The sunlight here felt different. It didn't just shine — it pressed against his skin, sharp and warm, as if it wanted to make sure he noticed every detail around him. Aaric stepped into the steady flow of the city, his grip on Immortal Phoenix firm but low at his side.
A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention — the same boy from the launch zone, maybe eleven or twelve, keeping a short distance behind him. The kid's eyes were fixed on the Phoenix, narrowing just slightly every time the sunlight caught its gold edges. He didn't say a word, but Aaric could feel it — the boy wasn't following out of friendliness. He was sizing him up.
Aaric let him.
The crowd flowed around them, people weaving between each other with the ease of a city used to constant motion. Bladers leaned against storefronts, swapping tips and parts. Others crouched on street corners, launching their Beyblades into small portable stadiums, their voices rising in bursts of excitement. A man in a mechanic's apron handed a gleaming metal tip to a waiting customer, testing the weight in his palm before letting it go.
Aaric felt a flicker of awkwardness — he still looked like an outsider here — but it no longer came from just the lack of a launcher at his waist or a square case at his side. It was the way everyone here carried themselves, as if they lived and breathed for the next battle. The way they treated their Beyblades not like toys, but like weapons or partners.
And yet… excitement kept pushing against the edges of that awkwardness. The air buzzed with energy, with motion, with the sound of battles in the distance — sharper now, as if the city itself was daring him to join in. His eyes kept darting from one storefront to the next, cataloging every strange and familiar thing.
His steps slowed when he passed his first shop window. Not because of the products inside, but because of the little white rectangles hanging from each one. Price tags. Except here, there were always two numbers.
He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes to read them through the glass.
That's when the excitement pushed harder against the awkwardness.
This wasn't just a city that ran on Beyblade. This was a city where everything had a price in Bey Points.
Aaric stepped closer to the glass, his reflection faintly overlapping with the display inside. The shop looked ordinary enough — shelves of bottled drinks, a rack of snack bars, a small refrigerated section filled with neatly stacked sandwiches. But every single product carried a tag with two numbers, side by side.
One was easy to understand: yen. The other… a short two-letter label followed by a number. BP.
He scanned the first row.
Bottled water: 100 yen / 3 BP
Sweet bread roll: 200 yen / 6 BP
Pack of chips: 250 yen / 8 BP
BP. Bey Points.
The connection hit him almost instantly. He'd seen the term flash across the stadium screen earlier in the plaza, right next to the names of the battling bladers. It wasn't just a scoreboard stat. Here, it was currency.
He moved further along the window, past the snacks and drinks to a small electronics shelf.
Simple earbuds: 1,200 yen / 40 BP
Portable charger: 2,000 yen / 65 BP
Headphones: 3,000 yen / 150 BP
The ratio wasn't exact, but the message was clear — every single item could be bought with regular money or with Bey Points.
And judging by the steady flow of customers coming in and out, plenty of people were paying in BP. He saw a boy about his age hand the cashier a small, card-sized device. A quick beep, and the display above the register blinked: –12 BP. The boy walked out with a drink and a snack, his launcher swaying at his waist.
Aaric stepped back from the window, eyes flicking to the street around him. It wasn't just this shop. The café across the road, the clothing store two doors down, even the tiny street food stall at the corner — all had dual prices displayed clearly.
A vendor turned a skewer of grilled meat over a sizzling grill. The sign in front read: 300 yen / 10 BP. Another stall selling colorful drinks had: 250 yen / 8 BP.
He pictured it now — winning a battle, watching your BP balance rise on the scoreboard, then walking straight into a shop to spend it. No waiting for prize money, no complicated exchanges. Just win, earn, buy.
It was simple. Efficient. Dangerous.
Because if Bey Points could buy food, clothes, maybe even rent or shelter… losing them would hurt more than pride. For some people here, battles weren't just sport — they were how you lived.
