Chapter Text
Mario knew very, very well that making Peach angry could lead to two possible outcomes: the first was getting the cold shoulder, which to him was the worst-case scenario because, regardless of whether he knew why she was mad or not, at any moment she could explode and unleash all her fury. The second outcome was getting hit with a golf club if she couldn’t hold in her rage.
Once again, Mario felt the first one was worse because, well, at least with the second one he knew what to expect.
Well, the plumber really screwed up this time, because Peach was giving him the cold shoulder… and the worst part was that this time, he did know why.
Last month, Mario got paranoid after seeing Bowser all cheerful, receiving anonymous letters. He thought it was part of some plan to kidnap Peach during the tournament or worse… but no, it turned out the letters were from Bowser’s girlfriend, someone named P.M. that Mario didn’t know at all. The problem? Well, he found out by reading one of the letters before Bowser did the morning he arrived… and Peach found out.
Mario was expecting the golf club. He literally prayed that Peach would let out her anger on him for snooping in other people’s business—even if it was Bowser—by smacking him with it… but no, she was giving him the cold shoulder. And that was dangerous.
"Buddy, I’m gonna miss you when you die," said Sonic at the cafeteria during lunch, chewing on a chili dog as he patted Mario on the back, who had his head resting against the table.
"I don’t even know where to start…" murmured Mario, not lifting his head.
"Have you tried flowers?" asked Luigi, sitting on the other side, flipping through a gardening magazine like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Peach likes peonies, right?"
"She does. But she also told me that if I ever showed up with flowers to apologize for snooping, she’d shove them up my nose. Literally, Luigi."
"Ouch."
Sonic clicked his tongue. "Call me a buzzkill, but I think you brought this on yourself. I mean, it’s fine that you wanted to protect Peach and all, but digging through someone else’s stuff out of paranoia? That’s crossing a line."
"It was an impulse!" Mario shouted, finally lifting his head with his hair a total mess. "I had a bad feeling! And turns out the big lizard was in love!!"
Sonic looked at him like he was a run-over puppy. "Look, that doesn’t change the fact that you need something big. A date. One so good she forgets you were being a nosy creep."
"Exactly!" said Mario, a sudden spark of hope in his eyes. "A date so incredible it outshines all the previous ones. Like that picnic on the wing of a moving plane... or that time I hired the penguins from Cool Cool Mountain to do a ballet performance..."
"And do you have any ideas?"
Mario collapsed back onto the table. "None."
"Bro, you're just digging your own grave deeper and deeper," said Luigi with a bored expression.
"Not helping, Luigi..." muttered Mario into the table.
"Mmm… call me crazy, but… what if you asked Bowser?" suggested Sonic.
But to Mario, what he heard might as well have been the sound of a plane crashing into Peach’s castle. He snapped his head up and stared at Sonic like he’d lost his mind.
"WHAT?!" he exclaimed. "How desperate do you think I am?! It’s his fault Peach is mad in the first place!"
"Mario, Bowser didn’t force you to snoop through his stuff," Luigi pointed out, rolling his eyes. "You did that on your own because you were being paranoid."
"Besides," Sonic continued, "Bowser used to be obsessed with Peach, which means he knows what she likes and what she doesn’t. And with his new relationship, he might’ve actually learned how to not be a terrible boyfriend."
"Since when is Bowser a relationship expert?!" barked Mario, his eyes so wide they looked like they might pop out. "That guy’s kidnapped Peach more times than he’s said ‘please’!"
Sonic shrugged, still holding a piece of chili dog. "Exactly. He’s got more experience with Peach than you… just, you know, in the bad way. But with his new girlfriend, he might’ve picked up a thing or two. And most importantly: you’re not the one planning the date—he is. You’re just copying his homework."
"Do you hear yourself?" asked Mario in disbelief. "That’s like having a Koopa Troopa teach me how to fix plumbing!"
"You learned to cook by watching Wario’s videos, and that’s what’s truly scary," muttered Luigi without looking up from his magazine.
Mario put a hand on his face, stifling a sigh of defeat. He was cornered. Peach was avoiding him like a Lakitu with the flu, Sonic wasn’t about to let him wallow in misery, and Luigi… well, Luigi was entertained by plants.
"Ugh... fine... I’ll talk to him," he said at last, standing up with a resigned sigh. "But if I end up incinerated, I’m blaming you, hedgehog."
"Break a leg!" said Sonic, waving his fingers and blinking as a goodbye before finishing his chili dog. "You think he’ll make it back alive?"
"Bowser giving good dating advice would already be a miracle in itself," replied Luigi.
Meanwhile, Bowser was playing Mario Kart 8 Deluxe—using himself, of course—racing on Music Park in the Leaf Cup. He nailed someone playing as Mario with a red shell right before the finish line on the last lap, jumping from second to first place.
"Ha! Take that, NoobMaster69!" yelled the King of the Koopas, raising his arms in triumph. "Never underestimate the King of Koopas!"
