The top floor of the WBBA National Headquarters in Tokyo was completely soundproofed. The glass walls offered a panoramic view of the sprawling city, but right now, none of the executives in the boardroom were looking at the skyline.
They were staring in silence at a massive digital projector screen.
The video playing was low resolution, shot from a shaky cell phone by a dojo student. It showed Xander Shakadera , the giant of the mountains, the immovable pillar of the Supreme Four—unleashing his signature One-Impact.
Then, it showed a dark violet Beyblade stopping the massive sword dead in its tracks, twisting violently, and shattering Xcalibur into three pieces.
The video looped. *Burst.* It looped again. *Burst.* Chairman Shinoda, a stern man with a thick mustache and an impeccably tailored suit, slowly lowered his cup of green tea onto the polished mahogany table. He didn't take his eyes off the screen.
"Play it again," Shinoda commanded, his voice tight.
The junior data analyst standing at the podium swallowed hard, his hand shaking as he clicked the mouse. The video looped a third time.
"Sir," the analyst stammered, wiping sweat from his brow. "This footage was uploaded to a private forum twenty minutes ago. We've already verified the location. It's the Shakadera Dojo. The match was unsanctioned, but the result is definitive. Xander Shakadera was defeated. Cleanly. In two rounds."
A murmur of panicked disbelief rippled across the boardroom.
"Who is he?" one of the board members demanded, pointing a trembling finger at the silver-haired boy on the screen. "How does someone with that much destructive output bypass our entire scouting division? Where did he come from?!"
The analyst rapidly typed on his keyboard, pulling up a deeply buried file. A silhouette appeared on the screen, accompanied by a single name: *Ryu O'Hara*.
"That's the problem, sir," the analyst explained, his voice cracking. "He has no official WBBA league record before the District Qualifiers three days ago. But when I ran his name through the international elite registry... red flags triggered across the board."
Shinoda leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Explain."
"He doesn't fight in public tournaments. He grew up on a privately owned island estate funded by independent researchers," the analyst pulled up a global map, highlighting a tiny, secluded dot off the coast. "For the past three years, international champions have been quietly flying out to that island to test their gear against him. Our contacts at BC Sol in Spain and the European underground circuit both confirmed his existence."
Shinoda's eyes widened. "The international elites know him?"
"They don't just know him, sir. They fear him," the analyst gulped. "They call him a 'monster'. He's the ghost of the private circuit. He just sits in the center of the stadium and breaks whatever hits him. And now... he's officially entered the WBBA bracket."
The boardroom erupted into chaos. Executives were shouting over each other. The National Tournament was built entirely around the untouchable prestige of the Supreme Four. If a completely unknown rookie dismantled them before the broadcast even started, it would turn their multi-million-dollar marketing campaign into a complete joke.
"Quiet!" Shinoda barked, slamming his hand on the table. The room instantly fell silent.
Shinoda stared at the frozen image of Ryu O'Hara putting his dark Beyblade back into his pocket.
"He just won the District Qualifiers. Now he is hunting the Supreme Four on their own turf," Shinoda said, his tone heavy with realization. "He doesn't want to join a team. He is forcing our hand. He is trying to break the pillars so we have no choice but to give him a wild card entry."
"We can't let him do that, sir!" an executive protested. "We must disqualify him for unsanctioned challenges!"
"Disqualify him for what? Blading?" Shinoda shot back, his eyes narrowing. "If we ban a blader for being too strong, we lose all credibility. No. Let him hunt. If the Supreme Four cannot defend their titles in their own backyards, they don't deserve the National stage."
Shinoda stood up, adjusting his tie. "Send a high-priority alert to the remaining members of the Supreme Four. Tell them the Anvil is no longer on his island. He is in Tokyo."
---
Across the city, in a dazzling, neon-lit penthouse suite, the alert was entirely ignored.
Zac the Sunrise, the golden boy of the Beyblade world and the undisputed king of pop, was currently standing in front of a massive, three-way vanity mirror. He was wearing a sequined jacket that reflected the room's ambient lighting like a disco ball.
"No, no, no!" Zac sighed dramatically, throwing his head back and tossing a bright pink feather boa onto the floor. "It's too loud! The sequins clash with the natural radiance of my blonde hair! I need something that whispers elegance, but screams *superstar*!"
His manager, an exhausted-looking man in a grey suit, rushed into the dressing room holding a tablet. "Zac! Zac, we have a massive problem!"
Zac spun around, striking a flawless pose. "The only problem here, my dear manager, is this lighting! It is completely washing out my cheekbones!"
