A/N: Chapter 10 is re-written and uploaded! (If you missed it, chapter 9 is also updated.) Nothing major, only minor changes and additional scenes with the more important characters.
CHAPTER #32
The ups and downs of a simple life
"Argh! I was so sure I'd tear down your defense with that attack! Nice move, Max."
The blonde winked. "Thanks, Ray! You're making me work for it, though."
Tyson turned away from his friends' battle and wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the hotel's training room. He should have been watching the match, should have found some thrill in the clash of beys against the floor. But somehow, the usual excitement wasn't there. The spinning tops collided together, sparks flew—but none of it was enough to quiet the restless knot twisting in his chest.
Outside, in the rear courtyard, another group was practicing by the pool. The Blitzkriegs.
Tyson tilted his head, watching with mild curiosity. Tala had set up something that looked like an obstacle course directly over the water. It was a series of floating platforms and swimming rings, arranged in a way that forced their beyblades to navigate sharp turns and balance-focused maneuvers on the moving objectives.
Huh. Now that looked like fun.
Not like their current training. Or any training in the past weeks.
Their own captain wasn't even here. Kai hadn't shown up for practice this morning, which was odd, considering he was the one who usually liked training as a maniac lately—almost like he was trying to distract himself from something.
And with their team down one person, Tyson was stuck waiting while Max and Ray finished their battle under Kenny and Hilary's supervision. Of course, Hilary had given him some drills to work on—trajectory control, launch angle adjustments—but he'd grown bored within five minutes and found staring out the window far more interesting.
His mind kept circling back to his conversation with Kai the other night, replaying every word, every silence, every moment Kai kept him at arm's length. Tyson didn't know what to make of their relationship anymore. Friend? Rival? Or just a teammate, nothing more?
He'd fought for Kai, defended him, stood by his side even when no one else would. And for what? The guy still shut him out, still refused to let him in. How much longer was Tyson supposed to keep trying? How much more of himself was he supposed to give to someone who clearly didn't want to be saved?
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. His fists clenched, frustration tightening in his chest like a vice. Tyson hated feeling useless, hated the way this helplessness curled around him like a weight he couldn't shake.
And then, there was his dad.
For some reason, his father—who so rarely visited him—had sounded more engaged, more invested in Kai than in his own son. That burned. Left something acidic and ugly churning inside him, eating away at whatever rationality he had left.
What was it? What did Kai have that Tyson didn't? What made him worth paying attention to?
Stop, don't be stupid! Dad doesn't love him more than you.
Except… it didn't feel stupid. Because when Kai had spoken, his father had actually listened. When Kai asked a question, his father engaged in a long conversation.
And when Tyson spoke?
His dad had listened, too—but not in the same way. It was distant, distracted. Like someone whose mind was elsewhere, only half-present.
The sourness in his gut coiled tighter, sinking deep into his chest.
Tyson found himself watching more intently as Sergei, Boris and Alexandra took turns maneuvering their blades through the course, while Tala observed from the sidelines, arms crossed, his expression stern as ever. The Russian team moved with a certain efficiency—like a machine with well-oiled parts, working in union.
A sharp contrast to the way the Bladebreakers had been lately.
Suddenly, the Russians stepped away from the pool, heading toward one of the shaded tables nearby for a water break. Tyson watched as Boris smirked at Alexandra and said something—probably something irritating or offensive, given the smugness radiating off him. The girl, unimpressed, gave him a deadpan look before squeezing strongly her water bottle and spraying a stream of water directly into his face.
Tyson snorted, a sudden warmth rising in his chest as memories of Daichi came to his mind. They had pestered each other day and night as teammates, but at least Tyson had never felt alone. How much he missed that little brat now.
He kept watching through the window as Sergei soundlessly laughed at Boris who now wiped the water from his face, his expression unreadable. Then, in the next second, with effortless speed, Boris grabbed Alexandra, hoisted her off the ground and tossed her straight into the pool.
Tyson's brows ran up, watching them with an amused grin. Alexandra surfaced, her soaked hair plastered to her face—murder in her eye.
"Oh, she's gonna kill him for it."
Tyson practically jumped out of his skin. The voice came out of nowhere. "Ah man, Hilary! You scared the hell out of me!" He clutched his chest dramatically. "Since when do you sneak around like a ninja?"
