Chapter Twelve: The Calm before the Storm
Johnny was going to demand a rematch with the Saint Shield girl, and he was not going to give in until she said yes. His pride was on the line as well as his reputation as being 'a tough blader'. He was supposed to the champion of the UK! Yet, he had been defeated by a girl from some low-class clan. Unacceptable! "I'm not going to let you down again, Salamalyon," he said, glancing down at his blade. "We know her strategy now. Next time she's going down."
First, he had to find her. It had been a few days since they last crossed paths, but she had to be staying in town somewhere. He was currently walking down a busy street. Various clothes shops lined the sides of the road, but would Mariam be shopping? She didn't strike him as the type of girl to spend all day looking at clothes unlike Enrique's stupid girlfriends. As he continued down the street, he heard the voices of a boy and girl gossiping.
"I can't believe the ticket prices!" said the boy.
"And they've already all sold out," exclaimed the girl. "In under twenty-four hours!"
"That's because the Bladebreakers have reunited."
"Except they're not called that anymore. They call themselves the Avengers now," the girl replied.
So much from retiring professionally from the sport, thought Johnny. So, Kai, Max and Rei had joined up with Tyson again to help him defend his world title. Competition was going to be interesting this year. Lots of old faces returning as well, but they'd all be crushed beneath the power of the Majestics' bitbeasts.
Speaking of the Majestics, Johnny pulled out his phone and glanced down at the screen. Robert hadn't replied to his message about meeting at the registration, nor had he seen their page on the website. So, he had gone ahead and registered the team just before the deadline. It wasn't something that was his responsibility to do – Robert was the captain. Something must've happened. Robert would never forget something of that importance.
"You're looking a little bit lost," a voice said.
Glancing up, Johnny spotted a certain girl with royal blue hair leaning against a wall. Without even realizing it, he had taken a turn into the women's clothing street. Warmth rushed to his cheeks. "Hmph. It's you again."
She pulled away from the wall. "Still sour over your loss, Johnny?"
"You might've won the match, but the real one counts in the beystadium."
"A loss is a loss, Johnny. Even the best lose," she replied, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder.
He noted her teammates weren't around. She must be on her own then. Maybe the rest of the team were packing their suitcases for the trip to Australia? "Where's the rest of your team?"
"I could ask the same of you."
"Packing for Australia." Actually, he didn't know where they were. They wouldn't leave without telling him first, so they had to be in town still. He glanced down at the screen again. Still nothing. Maybe Gustav would know.
"Don't you know it's rude to look at your phone while someone is talking to you?"
Damn this girl. He glared. "You're lecturing me on manners?"
She shrugged. "I'm beginning to wonder if all those stories about you being a descent of royalty are true… Maybe it's a false story."
Her smirk widened. She was baiting him, but even knowing this, Johnny argued back. No one insulted his family name. "Ask anyone on the streets in Europe and they could tell you all about my family's history. Even non bladers know my story. My clan-"
"Enough, spare me the history lecture," Mariam said, raising a hand.
"What do you want? A medal for defeating me?"
"Do you have one? That would be nice to wear around my neck."
Why that… His jaw muscles tightened. "No, I don't."
"Don't offer things you don't have then."
He raked a hand through his auburn hair. If this had been a guy, he would've swung a fist already, but the McGregors never hit girls. Right now, he wished he had Enrique's ability to read the minds of women. He would know what to do. "So, what then?"
She stepped closer. Now she was within arm's reach. She reached down into her pocket and pulled out a brown paper bag. Digging a hand into the bag, she soon pulled out an apple. Two red apples in fact. "Here, have an apple," she said, holding the apple out towards him.
"What?" Either she was playing mind games with him or she was just plain crazy.
"I didn't poison it, all right?"
He took the apple. "What's the apple for?"
"Eating?"
Johnny felt his cheeks burn from embarrassment. Thank goodness the other Majestics weren't present otherwise he was sure they would hold this moment against him for the rest of his existence. He took a bite out of the apple.
"You're looking for a rematch, aren't you?" Mariam said, placing one hand on her hip.
Johnny nodded. "Like I said, you got lucky before."
"I'll think about it... while we go shopping." She grabbed his arm and pulled him over the shops on the right. That confirmed it. Mariam was weird. Very unlike Enrique's ditzy girls.
"Shopping?" Oh no.
She grinned. "How badly do you want that rematch?"
How on earth had I sunk so low? He thought as he followed her into the beauty products shop.
.
"You are weak and undeserving of the blade you possess," Carlos snarled, crushing the kid's blade under the weight of his foot. The kid dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "You are an embarrassment to us." He spat at the ground next to the crying young teenager.
"Have you no heart?" a female spectator shouted, glaring up at Carlos with big, brown eyes.
"I show no mercy to the weak," Carlos spat.
He turned away from the crying kid and strutted down the busy streets, ignoring the comments thrown at him by other spectators. He did not care for their words; he would show them all what true power was.
"You put on quite the show there, are you proud of yourself?"