"Forget your cheekbones!" The manager shoved the tablet into Zac's hands. "Look at this! The WBBA just sent an emergency bulletin. Xander Shakadera was crushed today. At his own dojo. By a rookie from Block C!"
Zac paused. He lowered the tablet, his bright blue eyes scanning the shaky video of Xander's defeat.
He watched the dark violet Beyblade shatter the massive red sword. He watched the silver-haired boy stand completely unbothered in the center of the dojo.
Slowly, a glittering, theatrical smile spread across Zac's face.
"A rookie?" Zac laughed, a melodic, highly practiced sound. He tossed the tablet back to his manager. "Oh, no, no, no. That is no rookie. Look at his posture. Look at the absolute lack of stage presence! It's a tragedy!"
"Zac, are you listening?!" the manager panicked. "The WBBA thinks he's targeting the Supreme Four to steal a National spot! He might come after you!"
"Let him come!" Zac spun around, grabbing a pristine white cape from a velvet hanger and throwing it over his shoulders. The cape billowed dramatically. "A dark, silent star trying to eclipse the blinding radiance of the sun? It is the perfect narrative! The fans will absolutely devour it!"
Zac pointed a finger toward the ceiling, his aura flaring with a bright, golden light. "If this 'Anvil' thinks he can just walk into my spotlight, he is sorely mistaken. The stage is mine. And I will make sure his grand debut ends with a standing ovation... for me!"
---
The sun had completely set by the time the local train pulled back into the Beigoma district.
Rantaro Kiyama essentially fell out of the train doors, his legs shaking violently. "Solid ground," he wept dramatically, patting the concrete platform. "I will never take you for granted again."
Valt Aoi skipped right over him, entirely energized despite the grueling mountain hike. "Come on, Honcho! The night is young! We need to strategize!"
Ryu stepped off the train, his hands resting in his jacket pockets. He looked completely immaculate, not a single silver hair out of place. He watched Rantaro attempt to stand up, letting out a very quiet, observant breath.
"Lactic acid buildup," Ryu noted. "Your calf muscles are currently micro-tearing due to unaccustomed vertical strain. You require immediate protein and potassium, or you will not be able to walk tomorrow."
"You... you're a monster," Rantaro groaned, leaning heavily on Daigo. "How are you not tired?!"
"I do not waste energy complaining," Ryu replied smoothly.
Ken's brown puppet, Besu, laughed softly. "Ryu is right! We need to eat! I'm starving!"
"Food!" Valt gasped, as if the concept had just been invented. His eyes widened. "Oh my gosh, you guys have to come to my house! My mom just finished the evening bake! We have the best bread in the entire district, and I am going to eat ten of them!"
Before anyone could object, Valt grabbed Ryu by the sleeve again and took off sprinting down the street.
Ten minutes later, the group stumbled in front of a warm, brightly lit storefront. The sign above the door read *Aoi Bakery*. The smell of fresh yeast, melted butter, and baked sugar wafted out into the cool night air. It was an incredibly comforting scent.
Valt threw the front doors open. "Mom! We're back! And we brought a champion!"
"Valt, please don't yell, the dough is resting!"
A woman with warm brown hair and a kind, energetic face walked out from the back kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. Chiharu Aoi smiled brightly as she saw the group. "Oh! Rantaro, Daigo, Ken! It's so good to see you boys. You look absolutely exhausted. Did Xander make you carry logs again?"
"Worse," Rantaro whimpered, collapsing into a chair near the window. "He made us watch a terrifying display of power ."
Chiharu laughed, completely used to Rantaro's dramatics. Then, her eyes landed on Ryu, who was standing quietly near the door, observing the layout of the pastry display case.
"Oh, my," Chiharu smiled, walking over. "I don't believe we've met! I'm Valt's mom. You must be the new friend Valt hasn't stopped talking about for the last days."
"Mom!" Valt yelped, his face turning entirely red.
Ryu looked away from the display case. He gave a small, highly disciplined bow. "Ryu O'Hara. Thank you for allowing us onto your premises."
Chiharu blinked, clearly charmed by the intense formality. "Well, aren't you just the most polite young man! Valt, you could learn a thing or two from Ryu's posture."
Before Valt could protest, two identical blurs of hair launched themselves from behind the bakery counter.
"Is it him?!"
"Is it the robot guy?!"
Toko and Nika, Valt's younger twin siblings, skidded to a halt directly in front of Ryu. They stared up at him with massive, entirely unblinking eyes.
Ryu froze. He looked down at the two small children. He had absolutely zero data on how to interact with humans under the age of ten.
