The alarm went off at seven.
Ryo opened his eyes to the quiet of his small apartment. Morning light slipped through the blinds, cutting across the desk where Drago's case rested. The faint glint of red and gold reflected on the wall — steady, familiar.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his neck. The city outside was just waking up. Voices, bicycle bells, and the distant hum of traffic floated through the window.
His gaze lingered on the Bey resting in its case.
"Another day," he said softly.
A knock came from the door.
"Ryo! You up yet?"
That voice was unmistakable.
When he opened the door, Valt stood there with his backpack half open, launcher hanging from his belt. "Come on, we're gonna be late! It's tournament day!"
Ryo blinked once. "You're too loud for this early."
Valt laughed. "You're too calm for this day!"
They walked down the narrow street together, the morning air still cool. The town buzzed lightly with weekend energy — shopkeepers opening doors, kids running past holding Bey cases.
Valt stretched his arms. "Man, this weather's perfect for battling. I barely slept!"
"That explains the noise," Ryo said.
"Hey! I was practicing launches, not just shouting."
"You do both."
Valt grinned. "And I win doing it!"
They turned a corner where the academy complex rose ahead, the arena banners fluttering in the wind. Shu was already waiting near the entrance, uniform neat, expression calm as ever.
"You're early," Ryo said.
"I prefer quiet before crowds," Shu replied.
"Too late for that," Valt said, pointing toward the arena gates where bladers were already gathering.
Shu gave a faint sigh but smiled slightly. "Figures."
They walked together through the main plaza. Food stalls and fan booths were setting up for the day. The air vibrated with chatter and the occasional sound of a Bey bursting in one of the practice zones.
Valt's eyes darted everywhere. "It's even bigger than yesterday! The top 32 battles are going to be wild."
Ryo's attention was steadier. He glanced at the large digital board that displayed the day's schedule. Shu's name was near the top of the list — his match came first. Ryo's followed two slots later.
"You'll go before me," Ryo said.
Shu nodded. "Watch closely. Wakiya's defense works differently than most think."
Valt leaned forward. "You two really talk like old men sometimes."
Ryo tilted his head. "You sound like one before every match."
Shu gave a short breath of laughter — rare, quiet, but real.
They moved toward the locker area where participants prepared for their rounds. The muffled sound of the crowd filled the air from beyond the doors, the low roar of excitement rising and falling like waves.
Ryo paused at his station, setting Drago's case down on the bench. He opened it once, just enough to see the gold-red frame inside.
The reflection caught the fluorescent light above — sharp, alive.
He didn't need to speak to it. He didn't need to command.
They understood each other now.
"Let's see if the rhythm's still there," he whispered.
He closed the case with a quiet click as the speakers above announced the first battle of the day.
Next up, Shu Kurenai versus Ren Ito!"
Ryo stood by the railing above the stadium, eyes fixed on the floor below. Shu stepped to his mark with quiet precision, posture steady and calm. His opponent, Ren, bounced on his heels, confidence overflowing.
"Three, two, one, let it rip!"
Both Beys struck the stadium at once. Spryzen took the center immediately, holding a low, stable line. Ren's Bey circled wide, building speed for a sharp impact.
Ryo watched without blinking. Spryzen adjusted its angle just slightly, a near-invisible shift. When the collision came, it didn't clash—it slipped. Shu redirected the force and spun through it, cutting back into the center.
A single hit followed.
Ren's Bey exploded apart.
"Burst finish! Winner: Shu Kurenai!"
The crowd roared a second late, almost caught off guard by how fast it ended.
Ryo leaned forward slightly. It wasn't just power. Shu had barely moved, but every motion counted.
Valt appeared beside him, wide-eyed. "One hit. He's unreal."
Ryo nodded. "He doesn't waste anything."
Down below, Shu retrieved Spryzen and looked up for a moment. Their eyes met briefly. No nod needed—just quiet understanding.
The stage crew cleared the fragments from the stadium. The screen above flickered, shifting names and brackets until it stopped.
Round Three: Ryo Akira vs Wakiya Murasaki
Valt gave a low whistle. "Wakiya's a wall. Wild Wyvron doesn't go down easy."
"Then I'll find the crack," Ryo said.
Shu walked up the stairs, case in hand. "Wakiya waits. He reads your path before you move. Keep your first line tight, then change immediately."
Ryo looked back at the stadium once more. "Got it."
Shu gave a faint smile. "Make it count."
Ryo turned toward the prep hall. His hand brushed against Drago's case, the metal warm from the lights above.
The noise of the crowd faded into a single rhythm in his head.
Time to fight.
The noise inside the BeyMall arena felt different now. It did not crash like a wave. It climbed, layer by layer, until the whole place vibrated with a steady pressure. People leaned over railings. Screens hovered above the bowl. Every lens waited for the same moment.
Ryo vs Wakiya lit the board.
