The New Addition to Smash Ultimate

For the past several months, the Mario brothers have been in active search for someone new to join the fighting team at a company known as Smash Ultimate, a scheme of competitive combat. As stated earlier on, Mario was particularly fond of the idea of someone who "has the strength and pure will to bring [S.U.] to greater heights." Word has quickly spread of someone new starting to show her face around the headquarters, a new fighter that it seems Mario handpicked himself.

Smash Ultimate has brought a new fighter to the light, one by the name of Isabelle. Isabelle is a twenty-year-old Shih Tzu dog with an unknown background and the crowds are waiting in bated breath to see what she will bring to the future of the company. With Mario's enthusiasm to present her, we can deduce that she has incredible talent just waiting to leap into sight and we can't wait to witness it for ourselves.

"I strongly believe in waiting for the right opportunity to come around rather than taking the first one you see," Mario announced on the topic of his newest recruit. "While, yes, this process might have taken much longer than I would have liked it to, I have high hopes that [Isabelle] is exactly what we need here at Smash Ultimate. I've seen her work drive and it's impressive, to say the least. I think she'll fit right in here with the other fighters."

It's clear that Mario thinks very highly about this new opportunity, as he called it. We might not know much about this most recent fighter quite yet, but we hope that she fulfills the grand expectations she had since set for herself and proves herself to become the lift into the brightest future.

I requested the day off from my work at the shop the night prior. I boarded the plane at eight fifty in the morning and it landed at last at a quarter past ten. The sun was already positioned high up in the sky when I took off from the airport, sitting in the middle of an almost cloudless blue sky. The sidewalk projected out from the airport soon divided off into a paler pavement, leading further and further through well-trimmed grass to deliver me to the Smash Ultimate headquarters. I nearly reeled in passing by a human shuffling the other way on the pavement, a young man around my age tossing back inky purple hair with an array of freckles splattered across his pale face—I couldn't reach far back enough in my memory for the last time I had stumbled into someone who wasn't an animal—But I was quickly proven that this was the least of the surprises waiting for me.

Within ten minutes of leaving the airport, the building of the main headquarters loomed overhead. The area was more populated right at the source, almost swarming with visitors nudging into and out of the main glass doors. It was the sight of the building I found myself absorbed in before anything else, a colossal silver building sporting tall windows fixed in a row all across the front and catching the generous shine from the sun beaming above. With its size, its commanding presence, and the glow it was bathed in, the sight was almost unreal by how stunning it was. A numbness instantly washed over me in utter awe of the image before me.

It was as I drew nearer that I fully comprehended the crowds that dispersed from the glass doors, quite abruptly smacked with a certain discovery like I had just run headfirst into a wall. It wasn't even just humans and animals that occupied this space, though both were clearly plentiful. I witnessed and watched, each ducking through the doors, a blocky robot that slid smoothly across the pavement, a cluster of human-like figures in full-body battlesuits with the glass helmets that had been paired with them, even an especially pointed-face pale-colored animal that I failed to identify. To say that there was certainly diversity was a criminally vast understatement.

At this point, it was like my brain was frozen, refusing to completely discern the sights surrounding me at every possible angle. I elbowed my way through the doors, weaving my way past a wolf with white-streaked fur before I emerged into the first room. My shoes tapped against the smooth, polished wood floor, draped in light like a blanket of honey as my eyes darted to study the room. Hardly five steps into the room, the view halted me instantly.

The space was enormous, reaching together in a chapel-like dome at the high top of the room. The entirety of the space, built together by the polished floors and the towering white walls, was completely uplifted by the heavenly lights it was blessed with, holding true to the image of morning's hope. There were no doors, but instead just openings in the walls—Seven, I noted after a brief scan of the room. Even more visitors, or perhaps fighters as Mario had called them, appeared and disappeared through these openings, crossing the sunlit floor with brisk strides to travel to their destination. There was something so magical about the scenery, so majestic that I couldn't help but stare, eyes flicking to study every little detail.

"Wow," I whispered to myself as the faint rays of light descended delicately throughout the room.

"Ah, Isabelle!" a welcoming shout jerked me back to reality as the nearing voice of a man drowned in a heavy Italian accent addressed me.

I instantly jerked to face the sound to discover two human men hastily strutting to cross the room and reach me, seeming to have just emerged through the third opening from the left due to their position in the entrance. One of them was notably short and would have stood as tall as my waist at most and demonstrated the attire of overalls, a vivid red long-sleeved shirt, and a matching red cap—That was Mario. The other was much closer to my height, only lacking a few inches from mine, and was dressed almost identically except for wearing green—His brother Luigi. Clumps of dark brown hair escaped the bottom rim of each of their hats and they both shared similar chunky mustaches, only further proving their relation to each other. It was really them, the faces that I had only witnessed in pictures before. I was actually standing in the presence of the Mario brothers.

"I'm glad I caught you here," Mario went on as he and his brother reached me at last. "I've had a bit of changing plans. I was originally planning to send you to the waiting room, which is what I wrote to you, but I figured it best to introduce you to my brother, Luigi. He'll be working alongside me in the majority of my endeavors within this company, as he is a very useful part of the main managing team. I'm happy to acquaint you two before we begin."

"It's Isabelle, right?" Luigi leaped at the opportunity to speak before I had the time to utter a single word, outstretching a hand to shake my paw. I clasped his hand and allowed my paw to be firmly shaken, but I missed the chance to speak for a second time. "Oh, well, of course it is. We just established that. My brother has told me so much about you. I'm so happy for you to be joining us. My name is Luigi, but I'm sure you already heard that."

"Yes, I did," I agreed, withdrawing my paw once again. "It's really great to meet you, Mr. Luigi. You have no idea how much this all means to me."

"Oh, no, just Luigi, please," Luigi corrected me with a patient, yet somewhat timid gesture to dismiss the topic. "Mr. Luigi feels too formal for me."

"Yes, I should mention," Mario interjected, redirecting the focus back down to him as his blue eyes darted between his brother and me. "Here at Smash, we like to keep a very casual vibe. It makes us all feel more like a family and less like coworkers. You can skip all the formalities, if it makes you comfortable. And thank you, Luigi. Oh, but before you go, will you prepare Isabelle's uniform? She'll be needing it soon."

"Not a problem, Mario," Luigi replied brightly. He spared only a brief and polite glance in my direction before he withdrew from the conversation, turning on his heel and striding back the way he had come.

"Don't worry too much about the uniform," Mario addressed me instead, starting off in a shuffling walk in the direction of the second opening from the left. When he offered a short motion to follow, I launched into action to walk at his side. "Why don't you come walk with me for a bit? I'll show you to the registration room. About the uniform, it's snug but very flexible, the ideal getup for combat. It's designed for anyone to wear, so you don't have to worry about being singled out. You can try it on once Luigi has it ready for you and you can direct any concerns about fitting to me."

We weaved our way through the slim crowd to enter the opening. I followed Mario close by to keep from losing sight of him, though I prevented bumping into him by mistake. I caught the sound of his polite "pardon me" as we ducked into the passageway, proceeding into a hall of marble floors and walls and strips of light fixed across the ceiling.

"It's really nothing complicated," Mario spoke up again almost halfway down the hall, the sound of his voice accompanying our shuffling footsteps and those around us. "The registration process, that is. In fact, it's quite simple. Since I caught you in the lobby, you don't need to worry about finding your way to the waiting room. I'll take you right to the registration room myself. There, I'll ask you some questions. Nothing too invasive, of course, no worries. Just some information to keep in your file. You'll be assigned a cubby, which is where you'll store all of your belongings and such that you can't have on your person while you're working. Do you have any questions about that?"

"So, when I'll be wearing my uniform, my cubby is where I'll put my clothes that I'm not wearing at that time?" I clarified. "Or do I bring my uniform home and arrive in it?"

"Oh, no, the uniform stays here," Mario corrected. A particularly extravagantly-dressed woman rounded the left corner into the hall where we walked together, high heels clicking with every brisk step. Her hair was blonde and fluffy, tumbling down to her waist, and she matched white formal gloves with a layered regal pink dress. "You were correct the first time. You'll put any clothes that you're not currently wearing in your cubby for storage."

The nicely-dressed woman blew a short and sweet kiss to Mario as she swept past us, her layered pink skirts trailing after her as she walked, and offered a polite wave to me at his side. I caught a glimpse of her round eyes as she passed us, naturally decorated and the bluest I had ever seen before. I found myself tossing my head back to look at her even as she continued onward to the opening of the hall, watching her and her skirts glide along the floor, and in the simplest form, I realized how effortlessly gorgeous she was. The features of her face were put together in such a subtly perfect fashion and the way she walked proved a confidence in such an elegant way. Even at first glance, I could easily tell that she was who everyone wanted to be—And probably even be with, if I were about ten years older than I was.

Even Mario allowed himself to become distracted by her for a couple of seconds as she passed us before he turned a focused eye back up to me beside him.

"That would be my wife," he explained to me, abruptly launching back into conversation as if I had questioned it. "Her name is Peach. She's very friendly. I love her to pieces. You might see her passing through the halls like right now, supervising a training session, or even completing training herself. I do hope you two will get along well here together. Right this way, please."

An almost abnormally loud click echoed into the new room as we filed through the door—The bar to push the door open was above Mario's head, yet he didn't seem to struggle—And the sensors flickered the lights to life. Polished gray floors sent a streak of shine across the surface from the lights that burned above. The room was split off into two segments, one being what we initially entered and the other standing behind a clear glass partition. Pale marble walls bordered an assortment of cushioned chairs positioned against them on the first side and nothing but a milky-colored table joined by a black swivel chair on either side on the second. I noticed that a light tan folder sat neatly on the table behind the glass.

"This glass wall is here for your privacy," Mario explained, shuffling across the polished floor to reach it and giving it a sudden rap as if to prove its strength. The sound of the knock wobbled through the surface of the clear wall as he gripped the handle of the glass door and yanked it open. "If you had brought company, which I discourage but allow, they would wait on this side while we exchange your sensitive information."

