Pit slowed the moment he stepped fully into the gym.
The air smelled like metal, sweat, and pure competitive ego.
Little Mac was hammering a punching bag with machine-gun precision, each hit snapping like thunder. Captain Falcon grunted as he hoisted weights that absolutely violated several laws of physics. Sonic blurred past on a treadmill, somehow running faster than the machine itself and grinning like it was a casual jog.
[Insert image of Sonic]
Nearby, the Wii Fit Trainer held a perfect one-legged pose, serene and unbothered, giving calm verbal encouragement to absolutely no one in particular. Pit tried not to stare. He failed.
[Insert image of Wii Fit Trainer]
And then there was the monkey.
Pit decided not to question the monkey.
His gaze finally landed on Samus.
She stood apart from everyone else, helmet off, Power Suit partially disengaged, stretching her arms with slow, deliberate movements. The space around her was… empty. Not because anyone told the others to keep their distance—no, it was instinctive. Like standing too close to a thunderstorm and knowing it was a bad idea.
Pit swallowed.
'Okay,' he thought. 'So that's Wrath.'
He hesitated, then squared his shoulders and walked in anyway.
"Uh… morning?" Pit offered, trying to sound casual while passing Little Mac.
Mac paused mid-combo, glanced at him, and blinked. "Huh. Angel guy."
Pit waved awkwardly. "Punching bag still alive?"
Mac snorted. "Barely."
Captain Falcon glanced over, flashing a grin. "Yo! Feather-wings! You here to train, or just survive the atmosphere?"
Pit laughed nervously. "Little of both?"
Sonic zipped to a stop beside him, leaning on the treadmill without looking winded in the slightest. "You're the one who tanked a KO punch with three percent, right?"
Pit scratched his cheek. "Uh… yeah?"
Sonic whistled. "Wild. You run?"
Pit blinked. "I… fly?"
"Lame," Sonic said cheerfully, and zoomed off again.
Pit exhaled and continued forward, eyes drifting back to Samus despite himself.
She noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Samus straightened and turned, green eyes locking onto him. The gym seemed quieter somehow.
"You're Pit," she said. Not a question.
Pit stopped a few steps away. "Y-Yeah. Um. Samus, right?"
"Correct."
An uncomfortable pause stretched.
Pit suddenly felt like he was twelve again. Which, technically, he wasn't. At all. But explaining that never helped.
"I, uh," he started, then forced himself to continue. "I just wanted to say… good fight yesterday."
Samus studied him for a long moment, unreadable.
Then she huffed—just barely—a sound halfway between a laugh and disbelief.
"You're polite," she said. "That's rare here."
Pit relaxed a fraction. "Lady Palutena says being nice solves most problems."
Samus folded her arms. "And the rest?"
"Explosions," Pit replied honestly.
That earned a real smirk.
"I can respect that."
For a moment, they stood there—an ancient angel and a battle-hardened bounty hunter—surrounded by chaos that somehow counted as normal in this house.
Then Samus tilted her head slightly. "You train light or heavy?"
Pit blinked. "Uh… define 'heavy'?"
She gestured toward a nearby reinforced dummy—scarred, cracked, and very clearly abused by something much stronger than Pit.
Pit stared.
'…I suddenly miss my harem.'
From across the room, Captain Falcon laughed loud enough to shake the weights.
Samus's smirk widened just a little.
Pit rolled the dumbbell once in his hand, then lifted it with one arm. No strain. No effort.
Samus paused mid-sentence.
"…You should start with some—"
She stopped, head tilting slightly as Pit casually curled the weight like it was a water bottle.
Pit blinked. "Huh. That's… really light."
Captain Falcon nearly dropped the barbell he was lifting.
Little Mac stopped punching the bag mid-combo.
Sonic slowed the treadmill just enough to stare. "Whoa. Angel dude's built different."
Samus crossed her arms, studying Pit more carefully now. "That's a twenty-five kilogram dumbbell."
Pit nodded. "Yeah?"
"…That's not a warm-up weight."
Pit looked down at it again, genuinely confused. "Oh."
He set it back on the rack a little too gently—metal still clanging from the impact.
Samus sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "You're not human, are you."
Pit smiled awkwardly. "Technically? No. Angel."
"That explains a lot," she muttered.
Nearby, Wii Fit Trainer clapped her hands together cheerfully. "Remember to maintain proper breathing! Strength without balance can lead to injury."
Pit gave her a thumbs-up. "Got it!"
The Monke—Donkey Kong—grunted approvingly from a bench press, giving Pit a nod like he'd just passed some unspoken test.
Samus stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You really didn't feel that?"
Pit shrugged. "I've fought gods. A lot. And monsters. And gods who became monsters."
She stared at him for a long moment.
"…Okay. New rule," she said. "If we ever spar, you tell me before you start holding back."
