Prologue
Dusk. And as rain fell over the streets of Prague, Hiro planted his hands a little further down in his pockets, and shivered.
The city was quiet tonight, he thought. Well, at least as quiet as one could expect in the middle of such a downpour. The empty streets echoed with the splattering of raindrops and the slow, gushing and churning of drains. Some blocks away, Hiro thought he heard one of the night buses sail across the waterlogged cobbles, and he was silently thankful that there were no vehicles making their way down this particular street – he was drenched enough already.
He should have bought that umbrella.
Why the director decided to set up the international headquarters of a multi-million dollar organisation in the rainiest city on the planet, he would never understand... Sure, the city had its charm, he guessed. As Hiro looked up towards the skyline, the tall, imposing classical towers and looming cathedrals were impressive to say the least – even through the ghostly veil of rain and moonlight, it was a sight to behold. From Gothic and Baroque, to neo-Renaissance and Art-Nouveau, it seemed as though not a century had passed by without leaving some kind of trace in this majestic and historical city. There was nothing like this back home in Japan.
That wasn't to say, of course, that Japan was any less majestic or historical. In fact, Japan's history is one that very few countries could outmatch, in his opinion. There was an elegance and graceful superiority in the ancient wooden beams of their palaces, in the intricate ceramic tiles, lacquered furniture and fine, silken robes of times long since past. But there was something hard and cold in these Gothic towers, something intimidating in the chiselled faces of the gargoyles atop the churches, and something strong in the tall, iron-wrought fences that he had never yet found in any Japanese city, ancient or modern. And, with or without the sheet of rain, the harsh beauty of Prague was something that always, ever so slightly, took his breath away.
Hiro snorted to himself derisively. Perhaps the director was an artist at heart, then.
Turning the corner, lightning flashed overhead and, as the thunder rumbled across the sky, Hiro sidestepped slightly and took shelter under the canopy of a small cafe nestled between what seemed to be a 17th century church and a modern art gallery. He sighed, however, to discover that, not only was the cafe closed, but the canopy itself did little to shelter him from the storm. The wind had decided to pick up speed, apparently, and was now urging the rain to follow him under his shelter. And as the air whistled past the buildings, it sounded to Hiro distinctly like sly laughing.
Figures.
Serves him right for walking home instead of taking the bus.
Looking down the street, he spotted a public-phone box on the corner and - before he'd even made a conscious decision to take cover there- his legs were already carrying him down the road, his boots splashing through puddles and squelching through mud in an uncomfortably soggy sprint for the phone-box.
He really should have bought that umbrella.
Hastily closing the door behind him, Hiro leaned his weight against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, the sound of the rain pounding on the roof of the phone-box was annoying as hell and, yes, he was already soaked to the bone, but as he looked out of the glass towards the waterlogged street, there was something about being out of the actual rain that made him feel slightly better.
Unfortunately, there was something about being inside a phone-box that made him feel more than slightly worse.
Hiro had been delaying this phone-call.
He'd meant to make it when he arrived back at the hotel. Of course, he could have been back over half an hour ago if he'd just taken the bus... but he'd decided to walk instead. Even in weather such as this – even though Hiro hated the cold and the wet – he'd preferred the thought of being soaked to the bone over making that phone-call any sooner.
Of course, there's a remarkable difference between the thought of being soaked, and actually being soaked, as Hiro was now discovering. As he looked over the keypad of the phone, he silently assessed the situation. He was cold. He was wet. And he was tired.
He was really, really tired.
Picking up the receiver, he began to punch in a number that he'd had to dial more times than he would have liked this year – only this time it was with a heavy heart, because all of their suspicions, it seemed, were true.
He'd thought it was nonsense, at the start. After all, things like this just didn't happen. The Abbey was a one-off. A mistake. Just one mad-man who'd been allowed to slip under the radar for far too long. But that was it. It wasn't something that could happen again, and certainly not under everyone's noses. Only now, Hiro feared, it had been.
And he'd been blind to it all, even as he'd aided in their rise to power.
When he'd graduated from university last summer, he'd had every intention of returning home. Although his studies had taken him to the USA and he'd met a lot of new people and discovered many things, both about himself and the world around him, he'd never intended to remain there. He'd planned on returning to Japan and spending some time with his little brother. Tyson had enough absent family members, without him adding to their numbers, too. Although their Grandpa did the best he could for the teen, Hiro was sure Tyson felt lonely, maybe even abandoned sometimes, despite how well he covered it up.
