Chapter Nine: The Chase

"Robert?" Enrique called, dragging his feet along the dark, stone corridor, licking the last of the sugar dust off his lips and massaging his forehead.

The past three days since arriving in Germany had not gone well for the blonde at all.

First of all, he'd had to cancel a number of dates with his girls to accommodate the Majestics' pre-tournament trip to Robert's castle, which he understandably wasn't very happy about. But not because dates were hard to come by for the blonde - not at all. For him, dates came as easily as though they'd fallen from the heavens right into his lap. And it wasn't because the girls had taken it badly, either. They weren't happy, of course, but Enrique had his ways. No, Enrique's displeasure came from the simple fact that, recently, he just wasn't getting his own way, and the Italian was very, very used to getting his own way.

Secondly, Robert himself wasn't extremely accommodating towards his team's visit to his humble abode. He endured their presence on the most part... but usually he kept to himself and his work, gracing them with his presence at mealtimes and seldom else besides. Enrique wished the elder teen could be a little less frosty, but under the circumstances he supposed he understood. Still; the old, stiff, frosty Robert would be a much welcomed return in comparison to this new, heavy, burdened frostiness.

Thirdly, his initial meeting with Johnny's friend Rachel had been... interesting, to say the least. Enrique had earned many different reactions from the girls he'd approached over the years - being laughed at outright was not usually one of them. Even worse, as if to rub salt in the wound, she and Johnny then exchanged what seemed to be a series of private jokes about the blonde before leaving poor Enrique standing there as dumb as a mime wondering what on earth had happened. Anyway, the pair from Britain had been ever so cliquey since their arrival and Enrique felt distinctly left out.

And then there was Oliver.

Enrique wasn't really sure what had happened to him. The two were still the very best of friends, of course. When he arrived, the blonde lamented in great detail about exactly what this two-week stay at Robert's castle was costing him and Oliver had 'hmm'ed and 'ahh'ed and 'I know'ed in all the right places, so he was obviously sympathetic to the blonde's plight. In fact, the budding young artist-chef had suggested that, while they were here, they should spend a weekend in Berlin walking the streets and taking in the sights. However, Enrique distinctly felt that they both had very different ideas about just what 'taking in the sights' actually meant. Enrique was of the opinion that once you'd seen one art gallery, you'd seen them all. Oliver probably felt the same way about girls. Still, the two would come to a compromise in the end, they always did.

Despite this, Enrique still couldn't help but feel that something had changed. It might have been something to do with the large welt that had formed on his forehead after Oliver threw the pepper mill at him. The blonde lifted up his fingers to the bump again and winced. Okay, it was definitely something to do with the fact that Oliver threw a pepper mill at him. If it was Johnny who'd thrown the pepper mill at him he might have understood, but Oliver? Dainty, delicate little Oliver with the patience of a saint? No, for some reason Oliver was not as patient as he used to be and the throbbing in Enrique's head made him wonder why. He supposed that Rachel was messing up their team dynamic. Yes, in fact, he was sure that was the reason why. Three days with the girl was more than enough for anyone to realise that she basically embodied the very notion of the word impatience. She was clearly rubbing against everyone the wrong way.

"Robert," Enrique hollered down the corridor, pre-emptively announcing his presence.

It did not escape his notice that Gustav was not stationed outside the door, as always. Good. Maybe he'd be allowed inside this time. Enrique was more than a little curious to see what lay on the other side of that door. Besides, it was about time Robert gave the old man a rest anyway - Enrique was sure all that standing around did nothing good for his knees.

"I'm coming to save you from your boring work, Robert. Olli said lunch'll be ready in ten!" he called, knocking on the door once he'd reached it. No response. Strange. "Robert?" Enrique opened the large, heavy, wooden door to what was now Robert's private study and stepped inside. "Wow..." Enrique breathed softly as looked around the tall, proud, circular room.

Robert's lineage was ancient, its nobility could be traced through the centuries. His name held considerable weight throughout Europe and boasted quite the legacy, and this was reflected in the aged and impressive castle in which he lived. Dark marble and unfriendly stone walls loomed overhead while suits of armour stood sentry in the halls and along the corridors beneath portraits of his forefathers which glared down, passing cool judgement upon anyone who walked past them. The very air in the castle felt intimidating at the best of times.

