The air was heavier than usual in Metal City's side streets. Not with tension, but with the usual clutter of noise—Bladers rushing to early practice, vendors shouting out deals on grip tape, and the occasional crash of a failed launch in some corner stadium.
Aarav didn't hear any of it.
His steps were steady, measured, as he approached his usual ramen stall tucked between a shuttered repair shop and an old parts vendor. The small stand was quiet, away from the main street chaos, and that's why he liked it.
"Veg ramen?" the stall owner asked without even looking up from his pot.
Aarav gave a small nod, taking his usual seat at the far corner of the counter. His eyes drifted across the street, watching Bladers pass by with their launchers slung carelessly over their shoulders. He wasn't judging them. Just observing. Their stances, their hand placements, the way they carried themselves—every detail told him a story.
Today was like every other day.
Or so he thought.
The door curtain fluttered.
"Ah, smells amazing! Got room for one more?" a bright, cheerful voice echoed into the stall.
Aarav's gaze shifted, barely, as Gingka Hagane stepped in.
Red scarf, confident stride, launcher hanging at his waist with ease. Gingka looked around, his grin as casual as if he owned the place. He had the kind of energy that demanded attention without asking for it.
"Special ramen, right?" the owner asked.
"You got it!" Gingka replied, sliding into a seat a few spots away from Aarav.
The owner chuckled. "Busy day?"
"Just arrived in Metal City," Gingka said, stretching his arms back. "Looking for good battles… and good ramen."
That earned a faint smile from the owner, who ladled broth into a fresh bowl.
Aarav didn't say a word. He didn't need to.
But something shifted.
Gingka's eyes briefly flickered to the corner where Aarav sat. He hadn't noticed him at first, but now… now he felt it.
It wasn't a loud aura. It wasn't something flashy or overwhelming.
But it was there.
A pressure. A sharp, cutting focus that didn't need to scream to be heard.
The owner, oblivious to the silent clash brewing, chuckled. "You're lucky, Gingka. That kid over there—Aarav—he's always sitting in that spot. Never seen anyone so serious about ramen."
Gingka's grin widened. "Aarav, huh?"
He didn't turn fully. Just enough for their eyes to meet.
Aarav's gaze was calm. Observant. But it wasn't passive. There was a weight behind it.
For a few seconds, they simply looked at each other.
No words.
But as Bladers, they didn't need them.
Gingka turned back to his bowl as it arrived, digging in with his usual enthusiasm. Aarav continued his meal in silence. To anyone else, it looked like two strangers eating in peace.
But to them, it was something else entirely.
Aarav's eyes dropped to Gingka's waist.
Storm Pegasus.
Its weight distribution, the way it sat in its holster—balanced, ready. Gingka wasn't carrying it for show.
"This one's not noisy for the sake of it," Aarav thought. "His rhythm is real."
Gingka, between mouthfuls, was thinking the same. The kid in the corner wasn't just sitting there. He was scanning everything, quietly reading the flow of the room. Gingka knew that presence. It was the mark of a Blader who didn't spin for the crowd.
Minutes passed.
They both finished their meals.
Gingka stretched, standing up casually. His scarf fluttered slightly as he turned toward Aarav.
"I haven't had a good battle since I got here," Gingka said, his grin lazy, but his eyes sharp. "You know where I can find one?"
Aarav placed his chopsticks down, wiped his hands on a napkin, and stood up.
"If you want to battle," he said, adjusting his launcher on his belt, "bring a launcher."
Gingka's grin widened.
"I always do."
The owner blinked, confused. He hadn't seen any formal challenge. No shout. No loud declaration. But even he could feel the air shift as the two walked out together.
They didn't need to say it.
The battle was already set.