The boardroom at the WBBA National Headquarters was a picture of complete and utter defeat.
Chairman Shinoda sat at the head of the long mahogany table, massaging his temples with both hands. The giant digital screen behind him wasn't showing analytical data or tournament brackets. It was displaying a trending social media feed.
*#DarkPrinceOfTokyo* was the number one hashtag in the country.
Right below it was a shaky, zoomed-in video of Ryu O'Hara completely ignoring Zac the Sunrise, followed by a clip of the silver-haired boy vaulting over a security barricade to escape a mob of screaming teenage girls.
"Two," Shinoda said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "He broke two of the Supreme Four in forty-eight hours."
The junior executive standing near the screen cleared his throat nervously. "Sir, it's worse than that. The footage from the Mega-Mall is entirely viral. Zac the Sunrise's management team is demanding we ban O'Hara for unsportsmanlike conduct. But... our PR department is saying the exact opposite."
Shinoda looked up, his thick mustache twitching. "Explain."
"The fans love him," the executive swallowed hard. "They love the contrast. Zac is loud and flashy, and O'Hara just stood there and completely dismantled him without changing his facial expression. They're calling him the 'Dark Prince.' If we enforce the team-only rule and lock him out of Nationals now, the public backlash will be catastrophic. They want to see him fight."
Another board member slammed his fist on the table. "We can't just throw away the rulebook! The National Tournament requires a five-man team! It's the foundation of our league!"
"And what happens when the foundation is fundamentally flawed?" Shinoda interrupted, his sharp eyes silencing the room. He looked at the paused image of Ryu's dark violet Beyblade resting in the center of the stadium.
"He didn't just beat Xander and Zac. He humiliated them on their own turf," Shinoda continued, leaning back in his leather chair. "He proved that our team-based entry requirement is keeping the strongest blader in the country out of the bracket. We are not going to ban him. We are going to monetize him."
Shinoda pointed at the executive. "Draft an official invitation. Bypass the regional team qualifiers entirely. We are creating a special 'Wild Card' seed for the individual National bracket. He doesn't need a team. He has earned the right to stand alone at the summit."
"But sir," the executive hesitated. "If he enters the individual tournament and wins... there won't be a Supreme Four anymore."
Shinoda's eyes narrowed. "Then let there be a Supreme Five. Send the letter."
---
Shu Kurenai stood in front of the plastic stadium, his white hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving, but his red eyes were entirely focused. Both of his hands were wrapped in athletic tape to prevent his skin from blistering under the intense friction of the launcher grip.
He didn't wipe his face. He just locked Storm Spriggan back onto the prongs.
He widened his stance, dropping his hips low. It was the exact, grounded posture Ryu had used. Shu pulled his arm back, his muscles coiling tight.
"Go Shoot!"
Spriggan hit the stadium with a deafening *crack*, tearing around the basin so fast it left a solid red afterimage. It wasn't just precise anymore. It was heavy. It carried a brutal, undeniable weight.
Shu watched the crimson Beyblade tear the plastic.
He had watched the viral video of Ryu crushing Xander. He had watched Ryu humiliate Zac. The silver-haired boy wasn't just sitting in the center anymore.
*Precision isn't enough to pierce solid iron,* Shu thought, his jaw clenching as he recalled the sheer, immovable pressure of Eclipse Nidhogg pressing down on him. *If I hit him with the same force I used in the District Finals, I will lose again.*
Shu stepped forward, retrieving Spriggan as it finally spun out. His muscles ached, but he didn't care. He locked the Bey back onto the launcher.
"Again," Shu whispered to the empty room.
---
On the other side of the city, Lui Shirasagijo was currently laughing so hard he was practically gasping for air.
He was sitting on a metal bench in his private training facility, holding a tablet. On the screen, Zac the Sunrise was on his knees, his pristine white cape pooling around him while the pieces of Zillion Zeus rained down from the stage lights.
"Pathetic," Lui sneered, tossing the tablet onto the bench. He stood up, cracking his neck. "Zac cares more about his hair than his launch angle. He deserved to get crushed."
Lui walked over to the massive, reinforced stadium in the center of the room. He pulled Lost Longinus from his pocket. The jagged, left-spinning dragon layer gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Lui wasn't surprised by Ryu's victories. He had expected them. But seeing the Anvil actually move, seeing him intentionally dismantle the pillars of the WBBA, sent a surge of pure, unfiltered adrenaline straight into Lui's veins.
For three years, Lui had thrown himself at that immovable wall on the island. He had lost every single time. But back then, Ryu was just a machine. He didn't care about winning.
Now, Ryu was fighting with intent.
"Don't get soft on me, O'Hara," Lui grinned, his jagged teeth baring in a feral, highly competitive snarl. He locked Longinus onto his launcher and ripped the cord with a violent, full-body snap.
The white dragon hit the stadium like a bomb going off, completely shattering the quiet of the gym.
"Keep climbing," Lui commanded the empty room, watching his Bey tear the basin apart. "Break the rest of them. And when you finally reach the top... I'm going to rip you right back down."
---
The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the luxury hotel suite.
Ryu O'Hara stood on the balcony, leaning against the glass railing, looking out over the sprawling, chaotic grid of Tokyo. The city was already awake, filled with millions of overlapping people , moving cars, and constant noise.
In his left hand, he held a thick, matte black envelope. It was sealed with gold wax bearing the official crest of the WBBA.
It had been slipped under his door at 6:00 AM.