Robert's study, on the other hand, was surprisingly softer - though no less impressive, that's for sure. The tall, circular walls were not stone but instead paneled wood; smooth, dark and rich. The floor, however, was made of chiseled stone, softened by a number of intricately patterned rugs. Glancing around, Enrique noticed deep blues and sultry shades of crimson; there were one or two tasseled rugs which looked as though they belonged far in the ancient East, accompanying water-pipes and street musicians perhaps, or else snake-charmers and sparkling, tinkling dancers in colourful robes.

As in the rest of the castle, a number of frames adorned the walls, however these ones did not host echoes of Robert's deceased ancestors. Instead, these frames housed a number of spectacular landscape paintings - some oil, some watercolour, all of them breathtaking - and a significant number of them, Enrique noticed, bore Oliver's delicate signature in the bottom right corner. There were bookshelves fit to bursting with dusty old volumes, the names of which Enrique wouldn't even bother trying to pronounce. Several ornately inked globes stood within a display case, each one a testament to cartography through the ages.

The room felt almost like a small, private gallery. Enrique was more than impressed by Robert's taste in decor. The eagle eyed teen had been holding out on him. As he strode around the room taking in the sights, Enrique imagined all the wasted conversations he and Robert could have had about furniture styles and famous designers.

In the centre of the room, below the grand candelabra, was Robert's desk. Carved of a deep, dark wood, it stood proud among the other curiosities in Robert's study, and was currently burdened beneath a large pile of papers that rolled inwards at the corners - very big papers which Enrique suspected stretched wider than his arms could reach. Behind this desk was a square chair furnished with a dry, olive-stained leather in which the blonde had expected to find Robert, but the elder teen was conspicuously not present.

"Hmm... where did you go?" Enrique murmured to himself while stepping forwards towards the desk. He couldn't resist peering over the papers. He sat down in Robert's deceivingly comfortable chair and began to leaf through them. "Blueprints?" he whispered. One by one he peeked at the plans, lifting them up at the corners with feather light fingers. Some of these were old and some were very new; some dated as recently as three years ago. Large square rooms, halls and corridors that seemed to stretch for miles; was Robert considering renovating the castle?

Just then, Enrique felt rather than heard the crinkle of paper underfoot. He rolled the chair back and stooped down to pick up what turned out to be a think, starchy envelope. Turning it over, he saw Robert's carelessly elegant script on the front. His penmanship was, as everything else the teen did, impeccable.

Went for a ride - needed some air. Will check up on Jonathon and Rachel. I'm sure you know where they'll be, if you need me.

Robert.

The blonde scrunched up his face. "A ride? In this weather?" He cast his clear, blue eyes towards the windows in the room, through which all he could see was a miserable haze of grey. It wasn't raining, as such - Enrique knew rain well enough thanks to the sudden, torrential downpours that one could expect from a Roman spring. However, this current, constant drizzle had hung around the castle all morning, ensuring that everything it touched would become well and truly soaked with time. The blonde ran a hand through his perfectly tousled flaxen locks as he left Robert's study.

Well, he sure as well wasn't out going after him.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Look, you're just not focusing -"

"But I am, Johnny, I really am, and - and that's the problem!" the brunette exclaimed.

Rachel tossed her launcher at the ground like a child and then stomped her boot with frustration. She paced agitatedly around the ring once, twice, knowing that Johnny was watching her, knowing that he was waiting yet again for the opportune moment - the calm in her storm - in which to tell her that she could do this, it would just take a little more time: be patient and keep at it. Well, fuck him. She was just about sick of his fruitless positivity. And fuck the tournament too. The brunette stopped her angered pacing only to glare at a nearby empty can on the ground for a moment. She briefly considered kicking it at the redhead. But then she sighed and stooped down to pick it up instead. It slipped a little between her fingers, wet with rain. The cold metal was dented badly with a crude, jagged gash running diagonally through one side. Pathetic. She turned to Johnny.

