Chapter 11 — The Summit's Shadow
The regional tournament ended, but the pressure did not.
For the Beyblade Club, everything felt brighter—louder. Victories stacked. Names spread. People stopped calling them "that Straw Street group" and started saying their names with expectation.
Valt felt it most.
Every launch mattered now.
Every win meant eyes watching.
And somewhere above it all, legends waited.
Shu's semifinal victory should have felt satisfying.
It didn't.
Spriggan returned to his hand spinning true, unbroken, obedient—but Shu's chest felt tight, like he'd just held his breath for too long. Applause washed over him, yet the sound felt distant, distorted.
Perfect execution.Minimal movement.Absolute restraint.
Too absolute.
From the highest walkway, half-hidden by shadow, Ryuga watched.
He didn't need Storm Dragon to tell him what he already knew.
Shu wasn't stabilizing anymore.
He was compressing.
After the match, Shu didn't stay with the others.
Valt noticed.
"Is Shu okay?" he asked.
"He's fine," Rantaro said quickly, too quickly. "He's Shu."
Ryuga followed the absence.
Not immediately.
He waited.
Because storms didn't strike until the air was ready.
Shu went where memory pulled him.
The park.
The place where Beyblade had once been simple.
Concrete cracked with age. Rusted rails. The old launch circle still faintly visible on the ground. Shu stood in the center, Spriggan in his hand, breathing slowly.
Control it.
Suppress it.
Do not break.
The wind shifted.
Ryuga stepped into the light.
"You won," Ryuga said.
Shu didn't turn. "Then you have no reason to be here."
"You slipped," Ryuga replied.
That got him.
Shu's fingers tightened.
"I corrected it."
"No," Ryuga said calmly. "You buried it."
Silence fell between them—thick with years of unspoken weight.
Ryuga raised Storm Dragoon.
"Battle me."
Shu turned sharply. "This isn't the time."
"That's why it is," Ryuga answered.
They didn't announce it.
They didn't agree to terms.
They launched because neither of them could walk away anymore.