Aaric's grip tightened slightly on Immortal Phoenix. The idea was both thrilling and unsettling. Back home, Beyblade had been a flashy kids' show. Here, it was a system — one that decided more than just who was the better player.
Aaric kept walking, weaving through the flow of pedestrians. The dual prices still sat heavy in his mind — not because the concept was complicated, but because of what it meant. Battles here weren't just for bragging rights. They were income.
The street opened up ahead into a small plaza, and that's when he heard it — not the distant background noise of the city, but the sharp, rhythmic clashing of metal striking metal.
He stopped without meaning to.
The sound came from a raised platform to his left, where a crowd had gathered in a loose half-circle. Their attention was fixed on a waist-high, steel-walled stadium set in the center. Digital panels framed the edges, flickering between close-up camera angles of the match and two nameplates showing the competitors' details.
Aaric edged closer, just far enough to see inside.
Two Beyblades tore across the stadium floor in bursts of speed, sparks flashing with every collision. The impact wasn't cartoonish — it was real, sharp, and violent, the kind that made the air vibrate. Each strike left faint scuff marks on the metal floor, the grooves catching the sunlight.
The scoreboard above the match showed the stakes:
RYU (BP: 120)
KAI (BP: 142)
Below their names, a live counter ticked up and down with each round:
RYU: +5 BP → +10 BP → –7 BP
KAI: –5 BP → –10 BP → +7 BP
The crowd roared when one blader's top slammed the other into the wall, rebounding hard enough to rattle the camera. Aaric felt the sound in his chest, a low, satisfying thud that no anime episode had ever captured.
It was hypnotic.
The winner's Beyblade finally forced the other to a dead stop, spinning defiantly at the center of the stadium. The crowd clapped and cheered, not wildly, but with the quiet respect of people watching something important. The scoreboard blinked:
VICTORY — BP TRANSFER: +25 / –15
The winner's total jumped to 167 BP. The loser's dropped to 127.
And just like that, it was over. The two bladers collected their tops, exchanged a quick nod, and left the stage. No drama, no grudges — just business.
Aaric realized he was gripping Immortal Phoenix so tightly that the edges pressed into his palm.
He could picture it now — his Beyblade in that stadium, the weight of it in motion, the metallic ring of impact. The thought sent a strange rush through him, part adrenaline, part curiosity.
But the practical side of him kicked in quickly. He had no launcher, no case, no BP to his name. Even if he wanted to test himself, he didn't have the means.
That was when he noticed the kiosk.
It stood near the edge of the plaza — a tall, touchscreen terminal framed by the same neon-blue light as the stadium panels. The display read:
BATTLE RANKING & ENTRY TERMINAL
Below that:
Beginner Challenge — Entry: FREE — Reward: +10 BP
Standard Match — Entry: 5 BP — Reward: +15 BP
Ranked Match — Entry: 20 BP — Reward: +50 BP
His eyes lingered on the "Beginner Challenge" option. Free to enter. All he needed was a Beyblade and a launcher.
The thought was almost too easy — until his gaze drifted to a shop window just beyond the kiosk.
Launchers.
The cheapest one was labeled: Standard Launcher — 1,500 yen / 50 BP.
He let out a quiet breath through his nose. Without currency, he might as well have been staring at something behind unbreakable glass.
Still… the stadium sounds hadn't left his head.
He wasn't ready to admit it out loud, but he knew: it was only a matter of time before he stepped into one of those arenas.
Aaric stood in front of the shop window longer than he meant to, the faint reflection of his own face layered over the display inside. Launchers of every kind hung neatly on the wall — from simple plastic grips to sleek, reinforced models with metallic edges. Some had interchangeable parts, others boasted "spin stabilization" or "impact boost" written in bold, confident lettering across their boxes.
The cheapest one was a plain black model with a simple ripcord, the kind of thing any beginner could use. 1,500 yen / 50 BP.
It might as well have been a million.
