Phoenix's rotations had shrunk to a core so tight it no longer looked like it was moving. It wasn't spinning in the stadium anymore—it was drilling into the very rhythm of the ground beneath.
Kyoya's Gale Force Wall spun wildly, but the vortex was fraying.
He felt it.
Leone's footing was slipping.
Aarav's gaze didn't waver. His fingers shifted once, a subtle tilt, and Phoenix responded.
It shot forward—not with reckless speed, but with deliberate force, slicing through the collapsing tornado.
The crowd gasped as Phoenix veered into Leone's blind spot, its tip angled with surgical precision.
Madoka's voice echoed, her analysis razor-sharp. "He's aiming below Leone's rotation axis! If he hits—"
The clash was instant.
Phoenix's blade struck the underside of Leone's fusion wheel.
The contact wasn't explosive.
It was surgical.
Leone's body shuddered as Phoenix's rotational force lifted it—not upward through brute power, but by destabilizing Leone's grounding.
The visual was surreal.
To the spectators, it appeared as if the Phoenix had clamped its talons onto Leone's neck and was lifting the lion off the ground.
The stadium trembled as Phoenix's spin-pressure compressed air against Leone's base, forming a vortex of flames trailing from Phoenix's feet, visually engulfing Leone in a fiery spiral.
Kenta's eyes widened, breath caught in his throat. "He's lifting him…!"
Kyoya's teeth clenched. He yanked his launcher, but Leone's body was no longer in his control.
Madoka's voice was sharp. "Phoenix's rotational backlash is feeding into Leone's bottom plate! Kyoya's losing torque—Aarav's draining his storm!"
Then it happened.
The compressed air pressure burst.
A shockwave spread across the stadium, the swirling dust transforming into a fiery halo.
It wasn't elemental magic.
It was the battlefield reacting to two rotational forces colliding at their absolute limits.
The sky seemed to dim, the air thickening, as if the stadium itself recognized the shift in dominance.
Leone was hurled backward, its body skidding across the stadium floor with a metallic screech.
The wild lion that had once ruled the storm was now spiraling out of rhythm.
Kyoya's fingers tightened on his launcher. "No…"
But the outcome was already set.
Leone's battered frame tumbled, spun out, and came to a stop—right at Kyoya's feet.
The silence was deafening.
The crowd, the Face Hunters, even the city itself seemed to pause.
Kyoya stared down at Leone.
The Beyblade didn't burst.
But it had stopped spinning.
Aarav stood still, Phoenix calmly rotating at the stadium's center—unshaken, unyielding.
Kenta's fists trembled, his voice barely a whisper. "He did it…"
Madoka exhaled, pushing her glasses up. "Aarav didn't overpower the storm… he rewrote its rhythm."
Gingka's smirk was sharp. "That's Aarav for you. Doesn't shout. Doesn't pose. Just spins till the world has to listen."
But Kyoya didn't hear them.
He was staring at Leone, his reflection distorted in its still surface.
His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles paled.
Humiliation wasn't a word Kyoya understood.
But today, it wasn't optional.
The storm had been silenced.
Kyoya bent down, picking up Leone, his grip firm but shaking.
"Tch…" his breath hissed through gritted teeth.
Gingka approached casually, his tone light but sincere. "Hey, it happens. You fought well. You'll get him next time."
But Kyoya's glare shot through him like a blade.
"Save it."
Gingka paused, his grin faltering.
"You don't get it," Kyoya snarled. "I'm not looking for a next time. I'm going to take it."
He turned, his wild aura flaring, unfiltered.
Kyoya wasn't crushed.
He was burning.
He walked toward Aarav, each step heavy, the crowd parting as if the wind itself feared him.
He stopped a mere foot from Aarav.
Aarav stood, calm, composed, Phoenix now holstered at his waist.
"You won today," Kyoya said, his tone low, dangerous. "But I don't accept this as defeat."
He pointed Leone forward, his smirk wild and alive. "I will return, Aarav. Stronger. Wilder. I'll tear through that rhythm, even if it means breaking this entire city to get to you."
The words weren't hollow.
They carried the weight of a storm refusing to die.
Aarav's response was a simple nod. Silent. Acknowledging. Unmoved.
Kyoya turned sharply, his green hair whipping as he stormed out of the stadium, the Face Hunters following without a word.
Gingka watched them leave, arms folded.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "That storm's not over. You've just made it personal, Aarav."
Kenta approached Aarav, his admiration visible.
"You didn't just defeat him… you made him listen."
Aarav looked ahead, his calm gaze not of pride, but readiness.
The city would spin.
And the storm would return.
But rhythm endures.