Mario held the door open for me, politely motioning for me to enter the second segment first. I obeyed, silently advancing across the room and offering a word of thanks for the effort before I passed through the doorway. I caught the sound of the glass door shutting softly before Mario was hustling past me, rolling out the chair facing me and hoisting himself up into a seat. The lights above descended kindly down onto the table where the tan folder rested in the middle.

"Let us begin, shall we?" Mario suggested, grasping the edge of the table to pull his chair back to its original position as his feet dangled rather than touching the floor.

Mario slid the folder over to him on the table as I approached. I carefully lowered myself into my seat and watched him while he peeled open the folder, abruptly flipped it over after apparently realizing that it was upside down, cracked it open again, and lay it across the empty table in front of him. The scent of fresh leather drifted through the room.

"We'll begin with the basics," Mario said, plucking a thin pen from the crease of the folder and clicking it with a chubby thumb to begin writing. "I know your name already, Isabelle, so I'll put that down. How old are you?"

"I'm twenty," I informed him.

"Ah, you'll be among the youngest fighters," Mario remarked, starting off on a scribble to begin filling out information at the top of the first page with the pen. "The youngest we've got is seventeen."

Mario spent a few more seconds scribbling onto the page before he raised his head again.

"How much experience do you have in combat and general self-defense at this moment in time?" He inquired.

"None," I said.

"That's perfectly fine. In fact, that's the usual." Mario paused to check off a box, seemingly to expose my conspicuous lack of combat skill. "Any specific requirements or modifications to complete your best work here?"

"Not that I know of right now," I admitted.

"You can change that at any time if you so wish," Mario said, bowing his head to make another brief note on the page. "I just ask that you keep me in the know."

Mario reviewed his work for a lengthy pause. His blue eyes bounced up and down the page as if to check and double check that he had written everything correctly. At last, he withdrew again, adjusting in his seat to engage back in conversation with me.

"Let's discuss prior work experience," Mario announced. "I understand you're currently employed in a separate full-time job. Would this be your first job?"

"Yes," I confirmed.

"I see," Mario murmured distractedly, shifting again to prepare to touch the pen to the page again. "And what is the official title of this establishment?"

"Nook's Cranny," I told him.

"Great. And what is your job title?" Mario inquired, though his pen was already flying across the page.

"Assistant floor manager," I said. The words leapt from my tongue sooner than they had reached my brain. As far back as I could reach in my memory, Tom had never offered such specific information. I was simply looking after everything he had started. I wondered if I even had a proper job title that he had decided wasn't needed for me to know about.

"What is the name of your employer?" Mario prompted, yanking me from my thoughts again.

"Tom Nook," I said.

"That's a new name for me," Mario remarked, jotting down this additional note. "Would I be able to give him a call?"

"That should be fine, yes. I'll be sure to let him know to expect your call," I promised.

"Good, good," Mario replied.

He discarded the pen on the table to take up the paper between his hands, causing it to roll a few inches away and shudder to a stop. He studied the page for another stretch of time, finally lowering the page and tucking it back into the tan folder.

"Well, that's all I've got here," Mario declared, closing the folder and patting it lightly with the palm of his hand. "Have you got any questions for me?"

"There actually was something that I was starting to wonder about," I pointed out. Mario folded his hands on the table in front of him and watched me with still, attentive eyes. "If my official employment begins today, now that I've registered, when does my program begin?"

"Today, preferably, but I understand if that's too late notice," Mario explained. I realized just how utterly quiet it was outside of the room where we sat, our voices standing prominent like we were the last remaining occupants. "If not today, then tomorrow. After you begin the program, you'll be expected to come in for at least an hour every single day. How does today work for you, Isabelle?"

"Today works out great," I affirmed. After all, I had already cleared off my schedule under the shop for the day. "I'm available at any time today."

"In that case, we'll waste no time!" Mario agreed. I caught the lift in his voice from the enthusiasm at my offer. "I give you the flexibility to design your own schedule, but I'll still give Mr. Nook a call and narrow down the optimal time frame for you. Your hours will be tallied up across each month, where you will receive regular payments at the end of every one. It's so exciting to see our family grow like this. Luigi must have your uniform ready for you by now. Let's head out and collect that."

Mario hastily climbed down from his chair, the cue that it was time to leave. I rose from my seat as he slipped the folder from the table, tucking it under his arm with a firm grip. I accompanied him back through the glass door first, the main door leading out from the room second, and had arrived in the luminescent hallway once again, the bells in my ponytail rattling softly with each brisk step. We journeyed the bustling halls that twisted and turned under fluorescent lights and suddenly found ourselves emerging into the sunkissed lobby.

"How long is the combat program?" I asked as we swept through the populous space, making our way to what I was almost sure was the fourth entrance from the left. "Are we looking at weeks or months?"

"Oh, no, no," Mario corrected, his answer arriving so abruptly that it would have interrupted me had I not been finished speaking. He seemed to assume that I struggled to hear him over the purr of conversation in the room, so he cleared his throat and projected his voice louder. "No, I'd call it a year, at the least. It varies by a whole bunch of different things, mainly by how quickly you master each phase. I recommend that you finish out the program before you make a final decision on how you want to proceed within this company, but realistically, if you're sick of it by then, you could leave here and never return, floating on a mountain of wealth."

We entered the new path, surrounding ourselves both in a remarkably similar hallway as the first and a considerably more congested area. We squeezed through the bristling hallway, escaped the crowd through a door right at the end, and greeted an entirely new room on the other side.

"Please excuse the heavy crowds," Mario apologized as we began to cross the room in a more leisurely stride.

I was only partially listening, my eyes flitting every which way to take in the new sights. The room was comfortably spacious, the walls and floor the exact same shade of white and capturing the room like a box. Curved white couches, each sporting a vivid orange stripe, a pearly table to match, and a small congregation of chatting visitors, were positioned in what seemed like random places around the room. A generously-sized, foundation-lacking clock of numerals was bolted into the wall that we shuffled towards and a large television fixed high on the wall offered a white screen behind a list of text.

CURRENT RANKINGS

(subject to frequent or infrequent change)

VIP STATUS

1. MARIO                       2. LUIGI

3. PEACH                        4. LINK

PRIMARY STATUS

5. DAISY                        6. KIRBY

7. ROSALINA             8. SAMUS

9. GANONDORF 10. BOWSER

"This is a common time for fighters to clock in, so it's bound to be a little bit chaotic," Mario added from beside me, still guiding me to another door at the end of the room, but my prying eyes strayed back to the screen.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," I interjected timidly, slowing to a stop to feed more of my attention into the screen above my head. Mario realized my halt and joined me again, his eyes snapping back up at me inquiringly. "What's that up there?"

Mario turned his focus to the screen, examining it for a few seconds as if remembering it was there before he politely outstretched his hand to begin his explanation.

"That right there is what I like to call the rankings board," Mario told me. "The hardest working fighters earn recognition in this way. The top four find themselves in the VIP status, where they may find a few extra benefits, while the rest of the top ten fall into the primary status. Every single fighter in this building is competing and pushing themselves to get their name on the board. If you work hard enough, you might just see your name up there, Isabelle."

The cubby room was a particularly cozy area, tall wooden cubbies bordering a floor of flat, sand-colored carpet. A sticker label had been slapped onto the top rim of every cubby, putting a name to the cubby and the clothes as well as various other belongings that sat within it. An open door split off into a separate and further area with a harsh lighting that easily compared to the gentle glow settling in the first room, but it was a region that I probably wouldn't explore the likes of.

Mario ushered me to a cubby in the middle of the right wall. Scrawled across the label was my own name, the visible proof of my presence in this very building. I had anticipated to gain the only cubby that hadn't been packed or personalized with stickers or photos, but something did indeed sit on the low shelf at the bottom.

"Ah, just as I expected! I'll have to thank Luigi for his quick work," Mario declared as we arrived at the cubby, carefully gathering up the folded piece of clothing from the shelf and lifting it up to offer it to me. It was dark colored, almost completely black with a loud red corner as it sat folded in his hands that implied a more colorful section that I had yet to discover. "This will be your uniform during your work here at Smash."

"Thank you," I said, easing the folded clothing from his hands. I had nearly given into the temptation to allow it to unravel and sneak a peek at it in full when Mario spoke again and snatched my attention.

"There's some changing rooms in the back there," Mario informed me, swinging out a hand to address the open doorway that I had noticed earlier. "You can try it on in there and let me know if you need anything touched up, like the measurements or the size. I'll wait out here in this room for your privacy."

The lights hummed with electricity when I entered through the doorway with my uniform cradled to my chest. My shoes clicked across white-tiled floor and the bells atop my head jingled and rattled with every glance to survey the space. Bordering the room, quite like the cubbies behind me, were individual changing blocks concealed by white curtains, all positioned in a row against the walls. I claimed a block across the room, tugging back the curtain with my free paw.

The changing block itself was especially cramped, leaving next to no movement room in considering a wooden slab in the back acting as either a shelf or a seat and a full-size mirror on the wall next to it. I pulled the curtain closed behind me, plopped the uniform down on the seat, and faced the yellow dog in the mirror. Her dark blonde bangs fell in clumps down onto her fuzzy forehead, her black eyes swam with disorientation, and an unreadable expression like bewilderment or even intimidation was painted across her face as if she had stumbled into an entirely new life and had not the faintest clue where to turn.

Under beaming lights like a hospital or a shopping mall, I stripped down from my outfit of my reliable cardigan and skirt before I held up the uniform I had been given and watched it tumble into full length. It was a complete bodysuit, leaving fabric from the top of my neck to the bottom of my feet. The reigning color was a deep black with a single dense red stripe wrapped around the torso and splitting at the back to circle down each leg. It was held together by a small zipper at the back, working more smoothly than I had anticipated as it jolted down the suit without a single catch. This must have been brand new.

One foot after the other, I slipped my legs into the suit and fitted my feet into their sockets. I tucked my arms into the sleeves before proceeding to twist and crane to zip the zipper back up my back. I eased the zipper up to my neck with notable strain, shimmying in the suit to correctly adjust the fitting, and snuck a glance at my reflection in the mirror again. It was definitely a snug fit, both in the feel and the sight as I studied my appearance, but also stretchy and flexible. Comfortable, as well. I ran a paw across the surface over my belly, noticing that I hadn't the faintest clue what this smooth, sleek material even was, before I decided that I no longer had any reason for staying in here any longer. After all, Mario was expecting me.

