I am currently re-watching the anime, and decided to base the ideas, thoughts and feelings based on what we seeing during the events of Beyblade G Revolution, considering that I feel that the anime did the characters a lot more justice, and fleshed out Kai, Ray and Max a lot more than the manga. I love the manga don't get me wrong, but I also haven't read the manga in a long time. Apologies.
I am very aware that the ending of G Revolution is often disputed, with many arguing that Kai died within the hallway after his fight with Brooklyn, and others preferring to stick to the manga story line. I am arguing either side, but I know what I prefer. I am a weakling, and after reading Beyblade: Rising, I've concluded that Kai survived. There is a lot of theory around the idea of Dranzer sacrificing herself/himself (I generally refer to Dranzer as female - I have no idea why I do, it's a habit, so be aware, Dranzer will be referred to as a she) in order to save Kai, which is a nice thought, and due to Dranzer being a phoenix, she does possess the ability to be reborn. As I said if none of this interests you, or you are completely against any of this, you don't have to read it, but thank you anyway. I'm also used to the English dubbed names, I apologise greatly if this is an issue for anyone, but please enjoy this. It isn't complete so hopefully there will be more to add soon!
Even now, even with the hot buzzing pulsing within his ears, making noise appear masked and minimal – even now he can still hear the rumble of the stadium. Even now he's mesmerised by the war cry of his teammates, his friends, even now the roar of the crowd infiltrates him, and leaves him to question: how can he, Kai Hiwatari, deserve the very love and passion that comes from his friends? How can he deserve the cheers of the crowds and their saluted cries? He wonders, how can he deserve the strength of Tyson, the passion of Max and the very love that Ray hosts? Even now, despite everything, despite his mad methods to thinking, despite his steely gaze and oft harsh truths, to which, Kai never neglected to address; they'd wanted him back. Not just because of the power, strength and brutal methods he had at his disposal, but because Kai had become so much more to them, and they, in turn, had become something and much more to Kai.
So even now, even with his back to his friends, even as he faces the encore of fans whom scream their praise and mark their existence to be known to him, even now he wonders how he came to deserve this. When engulfed within the darkness of the corridor that he had once walked out of, even then he wonders. Wonders how he deserved such an opportunity. An opportunity to face Tyson, the opportunity to become part of a team and a valued team captain – how did he deserve the opportunity to be something, something other than the kid with the frostbite touch, and cruel tendencies? Only in the dark shall his facade crumble, only within the cold that sweeps over calloused and dirt-worn flesh shall Kai allow the years of walls to be blown down with such ease, and he makes no efforts to fight them. There's no point, there's no point in fighting something that he isn't all too sure that he has the control over any more. What's the point in fighting the battle; when he's just won the war. Russia's coldest winters had once been the demeanour of Kai's face, visage had once been stoic, and dewy-marble flesh had once been pure like the fallen snow that he once recalled – now he bleeds vermilion and finds that it oozes from the places that had never seemed possible to him.
Palm presses up against the wall, that his shoulder so idly fell into, and momentarily he tells himself that he has enough strength, or can muster up the strength, to continue down the corridor, he has to possess such strength after all. He is Kai Hiwatari, and he's seen so much, and been through so much more, that his previous fight with Brooklyn should have been a walk within a snow clad meadow. It should have been, but he'd been too ignorant to accept the full brutality of Brooklyn's abilities, at first. Even now, the win hangs above him, but it hangs feather light, and whatever weight Kai had previously possessed that had played burden upon tiring shoulders, had been released. The burden had been lifted when Tyson had called out to him, when Tyson had reached through Kai's walls, when he'd reached through Brooklyn's mental illusion, and regardless, regardless and anything and everything, Tyson had reached for him, and pulled him back to the surface. It had been lifted when Ray and Max had insisted Kai was their friend, regardless of the things he had done, regardless of the cruel things Kai had said. Regardless, they had devoted themselves to getting up and making a stand to protect him – and whilst Kai knows he would never have been able to look at Tyson, Ray or Max in the eye again if they'd done so – nonetheless, Kai was grateful. Grateful that they cared enough, grateful that despite everything that is and was happening, despite the situation, despite the notion of the BBA going under to Boris' sardonic tendencies, they'd give anything and everything to protect Kai. Maybe that was because they still viewed him as their leader, their strength and their voice of reason, or maybe, maybe it really is, that they've come to love him.
Darkness descends upon him, and the corridor feels alarming, and so much more colder than it had been when Kai had walked out of it. The cold cripples him, it numbs calloused digits and sends a dull ache to dance through him, but it is no victory dance, and nor shall it spare the violence. It grapples at his knees, coaxing shins into buckling, and before Kai has realised just what is happening to him, he's succumb to exhaustion. He collects himself as only a heap, a heap of torn and crimson stained clothing, a marred body, a skeletal frame of the boy he had once been. He had been the sort that didn't maim all too easily, the sort with the strong hands and the steel gaze, the sort that usually beholds the status of predator, and now he's only the prey. Locks of grey so idly fall before his view, ignorant to block his path, and it takes all but too much strength to even think of raising a hand to move his hair. Instead he allows his head to fall back, a mass of blue and grey so violently 'twined, meshed like a netting, once spider-silk woven, now so thickly matted and caught around rose bush thorns, - how ridiculous it is to see once tamed locks, flush to his face.