Ryo rested Eclipse Drago on the launcher and checked the lock without hurry. He drew one slow breath, then let it go. Across the stadium, Wakiya rolled his wrist and set Wild Wyvron in place with a small smile that said he had already seen the ending.
"Defense wins," Wakiya called. "Remember that when it is over."
Ryo did not answer. He lifted his launcher. Voices from the stands softened into a single hum.
Shu watched with his elbows on the rail, eyes sharp and quiet. Valt stood beside him, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "He has this," Valt whispered, as if saying it too loud could break the balance.
The referee raised a hand.
"Ready."
The hall held its breath.
"Three, two, one, let it rip!"
Launch cords snapped. Wyvron struck the stadium first and slid cleanly to the center, Orbit driver gripping just enough to hold a tight circle. Drago hit a heartbeat later, left spin roaring as it carved a wider loop around the middle ring.
Wakiya did not rush. "Hold it, Wyvron. Make him come to you."
Wyvron stayed in the heart of the bowl, patient and smooth. The round layer flashed at each tilt. It was a calm storm, nothing wasted. Ryo watched the path for two rotations, then lowered his front foot a fraction to set his angle.
"Close the gap," he said under his breath.
Drago drifted inward, line tightening, pace building. The first collision came like a hammer on a bell. Metal met plastic. The bowl sent a hard shiver up the platforms. On that single hit, Ignis Claw did what it was built to do. The inner spring compressed, the rubber ring slid outward, and Drago's path shifted from long curves to short, sharp corners. No command. No choice. Only physics.
Wyvron kept center but slid a hand's width up the slope, then settled again. The second clash knocked it higher. The third lifted it almost to the ridge. The driver under Drago squealed as rubber bit harder into the floor.
Wakiya's voice stayed even. "Good. Take the hit. Use it."
Ryo saw it the moment before it happened. Wyvron rose along the slope, not because it lost control, but because it chose to ride the angle. At the highest point it pivoted. Orbit gripped. The whole Bey dropped down the slope, straight at Drago.
"Shield Crash," Wakiya said, low and sure.
The impact was a line through the chest. Drago slid back two marks. The bowl hummed. Ryo did not blink. He tracked the wobble, the recoil, the way the linkspin absorbed stress. Drago's rubber was still out. The grip held. The rotation steadied.
"Stay on him," Ryo said.
They met twice more, quick and heavy, head-on at the center. Wyvron took each hit and rose again, then dove down again, turning Ryo's own force against him. The crowd felt the rhythm and began to clap in time without being told.
Ryo shifted his weight and let his free hand rest flat against the launcher rail. He was not calling for a special move. He was reading distance. He was waiting for the one opening Shield Crash created.
Wyvron rode the slope, turned, and fell. Drago slid a half step to the left. The dive missed pure center. Drago struck from one o'clock instead of twelve. It was a small change, but at that speed a small change was a door.
"Go," Ryo said.
Drago cut across Wyvron's line and struck with the outside of the ring. The contact tipped Wyvron a few degrees off level. The next heartbeat decided it. Drago hit again, not to break, but to move. Wyvron skidded sideways and bounced against the ridge. The third bump was the one that mattered. The round layer could not bite from that angle. Wyvron rolled over the lip and dropped out of the bowl.
"Ring Out Finish. Point to Ryo."
The board flashed. The place erupted. Wakiya stared at the edge of the stadium for a moment, then looked up with a tight smile that did not reach his eyes.
"You angled away from the center," he said. "Clever. It will not happen again."
Ryo lifted Drago. He felt the light vibration through the casing and the way it faded as the spin slowed. No heat. No blaze. Just rhythm. He nodded to himself and set the Bey back in the case for the reset.
In the stands, Valt slapped the rail. "Let's go! First point!"
Shu did not cheer. "He found the side door on Shield Crash," he said quietly. "Wakiya will close it now."
The referee called them to position for the next round. The buzz did not fall this time. It rose. People wanted to know if the defense would break or the fire would fade.
Ryo rolled his shoulders once and set Drago back on the launcher. He looked across the floor. Wakiya met his eyes and gave a small nod that was almost respect, almost warning.
"Second battle. Ready."
"Three, two, one, let it rip!"
The launches were sharper. Wyvron hit the floor with more weight and settled into center line with no drift at all. Drago landed heavy and pulled a wide ellipse around the middle ring before tightening one step at a time.
Wakiya moved first this time. "Shield Launch."
Wyvron left the center cleanly and rode the outer rim, not to run, but to build speed. Orbit shrugged off the small shakes. The frame bobbed and then steadied. Ryo followed the loop. He saw the places where Shield Crash could begin and the places where it could not. He chose the one that gave him a fraction more time.
"Approach late," he said. "No direct line."
Drago came in on a shallow angle and clipped Wyvron once to test balance. The contact was sharp and short. Ignis Claw was already out from the first tap. Rubber scraped. Drago's circle tightened to a hook. Wyvron did not wobble. It finished the loop and slid back to the bowl's heart as if pulled by a string.