Hilary sent him a flat glance. "Maybe you just have a guilty conscience."
Tyson scowled – not in the mood to have a swordplay with her now. "What would I even be guilty of?"
"What about the practices I assigned to you?"
Tyson groaned and rolled his eyes. She gave him a look, but oddly, she mercifully let it slide.
Outside, Boris—smart enough to keep his distance from the water —stood just out of Alexandra's reach, grinning down at her in triumph as she scowled up at him, plotting revenge. She attempted to climb out of the pool, but her grip on the marble edge slipped, and she fell back with a splash.
To his credit, Boris actually moved closer and offered a hand. Tyson could see it coming before it happened. The second Alexandra grabbed hold, she yanked him in after her.
Tyson and Hilary chuckled at the sight.
"They're really letting loose today," Hilary said, amusement lacing her voice. There was a note of surprise in it, too—one Tyson shared.
Tyson's grin faded just a little. "Yeah," he murmured, eyes still fixed on the unfolding chaos outside. "It's weird seeing them like this. Like… normal people."
Normal wasn't exactly the word he'd ever use to describe the Russians, but there was something nice about watching them like this. He never would've imagined them goofing off back when they first met—back when they were still cold, ruthless, and barely human.
And yet, here they were.
"I think I get what you mean." Hilary nodded.
"I never thought I'd say this," Tyson went on, feeling choked on his own thoughts, "but the Blitzkriegs actually look kinda… fun. I almost wish I was part of their team."
The brunette must have picked up on the drop in his spirits, because from the corner of his eye, Tyson saw Hilary tilted her head slightly as if trying to fathom what was on his mind.
"You're overidealizing their team right now, Tyson." She noted wisely. "They surely have their own problems like every other team."
"Like us?" Tyson shot back bitterly.
"Tyson… is something wrong?"
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just…" He trailed off, struggling to put into words the mess of emotions swirling inside him.
The truth was, he wasn't sure he even understood them himself.
"What?" Hilary prompted gently, stepping a little closer. She was uncommonly patient with him today.
Eventually, Tyson gestured vaguely with his head. "Look at 'em. They're fooling around, messing with each other, acting like a real team. I mean, weren't they supposed to be the scary, soulless ones? And we were supposed to be the carefree, reckless ones?"
Hilary frowned and turned her gaze back to the Blitzkriegs.
Tala—clearly fed up with the chaos in the pool—was now barking orders at his two teammates, his sharp gestures unmistakable even from a distance. Alexandra made her way toward the pool ladder, while Boris took the easier route and pulled himself out with a swift motion on the edge.
But Tyson had a feeling Boris wasn't heading to that particular table next to Tala just to throw his dripping jacket onto it. Tala must've had the same suspicion because he lifted a warning finger, silently telling Boris not to escalate things further.
Boris, however, did the exact opposite. In one terrifyingly quick motion, he grabbed Tala by the arm and, before the redhead could even react, he launched themselves toward the pool.
Even through the thick window, Tyson could feel the sheer force behind Tala's voice as his furious "BORIS!" rang through the glass—just before he hit the water as the falcon unceremoniously threw him.
Hilary gasped, then burst into laughter as Tala resurfaced, sputtering and immediately launching into a livid rant. Boris, unfazed as ever, simply grinned at his friend and jumped in after him, sending another wave of water straight into his teammates' faces.
Tyson chuckled, but something about it tugged at a deeper part of him. The way they shoved each other, laughed, pushed, pulled, dunked each other under the water.
Hilary must've sensed the shift in his mood because she nudged his arm lightly. "You're thinking too much again."
Tyson scoffed. "What, I'm not allowed to have thoughts?"
She gave him a mischievous side-eye. "You mean, more than one? That's dangerous for your brain." She laughed at her own joke then continued in a more serious tone. "No, but when you get quiet like this, it usually means something's bugging you."
Tyson was tapping Dragoon against his palm, hesitating before finally muttering, "I just don't get why we don't feel like that anymore."
Hilary frowned. "Feel like what?"
"Like them," Tyson said, nodding toward the Yuriy and Boris, who were still caught up in their antics.
Hilary studied him for a long moment. "It's not like we don't get along anymore, Tyson."
"I didn't say we don't."
"You kinda did."