"There was a time I could do this without even looking," she murmured, flicking her damp locks away from her face. "Clean and tidy, right through the centre. Each and every one, perfectly so. Now I can't even bloody manage to tear one in half..." She sighed, tossing the can to the ground again. Rachel stepped over to the bench at the side of the ring and collapsed onto it in a dejected heap. "It shouldn't be this hard," she moaned.

Johnny took his hands out from his pockets and strode over to the far side of the ring. He kicked aside one, two, three of the cans, stepped over the forth and then kicked the fifth, clearing a path to Rachel's Korrigan. Rachel didn't want to see him pick it up. She turned her head away to the side and folded her arms huffily, squinting her eyes against the drizzle and glaring out over Olympia Stadium's training grounds.

They'd been here all morning and Rachel still hadn't felt even the slightest bit of improvement. It was the same story yesterday and the day before. Her launch was clumsy, her turns sluggish, her attacks lacked any kind of power. It was embarrassing.

What had happened to her?

Rachel allowed her dark eyes to linger resentfully over the agility course, the precision alley, the strength line, all of which the brunette had used extensively over the last couple of days and none of which she'd had any success with. Finally, her eyes fell to one of the many beydishes that were dotted around the courtyard. She hated the sight of them; the thought of blading within such a confined space almost revolted her. This wasn't what she was used to. This wasn't the way she played.

She felt Johnny's weight on the bench beside her.

"...You keep forgetting," he started, his 'r' relaxed and lovely with its richness, "your blade didn't quite meet regulation standards before."

Rachel exhaled through her nose, folded her arms and continued ignoring the redhead and his regulation standards. So what if she'd preferred her blades polished and honed to a devastating point. She glared off in the direction that she and Johnny had tethered Robert's horses and played with the idea of going back to the castle to sulk, leaving Johnny out here on his own in the rain.

"So obviously you're gonna have a bit of trouble growing used to it," Johnny continued serenely, as though he weren't being ignored.

"Well that's a bloody understatement," she spat, turning her head around slightly to shoot a dirty look at him.

He actually laughed at her. The nerve of him. "Rachel," he chuckled, "it's been, what, a week?"

"Nine days," she corrected petulantly, continuing to glare at nothing in particular.

"So, a week," he resumed, brushing off her childish tone. "After a near three year break, with a completely different blade? No matter how good you were before, Rachel, you're not that good. No one is."

"Well thanks for the vote of confidence," she bit harshly.

"You're welcome." Rachel practically felt the carelessness of his shrug. Northern bastard.

Johnny dropped Korrigan into her lap and then slouched back on the bench, crossing his legs at the ankle and languidly throwing his arms behind his head. He waited. Rachel continued to ignore both him and the small weight of the blade resting on her thighs. Time passed. It dawned on her how very stupid they both must have looked, sitting there on a wet bench in the drizzling rain, Johnny looking as though he were lounging on a beach somewhere in the Mediterranean and she, tense and angry, with every limb she owned folded and a scowl on her face simply because she couldn't play a game.

She sighed, her shoulders lightened.

Rachel unfolded her arms and picked up Korrigan again, searching within its new appearance for the blade she once knew. To anyone who had never really looked closely, it seemed virtually the same - it was perhaps a darker shade of grey, at most. But to her the thing was, at best, alien and uncomfortable; at worst, completely unusable. Lighter, taller, softer at the edges, even the way it moved was vastly different to what she remembered from before.

Korrigan was lithe, nimble and fluid in its movements - but not in the way that water was fluid. It more resembled air in its movements. Water was a constant, a slow and enduring strength. It would run and run and run, as a river does, changing its course when meeting resistance and swallowing whole anything that might cross its path. Her Korrigan could not have been more different. Her Korrigan would not meet resistance. It would dance around it as though it knew where the offense was heading before even it did itself. She would run circles around the opposition and make them think they were squares. Her blade thrived on the chase, excelled at turning the tables and using her opponent's predator instinct against it. But the parts that made up this blade were clumsy, unyielding, and Rachel struggled desperately to feel the weightless fluidity she remembered so well. She stared intensely at it, willing herself to find within the blade she'd loved.

