No one want's to lose, especially not him.
Outside an arena filled with thousands of spectators sat a locker room. And in said locker room sat a penguin, garbed in the finest royal crimson outfit of the land. There he sat, depressed at his most recent loss, sighing at the memory of being flung off of the stage he so triumphantly stood at one point; hearing the cheers as his opponent claimed the victory over him. But what hurt more than the loss was whom he lost to.
It could've been anyone, but it had to be him.
He twirled his hammer in his hands as he looked at it. His face contorted into a mixture of pity and disgust as he recalled how he lugged the mallet around the stadium, swinging purely with power and not with skill.
It's so powerful and yet so useless.
With the amount of weight he had to drag around, he might as well tackle opponents and suffocate them with his own body fat. The penguin then thought of the faces that he saw as he was flying towards his imminent doom. He could recall the looks of pure joy that he saw. He tried imagining what they were thinking during his final moments.
The hero won, the villain was defeated. Good wins, Evil loses.
He knew that most did not want him to win when it came to that matchup. He knew he was rarely a crowd a favorite, if ever. He knew that it wasn't uncommon to hear boos when he took stocks off his competitors. He knew these things. And yet, it still hit him hard when it happened. No amount of exposure to the hatred of the people attending the tournament could ever desensitize him to the pain he felt when it occurred.
He could his friends attempting to cheer him up, claiming he shouldn't worry; they could not understand his issue, however. He could win, occasionally, but that wasn't issue. He didn't come to the tournament for hollow glory; he never desired such an unimportant thing. He came to prove to himself that he could defeat his "rival." He wanted to be able to tell people that we beat his nemesis, but he couldn't. Of the two people in the one sided rivalry, the penguin was always the loser.
Not a single win. Not one. That's just…unbelievable.
That was a fact that could only be applied only to him. His friends, despite their shortcomings, had at least one win on the puffball he so glumly dread. What was it about him that made the matchup completely one sided. He was slow, true, but he was also strong. He swung his hammer with the force of a charging bull, colliding with his opponents and sending them to the skies above. But his slow movement was no small matter, he knew this. Yes, it was true, he was incredibly sluggish, and yes that did affect his performance heavily.
What good is having the power to smash people to the stars if you can't even touch them to begin with?
No good, apparently. After he sighed once more as the day's events replayed in his head, the door to the locker creaked open. The penguin looked up but was unable to find anyone, causing him to cautiously look down.
Shouldn't have looked.
There stood the pink puffball, the one who claimed so many victories over him, the one who constantly stood between him and success, the one who never seemed to show any signs of caring during their many brawls, as if he knew the inevitable outcome.
The star warrior wore a blank face, showing no emotion. He strolled on over in the direction of the penguin, casually looking at the other fighters located in the locker room.
Don't come to me, don't come to me, don't come to me…
The puffball, not hearing the penguin's thoughts, traveled over to where he was located. The penguin, whose face didn't change despite his blood boiling in pure rage, simply remained on the bench; his position remained motionless.
Okay, just don't look at him. Just look up; look at the wall, look at that poster, look at that bench, look at-
His thoughts were interrupted as the fighter that now stood at his feet began to nudge his legs. This caused the penguin to look down for only a second, something he would regret. The sharp, pure, black eyes that belong to the puffball pierced right through the penguin.
Before the penguin had time to shoo off his "nemesis," the puffball blank mouth curved into a smile, his eyes regaining their pure innocence. He jumped up onto the bench right next to the penguin and sat, not making a single sound.
This could be hurt the king most; despite their constant feuds and battles, despite their difference in personalities, despite everything, the puffball still saw a friend in the penguin. It hurt thinking about how kind and pure someone would have to be in order for that to occur, and the penguin commonly chose to avoid it.
We're friends…and yet I don't act like one. I act like a fool, a fool looking for empty glory he would never need.
As he was thinking about his two-faced relationship, he felt a nudge on his side. He looked to see the puffball was asleep, perhaps tired from the bout he had not more than ten minutes ago. It baffled the penguin that anyone or anything could fall asleep so fast, but it also comforted him. This creature trusted him, liked him, and most importantly, respected him; that was something that the king didn't always have when it came to himself, respect.
Seeing the puffball sleep so peacefully comforted the penguin, in the sense that those things about trust and respect were true. And then, for the first time since that match, the penguin smiled.
Perhaps I'll win one day, but until then…I'm alright with this. I'm okay with a loss…as long as it means having…a friend.