Nika, the girl in the pink overalls, leaned forward and poked Ryu directly in the knee. "He doesn't feel like metal."
Toko, the boy with the green hat, squinted. "Valt said he doesn't even blink . He has to be a cyborg."
Ryu stared at them. He slowly looked at Valt, his eyes screaming for an intervention.
"Hey, leave him alone!" Valt laughed, pulling the twins back. "He's not a robot! He's just really, really quiet! And he beat Shu and Xander!"
"Whoa," Toko and Nika gasped in unison, looking at Ryu with sudden, blinding awe.
"Alright, alright, give the poor boy some space," Chiharu chuckled, shooing the twins away. "You boys sit down at the table. I'll bring out the unsold Beybread. It's still warm!"
The group piled into a large wooden booth in the corner of the bakery. A moment later, Chiharu set down a massive basket filled with freshly baked bread, shaped vaguely like Beyblades, complete with decorative scoring on top.
Valt instantly grabbed two and shoved one into his mouth. Rantaro aggressively attacked a cheese-filled bun.
Ryu picked up a piece of the bread. He held it up to the light. He squeezed the crust slightly, listening to the crackle. He pulled it apart, observing the steam escaping from the soft interior.
"The gluten is exceptional," Ryu noted quietly. "The crumb is highly uniform. The yeast fermentation was executed with remarkable discipline."
Chiharu, who was wiping down the adjacent counter, stopped and stared at him. A massive, proud smile bloomed on her face. "Why, thank you, Ryu! I knew I liked you! You actually appreciate the craft!"
Ryu took a bite. The flavor was rich, buttery, and incredibly grounding. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. It was significantly better than the hotel food he had been eating for the past week.
"It is good ," Ryu confirmed, taking another bite.
Valt swallowed his mouthful of bread. "See? I told you my mom makes the best food! Okay, now that we've refueled, we need to talk about the plan. We took down Xander. Who's next?"
"There is only one viable target remaining outside of the sanctioned bracket," Ryu said, setting his half-eaten bread on a napkin. "Zac the Sunrise. But tracking him will be significantly more difficult than locating a mountain dojo. He is highly mobile."
"Zac?!" Nika squealed from behind the counter, suddenly popping her head up. "Are you talking about Zac the Sunrise?!"
Ryu looked over. "Yes. Do you have data on his whereabouts?"
Nika practically vibrated. She ducked down and reappeared three seconds later, slamming a massive, glossy teen idol magazine onto the table directly in front of Ryu. The cover featured Zac striking a dazzling pose, surrounded by sparkles, with the headline: *THE SUN SHINES ON TOKYO!*
"He's having a live fan-meet and concert tomorrow afternoon!" Nika cheered, pointing at a brightly colored advertisement on the back page. "It's at the grand plaza of the Tokyo Mega-Mall! He's going to be performing his new single, and then accepting challenges from the audience!"
Rantaro groaned, resting his head on the table. "A fan-meet? Do you have any idea how many screaming girls are going to be there? We won't even be able to get within a hundred feet of the stage."
Daigo nodded in agreement. "Security for the Supreme Four is incredibly tight in public. If you try to challenge him, they'll just throw you out."
Ryu pulled the magazine closer. He stared at the picture of Zac's sparkling face. The sheer arrogance radiating from the photograph was almost tangible. Zac wasn't just a blade, he was an entertainer who thrived on undivided attention.
"He accepts challenges from the audience," Ryu noted, tapping the advertisement.
"Yeah, but those are rigged," Rantaro sighed. "They pick little kids or obvious rookies so Zac can look cool and put on a show without actually sweating."
"A show requires a script," Ryu said quietly. He looked up, his pink and grey eyes locking onto Valt. "If something introduces itself that contradicts the script, the performer is forced to improvise."
Valt grinned, catching the drift instantly. "So... we crash the stage?"
"We do not crash," Ryu corrected smoothly, sliding the magazine back to Nika. "We simply purchase a front-row ticket, politely wait our turn, and then dismantle his equipment in front of five thousand of his most dedicated fans."
Ken's blue puppet barked loudly. "That is so incredibly mean! I love it!"
"It's settled then!" Valt cheered, raising his piece of bread into the air like a sword. "Tomorrow, we take down the Sun!"
Ryu picked up his Beybread, taking a final, quiet bite. The bakery was warm. The noise of Valt's family was chaotic, but it lacked the pressure of the island.
He looked at the small, dark violet Beyblade resting on the table next to his napkin.
*Two pillars down,* Ryu thought, the familiar, sharp chill of anticipation settling in his chest. *Tomorrow, the spotlight goes dark.*
.....
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