His face does not sulk, not now, and nor does it brood – there's something else that colours the dulling crimson of his eyes. There is a mass spread of various constellations strung together by fate and victory, lost in translation amongst the colouring, and never quite reaching his face. He parts his mouth, fractured lips coming to spread so idly, as if even the minimum movement strikes up a blistering agony. His breaths come thick and serve him only harsh, diluted clouds briefly flutter before him, though they soon fade to a nought; as if they never existed. Regardless, they emphasise the cold, or at least, they emphasise just how cold he is, or how cold he has become. He always knew of victory to be good, to be a warm feeling, a bolt of electricity that runs through you in the essence of reminding you that you are still human, and you are still the best, and whilst this victory clings to his heart with a peculiar fondness, there's a coldness about it. It was all worth it, he tells himself – it was worth it to hear the crowd scream his name one last time, even if for a relatively short period, they declared him only a traitor. They called for him regardless, and eventually, with his wits and courage, he won them over. It was worth it to hear his teammates, his friends, shout his name and run towards him, and salute him the victor that he was. It was worth it to inspire them to fight and keep fighting, and even when it seemed like they were destined for only failure, it was worth it if it inspired them to get back to their feet and fight on like the warriors Kai had become to identify them as.
It was worth it to hear the concern that danced through Tyson and Max's tones as they swapped questions and suggested Kai seek medical attention immediately. It was worth it to feel them all grab a hold of him, clothing and marred flesh caught between their hands, as if he was precious. It was worth it to know that Kai actually meant something to them, despite everything. Despite his keen requirements to seek another fight with Tyson, despite how he'd turned away from Tala, how he'd turned away from Tyson and co. when they declared that they needed him the most. It was worth it to know, that despite everything, they carried love and admiration for him. They could still gaze upon him like a team captain, and come to him knowing that only he could talk like the captain, and love like a friend. It was worth it.
His hand tightens around his blade, he can still feel the heat from Dranzer, a phoenix whom was born to inspire, a Queen within her own rights, and Kai would not deny her. You can go now – he whispers. She's done her bit, she fought alongside him, carried him among her wings and set fire to his enemies, for how dare they try to condemn Kai. Even when he was stubborn and self-centred, a single-minded child who was bred for glory and power, even when he so arrogantly threw Dranzer at Tyson, even when – there's so many even whens… But even with this all existence, Dranzer did not give up Kai and Kai, in turn did not give up on her. Constant had been his praises for her, held her tight to his chest whenever she'd secured a victory, and every time he had promised that, that would be her last difficult fight and everything from here on would be so much simpler. Her call had been the voice of reason that reminded him no matter the fury of the war he should fight, she would willingly fight alongside him. How odd is it to feel the warmth of her wings spread around him, her golden crown perched amongst his shoulder, a bird of fire, and only in his eyes – a guardian angel. How odd is it that she should call out to him, and he doesn't hear, not any more. His grip on his blade finally loosens and with a sharp clank and click does blue meet concrete, fire meets the cold, and Dranzer realises that Kai had given it his all, and more. He'd made his own sacrifice despite the odds, to inspire Tyson, to drive the force that would give Tyson the will to win.
In the end – Kai had been a brave boy. Selfish and driven by the requirement of greatness, but brave nonetheless. Within a moment of silence, there's a faint whisper of a crack, and that crack becomes more frequent and louder. Violent, and there is a cry to follow, a call belonging to his best friend, his bitbeast, and the blade shatters into several small pieces, and such small pieces condemn themselves to even smaller pieces. Perhaps this was Dranzer's sacrifice.
He's cold now, colder than he's ever been. Even the violent cold of Russia could not equal just how cold Kai had become within the last passing moments. Even the condemning walls of the Abbey had not been this cold – nothing had been this cold. Not to him. It's within this cold - this numbing sensation that runs over him - that Kai replays his past, it comes in avid bursts of light and dark, mild reflections to days and endless nights within the Abbey, taught to be great and victorious, and that failure was never an option. Loss is your greatest humiliation. All who failed had to be punished, there was no wonder how Kai had become so hard on himself, declaring himself worthless and a loser when even Black Dranzer had fallen under his command. Through thick lashes, scolded by the heat of tears, Kai had declared he couldn't change, because this was who he had become – a child easily manipulated into the yearning for power and being the best. A boy who had to be best and had to be recognised by all, as the best, not Tyson, not any one else, he had to be the best. Even in such a moment of weakness, Tyson had never mocked Kai's weakness, he hadn't even noted it, he'd never mentioned it, nor pitied him, but instead reacted – offering his hand. Offering himself as a friend, reminding Kai that despite all the terrible things he had done, his blunt attitudes and sulky nature that concerned Tyson particularly, Tyson had never viewed him as anything other than a friend. At first Kai had only been a threat to Tyson's status, an opponent to beat upon the stands, then he'd become their Captain, well spoken and far from polite. Always the first to step in and offer words of wisdom and methods to victory, and thirdly, Kai had become more. A friend. A best friend, one that the team needed and wanted to fight alongside, rather to fight against. He'd become something. He'd become a handshake and a warm smile, the kind eyes and the firm hands that separated his friends from danger. He'd been the calm even after losing his Dranzer to Spencer, and even when Dranzer had been under someone else's reign, he had not felt like he was without anything, but instead had reminded Ray, that he felt that he had gained something.
He'd gained friends. People who loved and respected him, people who saw past his years of defence and walls he'd manipulated to defend himself, people who looked to him for guidance, but people who also cared enough to tell Kai when he was pushing himself too hard. They were not Boris, and they certainly were not Voltaire and in that notion alone, Kai could come undone. They had come to value him not just because of his experience, his strengths, knowledge and power, but because even when Kai had masked it, Kai had cared, and Kai had been there, perhaps acted like the blunt driving force, but he'd been there nonetheless. At first he'd been afraid to allow himself to care for them, he'd been afraid to loosen him and discover that he actually did like them, and their company... That he actually enjoyed being a Blade Breaker. He had be so afraid of appearing like a loser and that he was weak in their eyes, when under the strain of his defeat, even with Black Dranzer under his reign – that it had finally felt good to allow all of that to come undone.