Well, it's been a long (3 years?) since I've actually written anything. I've gotten bored with life so here's a long overduesomething that I started three years ago, but never really finished. I've actually gotten bored of Beyblade but I can still write stuff. I didn't want this sitting in the gutter forever. Enjoy it while it lasts. And for the first time in my life, I will actually update this story until completion (the number of chapters is pretty obvious).
Summary: From four to three to two to one. From Max to Rei to Kai to Tyson, respectively. Their thoughts on their placements. I used the results from the first World Championship to assign them (arbitrarily I guess) a fourth through first place in their team standing. OOC ~ ishness.
Disclaimer: Do not own the show Beyblade or the merchandise (wish I did though).
Max POV
I'm going to be number four today, the very last one.
Today I pick number four. No one wants to be number four, because number four is always last. Tyson took number one, Kai got number two, and Rei stole number three. So, today, I guess I'm number four.
The fourth number never matters. Someone can be first and get a gold medal, then second with a silver medal, third with a bronze medal. But, fourth never gets a medal. Number four never gets anything. I've always been behind the others, supporting them along the way – cheering Tyson on, standing next to Kai, and laughing with Rei. Sometimes, I've broken out of my number, trained a little harder, and persevered a bit more. But when I stand next to my teammates, I can't help but feel the distance that will take years to bridge so I smile for them, and only for them. I smile to make them feel better, to let them know that my number doesn't matter. Even though it does.
It's the number first assigned to me at my first tournament and it's the number that I've been carrying on my back throughout my journeys with the Bladebreakers.
It hurts more when a person is number four, because number three is so close, but still not close enough. Number four is never close enough. And I'll never get close enough to the others.
So I laugh, to keep them guarded from my thoughts. I pull my teammates closer so the short distance won't breed suspicion. And I train hard without their knowledge so someday I can rid myself of this number four.
But somewhere not too deep or too shallow, I know I'll always be number four. It'll stay with me throughout my career like a stigma haunting my every step. I don't know how or when, but I'll find a way to break the hold it has on me. However every time I think that, it just cackles madly and points out that it's a scar, not a wound.
Oh, how I hate the number four.