"Umm? Shu, your match is next after this, right? Don't you dare lose!"
Valt leaned so far over the railing that Rentaro had to grab the back of his shirt to keep him from tipping forward.
His eyes were practically glowing under the stadium lights, reflecting the massive screens replaying Zevion's burst in slow motion.
Storms of green fire.
A Beyblade spinning upside down.
A stadium is going silent.
To Valt, it wasn't intimidation.
It was fuel.
Shu adjusted his launcher strap with steady fingers.
"Yeah," he answered simply.
"I'll be back in a few minutes."
There was no arrogance in his voice.
No dramatics.
Just certainty.
The way he said it made it sound less like confidence and more like scheduling.
Valt grinned widely.
"That's what I'm talking about!"
Shu turned and walked toward the competitors' entrance.
The automatic doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, and bright white light spilled around him like he was stepping into a stage rather than a battlefield.
Rentaro folded his arms.
"Man… there's no way he'd lose," he muttered.
Then, without missing a beat, he added, "Unlike certain bolt-for-brains who got knocked out in round one."
Valt froze mid-bounce.
"…Say that again."
Rentaro smirked.
"You heard me."
Valt puffed up instantly.
"I'm stronger now! I could take you, Shu, Zevion—anyone! You'd better worry about yourself!"
Rentaro laughed loudly.
"Sure, sure. Keep dreaming."
Before the argument escalated into physical shoving, the arena lights dimmed slightly—and then surged brighter than before.
The giant overhead screens flickered.
Smoke cannons hissed.
The host's voice detonated across the stadium speakers.
"ALRIGHT, EVERYONE! Boys! Girls! Kids from five to our honored seniors at a hundred and beyond! Block A's second match of the second round is about to begin!"
The crowd roared, the sound rolling through the arena like thunder inside a steel drum.
"On one side—Daigo Kurogami!"
A sharp spotlight snapped on the entrance tunnel.
Daigo stepped out slowly.
His silhouette cut through the haze of artificial smoke.
His jacket flared slightly with each step, and his eyes—cold and unreadable—reflected the LED boards flashing behind him.
In his hand was Dark Doomscizor.
The metal edges gleamed under the lights, sharp and angular, almost predatory in design.
He lifted it slightly.
"Doomscizor," he said quietly, almost under his breath.
"Let's end this in one hit."
Across the stadium, Nekota Melos swallowed hard.
He tried to stand firm, raising his own Beyblade with confidence that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Dark Doomscizor is an attack type!" Melos called out loudly, trying to fill the air with his voice. "Mine's defense! No doubt about it—I've got the advantage!"
The crowd murmured.
Defense versus attack.
Classic matchup.
"Whoa! What a clash of types!" the host shouted. "On paper, Melos has the edge! But let's not forget—we are in the age of Bit Beasts! Anything can happen—"
Daigo didn't even glance at the host.
"I won't use my Bit Beast," he said flatly.
The murmurs grew louder.
"I'll end this in one second."
It wasn't a challenge.
It wasn't hype.
It was a statement.
Melos felt it like a weight pressing against his chest.
His palms started sweating.
For a brief, irrational moment, it didn't feel like a Beyblade match.
It felt like standing in front of a blade.
He slapped his cheeks lightly to steady himself.
"Don't mock my Beyblade!" he shouted.
"I'll defeat you!"
"I'm not mocking it," Daigo replied calmly.
"I'm telling you what's going to happen."
The host's voice shot back in, overflowing with excitement.
"You heard it here! No Bit Beast! One-second finish! Is this madness? Certainty? Or just bluff! Personally, I want it to be intense nonetheless!"
The referee stepped forward.
"First battle!"
The Beystadium lights intensified, the surface gleaming like polished silver.
"Ready… set!"
The crowd leaned forward in unison.
"Three!"
"Two!"
"One!"
"LET IT RIP!!"
Both bladers launched at full force.
Dark Doomscizor shot into the stadium like a bullet, hugging the outer ridge before slicing inward at a vicious angle.
Melos' defense-type landed squarely in the center, stabilizing immediately, its weight anchoring it down like a fortress.
The first collision came almost instantly.
Metal screamed.
Sparks burst outward.
For a split second, it looked like the defense-type held firm.
Then Doomscizor moved forward.
A stretching the strike further.
Sharper.
Lower.