Tyson scowled, dragging a hand through his hair then putting back his cap. "I just… I don't know. It's like we used to have this… I dunno, vibe? We were in sync. We fought, we argued, but we had each other's backs no matter what. And now? It just doesn't feel the same."
Hilary was quiet for a beat. Then, softly, she said, "Maybe that's just what happens. People grow. Things change."
Tyson made a frustrated noise. "I don't want it to change."
Hilary smiled sadly. "I know."
He exhaled, nervously running his fingers along Dragoon's edges. "I just… miss it, y'know? The way we were."
Tyson looked down at Hilary in surprise as she looped her arm through his and slightly leaned against his shoulder. "We're still us, Tyson. We may have problems, but we'll sort them out. Just as we always do."
Tyson looked at her, her hopeful smile, into her warm brown eyes. "You think?"
"I do." But even with her firm nod, Tyson couldn't shake the lingering weight in his chest.
"Tyson, hey" Hilary's voice was quieter now, worried. "Are you sure you're okay? You're like not yourself."
"You talk," he scoffed again. "You've had a raincloud over your head since... I dunno, the party? You look kinda… off."
Hilary lowered her gaze to the floor, and though she didn't step away from him, he felt the way her fingers tensed slightly where they still rested on his arm.
Then, finally, she looked back up at him with a small smile—one that wasn't quite right. It wasn't the usual reassuring, exasperated, or teasing smile she usually threw his way. It felt… forced.
"I'm fine," she said, finally unlooped her arm from Tyson's and taking a glance at the door at the other end of the training room as if expecting someone to stride in and interrupt them. "Just feeling a little bit overwhelmed by the tournament, I guess."
Tyson chuckled dryly, "Tell me 'bout it."
Before Hilary could say anything more, his attention was drawn back outside.
In the pool, Boris was now gesturing wildly at Sergei, clearly trying to coax him into the water. Sergei, in response, just crossed his arms and gave a slow, unimpressed shake of his head.
Boris had climbed out of the pool again, dripping wet, and was now advancing toward Sergei with a suspicious amount of energy. Tyson didn't need to hear what was being said to know exactly what the falcon was planning.
Sergei, arms folded, gave Boris a flat, unimpressed look. He didn't even flinch when Boris shoved his shoulder. Not a single inch of him moved. Alexandra joined in, latching onto Sergei's other arm, trying to throw him off balance. Still nothing.
After a few moments of what looked like a futile struggle, even Tala, throwing away his soaking wet jacket and clearly fed up with everything, decided to step in and help.
It still didn't work.
"Okay, now they're just ganging up on him," Max remarked, amused.
Tyson turned his head, blinking when he noticed that both Max and Ray had joined them at the window at some point, watching the scene unfold with the same entertained curiosity. They must have finished their battle while he was too lost in thought. Kenny, meanwhile, remained on the bench, typing away at his laptop, only half-listening.
Tyson looked back just in time to catch the grand finale.
Even with all three of them pushing—Yuriy, Boris, and Alexandra putting their combined weight into it—Sergei remained as solid as a boulder. He barely shifted an inch, watching them struggle with something close to amusement.
Then, without warning, he moved.
With frightening ease, Sergei hoisted all three of them clean off the ground—his struggling teammates flailing helplessly in his grasp—before throwing himself into the pool with all of them still hanging on.
A massive splash followed.
Hilary hid her giggle behind her hand. "Watching them makes me wanna go for a swim, too."
Tyson smirked. "I'd pay to see you try that stunt with Sergei."
Hilary playfully smacked his arm, drawing a laugh from Tyson as he rubbed the spot. Hilary knew how to hit.
By the poolside, the Russians were still making a ruckus, shaking water from their hair, shoving each other, tossing snarky remarks Tyson obviously couldn't hear but could imagine perfectly.
"Are these even the same sour guys we've known all these years?" Max asked, shaking his head with a laugh.
"If you look closely," Ray spoke for the first time, his voice lacking the cheerful tone the others had used while commenting on the scene outside. "You can see the tattoo on their nape. The one Alexandra was talking about a while ago."
Tyson and the others squinted, trying to get a better look at the spot of skin on the Russians' napes.