Carlos snapped his head around. Hiding in an alley was a tall man wearing a white hooded cloak, black pants, and a long-sleeved shirt. Carlos frowned. Strange to dress up in summer clothing in the middle of winter. Wasn't he hot? "Who are you?"
The man walked forwards. The expression on his face was unreadable due to the hood, but Carlos imagined he was smirking. "I'm Hiro... Tyson's brother."
Carlos felt his muscles tense. He wasn't sure what to think of Hiro, considering the trick he had pulled during the last tournament. Coaching his younger brother's rival team was dirty trick, and he didn't seem fazed by it at all. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be taking care of your little brother?"
Hiro shook his head. "I've done all I can for Tyson, he doesn't need me anymore. I gave him his strongest rival and he triumphed proving to me he doesn't need my guidance."
"Then why are you here hanging around town for?"
Hiro moved forward. "I'm your new coach."
Lifting a brow, Carlos snorted. "So, you're the one Douglas hired. What makes you think we need your help?"
Instead of scowling or fighting back, Hiro simply laughed. "You are an amateur beyblader with a big toy," Hiro stated calmly, arms crossed. "You know what's going to happen when we arrive in Australia. You're going to be given a powerful bitbeast. You need to learn how to control it otherwise it will control you." He pointed to himself. "That's what I'm here for. To help you master the basics of blading. We have a few days to get this right then you'll be ready to take on the world with the rest of your team."
"Why do you care so much? How much is Douglas paying you?
Hiro's smile widened. "Oh, money isn't the incentive here. I don't want to see the tournaments become a thing of the past. To prevent that from happening, we need skilled bladers coming through each year. These tournaments raise a lot of money, and that money funds research thus in turn making battles even more competitive. I can teach you the skills that will make you on par with the best bladers in the world."
Carlos tilted his head to the side. Something didn't feel quite right there, but who was he to judge? Hiro had proven himself to be a world class coach, and he was Tyson's older brother. He tightened his fists. Though he disliked Tyson for making a fool of him, it was Kai his hatred was harboured towards. Kai had crushed his blade as if it were nothing. Kai had thrown him aside like he was a rag doll. Never again.
"So, do you accept my offer?" Hiro said, extending a hand towards him.
Carlos stared at the hand for several seconds trying to determine whether this was a joke. "Fine. I accept."
Hiro smiled. "Excellent. We'll begin right away."
.
Michael was never good with deep and meaningful conversations, nor did he have any skills in providing comfort to hurt friends and family. No situation had ever required it. So, to be standing outside the room and listening to Emily's sobs filled him with a sense of unease. He couldn't back out. Rick would be waiting upstairs to slug him if he didn't do this. The man was probably hiding around a corner or something.
He approached the door, thinking hard. What was he was supposed to say? Somehow, 'hey Em, sorry,' didn't cut it. Taking in a deep breath, he raised a hand and knocked on the door. "Emily? Can I come in? I think we need to talk." Probably not the best choice of words, but at least it didn't sound too hostile.
To his relief, he heard Emily stand up. A few moments later the door opened. She looked up at him with swollen eyes, and for once in his life, he felt guilt. "Fine. Come in." She closed the door and leaned against it.
"About what happened earlier… I take it back."
"Doesn't change anything. You still said it." He raked a hand through his blond hair. Why had he decided to go blond again? He missed his old hair. Maybe before the tournament began, he'd be able to get it fixed… "Are you even listening to me?" Right. Emily.
"I hear what you're saying."
"But do you really? We always end up here, Michael. Arguing. And I don't want to keep arguing with you."
"You think I dislike it any more than you do?" he retorted.
Emily bit down on her lower lip. "I don't know what I did to make you hate me so much. All I've ever done was to try and help this team. The blades I helped designed and the training programmes that I worked hard on to plan… I did it for the team."
Way to make him feel like the cruellest person in the team. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to react. "I know…" He couldn't believe Emily had turned to Rick for comfort. Of all people… Rick?! But had he left her with much of a choice?
"Then why do we always fight?"
"We just… do?" he offered, knowing it was a weak reply. It was a clash of personalities. That's what it came down too. Two strong personalities trying to take charge. A clash of egos. Maybe they were just too alike to ever truly get on? The thought was puzzling.
She looked away. "Is it true then? What you said about me earlier?"
About hating her. Was it? She annoyed him, yes, but did that really qualify as hatred? He wasn't physically attracted to her, but he wasn't quite repulsed by her presence either. She was just… there, and always in his face. Yes, that was it. She was like a fly that wouldn't disappear. "No."
"Then why did you say it?"
"You were asking for it."
Emily narrowed her eyes. "So, you're shifting the blame on me to justify your own actions?"
"You started with the insults. Maybe if you hadn't opened your mouth to reply we wouldn't even be here having this conversation." Again, he felt that all-too familiar surge of annoyance rise inside. "I don't even know why you're a part of this team? You hate the arguing so why are you still here?"
