When Axamu opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the plain white ceiling above him.
"…Familiar ceiling…" he muttered weakly, his voice hoarse. His lips curled into a bitter half-smile. "Looks like I'm in the hospital again…"
He sighed, slow and heavy, then tried to push himself up. Pain lanced through every fiber of his body. His arms shook. His ribs burned. Even breathing felt like knives carving his chest.
And then—
DING.
The air above his bed shimmered. A window of light blinked into existence, sharp and clean against the infirmary's stillness.
> [SYSTEM NOTICE]
CONGRATULATIONS!
You have won the match.
Please choose your reward.
Axamu froze, his breath catching.
"Reward, huh…" he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing.
Then anger erupted like wildfire. His hand shot to the vase of flowers placed neatly by the bedside. With trembling fury, he hurled it straight at the glowing window.
CRASH!
Porcelain shattered against the floor, water splashing across his sheets. The window didn't even flicker. It stayed. Mocking him.
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!!" Axamu roared, voice breaking. "YOU ALMOST KILLED ME!!"
His throat tightened, rage twisting his face.
"WITHOUT TELLING ME THERE'S A PRICE TO PAY?!" His chest heaved as tears welled at the corners of his eyes. "YOU THINK I'M GONNA FOLLOW WHATEVER YOU SAY, HUH?!!"
The system window pulsed silently, waiting. No answer.
His voice cracked into silence. The rage drained, leaving only emptiness.
"…Damn it…"
Axamu collapsed back against the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. His shoulders shook as tears slipped free, burning his cheeks.
"…Fuck this…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. His body trembled with exhaustion and grief, hidden beneath the sterile white sheets.
The glowing window lingered above him—silent, cold, merciless.
---
The recording spread like wildfire. A shaky amateur video, uploaded to the net, showing Axamu's brutal first match. Every clash. Every moment of blood dripping down his face. His pain. His victory. The whole scene had gone viral.
And across the Beyblade world, eyes watched.
---
Quinn Manju leaned back, folding her arms as she rewatched the clip.
"This isn't normal… A blader bleeding just from a battle? That's impossible. Unless… his body is connected to the Beyblade itself." Her eyes narrowed. "Who the hell is this boy?"
---
Fujiwara Burn clenched his fists after the last moment replayed, where Axamu screamed as he landed the Extreme Finish.
"That scream… it wasn't performance. He was hurting with every spin." His brow furrowed. "This guy… is either insane or carrying something I can't understand."
---
Manju King smirked faintly, but the amusement didn't reach his eyes.
"To endure that much pain and still win? That's no amateur. That's a monster in disguise." He tapped his chin. "Interesting. Very interesting."
---
Ryuugu Chrome replayed the scene where Hover Wyvern was blasted out of the stadium.
"...."
---
Nanairo Multi covered her mouth as the video froze on Axamu's bloodied eyes.
"No way… this isn't Beyblade anymore… this is torture!" Her thoughts spiraled in panic. "Why would anyone put themselves through that? Why…?"
---
Shiroboshi Omega tilted her head as she watched the final moments again. Instead of horror, her lips curved ever so slightly.
"…Intriguing." Her gaze sharpened with interest. "A blader who bleeds with every clash, and yet still chooses to fight. That kind of madness… no, that kind of resolve—" Her eyes gleamed. "—is rare. Very rare."
---
Lastly, in the shadows, Kamen Zero watched without a word. The reflection of the battle glimmered in his mask.
"…So… you've appeared." His lips curved into the faintest smile. "A boy who bleeds with his Beyblade… Axamu." His mind whispered, heavy with intrigue. "You may be the one I've been waiting for. The boy that will defy the world! No, i must not focus on this. For now, i will continue with that plan... The "X" tower!"
---
The viral video ended, but the echoes of it lingered in every watcher's mind. Confusion. Shock. Curiosity. Intrigue.
And above them all—an unsettling truth.
Axamu's battle had shaken the very foundation of Beyblade itself.