Wakiya's tone carried. "Now. Shield Crash."
Wyvron took Drago's next approach on purpose. The collision sent it up the slope again. It climbed higher this time. At the top it paused for less than a blink and then fell. The dive was straight and fast. Head-on.
They hit at the center. The sound cracked the air. Drago shot back half a meter and caught itself on pure grip. Orbit carried Wyvron through the point of impact and into a second dip. It was not done. The technique fed itself. Up the slope. Down again. Another head-on. The force pressed the breath from the front rows.
Ryo did not flinch. He watched the small roll around Drago's driver, the way the rubber flexed under load. He knew what the mechanism would do before it did it. Not because he commanded it, but because he had felt it a thousand times in empty practice halls. When rotation dropped past a line, the compression loosened and rubber drew inward to spare speed. The change always came between one impact and the next.
It came now.
The rubber ring retracted halfway. Friction fell. Drago slid forward with a sudden jump in speed, running light on the tip for a heartbeat before it settled.
Ryo's voice was quiet. "Take it and give it back."
He did not say Reverse Inferno. He did not need the name. Drago's left spin folded the head-on force into a curve. The Bey twisted across Wyvron's face instead of through it, pulling the defense off its line. Wyvron reached the slope again, but not by choice.
Wakiya saw the shift. He tried to reset. "Center, Wyvron. Hold the middle."
Ryo moved first. "Now."
Drago cut inside the arc. The contact sent Wyvron a quarter turn the wrong way. The defense lost rhythm. Ryo felt the opening as a stillness in his chest.
"Dragon Crash."
Drago dropped a level and accelerated. The path looked like a spiral drawn by a steady hand. The hit landed under Wyvron's center of mass and lifted. The round frame shot up, stalled, and tore apart in the air. Layer, disc, and driver rained to the floor.
For one second no one spoke. The sound was only plastic rolling to a stop. Then the board lit and the crowd broke into one sound that filled the hall.
"Burst Finish. Winner, Ryo. Final score two to zero."
Ryo let out a long breath he had not noticed he was holding. He crouched and picked Drago from the bowl with both hands, respectful, like lifting a tool that had done exactly what it was built to do.
Across from him, Wakiya gathered the pieces of Wyvron. He stared at the driver, at the smooth Orbit ball that had carried him through so many battles, and then he turned with a look that was not a smirk anymore.
"You aimed around the center on purpose," he said. "You knew Shield Crash would meet you head-on, so you made it miss the true line. And when I forced it again, you used the dive to speed up."
Ryo met his eyes. "You used my force first. I only returned it."
Wakiya blinked, then nodded once. "You are good. Annoying, but good."
Valt reached the front of the railing and leaned over until Shu pulled him back by the sleeve. "He did it! He actually did it!"
Shu did not stop watching Ryo. His voice was soft. "He kept his calm through the second dive. Most bladers panic there."
Ryo stepped off the platform. The walkway into the service tunnel felt cool after the heat of the lights. The noise fell behind him by degrees. In the shade of the wall he stopped and pressed his thumb along the edge of Drago's case. The metal was faintly warm from the match. Not hot. Not raging. Ready.
He thought of that first morning in this world, of the way the toy he had once held on a couch had become the machine in his hands. He thought of the difference between knowing a show and living the rhythm that show had been made from. The memory was clear, and it steadied him.
Shu's steps sounded on the floor before the voice did. "Good work."
Ryo looked up. "You were right. He waits for the mistake. Shield Crash punishes anyone who tries to win the middle by force."
"And you did not try to," Shu said. "You used the side. Then you used the slope."
Valt jogged up a moment later, out of breath and smiling. "Top sixteen, baby! I knew it. I totally knew it." He paused, then scratched his cheek. "Well, I hoped it. Same thing."
Ryo allowed a small smile. "You are loud."
"Thank you," Valt said, as if it were a compliment. "Who is next? Do you know?"
They reached the end of the tunnel where a digital board cycled through names. The next bracket slid into place. Letters locked one by one.
Top 16: Ryo vs Hayato Renji
Shu glanced at Ryo. "He will not be like Wakiya. He won't wait. He will press you and try to steal tempo."
"Good," Ryo said. "I need both."
Shu tilted his head. "Both what?"
"Walls and storms," Ryo answered. "I want to learn how to move through each."
They walked out into the open corridor where the afternoon light cut long shapes across the floor. The air smelled faintly of metal and dust and the sugar from the food stalls. Ryo stopped under the board and looked at his name for a moment. It did not feel heavy. It felt accurate, like a line drawn where it should be.
He closed the case. The click was clean.
"Let's keep going," he said.
Shu nodded once. Valt bounced on his heels. The crowd behind them cheered for another match that had nothing to do with them yet, and the tournament moved forward like a wheel.
Ryo walked toward the exit and did not look back. He did not need to. Drago's weight in his hand told him enough. The rhythm was still there.
The next test waited. He was ready to take it.