"Judy recruited my services because she knew I could contribute a lot to this team," Emily fired back. "And believe it or not, but I like this team and I want us to succeed. But you don't seem to understand that – you seem to think that I don't deserve to be here. I've done more for this team than the lot of you combined."
"You don't even act like your part of the All-Starz!"
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
He drew in a deep breath. "You're the odd one out. You're the least popular member. Don't you see the posts on Facebook?" Unfortunately, the All Stars were one of the least popular teams. They didn't even rank in the top five. They were popular only in America, but beyond that? He suspected it was mostly because of Rick. Rick hadn't exactly been the kindest of people when he first joined.
"I don't even care to look at that stuff."
"Yeah, well, maybe you should." They were back to square one again. A vicious cycle of bitterness and anger. He sighed, drawing in another deep breath then exhaled. As much as he wanted her to leave the team, he knew Judy wouldn't allow it. "Maybe you'd learn something new about yourself," he added. So much for resolving the issue with Emily, but it was impossible to reason with her. Every sentence he spoke, she countered it, and turned it back on him.
Emily wiped her eyes again. "I want us to stop fighting."
"And how do you propose we do that? Every time you open your mouth it's an insult," he replied heatedly. "And for whatever reason it may be, you always target me! Never Eddy! Never Steven! Not even Rick! I don't know what it is that I did to make me your number one target!"
"You don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?" She wiped another tear from her eye. Great. She was crying again. He wasn't quite sure how to act around a weeping female. What did she want? A box of chocolates? He looked at her blankly awaiting an answer.
"I did everything for you!" she blurted out. "Everything! And not once did you ever thank me for it! You just pushed me aside like I didn't mean anything at all! You want to know why I started talking to Miguel? It's because he actually noticed me for me and not some nerd!"
Tears were rolling down her eyes again, and this time, she didn't try to wipe them away. Her confession caught him off guard. Clearly these words had been on her mind for quite some time now. So that's what she really thought of him. As someone who didn't give a rat's ass for the people around him. "It's not like you made it any easier for yourself! When you first joined this team, you didn't want anything to do with us. You wrote us off as being dumb jocks!"
"What else was I supposed to think when it was you three who shunned me? You, Steven, and Eddy, but you instigated all our fights. You made fun of me on the very first day because I didn't look like one of those dumb cheerleaders you were surrounding yourself with! I had to defend myself and the only way I knew how was to fight back. To distance myself from you three and prove my own worth." The tears stopped flowing. Now he saw anger in her eyes. He also saw the hurt.
"So why bring it up now after all these years?"
She stepped forwards, so close he was just within an arm's reach. He was a good foot taller than her, but right now he didn't feel it. "You're so clueless, aren't you?" She gave a sardonic laugh. "I wanted nothing more than to be your friend, but you threw it back in my face. Miguel made me an offer to join with him, but I turned him down to stay here. With you." Her bottom lip trembled. He thought she was going to break down again, but she managed to keep herself composed. "But now I realize that I made a big mistake. You don't want me to be on this team? Fine. I'll leave if that's what you really want. I'll hand in my resignation before the tournament begins."
She was going to leave. Resign from the All Stars to be with Miguel, that slime ball from Barthez Battalion. Sure, the guy had stood up to the man and all, but it didn't change what he had done. And Emily wanted his company? "You're part of this team."
"Funny you say that because I recall a few hours earlier you were saying I meant nothing to you, and that it would be better if I wasn't on this team. Now you get your wish. You might be captain, but you don't have the power to keep me back." She pushed past him and opened the door. Before stepping out, she glanced over her shoulder and added, "I hope you're proud of yourself." She slammed the door and stormed off down the hallway.
.
"Keep your arm at level with your shoulders," Hiro said, standing beside Carlos. "You'll get more power that way."
Carlos raised his arms slightly then pulled back the trigger. His blade rocketed forward with such force that Carlos almost lost his balance. "I can see why Tyson and Brooklyn became so good with your expertise," he said, flexing his arm muscles.
"They are special bladers, just like you, Carlos. Now try again; this time keep your balance. If you call backwards in the stadium, you'll have lost the battle before your blade even lands in the dish." Hiro walked over to pick up Carlos's blade then handed it back to its owner. "Tell me, why do you want to compete in the tournament? What are you fighting for?"
Carlos snatched his blade back. "Why do you care so much what I want? Why should I trust the words of someone who is turning his back on his own family?" He appreciated Hiro's tips, but it seemed strange why the elder Granger would willingly help an enemy of his brother.
"I have no allegiance towards any team, Carlos. I'm loyal to the sport of blading and that means helping bladers achieve their potential."
Good answer, but it still didn't make things any clearer. He was hiding something, but he doubted he'd get another word out of the elder Granger sibling. "I want to beat Kai. I want to beat Tyson. I want to beat the people who made fools of me. I want to show them that I am just as capable, and that I'm worth more than dirt." He placed his blade back on the launcher. He prepared his position, then drew his hand back releasing his hold at the last second. The blade flew forward.