Mario was still standing in the same place that I had left him in the cubby room, having pushed back his red sleeve to study a watch on his wrist as I emerged through the changing room door with my former clothes gathered up in my arms. His eyes snapped up to meet mine, quickly noticing my arrival, and he readjusted his sleeve to address me.

"Ah, perfect!" Mario remarked, outstretching his arms as if in an encouraging gesture. I drew my clothes closer to my chest to keep from dropping something on the floor. "It looks like that fits you well. I'm glad for that. Do you have any concerns? Any discomfort?"

"Nope, I think it's great," I replied.

"Excellent. In that case, you can drop off your other clothes over there in your cubby," Mario instructed, swinging out his hand again as if to remind me where my cubby stood on the wall to the right. I obeyed, dismissing myself across the room and dumping my clothes into the bottom of my cubby. Mario's voice went on speaking from behind me. "I believe you're ready to begin your training."

"There's many elements to consider when performing your best mid-combat, that's for sure," Mario announced as we advanced further across the floor to the middle of the room. "There's your actions. That one's most obvious. You have to know what to do and when to do it. But something that's almost if not more important than your actions is your perception."

After departing from the cubby room following the acceptance of my uniform, Mario had ushered me through winding, pearly, and fluorescent halls to a gray door entitled with a slate above it by "Training Room I". I hadn't been certain what I had been expecting—What could have been waiting for me in a room like that—But I had at least expected more than what I greeted after filing through the door at Mario's lead. In fact, the room was completely bare of furniture and other such objects to observe, gentle-tinted white walls bordering a somewhat spacious floorspace of polished midnight gray. Neon-green tape pasted across the floor split the room into six regions where two in the back had already been claimed by duos of fighters, all in uniform and engaged in physical confrontation. Gasps of effort occupied the room as Mario and I emerged into the box at the left corner, the bells weaved into my ponytail rattling every step of the way.

"Now, I don't mean general perception, although that's very important as well," Mario went on, slowing to a halt in the middle of the block and shuffling around to face me again. "Combat is tricky and it's unpredictable. You may never truly know and understand your opponent in this regard. You need to be quick on your feet and analyze their movements just like that."

Mario snapped his fingers sharply, the sound piercing almost unnaturally sharply against the other sounds in the room.

"Do you understand?" Mario asked, his vivid blue eyes staring inquiringly up at me.

"I think so," I answered truthfully.

"Perfect. We'll move on, then." Mario adjusted his stance, shifting his weight between his feet and raising clenched fists in front of him to imply a ready punch. At barely half my size, if he tried to throw a punch at me right now, I couldn't see how much success he could have had. "I assume you know of the most basic foundations of combat, such as blocking and the various forms of attack?"

"Well, I... I'm aware of some, at least," I guessed, awkwardly shifting to mirror his stance as I had no other instruction. "I don't know about all of them."

"No worries, Isabelle. We're here to learn them," Mario assured me, relaxing his stance at the response and politely nudging my lifted paw to do the same. A heavy thump from somewhere in the room told me that someone had just collapsed to the floor and somehow, not a single reaction stirred. "We'll start with the punch. Am I correct in assuming that you've never thrown a punch?"

"Yes," I said, nearly stammering over the answer. That was certainly a question that I had never been asked before, at least so plainly.

"Most haven't when they first come here. It's been known to cause serious issues outside of a professional setting such as this very establishment," Mario explained, slowly withdrawing a few slow steps and outstretching his hand to invite me to an action I wasn't sure what even was until he spoke again. "Show me a punch. Just at the air is fine."

It was an especially odd request. Immediately, my mind leaped to grasp at any sort of excuse to evade it, hesitant to make a fool of myself in front of Mario, but I figured it was even more embarrassing to decline. I regained my combat stance and raised my paws once again, reeling at every way I could have looked embarrassing, and centered my focus. I paused to gather myself before I finally attempted a punch at the empty air in front of me, realizing a moment too late at my flimsy torso twist and complete lack of foot movement just how half-hearted it had been.

"No, that's not strong enough," Mario stated the obvious hardly seconds after I had retreated again. Yep. "Try it again."

Internalizing the corrections I had made for myself in the split second after my first attempt had occurred, I hurled a second punch into the air. I might not have gained very much strength yet, but with the firm slap of my foot against the hard floor, the jolt in my torso, and my paw hurtling through the air, I might have been able to bash in a black eye.

"Better, better," Mario complimented. "We'll work more on that. Next, I'd like to teach you a little bit about a good kick. With a little bit of training, you could manage to break a few ribs with one kick. Not that you'd need to, though. Observe."

Mario turned away from me, leaving me facing his side so that I could examine what seemed about to be a kick. His first foot barely touched the floor before his second was already in swift motion, swinging up in a sudden kick that was as tall as his head. Even the faint whisk of air from the sharp movement alone was enough to prove to me just how powerful that kick would have been on someone else. He steadied himself without so much as a stumble or a sway, casually returning his focus up to me.

"Do you think you could replicate that for me?" Mario asked.

"It was very fast," I admitted. "And I'm not entirely sure if I could manage to kick my leg that high."

"Okey dokey. We'll try that again once you've had some stretching done," Mario decided. "There is one last foundation of training that I'd like to go over with you right now. For when you are in the offensive position rather than the defensive position, it's your very most important skill. It's blocking. As it says in the name, that's where you block any attack made towards you to limit the harm it causes against you. Some examples are dodges, rolls, strategic counterattacks, or if you're feeling bold, direct defense in riposte. I'm going to pretend to punch you and I want you to utilize one of the techniques of blocking."

I spun through the blocking strategies another time in my head, acquainting myself with their meaning. Dodging—Any sort of duck or weave to avoid a strike. Rolling—Making a tumble to escape a strike, perhaps sometimes under an opponent. Strategic counterattacks—I didn't have much context on that one, but I assumed that it was to block in time to strike when the opponent was vulnerable. Direct defense—That must have been performing a second strike to block the first. Extra complicated, I assumed. The rest seemed easy enough.

"Got it," I told him.

"Now." Mario wrenched a clenched fist upward, his hand halting sharply a few inches beneath my chin.

My reaction snapped quicker than my recognition, sending me abruptly jerking away in a clumsy sidestep. Mario sunk back into his first stance as my feet located the floor once more, unsteadily balancing myself before he was speaking again.

"Great!" Mario remarked brightly as I reoriented myself. "Fantastic! You're a natural."

I am? I thought doubtfully, but I didn't say these words out loud.

"Okay, now, let's try something a little bit different," Mario went on. "I want you to try and punch me with your actual strength."

"What?" I stammered immediately, suddenly reeling at the statement.

"It's nothing to worry over," Mario assured me, offering a light and brief pat on the arm as if it would have been enough to smooth over the shock of what I had just been asked. "I practically have bones of steel in this face. Only the best can really hurt me by one hit. Give it your all."

"Well, I, um... I don't know if I can do that," I admitted. "I don't want to hit you."

"Fine, then. You won't be hitting me," Mario replied simply. "I want you to think of your enemy, if you have one, or if you don't, someone who has mistreated you. Someone who has done nothing but flatten your true potential to the point where you're just bristling with the urge to take revenge. Picture that face and lash out your best strike."

I still wasn't completely convinced that I could have managed to fulfill such a request, but I received the advice and allowed it to simmer in my mind. As if I had been waiting to hear the words echo through my head, my memories first flicked back to my late teenage years and the tough era that it had brought. The faded face that delivered that strain. I might have realized it before, and likely had, but in that moment, I became aware of the fact that Redd was the worst animal to come into my life. In fact, I questioned what use he had in my life at all. He lied to me without an ounce of guilt, he berated me, he didn't care about me even when he assured me that I was his best friend, he belittled me, and he refused to see me for who I was.

Suddenly, his face was painted more clearly in my mind than any time the years before. His thin, scheming black eyes. His tall face of orange fur, his pointed ears, his mocking smirk that had tugged up the corner of his mouth in a way that had sent discomfort rolling through me. His voice that scraped like nails on a chalkboard through my head, his piercing laugh that I had once been so drawn to and now stirred with a burning fury at.

My foot shot forward to brace myself, my paw flying in recoil to make impact. This impact never arrived as instead a sort of tension wrapped suddenly around my arm. I blinked, the gray floor flashed above me, and my back slammed into the surface as the ceiling lights twinkled above me. Instantly, disorientation descended as I gazed up at the ceiling with my back against the floor. What happened?

"Your first mistake," Mario told me, withdrawing after he had hurled me down to the floor. Direct retaliation. A blocking technique. "You revealed your move by taking that step. You gave me the time to stop you. No, I do not plan to be treating you like a novice. True warriors aren't made by taking it easy. A diamond can only be made, Isabelle, after it has burned."

My first day training at Smash Ultimate resulted in many more that directly followed. What was an unusual new occurrence became routine. As per an arrangement that I had worked out with Mario at the end of my first session of training, I was expected to clock in at my hour-long shift at five in the morning, since I needed to take into account the time for flights and my shift at the shop. I rose from bed at four each morning—Standing beside as it proceeded from bouncing, tugging, and then dragging—And collapsed into my mattress at eleven thirty each night. I ventured headfirst into the schedule promising myself that I was too strong to let the significant lack of sleep bother me, but of course life came around to prove me wrong.

The weeks cruised by. February became March. After dressing myself in my uniform behind the curtain of a dressing cube, I stuck myself rigidly to the habit of stretching myself out at the start of every shift. As the effort gradually grew easier and easier, both my flexibility and my performance in training grew more controlled in turn. Every day, I was just a hint closer to sitting in the splits comfortably or even completely folding myself in half on the floor. Mastering the act of punching without the first revealing footstep was my first major milestone, but it wasn't long before I realized that there were many more to come. I went further to take under my belt the skills of a roll to escape a strike, a flurry of punches to more quickly and easily harm my opponent, the ability to kick as high as my chest, and several other complex combat techniques.

