Chapter 14 – Final Impact
The arena went quiet in the way storms go quiet before they break.
"Final round. Ready."
Ryo set the launcher. Across from him, Hayato did the same. No taunts. No gestures. Just two lines aimed at the same center.
"Three. Two. One. Let it rip!"
Two snaps cracked together. Raging Ifritor shot out in a flash of orange. Eclipse Drago curved left, catching the ridge with a clean bite of speed. They met almost at once. The sound hit like a bell and kept ringing.
Ifritor pressed first. It used the wall like a spring and came back with a straight drive. Sparks leapt. Drago slid off the slope rather than take the hit flat, then cut a low circle that kept just ahead of the flames.
Hayato never paused. Wide arc. Gather speed. Cut in. The rhythm was clear and direct. Every pass shaved at Ryo's spin and dared him to answer.
Ryo did not move. He watched angles and distance and the way sound shifted when plastic met plastic. There was nothing mystical about it. The bowl told the truth in every rebound. He let that truth settle in, and he waited for the place where it would open.
Ifritor climbed high and dropped. The hit threw Drago down the slope. The bowl shook. Drago skidded, caught, steadied. The crowd roared because you could feel it even from the top row when a Bey almost loses the floor and then wins it back.
"Come on!" Hayato's voice was sharp and clean. "Answer me!"
Another wide loop. Another drive through center. The orange trail thickened with heat. Drago met it on a shallow line and bled the worst of it into the curve. It was not a counter. It was a refusal to be pinned.
Up in the stands, Valt leaned over the rail. "He is taking so many hits. He has to hit back."
Shu did not look away from the stadium. "He is waiting for the rebound he wants."
On the floor, Hayato cut the cycle shorter. Less air between charges. Ifritor started landing hits in a drumroll. The sound stacked until it felt like pressure in the chest. Drago held the inside lane and gave up inches rather than give up balance.
The pitch of its spin lowered a shade. Ryo heard it. That was the mark that pure speed had passed. He did not force anything. He just let the next pass write the line he needed.
Ifritor went wide for a taller climb. The flame trail drew the plan on the air. The drop was coming fast and heavy.
Now.
Drago crossed center on a true line and cut into the path before the drop could land flat. It was a straight needle through cloth.
"Dragon Crash."
The hit was compact and clean. Ifritor lost a step. It did not break. It stuttered. That single stutter shifted the whole rhythm. The chant from the stands rose in a new shape because everyone heard the difference even if they could not name it.
Valt slapped the rail. "Yes. That one."
Shu's voice was low. "He bought himself the second he needed."
Hayato did not flinch. He reset the arc and came back with the same intent but more weight. He knew what had happened and he refused to let pace drift. Ifritor hammered down. Drago slipped the worst of it and stayed alive on the inside edge.
Ryo listened again. The tone told him what the eyes could not. The driver had more grip now. Not a lurch. A thickening. The change was small and exact. It meant Drago could steer in tight spaces without spending all of its speed. The wings had never come out this round. That was right. Wings and rubber did not belong together. This would end on control, not on a comet run.
Hayato sent Ifritor high one more time. It scraped the wall and fell with full momentum. The drop promised a clean finish if it landed.
Ryo did not answer with force. He answered with timing.
"Reverse Inferno."
Two rotations met at center and locked for a fraction. Spin did not stop. Spin bent. Drago's left flow took Ifritor's right and turned it backward on itself. You could see it in the sparks. They no longer sprayed in random fans. They curled inward as if something inside the bowl had turned into a whirlpool.
The crowd gasped. The vortex tightened with each pass. Ifritor tried to climb out but every attempt fed the draw. The pull was not magic. It was rebound punished by the exact line that refused to give it back.
"Break it!" Hayato called. He drove Ifritor into the rim to steal a new angle. The grip under Drago caught that idea and refused it. The spiral narrowed. The center gleamed like a pin of light.
Impact.
The release slammed the air. A wave rolled out from the middle and rattled the glass. Ifritor snapped apart mid spin and arced out of the stadium in two bright halves.
Silence lasted a heartbeat.
"Burst Finish. Two points. Ryo advances to the quarterfinals."
The arena blew open. Names crashed together from every side. Ryo. Hayato. Drago. Ifritor. The chant braided into one sound that felt like relief and thrill at the same time.
Drago slowed to a tidy wobble at center. Ryo waited until it settled, then lifted it and checked rim and tip with the same careful glance he always used. No drama. No pose. The warmth in his palm faded to calm.
Across the platform, Hayato let out a breath and laughed. Not angry. Not broken. Just a fighter who had reached the edge and looked over it.
"That reverse," he said as they met in the middle. "You caught my rebound on the one line I could not answer."
"You drew the line," Ryo said. "I used it."
Hayato grinned. "Then I will draw a different one next time."
"I hope you do."
They shook hands quick and clean. Floor crew moved in. Screens above rolled the replay. In slow motion the curl of sparks was obvious. You could trace the moment the spins locked and the air bent and the burst turned from possible to inevitable.
Valt thumped the rail with both fists. "Reverse Inferno. That was perfect."
Shu let the smallest smile touch his mouth. "That was earned."
Valt turned to him. "You think he can take the next round like this?"
"If he keeps finding the right beat rather than chasing power," Shu said, "then yes."
Backstage, the storm thinned to a steady roar behind the walls. Ryo set Drago on a towel and sat for a breath. He did not replay the victory to enjoy it. He replayed the moments to keep them clear. The quick needle through center. The short grip change. The instant when the spins stopped fighting and started turning the same point.
He touched the rim once with his thumb. Ready. That was the only word that fit.
A staffer paused at the door. "Press wants a quote."
"Later," Ryo said.
"Got it."
He closed the case. The click was small and exact. It always sounded like a task done right.
At the tunnel mouth the bracket board flipped to update. A new line drew itself across the screen. Quarterfinal slot. Time set. Opponent field still blank. The next match on the floor would decide the name.
Valt came pounding up the steps two at a time and nearly tripped on the last one. "Ryo. That was unreal. How do you even learn that reversal timing. Do I aim for the wall. Do I wait for the third hit. Do I just stare really hard."
Ryo's answer was simple. "Learn to see. The rest is the same move but later."
Valt blinked, then nodded like a door had just opened in his head. "Okay. Seeing. I can do that."
Shu joined them at a normal pace. "You can. If you practice the quiet parts."
Valt groaned. "The quiet parts are boring."
"They are where you win," Shu said.
Ryo looked back at the bowl one last time. The floor techs had already wiped it clean. No scorch marks. No glitter of broken plastic. Only a clear circle waiting for a new story.
Quarterfinals next. New shape. New rhythm. Same answer.
He tightened the case strap in his hand and headed down the concourse with Shu and Valt, the roar behind them swelling as the next match hit its first strike. The replay on the big screen caught the burst again. The sparks curled inward in a perfect spiral that looked like a signature.
Eclipse Drago's work for the day was finished. The fire was not.