Title: King and His Crown
Fandom: Bakuten Shoot! (Beyblade)
Pairing: Yuriy x Boris
Authoress: Ladyfiction
Rating: G
Themes: #009 King, #091 Crown
AN/Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Nothing.
-King and his Crown-
He was powerful and by far the greatest of the snowy plains and artic lands. Ivanov, Yuriy was king of his blade and the Emperor of blading. But, he was so young when it all started and it barely took him a year, in that retched place to establish the best position as his own.
He was one of the earliest recruits of the all boys Abbey, in Moscow at the age of thirteen. This was his passion and what he reined supreme. Over the years, that ranking never changed and a threat, or a challenge came rarely even without a bit chip, his prize possession, that cruel, frosty wolf.
At the sight of a first tournament, he was ecstatic, though, only a smirk appeared on his lips. The opposite crumbled and in barely a yawn, he was crowned the country's champion. All kneeled before him and hailed him as King of Russian Beyblading. He loved every minute of it.
Then, as time dwindled, an opponent was found. He barely smirked at the thought. Another few minutes of his life would be wasted. He refused to practice and on the day of the new boy's arrival, he was the last to greet this challenger. With cold eyes, he stared across the way at silver orbs, hollow and pale. They looked empty.
He fought without his chip and loaded his blade on his launcher. The countdown came and went. Both their tops collided and clashed. He watched his offense be defended by the unknown player and, spared a glance upwards. He would have grinned if it had not been for those void eyes watching him. They were translucent and vacant of all but an ebony pupil.
It unnerved him and in that split second, where he finally felt on edge, he lost. The blade spun at his feet, defeated. Gasps and shock buzzed through their audience. Yuriy looked down at the rings of attack slightly chipped and defense cracked down the center. He had really lost, like when lost himself in those pools of nothingness.
''Can I ask your name, stranger?'' The king asked.
''Boris.'' Came the response, with a sly curve in his lip.
Yuriy stared at him and noticed then, that those eyes were now filled with mirth and defiance. He had won and beaten the king. The loser swore it would never happen again, not as long as either of them was still alive. He blew the triumphant a victory kiss and took his first loss like a man.
…Yuriy would always be king, but Boris had just stolen his crown.
-EndE-