As the month shuffled on, the surplus of exerted work began to roughen the corners of my mind. Occasionally I walked into Smash brewing with irritability, occasionally with sore eyes with tears at the ready to spring. I saved those tears, however, for the depths of night when there was only darkness to judge me. Once, I failed to retrain the tears and broke down in the middle of training when nothing seemed to progress well enough. Peach had sat me down and held me snugly in her arms for the rest of my shift while I sobbed.

My first official payday snuck around on March twenty-fifth, the last Friday of the month. Retrieving my pay for the month as well as the final week of last month would have been my first time visiting Mario's office in person. It was almost strange to think about, how all of the planning and procedures were organized in one room that I was soon to lay eyes on. It was a few minutes past six in the morning, my shift having ended, but I hadn't yet changed out of my combat uniform. My feet, shielded by the slick surface of the uniform, slapped against the pristine floors and the bells in my ponytail rattled faintly as I crossed the halls with the whispered memory of direction. The white lights glared down at me with every shuffling step that I took. I weaved past other crossing fighters, some in uniform and some otherwise, waved hello to Peach, followed a turn in the hallway, and arrived at a white door with a round silver handle.

I gave the door a courteous rap with my fist, anticipating Mario's response to my appearance. The door thrummed slightly, subtly shaking the knock to its hinges, and echoed it into the room on the other side. Mario's voice answered promptly.

"It's always open!" Mario called cheerfully.

I tugged the door open by the doorknob, excusing myself into the room at Mario's permission. The office was just as white as the rest of the halls and was perhaps the smallest room in the entire building, the square walls separated only by about ten or eleven feet. Mario's desk was on my right side from entering, generously loaded with drawers and cavities and majorly blocking my path from an assortment of tall filing cabinets in the back. A white folding chair sat positioned on my side of the desk. Mario was seated at his desk on a gray swivel chair and had apparently been interrupted in the act of scribbling notes into a pocket-sized cranberry-colored notebook before he raised his head in my entry.

"Ah, Isabelle! I was waiting for you, actually," Mario remarked, snapping the book shut and setting it off to the side on the desk to address me. "Don't worry, I won't take up too much of your time. If all works out, this should just take a moment. I know you've got a flight to catch. Please, take a seat."

I carefully lowered myself into a seat on the folded chair as Mario climbed up from his own. The chill of the flat seat seeped through the thin layer of my uniform as I sat. Mario dismissed himself to the back of the room where the file cabinets were, jolted out a black stepstool for his use in front of the tallest cabinet, and heartily lurched up to reach the top drawer.

"Excellent work this month, Isabelle," Mario complimented, slowly withdrawing the drawer and peering inside with his hands curled over the edges. "I am very impressed. You've improved a lot since you first came here. I haven't been watching you myself, but Luigi and my wife have noticed you a time or two."

"Thank you, Mario," I replied. I watched as he reached a hand into the contents of the drawer that resulted in a faint jingle, whispered a count of five or six, and removed his hand with another clink of the contents. I failed to see what he had grabbed, but the fact of his hand being now closed implied something now sat inside it.

"Not that you would, because I know how polite you are, but before you say anything, I'm aware that it isn't very much yet," Mario apologized, hopping down from the stool to reach his desk again and tossing the object—Multiple objects, all relatively small—Onto the surface in front of me. Five coins, each coated with a pure gold wrap and shimmering under the lights. Some kind of imprint had been already punched into them, but I struggled to comprehend just what it was with the streak of shine it claimed. "You'll earn more and more as you continue your training, depending on how hard you work and how much progress you make, but I trust you'll have no problem with that, hmm?"

They were not Bells, but rather some other kind of gold coin. They were a bit larger than Bells and certainly thicker. I didn't understand this currency. What was I supposed to do with it? How was I meant to tell how much I was being paid? Was this something I could have brought to Tom, considering his endeavor to start up a bank? I plucked a coin from the desk and had begun to examine it from every angle before Mario seemed to realize my predicament.

"Not your currency?" Mario inquired.

"No," I admitted, delicately placing down the coin again.

"No matter," Mario assured me. "What is it you normally use?"

"Bells," I informed him.

Mario seemed to have no trouble recognizing this currency, tossing up a brief finger to invite me to wait before he slipped his other hand into one of the crevices in the desk close to the middle, where I couldn't see it.

"I'm familiar," Mario stated what I had just taken note of, revealing a small silver calculator in his hand that he plopped on the desk in front of him. "Fighters have been invited from all over the world to work under my name, so I've learned to work with many if not all different types of money. I'll take care of it all for you. I'll just translate the pay into what it's worth in Bells and transfer that money to you."

Mario had begun to punch in numbers on the calculator, glancing between it and the clump of gold coins on the desk and mumbling to himself in his focus.

"Let's see," Mario murmured. "Five gold coins... Starting pay... Multiply by..."

Mario continued to bash in numbers on the calculator for a long stretch of silence before he clapped his hands together upon arriving at his answer.

"If my calculations are correct," Mario announced, "the value of your starting pay of five golden coins comes out to roughly five hundred thousand Bells."

My stomach hollowed out, giving way to my heart sharply rocketing down past my feet. Every single muscle in my face ached to train my mouth to keep from dropping open, to refrain from showing the shock that had just slammed into me with the force of a dense brick. My tongue had become mush, as had my brain, zombifying any word I could have thought or said. Completely oblivious, Mario was still speaking to me.

"I apologize again for the low number," Mario said, heaving himself up from his chair and plucking the coins up from in front of me one by one. "Don't you worry. You'll work up from that. I believe you will."

Now having gathered the coins in his hand, Mario leaped back up onto the stool again. He dumped the coins back into the drawer, bringing a more audible rattle, before he looked at me in my dumbfounded state.

"I expect great things from you, Isabelle," Mario told me. "I will continue to be impressed, yes?"

The punching bag, brown and worn down and packed tight, swayed with every striking impact of the flat of my fist. The training room, specifically Training Room III, was unusually occupied for a slow Tuesday morning. Every single punching bag, all positioned at the back rim of the room, was already claimed, all except for the first on the left where I stood and the second from the right that wasn't in use. Training was never a quiet act, the sounds of fists pummeling the punching bags accompanying mine. I hadn't been completely set on how to proceed with my shift today, so I had decided on general practice.

The fire of motivation had fizzled out—Temporary, of course, but inconvenient—But I couldn't deny a certain clench in my chest. I hadn't yet established my rhythm, hurling my clenched fists at the punching bag in a broken, uneven pattern. The harsh lights bleeding down on me seemed to etch into my focus, blocking me from my best performance. What was worse was that I was the only one absorbed in a bubble of distraction, surrounded by the consistent crunches of struck punching bags around me while I stood in front of mine, struggling to grasp exactly what I was supposed to be doing with this thing.

"Keep your eye on the target," Mario warned, casually ambling forward as he clasped his hands together in his explanation. "No matter what. It is always better to be simple and focus on what you know rather than to try to outdo yourself every single time. If you're thinking of ways to show off or make yourself look better, you're not thinking about the fight. That's precisely the ticket to losing even faster."

Last Friday, just four days ago, I had attended an extra combat lesson from Mario and had been joined by a cluster of my coworkers in uniform. It had been less interactive and more informative, resulting in a half-hour lesson where we were talked at for twenty five of those minutes and left to practice for the last five. As restless as it was to stand and listen to ceaseless lecture, I couldn't hide from the power in the advice.

The words shot through my veins, flaring under the harsh lights that supervised the training. My paws settled into a steady rhythm as they pummeled the surface of the punching bag like an unbroken heartbeat. Boom boom boom boom. Boom boom boom boom. As the minutes ticked by, the movement became a cycle, jolting back and forth as if beyond my control. Boom boom boom boom. Boom boom boom boom.

"The motive isn't just going to be given to you," Mario went on. "You need to find it. You need to create it. You need to feel it. If I didn't see the golden potential of a champion in you, I wouldn't have brought you here. Find that and let yourself go."

My mind had been washed over with the blurred sensation like a dream, my motions still flashing under the air of familiarity and rhythm. I was completely alone in the room, in the building, in the world. The punching bag swayed slightly at each impact, twitching back and forth with every blow. My feet rooted to the floor, the bells in my hair rattling with every punch, my paws flinging out perpetually in front of me.

"Fighting is not just about winning," Mario declared. "It's about defending yourself and your honor and in some cases, the honor of those around you. The courage of being that defender is something not found in many and trust that I see something positively great in you. If that is your purpose, rise to it. If that is your goal, rise to it. If that is who you are, rise to it. For yourself and for your allies, I cannot stress this enough, rise to it. Your strength is one in a million. Do not let that go to waste."

My eyes blind to the world as action overrun me. A snap of pain within my bones with every strike. A deep, panting breath dwelling in the pit of my chest. A buzzing spin throbbing within my head as the moment conducted me. The crunch with every swing to the punching bag. Every shudder it took following the sound.

"Victory is never granted to the ones that stand by," Mario explained. "Each and every one of you has a gift that I expect you to discover and utilize during your time here. You must dedicate yourself completely or not at all. While you're here, you will learn to put all that you are into this program. Every single ounce of yourself will be put forth into your advancements in this program. You'll train with all that you are, you'll fight with all that you are, and you'll win with all that you are. Only then will you earn the glory of victory."

I jerked back into consciousness. I was not alone, but instead standing amongst four other fighters in uniform training at the stations of their individual punching bags. The sounds of covered feet slapping against the hard floor and the crackling of fists whacking at the bags flooded my ears. My head still tingled faintly, the draining results of the spin from becoming lost in the moment, and a tremble rattled my body from head to toe with the heavy hammering of my heart. I removed my paws from the bag at last, running them over each other to ease the ache as my breath exhaled jaggedly from the effort, and then a creeping suspicion welled up in the back of my mind. A pair of eyes had settled on me somewhere in the room.

My head swiveled to scan the room, my floppy ears swaying at the sides with every turn, to discover that all of the other trainees were just as absorbed in their efforts as before. My eyes flicked to sneak a glance over my shoulder towards the door at the other end of the room before I spotted him. Mario was standing at the wall next to the door, seeming to lack any urgent matter as he stood casually with his arms folded. As our eyes met from across the room, a twinkle of thoughtfulness flitted across the blue in his own.

