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There were two rules of the Minecraft Championship. First, no talking about MCC outside of MCC. Second, no talking about outside of MCC during MCC.
That was a lie. No such official rules existed. But it really felt like they did. It was why Fundy both dreaded and longed for MCC each month. The ability to act like the Dream SMP didn’t exist, that there was never L’manberg’s rise and fall or his father’s death and resurrection. Or else, act like it existed but only in the context of play pretend, nothing more than a game. An inside joke between them all.
During MCC, it felt like he still had friends. A family.
Maybe that was why Fundy arrived at the MCC practice server before anyone else on his team. Or maybe it was to prepare himself for the façade. For the next couple days, during practice and then the event itself, he would Fundy the happy fox man. A trickster and a jokester, who didn’t take anything seriously. Someone who hadn’t lost everything.
It was nice, to be able to play pretend. But it wasn’t always easy. Though, thankfully, he had the aura of MCC itself to help with that. He wasn’t sure if it was mundane or magical or a mix, but there was something about the server that made everything outside it feel… like a dream. Something distant and inconsequential, incapable of inflicting harm. Fundy wouldn’t be surprised if it was some enchantment. Smajor and the Noxcrew had to have some form of magic, to have put this all together. To pull all the players from their own worlds and bring them here.
Some nights, Fundy wondered if they were reaching into the code, rewriting it for their own ends. Other nights, Fundy knew they were, and instead wondered if he could do the same. When he flexed his fingers, it felt like he could. Like he already had. But the idea also felt distant, out of reach.
Fundy’s legs ached from travelling but he still gave a lap of the server before settling. He let the aura settle over him, seep into his flesh and then his marrow. By the time he came back around to parkour tag, the Dream SMP already felt unreal. He felt ready to go to the dorms.
They were small things, tucked away at the back of the server. Colour-coded, like all things were during MCC. He could already hear chatter coming from them – his ears picked out the voices of a couple Hermits – but he didn’t feel skittish, not like he usually did. Why would he? Here, on the MCC server, teams were perfectly fine. Sides were perfectly fine. In fact, more than perfectly fine. They were expected, baked into the very structure of the tournament.
Fundy knew Ranboo had been attempting to get into the tournament. Obviously, even back on the Dream SMP, it was understood that MCC was just different.
Still, he couldn’t quite fight the instinct to slink into camp, avoiding all the other players. It wasn’t a defensive instinct though. The element of surprise was a powerful tool and, well, he wouldn’t describe himself as planning to prank someone, but he wouldn’t describe himself as not planning to prank someone.
Successfully unseen, he slipped into the Pink Parrot’s dorm. The first thing he did was throw his bag on the ground. The second was to throw himself on the bed.
He allowed himself to relax for a few minutes, before finally uncrumpling the paper in his pocket. He unrolled the scroll, retracing the words he had already read ten, twenty times.
Pink Parrots
WilburSoot
Fundy
JackManifoldTV
Ph1LzA
Even MCC wasn’t enough to stop his heart from clenching. WilburSoot. He still hadn’t seen him, let alone talked to him, since his revival. Had Philza? Would he have told Fundy if he had? His grandfather had hunted him down and told him about the revival, so maybe. But maybe Philza’s obligations to him didn’t go that far. He still hadn’t forgiven Fundy, after all.
Fundy shoved the scroll back into his pocket. None of this mattered. It was MCC, and MCC was different. No grudges, no disdain. Not from Fundy or Philza or Wilbur or even Jack. For the next couple days, they were friends again. Family again. It would be like Wilbur had never died. Fundy had to remember that.
Right now, the Dream SMP was nothing more than a distant nightmare.
The Pink Parrots didn’t end up winning but Fundy hadn’t cared. He had won something far greater. His grandfather’s laugh. Jack’s smile. And his father. Wilbur, in a yellow sweater. Wilbur, alive. Pulling him close and saying to him you’re doing really good.
But then it was all over and he was back on the Dream SMP. And MCC started to feel like a distant dream.
Next month , he told himself, clinging desperately to the memories even as they faded away. You just have to hold on till next month.
Then you’ll have a family again.