Pit laughed nervously. "Deal."
From across the gym, Captain Falcon pumped a fist into the air.
"YES! Another heavyweight in the making!"
Little Mac groaned. "Why does everyone here keep breaking the scale…"
Pit glanced around the room—the fighters, the noise, the chaos—and for the first time since the tournament, he felt something settle in his chest.
This place was insane.
Dangerous.
Loud.
…But maybe, just maybe, he could get used to it.
He picked up a heavier dumbbell.
Samus raised an eyebrow. "Careful."
Pit smiled. "Don't worry. I'll start slow."
The dumbbell bent slightly.
Samus: "…We need a new gym budget."
She crossed her arms, visor tilted just slightly. "Okay, angel. New plan. You're not starting with weights. You're starting with control."
Pit tilted his head. "Control?"
"Yeah. Because if you train like this," she gestured vaguely at him, "you're going to accidentally kill the equipment. Or someone."
Across the gym, Little Mac had stopped punching his bag. Captain Falcon had paused mid-rep. Sonic slowed down on the treadmill, leaning over the console.
Samus led Pit to an open mat area. "Sit."
Pit sat. Perfect posture. Wings tucked neatly.
Samus sighed. "Of course."
She paced in front of him. "You're strong. Very strong. But strength without calibration is just chaos waiting to happen. I don't care how many gods you hang out with—if you can't regulate output, you're a hazard."
Pit nodded seriously. "Lady Palutena says that too."
Samus paused. "…She does?"
"Yeah. Usually right before she seals something."
That earned a snort. "Figures."
Samus picked up a small weighted ball and tossed it at Pit's chest.
He caught it instantly.
"No," she said. "Don't catch it."
Pit blinked. "…Too late?"
She threw another. "Let it hit you. Don't move. Don't brace. Just absorb."
The ball hit Pit square in the chest.
Thump.
It bounced off and rolled away.
Pit frowned. "Was I supposed to feel that?"
Silence.
Captain Falcon slowly set his weights down. "Hey, Samus."
"Yes?" she replied without looking away from Pit.
"…Is the kid supposed to do that?"
Samus exhaled through her nose. "No. He's supposed to flinch."
Pit raised his hand. "I can fake it if that helps?"
"No."
She rubbed her temples. "Okay. New metric."
She grabbed a resistance band, wrapped it around a heavy support beam, and handed the other end to Pit. "Pull. Slowly. One inch at a time."
Pit nodded and did exactly that.
The band stretched.
And stretched.
And stretched.
Then snapped with a sound like a gunshot.
It whipped back, embedding itself in the far wall.
The gym went dead silent.
Sonic stared. "Mate."
Little Mac whispered, "That thing's rated for Hulk-types."
Pit froze. "I—uh—I'm sorry?"
Samus didn't yell.
Didn't scold.
She just stared at Pit with a look that was equal parts awe and professional concern.
"…You're not on the power scale," she said finally. "You're off it."
Pit scratched the back of his head. "Is… that bad?"
She looked around the gym. Every fighter was pretending not to stare.
"Kid," Samus said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "by tomorrow, people are going to be asking me how strong you are."
Pit groaned softly. "Oh no."
Too late.
Across the room, Sonic had already pulled out a phone.
"Oi, Falcon," he whispered loudly, "give it a week. The angel's gonna be a gym myth."
Captain Falcon grinned. "FALCON… WITNESS."
Pit sank down onto the mat, wings drooping.
"I just wanted to not be the weird one for once."
Samus smirked.
"Welcome to Smash," she said. "You're doing great."
Caption Falcons looked at Pit. "So, if you can lift a 25kg Dumbbell easily and break a resistance band, how heavy is your bow".
He summoned his Bow and handed it to Captain Falcon.
The Captain held and instead fell to the ground, unable to lift, even with full power.
It took, Dk, and Samus in her full-powered, Power Suit to move the damm thing.
Samus stared at the bow on the floor.
Then at Pit.
Then back at the bow.
"…That," she said slowly, "is not a bow. That's a gravitational hazard."
Pit scratched his cheek, feathers ruffling. "Huh? Really? Lady Palutena said it was beginner-friendly."
Captain Falcon was still on one knee, breathing like he'd just finished a marathon. "BEGINNER—" He coughed. "—friendly?!"
Donkey Kong thumped his chest, grunted once, then pointed at the bow with something close to respect. Even he hadn't managed to lift it cleanly.
Samus crossed her arms, visor tilted toward Pit. "How long have you been training with that thing?"
Pit thought about it. Really thought about it.
"Well… since before humans figured out writing."
The gym went quiet.
Sonic slowed down on the treadmill. Wii Fit Trainer froze mid–perfect posture pose. Little Mac stopped punching his bag entirely.