"Boris has a different tattoo," Ray continued, his tone grim. "I noticed it back at the party. He was just wearing a shirt then, and I caught a glimpse of something, but with the flashing lights, I couldn't make it out clearly. I wasn't sure what to make of it, so I didn't say anything." He paused, his brows furrowing. "But now that Tala's taken off his jacket… the Biovolt logo is right there on his nape. Clear as day."
"You're right! I see it, too!" Hilary gasped with disbelief.
Tyson craned his neck, standing on the tips of his toes to get a better look. The Blitzkriegs were still roughhousing, making it hard to get a clear view, but then Tala finally decided enough was enough and pulled himself out of the pool, showing his back to the window while he was saying something to his teammates.
And that's when Tyson saw it. There, at the base of Tala's neck, just above his spine—unmistakable, sharp, and damning—was the Biovolt insignia.
His eyes widened.
Alexandra had told the truth.
He'd been so sure. So sure that Alexandra had been trying to stir up trouble, to plant doubts in their minds, to manipulate them. He'd been ready to bet everything that she was playing some kind of twisted mind game.
Except she wasn't. She hadn't been lying at all.
The truth was staring back at him, inked permanently into the skin on Tala's nape. The Biovolt insignia—a brand, a mark of ownership.
His stomach twisted.
This wasn't just a team. This wasn't just some elite training program for beybladers. Volkov had marked them. Like property. Like weapons. Like they weren't even people.
For the first time, Tyson allowed himself to wonder—what had they gone through? What had they suffered, trapped in that place, trained like machines, treated like tools? How much of them had been stolen before they had even had the chance to decide who they wanted to be?
Now, Tyson understood why Yuriy and his team had fought the way they did last year—why they had been so ruthless, so unrelenting in their mission to take Volkov down. He had thought it was just about winning, about proving their strength, about finally stepping out of the shadow of their past.
But it wasn't. It had been about survival. About taking back what had been stolen from them.
Tyson exhaled, shaking his head. He had never thought too much about the Abbey before—never really considered what it had meant for the people who had lived it. Sure, he had seen how much it had changed Kai, how much it had hardened him, but he had never stopped to think about the others. About what it meant to grow up being told you were nothing more than a tool to be sharpened and used.
And what it must have meant to finally break free.
He watched them now—the way they shoved each other around and laughed like a bunch of fools, as if the past had no hold on them, as if it had never weighed them down at all. A part of him wanted to believe he'd had something to do with that shift. That, in some small way, it was because of him, Tyson—because he had defeated Yuriy in the final battle three years ago, because he had stood against the so-called unbeatable villains, Volkov and Voltaire Hiwatari, and won. That his victories had done more than just claim a title; that they had helped carve out this moment, where the Blitzkriegs could exist outside of the shadows of their past.
And then, a darker thought crept in.
They had fought back. Tala and his team had turned against Volkov, had risked everything to bring him down. But what about the ones who hadn't? What about the others?
How many were still out there, still carrying the mark of Biovolt, still believing in whatever twisted ideals they had been raised with?
And Kai—
Kai had never spoken about it. Not really. Not beyond the vague pieces he'd let slip in moments of rare honesty. But suddenly, Tyson wasn't sure if that was because Kai simply didn't like talking about his past…
Or because his past was something too painful to put into words.
A shudder ran through him.
For the first time since they had met, Tyson didn't just see Kai as his rival, his teammate, or even his friend. For the first time, Tyson saw Kai as a survivor.
But why didn't he have that tattoo? That the rest of the Blitzkriegs had been branded, but not Kai? Had he been spared? Had he refused?
What the hell had actually happened to him in the Abbey?
The question lodged itself in his brain like a thorn, refusing to be ignored. And the worst part? Tyson couldn't even explain why it mattered so much.
It wasn't just about curiosity. It wasn't even about Kai's past, not really. It was something deeper, something Tyson could barely put into words. Some instinctive, gut-deep drive that kept him tethered to this battle. A force he couldn't walk away from, no matter how many times Kai pushed him back.
He just… needed to see it through. Needed to see Kai happy. Which was stupid, wasn't it? Because Kai didn't even want that.
He had helped Tala and his team open their eyes and convinced them that they deserved better than how they had been treated in the Abbey. He had saved Zeo from his artificial existence. He had reached Brooklyn through the chaos in his mind.
