The squeak of rubber soles against the polished hardwood floor of the BC Sol training gym was constant. It had been going on for three hours straight.
"Again!" Valt Aoi shouted, his voice hoarse.
He ripped his launcher cord. God Valkyrie hit the stadium, accelerated down the slope, and slammed into the automated training dummy spinning in the center. The blue polycarbonate layer flashed, but the impact angle was slightly off. Valkyrie rebounded too hard, skidded up the stadium wall, and flew out, clattering loudly against the gym floor.
Valt let out a frustrated groan, dropping to his knees to retrieve his Bey. His breathing was heavy, and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat.
Sitting on the bleachers a few feet away, Silas Karlisle loudly popped a bubble of pink gum.
"You're dropping your right shoulder on the follow-through," Silas scoffed, not even looking up from his phone. "Your entry trajectory is too shallow. The new layer has a spring-loaded bound attack, but if you don't hit the target dead-center, the spring just pushes you backward instead of transferring the energy. Rookie, You're going to embarrass us tomorrow."
"I just need to find the sweet spot!" Valt argued, standing up and wiping his face with the back of his arm. "Valkyrie is heavier now! I'm still adjusting to the weight distribution!"
"Adjust faster," Silas muttered, standing up and stretching. "I'm not carrying dead weight in the opening league match. Try not to trip over your own feet on national television."
Silas turned and walked out of the gym, the heavy doors swinging shut behind him.
Valt frowned, looking down at Valkyrie. He knew Silas was right about the shoulder drop. He was overcompensating because of the sheer torque required to launch the newly upgraded God Layer. He locked the Bey back onto his launcher, his grip slipping slightly.
"Silas lacks tact, but his mechanical assessment isn't entirely wrong."
Valt turned around. Sasha Guten was walking toward him, carrying a clipboard and a small medical kit. Her short blue hair was neatly pinned back, and her expression was strictly professional, though the harsh edge she usually kept up was slightly softened.
"I know," Valt sighed, his shoulders dropping. "The bound layer compresses when it hits, but it feels like it's pushing me away instead of pushing the opponent. I can't get it to bite."
Sasha didn't say anything immediately. She walked right up to Valt and reached out, gently but firmly grabbing his right wrist.
Valt blinked, surprised.
Sasha turned his hand over. The palm of Valt's hand was bright red, completely raw, with two fresh blisters forming at the base of his fingers from the intense friction of the launcher grip. He had been pulling the heavy string launcher non-stop since breakfast.
Sasha frowned, her blue eyes narrowing in disapproval. "You're gripping too tightly because your hands are sweating, which is throwing off your release timing. You can't execute a clean bound attack if you're subconsciously flinching from the burn."
"It doesn't hurt that much!" Valt protested quickly, trying to pull his hand back.
Sasha didn't let go. She opened the small medical kit with her free hand, pulling out a roll of white athletic tape.
"Sit down on the stadium rim," Sasha ordered. It wasn't a request.
Valt awkwardly sat down, entirely unused to this kind of quiet, meticulous attention. At Beigoma, he and Rantaro just slapped bandages on things and kept yelling.
Sasha knelt slightly, pulling the tape tight. She wrapped it carefully around his palm and between his fingers, securing the raw skin without restricting his joint mobility. Her movements were precise and incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to her usually stern demeanor.
Valt watched her work. The gym was quiet, the frantic energy of his training temporarily grounded by her focus.
"You don't have to carry the whole team on your first day, Valt," Sasha said quietly, her eyes focused on the tape. "Free is our captain. Silas is a veteran. You just have to hold your ground."
"I'm not trying to carry the team," Valt replied softly, looking down at his taped hand. "I just... I have to get stronger. There are people waiting for me at the top. If I stall out here, I'll never catch up to them."
Sasha finished the wrap, cutting the tape with a small pair of scissors. She looked up, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones. For a second, the strict BC Sol analyst faded, replaced by genuine empathy.
"The Anvil?" she asked softly.
Valt nodded, a small, fierce smile returning to his face. "Yeah. Ryu. And Shu, too. They're monsters. But they're my friends. I promised Ryu I'd meet him at the summit. I can't do that if I can't even master my own Beyblade."
Sasha looked at the sheer, unfiltered determination in Valt's expression. It wasn't the arrogant pride she was used to dealing with in the European leagues. It was incredibly pure.
She quickly stood up, clearing her throat and reverting back to her strict posture.
"Well," Sasha said, tapping the clipboard against her side. "The tape will solve the friction issue. As for your shoulder drop, keep your elbow tucked an inch closer to your ribs on the pull. It will force the trajectory downward. Now go get some sleep. The bus leaves for the stadium at 8:00 AM sharp."
"Got it! Thanks, Sasha!" Valt beamed, jumping up and flexing his newly wrapped hand. It felt perfect.
Sasha turned and walked toward the gym doors, a very small, hidden smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "Don't oversleep, rookie."