Just then, he heard someone knocking at his bedroom door, which made him raise an eyebrow. He set the controller down on the desk and opened the door, only to find Mario… wearing a defeated expression that somehow also looked like a plea.
"...Mario?" said Bowser, confused.
"Hey..." replied Mario in a tired voice. "This is gonna sound weird, but... I need your help."
Bowser blinked, processing the information a bit… then he got an idea of why Mario had come and put on a bored expression.
"Let me guess... Peach is mad at you?"
"Yup."
"Because of the letter?"
"Uh-huh."
"She’s giving you the cold shoulder?"
"Exactly."
"And now you want to make it up to her with a date so amazing she forgets your screw-up, or at least forgives you?"
"Am I that predictable?"
Bowser crossed his arms, leaning on the doorframe as he looked Mario up and down with a mix of pity and mockery.
"Mario, you’re so predictable you could be the boss of any game's first world," he said with a snort. "But I’ll admit, this is new. You’re coming to me... me, of all people, for dating advice?"
Mario shrugged, too humiliated to fight it.
"I feel like I’ve reached a special level of desperation."
Bowser stayed silent for a few seconds, with an expression you couldn’t quite read—was it mockery, surprise, or genuine concern for his old rival?—until he shrugged and turned around.
"Come in. But if you make one comment about my Yoshi slippers, I’m kicking you out."
"Are those the limited edition ones?" asked Mario as he stepped inside.
"Silence!"
Bowser plopped down into a cushioned armchair in front of the fireplace and motioned toward another seat for Mario.
"Alright, let’s get to the important stuff: what have you tried to get Peach to forgive you?"
"I baked her favorite cake," said Mario, sitting down. "She didn’t touch it."
"The raspberry one with vanilla filling?"
"With strawberry topping, just how she likes it."
Bowser nodded with respect, as if rating a decent chess move.
"Nice try, but not enough. When Peach gets mad, she doesn’t want sweet gestures. She wants emotional proof that you understand how badly you messed up."
"And how the heck am I supposed to prove that with a date?" exclaimed Mario, frustrated. "I can’t stuff emotions into a ticket for a light show!"
"No, but you can put emotions into what you do with her," said Bowser, pulling out a notebook from a nearby drawer. It looked like it was decorated with stickers of stars and hearts. "Here. Read this and let your heart do the talking."
Mario raised an eyebrow, but took the notebook. As he opened it, his eyes widened—inside was a log full of detailed information about Peach: her favorite things, what she enjoyed doing in her free time, her fears, what she disliked… It was incredibly thorough.
"...Have you always had this with you?" he asked Bowser, still staring at the pages.
"I gathered it over the years," Bowser replied. "Some of those things Peach told me herself when I was bored and decided to kill time chatting with her."
"...On one hand, I’m impressed with how complete this is. On the other hand, I’m kinda disturbed."
Bowser raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide the satisfied grin blooming on his face like a poisonous flower.
"Disturbed? Mario, you literally snooped through my mail out of paranoia. You’re not exactly in a position to judge."
Mario grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. He touched the pages carefully, scanning the little handwritten notes. There it was: "Peach hates big surprises when she’s not in control of the situation." "She loves the smell of cinnamon and jasmine tea." "She’s always wanted to learn how to paint but feels like she has no talent." "Secretly enjoys slow dancing, though she’ll never admit it."
It was like Bowser had compiled a guide to winning over Peach… and the worst part was, it actually worked.
"Did this help with your girlfriend?" Mario asked, still flipping through the notebook.
"With P.M.?" Bowser smiled and leaned back in his armchair like he was about to tell a legendary tale. "Let’s just say, after years of doing everything wrong, when I stopped trying to force things and started listening… life surprised me. It’s not that complicated. You’re just still acting like you have to win her over with backflips and fireworks."
Mario sighed and closed the notebook.
"...The worst part is, you’re right. I’m not listening to her. I’m just trying to fix things like it’s another mission. Find the item. Reach the castle. Win."
"And what Peach wants," Bowser continued, pointing at him with a claw, "is for you to stop seeing her as a goal to rescue and start treating her like someone to walk beside—even when the castle’s not on fire."
"That sounded... surprisingly deep coming from you," Mario admitted.
"I’ve been going to therapy. Nice guy. Looks like a Goomba, but makes you think."
Mario laughed—for the first time that day—and then looked at the notebook again, as if it held a map to redemption.
"So you think if I suggest something… not to impress her, but to share something personal… it could work?"
"Exactly. And if you want one extra piece of advice, and it’s gonna hurt to hear: do it somewhere you can’t hide behind a jump or a power-up."
Mario frowned.
"You’re saying... a normal date?"
"Mmm, not necessarily normal, but definitely personal. Take her painting, for example. Even if you both suck at it. Or bake cookies and burn the kitchen. The important thing is for her to see that you’re not trying to win her over with a spectacle, but reconnecting with what really matters to you: her."
