were more fun when it was a whole-team affair — when everyone was on the same page and nobody was uniquely exhausted. There probably really were athletes out there who could launch from a podium position to being the guest of honor without skipping a beat, but Astron suspected they weren’t amongst them. They also suspected it was something of a faux pas to leave a party held in your own honor much earlier than everyone else — but that it was probably even worse to pass out in the middle of it. So they’d tapped out. 

The Astron of hours earlier had turned their lights off before they left. The Astron of now didn’t bother turning them back on as they slunk, tired to their core, into the comfort of their bed. All they did was hang the medal up where a raincoat or umbrella might otherwise go. 

It had not been a kind League to them; not initially. An inglorious 13th had been made no better by Greg’s making an example of the few fragments of a second that divided them from both Iceberg and one more precious point, and they remained the only member of Team Galactic to have never won a Marble League medal. 

It wasn’t something that upset them- mostly, at least. Individual medals weren’t everything. If Team Galactic could succeed, that was good enough. And it was perhaps easier to withstand being in the background as a member of Team Galactic. As had been the case for years, nothing short of a miracle season could challenge Starry’s reputation as their most beloved teammate. It was probably even worse to be Cosmo, whose captaincy was perpetually challenged in their favor by well-meaning fans. 

So it was fine, really. 

And yet…  There it was, reflecting the last of the light left in the darkened room; a Marble League silver medal. Tired as they were, they couldn’t move their gaze from it. 

They had the medals they’d earned as a part of a team. They had their overall bronze. They had seen Marblearth from the vast and infinite darkness of space. How silly it is, then, to care so much about one particular shiny circle, Astron thought.

But for once it was theirs, and theirs alone, and nobody could take that away from them. 

—

“It’s not exactly challenging what people are saying, is it? ’Solid at the individual events, but melting in the team events’,” Snowy quoted from Buzzyna’s own marble sports coverage outlet. 

Snowblast forced a stubborn smile. “Better than when people said we wouldn’t qualify. And better than when they said we’d do poorly at everything. You know —” 

Snowy made a vague conciliatory gesture. “I think I get your point,” they mumbled. 

In the post-event frenzy haze they had ended up in one of Buzzyna’s late-night cafes. Minus the Glaciers this time, who were far from in the mood to join them. In celebration of their own first Marble League medal Snowblast had ordered the most lavish drink on the menu; an indulgent double-cream vanilla milkshake decorated with a towering mount of whipped cream and white chocolate shavings, which cast a parodical shadow over Snowy’s austere black coffee. 

Snowblast sipped defiantly from the signature curly straw provided. Their captain’s inexplicable poor mood wasn’t going to ruin their own. Even if they were considering upping and leaving for the pastry counter where everyone else had gathered until it improved. 

Perhaps Snowy could somehow pick up on that, because their gaze was drawn wordlessly to the other group of three. 

“You know, if Snow and Snowflake were still around, we’d have a League or Showdown medal each.”

Snowblast winced. “Snowfall and Snowdrift can probably hear you from here.” 

Snowy slumped in their seat. “Just an observation.” 

If it was an observation it was certainly a pointed one. It seemed more like something they’d dwelled on for a while. 

“Have some of my milkshake,” Snowblast offered. What talking couldn’t fix sugar might help. 

“Gross. You’ve already been drinking from it.” 

“There’s two straws, actually.” Which probably indicated that it was not meant for one marble, but it was too late to dwell on that.

Snowy picked the more straightforward twin straw out from underneath the heaping of whipped cream and sipped, at first tentatively, then with enthusiasm. 

“Not so bad, is it?” laughed Snowblast, punctuated with a sigh. “…I know you’re worried about our team performances. But this is my first medal. It’d mean the world to me if you were a little less gloomy.” 

A little whipped cream sitting above their mouth—Snowblast didn’t dare point it out—Snowy returned the sigh. “Sorry. You did good. I mean it.” 

“Thanks, cap.” 

Saturday

“A lifetime ban seems pretty excessive to me,” Mary says.

“It’s regulation,” the security guard replies. “Zero tolerance for trespassing.”

“They’re just a kid! Surely you can make an exception…”

The security guard hesitates. “Fine. I’ll let them off with a warning. Once.”