"…I quit," Mac muttered. "I'm going back to boxing ghosts or something."
Samus exhaled through her nose. "Okay. New plan. Forget weights. Forget resistance bands. You're not training like a human."
She pointed toward the reinforced training ring at the far end of the gym. The one with warning signs, cracked flooring, and scorch marks.
"We're doing functional testing."
Pit brightened immediately. "Oh! Like dodging lasers? Or fighting monsters? Or aerial drills?"
Samus paused. "…You think lasers are normal warm-ups?"
Pit tilted his head. "Aren't they?"
She turned away so no one could see her smiling.
They started simple. Movement drills. Reaction speed. Balance.
Pit accidentally broke the speed sensor on the first dash.
Then the second.
On the third attempt, Samus didn't even bother recording numbers anymore—she just stared at the afterimages he left behind.
"Okay," she said, voice tight. "No more full speed."
"But I wasn't—"
"No more full speed."
Next came sparring.
Samus kept it light. No missiles. No plasma. Just hand-to-hand, controlled strikes.
Pit blocked every single one.
Not with effort. Not with strain.
With instinct.
At one point he apologized mid-exchange. "Sorry! I think I moved too fast!"
Samus disengaged and stepped back, heart pounding—not from exhaustion, but realization.
"You're not strong because you trained," she said quietly.
Pit blinked. "I'm… not?"
"You're strong because your baseline is broken."
Around them, a small crowd had formed.
Captain Falcon had his arms crossed, grinning like he'd just discovered a new legend.
Sonic leaned against the wall. "So that's what 'angel cardio' looks like."
Wii Fit Trainer nodded serenely. "His core stability transcends mortal metrics."
Pit didn't know what that meant, but it sounded impressive.
Samus finally handed him a heavier dumbbell—one she normally used herself.
Pit lifted it with one hand.
Then two.
Then started idly tossing it in the air while talking.
Samus pinched the bridge of her nose. "I've fought space pirates, eldritch horrors, and living planets."
She looked at him again.
"You're somehow worse."
By the end of the session, the gym had unofficially renamed one corner.
PIT'S AREA — DO NOT ATTEMPT
Pit, completely unaware, waved as he left. "Thanks for the training, Samus! That was fun!"
She watched him go, then muttered to herself, half amused, half unsettled:
"…That angel is going to break Smash one day."
And somewhere in the Smash House, Palutena sneezed—smiling, because she already knew.
Meanwhile, in a different part of the Smash House—
Min Min, Link, and Villager were handling lunch duty.
Min Min swatted Villager's hand away from the counter. "No. Remember—Young Link is lactose intolerant."
Link flipped a steak one-handed without even looking. "Still don't get how that works," he said. "He's literally me."
"Different timeline, different stomach," Min Min replied flatly.
That's when Pit passed by the open kitchen doorway.
Min Min glanced up. "Oh—Pit. You looking for something?"
Pit slowed and nodded. "Yeah, actually. Is there somewhere I can walk my dog?"
Link paused mid-flip. "…Dog?"
"Backyard," Link said after a moment, pointing with the spatula. "Olimar keeps his garden there. Red trains his Pokémon too."
Pit smiled. "Perfect. Thanks."
He left.
There was a brief, peaceful silence.
Then—
ROOOAAAR.
Heat washed through the kitchen windows. The glass rattled.
Min Min turned slowly toward the backyard window.
Her jaw dropped.
Magic circles flared outside—ancient, glowing sigils overlapping as something massive emerged. A gigantic two-headed dog stepped forward, its dark red fur rippling with heat. Green eyes burned with intelligence. A blazing mane rolled down its necks, fire licking along heavy bone plates and iron chains wrapped around its body.
Twinbellows.
And at the end of the leash—
Pit.
Casually walking it.
Like this was normal.
Link froze, steak still hovering over the pan. "…That's not a dog."
Villager tilted his head, eyes unblinking. "Hrmm."
Outside, Pit tugged gently on the leash. "Easy. No breathing fire near the tomatoes."
The left head growled.
The right head sneezed, accidentally blasting a gout of flame into the air—away from the garden.
Pit sighed. "See? This is why Palutena says you need discipline."
The creature huffed, then sat.
The ground shook.
Back in the kitchen, Min Min slowly leaned forward until her forehead rested against the counter.
"…Okay," she said weakly. "New house rule. Pit is not allowed to say 'my dog' without clarification."
Link finally set the steak down. "I fight gods," he muttered. "Why does that thing scare me more?"
Outside, Pit scratched one of Twinbellows' heads behind the horn.
"Good boy."
Both heads wagged their tails.
Somewhere else in the mansion, several Smash Fighters felt a deep, instinctive sense of fear and had no idea why.
And just like that, Pit unknowingly earned another title in the Smash House—
The guy with the hellhound.
To be continued
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