Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade.
It felt like he was dying. Why did his chest feel so heavy? Why did his head hurt so badly? Why did his limbs feel so numb? . . . Why did he feel so empty?
He was finally starting to recover from his coma, but it didn't feel like it. The doctors said he would be able to go home in about two or three weeks, but he didn't want to go home. He didn't even know what home was.
He doubted that his teammates had come to visit him at all when he was sick, and he hardly ever saw them now.
So what was the point in living?
The point, he told himself, was to prove that he could. To prove that he could survive, that he was not a quitter, that he could do something for himself. . . He wanted to prove to himself that he was not weak. That Boris and Voltaire should have never looked down on him.
One day, he would be better than them, and the rest of the world. Everyone would recognize the name 'Tala Ivanov'. Then he would finally have some respect.
He may not fit in now, but one day that would all change. He may not have anything to live for now, but he didn't want to die either. 'I will survive. . .' Tala reminded himself, as he drifted off into sleep yet again.
The next time he woke up, he was looking at an unfamiliar face. It took him a minute, but he finally realized that he was staring at the boy who had beaten him. What did Tyson want with him? He had beaten him, so shouldn't he no longer be of any importance to him? Or maybe he was here to rub it in?
It didn't look like it. Tala couldn't see what expression was on his face; it was not one that he recognized. "Tala. . ." Tyson paused. "That is your name, right?"
He nodded weakly, slightly restrained by all the equipment and tubes around him.
"I'm sorry about what happened."
What did he just say? Those two words were unfamiliar to Tala, 'I'm sorry'. He had never heard them before in his life, had he?
Tyson sounded like he meant it though. He looked as if he meant it too. He really was serious, wasn't he? So many questions were running through Tala's mind now: Why was he apologizing to him, why did he care about what happened to him, why was he here, where were his teammates, why weren't they here. . .
"Get well soon, okay?" said Tsyon. And then he smiled softly, adding, "I want to beybattle again sometime."
He was leaving now, and Tala couldn't believe how optimistic he was. The concept of 'optimism' in general was foreign to the boy.
However, from that day on, Tala had a new goal; he didn't just want to survive anymore, he wanted to be like Tsyon, too. He wanted to be happy and determined, and on friendly terms with everyone, like Tsyon. And he slowly came to understand that just surviving wasn't enough, it was something else entirely to be able to truly live.
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