And then he was gone, dropping his arms back to his sides and ducking through the door in his departure without a word.

Phase Two

CURRENT RANKINGS

(subject to frequent or infrequent change)

VIP STATUS

1. MARIO                       2. LUIGI

3. PEACH                        4. LINK

PRIMARY STATUS

5. DAISY                        6. KIRBY

7. GANONDORF 8. ROSALINA

9. SAMUS              10. BOWSER

It was the fourth day of May when Mario located me within a training session, cutting it short with a request to join him instead. He suggested that I follow him, that he was going to bring me somewhere new to pursue my training. A jab of curiosity had spiked within me at the vague sentence and I abandoned my equipment to fulfill instructions. Mario had never once involved himself in my training—Unless he was teaching directly, he preferred to leave the fighters to their own devices to learn in the ways that most benefit them. Any possible guess of where he was taking me today would have been an utter stab in the dark.

I surrendered to Mario's lead through luminous halls, weaving past fighters dressed up in uniform and otherwise, on the leisurely-paced journey to an entirely new place. The question of what that place would even have been entertained me with every shuffling step onward to my destination, but with a few recognizable turns, familiarity clicked. We were making our way for the main lobby. I expected that we were simply using the room as a vantage point to transfer ourselves to a different hall, but I was soon proven wrong as Mario guided me to and through the front glass doors into the outside world.

The sun was still breaking free from its slumber when we emerged, blossoming into vibrant colors of pink and orange. A brisk breeze swept across the area, fiddling with the light bangs shading my forehead. We proceeded down the primary pavement in our advancement out of the Smash area with Mario brightly greeting every fighter he passed by like he hadn't seen them in weeks and I chased the streaks of color stretched across the sky with my eyes with questions itching to leap from my tongue. The very moment that I had begun to consider speaking up and finally asking just where I was being taken, Mario beat me to it and explained to me that our upcoming destination was hardly a ten-minute train ride away.

We abandoned the building of Smash Ultimate to instead pressed on to a pristine white building, presumably an especially modern train station. The occupants branched out from fighters at Smash, though I caught sight of a few faces I identified as ones I had laid eyes on before, to majorly typically civilians. Several eyes lingered on us as if suddenly stuck to us by glue, but I knew better than to assume it was anything about me. Something I had lost my grasp on was that Mario was a huge celebrity. Working under his name for three months already had numbed my sense of just how well-known he really was. We paused once on our journey for Mario to offer hasty autographs to a cluster of visitors crossing by, but otherwise, our steps were brisk and unbroken.

We arrived at the station to discover just three minutes before our train would arrive, according to an electronic screen hanging overhead from the ceiling. Mario and I sat together on a bench to watch the number tick down to zero, with my eyes always flitting somewhere with the busy activity of the space and Mario pushing back his red sleeve to examine his watch every thirty seconds as if he didn't believe the screen was correct. Our train arrived after a relatively short period of wait, presenting us with a completely empty cabin that was just as white and pristine as the rest of the building, and we boarded.

"I've been monitoring your training a bit recently," Mario said. I had seated myself in the middle of a row with my back to the window while he sat across the way, turned sideways in the chair to face me as his feet dangled and didn't touch the floor. The cabin bounced and rattled slightly with the speed the train shuffled over the tracks. "You might have seen me pop in a few times. If not, that's okay. It doesn't matter to me. Anyway, all this to say I'm incredibly impressed with how well you put yourself to your training. I don't remember the last time anyone has ever progressed this quickly. You'll be battling opponents in the arenas in no time."

Mario shifted in his seat, casually perching his arm across the back of his chair beside him.

"With that in mind, I've decided to move you on to phase two of your training," he explained. "You've already improved as much as you can, trapped in a little room training by yourself. That being said, you're nowhere near battling other fighters directly. Would you agree on that?"

"Yes, I would," I admitted.

"I'm glad that we're on the same page," Mario replied. "There's no shame in not being ready, of course. It takes some fighters years to get there. That's why I've implemented this second phase. You're going to be taking a break from fighting for a while. To complete a fair and successful fight, you're going to need a lot more than the knowledge of combat."

"What else will I need?" I inquired.

"I'm glad you asked," Mario said. A particularly jarring jolt from the train on the tracks nearly sent us both tumbling out of our seats as the lights flickered abruptly. "Mama Mia! Ignoring that, allow me to give you a general idea of what you best know. Your knowledge of combat will only bring you about half as far without the rest. If you've been listening to my teaching, as I assume you have, based on how attentive you are, you'd know that it's just as crucial to bulk up both your strength and your mind. You can't win on strength alone. Unless you're ridiculously strong and have been exercising your training for years and years, I suppose. Something else you'd find to be immensely beneficial to your training is teamwork. As they say, teamwork makes the dream work. Sometimes when you're in a crisis or emergency you'll find yourself in a group rather than going solo. If you build each other up and help each other rather than throwing everybody under the bus, you'll reach the solution together. That's what phase two is: Strengthening your mind rather than your muscles."

"Got it," I confirmed.

"Perfect!" Mario absentmindedly ran his hands together and tossed a brief glance behind him at the wide window behind his back. The sky had developed into its fully-blue state, an almost cloudless sight with a single white strip here and there as sunlight pooled gently into the cabin. Short-trimmed grass whipped past at the speed of the train. "Well, today, you won't be focusing as much on teamwork. I'd like to have you become more acquainted with this family before you put your life in their hands. Theoretically, of course. I would never put you in danger like that. Today is going to be more of, uh... Quick thinking, I suppose. Quick reflexes. Learning to take risks for the best outcome. It might seem insignificant, but it's actually quite helpful towards succeeding in this mission. I don't choose many for this task, but it seems it'll be a good fit for you. I know that you'll work hard, Isabelle."

Somewhere around fifteen more minutes were spent in the train car. Having nothing to do, no book to read or no other activity, I entertained myself by staring out the window across from me and watching the world rush by. Once, the thought had crept into my mind that I was going to be late for my shift at the shop, but Mario assured me that I would be arriving back at Smash in time for me to catch my same flight. I anticipated a similar white-tinted station to greet us upon arrival, but instead, it was an especially inconspicuous station that we emerged onto. The train rolled into a stop beside a single, lengthy strip of white brick pavement embellished with the occasional black lamppost for when it would grow dark, and we climbed back out into the world.

Together, we swept across finely-cut grass, and quickly after arriving were joined by a sort of dusty road. It seemed at first simply a road for vehicles to pass by, but as my eyes scanned the area, squinted under the glaring rays of sunlight, I realized it was a massive loop, quite like an unassuming or abandoned racing track. A sort of buzzing warmth congested the area as we kept on, not stopping or even pausing at the run-down track and instead sauntering along beside it. A subtle surreality had begun to seep into my mind—This was so unlike the area of Smash that it was almost as if I was captured in a dream. For what reason could we possibly be here?

A couple minutes further of shuffling across the grass, moving farther and farther from the dusty road, carried us to a neat array of compact white shelters. With nothing but the box-shaped buildings against the grass and blue skies, at least from my current perspective, the sights only grew more odd. After reaching the door to the first building, Mario untucked a crowded set of keys from the front pocket of his overalls, fiddled with them to find the right one as I watched, and let himself and me into the building. We filed through the doorway one after the other and were invited into the single room by a gush of cool air.

"Beautiful!" Mario remarked as we advanced into the space, though I wasn't completely certain what he was referring to, and I heard the abrupt jingle of the keys being tossed over onto a separate surface.

I studied the room that we had stepped into. A particularly artificially bright set of lights beamed down at us from the ceiling above. A smooth white shelf jutted out from the left wall, supporting a black racing helmet that shone under the lights, a disarrayed mess of cords, and now Mario's keys. As disorderly as it was, there was yet something even more eye-drawing. A car sat in the center of the room, facing away to point towards a cloudy sheet that was a shut garage door, and an especially done-up one at that. Its main color was a single block of color that swept across its curves and adornments—A lime green—While two darker green stripes ran down the middle all the way to the tail end. It was latched to a track already, rooting it in place where it was parked in the room and into a set trail out of the garage door.

"What a gorgeous vehicle," I noted aloud.

"I'm glad you think so," Mario replied, dismissing himself from the shelf and sneaking a glance over his shoulder at me as he sauntered to the car door. "Considering you're going to be driving it."

"Uh—" I stammered immediately, my voice faltering before I could make another sound. I hadn't intended to speak at all, but the sentence seemed to punch the word out of me from the stomach. I had never once sat in a car, much less driven one.

"Oh, it's not that complicated," Mario assured me, tugging open the driver's side door and leaving it ajar with his hand perched on the side to face me again. "It's easy, in fact. You've got the gas pedal, the brake, and the steering wheel. That's really all you need to worry about. Everything else has already been tinkered with for you. As long as you know how to make the car move, stop it again, and turn with the wheel, you're good to go. Now, come on. Give it a shot."

I hadn't even taken my first step forward towards the vehicle that waited for me before Mario shifted to remove himself from the door, pushing back his sleeve, and peeking back at his watch.

"Oh no! It's almost half-past six," Mario declared, readjusting his sleeve and crossing back through the room in short strides. "I've gotta get going. Just grab that helmet over on the shelf and get settled. Don't forget your seatbelt, of course. I'll just be off to announce the race."

"Race?" I echoed abruptly, whipping around on my heel as Mario swept past me, but the door had already shut before I had fully turned around.

Well then. Dumbfounded and oblivious to what my next move was supposed to be, I hesitantly faced the room again where I was now alone. Silently, I returned to the shelf where Mario had abandoned his keys, taking up the helmet and weighing it between my paws. It was decently weighted with a noticeable pull of gravity but not enough to give me any struggle trying to put it on my head. I lifted up the helmet and fit it onto my head, twisting it and meddling with it to squash my ponytail in a way that was comfortable. Sure, removing the ponytail would have been ideal, but I had nowhere to store it. I buckled it together, the strap fixed snugly under my chin, and questioned what in all worlds I was about to get myself into.

