Metal City had always thrived on noise.
Battles weren't just contests of skill here—they were declarations. The louder you roared, the harder you clashed, the more the city respected you. For as long as anyone could remember, the Face Hunters owned that roar.
But today… the city was quiet.
Not silent—but quieter than it should have been.
The usual energy that bounced off the steel walls of the city's battle zones had become whispers. Conversations huddled in corners, murmured and cautious, like the city was processing something it couldn't quite accept.
"Did you hear? Kyoya lost."
"To who?"
"A guy who didn't even shout."
The disbelief clung to every word.
On a narrow elevated walkway overlooking Metal Park, Gingka, Madoka, and Kenta walked in silence, letting the hum of the city speak.
Gingka's scarf fluttered lightly in the breeze, his hands resting behind his head as he listened to the murmurs.
Madoka had her arms crossed, sharp eyes flicking over the groups of Bladers who were no longer challenging each other loudly but talking in hushed tones, glancing around as if afraid to be overheard.
Kenta walked with a spring in his step, his Sagittario clipped to his belt, his eyes brighter than usual. But even he could sense the shift.
"Metal City feels weird today," Kenta said, breaking the silence.
Madoka nodded. "The city isn't used to losing its noise."
They passed a group of Bladers crowded near a makeshift practice stadium. No one was battling. Instead, they were replaying the story.
"He didn't even posture. Just stood there and spun till the storm broke."
"Kyoya's Leone couldn't touch him."
"The Face Hunters haven't shown up since."
Gingka tilted his head. "You'd think they saw a ghost."
Madoka adjusted her glasses. "Aarav didn't just defeat Kyoya. He disrupted the city's rhythm. They don't know how to react to a Blader who doesn't need to be loud to win."
Kenta clenched his fists, but his smile didn't fade. "It was awesome, though. Did you see how Phoenix tore through that tornado? It was like… like the storm couldn't handle being controlled."
Madoka gave a rare small smile. "Control is scarier than chaos when done right."
Gingka yawned, though his eyes were alert. "Storms come back stronger. Kyoya's not going to forget."
As they continued walking, they passed a large display screen showing highlights of recent battles.
Today, the screen looped a short replay of Aarav vs Kyoya.
It wasn't flashy.
There were no special effects or dramatic poses.
Just Phoenix's calm rotation overpowering Leone's wild storm.
The crowd gathered around the screen wasn't cheering. They were watching, analyzing, trying to understand how rhythm had silenced the loudest Blader in Metal City.
"That's what's throwing them off," Madoka said. "Kyoya ruled with volume. Aarav's victory wasn't loud—it forced everyone else to be quiet."
Kenta looked up at Gingka. "You're not worried?"
Gingka chuckled. "Worried? Nah. I'm excited. When storms get blocked, they don't disappear. They spin back harder. Kyoya's probably somewhere already planning his next big entrance."
Madoka's expression hardened. "And this time, he'll aim to shatter rhythm, not just overpower it."
They turned down a side alley leading toward Madoka's workshop. Even there, whispers floated.
"I heard the Face Hunters haven't been seen since the battle."
"They're hiding? Or maybe they're planning something?"
"Kyoya doesn't hide. He's waiting."
The city's undercurrent was buzzing, but no one dared to speak too loudly.
Kenta grinned. "It's weird. It's like Aarav silenced the whole city, but it feels… heavier. Like, everyone's waiting for something."
Madoka nodded. "Because storms don't vanish. They wait for the right moment to spin back stronger."
Gingka's grin returned. "And when they do, it'll be a clash worth watching."