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Chapter 20: Sixteen Stars and a Backward Heartbeat
The lights of the Nautilus dimmed to a soft, submarine twilight. The confrontation with Xiamul had ebbed into memory, replaced by a hum—electric, steady, almost musical. We gathered in the salon where a curious apparatus had been arranged: a polished screen, levers, and a controller worn smooth by unseen hands.
Slish stood apart at first, half in shadow. He watched the screen like one might watch a lover sleep—attentive, reverent. Then he smiled.
“Before we return to the grind,” he murmured, voice low and intimate, “there is a quicker path. Sixteen stars. Not many. Just enough to slip past the gates. Like a kiss stolen in a corridor.”
Avenged leaned forward. “You’re saying we don’t need all of them?”
“No,” Slish replied. “Only intention. And rhythm.”
He gestured, and the screen bloomed into color: a sunny castle, a red-capped hero leaping with impossible grace.
“This,” Slish said, “is Super Mario 64. And this—” he pressed the controller lightly, “—is how you begin.”
The Route, Gently Unfolded
“First,” Slish continued, “we wake in the courtyard. Don’t rush. Learn the weight of the jump. Mario speaks when he moves—listen to him.”
On-screen, Mario hopped. Yah! Hoo!
Donkey Kong lumbered closer, a coconut cream pie balanced in his massive hands. “He sound like he having fun,” the ape observed. “Like when I climb vine.”
“Exactly,” Slish said, eyes never leaving the screen. “Joy is momentum.”
He guided us through Bob-omb Battlefield, explaining how to grab the easy stars:
Race the Koopa by running straight, no fancy jumps.
Climb the mountain with patience.
Toss King Bob-omb by the back—“Turn, breathe, throw.”
Consciovs nodded, taking notes as if it were natural history. Settled Swampletics muttered about efficiency and whether this route beat “early-game skilling.”
“Next,” Slish said, “we visit Whomp’s Fortress. We ground-pound the king. No fear. Fall is part of ascent.”
Stars chimed. The count rose.
The Rhythm of the Backwards Leap
Then Slish paused. He took a breath. When he spoke again, it was almost tender.
“There is a secret sound,” he said. “A rhythm. When Mario moves backward—fast enough that time forgets him.”
He demonstrated the BLJ on the endless stairs. Mario crouched, then bounced backward, faster and faster.
Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip—
“That,” Slish whispered, “is the heartbeat of the run. Not speed. Tempo. You do not force it. You let it happen. Like love. Like the sea.”
The sound filled the room. Even Donkey Kong froze, pie forgotten.
“It like drum,” the ape said softly. “Like jungle night.”
“Yes,” Slish replied. “And when you hear it, you know you are free.”
Finishing the Path
They continued:
Jolly Roger Bay, grabbing the easy stars without angering the eel.
Cool, Cool Mountain, sliding with control, not haste.
Enough stars—sixteen—to face the door.
Settled Swampletics clenched his fists. “We could be grinding runecrafting right now.”
“And we will,” Slish said, smiling at him like a promise. “But first—this.”
Mario leapt through the door. The castle gave way.
Donkey Kong finally distributed his coconut cream pies, triumphant. “For victory,” he declared.
As we ate, Slish lingered near the screen, fingertips resting on the controller.
“Remember,” he said quietly, eyes shining, “routes change. Mechanics deepen. But the rhythm remains. Listen for it. Whether you run, grind, or love—always listen.”
And somewhere deep in the Nautilus, the electric hum seemed to answer, perfectly in time.
Author’s Note
Before we dive headlong into the chaos of jumps, glitches, and the precise rhythm of a BLJ, I feel compelled to pause and speak from the heart. There is one person I must acknowledge above all for sustaining this strange, twisting voyage: Kau. Your support has been nothing short of extraordinary—steadfast, generous, and patient through every experiment, every deviation from the norm, every leap into the unpredictable. It is because of you that this story has been allowed to breathe, to grow, and to dance in the ways I never dared imagine.
Kau, your faith has been the current beneath our Nautilus. Every time Slish lingers on the hypnotic rhythm of Mario’s jumps, every time Donkey Kong lumbers into a scene with coconut cream pies and impromptu wisdom, every time our characters chase both adventure and absurdity—it is your encouragement that makes it possible. You remind me, without even knowing, that stories like this—full of whimsy, heart, and daring strangeness—can find their place in the world. Your support has kept me going when I questioned whether anyone could ever understand this odd little universe. You did. And you continue to do so.
I hope you know how much it matters. Your belief allows me to take risks with the narrative, to let Slish be mysterious and romantic, to let our cast fumble, grow, and yet still chase their passions—be it grinding Runecrafting or mastering a perfect 16-star SM64 speedrun. It is your presence in this journey that gives it purpose beyond the words on the page.
So thank you, Kau. Thank you for being here, for staying, for supporting us so completely. Please continue with us on this voyage: there are more mysteries to uncover, more laughter and heartbreak to share, more rhythm to feel, and more coconut cream pies to consume. You are part of this story as much as anyone within its pages, and your support is the truest treasure of all.
