The boy holds the launcher in his hand, his fingers tightening around the familiar,work plastic. It's a simple device: a grip, a handle you pull, and a flat front where the Beyblade snaps into place. His Beyblade, Phoenix, is locked in. It's mostly red, with streaks of dark metal that look almost black in the shade of the trees. He can feel the weight of it, the promise of the spin waiting inside.
He takes a breath, his eyes fixed on a spot across the wide, green field. The grass is short and patchy in places, showing the dry earth underneath. It's a good, open space for a practice run. But today, he's not aiming for the ground. His target is an old, thick tree at the field's edge. Its trunk is gnarled and solid, a test of strength.
He lifts the launcher, holding it out straight in front of him. His other hand comes up, fingers finding the ripcord—the long, skinny handle attached to a gear inside the launcher. He gives it a small, testing pull, hearing the faint, satisfying click-click-click of the gears engaging. He readies his stance, feet planted apart for balance.
He puts all his energy into the motion. His chest tightens, his muscles coil, and he shouts the words, not just saying them, but forcing them out with the air from his lungs.
"Let it RIP!"
As he shouts, his arm yanks the ripcord backwards in one fierce, swift pull. The gears inside the launcher whir violently, a loud, buzzing shriek that lasts only a second. The mechanism transfers all that built-up energy into the Beyblade locked on the front.
With a sharp snap, Phoenix is released. It doesn't just roll off; it's shot forward, launched with incredible force. For a moment, it's just a blur—a dark red streak cutting through the air, like a comet. It arcs down toward the green ground, and as it hits the dirt, the real motion begins.
The moment its metal tip touches the earth, the immense spin kicks in. It rockets across the field,in a wide, curving path. It carves a shallow track in the soil, a dusty brown line against the green. It moves so fast that the details of the red and black merge into a single, buzzing, circular shadow. It completes one wide circle of the field, a halo of dust rising in its wake, building momentum with every millisecond.
The boy watches it, his arm still extended from the launch. As Phoenix finishes its arcing circle and begins to shoot straight, he thrusts his open palm forward, a commanding gesture following the path of the Bey.
"Go, Phoenix!" he calls out, his voice firm.
The Beyblade obeys. Its curved trajectory straightens into a deadly line aimed directly at the thick tree. Its speed is now terrifying. If you tried to follow it with your eyes, you wouldn't see a spinning top. You'd see a smeared, blurry line of red and a deeper, shadowy black, accompanied by a high-pitched, angry whine that tears through the quiet of the field. It's the sound of metal spinning at an impossible rate, tearing through the air.
It covers the distance to the tree in a heartbeat.
The impact is a quick, brutal series of sounds. First, a solid, heavy THWACK as the spinning metal smashes into the bark. This is immediately followed by a horrible, grinding CRUNCH-RIIIP as the Beyblade doesn't bounce off—it digs in. The blades, a blur of hardened metal, act like a circular saw. They chew into the wood, spewing out a shower of pale, splintered debris and dust.
The Beyblade drives deeper for a split second, and then it's through. It emerges from the other side of the trunk in a cloud of wood pulp, its spin barely slowed. It shoots out a few more feet before its energy wanes and it clatters to the ground, spinning fiercely but now stationary on the grass.
For a silent moment, nothing happens. Then, with a deep, groaning creak, the top half of the tree begins to move. The cut is clean, angled from the upper left down to the lower right. The entire upper section of the tree, all its branches and leaves, tilts. It slides, then breaks free, crashing down to the right side with a massive, earth-shaking THUMP and a rustle of dying leaves. The remaining stump stands raw and exposed, its fresh-cut surface pale and wet-looking, smelling sharply of sap and torn wood.
The boy doesn't move toward the fallen tree. He stays where he is. He turns his still-outstretched hand, his open palm now facing the Beyblade where it spins on the grass near the wreckage. He makes a slight curling motion with his fingers, as if pulling an invisible string.
Back near the stump, Phoenix responds. Its spin has settled into a steady, powerful hum. As if summoned, the Beyblade leans, then tips onto its sharp performance tip.It seems to find a path, zipping back across the torn-up ground, tracing a wobbly but swift line straight back to its owner.
It reaches his feet, spinning with a persistent, fading buzz. The boy finally moves. He bends at the knees, crouching down. He doesn't grab it carelessly. He closes his hand, positioning it just above the Beyblade. He waits for the perfect moment, then swiftly cups his palm over the top, letting the spinning top grind to an immediate, obedient halt against his skin. He can feel the final vibrations, the heat from the friction, the solid weight of the metal.
