Ok you're probably wondering why I'm not updating Slave for You, well the truth is, this idea came to me after I watched a certain episode of beyblade and noticed how Kai acted in front of the cameras lol. I woke up the next day with this idea in my head and I just had to write it down before I forgot! It's a oneshot focusing on the one and only Kai, with mention of the other Blitzkrieg Boys in the mix, as well as other bladers. I've used the original, non-dub names for the characters here. Anyways I hope you people enjoy it!
Perfect Model
By AngeLhearteD
The light flashed, and amber tinted amethyst glinted in the dimness of the photo-shoot setting. Another flash, another, and once again.
He stood perfectly still, in the same pose, waiting for the assault of bright, white light to end. Finally, the man in charge, who he had never bothered to remember the name of, held up his right hand, signalling they had had enough shots in that position.
'That's great kiddo, now I'd like you to lean against the locker over there.'
He moved across the floor, so effortlessly, lightly and with such natural grace, it was like he was born for this job, born to spend a lifetime admired and adored by members of the public. Like he was born to be captured in timeless beauty by the cameras.
He had a careless, elegant grace that made him a natural infront of the cameras.
He leaned against the tall, grey locker, and turned his head to the left, to look in the direction of the rows of professional photo-shooting equipment, and the people who worked them, waiting for more specific instructions.
'Alright Kai, tilt your head back for me ever so slightly, so the back of your head just about touches the front of the locker - yeah - that's great - a little more - just a little…great, great, that's great, now turn it towards me just a little bit…'
The man gestured with both hands enthusiastically, but Kai showed no emotion. Why should he? It was exactly these kinds of shots of him in these kinds of poses, with these kinds of expressionless, yet intense stares that sold hundreds and thousands of newspapers and magazines.
This was just one of many photo-shoots for promotion of the year's upcoming beyblade world championship tournament. It was for a glossy magazine dedicated entirely to the beyblading sport, called The Blading Spirit. They did photo-shoots of all the teams who were competing each year, and published the pictures in their magazines or sold them off to be turned into high quality posters of various sizes by other companies, which fans could purchase at smart prices. They also photographed the hottest, most popular bladers and personnel involved in the sport. Bladers were tempted to sign up for lucrative deals, paid a high sum of money for a few hundred shots.
But Kai had signed no deals, he had no specific contracts, he had no need of such money. He only did shots yearly, and only just before the world championships. He refused to do any during, and only ever did any after if he was on the winning team, and even then, the numbers were very restricted. Still, the media knew he was at his most willing to pose for the cameras before the world championships, so the race to book a photo-shoot session through his agent was very competitive.
He only agreed to do photo-shoots for a week two weeks before the tournament began. The last week would always be dedicated to intense training. No photographers, no interruptions, no disturbances, no nuisances permitted.
'That's perfect kiddo. Hold it right there – part your lips a tiiiiny bit…perfect! Holy smokes, your fans are gonna die when they see this. You are hot stuff! Alright team, ten of these, from all angles. Go!'
The cameras flashed like simultaneous gunfire.
Hot stuff. Yes, Kai sold more pictures than any other beyblader. He was not the most photographed, because he was elusive in nature and disliked attention in general, often keeping to the shadows, but pictures and posters of him were the fastest, highest selling material in the beyblading media industry. In sports, overall, he ranked third in the most famous and sought-after athletes in the world, and this number rose and fell marginally depending on the country.
Hot stuff. With unruly, two-toned slate hair and intense, piercing amethyst eyes, he was a striking picture of complete, physical perfection. From the fine, chiselled cheekbones, to the straight, perfectly shaped nose, the soft, arrogant lips, and the strong, smooth jaw line, Kai's face was a masterpiece, a finely sculpted, chiselled work of fabulous art. The four slashes of blue across his pale, smooth cheeks further accentuated his attractive features, and gave him a wild, unconquerable and dangerous look, perfectly complimented by the small silver stud in his left earlobe.
Not only were his looks striking, but his figure was equally as impressive. A good height for his age, he was slim and athletic in build, lean and well-built, the muscles clearly visible on the bare skin of his arms in the black T-Shirt he wore. Lithe, strong and with fast-reflexes, he was the embodiment of what many young men wished to be. Strong, talented, handsome, popular, yet silent, withdrawn, an enigma that was impossible to figure out, yet a wonder to behold and a challenge to make some sense of.