So why the hell couldn't he save Kai? Every time he made progress, every time Kai almost let him in, the sourpuss would make a sharp turn and shut Tyson and everyone out again. Building wall after wall. And Tyson—stubborn, reckless—just kept trying to tear them down.
And for some ridiculous, unshakable reason, Tyson believed that if he could just pull Kai out of those walls, if he could just get through to him and earn that final, unbreakable trust—then nothing would be impossible anymore.
Because that's what Kai was to him. A challenge. The hardest one. The one that pushed Tyson to fight, to learn, to grow. The one that forced him to become better. Stronger. Because nothing came without a fight.
Because if there was one thing he had learned about Kai, it was that he never knew when to stop. He was relentless, tireless, always reaching, always pushing, always clawing his way past whatever limit his body and mind tried to set for him. He didn't just break his own boundaries—he erased them. He kept going long after any sane person would have stopped.
And so Tyson had to be the one to stop him. He had to be Kai's limit.
If Kai insisted on testing how far he could go, then Tyson had to be the wall he crashed into before he went too far. The force that kept him grounded before he spiraled into something irreversible. And the only way to do that—the only way to make Kai see it, to make him feel it—was if Tyson stayed one step ahead. Just a little bit stronger. Just a little bit faster. Just a little bit better.
Not only because he wanted to win. But also because Kai needed to lose.
Because if he didn't, he'd never stop. And one day, he wouldn't be able to come back from it.
It was a never-ending fight, a cat-and-mouse game neither of them would ever truly win. Kai kept running, kept chasing something just out of reach, and Tyson had to keep up—had to be the one to drag him back before he burned himself out completely.
Maybe Kai knew that. Maybe that was why he pushed so hard, why he kept fighting Tyson like it was some unspoken war between them.
Because if Tyson was Kai's limit…Then Kai was Tyson's, too.
"But why would Boris have a different tattoo than the others?" Max frowned in confusion, pulling Tyson out of his thoughts.
"And why doesn't Kai have one?" Ray muttered, almost to himself.
Tyson was glad someone else had voiced that particular question, because he sure as hell wasn't ready to.
A firm snap from behind them indicated that the Chief shut his laptop and stood up, pushing his glasses into place with a practiced motion as he joined them at the window.
"There are several possible explanations," he said matter-of-factly, "Maybe Biovolt had variations of the brand—different symbols for different ranks, skill levels, or even assigned teams."
Hilary's face twisted with discomfort. "That's… horrifying, Kenny."
"Yeah, way to make it sound even creepier, Chief." Tyson arched a disapproving brow at his little friend.
"It is horrifying," Chief acknowledged without flinching, his tone eerily detached. "But considering Volkov's level of control and cruelty, it wouldn't be surprising."
"Wow, Kenny, don't be so dramatic," Max muttered.
"Maybe it's a brotherhood thing. Maybe they were once proud of their connection to Biovolt and got the logo tattooed on themselves willingly." Hilary tried.
"As kids?" Ray objected with skepticism. "Unlikely."
"I don't think Voltaire would've allowed Volkov to brand his only heir. Probably that's why Kai doesn't have it."
Tyson clenched his jaw at that. "We're talking about a bunch of psychotic bastards who tried to take over the world using kids trained for war. However we approach this, it's just totally fucked up."
Kai's words from that night echoed in his head when they had been talking about his grandfather.
'Be that as it may, he's the only one who actually cared about me when I was a child.'
It had sounded wrong then, and it sounded even worse now. Tyson couldn't picture any version of "care" from Kai's grandfather. What kind of love did a man like Voltaire even know how to give? A man who saw emotions as weaknesses, who had shaped his own grandson into a weapon?
No, the whole thing made his skin crawl.
Meanwhile, the Blitzkriegs wrapped up their training—and their impromptu pool party—gathering their things and heading back inside. Tyson barely noticed. His mind was still a storm of tangled thoughts, dragging him deeper into the unease that had been gnawing at him for weeks.
The room had gone quiet, the weight of their conversation hanging over them. Then Kenny cleared his throat, pulling them back to reality.
"Speaking of Kai," he spoke, adjusting his glasses again—his tell for when he was nervous about something. "I don't think he's in any shape to keep competing like this. He's completely drained. And if this keeps up, he won't last much longer."
The statement landed like a heavy weight between them.