Mary turns to the kid with a conspiratorial grin. “So, I heard you wanted an autograph?

Sunday

Yoga helped clear Yeller’s mind when they felt stuck in place, and eased the soreness that came with intense training. They figured they wouldn’t be recognized at a small, out-of-the-way studio, especially since they weren’t a very well-known member of the team.

They were pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong.

Monday

ONE DAY ONLY!!!!

BEGINNER FRIENDLY SURFING LESSON

with guest student: Bay from the Oceanics!!!

Learn how to stay upright when riding the waves!

FREE ADMISSION – FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE!

SurfCrash Indoor Surf Facility – 24 Memorbee Lane

Tuesday

It was silent when I stepped out of the karaoke bar that night. I was quickly accosted by a fascinating young fellow. They explained they deduced I’d be here at this time by reading interviews and social media posts. It’s not easy tracking down the master detective; this kid was good…

Wednesday

LUSTER: Welcome back to the MarBeat Mania trivia segment! One of our loyal listeners can win some signed Swarm swag if they answer our question correctly!

…

LUSTER: So, you’re interested in sports medicine?

…

LUSTER: Well, doctor in training, here’s your question: What’s the clinical term for Momomomo’s injury in 2017?

Credits

ML2023 Memo #10: A Bitter Taste

Event 10 of Marble League 2023: 5 Meter Relay.
(Design Credit: Yume)

A silver medal finish would be worthy of celebration to many. It wasn’t gold by any means, but to have beaten fourteen other teams and given the chance to stand on the podium was usually just enough to drown out the woes of what could have been.

Usually, anyways; if you happened to be Thunder after the relay, there would be no celebration.

Team Momo had graciously offered the Thunderbolts the chance to escape the presses and unwind at their place within the athletes’ village. And while Thunder appreciated the gesture, it stung. Of course the event winners by the slimmest of margins had to be the ones to show them kindness.

“Are you alright?” Momomo suddenly asked. “You seem so… out of it.”

“Just fine,” Thunder lied. “Congrats on the gold. Would have been nice…”

The rest of the Team Momo members rolled a little closer as did the other Thunderbolts. “Are you upset over the results?” asked Momo.

Thunder looked away; an indirect yes towards the other captain.

“It’s alright to be down, I get it. It always hurts to think of what could have been, but–”

“You don’t get it,” Thunder interrupted, “it’s been five years since we’ve gotten to stand atop the podium. The last time this team got to do that was with the roster that’s not even competing anymore. Me and the rest of the team are happy for you, don’t get me wrong… but it’s so frustrating to lose out like that. A silver medal can’t even get us out of last place!” They sighed. “Pain.”

After a bit of silence, they received another bump. “The season isn’t over, right?” Momomomo asked. “There’s six more events. Who knows, you could get six gold medals in a row and win the whole thing. Silver may hurt now, but trust me when I say it’ll give you needed momentum and the experience that came with it will mean more than the color of the medal.”

Thunder looked at the Team Momo members curiously. “What experience are you talking about?”

“Beating the Speeders in this event,” Mo blurted out. “I mean, ten of us did that… but it never hurts to have a little hardware to make it feel that much better and much more real.”

For the first time since the event concluded, Thunder laughed. “Y’know what? You’re right. Better watch out for when we get our revenge and you’re the ones wearing silver!”

All the marbles in the room toasted to the declaration, Thunder now unbothered at seeing long overdue gold around the green marbles.

A few hours had passed since the end of the relay, and Team Galactic had retired back to their space within the athletes’ village to celebrate their long-awaited first medal of the season with tea and snacks. A subdued celebration suited them much better than a loud party, particularly when it was a medal earned by the whole team. Nursing a steaming teacup under the lamplight, playing a no-stakes card game, and listening to music from back home in Polaria was the sort of relaxation worthy of finally beating their medal drought. 

“I was getting worried, honestly,” Cosmo commented offhandedly, sacrificing a few cards to the pile in the middle thanks to a clever move from Pulsar. “We’re no strangers to droughts, after all.” 

“And yet you said the opposite. We won’t go medalless. Something’s going to fall into place soon. Right?” replied Starry. 