My stomach had erupted in tingly flutters as I plopped myself into the seat of the car that Mario had directed me to. The scent of fresh leather sifted from the seats, all black and completely spotless, even of sticky little fuzzies. Well, that might have been about to be a problem with my yellow fur. I slammed the door shut, closing myself into the vehicle, and ran my paws delicately across the round steering wheel. It was a smooth material, comforting to the touch and easing the tumble in my stomach for no longer than a moment. My eyes dropped to my feet and the pedals they rested under, visually following every bump that dotted the surface. There were two of them, the gas and the brake, but I hadn't been informed which was which.

The left was the gas, right? I pressed down the pedal with my foot and instantly jerked it back with the reminder that I was not only still in the room, but facing a sealed off garage door. It took me a beat to realize that the vehicle hadn't budged, not even an inch, when I had put my foot down on the pedal. Oh, wait. I was still on the track. I allowed myself a breath of relief that I hadn't and couldn't just crash through the door if I tried, wrapping my paws back around the wheel and turning my eyes forward.

The cloudy garage door stood as a barrier between me and the outside world, whatever awaited me. I gulped firmly at the idea, overwhelmed with a curdling stomach. Half an hour ago, I was still at the building of Smash Ultimate, relying on the familiarity of routine, and now I was sitting in the driver's seat of a car I'd never seen before and was expected to drive it. I had landed myself in unlucky situations in my life one too many times, but somehow, this was different. I could have named at least ten different reasons why I wasn't safe doing something like this, many of them weighing on the facts that I had never driven a vehicle and had just stopped individual training this morning. At the very least, I was likely about to be paid generously for this, but maybe the complications overpowered financial desires. How could I possibly get myself out of this one?

A sudden rumble gave the vehicle a short pulse of vibration. The garage door was rising, slowly climbing up and above me to release me back into the world. Sunlight pooled across the front of the vehicle like a blanket, shimmering against the window before we as the door ascended. Now in broad daylight, I was smacked in the face with the sensation that I was an imposter, that this wasn't my scene and I was put here by mistake. Although, I supposed I sort of was the outsider here.

The vehicle trembled once more, smoothly easing into a roll along the fixed track now that the door had opened for me. I was on the move, but to where was beyond me. The car scuffled forward by the influence of the track, carrying me through the opened door and into the sunlight. Okay, this is really happening. My throat tied itself into knots and my paw landed on the handle to open the door, involuntarily clawing for my escape, but I restrained myself before I could pull on it. This was what work at Smash was all about, wasn't it? Hurling yourself into new territory with a hardened heart and training the fear out of you? The hammering of my heart screamed that I was in danger, but my common sense reminded me that this was what I did. This was who I am. If I wasn't capable of taking over this challenge, Mario wouldn't have brought me here. I had to show him that he made the right decision, that I was ready for this phase of my journey.

Hesitantly, I withdrew my paw from the handle, instead shakily gripping the wheel again. My eyes flicked to study the world around me, anticipating some sort of clue towards the track that I was nearing, but my focus snagged on something out the window to my left. I was not the only rider being led along by the set trail, but in fact simply the one on the end. In a perfect parallel row, there must have been at least twenty different cars beside my own, each decorated differently with varying vibrant colors and builds. I peered into the window of the car next to me, a red and maroon tinted vehicle that seemed to fit someone whose personality depended on how cool they were, prying for any hint of whom I was up against, but all that I managed to see was the same black helmet as my own from its driver.

A sudden crackling in my ears sent me jolting in my seat before I was proven that it was only the microphone speaker within my helmet when Mario's voice flooded my head.

"Can I have the attention of the racers, please?" Mario requested, his voice throbbing somewhere deep in my head as my vehicle continued to roll forward with the rest of them. The word jabbed my stomach with a spike in stress. As for today, I'm a racer now. "I'd like to formally welcome you all to the most intense, exciting, and adrenaline-pumping race of your life. And what a beautiful day for a race it is!"

Intense was definitely right. I gulped again, rubbing the pads of my paws against the smooth wheel for any form of comfort as I silently watched the vehicles next to mine.

"Now, as you feel your cars moving forward, there's no need to panic," Mario went on. "You are all on a track that's currently transporting your cars to the starting line. Once you reach the starting line, your car will be released from said track for you to begin the race as soon as you see that green light. I'm sure most of you have heard the rundown already, but we have a new racer here with us today."

Oh! An idea instantly lit up in my brain. If Mario introduced me over the intercom and the other racers knew that I was new here, maybe they would take it easy on me. If the community here was anything like back at Smash, then maybe they would even help me out with more opportunities to succeed. As long as I didn't crash and could teach myself to drive mid-driving with twenty other cars weaving to get around me, maybe this was about to be fine.

"I doubt she'd want to be put on the spot, though, so she will remain anonymous," Mario decided. Oh, well, okay. "I'll stop talking now. I hope you all brought your best competition today. Now get out there and fight to win! For the next twenty minutes, this track is yours to own! I welcome you to one of the best racing tracks in the world!"

A sudden boom almost like a firework and the abrupt illumination of show lights jerked my attention to the sky through my front window. My rolling car was gradually approaching to pass under a wide archway embellished with a broad, generously sized sign with orbs of light along the edges. There were no other distinct features, only two large words.

MARIO KART

After passing under the sign, the vehicle jolted to a stop. Something in my gut jerked with anxiety. We had arrived at the track. I leaned closer to the wheel, straining to scan the area around me through the windows of the car. I was among the first row of cars while two more rows followed in wait of the upcoming race. The road was wide and far in front of me, bordered by fenced racing boundaries as it surrendered to a right turn countless yards down. A pipe reached extensively above the track, supporting the suspension of a generously-sized traffic light gleaming in the red bulb on the top. A faint moisture had begun to lace the pads of my paws as they clenched the thin steering wheel in front of me.

A mechanical click shot through the interior of the car, causing it to quiver before the stillness returned. I had just been released from the pre-fixed trail. I was really in it now. The constantly shrinking time before the race would be called screamed into my face with every pressing second as my eyes flicked back up to the traffic light. The last thing I needed was to miss the green to go and have another car pummel into the back of mine. The red bulb was no longer glowing, having darkened to allow the yellow one below it to flash in a steady, unbroken pattern. The timer was ticking.

Not a sound met my ears as my breath shallowed. Whether the track had just become unusually quiet or my own fear had deafened me, I didn't know. In a completely inaudible pulse, the yellow orb flashed slowly with no evident clue as to when it would shift. Yellow. Blank. Yellow. Blank. I refused to take my eyes off of it for as long as a split second. My paws wrapped firmly around the wheel, my body utterly stiff with anticipation.

Yellow. Blank. Yellow. Blank. Yellow. Blank. Yellow. Blank. Green.

The sudden roar of engines overwhelmed the air before my eyes had even processed what I had seen. My heart nearly tore from my chest as my foot involuntarily slammed down on the left pedal in a first jolting reaction. Almost fully in unison like we were joined at the hip, the first row of cars had shot off across the track with mine belting right beside. By the time reality clicked, I was already several yards down the track with the same red car cramming into my space on my left. My foot mashed down onto the pedal with as much strength as I could collect. The blue sky hanging over me, the fence boundaries whipping past my right.

What do I do? What do I do?

The turn was nearing at what felt like a million miles a second, shooting towards me at bullet speed. If I didn't act fast, I was going to crash. My body was frozen stiff, refusing to move even when my brain demanded it to. My foot eased gradually from the gas pedal. At a higher pace than mine, the vehicles to my left shot ahead. Images flashed through my mind. I would be stopped on the track, having already given up where I stood. The other vehicles miles ahead. Humiliation burning tears into my eyes. Mario's voice sharply striking my ears with urges to keep going. If that was what it took to get out.

I hadn't stopped yet, leveling eighty-seven miles an hour while the other vehicles surged on. The turn had commenced for those before me. Like a sea of fish, cars weaved in front of me to surrender into a flow to the next direction. It was now or never. Turn or quit.

Do it.

My foot slammed back onto the gas pedal, my paws abruptly twisting the wheel to the right. The car circled around, almost smoothly directing into the next path. Every muscle in my body strained as I turned, painfully aware of the cars that congested either side of me and desperately avoiding collision. The path evened, the cars rejoined the clamor to be front, and another predicament awaited.

At a far reach down the track, an upward slope of mountains opened up a rocky tunnel. Shadows drowned the interior of the tunnel from what I managed to point out from so far back, all except for an old yellowish-brownish light that sliced it down the middle from the inside. The track disappeared into the tunnel, submerging itself into the darkness. A ruckus of vehicles were about to pile through a fifteen-foot wide entrance with the frenzy and the scorching hunger to get there first. My mind shrilled with the spiking sense of danger, but I refused to be influenced. My pedal had become crammed to its limits again by the plunge of my foot, hurtling me forward and closer to the dim entrance.

My focus was yanked with every vehicle that appeared at my side, barreling past me in a close effort to dominate the front. Somehow, what I had known as fear earlier on had completely wiped itself out, at least to my immediate knowledge. It was as if my bones had thickened, impossible to break. My mind washed over with the certainty of a knowledge I didn't realize I had. It was a kind of power that yes, there were several things that could have gone wrong here, several hazards and dangers I couldn't even list, but the only option that was even comprehensible was staring danger in the face. Quitting wasn't something I did.

Speed breached one hundred and fifty. The top rim of the tunnel flung over the top of my car, entering the opening packed within the crowd of vehicles. First it was the thud from my left as a navy blue car jammed into mine in trying to beat me into the tunnel—Instantly followed by the sudden dimming of emerging into the tunnel—And then the screech. The grating of my right door into the rocky tunnel wall yanked a shriek from my throat as I sharply jolted the wheel, steering myself back onto the path. Great, now I was scuffing up Mario's nice car.

The space opened up from the slim entrance, spreading into an entire cavern of pure rocks, thin wooden columns across the walls, and the occasional dirty-yellow beam. Having my whole sight restricted in the low lights was one of the many things I didn't need right now. I had only rattled myself for a second by getting myself slammed into the wall, but several of the vehicles had already shot ahead and were swerving to follow the continued path that lay before me. I had to get back up there somehow. I shrugged off the jitters that had begun to creep through my head at the piercing sound and narrowed my sights to the race under murky light. My foot slowly eased down onto the pedal again as I gradually revved forward, inching up on the back of the spiked yellow and green car in front of me.

