Alright, Zevion reminded himself as he stepped onto the stadium floor, forcing his breathing to remain slow and even, keep it together.
Cold expression.
Blank eyes.
Minimal movement.
No unnecessary gestures.
No reactions worth zooming in on.
You're not here to be dramatic.
You're not here to be impressive.
You're definitely not here to give anyone a story to chew on.
You're here to win quietly, efficiently, and then go home.
Because the moment you look interesting, the reporters smell blood.
Smile once, and they'll ask for a post-match interview.
React too strongly, and they'll start digging.
Show excitement, and suddenly you're a "rising prodigy with a mysterious past."
Give them one emotional crack, and they'll pry it open until there's nothing left.
No, thank you.
Zevion walked to his position without a word, posture loose but deliberate, every step measured.
His hands rested calmly at his sides, Apeiron Sof heavy and warm in his palm — not uncomfortable, just present, like a reminder that he wasn't alone up here.
Across from him, Ken Midori stood stiffly in his launch position.
And… yeah.
There was really no polite way to phrase this.
Why is my opponent talking to puppets?
Ken held two small hand puppets — worn, clearly well-used — one on each hand.
Their fabric faces were faded, their stitched expressions oddly neutral.
His fingers moved inside them subtly, their mouths tilting as if whispering something only he could hear.
Zevion stared.
Once.
Twice.
"…Am I fighting a Beyblader," he thought flatly, "or a mental health PSA?"
Were the puppets a gimmick?
A coping mechanism?
Some kind of psychological tactic designed to throw opponents off balance?
Or was this his way of preemptively avoiding interviews by making everyone too uncomfortable to ask questions?
Zevion genuinely couldn't tell.
The puppets nodded at each other.
Ken nodded back, lips moving slightly as if answering them.
Zevion immediately decided not to ask questions he didn't want answers to.
Fine.
Everyone copes differently.
As long as he doesn't ask me to talk to them, we're good.
Ken finally glanced up, eyes sharp, brows knitting faintly — clearly irritated by Zevion's complete lack of reaction.
That wasn't the response he'd expected.
Most people stared.
Most people whispered.
Some laughed awkwardly, unsure whether they were allowed to.
Zevion?
Zevion looked like he was waiting for a delayed train.
The crowd buzzed loudly around them, energy thick enough to feel like pressure against the skin.
This was it.
The first official match between a confirmed Bit Beast wielder and the unorthodox one-handed winner from yesterday.
Cameras zoomed in from every angle.
Drones hovered overhead, red indicator lights blinking steadily.
Massive screens lit up with split views of both Bladers, their Beyblades rotating slowly in dramatic close-ups.
Zevion's chest tightened.
The noise.
The lights.
The weight of being seen.
Stage fright clawed up his spine, sharp and sudden, threatening to lock his muscles in place.
Don't freeze.
Don't shake.
Don't think about how many people are watching.
He forced his focus downward instead.
The Beystadium.
The smooth metal walls curving inward.
The shallow slopes are designed to redirect momentum.
The faint scuff marks left behind by previous matches.
Ground yourself.
This is just geometry.
Just motion.
Just physics pretending to be spectacle.
The referee stepped forward, voice clear, firm, practiced.
"Rules are simple. A Survivor Finish is worth one point. A Burst Finish is worth two points. First to two points wins the match."
Zevion barely registered the words.
His ears rang faintly.
The crowd's roar blurred into static, like white noise drowning out everything meaningful.
Then—
The host's voice crashed over the stadium like a tidal wave.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THE MOMENT WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR IS HERE!"
Zevion winced internally.
Oh god.
He's so loud.
"ON ONE SIDE—APEIRON SOF! THE BEYBLADE THAT SHOCKED THE WORLD BY DEFEATING ITS OPPONENT WITHOUT EVEN USING A LAUNCHER!"
The cheers erupted instantly, swelling into a wave that rolled through the stands.
Zevion didn't react.
Didn't look up.
Didn't acknowledge it.
"AND ON THE OTHER SIDE—KING KERBEUS! A CONFIRMED BIT BEAST HOLDER AND A SYMBOL OF THE NEW AGE!"
The stadium roared even louder this time.
Ken smiled faintly, fingers tightening around his launcher, confidence bleeding into his posture.
"THIS MATCH WILL MARK THE TRUE BEGINNING OF THE GOLDEN ERA OF BEYBLADE!"
Zevion stared straight ahead, expression unmoved, thoughts cool and distant.
…Yeah.
His bonus is absolutely on the line.
The referee slowly raised his hand, the movement deliberate and heavy, as if even he could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on the stadium.
"Bladers, ready."
The massive lights overhead dimmed slightly, narrowing their focus until the Beystadium below was bathed in a harsh, brilliant glow.
Everything else—the crowd, the banners, the screens—fell into the background, reduced to shadows and noise.
Ken lifted his launcher high above his shoulder, posture sharp and disciplined, feet planted firmly apart in a stance that spoke of hours upon hours of practice.
The two puppets in his hands, which had been twitching restlessly only moments ago, finally went completely still.
For the first time since stepping onto the stage, Ken Midori looked truly serious.
Across from him, Zevion released a slow, controlled breath.
He didn't reach for a launcher.
Didn't adjust his stance.
Didn't even acknowledge the cameras that had zoomed in on his hands, waiting to capture some hint of hesitation or arrogance.
Instead, his gaze lowered calmly to Apeiron Sof resting in his open palm.
No launcher.
No dramatic pose.
No theatrics meant to excite the crowd.
Just his hand—and the faint, steady hum of something far more dangerous than it appeared.