"Have a match with me."

Rachel blinked, tearing her eyes off the blade. "What?" she said dumbly, looking incredulously into Johnny's lavender eyes.

"You heard."

"You can't be serious?" she scoffed.

"I can," the redhead smirked.

"When I can't even manage to pull off a steady launch and hit a couple of stupid targets?"

"Especially then."

"You're out of your mind."

"And you," he said, poking her in the shoulder more firmly than was perhaps necessary. Rachel resisted the urge to rub it. "You need to get out of yours. Forget about your stupid fancy launches, your hairpin turns and jackass little cans," he said, jumping to his feet and gesturing around the training circuit in which they'd wasted more time than she'd like to admit. "Forget about them and get a feel for your blade. Because I'm just about sick of seeing you lose patience with the damn thing when you havnae even used it yet!" he exclaimed, turning back to her.

Rachel blinked once, twice, and then snorted. "Please, don't be ridiculous," she said dismissively, "I've been using it all bloody week -"

"Nine days -"

"Exactly. That's more than enough time to know that this," she replied, brandishing the beyblade up at him, "isn't working. It's too tall, doesn't have the weight or staying power of my old blade - the specs are all wrong for me."

"More like you're all wrong for it," Johnny muttered. Rachel kicked at him but her leg couldn't quite reach. So she just huffed and began running fingers through her damp hair with one hand, peeling it away from her face. She looked up as Johnny began to speak again. "Well suit yourself," he said, shrugging, "I'm not gonnae carry on sitting out here in the rain. But - Jesus, when did you become such a quitter?" he spat as he turned away and began making his way towards the horses at the entrance to the training grounds.

"Excuse me?" Rachel called indignantly towards Johnny's gradually retreating back. He ignored her. She stood up. "No, come on, don't just walk away," she called. And yet Johnny continued doing just that. She wouldn't stand for it. Rachel strode forward, stepping over her abandoned launcher and reaching out to grab Johnny by the elbow. "I am not a quitter," she insisted.

"No?" Johnny asked, twisting around and out of her grip.

"No," Rachel replied firmly.

"Prove it, then," he said, taking a step back and looking down towards her feet. She followed his eyes and saw her beyblade launcher lying by her left foot, its discarded ripcord just inches away, half-submerged in a puddle. She swallowed the small lump of guilt that formed in her throat at the sight. "Pick it up and prove it," Johnny repeated.

Rachel did so. Her launcher was cold and wet and it slipped about in her hand. "It's just… harder than I thought it would be," she began meekly, not looking at the redhead, "you know, getting back into the game. I didn't think it would be such a struggle," she admitted. And it was true. She'd hardly ever struggled with anything; it used to drive her brother mad. Growing up, anything and everything she put her hand to she took like a duck to water, naturally and almost without effort. Everything besides getting along with others and staying out of trouble - at those two things, Liam had held the upper hand in every way.

Johnny chuckled. "Tough shit," he said, smirking. Rachel wanted to wipe it off of his face. "What?" he asked innocently when he noticed the look she was giving him. "I've got no sympathy for you when you're the one making things difficult."

Rachel tutted and opened her mouth to protest but Johnny wouldn't allow it.

"No. Stop being stubborn, stop making excuses, and just ready your beyblade," he said impatiently. Johnny took his Salamalyon out of his back pocket and mounted it on his launcher. He paced several steps away before turning back to her and taking a launching stance. "Like I said, forget your drills and targets and your stupid little exercises. No rules, no winners, just a friendly match."

Rachel's misgivings about battling Johnny had settled somewhat at the mention of the word friendly. If it was a friendly match, she probably wouldn't have to call out her bitbeast. She didn't want to admit that she was more than a little reluctant to do so. She didn't want to admit that her fear of it might be the very thing holding her back.

"Just you and me," Johnny continued, "spinning blades together."

Rachel raised an eyebrow sardonically. "What, like old times?"

"Sure," Johnny shrugged casually.

