Demi: right, sorry for taking so long. Was ill, then didn't know what to write... but Phoenixandashes (my official BETA Tester) gave this chapter the Phoenix Seal Of Approval (© me) so i'm assured it's okay...

(the line breakers aren't working for me, i deeply apologise.)

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"I say it needs more paprika!"

"Paprika? Where on Earth were you taught how to cook? It needs something else, but not paprika!"

Oliver laughed at the two cooks. "Well," the boy interrupted, "why don't you pour some of the sauce into a bowl and try different things?"

There was a pause. "By Jehovah, he's got it!"

Oliver rolled his eyes and exited the kitchen, walking along the corridor to the main body of the large L'Mange Restaurant. He passed many tables, diners waving to him as he went, before stopping behind the front desk.

His father, Emile Polanski, smiled down at him. "Hello, Oliver, m'boy. Sorted out those cooks yet?"

Oliver nodded.

"What on Earth was it about?"

"Paprika."

Emile shook his head and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "No matter. It's sorted now. Oh, by the way, your Uncle Martin and cousin Radolf are visiting today. Should be here…" He checked his watch. "In half an hour or so."

"Great! I've missed Radolf." Oliver replied with a grin.

"I bet you just want to battle him again."

"Now what makes you say that, father?" Oliver chuckled. "It would be nice to have a go at the Red Wolf, though."

"I know it would." Emile replied, biting back a knowing smile. "He's got better though."

"So have I!" Oliver protested.

Emile laughed, but stopped when someone walked through the front doors of the fancy restaurant.

"Can it be…? D'Arcy Kullen!" Emile rushed out from behind the large, curved desk and embraced a middle-aged man with windswept, sandy-brown hair. "Where the devil have you been all these years?"

"Here and there!" The man, D'Arcy, laughed. "Now, this must be Oliver."

Oliver had followed his father, though at a slower rate, out from behind the desk and now stood beside the elder Polanski. D'Arcy extended his hand with Oliver shook.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir."

"No, the pleasure's all mine, boy." D'Arcy laughed. "My, how you've grown!"

"Old friend, let us go into the side room. Oliver would you stay and look after-"

"Would it be okay for me to request him to come with us? I wish to hear about those Beyblades… and who better to ask than a true champion?"

"Certainly, certainly." Emile replied with a chuckle. "Oliver, tell Marquis he is in charge and then grab some wine."

"White or red?"

"May I request a red, old friend?" D'Arcy interrupted. "I haven't had a decent red in over a year!"

"Certainly! Oliver, you're the expert. Just choose what's best."

Oliver and the two men split paths – Oliver going to the back of the restaurant once again, whilst his father and D'Arcy disappeared through a door to the side of the restaurant.

"So where the Dickens have you been all these years?" Emile asked. "And answer truthfully!"

"Travelling the world, looking for old friends and various people." D'Arcy replied, sitting down at the medium-sized mahogany table, opposite Emile. "And I was in town, so I thought I'd drop in."

"Well, I hope you plan on staying for some time! Marie will be so happy to see you!"

"Oh Gosh, how is Marie?"

"As beautiful as ever."

"Hm, you got a very good catch, my friend." D'Arcy said. "Brains and beauty. And I thought you rich folk only married for more money!"

"Not now. My father did. But I intend on changing it. It is only love we Polanskis will seek." Emile answered. He sighed. "Have you ever been in love, D'Arcy?"

"Oh yes… I'm ashamed to admit that I am infatuated with a woman currently."

"Why is that something to be ashamed of, dear friend?"

"Because she is grown and married." D'Arcy sighed sadly. "It is a one-sided infatuation, I'm afraid."

"My friend, she will come to light. I cannot think of any woman who would reject you." Emile looked up as the door opened and Oliver entered, carrying a small bottle and three wine glasses. "Ah, m'boy. What have you chosen for us?"

"Nuits-St-Georges." Oliver replied, setting the three glasses down and pouring the rich, red wine into them. He placed the bottle in the center of the table. "My favourite."

D'Arcy laughed. "Only – what? – sixteen and he has a favourite wine!" The man laughed again and Oliver sat down with a chuckle. "Ah, I do not laugh at you, boy. It is just… strange to me. A poor man…" He sighed and sniffed the wine before taking a sip. "Mm, ah, now I can tell why you like it so much. I'm not much of a wine person, but this tantalises the taste buds, if I may say so myself. But such a nice wine in such a small bottle… it shall be gone quickly, I must warn you."

