The Territory
Kai had scars he couldn't remember receiving. He assumed they had to do with beginning as a beyblader—everyone else had them too. Little slashes on fingers and hands and forearms that shined in the correct lighting. Criss-crossing nicks that meant before you could catch a blade, it had to hit you a few times. Before you could dodge a blade zooming towards your head, it had to trim your hair.
Some scars weren't that old, though: scars from new special attacks, practiced against shattering things that tore up fingers or hands or forearms—dangerous attacks that sent blades ricocheting at unexpected angles, taking some skin along. Everyone had scars like that too.
Then there were scars opponents caused. Rei had slice-marks outlining his body: the sides of his torso, legs, arms—like a terrible wind had tried to rip him apart. Tyson had thick bear-claw-scars on his chest. Kai had vertical sliver-scars over his eyes… Most attacks didn't scar skin, though. They bruised. They scarred internally. Invisibly.
The Blitzkrieg Boys were riddled with invisible scars.
Scars just came with the territory. Though some had more than others.
Brooklyn, for example, didn't have a single scar.
But Kai figured he was different.