"Bladers—"
The roar of the crowd seemed to fade, dissolving into a distant, indistinct buzz.
The world narrowed.
"THREE!"
Ken's grip tightened around the launcher, muscles tensing as anticipation coiled through his body.
"TWO!"
Zevion adjusted his fingers by the smallest possible margin—so subtle it escaped even the cameras, but precise enough to matter.
"ONE!"
"LET IT RIP!"
Ken launched.
King Kerbeus slammed into the Beystadium with explosive force, sparks bursting outward as its heavy frame tore forward in a straight, aggressive line.
The sound rang sharply, metal screaming against the stadium floor as the Beyblade surged toward the center without hesitation.
In a single, smooth arc, King Kerbeus claimed the center of the stadium and locked itself firmly into place.
Its rotation is powerful and unwavering, radiating stability and dominance.
It was a perfect opening.
A textbook display of control.
Zevion released Apeiron Sof.
It dropped unevenly.
Its first rotations were sloppy.
It wobbled visibly, its spin unstable and awkward, drifting as if it might topple over at any moment.
A murmur rippled through the stands.
"…Is that thing losing balance?"
"That can't be intentional, right?"
"Did he mess up the hand launch this time?"
Compared to King Kerbeus's commanding presence, Apeiron Sof looked pitiful.
Slow.
Unsteady.
Almost fragile.
But instead of collapsing, it continued spinning—its rotation tightening little by little, momentum building gradually rather than explosively.
Then Apeiron Sof began moving.
Straight toward King Kerbeus.
The audience leaned forward collectively, breath held, already anticipating the obvious result.
A weak challenger charging headfirst into the strongest point of the stadium.
A short, brutal end.
And then—
The air itself ruptured.
A violent surge of emerald light erupted upward from King Kerbeus, flooding the stadium with heat and pressure.
A massive spectral form tore free, roaring as it manifested fully above the spinning Beyblade.
Three enormous heads emerged, each one snarling with hellfire, their mouths wreathed in blazing green flames.
Chains and collars forged of the same infernal energy wrapped tightly around their necks, rattling as the creature moved.
Scarred flesh burned with ancient markings, etched deep into its form like remnants of countless past battles.
Six blazing eyes locked onto Apeiron Sof with pure, unfiltered hostility.
Cerberus.
The Gatekeeper of Hell.
The shockwave from its summoning rippled outward, rattling the stadium walls, shaking barriers, and sending waves of hot air crashing into the stands.
"There it is!"
The host screamed, his voice barely audible over the deafening roar.
"KING KERBEUS'S BIT BEAST—CERBERUS HAS AWAKENED!"
Ken's eyes gleamed, reflecting the green infernal light.
His lips curved faintly as he spoke, his voice low but filled with certainty.
"Go."
Cerberus answered with a thunderous howl.
King Kerbeus surged forward, its rotation blazing brighter as emerald flames flooded the Beystadium floor.
The pressure was immediate and overwhelming, the Bit Beast's presence amplifying every movement, every impact.
The outcome seemed inevitable.
One-sided.
Absolute.
Everyone in the stadium expected Apeiron Sof to be blown back, shattered, or hurled out of the ring within seconds.
Everyone—
Except Zevion.
His expression didn't change.
His eyes didn't widen.
There was no flicker of surprise, no sign of urgency.
Cold, flat, and utterly detached, he spoke.
"Throw him out of the stadium."
Apeiron Sof struck.
Still wobbling.
Still imperfect.
It collided with King Kerbeus at an awkward, almost careless angle, producing a sharp metallic crack that echoed through the stadium.
The crowd gasped.
"That was reckless!"
"He went straight in!"
"It's over—!"
But Apeiron Sof didn't bounce back.
It didn't recoil.
Instead, it slid along King Kerbeus's outer edge.
Then it began to circle.
Not following Kerbeus's rotation—
But moving against it.
The direction was wrong.
Completely and unmistakably wrong.
Apeiron Sof traced a tightening path in the opposite direction of King Kerbeus's spin, each rotation growing smoother, faster, more deliberate.
The air between them warped.
King Kerbeus's rotation stuttered.
Cerberus snarled, chains clanking violently as its flames flared in agitation.
"What—?!"
Ken's eyes widened.
"No—maintain center! Push back!"
But it was already too late.
With every counter-rotation, Apeiron Sof siphoned momentum—stripping speed, stealing balance, feeding on the energy Kerbeus was losing.
The wobble vanished entirely.
Its hum deepened, resonating through the stadium like a low, predatory growl.
Its spin accelerated unnaturally.
The wind inside the stadium intensified, spiraling outward in violent currents that tugged at clothing and rattled loose debris.
King Kerbeus trembled.
Its flames flickered.
Cerberus roared in fury as its anchor weakened, its massive form distorting as the Beyblade beneath it lost control.
Then—
Apeiron Sof released everything it had gathered.
The air exploded.
A violent surge of compressed wind tore through the Beystadium as King Kerbeus was ripped from the center, dragged helplessly across the slope, and launched clean out of the ring.
It struck the floor outside the stadium with a heavy clatter and skidded to a halt.
Silence fell.
Then—
"RING OUT FINISH! ONE POINT TO APEIRON SOF!"
The stadium erupted.
Zevion calmly closed his fingers as Apeiron Sof rolled neatly back toward him, settling into his palm as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
One point.
Ken stared at the fallen King Kerbeus, breath caught in his throat.
Above it, Cerberus flickered violently, its form unstable and distorted.
Zevion lifted his gaze.
Second round.
And now—
Everyone finally understood.
This wasn't brute force.
This wasn't luck.
This wasn't a fluke.
This was something far worse.
..............................................................................................................................
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