The wheel between my paws and the seat beneath me vibrated with every stir of the raging motor. The dim glows flashed above me, flicking across the surface of my front window as my eyes simmered with attentive focus. My foot kept steady on the pedal, jamming it down towards the floor in my gaining speed. One hundred sixty. One hundred seventy. One hundred and seventy four. Maybe I should have been less concerned about scuffing up the exterior of the car and turning my attention more towards sneaking through the openings to reclaim the front of the crowd. After all, that was what the race was all about. And it wasn't even Mario's own car, wasn't it? Surely it was under the ownership of the entire company of Mario Kart. How could Mario even drive a car, anyway, when his feet couldn't touch the ground even when sitting in a regular chair? Did he ever participate in his own races?

Focus.

I snapped back into reality after settling briefly into my own imagination to find that I had begun to fall back again. I mashed the gas pedal again, quickly restating my pace and closing back into the yellow and green vehicle in front of me. The dull lights streaked across the windows and roofs of the cars that had advanced faster than me, which I evaded my focus from.

The spiked car surrendered to a sudden jerk, veering off to the right. An accident? My stomach dropped far below my seat but my right foot had already bashed the brake pedal. I lurched to a squealing halt. My whole body heaved forward with the struggling stop, bound tightly to the seat by the seatbelt. A heavy crunching sound followed the curve, only revealing itself as the car skidded back onto the path, smoothly and intentionally. In the dimness of the cavern and my unbroken focus of the vehicles I was trying to avoid, I had completely missed it. A rocky pillar had once divided the path by one short diversion. I watched as those same rocks began to crumble down onto the path, tumbling over each other and stirring a collapse that could have severely dented a car if struck right.

Not an accident. A sabotage.

This was my last thought before I was flung against the seatbelt again. The car behind me had clobbered into my own after I had slammed the brake without warning. The dropping rocks hammered against the roof of my car. Wheels against the track screeched. Something glass cracked. A scream clawed from my throat without making a single sound. My window faced the rocky wall by the time I snapped out of my shock seconds later. My car was completely still, stationary, as was my body in my seat. I had to keep moving.

The engine of my car roared as I spun myself back around to face the path with my foot cramming the gas pedal. I steered myself back onto the path, picking up speed with the lower my foot pushed as I rushed to rejoin the race. My arms stiff, my paws clenched, the lights flashing above. Every inch of me trembled from the minor crash as I gained my pace, nearing the back ends of the cars that had surpassed me. I had been left behind as the farthest racer.

Am I okay? I'm okay. I'm okay. My heart skipped at rapid speed with my shaking paws as I reassembled at the back of the vehicular group. The crackle of the intercom within the helmet hardly fazed me.

"Isabelle, what in the world are you doing?" Mario exclaimed. The urgency in his voice more clearly brought out his heavy accent. It must have been a private line if he was addressing me directly. "You're swerving all over the track and getting into these crashes. When did you get your license?"

"I didn't," I informed him. I wasn't completely certain if the hearing went both ways, but considering I'd been asked a question, it was more likely than not. I caught a patch of illuminated, artificial light blanketing the track in the distance—The tunnel was ending at last. "I've never done this before."

"You don't have a license?" Mario echoed. The cars in front of mine painted shadows across the track as the light drew closer. "You know that this changes things, right? I wouldn't have put you in a high-stakes race if I had known you didn't even have a license. Well, I suppose just get through the race and do your best to reach the front lines."

Crossing the threshold from the tunnel to the next region struck me with white brightness. Every pair of wheels on the road had begun to squeak as the material of the track seemed to have changed. The ceiling beamed with harsh lights over the track. Pristine white walls bordered the track with generous space, almost like the walls of a modern train station. Every indentation in the wall, every line in the bordering floor at the base of the wall, whipped past me at almost a dizzying speed. The other vehicles were still yards ahead, leaving enough room to breathe, but it was the worst place to be in trying to get to the front.

"What do I do?" I inquired. My car jostled slightly and screeched with the chorus of every other pair of wheels as it barreled across the track. "How do I do that?"

"Well, you're about to have one heck of a ride," Mario warned. I adjusted my paws on the steering wheel to keep from clenching it any longer. "You were doing so well for the first half. What brought you that courage at that point?"

"Adrenaline," I guessed.

"Ah, well, fair enough," Mario replied. "Just listen out for my voice. I'm assuming you hear me loud and clear. I'll help you out along the way as best as I can. I've got eyes on you at all times from cameras positioned everywhere throughout the race. If there's a tricky obstacle in the way, I'll let you know beforehand and teach you how to pass them. If I think of any other tricks for you to succeed, use them. I understand this isn't quite what you expected to make of today, but let us begin your first ever driving lesson."

The fluorescent station-like region dragged on for minutes longer. We were a good chunk into the race already and the vehicles had begun to space out, putting yards of space between us rather than the toe-to-toe effort we had begun with. I even managed to slip past the next car in front of me, a shining black vehicle with a broad exterior, earning myself second-to-last place for the moment and a compliment from Mario. This was the only progress I had managed to make before my car dipped into a downward slope, the nose sinking to pursue the descending vehicles that still blocked my path through.

"Be careful going down this ramp." Mario's warning settled into my head from the intercom. "Keep a light foot on the brake so that you don't lose control of your speed. Don't worry about falling behind here. Everyone slows down with declines to keep from spinning out of control. Once you get to the bottom, release it again."

At the ending threshold of the white ramp, white walls, and white lights, the track material changed once again to make room for the next section of the race. The squeaking silenced as I tailed the vehicles in front of me onto a decidedly winding track bordered by barred red fences. The sky was just as blue and cloudless as it had been when my car had first brought me out into the world from the garage, the sun glistening across the tops of the cars. Per instruction, I had released the brake to cram my weight back onto the gas pedal, but the intercom crackled once again for further advice before I had even rounded the first turn.

"I see you gathering the courage to speed up, which is great, but watch your control," Mario advised. I eased off of the gas just slightly to lay the support for the turn, watching the fence streak past me as I twisted the wheel. "You're the only one who hasn't mastered turns like these. A turn too fast or even at the wrong time could send you hurtling through the fence. Watch the cars in front of you. Measure when and how they turn and repeat it. That's the best you can do for now, but if you can manage to outsmart your opponents to get closer to the front, even better."

If my focus was to be dedicated to figuring out how to best time my turns, I wasn't sure that I had much room left to contemplate how to outsmart those around me. With every turn I further practiced the timed act of pushing and releasing the gas pedal and when and how far to twist the wheel. It was nearly halfway through this individual endeavor, swiveling through the curvy track, that I realized it was far less of a conflict to train the skill into my muscles than when I had first begun the race. The movement was a more natural act, practiced and instinctive. The concern of not knowing how to operate this thing pressed a lighter weight on my shoulders.

Yeah, I got this, I thought to myself, landing yet another smooth turn that just so happened to be the last of this segment and almost surprising myself by escaping through the window of space to tuck into the open area in front of a low-rise purple car.

The loopy roads carried us up on a steady incline to the top of a second tall slope. At the top of the hill, the next and hopefully one of the final regions of the race was an engaging sight, though not one I would have looked at and instantly saw as the foundations for a race track. The track was not fenced off here but still very open, bordered instead by neat patches of trimmed grass. Trickling fountains added a shining sparkle to the landscape and a pleasant view to turn my eye to. The place almost seemed to be of a high-price town, with pale pink square buildings coated with salmon roofs and tinted windows. Twisting roads, though not as interactive as the ones before, sent us all through a thorough tour of the elegant place as the tires of my car kicked up the dirt in its raging pace.

I must have been somewhere between the middle and closer to the end of the line of vehicles by now. After shifting and skidding past a number of vehicles, it made the most sense. If I could succeed in keeping up this slow progress, I just needed a little bit more time to get up to the front again.

"Be careful what part of the road you drive on here," Mario suggested. "Don't get too close to the edge. There are traps set up here. If you hit the edge, you'll trigger a contraption that will splatter your car in ink. It's been known to smear on windows and block your sight."

We proceeded through the luxurious area, flying down the dusty road while the view gradually shrunk farther and farther away. This was a more track-like territory, simply the open road, the blue sky that hung above it, and the light dusting of dirt that shot up from the tires. For the first time, as my eyes pinpointed the distance for the furthest car, I could only see at most nine cars on the path before me. There was no telling just how far some of the others had gone already. As far as I knew, some were already reaching the finish line.

"Now, this kind of area is best for your benefit," Mario told me, the volume of his voice right in my ear nearly drowning out the sound of my thundering engine. "Especially since there's so much space between everybody. Use that space to your advantage. Rise to the challenge to push yourself and find a way past the cars in front of you. Sometimes, all you need to do is increase your speed, but other times you may need to put up more of a fight. Some of these racers are viciously competitive and will prevent anyone else's success by any means."

Well, that I knew. Memories flicked through my mind as I strained my foot down further onto the gas pedal, bringing another howl from my engine as the world whisked by even quicker. The spiked car surrendered to a sudden jerk, veering off to the right. My stomach dropped far below my seat but my right foot had already bashed the brake pedal. I lurched to a squealing halt. My whole body heaved forward with the struggling stop, bound tightly to the seat by the seatbelt. I shivered off the event, adjusting my paws to wrap them more comfortably around the wheel.

Fortunately, the most fight that the cars put up once I stole past them was the same purple car from earlier lurching to cut off my path, quite like my evasion tactic that I had just used on it minutes ago. I had stumbled into a clumsy brake to avoid it, shooting off into the space that it had left behind and barreling past it. As the blurred purple sight vanished from my side window, I could almost hear the growls of frustration I must have caused at the trick. Mario remarked on my short triumph, congratulating me on the skills that I had grasped just in this time alone. This was the last thing he said to me during the race.

