Chapter One: An Uncertain Future
"Breaking news – Stanley Dickinson, Chairman of the BBA Board, has been murdered. The Chairmen was attending an event to explain the rules of the upcoming tournament when he was gunned down. It is believed a sniper was involved. Police are searching the area for clues. These visuals were taken during and after the shooting – we warn that viewers may find these visuals confronting."
Images of the event played on the screen. Stanley was on stage before the BBA logo banner, speaking into a microphone, addressing the audience about the changes to this year's world tournament. A large crowd had gathered at the venue and many of them could be seen taking photos.
What seemed like a peaceful and fun event soon turned into chaos within seconds. A gunshot. Screaming. Sirens blaring. Security yelling. Chaos. People fled in different directions, searching for the quickest way to escape the venue while security guards tried to point people in the right direction. Medical staff members raced up on stage to try and save Stanley, but the damage had already been done.
A bullet in the centre of his forehead. The perfect shot. Whoever had fired the bullet had been trained for this task. But why? Who would do such a thing? Questions raced through Tyson's mind, but he had no answers. All he could do was sit here before the television screen and ask 'why?' like he suspected so many other people were asking.
"I can't believe it…" Kenny said. He was sitting to Tyson's right, cross-legged with his laptop resting on his lap, his face ashen white. Tears had not fallen yet, but Tyson suspected they would soon follow once his mind had recovered from the shock. "Stanley dead…"
A man who had contributed so much to the world of sport had met an early end at the hands of some coward. Tyson balled a fist and brought it crashing down on the table. He applied enough force the entire table shook and the vase fell over. "I'm going to find the creep who did this, and he'll be sorry he murdered Mr. Dickinson!" He hadn't even been at the event at the time of the murder but watching it on television and seeing it in slow motion had made his death even worse.
Kenny picked up the vase. "You want to hunt down a murderer?"
Fingers still curled into a fist Tyson punched the wall and cried out. Tears stinging his eyes, he pulled away and drew in a deep breath. "I'm not going to sit around and wait for justice that will probably never come. Mr. Dickinson deserved better." Again, he drew in a deep breath, calming his racing heart and pounding head. "He gave me the chance to be the blader I am today. I will not let his death go unanswered."
"And just how do you propose we do achieve that, Tyson?" Kenny snapped.
In most circumstances, Tyson would argue back, but there was a legit reason behind his younger friend's temper. "I don't know how, but I know we will avenge Mr. Dickinson. We can't just sit around here and do nothing. We need to find information. Something. Anything."
Kenny trembled. "He's dead, Tyson! Murdered in public before a crowd of fans! Finding information isn't going to bring Mr. Dickinson back!"
"Kenny," Tyson said, rising to his feet. "We can't let fear control us. We owe it to Mr. Dickenson." Whoever had killed Stanley had targeted him for a reason. This was no random attack that much was certain. The BBA was the most powerful sporting company in the world and murdering the chairman was a fine way to cripple them.
Kenny drew in a deep breath. "You might be able to remain calm in this situation, but I can't! Someone wanted Mr. Dickinson dead! What's to say they won't target the rest of us? Going outside is dangerous. They'll be watching our every movement and-"
"Snap out of it, Kenny!" Tyson snapped. Kenny fell silent, taking in deep breaths. There were tears rolling down his cheeks. "We don't know that for sure," he added, lowering his tone. "What we do know is a crime like this can't go unresolved."
"I'm sorry, it's just-"
"It's hard, I know," Tyson replied softly. "Mr. Dickinson made us who we are today. He gave us a chance despite all the odds stacked against him. He made the BBA organization and we the faces of it. We may not be able to bring him back, but we can do what is right. We can take the easy option out and run away from this, but we can never hide. We need to unite as one and take the fight back and show them we are not beaten."
Kenny wiped the tears away from his face once more. This time, they did not return. He nodded. "Mr. Dickinson deserves a proper burial."
"I agree and we will give him one, but first I need to know – are you with me?"
There was a slight delay in Kenny's response. "I've stood at your side for years, Tyson. That's never going to change."
Relief poured through him. Their cause would be lost without Kenny's mind. "I'm glad to hear it."
"We'll need to contact the others – Hilary, Rei, Max and Kai. I know they said they were retiring from the professional sport… But we need their help."
Reunite a divided team to combat a threat once again. History did seem to repeat. Tyson nodded. "Hilary, Rei and Max are all in town. Kai is here too, but god knows where. You know what he is like. He'll come to us. Daichi is… I don't know where he is. He caught a plane and vanished," Tyson said. Perhaps it was a good thing Daichi wasn't in town. He'd do something drastic and chase after the man's murderer himself. "I'll contact the others."
"I'll organize the details for a private funeral service," Kenny said.
Tyson nodded. "All right."
Kenny headed towards the door then stopped before heading out. He glanced over his shoulder and said, "What are you going to do while I'm gone?"
Good question. It wasn't like he had anyone to practice with now so that was out of the question. "I'm going to head into town." Maybe he would visit the training area in one of the parks on the other side and help calm the general populace. Perhaps someone there could provide more information on what happened at the venue. "I'll catch you later, Kenny."