Perfect angle.
CRACK.
Melos' Beyblade sliced in two pieces and exploded apart mid-spin.
The burst was so clean it looked surgical—one half flying left, the other skidding violently across the stadium floor.
The entire exchange lasted less than a breath.
"BURST FINISH!!" the host roared.
The timer on the big screen flashed.
0.98 seconds.
"Dark Doomscizor wins! Two to zero! Daigo Kurogami advances!"
The stadium erupted.
"Unbelievable!" the host shouted.
"Under one second! A new tournament record!"
Slow-motion replay filled the screens.
Doomscizor's trajectory was drawn in neon lines.
The angle of impact is highlighted.
The exact point of structural weakness is circled in red.
Valt's mouth hung open.
"Woah… he really did it…"
Rentaro nodded slowly.
"That wasn't just fast. That was instant."
Valt clenched his fists, a grin spreading again.
"Alright! Now I'm just getting even more pumped up!"
Before they could say more, the screens shifted again.
Another arena feed appeared.
Shu Kurenai.
Storm Spryzen.
The replay rolled instantly.
Launch.
Landing.
Impact.
Burst.
The opposing Beyblade hadn't even stabilized.
Spryzen hit it at the exact microsecond it touched down, destroying half of the Bey Stadium from the impact along the Beyblade.
The timer froze.
0.43 seconds.
The stadium hosting Shu's match was barely audible through the broadcast—but the visuals said enough.
The opponent's Bey shattered in a flash of red sparks before the crowd could even gasp.
"Another Burst Finish!" the host yelled, barely containing himself.
"Under HALF a second! Records are being shattered left and right! This tournament is insane!"
The replay zoomed in.
Spryzen moved like a streak of red lightning.
No hesitation.
No wasted movement.
Just pure, ruthless timing.
Valt leaned closer to the screen.
"…They're all monsters."
Rentaro let out a low whistle. "And this is just round two."
On the broadcast, Shu calmly picked up Storm Spryzen.
No smile.
No celebration.
Just another victory.
The arena lights flickered dramatically as the commentators kept talking about records and rising stars.
But what lingered in the air wasn't just hype.
It was tension.
Because now it was clear.
This wasn't just a tournament anymore.
This was a proving ground.
Records weren't being broken for fun.
They were being shattered by bladers who intended to rule.
And somewhere in the stands, and somewhere in the shadows beyond the bright stadium lights—
The Golden Era of Beyblade wasn't just beginning.
It was escalating.
Outside the massive glass doors of BeyMall, the noise of the arena faded into a distant hum.
The automatic doors slid shut with a soft mechanical sigh, sealing in the roar of the crowd, the flashing lights, and the echo of commentators shouting about "records" and "monsters."
Shu stepped out into the open air.
The late afternoon sun had dipped just enough to soften the light.
Golden rays reflected off the polished pavement, and a gentle breeze carried the faint scent of the nearby river.
It was quieter here.
Not silent—but real.
"Shu!"
Valt's voice came before his footsteps.
He burst out of the doors seconds later, nearly tripping over himself as he ran up beside Shu and lightly elbowed him in the arm.
"You're amazing, man!"
Valt grinned from ear to ear.
"That was insane! With that much practice, it's no surprise! You totally crushed him! You got me fired up!"
His eyes were blazing—not with jealousy, not with fear—but with inspiration.
Shu glanced sideways at him.
"Yeah."
That was all he said.
But there was the faintest upward curve at the corner of his lips.
Valt pumped his fist.
"Typical from someone who's my rival! Rivals are awesome!"
Shu raised an eyebrow slightly but didn't deny it.
"When rivals battle," Valt continued dramatically, waving his arms around as if giving a speech, "their will to fight is mu… mu… mu… umm…"
He scrunched his face in frustration.
Shu answered calmly, "Mutual?"
Valt's eyes lit up.
"Yeah! That's it! Mutual! Our will to fight grows together!"
He spun around and pointed at the sky like he was declaring something to the heavens.
"We rivals need to face off in the finals of the World Championship someday! Yeah! That's how it's supposed to be!"
Rentaro stepped out behind them, hands in his pockets.
"Hey! You forgetting someone?" he said, mock offense written all over his face.
Valt blinked, then laughed.
"We're all rivals!"
Rentaro's grin returned instantly. "Now that's more like it!"