Rachel rolled her eyes and smiled at his off-handedness. Her earlier irritation had evaporated at the look on his face. "Fine," she said, mounting Korrigan on its launcher and taking her place across the courtyard from Johnny. This, she could handle. No beydish, no boundaries, no keeping score … no risks. Rachel slowly threaded the ripcord into the launcher and readied her footing, preparing to launch. She and Johnny looked like mirror images of each other; he gripping the ripcord in his right hand, she gripping with her left.

"Ready," she called.

"Okay. Three, -"

"Two…" she echoed, joining in with a whisper. "One, -"

"Go, Salamalyon!"

Rachel pulled hard on her ripcord and felt her beyblade power forward. It hurtled into the ground and wobbled once, twice, three times, making her cringe. Clumsy. Then, Johnny's flaming red beyblade came thrashing towards hers… so much for this being a friendly match. Gritting her teeth in silent, furious concentration, Rachel twisted around on the spot and her blade followed suit, moving rapidly to the side in a large, curved arc. It narrowly avoided Johnny's blade and then came to rest just behind her.

Johnny pulled out of his dive at the last moment, his blade stopped just inches shy of Rachel's right foot. "Not a bad dodge," Johnny said.

"It could have been better," Rachel returned stiffly. She couldn't shrug off the sluggish feeling she was getting from her blade's movements.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Johnny teased.

"Oh, shut up."

Rachel huffed and urged Korrigan to sweep back around again. It did so, and came barreling towards the red beyblade from the left - but Johnny pulled his blade away with ease. The two spinning tops circled each other in the middle of the courtyard - fiery red against iron grey. Occasionally one would make a rapid jab at the other, which would then be dodged in a blur before being returned in equal measure.

Rachel began to smile. She ran her blade around and along the training apparatus while Johnny gave chase with his Salamalyon. Up and over, down and under and back again. There was a moment in which Salamalyon lost its balance while zooming along the pull-up bars; it slipped and fell, unsteady after the impact of hitting the ground. Rachel quickly double backed with her Korrigan and lashed forwards. Salamalyon shot out to the side and only narrowly avoided being hit. However, it didn't escape being scraped on the rebound as the brunette sent her Korrigan hurtling towards it again. Rachel laughed.

So did Johnny. "You just got lucky there," he jibed.

"Sure," Rachel grinned, a twinkle growing in her eye along with her confidence, "you keep telling yourself that."

"Whoa, whoa… steady there. Gently," robert murmured, gently tapping Equinox's strong, soft neck. His horse snorted contentedly, shook his long, chestnut mane and slowed its trot down to a gentle step.

Ahead, Robert could see the entrance into his stadium's training ground. Tethered to the fence and sheltered from the rain beneath a thicket of trees were two other horses, one a deep, inky black and the other a soft, honey roan. Well, at least the pair had the sense to tie up his horses under relative shelter, Robert thought as he approached the grounds.

The young man with deep, purple hair slicked back with rain dismounted and walked his horse over to join Solitude and Ilka by the trees. The animals nickered at each other in greeting. He dislodged the two horse blankets from Equinox's saddle (that Johnny and Rachel had been too thoughtless to bring themselves) and carefully threw them over the other two horses, securing them in place. He paused just long enough to give Equinox one final pat before walking ahead through the drizzle into the training grounds.

It had been a while since Robert had set foot here. He used to make the journey down almost every weekend. The hours he spent training and honing his technique were a welcome break from the monotony of study. However, owing to recent… events, Robert's free time had become scarce, to say the least.

"Come on, Salamalyon, chase her down!"

"In your dreams!"

Robert's head lifted at the echoed sounds of battle and he spied the pair at the far end of the courtyard. They were positioned around the agility course and even from where he stood, Robert could a dull grey blur whizzing circles around Johnny's bright red beyblade. Neither of the pair had called out their bitbeasts yet, it seemed.

Robert took shelter unnoticed beneath the overhang of the equipment shed and let his eyes roam over the happily battling pair. Despite the rain and the slight chill in the air, he saw that Johnny had opted to discard his jacket and it now lay messily on the ground near one of the benches. Rachel had instead merely rolled up her sleeves in an attempt to cool off.