Ryu didn't need to open it to know what it was. The WBBA had folded. The team requirement had been bypassed. He had secured his entry into the National bracket entirely on his own terms.
He looked down at Eclipse Nidhogg resting in his right hand.
He thought about the private island. He had spent his entire life in a sterile, perfect environment. The temperature was always controlled. The stadiums were always clean. The silence was absolute. He had built Nidhogg in that silence, crafting a flawless defense to match the emptiness of his surroundings.
He had believed that staying isolated was the only way to preserve his strength .
Ryu turned the dark violet Beyblade over in his palm, his thumb brushing over the single, deep scratch Valt had left on the white paint.
He looked back out at the loud, messy, structurally imperfect city.
"The island was a tomb," Ryu said quietly, his voice carrying a sudden, absolute clarity.
He had spent years acting like a ghost, simply waiting for someone to prove him wrong. But in the last week, he had dropped his stance, engaged his core, and actively fought to break the people standing in front of him. He had felt his shoulder ache. He had felt his pulse spike.
He wasn't empty anymore.
Ryu broke the gold wax seal on the envelope and pulled out the crisp, heavy cardstock. It was an official VIP competitor pass for the National Individual Tournament.
He stared at the pass, his pink and grey eyes narrowing with sharp focus.
He was going to step onto the biggest stage in the country. He was going to face Shu, Lui, and whatever other anomalies the bracket threw at him. And he was going to dismantle them all.
*Bang. Bang. Bang.*
Ryu closed his eyes. He let out a slow, measured sigh. The profound moment of personal reflection was officially over.
He walked back into the suite, crossed the pristine carpet, and opened the door.
Valt Aoi was standing in the hallway, completely out of breath, holding a crumpled magazine in his hand. Rantaro was leaning against the doorframe, looking entirely exhausted. Daigo and Ken were standing slightly behind them, looking incredibly amused.
"Ryu!" Valt gasped, shoving the magazine directly into Ryu's face. "Look! You made the cover!"
Ryu leaned back slightly to avoid the paper hitting his nose. He looked at the magazine. It was a popular teen gossip publication. The cover featured a massive, incredibly blurry photo of Ryu vaulting over the stage barricade at the Mega-Mall, his silver hair flying behind him.
The headline, printed in bold, glittering pink letters, read: *THE DARK PRINCE STRIKES! TOKYO'S MYSTERY BLADER STEALS THE SUN'S SPOTLIGHT!*
Ryu stared at the headline. He stared at the blurry photo.
"I am going to purchase this publication," Ryu said, his voice entirely flat, "and I am going to burn the printing press to the ground."
Rantaro burst out laughing, completely failing to hold it together. "Dude, it's everywhere! There are girls at our school who started a fanclub for you! They made buttons!"
Ryu's expression didn't change, but his eyes conveyed a deep, existential dread. "Buttons."
"Yeah!" Valt cheered, entirely missing Ryu's internal crisis. "But that doesn't matter right now! Check your mail! Did the WBBA send you anything?! They announced the National brackets this morning, but they said there was a surprise wild card entry!"
Ryu looked at Valt's glowing, eager face. He looked at the rest of the BeyClub. They weren't jealous that he had bypassed the team qualifiers. They were genuinely rooting for him.
Ryu reached into his pocket and pulled out the crisp, black VIP pass with the gold WBBA crest. He held it up.
Valt gasped so loudly he actually choked on his own saliva. He coughed violently, grabbing Rantaro's arm. "Honcho! Look! He got it! He's in!"
"I see it, Valt, stop shaking me," Rantaro grinned, looking at the pass. He gave Ryu a respectful nod. "Well, I guess crashing the Supreme Four's private training actually works. Who knew?"
Daigo adjusted his bandana. "Congratulations, Ryu. You forced their hand."
Ken raised his left hand. Besu smiled warmly. "We're so proud of you! We'll be cheering for you in the stands!"
Ryu looked at the pass, then at the BeyClub. He slipped the card back into his jacket pocket.
"I do not require cheering," Ryu stated smoothly, stepping out into the hallway and pulling his hotel door shut behind him. "But your presence is acceptable ."
Valt beamed, falling into step beside him as they walked toward the elevator. "So what are we doing today?! Nationals don't start for another two weeks! Do you want to practice? Do you want to go to the park?"
Ryu pushed the elevator button. He looked straight ahead at the polished metal doors.
"We are going to find a sporting goods store," Ryu replied.
Rantaro raised an eyebrow. "A sporting goods store? Why? Did your launcher break?"
"My launcher is structurally sound," Ryu said. The elevator doors slid open. He stepped inside, turning to face the group.
"However," Ryu continued, his tone entirely deadpan. "I require a heavily tinted visor, a hat, and a mask to obscure my facial features. If a single person calls me 'Dark Prince' in public, I will hold you all personally responsible."
Valt burst out laughing, dragging the rest of the group into the elevator.
As the doors slid shut, Ryu let out a quiet breath. The quiet of the island was gone forever. He was a WBBA wild card, he was apparently a teen idol, and he was stuck in an elevator with the loudest bladers in Tokyo.
Ryu closed his eyes.
It is loud, he thought, the faint ghost of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. But it is definitely not boring.
.....
Sorry boys and girls , today you would have to manage with one chapter only due to some technical issues . But i promise to publish three chaps tommorow to make it up , hope you understand . ( and thanks for all of your love and support you have shown);-);-);-);-)