So back to Japan he would go, then. Maybe he could find a job with the BBA in coaching, or recruitment perhaps. And maybe he could help turn things around for the company - especially after all the heat it was receiving from the media following the incidents of the beyblading world cup finals in Moscow. Truth is, the world of beyblade had really taken a hit, and the thought that it could be used for warfare had shaken a lot of people's confidence in the sport. Now, instead of being viewed as a bit of fun or an alternative hobby, it was now shunned as something dangerous, something parents didn't want their kids to be involved with. And Hiro couldn't really blame them, he supposed.
So when he was approached by a representative of the Beyblade Entertainment Global Association and given a business card during the end-of-semester careers fair - before he'd even packed his bags, let alone stepped foot on the plane back to Japan - he had to think long and hard about what to do. Of course he wanted to go back home, he really did. He loved his brother, and hated the thought of letting him down. But this... it wasn't the kind of opportunity a green-nosed graduate, fresh out of college, could turn down. The opportunity to teach, train, travel, and revitalise the sport of beyblading was just too good to be true, and that was before Hiro even factored in the generous salary.
Sure, he was a little unnerved when Mr Dickenson approached him, warned him about the association and told him not to divulge any personal information to the company – especially his name. What a strange request that was... In fact, if Hiro hadn't known the man, he would have thought he was going senile in his old age. But, he reasoned, how bad could this new association really be? Besides, he was only offered a two year contract, so it wasn't as though he'd be signing his life away. And there would be plenty of time to catch up with Tyson when he wasn't scouting for new talent...
So, he signed up.
And things were great.
Although, Hiro realised now, probably a little too great.
And, as the navy-haired young man lifted the phone off the receiver and placed it to his ear, he listened to the dialling tone and mentally summarised what he'd seen today, and the suspicions he had to report.
"It's not that we don't trust your judgement, but the bottom line is this: we just don't have the financial backing for such an enterprise. I'm sorry, Stanley."
Mr Dickenson sighed. In truth, he had expected as much. He paused for a moment, considering what to say in response. But what could he say? That an old man can only hope... But not to worry, old chap, I'll just reconsider our approach... Back to the old drawing board, eh!
It's not as though he could just call for a board meeting, stroll right in and declare war on the second largest beyblading association in the world for no reason. Even as he hesitantly surrendered some of his suspicions to the board members, they were quickly dismissed when a background check on the company came out whiter than a pair of sun-bleached tennis shorts.
But who was he kidding. They were right, after all. They didn't have the financial backing to stage a tournament. After the incident in Moscow and the exposure of Balkov Abbey, the BBA had one hand tied behind their back and the other completely full with the rehabilitation of those poor, young boys – simply because there were no other organisations who knew how to deal with such a thing. That a simple sport could be so misused was unprecedented.
Stanley sighed again, and his eyes shifted to one of the files atop his desk. 'Demolition Boys' typed across the centre in proud, bold text, with a large red stamp in the top left corner that almost sneered 'disbanded'. He picked it up and, not for the first time today, flicked through its contents distractedly.
Yuri 'Tala Valkov' Ivanow, 17; location – Russia, Moscow, attending Moscow High
Bryan Kuznetsov, 17; location – North America, Michigan, attending West Side Academy
Spencer Petrov, 18; location – Russia, St Petersburg, attending International Academy of St Petersburg
Ian Papov, 15; location – Russia, Moscow, attending Moscow High
Along with details of their blading history, their wins and losses, beyblade specifications and titles won, were more distressing documentations and records. Mr Dickenson recalled the trouble he and the other senior members of the BBA had in attempting to relocate the families of all the boys from the Abbey. Each of the Demolition Boys had, thankfully, been found somewhere to call home – although he certainly could not say the same for every boy's case he'd dealt with.
Ian's family could not be traced. After many failed foster attempts, Tala's new found parents had offered him a place under their roof. Word from the grapevine was that the two teens had settled in well enough, though it had been a long and painstaking process. Mr and Mrs Ivanov were a lovely couple, overwhelmed with gratitude that they had been reunited with their long-lost son. Dickenson had no doubts that their warmth would eventually heal whatever scars the Abbey had left on these boys – they were still young, after all.
Spencer, the eldest of the team, had moved to St Petersburg after it was discovered his paternal Aunt had made residence there. The gentle giant had apparently been orphaned at a young age and was taken to the Abbey by some concerned neighbours who thought they were doing the right thing.
And Bryan... Mr Dickenson was ashamed to admit that he'd had sent possibly the most troubled member of the team halfway across the globe, far away from his teammates, to live with a father who hadn't even bothered looking for him after he'd ran away from home. He suspected that the young man's violent disposition was not simply a by-product of his time in the Abbey, but of his childhood before then, too. Dickenson was sorry to have sent him to America but... with the BBA as stretched as it was at the time, Dickenson hadn't the time or resources to figure out an alternative. He'd had no choice. Bryan was a minor, and he had a family to go to. And that was that. News was... scare, on the grey-eyed teen's side and, considering the boy's violent tendencies - which were so elaborately displayed in his battle against Rei in the finals - Mr Dickenson could only assume that no news was good news.