He didn't have a single coin of local currency. No Bey Points. Not even the card device he'd seen other bladers use to make transactions. In this world, that meant he couldn't buy anything, couldn't battle officially, couldn't even start.
The frustration simmered in his chest, slow and heavy.
He looked down at Immortal Phoenix in his hand. The Beyblade felt like it belonged here — the weight, the balance, the way the sunlight caught its edges — but right now, it was just a weapon without a trigger.
The memory of the battle he'd just watched replayed in his mind: the sparks, the ringing impacts, the satisfying final spin at the center of the stadium. His fingers tightened around Phoenix instinctively. He wanted to feel that, not just watch it from the sidelines.
The sounds of the city seemed louder now — the clink of launchers swinging from belts, the faint buzz of drones overhead, the chatter of bladers comparing matches. Every movement reminded him of what he didn't have.
He shifted his weight, turning his gaze away from the window, and scanned the street again. Across the road, another shop had a rack of Beyblade cases on display. Square, compact, each with its own design — flames, lightning bolts, sharp geometric patterns. Every single one had a launcher strapped to it.
Even kids half his size were better equipped than he was.
He let out a slow breath, forcing himself to think. He wasn't the type to rush blindly into a situation, but doing nothing meant standing here until the city swallowed him up. He needed gear, and if the only way to get it was with BP, then he needed a way to earn BP without one.
His mind looped back to the Beginner Challenge listing on the kiosk. Free entry. No BP cost. Just… a launcher requirement.
The frustration didn't fade, but it sharpened into something else — the beginnings of a plan.
If he could just find a way to get a launcher, even for one match…
"A launcher problem?"
The voice came from his right. Aaric turned and found himself looking at the same boy from the launch zone — maybe eleven, twelve at most, slim build, a touch shorter than him. The kid had an easy stance, one hand hooked into his pocket, the other holding a black-and-red launcher by the grip.
Aaric didn't answer immediately. The boy's eyes flicked to Immortal Phoenix in his hand, and a faint grin tugged at his mouth.
"I figured," the boy said, giving the launcher a lazy spin by the grip before catching it again. "You've got a Beyblade, but no way to use it. New guys always have that look — half excited, half like they're not sure if they're supposed to be here."
Aaric's gaze narrowed slightly, but he stayed silent.
The boy tilted his head toward the plaza. "Beginner Challenge's open. Free entry. You win, you get ten BP. I'll lend you my launcher — we split the reward if you win. Sixty-forty."
Aaric raised a brow. "Forty for me?"
"Hey, it's my launcher," the boy said with a shrug. "And my strings you're pulling. That's a good deal."
It wasn't, not really — but it was still more than nothing.
Aaric's grip tightened on Immortal Phoenix. The weight in his hand was steady, familiar now in a way it hadn't been on Earth. If this Beyblade had pulled him into this world, maybe it was meant to spin here.
He studied the boy for a moment. Slim, wiry arms, faint smudges of dirt on his sleeves, a belt pouch clipped at his side with a square Beyblade case tucked inside. A blader who looked like he lived in stadiums and side matches.
"What's the catch?" Aaric asked finally.
The boy's grin widened. "No catch. You win, we both walk away richer. You lose… well, it's the Beginner Challenge. You don't lose BP for losing. Just pride."
Aaric glanced toward the stadium where another match was starting, sparks already flying as two tops collided with a metallic crash. His pulse picked up, the sound tugging at something instinctive.
He looked back at the boy. "What's your name?"
"Riku," the boy said without hesitation. "And you?"
"Aaric."
Riku twirled the launcher once more and offered it, grip-first. "Well, Aaric… let's see if that fancy Bey of yours can earn its keep."
For a moment, Aaric just stared at the launcher. Then he reached out and took it, the cool plastic settling into his palm. It felt strange — foreign — but right at the same time.
His thumb brushed over Immortal Phoenix's emblem.
Maybe this is how I start.