"Douglas has already finalized the battling order. Alexander will face off against Tyson in the finals. Bruno will battle Rei and Alan will battle with Max. You can fight Kai… I'm assuming that's what you want? To beat your former captain?"
Carlos looked at Hiro. "I don't know what your true reasons are for agreeing to coach, but you're right. I want to prove to him that I am a worthy blader, and I will defeat him in the stadium. My team will be the ones to hold the trophy in front of the crowds, and I look forward to seeing the looks on their faces." His lips curved into a smirk. "I used to idolize him once. I wanted to be like him, but he threw my respect back in my face."
"Just don't let your emotions control you."
He snorted. "Maybe I'll even battle Tyson."
"Your focus is Kai. Let your teammates handle my brother."
"And if they lose?"
"You should have some faith in them."
Carlos glared. "I could win the tournament alone if I had to."
"But the rules state you must compete in a team," Hiro casually replied, smirk on his face. "If you don't like it, you could always pull out of the tournament. I'm sure Douglas will find someone else to replace you. Any blader can be trained to know the basics. The bitbeasts you will receive will do the rest of the work."
His face darkened, a scowl appearing on his mouth. "I am worthy!"
Hiro laughed then paused, studying Carlos's face. "You're serious, aren't you? You really think you're something special? Why don't you prove it to me then big shot, or are you all talk?" Carlos remained silent. Hiro's smirk widened. "Right now, you're an amateur who is going to receive a big toy. I don't want you to make a fool of yourself – that's why I'm here to help you. You just have to let me."
"You're making fun of me," Carlos snarled. Once again, he released Tyro but this time, his blade disobeyed, deciding to smash into a wall instead. Carlos kicked the ground.
Hiro rolled his shoulders. "Keep that fire in your belly burning. You're going to need that anger in the battles ahead. I'm going to show you how to tap into that emotion and use it as power. When you can achieve that and master it, you'll be unstoppable in the stadium. Ask yourself this – what are you fighting for? Do you know what it means to be a champion? I'll let you think on that for a while. When I return, I want you to show me what you can do."
Hiro gave Carlos a lingering look, then turned away walking to the shadows of a nearby alley. Carlos watched him retreat, taken aback by his words. His reasons were noble... weren't they? Everyone wanted to aspire to be better and becoming world champion was the biggest achievement a blader could earn. Right?
.
Ming Ming couldn't help but fidget in her seat. Every so often, she'd run a hand through a lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear to calm her nerves. This had the potential to end up in disaster. The Demolition Boys were sitting together on the right side of the table while her teammates were positioned on the left. Garland and Tala sat on the far ends. Bryan and Spencer hadn't spoken a single word, preferring to communicate with their eyes.
"Well you lot are certainly a talkative bunch," Brooklyn said, helping himself to the jug of water. He poured himself a glass of water then leaned back in his seat. "I'd like to say thank you for accepting our invitation. I have to admit, I wasn't sure if you would come considering history, but I am glad you are here."
"You're not competing in the tournament, are you?" Tala said, arms folded across his chest. "I didn't see your team name on the registered list."
Brooklyn shook his head. "After what happened last year, we decided we weren't even going to bother. Besides, we'd just blow all the other teams out of competition. It wouldn't be a fair fight if we were involved."
In the corner of her eye, Ming Ming noticed Bryan tense. His hands were resting on the table, and she didn't fail to notice how his fingers curled into fists. She sent a withering look in Brooklyn's direction, but he just frowned. Clueless boys, she thought. So tactless. "What Brooklyn is trying to say is that it's far too soon to compete again. People still have nightmares over last year – we need to give them a little more time to accept us."
"Because of Boris," Tala commented. "We've been there. We know how that feels to have a cloud hang over your head and never leave. Boris used us, but we're not going to let history define our team. That's why we are competing again. To prove we are stronger without him."
"Speaking of Boris how is the old man?" Brooklyn started.
"We don't keep in contact with him," Bryan said, speaking for the first time this dinner.
Brooklyn tried again. "So, you're not pen pals then."
Spencer grabbed a glass of apple juice. He was clasping his fingers around it so hard that his knuckles were turning white. "Boris is no friend of ours," the blond said. That was the first time she had ever heard him speak. A mostly silent giant.
"And he's no friend to us either," Brooklyn replied.
This was becoming more awkward with each passing second. Someone was going to break, and then things would turn ugly quickly. She only hoped a fist fight wouldn't happen because it wouldn't end well for either team. She looked to Garland. He was quiet, almost as if he were studying their guests. Maybe he was waiting for a chance to intervene.
"He's Russian, yes? Did he get sent back to Russia to serve time there?" Brooklyn said.
A muscle in Bryan's jaw twitched. "Why does it matter? Boris is history."
"And we'd be fools to ignore the past," Mystel interjected, making his presence known. "It catches up to you then you find yourself in knee-deep in trouble."
"You don't think we know that? We served Boris for longer than you," Bryan retorted, his eyes narrowing. "We knew him on a personal level. You didn't. He did things to us that he never did to you. Don't think for a second we don't care for Boris – we'll never forget, but we wish we could."