The slashes of blue would make any other person look like a clown, a fool. But on Kai, they looked fierce, like the markings great, brave warriors of mighty ancient tribes made before going to battle. And Kai was a fierce, fiery and mighty warrior, who commanded a great respect, power and presence in his battlefield, the beystadium. All who beheld him were mystified by the blue triangles; markings that were part of his past, his present, and would be a part of his future. Nobody knew the truth of what they symbolised. When asked in interviews, as he had been countless times, Kai merely stared blankly, or rose, signalling that chat time was over.
The girls didn't care what the markings meant. They just loved the way it made him look more dangerous, more wild, and so much like a rebel who followed orders from nobody, did only as he wished, and went where he wanted, when he wanted. They just loved the hard to get, silent and cold personality. When Kai walked passed his fans, they didn't just scream. They became hysterical and fainted, came close to breaking the barriers that held them back at a distance, sobbed and reached out with clamouring hands that longed to touch their idol, be it the trailing ends of his scarf, or a single strand of stray hair.
Many bladers loved the attention. Takao, who did so many more photo-shoots, basked in it, grinning, laughing, and suggesting poses to the lead photographer instead of the other way around. He blabbered on loudly, cracking jokes, winking, gesturing, and acting like the very star the media had helped him to become. And when he did one together with Daichi or Max, the hyper levels of loud talk and laughter and bickering tripled. Even Rei smiled and winked at the cameras.
But Kai merely stared, or closed his eyes, waiting for it to end. He had an obligation like every other professional blader, to cater to the needs of his fans in some way, as a token of appreciation for their loyalty and support. Takao and Max and Rei laughed with their fans, exchanged a few words (in Takao's case, had huge conversations sometimes even), signed books and shirts and posters and other items, gave speeches that included thanking their followers for their support.
Kai rarely, if ever, did any of these. He never talked or laughed with his fans, though they longed and pleaded for him to do so. He always walked past his fans, and never gave eye-contact to any one person in particular. Kai only ever looked a person in the eye if he was seriously talking to them, if he wanted to intimidate them, or to make some other point where only one look would express everything. Such was the power of his gaze. Even when talking to someone, looking at them directly wasn't a guarantee. And if his eyes happened to betray him to cast a random and accidental look in the direction of his fans, the noise reached fever pitch and became deafening.
But he knew how to block out sound. He was quite the expert. He only ever heard what he wanted to hear and could shut out the rest as if it were not even being said.
His talents did not only lie in beyblading.
He never gave speeches. Even with Neoborg, when he had lost the final the previous year to Takao and a speech had been obligatory at the following ceremony, it had been Yuriy who had given a few, short words, including a brief, unemotional acknowledgement to all the fans who had followed and supported the team.
He had said: 'We want to thank…' which included the entire team as a collective. Kai, standing to Yuriy's left, had looked up from the floor of the stage at that exact moment, his eyes scanning the huge crowd and stopping at nobody and nothing in particular until they lowered again to the stage floor, two seconds later.
It had been enough for the fans. He knew how to give them just about enough and never too much, always keeping them on the edges of their seats. Their favourite blader had a reputation for being unpredictable. His glances were gold. And he rarely ever signed books, posters or shirts. Instead, he signed over a few photos after the yearly photo-shoots and these were photocopied and distributed for sale. A genuine autograph was rare, and those few lucky enough to have ever obtained one somehow, knew there were many, many people willing to pay huge sums of money to get hold of it.
Kai Hiwatari was a big business. Yes, he was hot stuff.
He didn't have to do anything for his fans and they would still follow him (a fact that drove Takao up the wall at times: 'Can you believe this guy, he walks right past his fans and they scream! How do you do it Kai? If I ever did that, man, I'd be in the news the next day, and they'd have 'Ungrateful world champ blanks adoring fans' written in huge, black, bold writing!' To which Kai had given his world-famous 'Hn' response and stalked off, leaving Takao even more irritated than he had been to start with).
Kai didn't need his fans, didn't need their approval the way Takao and other bladers needed theirs. But he had a responsibility as a professional, and the yearly photo-shoots were his way of fulfilling that obligation. He had no other time to read fan mail or to agree to be part of a competition to meet one lucky fan and spend the day with them. These photo-shoots were the best option for all parties: himself, the fans, and the media.
'That's brilliant! You're on fire kiddo!' The lead photographer declared.
The left corner of Kai's lips twitched ever so slightly at the pathetic pun.
Hn…he thought. Didn't the man know by now, that he didn't care much for small talk and compliments? The less time they spent talking, the more time they spent doing what they had to do, and the sooner Kai could take his leave.