Shu exhaled quietly.
"You're assuming a lot."
Valt slid between them before either could react and threw an arm around both of their shoulders, nearly choking them in the process.
"It's fine to assume stuff like this! Beyblades… are really fun!"
He laughed, pulling them closer.
For a moment, under the warm sunlight, with the noise of the tournament fading behind them, it felt simple.
Three kids.
Talking about rivals.
Dreaming about finals.
Smiling.
But that was only one side of the story.
A few blocks away, near the riverside park that ran parallel to the city's main road, someone else was lying flat on a wooden bench.
Zevion.
He had one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting loosely on his chest.
The sunlight filtered through the leaves above him, casting shifting patterns across his face.
Why was he here?
Well.
Why not?
It wasn't like he had any interest in scouting his next opponent.
He already knew the outcome.
The world was becoming more unhinged by the day—Bit Beasts awakening everywhere, governments scrambling, bladers turning into walking weapons.
So naturally…
He chose to lie down and do nothing.
A light breeze rustled the trees overhead.
The river nearby shimmered softly, its surface reflecting the sky in fractured pieces.
"Now that I think about it…"
Zevion murmured to no one in particular, staring up at the blue sky.
"Do I really need to Beyblade?"
The question floated upward, unanswered.
Maybe he was talking to himself.
Maybe to Apeiron Sof.
Maybe he didn't care who heard it.
He sat up slightly and pulled the Beyblade from his pocket, holding it up so the sunlight caught its dark surface.
Crimson lines beneath the metal faintly glowed as if responding to his touch.
"I mean," he continued lazily, "I still have the buff of being a genius. Eleven years old with an adult mind. That's basically cheating."
He tilted his head thoughtfully.
"But there's no rich girl to scam—"
He paused.
"…I mean love."
He frowned.
"No, that sounds worse."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Let's rephrase that. There are currently no girls within a five-mile radius who meet my very specific and totally non-criminal standards. That sounds better."
Apeiron Sof hummed faintly in his palm.
Zevion squinted at it.
"Hey. What do you think? Should I quit Beyblade and join a normal profession? Make absurd amounts of money? Live comfortably? Minimal chaos?"
The Beyblade glowed softly.
It clearly had no idea what he was talking about.
Zevion sighed.
"Yeah, didn't think so."
He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.
"I can't quit anyway," he muttered.
"Right now, bladers are basically walking nukes. And if I don't have you, I'm just a smart kid with good grades. That doesn't help much when the world's going insane."
He sat up fully now, examining Apeiron Sof more closely.
"Still… how come you have so many functions?"
Without warning, Zevion threw the Beyblade as far as he could toward the grassy field nearby.
It arced through the air, glinting under the sunlight.
"Go on! Exist dramatically or something!"
The Beyblade disappeared past a cluster of bushes.
Zevion leaned back against the bench, satisfied.
Three seconds passed.
Four.
Five.
"…Huh."
A soft hum sounded beside him.
Zevion slowly turned his head.
Apeiron Sof was resting neatly on the bench next to him.
Glowing.
As if pleased.
As if it had enjoyed the throw.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
The Beyblade pulsed again—bright, eager, almost childlike.
It looked disturbingly excited.
Zevion stared at it for a long moment.
"You're like a cursed object," he muttered flatly.
"A very overpowered, emotionally attached cursed object."
The Bey hummed again.
He picked it up and held it in front of his face.
"Don't look at me like that."
Another glow.
"…You want me to throw you again, don't you?"
The glow intensified slightly.
Zevion sighed deeply.
The world was escalating.
Monsters were awakening.
Rivals were forming alliances.
And here he was…
Arguing with a Beyblade that apparently enjoyed fetch.
"…Unbelievable."
He stood up from the bench, stretched lazily, and wound his arm back once more.
"Fine. One more time."
He launched Apeiron Sof into the open field again.
This time, he watched carefully.
The Beyblade flew.
Landed.
Rolled once.
Then—
Vanished.
Zevion blinked.
"…That's new."
A second later—
A faint hum behind him.
He didn't even bother turning around.
"…You're cheating."
The Beyblade glowed innocently from the bench again.
Zevion rubbed his forehead.
The world might be entering the Golden Era of Beyblade.
But right now?
His biggest problem was that his weapon of mass destruction wanted to play fetch.
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