Chapter 1: The Spark Beneath the Surface
The rising sun spilled over the rooftops of the sleepy city, its light catching in the dew of the grass and the glint of spinning metal in the distance. Birds chirped, a breeze whispered through the alleyways, and on one small porch on the edge of town, the morning peace was shattered by hurried footsteps and the slam of a door.
"Asher! Your toast is burning!"
Inside, a girl with tired eyes and a flour-dusted apron waved a spatula in one hand and held out a plate in the other. Her brother, a wiry 13-year-old with wind-swept hair and energy to spare, zoomed past her and caught the plate with practiced speed.
"Thanks, El! Love ya, bye!"
"Wait—!"
But he was already out the door, shoving the toast in his mouth mid-sprint.
Their grandmother rocked slowly on the front porch, wrapped in a blanket despite the warm breeze. She chuckled softly as Asher raced down the sidewalk, his satchel bouncing against his hip.
"Always chasing something," she murmured. "Just like your grandpa…"
---
Asher tore down the streets of the city, weaving past food stalls and sleepy storefronts, heading toward the gleaming domes of the Central Bey Complex. Around him, the world came to life—kids testing launchers, parents watching, sparking battles echoing from the practice arenas. This was more than a park.
This was the heart of Beyblading.
And today was sign-up day.
"Please don't be full already," Asher muttered between breaths.
As he crossed into the central square, something—or someone—cut across his path.
Crash!
Both boys tumbled to the pavement. Asher hit hard, groaning and blinking up at the sky.
"Whoa—are you okay?" he said, scrambling up.
The boy he'd collided with sat upright, brushing dust from a long, high-collared navy coat trimmed with silver. He had black gloves, neatly combed hair, and an almost glassy look in his eyes.
Asher reached out a hand. The boy hesitated, then took it.
"Thanks," the boy muttered. "I wasn't watching."
"It's cool. You new around here?"
The boy's expression didn't change. "You could say that."
Before Asher could say more, a digital bell sounded in the distance.
"Oh no—sign-ups!" he gasped. "Gotta go!"
Without waiting for a response, Asher took off again. The other boy stared after him for a long moment.
"…Interesting," he whispered.
---
The Central Bey Complex was a gleaming, multi-tiered arena of steel and glass. Its sign-in hall buzzed with bladers of every level—some in flashy gear, others nervously clutching their launchers.
Asher squeezed through the crowd and reached the registration desk just as the attendant was about to shut the list.
"Name?" the man asked without looking up.
"Asher Kane!" he said, panting.
The man scribbled it down. "Tournament's next Saturday. Welcome."
Asher grinned and walked away, clutching the slip tightly in his hand. "We're in, Aqua."
He unzipped his satchel and pulled out his Bey.
Aqua gleamed in the sunlight—its three sharp blades shimmered with ocean blue, edged with fiery orange-gold streaks that flowed like currents. The energy ring curved like a whirlpool, and etched into its center was the shape of a dragon with glistening fins and eyes like sapphires.
An attack-type Bey, Aqua specialized in speed strikes, using water-shaped arcs and velocity bursts to slam into opponents before they could react. It was fast. Really fast. But fragile under heavy pressure.
Asher gripped it tightly. "Let's hit the practice arenas."
---
The side halls of the Complex led to a long room filled with basic stadiums and open space. Bladers of all ranks trained here—newbies, mid-level tournament kids, and even a few coaches.
He found an open stadium and knelt beside it.
"Alright, Aqua. Let's warm up—"
"Yo," a voice interrupted. "You just sign up?"
Asher turned to see a tall boy with spiky brown hair, a smug grin, and a red jacket over his shoulder. "I'm Malik. Wanna spar?"
"Sure!" Asher said, eyes bright.
Malik already had his launcher ready. "Hope you're fast."
---
Both boys stood opposite the stadium, launchers locked in. A few others gathered nearby to watch.
"3!"
"2!"
"1—Let it rip!"
WHRRRRRR—KRAK!
Aqua shot forward like a tidal wave, spiraling along the edge in a streak of orange and blue light. Malik's Bey, a dark, four-winged balance-type named Craven Hawk, dropped into the center like a predator waiting to strike.
Asher grinned. "Circle dash!"
Aqua curved around, using the stadium walls to gain momentum before launching a fierce strike at Craven Hawk.
CLANG!
The hit echoed like a cannon blast. Hawk flinched—wobbled—but held firm.
Malik didn't flinch. "Iron clutch!"
Craven Hawk suddenly shifted stance, pressing into the stadium floor. Aqua ricocheted off.
"No way—"
"Now—counter slash!"
Craven Hawk shot upward and curved like a boomerang, crashing into Aqua's exposed side.
CRACK!
Aqua was flung back, spinning violently before it hit the wall and rebounded again. Asher winced.
"Recover, Aqua!"
But Malik was already moving. "Dive!"
Craven Hawk came down like a meteor.
BOOM!
The final blow sent Aqua spinning out of the ring, clattering to a stop at Asher's feet.
Silence. Then a whistle.
"Nice battle," Malik said, retrieving his Bey. "You've got speed—but no endurance."
Asher picked up Aqua gently. A small crack had formed on one blade. He frowned.
"Good match," he said quietly.
---
That night, the city lights blinked on one by one. In a quiet workshop lit only by pale green monitors, the boy in the navy coat sat alone, goggles pulled over his eyes, sparks flying from the strange, metallic shape in front of him.
On a screen nearby, the footage replayed—Aqua's spinning arc, its shimmering colors, its burst against Craven Hawk's brutal impact.
The boy reached forward, adjusting something inside the metal.
"Aqua," he murmured. "Orange-gold with sea dragon resonance… and a user who puts his heart into every launch."
The machine hummed.
"You'll be perfect."
He smiled for the first time, though it didn't reach his eyes.