Yup. A fight was brewing. Brooklyn's blunt words were being interpreted the wrong way and the Demolition Boys were willing to fight to defend themselves. A battle with Tala's team in the stadium would be an interesting one if they were at their full strength. There was a lot of angst there. A lot of unresolved issues. "Boys! Let's just all calm down," Ming Ming said, her hands raised. "We're here to have a friendly dinner. Can we not make this about Boris? We're having a dinner, and I don't want to lose my appetite before we've even begun."
She could understand why the Demolition Boys didn't want to talk about him. The man was a creep. A tyrant. A destroyer of lives. He fooled them all promising them glory and status, but it was all just a lie. He didn't care for them. They were just his tools in a war. Sometimes, Brooklyn took things too far. Couldn't he see how unsettled the Demolition Boys were?
"We are here beneath this roof because of Boris," Brooklyn started. "If not for Boris, our teams would not exist. We wouldn't know each other. So yes, I think he is relevant to this conversation. It's not my fault if the Demolition Boys here are a little too sensitive."
Bryan surged to his feet, his eyes burning like black fire. "Pretty rich coming from you, Brooklyn. Weren't you were the one who shared his sob story to the rest of the world about being unloved and all?"
"Bryan-" Tala started.
"No, Tala. We don't have to be treated like fools by this clown," Bryan replied, thrusting a finger at Brooklyn's direction. "You wouldn't know true pain if it hit you in the face. You act like one of those spoilt little rich kids who didn't like the presents they received for their birthday. You didn't have any friends as a kid? Listen to yourself talking now and maybe you'll understand why," he snarled.
That was a low blow. "Bryan's right," Spencer said, rising to his feet. He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and glared at Brooklyn. "Your team was just put together much like a manufactured pop group. A fancy name and a look to match. You don't even truly feel the sport. It's side job for you lot. Blading was a part of our lives since the day of our births. Our names were chosen by Boris and Voltaire. We were chosen to be soldiers in a war before we had even left the womb."
Silence. An uncomfortable situation. The tension was so thick that a knife could not cut through. "I think you're both forgetting just whose roof you are staying beneath," Brooklyn replied slowly, his voice a dangerous low. "I could crush you easily right here with my eyes closed for your words, but I'm going to let it slide. You should consider yourself grateful that I'm in a charitable mood otherwise your tournament would be over before it had even begun." A thinly veiled threat and she had no doubts Brooklyn would follow through with it.
"You invite us here to make amends and then issue threats against us?" Bryan said. "That's an odd way to make friends."
"Well at least we don't try to steal bitbeasts off our potential allies," Brooklyn countered.
Bryan lunged across the table. Brooklyn didn't even have a chance to pull out his blade. Bryan was far too quick. Before anyone could react, Bryan pinned Brooklyn to the ground, drew back a fist, and punched Brooklyn in the side of the face. He punched him a second time in the nose. That prompted everyone to snap out of a trance-like state. Garland was on Bryan in a flash.
"You may be a threat in the stadium but out here, you're nothing," Bryan spat.
Ming Ming stood up abruptly, hands covering her mouth. A dinner gone horribly wrong. Bryan still had Brooklyn pinned to the ground. Blood poured out of Brooklyn's nose. A disaster, but what could be done to stop it? Bryan was solid. Spencer was a hulking giant. Garland could put up a good fight and win with a well-aimed kick, but he wasn't a dirty fighter. Something had to be done.
Garland pulled Bryan off Brooklyn, giving the ginger blader a chance to climb to his feet. Blood flowed down his chin, spilling out onto his white clothes. She wondered what thoughts were running through his mind. He wasn't the sort of person who coped with defeat and humiliation all too well. He wiped his nose, but the blood continued to flow.
"Brooklyn-" Garland started, stepping forwards. He looked concerned, stressed even, but his code of honour prevented him from getting too heavily involved in the fight.
"Bryan. That's enough. You've made your point," Tala said. The captains had finally spoken, but their words had come too late. The damage had already been done. His teammates probably thought they were on even ground with them now. "Enough is enough. We're better than this. Save your anger for our opponents in the stadium."
"You're going to regret that," Brooklyn said. He spat blood at the ground then continued to speak. "You just bought yourself a ticket out of the tournament, but don't worry - the tournament won't need you. Why don't you try the little kids' league instead? Your battle against Garland was laughable. I'm sure even a chimpanzee could do better than you."
Uttering a deep growl, Bryan charged. He ignored the calls of Tala and Spencer and shoved Brooklyn into the wall. Brooklyn groaned. "You just don't know when to stop talking do you? You want to know where Boris is? Try a prison cell in Russia. That's where he'll rot behind bars. You should be there with him. You and your lousy team. You don't deserve to be called bladers."