---
The European League opening day was an entirely different beast than the Japanese Nationals.
The stadium in Madrid was a massive, open-air coliseum. . Entire sections of the stands were painted in team colors, waving massive flags and blowing air horns. The atmosphere was a chaotic, high-stakes festival.
Valt stepped out of the competitor tunnel alongside the BC Sol team.
"Whoa," Valt breathed, staring up at the towering bleachers.
"Keep walking, you're blocking the tunnel," Silas shoved past him, entirely unbothered by the noise.
Free De La Hoya trailed behind them, his hands in his pockets, looking like he had just woken up from a nap. He didn't even look at the crowd.
On the opposite side of the stage stood Top Wand, a highly disciplined German team known for their heavily armored defense types. Their captain, a towering, muscular teenager named Heinrich, glared across the basin.
"Welcome to the European League!" the stadium announcer's voice boomed in three different languages before switching to English. "The opening match features the returning favorites, BC Sol, against the iron wall of Top Wand!"
Trad Vasquez stood at the edge of the team bench, pushing his glasses up his nose. He looked at his tablet.
"First match," Trad announced. "Valt. You're up."
Valt froze. "Me?! First?!"
"They're sending out Heinrich to secure an early psychological victory," Kristina explained from the bench, her arms crossed. "He uses an incredibly heavy defense type. Free could beat him, but we need to save Free for the tie-breakers. You have the highest explosive output on the team right now. Break his wall, Valt."
"Right!" Valt cheered. He slapped both of his cheeks, hyped himself up, and sprinted toward the center stage.
He was so excited, he entirely forgot to check his footing.
Valt's toe caught the very edge of the raised stadium platform. He pitched forward, letting out a loud yelp, and completely face-planted onto the polished stage floor, sliding a solid three feet before coming to a halt.
The stadium went dead silent.
Then, fifty thousand people simultaneously burst into laughter.
On the BC Sol bench, Silas aggressively facepalmed. "I told him. I literally told him yesterday not to trip on national television."
Sasha let out a long, exhausted sigh, though she was hiding a smirk behind her hand. Even Free cracked one eye open, mildly amused.
Valt scrambled to his feet, his face entirely bright red. He frantically dusted off his jacket, giving the crowd two massive thumbs-ups as if he had planned the entrance.
Heinrich stood at the stadium rim, looking entirely unimpressed. The towering German blader locked a massive, heavily armored grey Beyblade onto his launcher.
"You are a clown," Heinrich stated, his voice deep and entirely devoid of humor. "BC Sol must be desperate to recruit a court jester. My Guardian Leviathan will crush you in a single rotation."
Valt stopped laughing. He stepped up to the basin. The embarrassment vanished in a split second, replaced by the fierce, burning focus that had carried him through the WBBA Nationals. He looked at his right hand. The white athletic tape Sasha had wrapped was secure. His grip was perfect.
"I'm not a clown," Valt said, his brown eyes locking onto Heinrich. He pulled God Valkyrie from his pocket and locked it onto his launcher. "And I'm not desperate. I'm here to win."
The referee stepped forward. "First Battle! Ready... Set!"
"Three!" Heinrich roared.
"Two!" Valt yelled, his blue aura flaring to life, the spectral knight manifesting above him.
"One!"
"Go Shoot!"
Heinrich pulled his ripcord with a heavy, grunt. Guardian Leviathan hit the absolute dead center of the stadium. It didn't move an inch. Heavy metal ball bearings in its driver clicked into place, anchoring it to the floor like a concrete pillar.
Valt ripped his string launcher. He remembered Sasha's advice. *Keep your elbow tucked.*
God Valkyrie hit the upper slope. The trajectory was steeper, faster, and infinitely more controlled than it had been in the training gym.
"Tear down the wall!" Valt roared. "Rush Shoot!"
Valkyrie banked sharply, diving straight into the center.
"Absorb it, Leviathan!" Heinrich commanded, crossing his massive arms.
Valkyrie slammed into the grey defense type. The collision sent a shower of sparks into the air, but Leviathan didn't budge. The sheer mass of the German Beyblade entirely absorbed the impact.
But Valkyrie didn't bounce away.
The blue polycarbonate layer of God Valkyrie featured a unique, spring-loaded upper half. As it pushed against Leviathan's immovable mass, the entire top half of Valkyrie's layer physically compressed backward, the internal spring coiling tightly under the extreme pressure.
Heinrich's eyes widened. "What is that layer doing?!"
Valt grinned, thrusting his taped fist forward.
"It's biting back!" Valt screamed. "Bound Attack!"
The compressed spring inside Valkyrie hit its maximum tension. It violently snapped back to its original position.
The energy acted as a point-blank, secondary explosion. The bound layer slammed forward while the Bey was still engaged in the clash. It essentially delivered a double-impact in the span of a millisecond.
The sheer, sudden burst of overlapping force completely shattered Leviathan's perfect anchor.