"Stanley?.. Is everything alright?"
Mr Dickenson looked into the faces of the board on the screen before him. Ah... modern technology. In years past, the leaders of the international branches of the BBA would have had to have made lengthy trips to attend such meetings. Now it could all be done over the internet, via conference calls.
Of course, the BBA hadn't even existed in years past, but that was besides the point...
"Yes, yes," he spoke to the monitor, "Well, I had expected as much. But you can't blame an old man for trying," he said with a tired smile. "But, if I may suggest -"
Whatever Dickenson was about to suggest, however, the board never got to hear because, at that moment, he was interrupted by a harsh bleeping from the intercom at his desk.
"I'm sorry," he said towards the monitor while reaching for the button on the intercom, "if you'll excuse me for just a moment. Yes, Julianne?"
'I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but I have Arashi Jin waiting for you on Line Three. He says it's urgent.'
"Oh, is that so? Well, we mustn't keep him waiting a moment longer. Gentlemen," he said one more to the screen on his desk, "I'm afraid have a rather pressing matter to attend." It was with some measure of distraction that Stanley went about rescheduling the remainder of the meeting with the board members for a later date.
This arrangement with the young Kinomiya was... well, it wasn't one of his proudest moments. Dickenson supposed he would have to just shuffle it off to the side, let it join the large queue of many other moments in his life that he wasn't proud of. It certainly wasn't the first and, he was loath to say, he didn't think it would be the last, either. He wondered, vaguely, if the ends justified the means. He sincerely hoped they did. And yet he so sincerely hoped that they didn't have to. Unfortunately, all the hoping in the world wouldn't change the situation he feared they were in.
"Hello, Hiro," he said tiredly, putting the phone on speaker as soon as his conference-call was over. "How's the weather in Prague tonight?" he asked. The trace of humour in his voice was thin.
- A little wet. -
Mr Dickenson smiled despite himself. From the sound of the thundering rain over the speaker, he'd be willing to bet that the weather was slightly more than a little wet. "So it would seem." And then, on to business. "Is the line secure?"
- As secure as a public phone-box on the street can be. -
Hm. Good. There was much less chance of a public line being traced or recorded. "Well then, how have you -"
- It's Garland. - Hiro interrupted.
Dickenson couldn't help but notice how tense the young man on the other end of the line sounded. "Garland? The Seibald boy you scouted in Germany last Winter? "
Yes, that the one. -
"What about him? Is he alright, did – did something happ -"
- No, no it's nothing like that, he's fine. But, I don't know... he's not okay. Something isn't right, it's like.. it's difficult to explain. He -
"Hiro, Hiro, calm yourself. Collect your thoughts and start from the beginning. You said last week that you'd received an invitation from the director?"
- Yes -
"And did you see him?" Dickenson asked hastily, the words out of his mouth before he could think about stopping them. He hated to sway the topic of conversation away from what was obviously troubling young Hiro, but the identity of Bega's director had so far remained elusive, and Stanley considered it of utmost importance.
- No, I didn't. But he was there, I think... on the upper observation deck. But I couldn't make out any details. It might not even have been him. -
Dickenson sighed. Once again, he'd expected as much. "No matter. Back to the matter at hand then. This invitation..."
-Yeah, well, I was invited to a private exhibition here in Prague, down at headquarters. Like I said before, this is where they train the more talented recruits. And Dr Kellhardt approached me where I was waiting in the main hall and said we were going sub-level. She said she'd decided that it was high time I saw 'the fruits of my labour'. -
"Did she really…?" Dickenson mused. Well, this was certainly a development. To this point, it seemed to him that Bega were very careful on the information they gave out to their scouts. Hiro's job was, after all, simply to bring talent into the arms of the association. Afterwards, they were no longer his concern. "So what, exactly, did you see?"
- Mr Dickenson, I don't even know. But I was lead down this... long corridor, I guess. They had several students running obstacle courses with their beyblades in tow – agility training, I suppose. And in the centre was this stage and Dr. K called up three students. One of them was a guy I'd never seen before, the other was the girl Angie scouted about a year back – the little pop-star girl. The other was Garland... -
Dickenson pictured the scene in his mind. Yes, he knew the girl. Her name was Ming-Ming, if he wasn't mistaken. She was fast becoming the face of Bega – or at least, one of the many faces of Bega. Ming-Ming had the biggest influence over Japanese and Korean fans, her cute charm and peppy attitude winning the children and adults over alike.