"Bryan-"
Bryan drew back a knee then rammed it forward, striking him hard beneath the belt. Brooklyn collapsed like a sack of bricks and curled up in foetal position. "Don't ever mock my team, or you'll learn what true pain is." He spat then pulled back, retreating to the exit. Before leaving, he looked to Tala and said, "You said we have to fight to prove ourselves. I just did."
Unable to bear this torment for much longer, Ming Ming picked up her glass and brought it crashing down on the table, shattering it into hundreds of tiny shards. "Stop! Stop this at once! This was supposed to be a peaceful dinner party but instead it's a battle of egos! Our pasts and experiences differ, but we all have one thing in common here – we've all been used! We are all wounded! And instead of fighting each other, we should be helping one another!"
"Maybe you should've made that clear to your teammate," Ian retorted.
Brooklyn still lay on the ground, unmoving. She wanted to help him, but what could she do?
"You're no better than the thugs on the street," Mystel said. "I thought there was an unspoken rule between bladers about resolving your fights in the stadium. I wonder who the true bladers are now?"
"Mystel, quiet. You're not making things better," Garland said. Mystel shot him a sullen look but said nothing further. "Ming Ming is right. We should be learning to get along with each other not making things more difficult. This… incident should never of have happened, and if word gets out to the media, that's the end for both of our teams."
If only Crusher was here tonight but the man was caring for his younger sister. The treatment had been successful, but she had a long recovery process to undertake. "Then we agree to keep this silent," Tala said. "We'll tell you about Boris if you keep this quiet."
"You're actually thinking of making a deal with these people?" Bryan said, turning on Tala. "We can't even trust them!"
"I am a man of honour," Garland said. "When I give my word, I uphold it."
"You left your teammate vulnerable," Spencer said.
Garland spared Brooklyn a glance then turned back. "It wasn't my battle to fight."
Mystel stepped forward. "What can you tell us about Boris then? Bryan said he was in a Russian prison cell."
Nodding, Tala answered, "He's correct. When Bega collapsed, authorities arrested Boris and deported him to Russia. He was thrown into a prison cell which is guarded twenty-four seven. I suppose you want access to the funds he promised you? Don't look surprised – we went through something similar when Biovolt was brought down."
"I can't believe this…" Bryan muttered. "We're feeding them information they could use against us."
"Quiet, Bryan. You got us into a difficult position, and we have no choice but to assist Bega," Tala said his expression unreadable. Bryan rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, silent. Turning to face Garland, Tala added, "What you did last year won't ever be forgotten, and it's for that reason I can't ever wholly trust you or your teammates. But we do have something in common – we pledged our allegiance to a man who only wanted to use us for his own ambition, and he left us both in ruin. We can relate."
"We need to access those funds so we can travel to the tournament," Mystel said. "Catch up with old friends, you know. Resolve some differences and hopefully fix what's currently broken. Can you help?"
"I won't be much help. Boris recently declared bankruptcy. He is worth nothing anymore so there's no chance you'll get the funds you're entitled to from him directly. He put everything he had into creating Bega and when it collapsed, his bank account dried up too."
"So, we're stuck here?" Mystel replied.
"What about my record label?"
Mystel frowned. "Boris owned it. All the money would be his."
"There has to another way," Garland started. "If we can raise money…"
"And who would want to support us?" Mystel retorted. "No, we're on our own. Tournament starts in a few days – even if we were to run a fundraising event, it's too early. We need it now if we want to arrive in time."
"I have some money," Ming Ming said. "I can use the funds from my digital sales to help us."
"That will only cover one person," Garland replied. "It's not just flights we have to worry about. We must think accommodation too. Since we're not actually competing, we have to come up with our own funds."
"Join up with another team," Tala said.
"We weren't going to compete again," Ming Ming pointed out. "Too soon."
"Tala makes a good point. We need to get to Australia as soon as possible. Best way to do that is to join up with another team," Mystel said.
"We don't have to be there so soon," Garland said. "We'd only miss the opening rounds of the quarters… there's still time to make it for the interesting battles."
Mystel shook his head. "No, you don't understand the importance. We need to be there from the start. I need to be there."
That was puzzling. Why did Mystel need to be at the tournament so badly anyway? "What's the rush?"
He looked troubled, as if in deep conflict with himself. "Mariah's going to be there, and I want to talk to her. Things happened and I need to get to her and explain before she moves on," he said. "I can't do that if I'm here. We can't raise enough money in a few short days. Only one of us can go, and the rest can join later. If I join up with another team…"
"I won't allow it," Garland said, shaking his head. "When we signed up for Bega, we swore an unbreakable vow, 'always and forever'. We would always be there for one another no matter how bad things became. You departing the team is a betrayal of that oath you swore."
"I'll pay for Mystel," Ming Ming said, noticing the frustration on the blond's face. It was actually kinda sweet that he was so determined to chase down Mariah and fix up whatever had happened, and who would she be to deny him of that chance? "He really wants to be there more than any of us."
"Are you sure?" Mystel said.
Ming Ming nodded. "Yes. I'll book a ticket today."
A smile broke out across his face. It was the first time she had seen him that pleased in a long while. Mariah certainly was a lucky girl. "Thanks, Ming Ming. I really mean it."