"Don't do anything reckless."
What could possibly go wrong that hadn't already?
.
Walking around in Edinburgh city wasn't something Johnny did often. His personal servants did the shopping. All he had to do was tell them what to purchase and they'd do all the rest of the work. Only on rare occasions did he visit the city and it was only because the rest of the Majestics were in town. Robert had summoned them for an important meeting outside Oliver's café, Boulangerie de France.
A thick blanket of dark clouds stretched across the sky. Yet another dismal day in his hometown. Digging his hands into his pocket, Johnny made his way down the street and towards the city centre. Oliver's café was only a few hundred feet away from Edinburgh Castle. It was in a prime position in the city. All the tourists would stop by after a trip to the castle and be treated to the finest meals in all of Edinburgh. It was peak hour now – there were large crowds of visitors and locals alike walking in all sorts of directions.
Robert's unmistakable purple hair could be seen at the counter. Oliver was absent, but he was probably working – when he wasn't beyblading, Oliver would travel around Europe visiting his restaurants and making sure business was smooth. As for Enrique, the blond seemed to be trying to pick up local girls again. He could see Enrique chasing after two girls.
"I'm sorry, I meant to say you were wicked pretty! Not pretty wicked!" Enrique exclaimed. The two females turned their noses up and stormed off in the opposite direction. Enrique continued to chase after them but stopped moments later to catch his breath and headed inside the restaurant.
Johnny followed him, snickering to himself. He stepped through the door. The sounds of a hurdy-gurdy filled the room and the scent of pastries wafted through the air. An attractive brunette sat in the corner on a small podium singing a song he didn't understand the words too. Boring, he thought. Fine-looking lass, but he didn't care much for the arts. Instead, he approached Enrique. The blond was standing before the fireplace in attempt to keep himself warm.
"Did you scare them off again? Must be your face," Johnny greeted.
Enrique turned around and glared. "Maybe they saw you and decided to run."
"Scottish lasses aren't like the ones in Italy. Your ones might be wowed by your so-called charm, but the lasses here see right through that," Johnny replied, strolling up to Enrique, throwing him another smug smirk. Oh, how he loved to make the Italian squirm. "You might want to learn how to form a proper sentence first. Intelligence is an attractive trait."
"Explains why you don't have a girlfriend yet," the blond retorted, looking down at him.
A muscle jerked in Johnny's jaw. Why that smug bastard- "She's got a face like a bulldog licking piss off a thistle anyway."
"That's rich coming from someone with your face." Enrique pinned back his shoulders, puffing himself up much like a proud peacock attempting to woo a mate. "They were so into me and then you had to show up. They probably caught your stench from a mile away and ran for the hills."
If they had been standing in some quiet alleyway, Johnny would've struck him square in the jaw. "Maybe they could smell your desperation and walked away. You're pathetic, Enrique. You've always been weak. Weak at blading and weak at flirting too it seems."
The hurdy-gurdy player stopped and watched. Fortunately, no one was present. Robert had booked the entire restaurant for them for the hour and no one else could dine until they were finished. The advantage of having plenty of money and being friends with the owner – you didn't have to be harassed by people trying to get photos and autographs while eating, though it didn't stop people trying to look through the windows.
"I'm not weak," Enrique snapped.
Johnny stabbed a finger in Enrique's face. "Then why were you left off the team when we battled the Bladebreakers? You want an answer? It's because you don't take blading seriously enough." He gestured towards the girls in the distance. "You're too busy trying to get fucked. Even now, you're fucking around chasing girls who don't want you. We've got a tournament approaching. Take it seriously or fuck off!"
"Cease this at once!"
Ah. Robert. He had been so focused on Enrique that he hadn't seen the German approaching. Johnny curled back his lower lip and faced Robert, both hands dug deep into his pockets. "Nice of you too show up." The man was always finding was to interrupt his fun. He had a natural talent for always showing up when trouble was brewing.
Robert's mouth was pressed into a thin line. There was no look of amusement on his face though he always looked bothered by something as if he had something stuck up his rear end. "Need I remind you both who we are? We are the Majestics, and we have a reputation to uphold. Although this place is empty, members of the public know we are here. Must you both embarrass yourselves?"
Someone giggled. Johnny whipped his head around towards the source. Some kid had his face pressed up against the window, a phone in his hands. He snapped a quick photo. Johnny pounded the window and the boy ran down the street. His irritation flared. Fucking cheeky smug bastards.
"Blame Enrique," he said, turning back to Robert. Robert's expression had not changed. It was like he was made of stone.
"Control yourselves, or I will find replacements for you both."
A threat. Through clenched teeth, Johnny said, "You're threatening us?"
"Yes. Now sit down and behave like the nobles we are supposed to be." Robert gestured at the table.
Blunt but effective and Johnny found himself obeying. He sat down, folded his arms over his chest, and looked away from Enrique, refusing to make eye contact with the idiotic blond. Enrique did the same. Robert sat down between them his expression still cold. "So, what's the big announcement? You got us here for a reason and I don't think it was to issue threats," Johnny said, angling his body away from Enrique so he didn't have to look at him.
