The late afternoon sun painted the streets in soft gold, stretching shadows across the pavement as I made my way home. A plastic grocery bag swung lightly from my right hand, its contents clinking faintly with every step. The warm smell of baked bread from a nearby stall mixed with the faint tang of engine oil drifting from the corner repair shop. It was the kind of day that felt quiet, unhurried — like the world had agreed to move at half-speed.
I caught my reflection in a store window as I passed, and for a second, I lingered. At fifteen, I was still somewhere between boyhood and adulthood — my face carrying traces of both. Warm brown eyes, deep-set and steady, framed by soft, tousled chestnut hair that always seemed like it had been styled by the wind rather than my hands. My features were neither too sharp nor too soft — balanced in a way that often made strangers pause for just a moment longer than usual when they looked at me. A straight nose, clean jawline, and the faintest upward curve at the corner of my lips gave off a quiet composure. My skin was fair, unmarked, though the tiredness in my gaze was harder to hide. I wasn't the kind of person who stood out in a crowd, but in solitude, my reflection always felt like it was keeping its own secrets.
Adjusting the strap of my worn sling bag, I resumed walking. Inside the bag, alongside the groceries, sat a small stack of older manga volumes and DVDs I'd bought second-hand. My own little ritual. Ever since I was a kid, Beyblade had been my anchor. The Tyson era was my golden age — fierce matches, wild personalities, battles that felt larger than life. Even the Metal Saga, with its new generation of bladers, had been a part of my world, though it never quite replaced the thrill of Tyson and Dragoon tearing through a stadium.
Now, years later — though "years" felt like a stretch for someone barely into his mid-teens — I still found myself revisiting those episodes. Not because I was stuck in the past, but because they reminded me of a time when life felt simpler, brighter… whole.
That was before life had taken more than it ever gave back. My parents had been gone for years, taken in an accident so sudden I still sometimes woke up expecting to hear them in the kitchen. There were no siblings, no relatives close enough to take me in. Just the small apartment we'd lived in together and the modest savings they left behind — enough to keep me fed, clothed, and indoors, but not much else. I'd learned to stretch every coin, to live quietly and without making waves.
Still, the loneliness had a way of sneaking in when I least expected it. Some days it came with the silence of the apartment at night. Other days it was in the middle of the street, when everyone else seemed to have somewhere to be and someone to be with.
But today… today felt normal. Normal was good.
The grocery bag felt a little heavier than usual, but I didn't mind. I had a quiet evening planned — cook something simple, maybe rewatch an old Tyson vs. Kai match, and sleep early.
The sun dipped lower, and I turned onto the narrower lane that led toward my apartment. The familiar rhythm of my footsteps on the cracked pavement was oddly comforting. Somewhere in the distance, a motorcycle revved, a dog barked, and the hum of the city's evening pulse wrapped around me like an old, worn blanket.
The grocery bag swayed lightly in my hand, the faint clink of bottles marking my steps. The narrow lane ahead was as familiar as the back of my hand — cracked sidewalks, tilted streetlamps, the faded graffiti on the old brick wall to my right.
I turned the corner without thinking, my mind already on dinner. Maybe stir-fried noodles. Quick, cheap, and filling.
That's when I heard it.
A deep, growling roar of an engine — not the quiet hum of a scooter, not the steady purr of a car. This was heavier, sharper, wrong for a residential street.
I slowed, scanning the curve ahead.
A truck tore into view, swerving as if its driver had just lost control. The sun flared across its chrome grille, momentarily blinding me.
For a split second, my gaze met the driver's. Wide eyes, pale face, lips forming a word I couldn't hear.
Time didn't slow. It sped up.
My heel caught on the curb when I tried to move. The grocery bag slipped from my hand — glass bottles clattering, bread flattening against the pavement.
Then the grille filled my vision.
Impact.
Pain shot through me, sharp and absolute — then vanished just as quickly. My senses collapsed one by one, swallowed in a cold, numbing void.
The street was gone. The sunlight, the sound of the truck, even the feeling of my own body… gone.
I was floating in nothing.
Not just darkness — this was deeper, heavier, like a space where even the concept of light had never existed. There was no ground beneath me, no sky above. Just a vast, infinite emptiness stretching in every direction.
I tried to speak, to move, to feel something familiar. Nothing responded.
Then it came.
A voice.
Cold. Devoid of any emotion. It wasn't speaking to my ears; it was speaking inside my head.
"Your time has come."
The words slid into my mind without echo, without hesitation.
Before I could process them, the voice continued.
"You will go to the Beyblade Metal Universe. According to your karma, you are granted two wishes."
For a moment, everything else fell away. The Beyblade Metal Universe? A world I'd grown up watching on a screen… and now I was being told I'd live there?
But the voice gave me no time to celebrate.
"Your knowledge of the Metal Fusion era will be erased. All other memories will remain."
I froze in thought. Losing that knowledge meant I wouldn't know the events, the rivalries, the tournament outcomes. But… I still remembered every moment from Tyson's era. That was still something.
Somewhere deep inside, excitement began to build. This was a chance. No — this was the chance.
In the endless dark, I answered. "Alright… I'll take it."
"State your wishes."
My answer was immediate. "First — I want a Perfect Mental Link with my Beyblade. Something no one else has."
"Approved."
"Second — I want a Beyblade with no limits. One that can grow, adapt, and evolve endlessly."
"Approved."
The void around me began to shift, ripples forming in the black as if reality itself had been disturbed.
The voice spoke one last time.
"In that world, a parallel version of you has perished. His soul has left, but his vessel remains. You will inhabit it — same face, same body, same identity."
The ripples became a pull, drawing me forward into the unknown. Faint light began to break through the darkness. The scent of oil and metal reached me.
The warmth of life rushed into my lungs — and I opened my eyes.