Yey! We wrote something other than just a drabble! Back out of the writer's block we come! Hopefully you'll enjoy it, it's not meant to be entirely serious. I extremely dislike abby!angst, and have made my opinion known in other ficcies, discreetly, like Wolf in the Window, but I have never given my version of the story. Well, here it is, via Kai responding to a article in a magazene.

Disclaimer: We don't want the damn beyblade canon story, we make our own, thank you.

Letter to the Editor: Rebuff

by

Red

In box - Via:

Mail ManagementComplaintsStory EditorEditor-in-Chief

From:

Mr. Hiwatari Kai,
333 Buggeroff Lane
Mail Box: G0OB4I
St. Petersburg, Russia

Whomever this manages to get to,

You know, it surprises me; the gall that people have. It used to be easier. Glare at someone long enough and they get the idea that you don't want to talk to them. But now, it has been getting around that the reason why I don't like talking about my childhood is because it was a bad one. Partly because of your article.

Thus, I must correct that assumption.

The reason why I don't want to talk about my childhood is because it makes entirely no sense when looking at my present character. Most people don't follow the same train of thought as I, so they don't understand how I can go from what I was, to what I am. I like what I am, thank you, and I don't care much for the person I used to be. It's called growth. Done much lately?

I used to live in a home with my "grandfather", who was, in fact, an adoptive parent. I just called him Grandfather because I never much cared for him, and he was old enough to be my grandfather. I don't understand why he wanted a child around, as he was a widower, but it's not as though I was going to question his patronage at my age.

I was removed from my original parent's care when I was very little, and I don't know them. I don't want to. I don't miss them. I don't have dreams about my mother holding me or anything cheesy like that.

My grandfather was very rich, and rather eccentric, but he maintained a good, clean and honest, home. Also, an expensive and large one. Large enough to be frivolous, but not quite large enough for me to get lost in. We had one "servant", who was really just a housekeeper who worked for many families other than ours, who came in once a week to clean up. Wednesdays, if I recall correctly.

Now, you will be wondering how I went from such a serene and easy-going home to become a violent, immoral, and rebellious teenager.

I was taught moral lessons, no doubt about it. Honesty is always the best policy; even if it means you have to hurt feelings to say it - except if you have to save your ass. Walking away is better than fighting, but if you have to fight, win - with honour. Even better than walking away is talking out fights. Insulting someone until they learn that they are too little for you to bother with goes along with that. The intelligent and wise always win in the end, because they can find out how to twist someone else's victory to work for themselves. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer; even if that means allying yourself with the enemy against a friend's wishes.

I went to a private peremptory school from the time I was 6 until I was 12 in Japan, where we lived. I didn't make many really close friends, but it didn't bother me. It was there that I picked up the sport of Beyblading, and how, if you are serious about a sport (or anything else, for that matter), it can lift you above your peers. I liked that idea. So, while I was there I didn't much notice how pushing they were. I didn't question why they did what they did, as long as they didn't bother me and what I was trying to do. It was only later, after I left, that they really cracked down in a bid for world domination.

At first they were only interested in the technology surrounding beyblades themselves. As a naive 8 year old, I certainly only thought that a powerful beyblade lead to power. I tried to use the Black Dranzer blade, which, predictably, blew up the building when I launched it.

A little while after that fiasco my grandfather had a talk with me, I remember. He explained his theory that a bitbeast gets its power from the will of the person who wielded it. He said that he believed that I had the will to handle a very strong bitbeast, but I wasn't physically and mentally strong enough to control it. He gave me Dranzer to practice with on that day. By the time they had realized that I could have been used to control Black Dranzer for them they had lost their hold over me.

So, I was a teenager.

I went out during the day after school and battled anyone I could find and got better and better. Once I was quite close to being the best in the entire region I picked up the usual stragglers and made a gang. I knew that a lot of the people who came to me to join my gang were only there to affiliate themselves with power. They were weak. I sifted through them and got down to the best I could find. I didn't care much that my "gang" was made almost entirely out of street bladers, and that they mostly went with me to steal other people's blades. Unsuspecting victims. It was against my own rules, but my rules didn't apply to this riff-raff. And I didn't realize that there could be better people with more potential in the schools.

I was constantly lusting for a new challenge, and when this idiotic, ball-cap-wearing, idealistic blader tried to stop one of my more questionable acquaintances I was quite happy to see how he would deal with it. Apparently they had battled before, and this kid had lost. He had drive; I can still remember the look on his face while he backed up for that ridiculous jumping launch. I just couldn't figure out why he put in so much effort.

The gang member lost. I don't even remember the fool's name. I made a mistake then. I suppose it must have been driven by fate, because I don't make many of them. I allowed Takao to see me, and from then on I was Target Number One. For some reason, he was looking for a challenge as much as I was.

I beat him, of course. No one could match Dranzer, especially at such a rudimentary level, while I had been training for years with my bitbeast. But he just kept coming at me until the regional finals when I, quite surprisingly, lost. After all my research on bitbeasts, I should have realized that his bitbeast is the exact opposite of my own, and that because he had that inexplicable drive, he would beat me. I have that wisdom now.

After all, hindsight is always twenty-twenty.

I hope this bit of information will allow you to correct your column that appeared last month, although I won't know if you do or not, because I don't subscribe to this rag. Rei, who is always more vigilante in his social portrayal, called me a few nights ago and asked me, laughing, "Why didn't you tell me your parents were killed by your grandfather?".

Thank you for your time, and please hesitate to write me back.

Sincerely,

Hiwatari Kai

Formerly of the Bladebreakers and Demolition Boys (Neo Borgs)

Written in response to the article "A Phoenix haunted by death: Hiwatari Kai before the Bladebreakers"

We sincerely apologize to all readers and Mr. Hiwatari for the error in our information, it was built on mostly speculation, as there are no resources available to the public on Mr. Hiwatari's history. This letter has been printed with permission from the author.

Apologies,

Editor-in-Chief

As always, comments and critical analization in the form of reviews are always appreciated.