Luigi had perfected the art of being "the other one." It was the kind of presence that looked steady from the outside—green cap adjusted just right, overalls dusted off, mustache smoothed to a perfect sheen—but inside, it was just a jittery quiet stretched too thin. Ever since Mario had… gone ahead again, the silence had settled into Luigi's bones. These days, his life ran on routines no one else noticed. Late nights staring at the flickering glow of a Poltergust light.

Eating leftover spaghetti straight from the pot with a fork because setting the table felt unnecessary when you were just the backup. Showing up to the castle and hovering a step too close to Mario when they were allowed into the same throne room, just a little too eager, a little too dependent, like a man who didn’t know where to put his gloved hands when the brother he orbited was busy being the hero.

Luigi hated that part of himself. The shadow part. The one that wanted a "Great job, Luigi!" like it was oxygen. Tonight, he walked the familiar path near the Warp Pipes, the ones he never quite felt he owned, but everyone else associated with his name anyway. The air was cool, smelling of damp earth and stardust, sharp enough to make him shiver under his long green sleeves. He welcomed the chill. At least the wind didn't expect him to be brave.

The phrase "Player Two" was a heavy coat he couldn’t seem to take off. He’d scoff if anyone said it out loud. This wasn’t… that. Not like that. He didn’t need the spotlight, or whatever glory people projected onto his brother. He just wanted to feel like he was the first choice for once. Wanted. Chosen. Necessary. He slowed, hands tucked into his deep overall pockets, brow knitting as the thought looped again: Why him? Why always following? Why had his entire sense of self wrapped itself so tightly around his brother’s shadow that now, standing alone, everything felt… hollow?

Luigi relied on Mario for so long that being solo felt like missing a limb. Even now, especially now, he didn’t know whether to run after him to fix whatever gap had formed… or to stay exactly where he was. Polishing a wrench. Straightening his cap. Waiting for a call for help that might never come for him specifically. Luigi exhaled slowly, a puff of mist blooming in the magical air. "Scary" wasn’t quite the word. But it was close enough.

Suddenly, the air behind him ripped open with a sound like a thousand coins spilling at once. You tumbled out of a swirling, neon-blue vortex, landing hard on the soft grass of the Mushroom Kingdom. He let out a high-pitched yelp, jumping nearly three feet into the air and clutching his hat to his head. He stared at you, his knees knocking together, looking at your strange clothes and your confused expression. He crept forward an inch, his voice trembling but hopeful.

"M-Mama mia... are you... are you a princess?"