The moment Zevion stepped out of the school doors, he let out the breath he'd been holding since first period.
The sunlight felt softer than usual, brushing against his face like a quiet promise:
You survived another day of social interaction avoidance.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking down the path that led home, already imagining the warm embrace of his bed and the sweet silence of solitude.
Then—
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
Firmly.
"HEY! I FOUND YOU!"
Zevion didn't even have time to blink.
Another voice immediately followed, exploding with enough energy to power the entire district:
"I WANT A REMATCH! LET'S BATTLE AGAIN! THIS TIME I'LL WIN FOR SURE!"
It was Valt.
Of course it was.
Before Zevion could even process the words "rematch" or "let go," the blue-haired whirlwind had already hooked an arm around him and was dragging him—no, abducting him—back toward the building.
"Wait— stop— hey—"
No one heard him.
Students walking by didn't even react.
Apparently, being kidnapped by enthusiastic bladers was just a normal Tuesday.
By the time he regained awareness, he was standing on the rooftop.
Not metaphorically—
literally the rooftop of the school.
A practice Bey Stadium sat in the center like a ritual altar.
The wind was strong up here, flapping Valt's scarf dramatically.
Zevion stood with the blank expression of someone who had been emotionally mugged.
He had a thousand thoughts he wanted to yell:
Why am I here?
How did we get up three flights of stairs this fast?
Is this legal?
Why are elementary schoolers strong enough to drag me like luggage?
But he swallowed all of them.
Talking sense into a child was like pouring water into a sieve.
If you tried to rationalize with them, they simply did the opposite—and loudly.
So, as the adult mentally trapped in an 11-year-old's body, Zevion chose the mature and wise path:
He gave up.
Not out of kindness—
But because dealing with Valt's full-energy personality any longer would drain more life force than 2 Beyblade battles combined.
If this happens more than three times, Zevion mentally noted, staring at Valt's glittering enthusiasm…
I'm destroying his Bey.
Valt skipped over to his launcher position, eyes shining like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time.
"I'm going all out! Rush Launch incoming!"
He announced proudly, tightening his grip.
Zevion sighed deeply.
The kind of sigh that said, I regret every choice that led me here.
He held Apeiron Sof with two fingers, preparing the laziest hand spin in human history.
"Ready—" Valt beamed.
"No," Zevion muttered.
"Set—"
"Please no—"
"GO SHOOT!!!"
A burst of blue energy shot across the stadium as Valtryek launched aggressively, sparks trailing behind it.
Zevion sighed as he flicked his wrist.
Apeiron Sof dropped into the stadium with a wobble, humming faintly.
Valtryek was spinning faster and faster.
But suddenly, before it can reach Apeiron Sof—
CLUNK.
It tripped on its own axis, rolled over pathetically, and flung itself out of the stadium like it had given up on life.
There was a long, terrible silence.
Valt froze, halfway through his celebratory pose.
Zevion stared at the stadium as it had personally betrayed him.
Valtryek lay on the concrete floor, looking like a dropped cookie.
"…I'm going home."
Zevion said flatly as he picked his Beyblade.
He turned around with the emotionless dignity of a man who had seen too much stupidity for one afternoon.
"Wait—WAIT— DON'T GO!"
Valt lunged forward and grabbed Zevion's leg, clinging to him like a drowning sailor grabbing a floating plank.
"That was just an accident! It doesn't count! Let's do another one! PLEASE!"
Zevion stared down at the boy wrapped around his leg, face full of desperate determination.
He felt his soul crumble.
"No."
"PLEEEEASE—!"
Zevion took a step.
Valt was dragged along the rooftop like a mop.
"I SAID NO."
Valt's nails dug into his pants as he was pulled across the floor.
"You're REALLY strong—h-how are you doing this while walking so casually—?!"
Zevion didn't stop.
He didn't even slow down.
He simply kept walking toward the exit, dragging Valt with the same expression as someone dragging a heavy trash bag to the curb on a Monday morning.
In his mind, one thought repeated itself over and over:
I thought he was at least a decent player yesterday.
Maybe I'd learn something.
But reality had slapped him hard.
He's a complete amateur.
A hyperactive spinning-top gremlin.
There was absolutely no way he was wasting any more time on this nonsense.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Not ever.
As Valt continued screaming for a rematch, Zevion's footsteps remained steady, carrying him away from the rooftop, away from chaos, and back toward the quiet solitude he desperately needed.
At least…
That's what he thought.
Zevion had almost reached the rooftop door—almost tasted the sweet freedom of escape—when the door suddenly swung open right into his face.
He stepped back instinctively as three figures burst in like they owned the place.
Leading the charge was the loudest person in the entire school besides Valt.
Rantaro Kiyama.
Easily recognizable because the guy introduced himself every chance he got in third person, with a dramatic flair that shouldn't be legal for an elementary schooler.
Behind him stood two younger kids, a boy and a girl—Valt's siblings, judging by how they hovered around him like worried ducklings.
Rantaro jabbed a finger at the scene of Valt still clinging to Zevion's leg like a stubborn koala.
"Valt! What are you doing? Did you seriously screw up your head for real this time?"
The little girl shook her head like a disappointed mother in a tiny body.
"Geez, big brother… seriously? Pull yourself together already."
The younger boy chimed in, as if reciting a moral lesson from a children's book.