He couldn't see from here, but Robert knew that those arms bore a pearlescent, razorblade lacework of scars, a memento from the car crash that killed her brother. He'd seen the scars last night at dinner; when asked about them, Rachel went curiously deaf and didn't join in the conversation until the subject was changed. Anyway, rumour had it that the only reason she hadn't been crushed in the crash herself is because she, in drunken wisdom, hadn't worn her seatbelt and, on impact, was flung out of the driver's seat, through the windscreen and into the road…

But the eagle-eyed teen didn't believe that for a second. From what he'd learned of her through Johnny, the girl had a reputation for being reckless but she was… far too smart for that. No, Robert was more inclined to believe that, whatever had happened, it had nothing to do with roadside accidents and everything to do with her complete and sudden withdrawal from the sport of beyblade three years ago. It had something to do with Rachel's secrecy and evasiveness, and it had something to do with Johnny tensing at the dinner table the night before when the subject of her 'retirement' was raised.

Regardless, curious though it was, Rachel's past was none of his concern. Robert was just mildly grateful that she had stepped forward and joined the team, allowing them to participate in this new Battle Royale tournament. He knew how much it meant to Johnny. But participating, it seemed, was all the pair was interested in doing at this point because neither of them looked as though they were taking this battle seriously. And that wouldn't do. Whether he was participating in the tournament or not, Robert would not have his team's name sullied by casual players. Besides, he was mildly curious to see what this girl was made of and why Johnny held her with such high regard.

Robert smirked, brushed his damp, deep purple hair away from his eyes and pulled out his own beyblade. Since the pair were doing little more than having a quaint discussion over their blades, he'd have to bring the fight to them. Click and twist, thread and pull: Robert silently launched his pale blue blade straight into the midst of Robert and Johnny's battle, taking them both by surprise.

"Robert?" Johnny cried, while the brunette just whipped around, her wet hair flying wildly, looking for the aggressor who just knocked her blade off balance.

"Forgive me for butting in," Robert called as he approached them, "but I was falling asleep over there."

Johnny smirked and rose to his taunt. "Is that so?"

"Quite. In fact, I saw more exciting beybattles fought by the rookie juniors at my first regionals."

The redhead laughed, his eyes sparkling. "Oh, I'm so gonna kick your ass."

Robert allowed himself a smile. "Griffolyon," he called, summoning his bitbeast. The majestic creature took a lap around the area, showing off its enormous wingspan before coming to rest placidly behind its master. Off to the side, heard Rachel gasp and saw her take an instinctive step back.

"Yes, you've not been introduced, have you? This is my bitbeast, Griffolyon. This mighty spirit has been passed down my family for generations," he said fondly.

Rachel withdrew her beyblade; it came to a level stop beside her feet. She bit her lip nervously. "That's nice," she said flatly, her wary eyes roaming over Griffolyon. "But I think I'll -"

"No, come on Rachel, don't wimp out," Johnny said lightly with a chuckle. "You need to help me wipe the floor with him. Didn't you hear him? - he's just insulted us both!"

"No, really Johnny, I think -"

But whatever Rachel thought, she didn't get the chance to say, because Robert had chosen that moment to slip his beyblade behind her and knock hers back into the centre of the clearing. She glared at him resentfully.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Well, if you really do intend to take my place on this team, I need to make sure you're capable," Robert shrugged. "Besides, I hear you've been having a bit of trouble with your bitbeast -"

Rachel rounded her glare at Johnny as he said this, whose smile faltered at the sight of it. The phrase if looks could kill came to mind…

"- So why don't we see if we can't tempt it out together, hmm? Griffolyon!"

Robert didn't give her any time to reply, shooting his blade forward for another attack. He heard Johnny summon his own bit-beast and was temporarily blinded by the brilliant, white light of its release as he moved in to intercept Robert's offense. It was an unnecessary measure. Rachel's reactions were much quicker than Robert had bargained for. Griffolyon hadn't even reached the spot where her blade was just moments ago before the brunette had somehow managed to bring her blade back and around again and launched a volley of attacks from behind. Quick though she was, her strikes were a little… unkempt, and Robert's blade brushed them off easily.

"Is that all?"

