The stadium was old.
Its paint had long faded, cracks split through the concrete floor, and the rusted guard rails trembled with the slightest breeze. But today, that worn arena was about to witness a battle that would ripple through Metal City.
Two Bladers stood at opposite ends.
One, draped in a fluttering red scarf, his posture loose yet coiled like a spring. Gingka Hagane's grin was casual, but his grip on his launcher was firm, alive with anticipation.
The other stood silent, his body relaxed, but his fingers brushing over Phoenix's surface with meticulous care. Aarav's calm presence wasn't forced—it was natural. He wasn't staring down Gingka with bravado. His eyes were fixed on the stadium floor, reading its uneven ridges, mapping the battleground before a single spin had begun.
There were no spectators yet. No audience to cheer or shout.
But the air… it was different.
It wasn't heavy with tension—it was sharp. Like the entire space was holding its breath, waiting.
Gingka tilted his launcher onto his belt clip, adjusting his grip as his body lowered into his stance. His left foot slid forward, right leg bent. His right hand coiled around the ripcord, feeling its weight. He wasn't going to hold back. Not today.
Aarav mirrored no such theatrics.
His feet stood shoulder-width apart. Balanced. His launcher was leveled perfectly, his left hand gripping the base with the same care a sculptor holds his chisel. His right hand threaded the ripcord with silent precision. There was no tension in his muscles. His breathing remained steady.
The contrast was clear.
One stood like a storm about to break loose.
The other stood like a blade ready to cut through the noise.
A soft breeze swept through the empty stands, lifting dust motes into the air.
Neither of them blinked.
Neither of them shouted a countdown.
Their focus was on the spin.
Gingka's ripcord snapped first, a fluid, explosive motion. His arm swung with the controlled aggression of a seasoned Blader, his follow-through sending Pegasus screaming across the launcher rail.
A fraction of a second later, Aarav's ripcord sliced through the air.
His pull was sharp, compact, with no wasted effort. Phoenix glided out, its arc smooth, landing onto the stadium with a rotation so balanced, it looked as if it floated rather than spun.
The instant Pegasus' wheels hit the stadium floor, the sound cracked—rubber grinding against concrete, a wild burst of energy as it dashed into an aggressive storm spiral. Gingka's style was always forward—pushing, pressing, never waiting.
Phoenix didn't flinch.
It claimed the center circle immediately, its crimson wings shimmering under the fractured sunlight peeking through the broken arena roof. The spin wasn't loud. But the presence it commanded was suffocating.
Pegasus charged in—Gingka's grip tightening, sending his Blade in for a direct impact.
The first clash wasn't an explosion.
It was a wave.
The impact vibrated through the stadium floor, a deep, humming quake that wasn't felt through ears, but through the soles of their feet. Dust lifted, pebbles shifted. The cracked tiles groaned under the sudden shift in pressure.
Aarav's fingers twitched subtly on his launcher belt, not to react, but to feel.
Phoenix absorbed the impact, its spin rhythm adjusting mid-contact. The force didn't bounce off wildly. Instead, it was redirected—like a river flowing around a stone.
Gingka's grin widened.
"That's how you want to play it?"
He didn't need to shout commands. His next grip adjustment told Pegasus everything.
The blue Blade curved into a spiral, rushing in again—angle sharper, force cleaner.
Phoenix, still centered, rotated with a calm defiance. Its rotations thinned into a tighter axis, adjusting its balance field with surgical precision.
Another impact.
Another hum vibrating through the stadium.
Yet, from the outside, there was no debris. No smoke. Just the eerie sight of two Beyblades clashing in absolute rhythm, refusing to be out of sync.
The air changed.
It felt heavier—not because of visual explosions, but because the battle rhythm was beginning to pull the environment into its flow.
Kenta stood at the edge of a nearby street, pausing as the breeze hit his face differently.
"Madoka, you feel that?"
Madoka, adjusting her backpack, looked around, frowning. "That's… a battle signature, but it's not fluctuating. It's steady. Unnatural."
They followed the pull, their steps quickening.
Back at the stadium, Gingka narrowed his eyes, adjusting Pegasus into a high-speed drift, forcing the tempo higher.
Aarav's focus deepened.
He wasn't launching counters. He wasn't retaliating.
He was absorbing.
Every strike Pegasus delivered was being nullified not through force, but through micro-adjustments in Phoenix's spin rhythm. Aarav's subtle tilts on the launcher belt, his precise footwork shifts, everything was designed to maintain flow.
The ground began to pulse with their rotations.
Loose debris on the stadium edge started to vibrate—small pebbles skittering, as if reacting to the invisible tempo.
Neither Blader looked up.
Gingka's heart pounded—not with exhaustion, but with pure thrill. "He's not falling for aggressive rhythm breaks. He's flowing through them."
Aarav's mind was silent but sharp. "He's not reckless. He's pushing in patterns."
As Pegasus made another aggressive dash, Aarav's fingers made a subtle shift.
Phoenix's rotation tightened.
The clash that followed wasn't a boom.
It was a soundless quake—the kind that can only be felt by those standing within its radius.
The stadium's air warped—the ripples visible in the floating dust, the rhythm expanding outward like a pulse wave.
Madoka and Kenta arrived just in time to see it.
"What is this battle…?" Madoka whispered, unable to look away.
"They're not even shouting…" Kenta murmured.
Gingka's grin widened. Aarav's expression remained unreadable.
But both Bladers knew—
This was only the beginning.