"We have many bottles in the back, don't you worry, my friend. My wife's sister's husband knows the supplier. He's a brewer and knows all the right people, you know?"

"Ah, yes." D'Arcy nodded, taking another sip. "But, boy, tell me – how are your team? They have not been seen for some time. Only Johnny and… Robert? Yes, Johnny and Robert were seen at the previous Beyblading tournament… but how are they?"

"They're well." Oliver replied, taking a sip of his wine. "They're at Robert's castle presently – a reunion."

"But why aren't you there?"

"I'm too busy." The French teen replied. "Enrique promised to come down and visit soon, though."

"Ah, well, isn't that nice?" D'Arcy chuckled. "I did that for Emile when he was your age. I moved to Belgium when I was… fifteen because my parents split up. I lived with my mother, but came to Paris to live with my father and to see your father."

"I remember those times." Emile said with a laugh. He poured another glass for himself, topping up Emile's and Oliver's too. "Oh, no more." He placed the empty bottle on the floor. "But no matter." He raised his glass. "Here's to old times. Good old times."

"Cheers."

Their glasses hit together with a 'clink', before they each drank a mouthful in respect.

"So, will you enter the next Beyblade tournament?" D'Arcy asked.

"Robert is thinking about it. Possibly, yes."

"Ah, I cannot wait. All of you will do Europe proud. But you, Oliver, will prove to the world that France is not a prissy country where we sip wine and laze around."

"No, that's the Italians! La Dolce Vita!" Emile laughed, ruffling Oliver's hair.

The French teen laughed too. "I have to admit, that's the impression I got when I went there."

"Ah, he does have a backbone!"

"D'Arcy, my friend, would you like more wine?"

D'Arcy studied his empty wine glass. "Some more would be nice, yes. Ah, no, my boy!" He cried when Oliver stood. "I will get the wine! Just tell me where it is held and I will retrieve it. No need for you to serve me – I will serve you!"

Oliver blinked. "Um, ask Marquis and he will direct you. He is the man behind the desk. Black hair, tanned skin-"

"Italian?"

Oliver chuckled. "Yes."

"Ah," D'Arcy smiled. "And this was Nuits-St-George?"

"Oui."

The brunette stood and with a dramatic bow, left the room – only to reappear five minutes later with an open bottle. He sat, filled his glass, then Oliver's, but when he proceeded to Emile's, the French man shook his head.

"No, mercí." Emile excused himself. "I mustn't whilst in charge."

"Of course, old friend. Still so wise." D'Arcy placed the bottle on the table once again. "But about Marie. I heard – Miss France, eh? She's still got it, nabbing it from all those young scallywags."

Emile laughed. "Yes, crowned last month. Gosh, it made her so happy."

"I bet you spoilt her rotten after, didn't you?"

"You know me too well!" Emile laughed. "But – ah! – I have a picture of her in the cupboard actually! Oliver, in the second one from the end, if you could please."

Oliver nodded and stood-

Suddenly wishing he hadn't. A headache seem to crash onto his head, waves of dizziness hitting him. He moved to the side to grip the counter.

Before his father could even utter a word, he blacked out, falling to the floor.

Emile stood quickly and rushed to his son's side. "Oliver! Oliver!"

"My, my, someone can't handle their favourite wine…" D'Arcy commented casually, standing and walking over to the door. Surprisingly, he locked it, lips curling. "Or not…"

Emile's eyes widened. "You… you did this! You spiked the second bottle of wine!"

"Why else did you think I did not sip any, even though I retrieved it?" D'Arcy laughed. "But yes… not a normal drug… one of a kind, made just for me on my request. A hypnotic drug… when he wakes up, the first person who speaks to him will be his… master. And that will be me."

"But-But why?"

"Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" D'Arcy's smile turned into a look of pure disgust. "You took my precious Marie from me! I promised her the best life she could have! A quiet life – one in a beautiful country house in Belgium with many rooms for relatives to stay in and the most beautiful horse ever and many more! You promised her the city life – a rowdy one; a disgusting one. One filled with money, wine, and slaves.

"You charmed her in the most crude way but she still stayed with you!"