And then his Griffolyon exited stage right, buffeted roughly away by an intense red blur.

"Forgetting something?" Johnny smirked.

Robert laughed and willed his blade to regain balance. It did so easily. "Nothing that wasn't already worth forgetting," he taunted.

And so it began, a furious three-way battle in which Rachel tried to escape Robert while he absorbed her attempts to shove him off the chase, all the while dodging Johnny's relentless attempts to interfere. The whole ordeal was rather confusing and proving more difficult than he'd originally thought. Johnny must have been lying to him earlier that week when he came with concerns about this girl being fit for the tournament, because the picture Robert saw before him now was nothing close to what he had imagined in his mind at Johnny's words.

Rachel, it turned out, was extremely good at using the surrounding obstacles to her advantage… infuriatingly so. Robert restrained a flinch as she led him crashing headlong around one of the bench's legs and into a pillar, before using her momentum to double around and lash out at his blade which, still being out of balance from the previous collision, was something he wasn't able to avoid. Robert paused only long enough for his blade to regain balance, allowing him to dodge Johnny's incoming attack, before he lifted up his eyes to look across the courtyard.

Rachel had the intriguing habit of moving with her beyblade. He had seen a multitude of techniques over the years and most bladers had the tendency to throw their arms about during a match or take an instinctive step back when taken by surprise or, conversely, a step forward when launching an attach; Rachel's movements were something quite different. Her blade arced around her as she turned, moved to the left or the right with her, and if it swung around a corner and changed direction, her feet always followed suit. As Robert watched Rachel's eyes flickering restlessly around her, taking in every nook and cranny of the courtyard, it dawned on him that, until that point, she had been the centre-point of this battle. Yes, he was giving chase but, somehow, she was the one dictating his every move.

"Not bad," he said as she turned around to face him again. "But not terribly impressive, either."

Her dark eyes narrowed in response.

Robert plunged his pale blue blade into the fray again, swerved out of the way of Johnny's predictable attack and resumed his chase of Rachel's blade. He could see only one way to corner her, and he had to be quick and precise. She led him under the precision targets, through the obstacle course, around the launching alley and Robert followed chase, just as he imagined she was expecting him to do. Then he saw it, a light of opportunity spark in her eyes, tight with furious concentration. She was planning on leading him around the bend of the next flag pole and doubling back on him, he was sure of it. Robert urged his beyblade to speed up … he was getting closer … he was right on her tail … and then he rapidly swerved to the left just as she had doubled back to take another swipe at his blade. She missed, there being nothing there to hit, and her blade toppled forward and went skidding into the nearest beydish. Perfect.

"Shit," Rachel hissed with bewilderment and frustration.

Robert smirked as he circled around and dashed the iron-grey beyblade back into the centre of the beydish it was trying desperately to escape. The pale blue blade landed neatly in the dish and began to run circles around the outer rim, patrolling Rachel's only way out. He walked across to stand over the dish and gaze imperiously down on their blades.

"Well, now that I've got you in one place, let's see what you're really made of, shall we."

"Why are you doing this?" Rachel demanded, her dark eyes full to the brim with suspicion and distrust and… something akin to fear. How odd.

"I'm not doing anything," Robert replied carelessly as Johnny's blade joined the dish. "Not yet, anyway. Griffolyon," he called, "Wing Dagger!"

On command, his great Griffon bit-beast swooped down on the match, gracefully evaded Salamalyon's counter measures and unleashed a barrage of attacks on both blades. The sheer power and force of Robert's strikes were too much for either blade to handle and before long, the iron-grey beyblade, with nowhere to run or hide, had begun to wobble and topple dangerously out of balance.

"Oh, Korrigan…" Rachel whispered, dancing uncertainly on the spot. "Robert, stop it!" she insisted with an edge of panic in her voice, trying to avoid another of Griffolyon's barrages. She was just short of a true dodge, and the resulting swipe knocked her blade halfway across the dish. Its attack ring grated against the surface; the uncomfortable sound of metal grinding against metal assaulted their ears.

"...Okay, I think you've made your point, mate," Johnny said, clearing his throat and stepping forward.

