Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade.
Title: My Moment
Rating: T
Summary: I know I have to go for it. I know I'll never live it down if I don't. As I prepare to 'let-it-rip', my mind is focusing, my hands are tensing and my fans… are waiting. This is my moment.
Status: One-shot.
Notes: This isn't any particular battle in the show but Kai's in Blitzkrieg. I was going to do the championship battle but I didn't feel up to writing all the beyblade action in the room when he battled Spencer and Bryan.

MY MOMENT

I know I have to go for it. I know I'll never live it down if I don't. As I prepare to 'let-it-rip', my mind is focusing, my hands are tensing and my fans… are waiting. This is my moment.
Kai-centric.

Flowerperson
© 2005

The crowds are roaring – I can hear it even from the Blitzkrieg Boys' locker room. They're calling my name and his but I could be big-headed and say that the shouts for me are louder and more determined. I've been beyblading longer than he (I've been beyblading my whole life) therefore I deserve more fans, right?

Ha, wrong. It doesn't matter how many years you've been spinning. It all comes down to your skill, your strategy, your determination to win and your beyblade.

He's probably being bigheaded as usual and claiming that he has more fans than I.

Well, let him. Let that amateur think that he is more skilled. I will allow him to believe that his strategy is better. Supposedly to him, he is more determined than I. He assumes that his pitiful excuse for a bit-beast can come close to the colossal power of Dranzer. No bit-beast can best my fiery phoenix. Dranzer is the ultimate. Dranzer is the God amongst other spirits.

Five minutes, I observe as I glance at the grey clock above the door leading to the corridor that would eventually take me to the stadium, to my opponent.

We've been battling for three years and at the end of each year, he's always bested me. A simple amateur beat me, the greatest beyblader in the world and I can say that that is my title truthfully for I am. I am the greatest (I'm not Jesus, however).

No, I'm not arrogant nor conceited. I am honest and truthful. What is the point of sugar-coating things? The world would be a lot simpler if people merely spoke their mind. Am I a jerk? Yes. Do I hate you? Yes. Do I want to waste my time talking with you? No. See? Ever so simple and the denser part of the population would understand things much better.

Three minutes now. I should really leave the locker room soon but why not have these last few moments to myself in quiet (as quiet you can get with the loud audiences)? When I go out there, uproar will occur. People will shout and scream for me. When I defeat my rival, my fans shall celebrate in a tremendous racket whilst his fans weep for their fallen hero.

Humph! Hero! How could they see that stubborn idiot as a hero? His large stomach is a bottomless pit whilst his big head is full of the false compliments people have given him.

The referee is welcoming the crowd, and telling them how great it is to see them all here. Humph, I grunt as I pull on my black, fingerless gloves (which are getting slightly tatty) and clench my fists. He doesn't care – like me – what these morons do with their spare time. He's making money out of this; I'm merely proving that I am invincible. I am showing to the world that I am the greatest and that overconfident amateur cannot defeat me.

Indeed, he is too full of himself. He considers his technique and beyblading skill to be unconquerable when this could not be more incorrect. I shall defeat him today and if he challenges me in the future, he shall be defeated again and again… and again.

I pick up Dranzer, my rip-cord and my launcher and walk down the corridor towards the stadium, towards my fans and towards my egotistical adversary.

He shall probably boast and make some lame puns before we beybattle, or even during.

Hilary (who irritates me to no end) will either be insulting the pig or cheering him on. Was it just me that noticed how much she was sickly infatuated with him? Chief will be there also, watching and making notes on my strategy and how Tyson can beat him. Hn, even with Kenny's help, my foe will not overcome me.

His brother will also be there, silent apart from occasionally commenting on something that the absent-brained people miss. It annoys me how he sits there still, not even flinching even when my beyblade was mere centimetres away from his head. He is either very slow, or can predict any move by any person.

But people cannot see into the future – I do not believe in such nonsense.

The referee calls my rival first and he walks on whilst waving his hands and commanding more shouts for him. He grins arrogantly as he waits for me to walk on. I do, even before the man wearing the baseball cap backwards can introduce me. I smirk as I note that the crowd's cheer for me far louder than my blue-haired ex-teammate.

I look into the crowd and see a young boy with blue smudges on his face – they used to be blue triangles, but he must have wiped them off. I recognise him now; he was the fan that was harassing me for an autograph.

"Kai! Kai! Kai Hiwatari!" I turned to see a brunette boy with blue triangle painted on his face bounding towards me, a notebook and pen held tightly in his grasp. Ignoring him, I continued my trek down the corridor. "Kai! Kai! Please!" he called again, "I only want your autograph! Please!"

And I only wanted to defeat Tyson. Funny how things turned out.

"Can I… have your autograph?" he panted as he stood before me. I glared at him with my infamous looks then turned away, my scarf billowing behind me.

"…No."

"Huh? What? But I'm your biggest fan! You're the greatest Kai! I've supported you since you were in the Blade Sharks! I've been following you all over the world!"

Oh Great – a Stalker. "So?"

"Kai! You… you… you JERK!"

Didn't he know that I already knew that?

DJ Jazzman talks to the audience again, telling them that the big moment is here, what they've all been waiting for. As he starts the countdown from three, I prepare to battle.

"Three!"

I take out my blue launcher.

"Two!"

Dranzer is removed from my pocket and put it in the correct position for launching.

"One!"

The rip-cord enters the launcher and is ready to be pulled.

"LET IT RIP!"

Who cares what the fans have been waiting for?

This is my moment.

Authoress' Notes

Woo! That was fun to write. It was short, I know!

Anyone want to review? Come on, I'll give you a virtual chocolate bar!

X Flowerperson X

Word Count: 1036