---
Weeks passed. His body slowly recovered from the brutal toll of his first battle. Though the memories of that unbearable pain still haunted him, Axamu could finally move again. The bandages were gone, the bruises faded.
And at last, the day came when he could leave.
---
At the counter, Axamu placed his hand on the desk, still feeling a little uneasy.
"How much do I need to pay?" he asked.
The receptionist smiled softly. "Oh, you don't need to pay anything. The nurses already covered it for you."
Axamu blinked. "…Again? Um… don't I make trouble for you all?"
The receptionist chuckled. "Why don't you give them your number instead?"
---
Axamu froze, then slowly turned his head. The nurses were standing nearby, their eyes sparkling like a pack of wolves waiting for prey.
"Ehh…" he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, forcing a small smile. "I'd love to, but… I don't have a phone…"
---
The nurses suddenly closed in, their voices overlapping.
"Ara, don't worry. Here, you can borrow mine."
"No! You can borrow mine!"
"No, no, it's me! Borrow mine!"
Their eagerness filled the lobby with an almost suffocating energy.
Axamu's face stiffened. "Ah… Ahhh…!!" His hands waved helplessly as they crowded closer and closer.
---
Finally, he bolted. "S-sorry!!"
The nurses reached out in dismay as he dashed toward the exit. "W-wait!"
But he was already gone, sprinting out of the hospital like his life depended on it.
The receptionist shook her head, half amused, half exasperated.
"That boy… trouble just follows him everywhere."
---
The afternoon sun bled gold over the busy streets of X City. Axamu walked aimlessly, hands in his pockets, every step dragging with exhaustion.
What should I do now…? His thoughts were heavy, swirling with fragments of screams, pain, and blood. I don't want to go through that again. Not ever. Not for a stupid Beyblade battle.
Then, without warning—
DING!
A blue window blinked into existence before his eyes.
[CONGRATULATION! You won the battle. Please choose your reward.]
Axamu froze. His lips pressed tight. He didn't even read beyond the first line—his whole body recoiled at the words.
"Reward…? Reward my ass…" he muttered bitterly, tightening his fists. He turned his head away and kept walking, ignoring the glowing window floating stubbornly in front of him.
---
I don't care. I'm not touching it. I don't want another 'reward' that nearly kills me.
He pushed forward through the crowd, weaving between strangers, his breath unsteady.
Maybe… I can just live normally. Work in a café. Or stock shelves at a supermarket. Anything. Anything but this.
But as he entertained the thought, a pang struck his chest. A memory surfaced—warmth, gentle hands, voices calling his name.
His parents.
Axamu slowed, staring at the pavement as if the world had stopped around him. If I work here… if I live like them… maybe I can still find another way home. A safe way. A way without the pain, without the blood… without this cursed system.
He swallowed hard, then lifted his head. The system window was still floating, insistent. He glared at it and muttered under his breath, "I'm done with you. I'll find my own path back to Earth."
The city lights flickered on as evening descended. Axamu stepped into the crosswalk, shoulders heavy but his heart carrying a fragile spark of determination.
"…I'll job hunt. I'll live. And while I do…" His voice was quiet, but firm. "…I'll find my way home."
---
The city was alive with neon lights and the chatter of evening crowds. Axamu wandered without aim, hands stuffed in his pockets, his decision echoing in his mind.
No more battles. No more blood. I'll live normally. I'll find another way back home.
He stopped in front of a small store tucked between towering buildings. The sign above read: "Blade Works — Parts & Repairs."
Through the window, he saw shelves stacked with Beyblade parts, launchers, and stadiums. Kids were gathered inside, testing their blades, cheering and laughing.
Axamu's chest tightened. Of all places… a Beyblade shop?
Still, a paper taped to the glass caught his eye: "Help Wanted."
He hesitated, then muttered, "…Work is work."
---
Inside, the air smelled faintly of machine oil and new plastic. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged man with tired eyes but a sharp voice, looked up from behind the counter.
"You here to buy?"
