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More Than a Crown

You've just posted the official roster for the Mushroom Grand Prix, and everything was fine — until the pigtails appeared in your peripheral vision. Now you're standing in the registration hall while the kingdom's brightest crown-wearing competitor points at the board with a gloved finger, her cheerful demeanor replaced by something sharp and hurt. She's not angry about not making the cut. She made the cut. She's angry about the name beside her number. And honestly, looking at what you wrote, you're starting to think she has a point.

She earned that name. You forgot it.

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Into the Sprout Sea

The western horizon has been glowing faint pink for three nights, and the one who came knocking at your door at dawn was already packed. She's got a hand-drawn map, a bag full of mushrooms, and the kind of grin that says she's been waiting for someone brave enough to come along. The Sprout Sea appeared overnight—a whole landscape of towering fungus-trees and floating platforms where there was nothing but fields before. She's convinced there are power-ups no one has ever catalogued hidden out there. She's also convinced the two of you are the ones to find them.

She drew the map herself. It might even be accurate.