The words seared themselves into Axamu's vision:
URGENT QUEST! WIN THE BATTLE!
If you lose, you will die!
That last line glowed in blood-red, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"Die…?" Axamu's voice cracked, barely a whisper.
The world around him tilted. The stadium, the roaring crowd, the bright lights—everything blurred together until his knees buckled. His stomach twisted violently, and before he could hold it back, bile erupted from his throat. He vomited onto the ground, his body trembling uncontrollably.
Gasps rang out through the stands.
"W-what's wrong with him?"
"Is this some kind of stunt?"
"He looks pale—get a medic!"
The announcer's voice faltered.
"Uh—contestant Axamu appears unwell! Medical staff, please come quickly!"
But Axamu wasn't listening. His eyes were locked on those words, floating in front of him like a death sentence.
If you lose, you will die.
His mind spiraled.
If I quit now… will it still count as losing?
If I run… will it kill me anyway?
Cold sweat poured down his face. His lungs refused to draw air. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, each thump screaming: DIE. DIE. DIE.
"No…" Axamu whispered, shaking his head violently. "No, no, no, no…!"
The medics reached him, one grabbing his arm.
"Hey! You need to stop, kid! Come with us before you collapse completely!"
He snapped his head up, golden eyes wide, tears welling. His voice burst out raw, ragged:
"DON'T TOUCH ME!!"
The medic froze. The entire stadium went silent.
"You don't understand…" Axamu gasped, clutching his chest. His body shook as if something inside was tearing him apart. "If I leave this match… I'll still die. I can feel it… this system won't let me go. If I don't fight… I'll never see my parents again!"
The words cracked, his throat burning, but he forced them out, every syllable dripping with desperation.
The crowd erupted in whispers.
"Die? From Beyblade?"
"What is this kid saying?"
"He's… serious?"
The announcer hesitated, microphone trembling in hand.
"C-contestant Axamu, do you truly… wish to continue? You don't have to push yourself—"
"NO!!!" Axamu's scream tore through the air, silencing everything. His voice broke, shaking like a child's but burning with determination. "No more waiting…! I fight!"
He staggered, barely able to stand, but lifted his launcher with both hands. His grip trembled violently, yet he held on like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His knuckles turned white. His lips quivered. His entire body screamed to collapse.
But he didn't.
The announcer swallowed hard, then raised his hand.
"…Contestant Axamu will… continue. The battle is still on!"
The arena shook with noise—some horrified, some excited, all unable to look away.
His opponent glared across the stadium, gripping his own launcher tightly. "You're insane… but fine. I'll crush you!"
The referee raised his arm.
"Three!"
Axamu's heart hammered, louder than the crowd. No escape. No running. Fight or die.
"Two!"
His breath came in short, ragged gasps. His legs trembled like they might give out. If I lose… my life ends here.
"One!"
Axamu's golden eyes snapped open, blazing with desperation and fury. He screamed with everything inside him:
"GOOOOO SHOOOOOT!!!!"
The launch was clumsy, desperate—but White Cobalt Dragoon still shot forward, bursting into the stadium like a streak of white lightning.
Sparks flew as his opponent's Beyblade slammed into it, the entire arena echoing with the metallic roar of their clash.
And for Axamu… it wasn't just a match.
It was survival.