Axamu shook his head quickly. "No… I saw the sign. You need help?"
The man's brows rose. "Hmph. You're young, but you look sturdy enough. Can you organize stock? Carry boxes? Clean the displays?"
"Yes," Axamu replied firmly. "I'll do whatever you need."
"Good. Start now. You'll get paid weekly."
---
Hours passed. He dusted shelves, stacked boxes of spare parts, even swept the floor. The kids who came and went chattered excitedly about techniques, battles, and heroes like Ryugu Chrome and Kamen X.
Axamu tried not to listen.
I'm not part of this world. I don't need to be.
For a moment, he even felt a fragile peace. His hands were dirty with work, but his heart was steady.
---
Then—
DING!
The blue window flashed before his eyes, slicing into the moment.
[CONGRATULATION! You won the battle. Please choose your reward.]
Axamu's hand froze around a box. His jaw tightened.
Not now…
"Kid? You spacing out?" the shopkeeper asked.
Axamu forced a small smile. "Just… tired. Sorry."
But the screen hovered relentlessly.
Later, when the shop closed and Axamu stepped into the cool night, another message appeared.
[Objective: Climb to the Top of the X Tower!]
He clenched his fists, whispering, "I don't care… I won't do it. I'll work here, I'll live quietly. That's enough."
But the words only flickered—glitching, half-distorted—like static crawling over glass.
Axamu didn't notice. He just kept walking, chasing a fragile hope of normalcy while the broken system lingered in the dark.
---
The last customer left, and the bell above the door jingled softly as the shop lights dimmed. Axamu stacked the final box behind the counter, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Good work today," the boss said gruffly, locking the register.
Axamu bowed slightly. "Thank you… I'll head out now. I'll be back tomorrow morning."
As he started toward the door, the boss called after him, "Hold it. Where are you staying, kid?"
Axamu froze. Slowly, he turned back. "Me? Uh… just at the park. There's a bench that's not too crowded…"
The man's brow furrowed, his arms crossing. "A park bench? You've been sleeping outside?"
"…Yeah," Axamu admitted quietly. "It's fine. I don't want to trouble anyone."
The boss let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tch. Stubborn brat. Look—upstairs of this shop, there's an empty room. It's small, but it's got a bed and a shower. You can use it."
Axamu's eyes widened. "…Eh? No, I can't. That's too much, really—"
"I'm not asking." The man's voice was firm, cutting him off. "You're working hard here, and I can't just let you rot outside. Take it."
Axamu hesitated, his fists tightening at his sides. "But… I can't pay for rent—"
"Don't worry about it. I won't deduct it from your pay. Consider it part of the job. Safer for you, easier for me. That's all."
The weight of the man's words settled over Axamu like a blanket. Slowly, his shoulders loosened, and his throat tightened with something he hadn't felt in weeks—gratitude.
"…Thank you," he muttered, bowing deeply. "Really… thank you, Boss."
The older man just waved a hand. "Go on, get some rest. You'll need it for tomorrow. Stock shipment's coming."
Axamu gave a small, awkward smile, then followed the stairs up. For the first time since arriving in this strange world, he wouldn't be sleeping under the cold stars.
And as he collapsed onto the plain but soft bed upstairs, he whispered to himself, "…My first proper place to sleep after hospital" Then he fall asleep because of tired.
---
When Axamu opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was silence. No beeping monitors, no crowd roaring, no system window blinding him. Just the soft creak of old wood and the faint warmth of morning sunlight spilling across the ceiling.
"…Familiar ceiling," he whispered, a weak smile tugging at his lips.
For the first time in months, his body didn't ache like it had been torn apart. He stretched, groaning lightly, and forced himself upright. His small room above the shop was modest—just a futon, a desk, and a single window—but it was his. That alone felt like a miracle.
When he went downstairs, the aroma of grilled fish and miso soup hit him like a wave of nostalgia. The shop's boss stood behind the counter, arms crossed, already waiting.
"Sit. Eat first," the boss said, voice stern but kind.