"We're not just teammates, we're friends."
"Seems like you have it all worked out then," Tala commented.
"The rest of us will come as soon as financially possible. You and I should have a rematch at some point," Garland said. "Maybe we could help your team train before the big matches."
Bryan looked upset, but Tala nodded, extending a hand. Garland accepted his handshake. At least the captains were getting along. That had to count for something. "I look forward to that. Next time it will be much closer."
"What do we do about him?" Bryan said, glancing down at Brooklyn.
The ginger was now on all fours, his head resting on the floor. "It hurts even more," he whimpered. "…You asshole." He groaned again then sat down, leaning his back against the chair, colour slowly returning to his face.
Tala held an arm out to stop Bryan from moving forward. "He's down, Bryan. We don't strike a man when he's already down. We're not thugs. He'll be fine." He then turned to Garland. "You could sign up for a fighting tournament. I hear there's a few places to take part in kickboxing. You could make some easy money with your skills."
"Ooh, yes, that would be great!' Ming Ming exclaimed.
Garland sighed. "If it must come down to that."
"I guess we'll see you at the tournament then. Best of luck to you all." Tala said his farewells and led his team outside the building. Complete silence. No complaints. Nothing. If only her teammates gelled together better.
"I better get that ticket organized then."
Before the boys could say anything, Ming Ming headed to her room.
.
For hours Johnny followed Mariam through the shop, stopping every few minutes to examine a random product on the stocked shelves. Perfume. Moisturising cream. Hair stuff. As far as he was concerned, all this stuff was crap. No one cared how you looked when you battled in the beystadium, so why spend so much time and effort doing so? "This is boring," he whined, his irritation levels reaching sky-high.
Mariam glanced over her shoulder, giving him a cold look. "You're the one who wants a rematch."
"This isn't a fair trade!" Johnny complained.
The girl rolled her eyes and shook her head sadly. "When I finish browsing, I'll give you your rematch... I don't think it's such a good idea though." She shrugged, flipping a lock of hair away from her face, "You will lose. You have no technique. It's just hit him hard and hope for the best."
Johnny's brow twitched. How dare she mock the McGregor style of battling! "Take that back, Mariam. You got lucky, that's all. I'll make you eat your words."
Again, the girl shrugged. "Whatever." She didn't even spare him a glance this time, instead choosing to focus on the products. It was obvious to Johnny that Mariam thought of him as inferior to her skills and that itself annoyed him. He was a champion blader and he ought to be treated like one! He blamed his anger on her wasting precious time. He was like a dog on her leash, but for whatever reason, he couldn't take control. She had beaten him fair and square and that continued to infuriate him.
"Look at me when I'm speaking, dammit!" he snapped, his temper flaring.
She did. "I'm looking, but I'm not impressed," she replied lazily.
Having Mariam looking back at him like this made him pay close attention to her features. He found himself unable to pull his gaze away from those intense emerald eyes. And that cute button nose! Wait. What? Cute? Johnny mentally slapped himself. He did not think cute. No way. He was not Enrique or Oliver. He could feel her eyes watching him demanding a response. Think McGregor, think, he scolded himself. Pull yourself together. It was just one match. You can beat her but make it interesting!
Pulling himself out of his trance, Johnny forced a smirk. "I was holding back. Next battle will be far more impressive. What do you say we make things a lot more interesting?"
"Oh?"
"Well, when I win, you..." Damn. His mind went blank. He really should have thought this one through first. "You have to pay for lunch."
"That seems hardly fair considering your background," Mariam replied bluntly.
"Are you scared?" he taunted.
She shook her head. "I think you should buy me dinner actually. After the tournament is over when all the hype has died down. After all, I did defeat you so I get to decide."
She had style. He had to give her that much credit. She certainly knew how to lead him on. It was like giving someone a kiss then kicking them in the pants seconds later. It stung. A lot. "Dinner?" he repeated. "I didn't think you were one for fancy meals."
"I never said anything about a fancy three course meal, but if you're offering, I'm happy to accept."
Dammit. He couldn't even beat her in a war of words. "Fine. Where do you want to go?"
"You're the rich one here. Shouldn't you know of the best places to dine at?"
Not really. Truth was he hardly ate out. It just wasn't his thing. "I don't eat out much, especially not at fancy five-star restaurants. That's what my teammates do, but I'm not like them."
"So… you're a snob that doesn't like other snobs? Snob elitism?"
He frowned. "No. I just… dislike them." He stopped himself short of explaining his real reasons for disliking other rich people. Mariam was basically a stranger to him. She didn't need to know his life story or his family's struggles to be accepted within the millionaire community. "I'm sure it's the same for you. You said you came from a clan, yeah? You probably don't like the other ones much."
"There's only two clans left that are somewhat at odds with us. The White Tiger tribe and the Bai Hu clan," she explained, flipping her long royal blue ponytail over her shoulder. "The White Tigers have personally never bothered me, but our elders think their tribe is weak. We embraced modern society, but the White Tigers continue to live in their traditional ways."