"Yeah, big bro, you gotta work hard for next time."
Rantaro puffed out his chest dramatically, flipping his hair back with exaggerated confidence.
"That's right! Unlike you, Valt, I, the Great Rentaro-sama, won my first match with a burst finish! Maybe I can even teach you a thing or two! HAHAHAHAHA!!!"
Zevion blinked slowly.
So these kids are apparently related to the ankle-grabber currently glued to my leg… great.
Before he could free himself, Valt suddenly erupted with enough volume to shake the atmosphere.
"What did you say!? I can beat YOU with a BURST FINISH easily!"
Rantaro immediately snapped back.
"Oh yeah? Says who? The guy who's NEVER won against me?!"
"I WILL next time!! I'll beat EVERYONE next time!!"
Valt puffed up like an enraged Piplup as the siblings tried to calm him down.
Then—
A sharp, stern voice cracked across the rooftop like a whip.
"Guys. Keep it down."
Instant silence.
All five of them snapped their heads to the far side of the rooftop.
Zevion peeked past the wall with the caution of someone spotting a dangerous animal.
And there he stood.
Shu Kurenai.
Supreme Four member.
Last year's national runner-up.
The white-haired prodigy.
And Zevion's ultimate roadblock in this regional tournament.
He stood near the stadium, his posture perfect, eyes locked on his Bey.
His concentration was so intense that the air around him felt heavier.
Valt—being Valt—immediately forgot the concept of boundaries and sauntered forward with a goofy little skip.
"Hey—"
Shu's voice sliced in sharply.
"…Quiet, please."
Valt froze mid-step.
"S-Sorry…"
Zevion watched Shu's aura closely.
Focused.
Calm.
Unreachable.
A professional.
Shu raised his launcher.
"Three… Two… One… Let it rip."
Spryzen flew from his launcher with immaculate form, spinning straight to the center with a stability that felt unfairly perfect.
Even an untrained eye could see it.
Valt stood behind him, doing some bizarre side-step dance, humming as he circled around Shu like a distracted NPC.
"Don't mind me~ I'm just crossing over to the winner's side~"
He bumped right into Shu.
A splash of liquid hit the floor.
Valt recoiled like he'd touched boiling water.
"W-Whoa! What is THAT!? How are you THIS sweaty!?"
Shu didn't even look at him as he answered with calm, matter-of-fact honesty.
"Because I've been training with my Bey. It's not easy."
Zevion's eyes widened slightly.
Shu wasn't exaggerating.
The guy was drenched.
Sweat soaked his shirt, his hair clung to his forehead, and the area at his feet…
There was a puddle.
A literal puddle of sweat.
Rantaro stared, eyes wide.
"He's hardcore…"
Valt's little sister tilted her head in concern.
"I hope you brought extra clothes…"
Shu wiped his forehead with a towel, which instantly became useless from how quickly it absorbed liquid.
Valt swallowed hard.
"H-How long… have you been practicing today?"
Shu tilted his head thoughtfully.
"Hm… who knows? Maybe around two hours."
Valt paled instantly.
"Two HOURS!? I can't practice more than a few minutes before getting tired! This means… I really gotta focus…"
Zevion resisted the urge to snort.
Really?
I've literally deforested a mountain for who knows how many hours.
Pretty sure I can go for hours, too.
Valt clenched his fist dramatically.
"I'll do it! I'll prove I've got what it takes!"
Shu didn't even bother looking at him as he replied.
"…I doubt that."
Zevion nodded internally.
I also doubt it.
Valt sputtered.
"WHAT did you say!?"
Shu finally turned to face him.
"Someone who can't get over one loss doesn't have what it takes to reach the top. Beyblade is much tougher than you think."
The words hit Valt like a direct Burst Finish.
As Shu packed up his equipment and walked toward the rooftop exit, he suddenly glanced toward Zevion.
His eyes—sharp, unreadable—met his.
"You'd better go all out against me. I'm not holding back."
Then he turned away without waiting for a response.
Zevion exhaled slowly.
Shu's meaning was obvious.
He expected Zevion to fight him at full power.
But Zevion had no intention of hand-spinning against Shu in a public match.
He'd have to use a launcher—anything less would summon more reporters than a celebrity scandal.
Rantaro crossed his arms.
"He's never any fun. Have you guys noticed that?"
Zevion opened his mouth to ask who "you guys" meant, but he was interrupted by a sudden blast of noise.
"WHAT'S YOUR DEAL!? I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU'RE UNDERESTIMATING ME! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIIIIIIIDE!!!"
Valt's scream shook the air, stabbing Zevion's eardrums like knives.
He winced, clapping a hand to his ear.
Then, like any normal adult disguised as an 11-year-old, he made the rational and wise decision:
He knee-kicked Valt straight in the stomach.
Valt let out a soft "oof" and collapsed instantly, unconscious.
The rooftop fell silent.
Zevion dusted off his knee.
"…Best way to calm a kid is to let them sleep."
He glanced at the others, who stared at him in stunned silence.
"What? I'm just a normal 11-year-old."
A beat of silence passed.
Zevion adjusted his backpack.
"A few moments of peace. That's all I ask."
And with that, he walked toward the exit like the chaos had absolutely nothing to do with him.
.....................................................................................................................................................................................
Author's Note:
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