"After much thought, I have decided we are going to compete in the upcoming tournament."
Johnny slammed a fist on the table. "Fuck yes! Though that was obvious."
"Jonathan," Robert said, his eyes narrowed. "Language. Do not speak such filth in my presence."
His irritation flared. He hated that name. "It's Johnny. Not Jonathan."
"That is your birthname and the name recorded on your passport and birth certificate."
Johnny picked up a fork and stabbed it at the table. "You're an ass."
Robert helped himself to a jar of water on the table then poured himself a drink. "Did anyone happen to catch the breaking news on the broadcast this morning? I was boarding my private jet when it happened and missed the finer details."
Enrique shook his head. "Nope. I don't watch the news."
"Jonathan?"
His anger spiked. "Like I give a shit?"
"Perhaps Oliver will know then."
"Oh, you're so hot," Enrique murmured, glancing down at his phone. The corners of his mouth curved upwards into a grin.
Johnny rolled his eyes. Idiot. He was probably looking at girls on some dating site again. "Oliver probably knows something. He's been here all morning. You know what he's like. Always has to be bright and early for everything. Speaking of Oliver, there he is." Johnny raised a hand in the air and waved out to grab the Frenchman's attention. Oliver was dressed in his usual white chef's clothing and wearing the silly cap too. Normally, he'd be smiling, but for the first time in a long time, there was a frown on his face.
"Oliver!" Enrique exclaimed, glancing up from his phone.
"What's wrong with you? Did you watch Bambi's mother dying again?" Johnny said, still sour. He knew he'd regret not blocking off the entire street to the public. Did everyone exist just to piss him off?
Oliver approached the table. Now that he was close, Johnny saw the redness in his eyes. The boy had been crying. "Robert, Enrique, and Johnny. It's a pleasure to meet with you again so soon. I wish I was in a better mood, but tragedy has befallen the community."
"What are you talking about?" Johnny demanded.
The boy raised an eyebrow. "You haven't seen the news?"
Enrique glanced up from his phone. "Nope."
"I was boarding my private jet."
"The news is full of shit. So, what happened?"
Oliver wiped his eyes. "Stanley Dickinson was announced dead this morning."
.
After a few months of silence, the hype surrounding the world tournament had started up again. It was the same pattern every year – qualifying rounds would commence in March and finish late April, and those fortunate enough to make it through represented their countries in June. The tournament lasted four weeks and planning for the next tournament began in September. All teams competing would be announced a week before the tournament was scheduled to begin.
"So, tell me Tala, are we going to compete or not?" Bryan said, leaning forward on the table. "If the rumours are true about most of the Bladebreakers breaking up then this will be the easiest tournament to compete in."
Currently, they were renting out an apartment near the mountain alps of Japan. Returning to Russia was not an option. Once they had been the pride of Russia, but thanks to the whole bitbeast stealing episode, their popularity had plummeted. The Japanese were more forgiving. Best to distance himself from the public eye, and besides, it was no real loss since he wasn't one for the social life. "I haven't given it much thought, but it is tempting to compete on the global stage again."
"I want to compete," Bryan said. "Warming the bench isn't my idea of a good time."
"As do I," said Spencer.
Ian nodded. "I haven't bladed in years at the highest level – I want to blade!"
"And why do you wish to compete again?" Tala said.
Bryan made a fist with his right hand. "We were once the most powerful team in the world and now we've been reduced to nothing. That tag-team format they introduced in the third year made us look to be weak – that tournament seemed designed to favour Tyson, Max, Rei and Kai while the rest of us were there for support." He paused for a brief moment then continued. "We have something to prove to the world that we are a powerful team without the aid of sponsors, coaches and all that shit. Remember Bega Corporation? Boris made fools of us twice."
A moment of silence. Tala's jaw tightened. The painful loss to Garland was still fresh in his mind. Never had he felt so humiliated.
"He has a point, Tala. We were the only team to make it to the end without a coach," Spencer said.
True. All the other teams had coaches. The BBA Revolution had Hiro, the White Tigers had Tao, the PBB All-Starz had Judy, Barthez Battalion had Barthez, and F-Dynasty had Romero. Even the Bega League had a coach. "Fair point raised, Bryan."
"Then I vote that we compete and we show the world that we are a team to be reckoned with," Bryan said, slamming the table with his fist. "Those in favour say, aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."
All three boys looked to Tala for the final confirmation. "That's three votes, Tala."
Some teams disbanded after a failure, but not Tala's team. They were loyal to the cause because they truly believed victory was within their grasp. Loyalty – it was certainly a thing the other teams could learn about. "Then we shall compete in the tournament once more and show the world what we are truly capable of."
"Only one thing one remains, Tala," Ian started.
"What's that?"
"What do we call ourselves? The Demolition Boys or the Blitzkrieg Boys?"
Tala leaned back in his chair. "Let's put it to a vote."