No different from the rich bastards within the millionaire community. You had to have a net worth of over a hundred million to be invited to best the VIP functions. If you were beneath that bracket, you weren't considered a true millionaire and were often mocked by other millionaires. Billionaires were even more arrogant.
"What's the Bai Hu clan?"
"A clan to the east of China. They're dangerous, but that's all I know about them. I've only heard about the clan in stories the elders shared when we were younger. Something about prehistoric bitbeasts. Bitbeasts so old they make our ones look young. At least, that's what we were told in the stories. But enough about them. We're going restaurant hunting. I saw a nice one the other day. It was a French restaurant."
One of Oliver's many other restaurants. Of course, she'd pick one of his. "No, not that one."
"…Bad memories?"
"I always go there. We could do The Stockbridge Restaurant? It's modern fine dining."
She nodded. "Booking won't be a problem, will it?"
He shook his head. "Advantage of being on the same team as Oliver. There's always a table reserved for us at his restaurants. I'll give the chef a call at the place now – let him know we're coming." Hopefully, reporters wouldn't be in town. That would be embarrassing. Imagine the reaction if they caught him in a fancy restaurant with a girl?
'Jonathon McGregor spotted with a girl – has he finally found the one?'
He cringed inwardly. That would make his folks happy at least. They were always complaining about the fact Johnny wasn't like the other royal children. They even tried matching him up with a noble Scottish girl from a fellow clan. That had ended with the girl bursting into tears and calling him hateful names. Pushing the thought aside, he withdrew his phone and dialled the number of Henri. After three dials, the phone picked up.
"Hello, this is Henri Giacardy, manager of Drift Restaurant. How may I help?"
Although Henri couldn't see it, Johnny forced a grim smile. "Hey there, Henri. This is Johnny McGregor – Oliver's friend. Listen, I'm coming over tonight. Bringing a friend with me. Don't tell the other Majestics, okay? Don't put my name down in the records book." If this got out to Oliver and Enrique's ears… He'd never hear the end of it.
"I'm sorry, Jonathon, but I'm going to have to deny your request."
He tightened his grip on the phone. With a restrained growl, he said, "What?"
"The restaurant isn't opening tonight."
"What? What do you mean? It's always open!" Johnny blurted into the phone.
"We're paying our respects for the lives lost on the highway."
None of this was making any sense. "What the fuck?" he swore, not caring about phone manners. "Who cares? You don't just shut down a restaurant for one night because a few randoms died." He didn't care if that sounded rude.
"You haven't heard the news? Of course. You weren't there."
Mariam was frowning at him. "What's going on?"
He pulled away from the phone and said, "Give me a moment." He then brought the phone back to his head and turned away from Mariam. "What's really going on, Henri?"
"There was a car crash on the highway involving Robert, Oliver and Enrique. It happened a few hours after your… storming out of the restaurant the other day. Did you really knock a table over?" So, the article had been written about that. How was that not surprising? But wait – a car crash with his teammates? No way. "There has been no word of their status in twenty-four hours. I'm sorry."
A cold chill raced down his spine. He didn't bother to reply and just ended the call. A car crash. Possibly fatal? No. They had to be alive. They were the Majestics, his teammates, and their lives were not going to end because of a car crash. "They're not dead!" he growled to nobody.
"Johnny?" Mariam said softly.
Right. Mariam. He had forgotten she was even there. He turned around to face her, his brows knotted in anger. "Dinner's off. You can find your way home." The rest of his teammates had been on the way to the registration centre. He was supposed to have met with him but hadn't bothered to even show up. He started walking away, a pit of anger boiling in his stomach. Not dead. Not dead. Not fucking dead.
"I'm not going anywhere, Johnny."
Persistent. She was just as stubborn as he was. "I have team matters to attend to."
"I heard enough of the conversation to assume your teammates are in trouble. You might pretend to hate them, but I think deep down you do care otherwise you wouldn't let this bother you," Mariam replied, standing directly in his path, both hands on her hips. "Don't you forget, I have a team too. Do you have any idea where they are?"
"Why do you want to help? You have no obligation to help me."
Did she have some ulterior motive to helping him? "Like I said, I have a team too, and if anything ever happened to them, I'd welcome any help I could get. I haven't read the paper, and I don't care to, but from what I've heard about you? You're not going to get much help from anyone else. Take what you can."
She made it clear she wasn't going to go anywhere anytime too soon. "Just don't get in the way."
"Oh, you don't need to worry about me. I can handle myself." Silence, then, "Where are we going?"
"We'll need to catch a lift there."
"Will anyone be willing to take you there considering it's a crash site now?"
He nodded. "I can go anywhere I please."
"That must be nice to have the world kneel before you."
He ignored the bite in her comment. "Enough yapping. Let's get moving."
His friends were alive. They had to be. Henri might've lost the faith, but Johnny knew they had to be alive still. It didn't end like this. It couldn't end like this.