Mario's sudden absence was a thought that infrequently touched my mind as my focus lay heavily on the remainder of the race, seldom questioning what his lack of advice could have meant. It was only in the very last segment of the race, thin roads led closer and closer to the end by bountiful pink-blossomed trees, that the answer clicked: It was almost over. Due to the lengthy empty road in front of me, I had granted myself a surge in speed until I had surfaced at one hundred and eighty five. I joined up with another small cluster of vehicles, four in wide spaces between each other, and a few more were already creeping up from behind after I had abandoned them. With the end of the race on its way, the competition was extra tight.

Well, I wasn't stuck at the back. I didn't give up and sit motionless in my car, either. Both of those things were already more than enough, both for my skills going into the race and Mario's opinion. Maybe I didn't have to strain so hard to surpass the racers in front of me from here on out. As long as I could sustain my pace and prevent later racers from passing me, I allowed myself to give in, loosen the tension, and enjoy what was left of the race. I filled my lungs with a deep breath, readjusting my paws on the wheel as I held my foot down firm on the gas. The blur of pink trees gliding past me was nearly enough to provide a sense of security, like bordering off the path so that I was free from the dangers of crashing. The knots in my stomach released themselves, having been clenched with the demanding pressure to win or something close to it, and a tickle of warmth even burrowed in my chest. I saw why racers came back here for another run.

Was I starting to enjoy this?

The rush of noticing a black and white checkered flag fluttering in the breeze from a pole that reached into the sky in the distance was like no other. My stomach hollowed out in an instant. A chill like cold water trickled from my shoulders down into my arms. My eyes locked onto the fiddling flag as I approached, sailing across the pavement in my car. The four cars in front of me were already well on their way to cross the finish line, whizzing one by one across the threshold and easing into a controlled stroll instead. I would have been next.

Movement creeping out of the corner of my eye grabbed my attention out through the window at my left. A dented royal-blue car, especially elongated in its nose, was slowly advancing past me. I hadn't noticed earlier on as my focus had singled out the flag. Something clicked within me, slamming my foot down on the gas in a hasty attempt to beat this driver to the end. I had to get there first, to claim the highest place I could get. The pink world around me whipped past me, my engine revved with its power in my growing speed, the flag neared—

I was through. My speed reduced quickly and smoothly as I proceeded from the ending line, slowing into a leisurely saunter to study the area through my windows. The originally slimmer path bordered by the pink blossoms opened up into a far broader area, a perfect ring of color to carry us at the end of the journey. The cars that had once been behind me had begun to roll up beside me, having also taken their turn passing over the finish line. Music pounded through the air, a sound as such that was only muffled to my ears through the windows of my vehicle, but this blockage was gone in seconds. Without my control of it, my left and right windows unhurriedly crept down with the rest of the windows around me, sweeping in both a puff of cool air and the upbeat music that I had registered just a moment ago. It was over.

The moment came to a halt by the intercom crackling in my helmet again.

"That right there is the twenty minute marker," Mario announced brightly. I hadn't even realized this was timed. "As per usual, the first twelve racers to cross that finish line there will be ranked consecutively from places first through twelfth. If you have yet to cross the finish line, well, I wish you all the best for the next race. What an incredible race that was! So much passion and spirit and dedication! I offer a deep congratulations to those who have successfully completed the track in this time. I see some of you have been put on the track rails already, so if you feel a click, that's just the rail grabbing you so that it can bring you back to your garage."

Mario had barely finished speaking before said click occurred from beneath my car, latching it in place and causing it to quiver. I removed my foot from the gas pedal but the car was still in motion, carefully shuffling across the road from the guidance of the rail track. An odd sensation had thoroughly washed over me. Every inch of me trembled like I had just withstood a million days worth of effort and a certain fragility slithered through my bones. The event was over and yet my heart was not quite convinced, still pounding heavily within my chest. It was only this moment that I realized how genuinely exhausted and worn out I was, a cloud of fatigue settling over my mind and my limbs aching to rest.

It's over, I reminded myself, sinking into the feeling of the car drifting without my touch and the sound of the music pulsing through every square inch of it. It's done.

"I'm sure you're all anxious to see the results," Mario went on. "Wait no longer! If you look to your left, you'll find that the placing scores have already been calculated up for you and are currently being displayed on that big screen there. If, by chance, you're dissatisfied with your placing, please take it up with me privately rather than your fellow racers."

I snuck a glance across the road out my left window, my eyes shriveling into a squint as the sunlight glared off of the screen. It was a massive screen, maybe ten feet tall, and stood off from the side of the road, positioned by two metal legs. The numbers one through twelve listed down the screen in a dark orange, each labeled with a name, loud and clear.

1 BOWSER

2 LUIGI

3 TOAD

4 WARIO

5 YOSHI

6 DONKEY KONG

7 ISABELLE

8 WALUIGI

9 BOO

10 DAISY

11 IGGY

12 HONEY QUEEN

Seventh. Seventh place. I went into the race having never driven a car and not only appeared on the leaderboard which, given the number of racers at the beginning, only about the best half achieved, but seventh place. I figured when experimenting with this challenge that I at least had a decent amount of potential, but Mario had believed in me wholeheartedly and now I saw why. He was right about me, even when I hadn't noticed it myself. I was ready for this after all. I was ready. If this was something that was featured in my list of skills, then there was a great number of things that were left to be discovered as well. It was the time, more than ever, to prove that I was worthy of moving forward.

Just not right now. I dropped my paws from the steering wheel, rested my back against the back of the chair, and struggled to catch my breath. My heart had calmed down but my mind was reeling, frozen on the sight of my name in the midst of the others for the first time ever. It was hard work, for certain, and completely and utterly dangerous, but it was whom I was meant to be—Or become. And now, even if only in the reward state as the chilling events of the morning surged through my veins, it was worth it.

I let my eyes flutter close in rest and felt the track shuffle me onward with every strained breath.

. . .

The very next morning when I arrived at work, there was a note pasted to the propped-open door to the cubby room. Since it was out of the way, it was a wonder I saw it after turning my eye at just the right time. I had been on my way to get changed into my uniform like every other day when I passed through the open doorway and noticed it. It was a hastily scribbled note from Mario—I couldn't recall ever seeing his handwriting, though he signed it at the bottom—Asking three different fighters by name to come see him in his office as soon as they arrived. I was the first that he named. While on any other occasion I might have worried I was in trouble, considering my accomplishment yesterday morning, the idea didn't quite align.

Joining Mario promptly was likely more important than taking the time to get changed. I tucked my shoulder bag away into my cubby and started off for his office in my regular shop attire, my flats tapping against the hard floors and the bells in my ponytail rattling with every brisk step. I reached the office in minutes, putting a firm knock on the closed door before I was invited inside. I emerged through the doorway to find a seat already set up for me on the other side of the desk, quite like it was arranged during the meetings for payday, and Mario seated in the chair at his desk, bristling with excitement.

"Shall we talk about yesterday?" Mario said as I carefully lowered myself into the seat across from him to attend our meeting. The lights burned brightly above us, illuminating the room to the corners. "I think we shall. Not even having a license and still ending up seventh place in twenty-five racers? Let's talk about that!"

Instantly, the reminder triggered a line of thoughts that had sprouted from the event. I trusted that Mario knew what was best for my training, but I wasn't sure that it was exactly what I needed. Training was practice, doing something again and again and again until you mastered that skill. That wasn't training. That was throwing myself in the deep end and hoping to swim. I was too young to grasp onto the techniques of that and make it stick. Putting anything else in my mind to acquire might have crammed it too full to the point of overwhelm or wiping away the first set entirely. My brain was still developing, taking in and pushing out information. I wasn't sure that, with all of these changes, I could keep up with everything.

"I think it was a fluke," I admitted. "Beginner's luck, or something like that."

"Beginner's luck?" Mario echoed. "Are you kidding me? You're a natural!"

I wasn't completely convinced. The idea of arguing against Mario, especially while he was so thrilled, brought me hesitance. Luckily, I didn't have the chance to answer at all before he was already speaking again in the same enthusiastic voice.

"Anyway, anyway." Mario dismissed the past discussion with a wave of his hand. "I could freak out about that all day, but you and I are both very busy, yes? Anyway, all this to say, I've made a decision. I can't even begin to express how impressed I am and how excited I am for all of the potentiality of your new future here at Smash. I think you're ready for phase three of your training."

This was exactly what I had concerns about. I was moving upward too quickly and absorbing everything too hastily. Sure, I was still young in my years and could muster up the energy for it, but how was I supposed to take in all of the training if I sped through that training? What was I supposed to do when I couldn't hold onto that knowledge?

"I have never seen somebody progress here as fast as you have," Mario continued to ramble. "Seriously, I mean it. You have the skills, you have the dedication, you're ready to go. You're going to return to your usual combat training, but I'm going to start pairing you up with opponents to have the in-person experience. I was thinking about that just now, actually. I'm trying to pick a good starting opponent for you, but I haven't quite gotten there yet."

"Well, I... I think maybe we should discuss this first," I stammered. The right words were slipping from my grasp. I couldn't refuse direct assignment, but I also couldn't accept something like this. I wasn't ready for head-to-head combat. With all of the training that would pile up on me to be able to have that experience, would I ever have been?

"You seem reluctant," Mario noted, leaning forward to rest his arms on the desk in front of him. "I can't see why. What are your concerns?"

"I'm worried about all of this training I'm taking in," I admitted. Mario listened intently as I spoke, his blue eyes locked upon me. "It makes me happy to know I'm capable of taking my life by the reins and driving it forward by any means, but I can't shake the fact that I won't be able to digest it all. I love my work here at Smash. Believe me, I do. I wouldn't change it for the world. It's just that my age is a disturbance here. I'm only twenty years old and I don't know how much developmental strength I've acquired to be able to hold so much information and carry it with me on a long-term scale. I mean, is there anyone younger than me that has managed to do something like that?"

Mario's answer didn't come right away. He didn't say a word as his focus lingered on me, his eyes almost shimmering with thought. I finally registered the ticking of the clock on the wall with every second that went by. Eventually, Mario drew in a breath, sat up again, and clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him.

"Isabelle, how would you like to know about your first opponent?" Mario said.