The Prodigy from the Broken Course

Every 1,000 rotations, the League hosts the Junior Mini Golf Championship — an event spanning galaxies, timelines, and species. Kids from hundreds of dimensions gather to compete, learn, and dream.

For most, it's just a game.

For some, it's a future.

For one…

It’s revenge.

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Mike Delaney stood at the edge of Training Green 6, a whistle around his neck and five wild students under his watch.

He never expected to coach — he barely remembered being a student.

But after defeating Mullvar and restoring integrity to the game, the League asked him for one favor:

“Help us teach again. Before someone else does.”

So here he was.

Meet Team Mike:

Nova – A telekinetic teen from the Moon Lakes of Cerelis. Can float the ball mid-putt, but struggles with aim.

Jax & Flix – Conjoined twin brothers sharing a single putter, finishing each other’s strokes and sentences.

Zari – A silent girl from the Ashen Planets. Plays blindfolded. Claims to “feel the green through memory.”

Clunk – A rusty robot who keeps accidentally swallowing the ball. Learning to "feel joy."

Mira – Or... someone like her.

Wait… Mira?

Mike first thought it was a mistake.

A girl with short curly hair. Same grin. Same wildness in the eyes.

But this Mira wasn’t that Mira.

This one didn’t know him.

Didn’t remember the Zero Green, the Unputtable, or the putt that saved her.

And yet… when she held a club, the air bent slightly — like the universe recognized her.

Forebot confirmed: “She is chronotwin-positive. A remnant echo. Possibly a future. Possibly a past.”

Mike didn’t tell her the truth.

Not yet.

But he watched her every swing.

Because this Mira? She was too good.

Too early.

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The Junior Cup began on the Asteroid Carnival Course — a gaudy, chaotic track with hover-rings, gravity puddles, and firework bunkers.

Mike’s team went up against:

The Sonic Sand Tribe (putters made of wind)

The Neon Marauders (pure speed, no strategy)

The Blob Collective (six minds, one blob, very squishy)

Nova found her confidence.

Zari aced a blindfolded triple-bounce shot.

Clunk laughed for the first time after making par.

They advanced.

Then again.

Then again.

Until they reached the final bracket — where waiting at the end… was him.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

No one knew what planet Riven came from.

No file. No backstory.

He just arrived — a young boy in jet-black robes, holding a club shaped like a tuning fork.

His game?

Flawless.

He didn’t just make shots — he made them impossible.

Balls bounced where they shouldn’t. Air warped. Grass shivered under his shoes.

Bogeyn reviewed the footage 1,000 times.

“No trickery. No cheats. But it’s like he’s bending permission. Like the game lets him do things it wouldn’t let others do.”

Mike watched Riven’s semifinals closely.

And something inside him whispered:

“This kid is playing with pieces of Mullvar.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Mike found Mira by the Reflecting Pool, holding a cracked old scorecard she claimed to “just find in her locker.”

It was hers.

From before.

She didn’t know why it felt familiar.

She looked up at Mike.

“Do you ever feel like you’ve already played the hole you’re about to play?”

He smiled softly. “All the time.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“You’re not just a coach, are you?”

Mike didn’t answer.

Because the sky tore open with light, and the final match was announced:

Team Mike vs. Riven — at the Cradle Course.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

No one had played there since the Game's Beginning.

It was the first course.

Half-formed.

Unstable.

Alive.

Built of pure potential — where rules are suggestions and every hole changes based on the player’s deepest truth.

Mike felt the air tighten as they arrived.

Riven stood alone.

No coach. No team.

Just that club — humming faintly like it was tuning the world around it.

Mira stepped forward.

“Let me face him.”

Mike froze.

Zari put a hand on Mira’s shoulder. “She’s ready.”

Mike looked at her.

At this echo of a girl who once was… and might still be.

And he nodded.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

The hole was simple:

One floating green

One invisible bridge

One shot

Whoever sank it won the Cup.

Whoever missed… would forget the entire game.

Yes — that was the real twist.

Because the Cradle Course demanded stakes equal to beginnings.

Riven smirked.

“Good luck remembering how to play, Echo Girl.”

Mira said nothing.

She just breathed in.

And swung.

The ball didn’t bounce.

It shimmered.

Midair.

And suddenly split into a dozen copies, each reflecting a different version of Mira — the girl who was saved, who never existed, who won and lost and tried again.

They merged.

Dropped.

Sank.

Riven swung furiously — and missed.

Because his putt had no soul.

Only precision.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Mira didn’t celebrate.

She just looked at Mike.

And handed him the scorecard.

Blank.

Fresh.

She smiled.

“Feels like I finally earned it.”

And walked off into the future.

Mike looked up.

Bogeyn whispered, “What now?”

Mike grinned.

“Now we make harder holes.”