*CLACK.*
The heavy grey Beyblade was violently dislodged from the center groove. It skidded backward, entirely off balance, the metal ball bearings in its driver grinding horribly against the slope.
"No!" Heinrich yelled, losing his composure completely. "Recover!"
"Don't give him the chance!" Valt ordered, his aura burning blindingly bright.
Valkyrie used the recoil from the Bound Attack to ride the upper rim for a split second before diving back down like a guided missile. It hit Leviathan directly on its exposed, wobbling axis.
*BURST.*
The heavy grey defense type exploded violently, pieces of polycarbonate and metal scattering across the European stage.
The stadium crowd, who had been laughing at Valt thirty seconds ago, completely lost their minds. The roar was deafening. The rookie had just one-shot the German iron wall.
"B-Burst Finish!" the referee shouted over the noise. "Two points to Valt Aoi! BC Sol takes the first match!"
Valt threw his arms in the air, jumping up and down. He ran back to the team bench, practically tackling a completely unprepared Silas into a hug before Silas aggressively shoved him off.
"Get off me, rookie!" Silas yelled, adjusting his suspenders, though a very faint, begrudging smirk crossed his face. "Your entry angle was still a millimeter off. But the Bound Attack was... acceptable."
Sasha handed Valt his water bottle, her blue eyes shining with genuine pride. "You kept your elbow tucked. Good job, Valt."
"Thanks to your tape!" Valt beamed, holding up his wrapped hand.
Free, still sitting on the bench, cracked an eye open. He looked at the shattered pieces of Leviathan being swept off the stage. The explosive output Valt had just demonstrated was entirely different from the Japanese league. The boy was adapting to the heavy impacts of the world stage at a terrifying rate.
*The Anvil is rubbing off on you,* Free thought, closing his eye again with a quiet hum.
---
A world away, the sun had already set over the Pacific Ocean.
The subterranean laboratory of the O'Hara private island was bathed in harsh, red emergency lighting.
Ryu stood at the edge of his custom-built, reinforced titanium testing stadium. He wasn't wearing his jacket, just a dark, sweat-soaked tank top.
Inside the titanium basin, Abyss Nidhogg was spinning.
It wasn't a clean, silent spin. The dark violet Beyblade was emitting a terrifying, high-pitched mechanical shriek as it tore around the metal floor. The white, jagged outer ring was locked firmly in place, exposing the dual dragon jaws of the inner core.
In the center of the stadium, a heavy, automated steel testing block—weighing roughly fifty pounds was spinning on a motorized axis. It was designed to simulate the defensive mass of ten standard Beyblades combined.
Ryu's pink and grey eyes were entirely feral, burning with the awakened resonance.
"Devour," Ryu commanded, his voice a low, heavy rumble that vibrated against the concrete walls.
Nidhogg slammed into the spinning metal and locked its jagged polycarbonate jaws directly into the steel grooves. The dual-spin driver gripped the titanium floor, completely anchoring the Bey against the massive weight of the testing rig.
It was apocalyptic.
A blinding fountain of white-hot sparks erupted from the center of the basin, illuminating the dark lab. The automated steel block began to physically groan under the catastrophic pressure. Nidhogg was tearing the metal apart.
With a final, horrific screech of failing machinery, the motorized axis of the steel block snapped entirely.
The fifty-pound block was violently thrown against the titanium wall of the stadium, leaving a massive dent in the metal before clattering to the floor.
Abyss Nidhogg spun in the center of the wreckage, entirely unbothered, its dark violet aura pulsing with heavy, satisfied dominance.
Ryu stood up straight, wiping a drop of sweat from his temple. His chest heaved slightly. The power of the new God Layer was absolute. The lock mechanism was flawless.
He walked over to a nearby workbench and picked up a towel.
Above the workbench, a large, flat-screen monitor was silently playing a live global feed of the European League opening day.
Ryu wiped his face, tossing the towel aside. He looked up at the screen.
The broadcast was currently showing a slow-motion replay of Valt's match. It showed the exact moment God Valkyrie's bound layer compressed and violently snapped back, completely shattering the massive German defense type. It then cut to a shot of Valt on the BC Sol bench, laughing and holding up his tape-wrapped hand while Silas yelled at him.
Ryu stared at the screen. He watched Valt's explosive evolution. He saw the sheer, unfiltered joy radiating from the boy who had forced him out of his sterile, tomb.
The heavy, dark resonance of Nidhogg thrummed warmly against his mind. The island felt quiet again.
Ryu's lips pulled upward into a slow, sharp smirk.
He walked back to the titanium stadium and picked up the scalding hot, dark violet Beyblade.
"The island is no longer sufficient," Ryu murmured to the quiet lab, his eyes locked onto the screen where the BC Sol logo flashed brightly.
He slipped Nidhogg into his pocket, his smirk widening.
"Maybe I should pay a visit."