True to Starry’s impressive memory, it was a direct quotation. Cosmo immediately remembered speaking those exact words after their disappointing Triathlon finish, just a few days prior. 

“Well, that’s true…” 

Pouring more hot water from the kettle until another teabag was submerged, Starry continued. “You weren’t sure of that — of course you weren’t. It’s impossible. But after failing to repeat one of last year’s medals, you said it just to encourage us.”

Embarrassed, Cosmo could only avert their gaze. “I just don’t want us to lose our nerve.” 

“It’s not a criticism. I knew you couldn’t truly promise us a medal, but hearing you sound so confident cheered me enough to give my all… In a way, you were able to make that statement come true.” 

“Starry’s right,” added Pulsar, shifting in their beanbag. “Yeah, I was beginning to lose confidence too, but I figured if you’re that if you’re not worried, why worry?” 

“It can’t be as simple as manifesting a medal,” Cosmo objected. 

“Of course not. That’s unscientific. But you have less to worry about if you truly believe things are going to fall into place.” 

“So, Cosmo just has to tell us that we’re going to get a medal every event?” asked Quasar playfully. 

“No, that’s not what I…nevermind. You understand, don’t you?” Starry replied. 

Cosmo took a warm sip of the tea, dark as the night sky. “I think I do.” 

“Good, because we’ll be looking for your encouragement even more from now on.” 

Seldom did marbles stay at the stadium long after the day’s event and celebrations have concluded. Most times anyone staying long after the lights went down was an incredibly lost fan or an athlete who had gotten devastatingly swept up in post-event press.

Speedy was none of that.

They knew where they were and why; they were looking out at the relay course from the Speeders fan section near the ending of the track, a prime view for fans to have witnessed the best to ever run the relay fall flat in the heats.

They all saw it. 

They all saw what would soon become an unsightly blemish on their legacy when it came to this event. They all saw hope for their third title swing back to the hosts. They all saw a horrific showing that would likely never be forgotten for years.

Superhive Stadium carried with it a much different atmosphere now that lights gave way to darkness and the usual buzz of the crowd was now complete silence. At least it made for reflecting on mistakes that should have never occurred easier and–

“Speedy?”

Speedy didn’t tear their gaze from the track. They knew it was Bumble from voice alone, but maybe if they ignored them they’d go away.

“What are you doing here?” Bumble asked as they got next to them. “You know it’s getting late, right?”

Still nothing from the Speeders captain.

“Are you okay? I know you’re probably mad about the results, but–”

“I’m not mad,” Speedy snapped. They finally turned away from the track and asked, “what do you want?”

“I just wanted to ask if you were interested in attending a party me and the rest of the Bumblebees are hosting. I think it’s exciting that every team now has a medal this early in the season, so I wanna celebrate all of us rolling away as winners no matter what happens the rest of the season!” The look in their eyes was one of excitement. “Every other team said yes, so I wanna know if your team would like to —”

They started to roll away from the conversation and towards the nearest exit.

“Hey, can you at least answer me before storming off?” Bumble asked, trying to keep pace with them. “You wanna come or not?”

Speedy paused and shot a glare at Bumble. “We’re winning your Marble League. I refuse to waste my time on your premature victory parade.”

“It’s not —”

Before Bumble could finish their statement they rolled away once more, the stadium returning to silence.

Credits

ML2023 Memo #9: Tri, Tri Again

Event 9 of Marble League 2023: Triathlon.
(Design Credit: Yume)

“…so, as I was saying, we have this giant festival that takes place at one of our lakes, and if you go there you’ll see motorbikes for miles, everyone lined up in the mud and strolling between the rows talking. It’s awesome.”

“Damn. You’re speaking my language.” 

“And if you buy the weekend ticket, you get free entry into the music festival they host alongside it. Mostly rock but with some punk and metal.” 

“And you go every summer?” 

“Yeah. Missed it in 2022 because I was doing M1, though.” 

“Nice. Y’know, I’m overdue for visiting Helarve anyway…” 

“You should go! It’d be fun.”