Axamu blinked. "Boss, you don't need to—"
"Eat," the boss repeated, sliding the tray toward him.
Axamu sat quietly, hands trembling as he picked up the chopsticks. The first bite nearly broke him. It tastes like home… His vision blurred, but he quickly lowered his head so the boss wouldn't see the tears pooling in his eyes.
"…Thank you," he whispered.
The boss only grunted, pretending not to notice.
---
Three Months Later
Life had slowed into a rhythm Axamu never thought he'd find again. Morning meals prepared by the boss. Days spent repairing launchers, organizing shelves, helping children pick their first Beyblades. Nights spent in his little room, staring at the stars through the dusty window.
Each day carried warmth. Each day carried peace.
And in that warmth, Axamu found himself slowly healing—not just his body, but something deeper inside him.
The system had not appeared again. The nightmares of blood, pain, and crushing battles began to fade into the background.
One night, after closing the shop, Axamu leaned against the counter, wiping it clean. The quiet was almost holy. He caught his reflection in the glass, seeing someone he barely recognized: tired eyes, but calm. Scarred, but alive.
"…Three months without pain." His voice trembled. "Three months… without fear."
A fragile smile spread across his face.
"This is what it means to be normal live..."
And for the first time since being dragged into this world, Axamu allowed himself to believe that peace was something he deserved.
---
The shop bell jingled as another group of children rushed inside, their laughter filling the air. Axamu looked up from behind the counter, holding a stack of newly polished launchers. He had grown used to this — kids piling in, eyes bright with excitement, chattering about matches they'd seen on the giant screen in the city.
But today was different.
Instead of scattering toward the shelves, the children lingered by the counter… staring at him.
"Hey, mister," one of the boys finally said, eyes shining. "Are you… a Blader?"
Axamu froze.
Before he could answer, another kid leaned forward eagerly, clutching a brand-new Beyblade. "You look like one! With your hair and your eyes—you look sooo cool!"
"Yeah!" another chimed in. "I bet you've got, like, a super-rare Bey! Can you show us? Please?"
Axamu swallowed, throat tight. His hand instinctively brushed against his pocket, where White Cobalt Dragoon lay hidden, untouched since that day. Just the thought of pulling it out sent shivers racing down his spine.
He forced a smile. "Ah… I just work here. I'm no one special."
But the kids weren't buying it.
"Come on! Just one launch!"
"Yeah, show us a cool move!"
"You have to know something awesome, right?"
Their voices rose like a wave, eyes wide with admiration, expectation. It was the kind of gaze that could lift someone up… or crush them completely.
Axamu clenched his fist under the counter. His heart pounded in his chest, the memory of pain, blood, screaming flashing behind his eyes. But when he looked at the kids again — so full of innocence, so full of dreams — something inside him trembled.
"…Cool things, huh?" he whispered to himself, barely audible.
For the first time, he realized that in this world, Beyblade wasn't just battles drenched in pain. To them… it was joy. Hope. Aspiration.
And here he was, standing between both sides.
The kids leaned closer, waiting.
Axamu drew in a slow, trembling breath.
---
Axamu glanced at the kids crowding around him, their eyes burning with excitement. His hand instinctively brushed against the hidden weight of White Cobalt Dragoon in his pocket — but no. Not that one. Not yet.
He turned to the shelves behind the counter, spotting a display Beyblade used for practice battles. Its design was sharp, with hawk-like engravings along the blade. Axamu reached for it, holding it up so the sunlight from the shop window gleamed across its metallic surface.
"This one's called Hawk Eyes," he said softly, then louder, with a steady smile for the children.
The kids gasped, leaning in closer.
"Woah, it looks so cool!"
"It's like a bird ready to strike!"
Axamu crouched down to their level, placing the Bey on his palm like he was presenting a treasure. "Every Beyblade is built with three main parts. This top piece is the Blade—it decides the type of attack. This middle piece here is the Ratchet—it's what gives your Bey its stamina and strength. And this little bottom part is the Bit—that's what controls how your Bey moves around the stadium."