'Alright, last one! Let's make this real special for your fans. Ryu, dim the lights! More! A little more…perfect! Stop it right there! Kai, turn around and look back over your shoulder slightly…no…let me come over and show you…'
The thought of the overly enthusiastic, sweaty man coming to physically manoeuvre him into the correct pose filled Kai with disgust, and the man must have caught sight of the slight sneer of disdain, for he hesitated, and laughed nervously, before reaching out to touch Kai's left shoulder so lightly, it was as if he were afraid flame would blaze from it. He directed Kai into the right position.
'Great, turn your left foot out a little…no…this way…yes! Perfect! Hands into fists…okay, let me just arrange these scarf ends…' He played about with them and Kai rolled his eyes as he waited. He really didn't enjoy being fussed over and posing for the cameras like this, and if his element wasn't bright, scorching, searing fire, he was sure he would have been blinded by all the flashes by now.
The thought led him to think of Boris and Yuriy, who both detested photo-shoots even more than Kai did. He masked his dislike with indifference, but Boris, and in particular, Yuriy, made it plain that they hated the flashes of lights and photo-sessions with venom. In a photo-shoot for the team a year earlier, Boris had glared at the camera men and women, frightening most of them out of their skins. Sergei had held back chuckles of amusement at the melodramatics of his team-mate and captain.
'What the hell are you trying to do, blind me!' Yuriy had scowled at the poor man who was struggling to get a shot. The flame-haired young man hated any flashing bright lights outside of the beystadium with passion. Then, glancing at Kai, who watched from his area with an expressionless (although silently rather amused to himself at how different Takao and Yuriy's approaches to modelling were) look, he had added, in a stream of exasperated Russian:
'So, this is how Takao wins his finals. The Japanese press blind all the competitors so that they go into tournaments having lost their sense of sight, and that lucky amateur has no problem cruising to victory. I always knew it was a set up!'
'That explains how you lost in the Russian final two years back.' Kai had remarked dryly, stunning the camera team by speaking more than two words together and in a fluent foreign language also. 'Because of the Japanese media…a set up.'
'No. That wasn't a set up, because you screwed it up…and besides, the photo-shoots are a different kind of evil altogether. It's ingenious…less obvious, but just as effective.'
Despite himself, the corners of Kai's lips had curved up into a tiny smile, and he had closed his eyes and lowered his head before anyone could catch the rare display of amused emotion. Yuriy had looked away, muttering that Kai was 'Japanese' anyway, and so '100 per cent biased', before snapping at the terrified young make-up artist that if she came close and asked him once more to consider applying some powder to add colour to his pale complexion, he would make her eat the stuff.
Sergei had chuckled openly and Boris had glared in disgust at all the make-up. None of the young men had any blemishes that needed to be covered. The make-up was unnecessary and they all refused to have a spot applied. It had been a long, exhausting day, which, when it finally ended, had left both parties relieved to leave; the Neoborg boys, happy to finally stop their time being wasted, and the photo-shooting staff, just happy to still be alive.
'Alright kiddo, I want you to look not at the cameras, but at the spot right here, by this blue cone.'
The man's voice snapped Kai out of his memories. A year on, and he was doing the photo-shoot alone, still having not decided on which team to blade with.
He looked at the blue cone, and the camera man clapped his hands.
'Perfect, spot on kiddo! I'm dying here…all these shots are amazing! These will sell like gold dust!'
Kiddo? He was eighteen, way past the age of such a childish tag. But considering how old the lead photographer was, Kai supposed the man would even address a thirty year old by the term.
'Okay hold it right there! You've done great for us Kai. Last one everybody! We all set?' The man looked at the rest of his team.
'Gorgeous!' A female photographer cried. 'Simply divine! The demand will be even bigger this year! What a breathtaking pose, with perfect lighting and shadow!'
'It brings out his eyes perfectly!' Another remarked, just as excitedly. When they photographed Kai, they enjoyed it; they drank up his good looks and looked for ways to use the lighting and effects at their disposal to produce even more striking results each time.
'Alright, three…two…one…!'
The cameras flashed and Kai didn't move a muscle, didn't even blink; he stood like a statue of art as their lights dazzled all around him and he became their subject once more; he was their pride and investment, their flawless masterpiece. He was their perfect model.
Author's Note:
Ok that's it folks! Like I said I simply had to write this before I forgot which explains why it's suddenly sprung out of nowhere lol. Please leave your thoughts on this and I really hope it was in character and that you all liked it. Watch this space for an update for my other main fic soon. Thanks for reading!