Just as they were on the cusp of making a potentially unkeepable promise to Wuspy, the ringtone of Stinger’s phone interrupted them. They glanced down at the screen. Their anxiety rose when they realized it was Queen calling, and they quickly picked up.  

“Hey, coach-” 

“Where on Marblearth are you!?” So loud was their voice through the speaker that it was almost as if they were yelling at them in person. “Half an hour since the podium and you’ve completely vanished!”

Stinger glanced back at Wuspy, who’d taken on a sheepish expression. Had they really been continuing their post-heats conversation for that long? 

“Uh, I got caught up in… Something. I’ll be down soon, alright?” 

“Make it quick,” Queen grunted, impatient. Stinger hung up, in no mood to attract more of their coaches’ ire. 

“I gotta make a break for it. But tell me more later, yeah?” Stinger asked. 

Wuspy laughed. “No problem. And congrats again on the silver.” 

The triathlon required mastery of three elements; circuit track, sand track, and water track. 

Snowstorm was most confident on the circuit track. They’d never been the M1 partner they knew Snowy deserved, but they remembered the fundamentals. And though their history on the sand was storied, Snowy had taught them the strategies they’d employed in the 2022 Sand Rally—taking risky lines and using confrontation to their advantage—and their confidence had improved significantly. 

Thus the only unknown was the underwater portion. But they weren’t going to let it stand in their way. They’d spent as much time as possible practicing in the submerged tank, which had resulted in a few lectures from Snowblast about tracking water inside the athletes’ village. But their effort had paid off in the form of a shiny gold medal—their first-ever individual Marble League medal. 

The line through to their parents’ home in Snoronto was unstable, but Snowstorm could just about make everything out. It would have helped if their four younger siblings weren’t all speaking at once. 

“Alright, alright, everyone calm down. And take turns with your questions!” 

“Me first, me first!” Snowbank cried out, waving eagerly through the webcam’s eye. “Is it real gold?” 

Snowstorm shrugged. “It’s as good as real gold to me.” 

“What does it taste like?” asked Snowcap, their youngest sibling. 

“I’m not going to taste it,” Snowstorm replied, sticking their tongue out in disgust. “Probably bad.” 

Snowcap stuck their tongue out too, just before Snowdrop waved shyly out from behind them. 

“Are you going to get another one?” they asked. 

Snowstorm couldn’t say anything for sure. “I’ll work hard, I promise.”

Snowmelt, still the smallest, peeped out. “Can I touch it? Please?” 

A knock on their door from behind interrupted the sound of chatter through the speakers. “I’m really sorry, but I’ve gotta hang up.” 

“Awwwwww,” their siblings sighed. 

“I’ll see you soon, okay? And I’ll mail you some sweets from Buzznya.” 

In the midst of the ensuing sweets-induced excitement, Snowstorm hung up. They took another second to breathe before opening the door. 

As with Snowy’s medal, both the Snowballs and the Gliding Glaciers were waiting to congratulate them. Amidst the cheers, Snowy leaned in and whispered to them. “Little sibs still as loud as ever?” 

“Yep. Snowscape’s still in their goth phase, supporting the Blackjacks instead of us.”

“You’ll change their mind eventually. Anyway, are you hungry? Because dinner’s on the Glaciers.” 

“You don’t even know,” Snowstorm said, surveying the crowd assembled. “Hey, where’s Frost?” 

“Oh, Frost? Glide said that something came up, but they’d be back later…”

“So, you want to go to the same donut place as last time?”

“Actually, Clem… this time, I think I just want to call it a night. I’m sorry.” 

“Oh?” Clementin said, surprised by the proposed break in tradition. “Well… I guess that’s fine.”

The sound of a dejected Clementin always tugged on Orangin’s heartstrings, but they had already made their mind up. “I promise we’ll do something together tomorrow, alright?” 

Their promise seemed to cheer them somewhat. “Sounds good. Take it easy, yeah?” Clementin said. Orangin nodded silently as they left. 

It was terribly guilt-inducing, to keep secrets from Clementin. Usually they could tell each other anything. But now, Clementin might not understand what they needed to do. As silent as possible, they snuck off to where they had last seen Frost; near the Snowballs’ spectator stand. 

They were still there, thankfully, but they didn’t look happy to see Orangin. Orangin couldn’t blame them. 

