"Three… two… one—"
"Let it rip!"
The string whipped through the launcher with that same clean whip-crack, but this time my wrist angled lower, the tip of Snake hitting the stadium floor just shy of center. Instead of locking into position, it swung out wide, tracing the outer ridge in a deliberate arc.
Ryo's Crimson Fang shot forward like before, low and aggressive, aiming to crash into center — except there was nothing there to hit. Fang cut through empty space, its rubber tip gripping hard as it corrected and chased.
Snake's wide path curved inward, closing the gap at a sharper angle.
CLANG!
This time, the hit came from me. Snake's black Fusion Wheel slammed Fang's side, pushing it just enough to throw off its perfect circle. The recoil wasn't massive, but it was enough to disrupt Ryo's timing.
He narrowed his eyes. "So you're moving now. Big deal."
Fang sped along the ridge, looking for another entry point, but Snake was already looping back, cutting in from a different side. Another glancing blow. Fang skidded, momentarily losing grip before recovering.
My focus was split between the real stadium and that strange awareness in my head. I could feel Snake's speed, the rhythm of its arc. Every time it brushed near the center, I willed it back out, making Fang chase in tight, awkward turns that killed its momentum.
Ryo's voice grew sharper. "Fang! Stay on him!"
But Fang was burning stamina faster now. Its wide chase arcs and sudden bursts into the center were costing it precious spin time. Snake, meanwhile, was feeding off the motion — every coil inward let it nudge Fang, steal a little more balance.
The crowd — now five or six kids — started murmuring. "That black Bey's making him miss…" one said. Another leaned forward, eyes tracking the looping pattern Snake traced across the dish.
Ryo launched another desperate charge, but I was ready. Snake peeled off from its arc just in time, letting Fang smash the empty slope and lose more grip.
"Now," I whispered, not caring if it sounded crazy.
Snake swung inward one last time, grazing Fang's exposed side. The contact wasn't violent, but it was perfectly timed. Fang wobbled, its Clear Wheel tilting a few degrees. From there, physics did the rest — the wobble turned into a stagger, the stagger into a slow collapse of spin.
Five seconds later, Fang's tip scraped to a halt in the center while Snake was still moving, steady and deliberate.
"Outspin finish!" I called, more breathless than I'd realized.
Ryo bent down to retrieve Fang, glancing at me with a half-smile. "Alright… one to one."
I picked up Snake, feeling the warmth in its Fusion Wheel again. The sensation wasn't just from the metal — it was from the connection, that invisible line between my focus and the way it moved. Back home, I used to imagine battles like this, where my Bey "knew" what I wanted. Now, it didn't feel like imagination at all.
The kids watching clapped lightly, some exchanging excited whispers. The match had turned into something worth staying for.
Ryo reset his launcher with a sharper motion than before, his grin showing a competitive edge. "Final round, no holding back."
I nodded, locking Snake into place. My hands were steady now, the earlier nerves burned away by the thrill of the last point.
This was it — the deciding spin.
The air between us felt tighter now. One round each. No advantage left.
A few more people drifted over from nearby stalls and side streets, drawn by the sound of clashing metal. I caught whispers — "Zero BP guy's holding his own," "That's Crimson Fang, right? He's no joke."
Ryo stood at the opposite rail, rolling Fang in his palm like a coin, his eyes locked on me. His earlier grin had sharpened into something hungrier. "Alright, Ethan Kael," he said, the name fresh on his tongue from the BP registration earlier. "Final round. I'm done testing you."
I clipped Primordial Abyss Snake into the string launcher. The teeth clicked perfectly, a sound that still sent a thrill through me. My other hand gripped the handle tighter than before. The new launcher's weight was already familiar, its balance fitting into my stance like it had been mine for years.
"You've got skill," Ryo added, crouching slightly, "but Fang's taking this."
"We'll see."
The small crowd shifted closer to the rail. Someone pulled out a battered old WBBA scoreboard and set it down — not official, but it added a weight to the moment. 1–1 glowed in red across the display.
I adjusted Snake's spin track — SW145, switched to Defense mode. The plan was simple: bank low, deliberately take his hits on a tighter angle, and turn his overreaches into clean counters.
Ryo noticed the change. His smirk widened. "Going low, huh? Guess you're expecting to dodge. Bad news — I hit harder when I drop down to meet you."
My heart thudded once, hard, but I didn't let it show. "Then come try."
The WBBA scoreboard's operator — a kid barely twelve — raised his hand. "Final round! Three…"
Every sound in the street seemed to fade under the count. The distant chatter of other matches, the metallic clink of shop tools, even the buzz of neon signs — all gone. Just the thump of my pulse and the faint hum of the launcher string.
"Two…"
I shifted my stance, knees bent slightly, launcher aimed low toward the ridge. In my head, I could already see Snake's opening path — a hard arc into the center, then coiling out to bait Fang before snapping in.
"One…"
My grip tightened, thumb braced on the launcher grip.
"Let it rip!"
The launch was perfect — smooth, fast, the string singing through the launcher before snapping back. Snake burst forward with a deep hum, hitting the stadium floor in a blur of black and green. Across from me, Fang landed just as hard, its red flash cutting across my vision as it rocketed into motion.
The first clash was instant. CLANG! The recoil wasn't enough to throw either Bey off, but it set the tone — both of us were coming in at full force.
Fang looped wide, its speed at a dangerous peak. Snake slid into a low coil, hugging the stadium's inner slope to stay just out of reach.