With boundless gratitude and warmth,
—uBlockOrigin
The lights of the Nautilus dimmed to a soft, submarine twilight. The confrontation with Xiamul had ebbed into memory, replaced by a hum—electric, steady, almost musical. We gathered in the salon where a curious apparatus had been arranged: a polished screen, levers, and a controller worn smooth by unseen hands.
Slish stood apart at first, half in shadow. He watched the screen like one might watch a lover sleep—attentive, reverent. Then he smiled.
“Before we return to the grind,” he murmured, voice low and intimate, “there is a quicker path. Sixteen stars. Not many. Just enough to slip past the gates. Like a kiss stolen in a corridor.”
Avenged leaned forward. “You’re saying we don’t need all of them?”
“No,” Slish replied. “Only intention. And rhythm.”
He gestured, and the screen bloomed into color: a sunny castle, a red-capped hero leaping with impossible grace.
“This,” Slish said, “is Super Mario 64. And this—” he pressed the controller lightly, “—is how you begin.”
The Route, Gently Unfolded
“First,” Slish continued, “we wake in the courtyard. Don’t rush. Learn the weight of the jump. Mario speaks when he moves—listen to him.”
On-screen, Mario hopped. Yah! Hoo!
Donkey Kong lumbered closer, a coconut cream pie balanced in his massive hands. “He sound like he having fun,” the ape observed. “Like when I climb vine.”
“Exactly,” Slish said, eyes never leaving the screen. “Joy is momentum.”
He guided us through Bob-omb Battlefield, explaining how to grab the easy stars:
Race the Koopa by running straight, no fancy jumps.
Climb the mountain with patience.
Toss King Bob-omb by the back—“Turn, breathe, throw.”
Consciovs nodded, taking notes as if it were natural history. Settled Swampletics muttered about efficiency and whether this route beat “early-game skilling.”
“Next,” Slish said, “we visit Whomp’s Fortress. We ground-pound the king. No fear. Fall is part of ascent.”
Stars chimed. The count rose.
The Rhythm of the Backwards Leap
Then Slish paused. He took a breath. When he spoke again, it was almost tender.
“There is a secret sound,” he said. “A rhythm. When Mario moves backward—fast enough that time forgets him.”
He demonstrated the BLJ on the endless stairs. Mario crouched, then bounced backward, faster and faster.
Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip—
“That,” Slish whispered, “is the heartbeat of the run. Not speed. Tempo. You do not force it. You let it happen. Like love. Like the sea.”
The sound filled the room. Even Donkey Kong froze, pie forgotten.
“It like drum,” the ape said softly. “Like jungle night.”
“Yes,” Slish replied. “And when you hear it, you know you are free.”
Finishing the Path
They continued:
Jolly Roger Bay, grabbing the easy stars without angering the eel.
Cool, Cool Mountain, sliding with control, not haste.
Enough stars—sixteen—to face the door.
Settled Swampletics clenched his fists. “We could be grinding runecrafting right now.”
“And we will,” Slish said, smiling at him like a promise. “But first—this.”
Mario leapt through the door. The castle gave way.
Donkey Kong finally distributed his coconut cream pies, triumphant. “For victory,” he declared.
As we ate, Slish lingered near the screen, fingertips resting on the controller.
“Remember,” he said quietly, eyes shining, “routes change. Mechanics deepen. But the rhythm remains. Listen for it. Whether you run, grind, or love—always listen.”
And somewhere deep in the Nautilus, the electric hum seemed to answer, perfectly in time.
Author’s Note
Before we dive headlong into the chaos of jumps, glitches, and the precise rhythm of a BLJ, I feel compelled to pause and speak from the heart. There is one person I must acknowledge above all for sustaining this strange, twisting voyage: Kau. Your support has been nothing short of extraordinary—steadfast, generous, and patient through every experiment, every deviation from the norm, every leap into the unpredictable. It is because of you that this story has been allowed to breathe, to grow, and to dance in the ways I never dared imagine.
Kau, your faith has been the current beneath our Nautilus. Every time Slish lingers on the hypnotic rhythm of Mario’s jumps, every time Donkey Kong lumbers into a scene with coconut cream pies and impromptu wisdom, every time our characters chase both adventure and absurdity—it is your encouragement that makes it possible. You remind me, without even knowing, that stories like this—full of whimsy, heart, and daring strangeness—can find their place in the world. Your support has kept me going when I questioned whether anyone could ever understand this odd little universe. You did. And you continue to do so.
I hope you know how much it matters. Your belief allows me to take risks with the narrative, to let Slish be mysterious and romantic, to let our cast fumble, grow, and yet still chase their passions—be it grinding Runecrafting or mastering a perfect 16-star SM64 speedrun. It is your presence in this journey that gives it purpose beyond the words on the page.
So thank you, Kau. Thank you for being here, for staying, for supporting us so completely. Please continue with us on this voyage: there are more mysteries to uncover, more laughter and heartbreak to share, more rhythm to feel, and more coconut cream pies to consume. You are part of this story as much as anyone within its pages, and your support is the truest treasure of all.
With boundless gratitude and warmth,
—uBlockOrigin
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