- And the demonstration, - Hiro paused here to whistle, - it was unreal. I've seen Garland and Ming-Ming blade before and they're both incredible but this... it shouldn't be possible. It's crazy. I mean... okay. This is what I saw. Garland was kicking through walls and breaking beams with his bare hands, Ming-Ming was shattering panes of glass and the third kid was... I don't know, it was like he was moving the shadows or... or something. Mr Dickenson, I know this sounds crazy but, there wasn't a beyblade in sight. Anywhere. I don't know how they did it but... -
" …But it can't be good," Dickenson concluded, trying and failing to dispel the chill that had descended along his spine. Oh, he'd read the reports alright, he knew all about the experiments and trials. He just hadn't imagined that Bega had gotten this far this quickly. "You understand that this is dangerous information, Hiro. You can't breathe a word of it to anybody. If my suspicions are correct and anyone at Bega discover what you've revealed -"
- They won't. -
"You have to act normal, as though nothing has changed."
- I will. -
"Good."
Dickenson cursed silently. He should never have allowed things to progress as far as they had. But what could he have done? He'd had both hands tied behind his back, what with the Abbey and the media and their failing popularity - he'd tried his best with the resources he had...
He looked down towards the other file on his desk, and sighed. All the teams who'd participated in the last World Championships. Those boys and girls who had braved trials they hadn't even known existed, all for the fall of the Abbey. The All-Starz, the White Tigers, the Majestics. At the top of this pile was the file on the Bladebreakers, which also had a same bold, red stamp across it. 'Disbanded.'
Kai Hiwitari, 17; location – Japan, Tokyo, attenting Whitford Prepatory School
Tyson Kinomiya, 15, location – Japan, Bakuten, attending Bakuten High
Max Tate, 15, location – Japan, Bakuten
Rei Kon, 16, China, Hong Kong
Kenny 'the Chief' Saien, 15, location – Japan, Bakuten, attending Bakuten High
Mr Dickenson smiled an old man's smile as he remembered the young, rag-tag team after the Japanese regionals. They were full of fresh excitement and vigour for the sport. Despite their differences, they'd bonded well as a team over the course of their journey, and were beyblading like seasoned professionals quicker than he could have hoped for. He'd had high hopes for these young men right from the start, and they'd done him more than proud.
It was with more than a little shame, then, that he recalled his plans to use this team as a means to bring down the Abbey – those boys were too young to have such a burden placed on their shoulders, and Kai wasn't yet ready to face his past. The whole tournament was a sham. A gamble. But Stanley had received word that Boris Balkov's plans would be put into action that year, and Dickenson had to take the initiative and beat him at his own game. As it happens, his plans were a success. All was well in the end, and he could only thank the heavens for that.
- Mr Dickenson..? -
Lost in his thoughts, Stanley had almost forgotten that Hiro was still on the line, waiting. For what, he could only imagine. For further instructions, for reassurance that things weren't quite as bad as they seemed – that things weren't at all as bad as they seemed. But Stanley could not deliver on any of these.
"I'm sorry, Hiro. It was never my intention to have you in the midst of something so potentially hazardous," he said, regret seeping from every syllable. Since when had the world of beyblading grown so... dark? So dangerous? "This is the last place on earth I'd want to send you... but we need to know what we're up against."
- Don't worry about me, Mr D. No one at Bega suspects and thing and... well, after today, I think I need to see this through. -
"Thank you, Hiro. Now, on to business, then. Seeing as Bega's experiments seem to have progressed far beyond what I'd anticipated, I'm going to have to make a move," Mr Dickenson said slowly. "Now, I suspect you're not going to like what I have in mind."
- I suppose it's too much for me to ask that you leave my brother out of this...? -
Dickenson sighed.
When all else fails... when warnings fall on deaf ears and time counts against you. When experience runs dry and knowledge misdirects. When the old have nothing else to sacrifice, and nothing more to give, what else remains?
Only the young.
"I'm afraid so, Hiro."
Hiro sighed.
- I'd thought as much... -
AN: Hey guys. Hey, guess who's back... heh heh heh... heh. Hello?
Alright, well... where do I start? I really have had a full couple of years, filled with heartbreak and new love, joy and troubled times. Just... life in general, I suppose. Over the past few months though, I really, really , really have been itching to get back on here to finish what I started all that time ago. So - here I am.
For those of you who might have read The Spaces In Between, I'm sure you've spied some similarities. That is because I have been hard at work completely revamping that story, smoothing over cracks, filling in plot holes, refining characters and events and what have you. The entirety of the first 'book' (Convergence) is complete, and I'm now well underway in filling out my plans for the second. So, I felt it was time to dust off this ball and get it rolling at last.
You'll be seeing a lot of familiar scenes if you've read Spaces, but if you like what you've read here then stick around, there's plenty of new material too! If you haven't, then I hope you'll stick around anyway!
See you next week with another update!
~ Indie