He stands up, curling his fingers securely around Phoenix. He brings his closed fist up to his face, level with his eyes. He opens his hand slowly, looking down at the Beyblade resting in his palm. The red paint is scuffed from the battle. Tiny flecks of wood and dirt are stuck in the crevices of the dark blades. It's warm. It's real. He did this.
A small smile touches his lips. It's a smile of simple, deep satisfaction. The action, the result, the return—it all worked. He closes his hand around it again, feeling its shape. Then he lifts his gaze, looking past his fist, past the field and the destroyed tree, up to the vast expanse above.
The sky was clear, a perfect, endless blue. It was calm and quiet now, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of noise and violence that had just finished tearing up the practice ground behind his house. Kai stood there, catching his breath.
It had been two days since everything changed. He didn't wake up in someone else's body, like in those novels. Instead, he just… remembered. Memories from another life flooded into his mind while he was practicing with his old, normal Beyblade. A whole other lifetime spent watching anime, reading manga, living a normal, boring life. And with those memories came the 'System.'
It didn't say much. It just appeared in his mind, announced its presence, and did one thing. It modified his original, totally average Beyblade. The metal reshaped themselves in a flash of fiery light, emerging as something entirely new, something magnificent: a Phoenix. A Dark Phoenix, the system had called it. The system also gave him one piece of information about it. "Its spin is immortal," the voice had said. "If your will does not shatter, if you do not lose your belief, Phoenix will not lose its spin." Then, as quickly as it came, the voice was gone. The weird light in his room faded. He'd spent hours that first night whispering, calling out in his mind, trying to get it to come back. System? Hello? What does that mean? What am I supposed to do? There was nothing. No response. No menus floating in the air. It was as if it had never existed, except for the profoundly different Beyblade now sitting on his desk, cool to the touch.
And now, here he was. In this new-old life, he was thirteen again. His name was Kai. His parents had died in a car accident two years ago, making him an orphan for the second time, in a way. But this life was different. His family had big shares in a famous real estate business. Money wasn't a problem. He lived alone in a large, quiet house, with a private practice stadium in the back. It gave him all the time in the world to think and train.
He'd figured out pretty quickly this wasn't the Beyblade world he remembered from his first childhood, the plastic generation with Tyson and Kai. No, this was the metal universe. The world of Gingka Hagane, of the mighty L-Drago and Ryuga. The more he remembered from the anime he'd watched in his past life, a thrill went through him. He was actually here. And if he was given this chance to live inside his favorite story, he wasn't going to waste it. Protagonist or not, with the Phoenix in his hand, he didn't fear anyone.
He looked down at his Beyblade, cradled in his palm. It wasn't like the others. It was sleek, dark with flashes of deep crimson, shaped like a bird of prey folded in on itself. It felt alive with a low, warm heat.
Today was the day. The final match of the local district tournament. He'd entered on a whim, just to test the Phoenix against others. It had been almost unfair. The Bey's stamina was unbelievable, and its power… it was on another level. He'd swept through the preliminaries without breaking a sweat. And now he was in the finals.
His opponent? A kid named Kenta. Green hair, full of passion, and the Beyblade Sagittario. Kai knew him, of course, from the memories of the show. Kenta was the loyal friend, the one who always tried his hardest. Today, according to the plot Kai remembered, was the day Kenta would meet Gingka.The day the real story began.
Kai walked away from his private practice area, through the gate, and onto the street. He didn't need to pack anything. The Phoenix was in his pocket, his launcher hooked to his belt. He made his way to the town's small stadium, a bowl-shaped arena with a few dozen rows of seats. It was already buzzing with people, mostly kids and their parents.
He checked in, got his competitor badge, and waited. He watched a few matches. They were okay. Standard stuff. Then it was time for the finals.
He walked out into the open stadium floor. Across the Beystadium stood Kenta, looking determined, gripping his green and yellow launcher. The referee explained the rules—three points, same as always. First to score two points wins.
"You ready?" Kenta called out, a fiery look in his eyes. "I've made it this far, and I'm not losing now! I'm going to win"
Kai just gave a small, cool nod. He didn't do pep talks. "Let's just start."
"3! 2! 1! Let it Rip!"
Their voices echoed together.
Two Beys shot into the stadium. Sagittario came in fast and aggressive, its green energy flaring. The Phoenix, in contrast, descended almost gracefully, landing in the center with a steady, thrumming spin.
"Sagittario! Attack!" Kenta yelled.
Sagittario charged, aiming a series of rapid hits at the Phoenix. Clang! Clang! Clang! The sounds were sharp. But the Phoenix barely budged. It took the hits, its spin remaining perfectly constant, a low hum against the higher whine of Kenta's Bey.
...