I could feel the connection thrumming again, my awareness syncing to every tilt of Snake's spin. Wait for him to drop in…
Ryo's voice cut in, sharp. "Now, Fang!"
The red Bey dove inward, and the moment was set — one wrong move, and this would be over.
Fang's dive came in sharp, the red wheel a blur as it closed the gap.
CLANG!
The hit landed hard on Snake's side, but banked launch did its job — instead of taking the full force, Snake rode at a lower angle, its Fusion Wheel scraping beneath Fang's Clear Wheel. The impact rattled the stadium wall but barely moved Snake off line.
Ryo didn't hesitate. "Hit again! Don't give him space!"
Fang zipped out to the ridge and back in a heartbeat. Another CLANG! echoed, this time sending a faint shiver through Snake's balance. I caught the moment in my head — that fractional tilt in the spin — and pushed back with pure focus. Straighten. Hold the slope. Wait.
Snake's tip adjusted just enough to ride the inner curve, letting Fang's next pass skim air. The red attacker overshot, skidding wide before whipping back for another smash.
The crowd's murmurs were getting louder. One kid shouted, "He dodged it!"
Fang's third strike was faster, angled down, aiming to slam Snake into the wall. I felt the danger before it landed — the line between survival and a pocket finish was razor-thin.
Now!
Snake shifted at the exact moment of contact, dipping low so Fang's rim clipped the stadium floor. The grinding screech made everyone flinch. The sudden drag stole a fraction of Fang's momentum, just enough for it to wobble.
Ryo's jaw tightened. "Recover, Fang!"
Fang tried — it looped back up to speed, but the balance was off. Its tilt was slight at first, but with every sharp turn, the lean grew worse.
I pressed the advantage. Snake cut in on a tight arc, grazing Fang's tilted rim. The hit wasn't explosive, but it was clean — and it amplified the wobble.
Fang staggered. The crowd reacted instantly — voices rising, feet shuffling closer to the rail.
Ryo yelled for another charge, but Fang's speed was slipping. Snake met it head-on this time, a direct CLANG! that knocked the red Bey upward for a split second before gravity pulled it back to the floor in a wider wobble.
"Finish it," I whispered.
Snake coiled in a final loop, building just enough momentum before snapping inward. The strike connected flush with Fang's tilted side, and the red Bey shot into the pocket with a sharp thunk.
The crowd's cheer was small but genuine.
"Ring out finish!" I called, heart hammering in my chest. My palms were damp, my grip still locked on the launcher handle like the battle hadn't ended.
I stepped forward, reaching into the stadium to scoop Snake up. The Fusion Wheel was warm against my fingers, the tip still spinning faintly before slowing to a stop. I held it for a moment, feeling that faint hum of connection in my chest, before setting it in my palm.
Ryo retrieved Fang, inspecting its Fusion Wheel with a slow nod. Then he looked at me, and the grin returned — not the easy one from earlier, but something sharper, almost approving. "Guess banked launch was the right call… for now."
The battle hadn't been perfect — I'd been one bad hit away from losing — but it was enough. My first win here.
Unofficial, sure. Zero BP gained. But it proved something important.
I could fight in this world.
The small crowd was still buzzing, replaying the last hit in their heads. Some pointed toward Snake in my hand, others to the scuff mark on the stadium wall where Fang had clipped before flying into the pocket.
Ryo set Fang into his palm, spinning it slowly on his finger before stopping it with a light tap. "Not bad, Ethan. Most rookies crumble after one of Fang's hits. You actually adapted mid-battle."
I gave a faint shrug. "Guess I learn fast."
He smirked. "Guess you do. But this wasn't official, so it doesn't mean much on paper. No BP means no rank. And if you want to battle real opponents around here, you'll need both."
BP again. I'd heard it twice now since arriving in Metal City — Bey Points. They were more than just numbers; they were currency for respect here. Without them, I was a no-name who'd be brushed off by anyone with a real track record.
I glanced at Snake in my hand. The black Fusion Wheel still felt warm, and for a second I remembered the way it had responded to my thoughts mid-match. This wasn't just a toy anymore.
Ryo slung his launcher over his shoulder. "There's a rookie bracket tomorrow at the WBBA's east arena. Entry fee's low, and the first few matches are all point gains. Win three in a row, and you'll have enough BP to get noticed."
"Sounds like you're recruiting me," I said, raising a brow.
He chuckled. "Not recruiting. Just curious to see if today was a fluke or if you've got something real. Besides…" He gave Fang a quick spin on his palm again. "…I want a proper rematch. Official this time."
The idea of facing him again sparked something in me — not just nerves, but the kind of challenge I'd always imagined when watching Beyblade battles back home. Except now, it wasn't just imagination.
One of the kids from the crowd stepped closer. "Hey, if you enter the rookie bracket, I'll be there to watch! That finish was awesome!"
Another chimed in, "Yeah, you dodged him like… like a real blader!"
The praise was light, but it was enough to make me realize something: this was the first time since waking up here that I'd felt like I belonged.
I looked at Ryo. "Alright. East arena. Tomorrow."
He nodded once, satisfied. "Don't be late. Registration fills fast."
The crowd began to drift away, the energy of the match fading into the background noise of Metal City — shopkeepers calling out deals, the metallic grind of repair tools, and the faint hum of distant battles.
For a moment, I just stood there with Snake in my hand, staring down at it. My parents were gone, my old world was gone, and there was nothing tying me to anything anymore. No obligations. No safety net. Just me, this Bey, and a city where battles decided everything.
And for the first time since I'd woken up here, that didn't scare me.
It excited me.