“Hi,” they mumbled. They weren’t sure exactly what they wanted to say. There was nothing to apologize for—the refs had made their decision—but they still felt guilty. 

“…I feel really bad about the photo finish. Do you want to get donuts together?”

“I…” Frost replied hesitantly. “I don’t know. Donuts are more Polar’s thing. And I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, either.” 

They didn’t seem particularly enthused. Orangin winced, beginning to regret their plan. “I just want to make things up to you. We don’t have to get donuts if you don’t want.” 

Frost paused for a second, clearly considering their options. For Orangin, it felt like an eternity was passing. 

Finally, they spoke. “If you really want to, I guess it’s fine. I hear Buzznya has really good baklava.” 

It wasn’t Orangin’s original plan, but it still felt like a win. 

Across from the place where they’d gotten donuts after Clementin’s Sprint medal was a cute old traditional sweet shop that served baklava. Orangin was thankful they’d made a mental note of its shimmering gold-plated window display. 

Seemingly slightly more at ease, Frost took the seat across from them on a small, shaky table. A smartly dressed waiter laid a slice of fresh, warm baklava laden with glistening honey and crushed pistachios in front of them both. 

“Wow,” Frost exclaimed. “It’s actually… kind of beautiful.” 

The tension of earlier had melted away. For that, Orangin was thankful. Silently, they speared their own piece of pastry with a fork. 

“Oh, and no hard feelings, right?” Frost added. 

“Yeah. No hard feelings,” Orangin replied, smiling. 

Demure was on everyone’s face in the locker room, especially Lightning’s. 

“It happens to all of us,” said Bolt, trying to lighten the mood.

Lightning’s expression did not change. To them, it felt like there was a storm cloud over them, raining nonstop. 

A long sigh left Lightning as they stood next to their locker. “This was my one shot,” Lightning commented, “All my hard work, just to run into a wall.”

“You’ll get them next time,” added Thunder. “Don’t beat yourself up, at least you didn’t get punted off the track.” 

“He, yeah. But, I wanted to be in this event so badly, I wanted to show off my skills, I begged Thunderstorm to put me in… All just to get distracted by Rizzy- I mean, run into a wall,” Lightning responded.

Bolt pulled out a box of cookies from their locker. They opened the box, which had 6 cookies. Lightning peered in, and saw that the cookies had depictions of 😃👍 on them.

Thunderstorm then rolled into the room, holding a box. They laid it on the table and stopped in front of the whiteboard.

“Alright team, I know this event was… not the result we were expecting, but I found something that should cheer everyone up,” said Thunderstorm. They reached into the box and pulled out a videotape. “I dug around our facility, and I found some long-lost Efmo footage!” 

The team perked up hearing that name. Thunderstorm grabbed a marker and started drawing on the board. 

“Our next event is the Relay, and I have the perfect strategy.” They wrote a word in big blue letters. “Goedspeed!” 

The team went nuts like they had just won the Marble League.

Em bursts out their front door, a compass in one hand, and a letter in a bright blue envelope in the other. “DON’T OPEN UNTIL TRIATHLON” is scrawled across the front of it.

Dear Em,

Thanks for your letter. It’s always a joy to hear from such enthusiastic fans! We usually don’t have time to respond to every piece of fan mail, but your story was particularly inspiring.

I’ve signed a Zuro postcard. After asking around, Snowstorm, Rojo Tres, and Tumult all agreed to sign it as well.

You said you were a fan of puzzles, and as luck would have it, I am too. So, I’ve hidden the postcard somewhere, and I’ve set up a series of puzzles to help you find it. (If you’ve opened this before the triathlon, the last few steps won’t be ready. I warned you!)

If you ever need help, I gave Vespa some extra hints, since you’re a regular at the diner. I’m sure you won’t need them, though!

Good luck,

Sapphire

Here’s your first puzzle:

Hidden behind a frame of sorts,

On the street closest to this ML’s sports.

To find the number of address,

What is our league event count with one less?

Append a digit sounds like where we’re from,

Then write our best final place in M1.

Each of the teams with a member that signed;

Recall the last digit of year we despise.

Em knows exactly where to go.

Credits