"She loved me! She still does!" Emile protested.

Ignoring him, D'Arcy carried on. "And then you have the most talented son! Handsome, charming, caring and innocent! A great cook, painter and beyblader. An intelligent boy…" His green eyes flicked over to Oliver, softening. "So much power, but you let it slip through your fingers." He moved over to the Polanskis, Emile moving to shield Oliver. "Think about it, Emile. If he received proper training, he could be the world's greatest beyblader! He could help control the world with his power!"

"I will not become another Boris Balcov!" Emile shouted.

D'Arcy backhanded him, sending him sprawling to the other side of the room, his head hitting the cabinets. Emile blinked, trying to still his vision, D'Arcy taking the time to bind his hands behind his back and his feet together with rope from his pocket.

The Belgian man walked back over to the door. "Listen to me, Polanski. Time for a little gloating with the ingenious plan – that's what all bad guys do, right? Both Marie and Oliver will be mine. The world will be mine… trust me with those promises.

"And now, I'll be leaving you for a spell. When I return, I will lock the door, take Oliver away by using the backdoor, leaving you here…" He turned around, unlocking the door. "Oh and by the way? Things are about to heat up. After all, this is a hot restaurant and you are a fiery man…"

The demented man left with a laugh.

Emile could only stare at his unconscious son. Tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of his son being corrupted by such a psychotic man… his beloved wife being taken…

The door opened and his gaze shot over to the wooden entrance.

His eyes widened. "God above! Martin!"

"Emile? What on Earth-?"

"There's no time." Emile protested. "Get inside."

The thirty year old brunette slipped inside fully, followed by a fourteen year old Radolf.

"Oliver!" The red-tinted brunette teen cried, rushing over to the limp body.

"What's going on, Emile?" Martin asked with wide eyes, rushing over to his brother-in-law's side. "Let me untie-"

"No. Listen to me, Martin." Emile said quickly. "You must take Oliver back to England and keep him safe. D'Arcy Kullen drugged him and bound me. This drug – when Oliver wakes up, the first voice he hears, he'll obey it… forever, I guess. D'Arcy was going to control Oliver and take Marie from me. He's going to set the restaurant on fire, I think. He's going to kill me – you must take Oliver and go! He will be safe in England. D'Arcy doesn't know of the Thomas' and that Sasha is Marie's sister… just keep him safe."

"What about you?" Martin protested.

"I will keep him busy. Just go. Do it for me and Marie, Martin. And just do what you think best." Emile gave him a reassuring smile. "Now go before he comes back."

Martin nodded. "Goodbye, old friend. May God welcome you with open arms." Reaching to the back of his neck, he undid the clasp of a crucifix, before securing it around Emile's neck. "I will take good care of him, do not worry. And D'Arcy will not get away with it."

Emile gave a curt nod and watched Martin pick his son's limp body up in his arms, Radolf rushing to the fire exit and opening it, stepping out into the alleyway.

"Goodbye, m'boy…" He murmured, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Radolf looked back at his uncle sympathetically. "But father…"

"No…"

Radolf nodded, but paused. He rummaged in Oliver's coat pocket and pulled out his beyblade. Unclipping Unicolyon's bit chip, he placed the tiny metal disc in his pocket before placing the pink blade within Emile's grasp.

"He'll be with you, even in your dying moments."

"Thank you, my boy."

Radolf nodded before rushing after his father and closing the fire exit. Emile sighed and tilted his head back against the cabinet doors, waiting…

He didn't have to wait long. Five minutes after Martin and Radolf departed, D'Arcy entered, looking very smug-

Until he saw that Oliver was gone.

"Where is he?" He snarled at the French man, shutting the door behind him.

"He woke up and I told him to leave. He obeyed me – thanks to that chemical whatsit."

"You lie!" D'Arcy backhanded Emile again. "Why did you not get him to untie you?"

"Because I am no use to him. I told him to run. Just… run away from here."

D'Arcy glared at him, but shook his head. "No matter. I will find him one day." The Belgian man walked over to the fire exit. "I would say 'see you later' but I won't be… you won't see another damn thing in this world every again. So… bye!"

D'Arcy left… leaving Emile to wait until his death came…

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Demi: I understand there are a few questions unanswered, but please be patient with me. It's stressing enough to explain myself without confusing all you readers…

Please review, guys