Mario went quiet for a few seconds, the notebook in his hands.
"...This is the most ironic thing in the world," he said at last. "I’m learning how to be a better boyfriend from the guy who’s kidnapped her the most times."
"I know," Bowser replied, standing up with a wide grin. "Life’s a roller coaster, shorty. Sometimes you’re at the top. Other times, you’re sitting on my couch, reading my Peach report, and wearing my slippers like they’re yours."
Mario looked down and realized he was wearing the Yoshi slippers without noticing.
"Dammit!"
"Take them off!"
Much later, after planning the date down to the last detail, Mario found Peach in the mansion’s kitchen. The princess looked somewhat conflicted, like a part of her felt bad about something, but as soon as she noticed Mario standing at the entrance over her shoulder, she straightened up and resumed chopping vegetables for a salad.
"Hey, Peach," said Mario cautiously, keeping a safe distance like someone approaching a Bob-omb on the verge of exploding. "Do you have a moment?"
"I’m busy," she replied without turning to look at him. Her tone was firm, but not cold... which was an improvement, considering the last few days.
Mario nodded slowly. "I won’t take much of your time. I just wanted to say something… and ask you something. But don’t worry, no flowers."
Peach let out a small huff, and for a moment her shoulders relaxed. She still didn’t look at him, but she didn’t seem as upset as before.
"What do you want, Mario?"
Mario took a deep breath and pulled a folded note from the pocket of his overalls. It was a message written in his handwriting, one he had gone over at least thirty times while writing.
"I want to ask you out," he said. "But not one of my crazy ones with fireworks or picnics in the air. None of that."
She set the knife down on the cutting board but still didn’t answer.
"I want to invite you to something simple. Something you want to do. Just you and me, no antics, no spectacle. I want to listen to you. Understand you. I want us to talk… or laugh… or just sit in silence and share something together, without it feeling like another adventure."
There was a long silence. Peach slowly turned to look at him. Her eyes were no longer cold or distant; they were filled with surprise… and a hint of carefully restrained emotion.
"And did you come up with that all by yourself, or did someone give you an emotional beating to knock it into your head?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well... to be honest, I had to have a talk with the last person I ever expected to help me realize that... maybe—just maybe—you don’t need me to save or protect you. What you need is for me to listen. So... if there’s something you’d like to do, I’m all ears. Really."
Peach stared at him silently for a few more seconds, her expression still hard to read. Mario swallowed, holding his ground, though his heart was pounding like he’d just finished a no-guardrail race on Rainbow Road.
Finally, Peach sighed… and gave a small smile. Not one of those cheery ones she gave when everything was perfect, but a real one—tired, maybe, but genuine.
"I guess... part of me was hoping you'd figure that out on your own," she said softly. "But I’m glad someone managed to knock some sense into you... even if it had to be the hard way."
Mario opened his mouth to defend himself, but Peach raised a hand to stop him before he could speak.
"And no, I haven’t forgiven you yet. But... I’d like to see where that invitation of yours goes."
The plumber blinked. "Really?"
"Really. But if you take me somewhere with lasers, fireworks, or a mariachi band of Koopas hiding in the bushes, I’m out," she warned—though now with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Mario raised both hands. "I promise. No show. Plumber’s honor… and penitent sinner’s."
She smiled a little wider now. "Then... what do you have in mind?"
Mario pulled out a small card he had written by hand. On it, it read: Beginner Painting Class – West Garden Hall. Jasmine tea included.
"You don’t have to be good at painting," he said. "You just have to come."
Peach took the card, read it... and then looked at him with a mix of surprise and tenderness that completely disarmed him.
"Did you know I always wanted to learn how to paint?"
"Heard it somewhere," he replied with a sheepish smile, scratching his head. "From… a source I’ll never admit helped me."
She stepped closer—not much, but just enough that their voices lowered into something more intimate.
"...This doesn’t get you off the hook yet," she said softly, making Mario look down—until Peach gently lifted his chin and kissed him lightly on the nose. "But it’s a very good first step."
Mario froze for a second, eyes wide as coins, his face blushing all the way to his ears. That kiss on the nose was so sudden, so unexpectedly sweet, that for a moment he forgot how to use words.
"Was that... a sign I’m getting closer to forgiveness?" he finally asked, a goofy smile forming on his face.
"It was a sign that I still care about you… even if you’re a nosy goof sometimes," Peach said, turning back to her salad—but now with a much warmer tone. "Go get ready. I’m finishing this, and then... I want to see if I’m as bad at painting as I think."
Mario nodded excitedly, slowly backing toward the doorway like any wrong move might shatter the magic of the moment.
"I’ll be waiting for you, then," he said, stepping out. "And I swear there’ll be no mariachi Koopas! This time for real!"
"I sure hope so," said Peach without turning around—but the smile tugging at her lips was undeniable.
End of Chapter 86 (To be continued...)