He clicked the parts apart with practiced ease, showing them one by one, then reassembled them smoothly. His movements were calm, deliberate—almost natural.
"You see," he continued, "Beyblades aren't just toys. They're like… reflections of you. You can mix and match parts to make combos—fast attackers, strong defenders, or ones that just spin forever."
The children's eyes sparkled with fascination as he slotted Hawk Eyes onto a practice launcher. He gave a gentle pull.
"Three… two… one… Go Shoot!"
The Beyblade clashed against the stadium walls, sparks of light glinting as it spun with sharp, hawk-like precision. The kids gasped in awe, clapping and cheering as if it were the finals of the X Tower.
Axamu chuckled softly, a warmth blooming in his chest he hadn't felt in a long time. For a moment, the pain, the fear, the system—all of it felt far away.
He turned back to the children, eyes gentle, voice carrying a quiet hope.
"Who knows," he said, smiling. "Maybe one of you will stand in the big tournaments someday… maybe even become champions."
The kids' faces lit up, their cheers filling the shop with an almost magical energy.
Axamu straightened, watching them laugh and talk among themselves, and for a fleeting second… he wondered if this path—this simple, normal life—could truly save him.
---
The kids finally dispersed, their laughter and excited chatter fading into the streets outside. Axamu exhaled, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, but his lips curved into a small, genuine smile. For the first time since he had arrived in this strange world, he felt… normal again.
The sound of the shop's front door opening pulled him back. He looked up as the boss stepped inside, carrying a small bag of supplies. But he wasn't alone.
Walking beside him was a young woman, her steps graceful, her eyes scanning the shelves with quiet curiosity. She had the air of someone confident yet refined, her posture upright but not arrogant.
Axamu blinked, tilting his head. "Boss, who is she…?"
The old man chuckled, setting the bag down behind the counter. "Ah, this here is my daughter. She just came back after finishing university. Starting today, she'll be helping me out with the shop—managing the paperwork, numbers, that sort of thing."
The girl gave a polite smile and bowed slightly. "Nice to meet you. My father mentioned you've been working here for the past few months. Thank you for helping out."
Axamu straightened quickly, caught off guard, but returned the gesture with sincerity. "Ah—yes! Nice to meet you too. I'm Axamu Riya. I'm… still learning a lot, but I'll do my best."
For a moment, their eyes met, and Axamu felt a strange flicker in his chest—a mix of nerves and something unfamiliar. He quickly looked away, scratching the back of his head.
The boss laughed warmly, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Good, good. From now on, the two of you will be working together to keep this place running strong. I can't keep doing everything myself forever, after all."
Axamu nodded, trying to hide the sudden storm of thoughts inside him. So this is the boss's daughter… She's going to be around a lot now.
He forced a smile, bowing again politely. "I'll look forward to working with you."
She returned the bow, her voice calm but warm. "Same here."
And for the first time, Axamu felt a new thread of change tugging at his quiet, fragile normal life.
---
The night settled softly over the shop. After a long day of helping customers, sharing dinner with the boss and his daughter, and finishing the cleanup, Axamu retreated upstairs to the small room that had become his refuge.
He lay back on the futon, staring at the ceiling as the faint hum of the city drifted through the window. His body was tired, but his mind refused to sleep right away.
"Boss's daughter, huh…" he muttered quietly, turning on his side. "I didn't even know he had one…"
A pause. His lips curled into a faint, weary smile.
"…Anyway. Let's sleep."
His eyes shut, and the peace of slumber began to pull him under—
Until a sharp flicker lit the darkness.
[SYSTEM WINDOW]
CONGRATULATION! You won the battle. Please choose your reward.
But the window stuttered. Lines of static ran across it, the letters breaking apart.
C--ho-ose--y--our-f--at-e
The words glitched violently, warped into something alien, then collapsed. The window shattered into digital fragments and disappeared as though it had never been there.
Silence returned.
And Axamu slept on, unaware of the shadow that was already rewriting his path.