"Let it rip!"
The words left my mouth at the same moment as Ryo's.
The string snapped back with a whipcrack, sharper than anything my old plastic launcher ever made. It wasn't the hollow whrrr I was used to—the internal ratchet caught cleanly. My palm still tingled from the torque as Primordial Abyss Snake burst forward, hitting the stadium floor with a weighty, metallic hum.
Across from me, Ryo's launcher came down low. His Bey slammed into the dish with a screech of metal on plastic. "Go, Crimson Fang!" he shouted, the name carrying over the constant buzz of both spinning tops.
I caught the flash of Fang's red Clear Wheel as it hugged the outer ridge, banking tightly before slicing inward like a predator that had locked onto prey.
The hit came fast.
CLANG!
It was like someone had swung a steel rod right next to my ear. Sparks leapt from the point of impact, bright enough to catch my eyes before vanishing. The impact rattled the dish; the rail vibrated under my fingers.
Snake held center, its black Fusion Wheel rotating in that steady, deliberate coil. The emerald Clear Wheel gleamed whenever the light hit it, but there was no mistaking the force behind Fang's assault. The red attacker didn't back off for a second.
Another loop, another angle—CLANG!
The blows weren't like the bouncing plastic clashes from my old park battles. These had weight. The air seemed to push outward with every strike, the vibration in the stadium wall climbing up my arms into my chest.
Fang circled wide again, keeping its momentum high. Its speed was unreal compared to what I'd known—a constant blur that was already scuffing faint marks into the stadium surface. Every time it dove inward, the timing felt deliberate, as if Ryo were pulling invisible strings to place each hit exactly where it hurt.
Snake's position shifted under the pressure, just enough to make me tense. I could see the line between holding center and sliding toward the ridge, and every impact brought it closer to the edge.
I gripped my new string launcher in my other hand without thinking, bracing to grab Snake the instant the round ended. This wasn't just a game you played until one Bey fell over. Every second, every tiny shift in position mattered.
Back home, I'd never cared about battle posture or launch angle—it was all for fun. But here, one bad spin could cost the match. And with no BP and no official standing, I didn't have room to start this new life with a loss.
Crimson Fang kept circling, never slowing for a second, and I could almost feel the next strike coming before it landed.
It tore along the outer ridge like a streak of blood-red light, the rubber flat tip gripping the stadium floor with a high-pitched squeal. Then, with a sharp tilt in its path, it cut inward.
CLANG!
Snake absorbed the hit, its metal rim grinding against Fang's for a fraction of a second before they broke apart. The sound was teeth-on-teeth, a metallic rasp that scraped down my spine.
"Keep it moving, Fang!" Ryo's voice carried above the noise. His launcher hand hovered near the rail as if he could push his Bey along with sheer willpower.
Fang banked out wide again, building speed before another dive. This time the impact hit from behind Snake's left flank, nudging it half a rotation off-center. Snake's balance held, but I felt my stomach tighten.
The more I watched, the more the chaos of the movement started to make sense. The stadium's curves weren't random; Fang's paths had rhythm, looping between the ridges before cutting inward at precise angles.
And somewhere in the middle of that realization, I started feeling something I couldn't explain.
It wasn't just watching Snake spin—I felt where it was. Like my mind could trace its arc without needing my eyes to follow. I knew when it leaned a degree too far, when the slope was pushing it faster toward the wall, when it was about to get hit again.
Back home, in the anime Beyblade V-Force, bladers could ''connect'' with their Beys, shout commands, and have them react mid-match. I used to laugh at that. But now…
Snake's emerald Clear Wheel flashed once as it straightened after another blow, and I thought: Angle in. Make him miss.
It moved.
Not a big shift—just a subtle glide across the center that turned the next incoming smash into a glancing hit. Fang skidded off to the side instead of sending Snake toward the pocket.
My grip tightened around the stadium rail. I hadn't even spoken, but Snake had responded like it knew exactly what I wanted.
Ryo's eyes narrowed. "Not bad… but let's see how you handle this!"
Fang whipped around the outer ridge, then slammed in from the far side with a louder CLANG! than before. The blow shook Snake, forcing it a hair closer to the edge. The crowd of two or three kids who'd stopped to watch leaned forward.
Another hit, from the opposite side. Then another. Ryo wasn't letting up; he was chaining angles faster than Snake could reset.
That faint mental tether between me and Snake burned with urgency now. Every fiber of my focus locked onto keeping it away from the ridge. My thoughts sharpened into commands without words: Hold. Counter. Push back.
Snake managed two perfect glancing deflections, but Fang was relentless. The speed difference was obvious, and the pressure wasn't easing.
If this kept up, I'd be out of center and into the pocket in seconds.
Ryo adjusted his stance at the rail, eyes never leaving the stadium. "Alright, Fang. Time to finish this!"
Crimson Fang darted to the outer ridge again, but this time, instead of looping smoothly, it snapped into tighter, sharper turns. Each banking shot came in at a slightly different angle, making the impact unpredictable.
CLANG!
The hit came at Snake's front-right, forcing it to twist and give up more ground. Before it could fully stabilize, Fang was already looping in from the opposite side.
CLANG!
Snake was nudged another inch toward the slope. I felt it through that strange tether in my mind—the subtle tilt in its spin, the shift in weight as it fought to stay upright.
I pushed back mentally: Angle away. Reset to center.
Snake tried. It slid left, just enough to dodge the third hit, but Ryo was reading me now. Fang curved in from behind, catching Snake's weak side and driving it farther up the slope.
The grinding sound was harsher now, the kind that made the air vibrate in my ears. I clenched the rail. The slope of the stadium was against me—once a Bey was up here, gravity gave the attacker even more force.
Fang slammed into Snake again, and this time the recoil carried Snake over the ridge. Its black rim clipped the stadium wall with a hollow thunk before dropping into the pocket.
"Ring out finish!" Ryo announced, his grin wide but not mocking. "One point to me."
The few kids watching let out small cheers, one of them muttering, "That Fang is fast…"
I crouched to retrieve Snake. Its spin track was warm, the Fusion Wheel hotter, like the battle had charged heat straight into the metal. I'd lost, but it didn't feel hopeless—not yet.
Back home, defense was my comfort zone. Hold center, let the opponent burn out. But here? This wasn't the plastic-gen game. A stationary defense type was just a stationary target.
As I clipped Snake into the launcher again, my mind flicked back to all those afternoons launching it across the park's hopscotch court. I'd called it "coiling" back then—making it circle wide before tightening into the center, forcing my friends' Beys into awkward angles.
Maybe that could work here too. But I'd have to make it happen in the next round, or this battle would be over before I even got to enjoy it.
Ryo was already setting Fang into his launcher. "Let's see if you've got more than just a tough wheel."
I smiled faintly, tightening my grip on the new string launcher. "You'll find out."
The countdown began again. This time, I wasn't aiming to sit still.