Robert blinked, not understanding why Johnny appeared so worried. "I'm not trying to make any kind of point, Jonathon," he reasoned. "Although, if she can't handle the pressure now," he said as an afterthought, launching another attack, "I dread to think how she'll handle the stadium…"

"Why're you suddenly so interested all of a sudden?" Johnny accused defensively. "You didn't seem to care about it before."

And then the battle was over before Robert had a chance to reply.

There was a sudden, blinding flash of light and a strained, strangled cry of 'No!', but it was almost inaudible over the strange, quavering, high-pitched sound that echoed around the courtyard and caused the hairs on the back of Robert's neck to tingle. He thought he caught a glimpse of something dark and feathered, with an unnervingly sharp beak and a tail that seemed too long to be allowed. And then it was gone, and Rachel was withdrawing her blade in a hurry. The expression on her face was a curious mix, somewhere between distress and bewilderment and… satisfaction. She lingered only long enough to pack her beyblade away. Then she turned and ran towards the horses without sparing either of them a second glance.

Down in the dish, Salamalyon and Griffolyon were perfectly still, spinning in place, awaiting the commands of their owners. Robert glanced across at Johnny whose eyes, although clearly troubled, revealed that he was equally as confused. As the echoed sound of hooves on the wet ground faded away, Robert sighed and called Griffolyon back into his hand.

"I don't suppose you could explain what just happened?" he asked the redhead with a level voice.

Johnny shrugged, pocketing his blade. He was looking out towards the spot where Rachel had vanished from view, chewing on the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed, looking uncertain. "…I dunno," he offered eventually, flicking his sopping wet hair away from his unreadable eyes. Then he shrugged a little too carelessly. "But let's get back to the castle, shall we? I'm starving."

With that, Johnny promptly recovered his uselessly wet jacket and started making for the two remaining horses, leaving Robert with more questions than he'd had before.

Why did Rachel freak out like that? Why didn't she continue blading after her bit-beast had broken through its release? And what was Johnny not telling him?

A/N: Hey guys, what's up? It's been rainy and horrible and miserable all week, but that's fine by me. It's indoor weather, which means more time to write. Anyway, hope you're all well and not burdened down with the lurgies like me!

Just want to say thanks to all my readers and reviewers. Your're all amazing. No matter how many times I leave, then return with good intentions and empty promises, there's always been a warm welcome for me here. It's incredible, thank you so much. And thank you to those of you who've asked questions in their reviews, I love an inquisitive reader and it means a lot to me that you're interested in what I've written here.

So here's a quick FAQ:

When is this set? After the original season one. Yep, you heard right. V-force and G-rev never happened.

Where's Daichi? Oops. I er.. actually totally forgot about him. Probably because I never really liked him. Sorry, but he most likely won't be showing up!

Who's the main character in this fic anyway? Erm, short answer - there isn't one. I've really shot myself in the foot with this fic because a) its super long (four arcs, to be exact, each around twenty chapters long) and b) the story consists of one large main plot in which there are about eight or nine subplots. There's a plot surrounding Rachel and her past, Mariam and her role in the Saint Shields, and Robert and the blueprints Enrique's just saw in his study (although that's not important until much later). There's some love-triangle business in the works, as well as some TyxHil sprinkled around here and there. Matilda undergoes some heavy character development and takes a level in badass later on. I've nearly completely rewritten the lore surrounding bit-beasts and scared spirits, so there's that too. Oh, and of course Tyson and Kai will get a showdown in the end - wouldn't be Beyblade without it!

So far, this is basically just Spaces! Well, yes, and no. I've recycled a lot of the content, I'll give you that. But I've also cut some out and added fresh material here and there. There's a lot of background stuff that I've changed, but most of it is 'backstage' that you wouldn't have seen yet. Think of it as building a house - the foundation wasn't quite right. The measurements were off, and some of the bricks were laid wrong. So I had to fix that: the result is something that very nearly looks the same, but works much better. At least, it does in my head, and that what matters.

Why did Rachel quit 'blading? What's her secret? As much as I love an inquisitive reader, it's important to her sub-plot and will be revealed in time.

~ Indie x