A tense silence followed before Ray finally spoke. "What exactly are you suggesting, Kenny? That we bench him?" His voice was careful, but there was an edge to it. "Because I don't think that's a smart move with the semi-finals starting today."
"Yeah," Max agreed, pulling his mouth. "Even if his performance has dipped, Kai's still one of the strongest competitors. And let's be real—he wouldn't even consider the idea."
"Forget it, Chief." Tyson crossed his arms, firm in his stance. "Kai would never sit out an important match."
"I'm not talking about his performance," Kenny specified, his voice growing sharper with frustration. "I'm talking about the fact that his physical exhaustion —which probably also affects his mental state—has reached a point that's downright unhealthy."
He let the words settle, scanning their faces, waiting for the realization to hit.
"We can't just ignore it anymore," he added, his tone quieter but no less urgent. "We have to do something."
For once, nobody argued. Nobody brushed it off. Instead, an uncomfortable silence settled between them, stretching out longer than it should have.
Tyson could tell they were all thinking the same thing—turning over the idea, debating whether it was worth trying again.
It was Max who finally broke the quiet. "Okay, Chief. But how? Kai hates it when we get involved in his business. He always pushes back."
"He shuts us out the second we try," Hilary added quietly, concern written all over her face.
"And when he does let us in, it's usually just to lash out," Ray muttered, arms crossed.
Tyson's frown deepened, the weight of his friends' words pressing against his ribs. It wasn't the first time he'd wondered if maybe Kai was too much for them. If all the effort, the years of trying to reach him, to keep him close, had ever really meant anything.
But the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Because despite everything, Tyson wasn't ready to give up on him. Not after Kai had—however briefly—opened up, lowering the walls he kept so tightly guarded. Not after he had talked about his parents. Not when, despite all his denials and resistance, Kai clearly needed help now more than ever.
"Does anyone actually know why he's been so worn out lately, by the way?" Max inquired, glancing around the group.
Tyson's gaze flicked immediately to Ray.
For a split second, there was something in the Chinese boy's expression—something guarded, a flicker of unease in his slightly widened eyes. Tyson narrowed his own. It was subtle, but he recognized it. That fear of being caught. That fear that someone might have pieced together what they already knew, that Kai had nightmares and something haunted him from his past.
Tyson's hands curled into fists before he could stop them.
So that's how it is. We keep guarding our secrets.
He pressed his lips together, shoving his hands into his pockets like that might keep the frustration from spilling out of him. It wasn't fair. They shouldn't be keeping things from each other. They were supposed to be a team. They should be figuring this out together.
"Well," Kenny broke the silence, hesitating before speaking. "Last night, after he finished a phone call, I had the chance to talk to him. And–"
Who on earth is Kai calling in the middle of the night?" Ray interjected, frowning.
"Maybe his girlfriend back in Japan." Max smirked, feigning indifference. "You know how clingy Kai can be."
Only Tyson snorted with laughter.
"He has a girlfriend?" Hilary's voice sounded almost desperate.
"I highly doubt it," Ray replied flatly.
"I think it was actually your dad, Tyson," Kenny clarified, completely ignoring Max's humor.
Tyson's amusement quickly evaporated. "My dad? Again?" He heard the resentment in his own voice. "What did they talk about?"
Kenny just shrugged. "About what everyone else usually talks about with your dad. Bitbeast-mythology, legends. I only caught the end of it." He paused, then continued with a renewed enthusiasm. "Anyway, I have a theory. I think some kind of spirit's trying–"
"You know what?" Tyson cut in, voice rising with frustration. "I don't wanna hear it, Chief. I won't listen to another excuse for Kai's bad attitude."
Kenny blinked in confusion, opening his mouth to argue. "But I really think—"
"Tyson's right," this time, it was Ray who silenced the technician. "We can't just blame someone else every time Kai shuts us out and acts like he doesn't give a damn. That doesn't excuse him from taking responsibility for the way he treats us! Whatever his problem is, he has to face it and deal with it by himself. That's all."
Kenny's mouth snapped shut. He lowered his head, looking thoroughly defeated.
That dampened the mood. Tyson cast a glance at his friend, noting the way Ray's expression was unusually tense. He's still upset about something, Tyson realized.
"Uhm… Did something happen we should know about?" Max asked uncertainly.
Ray's sharp, cat-like gaze flicked to him. "Nothing happened," he said flatly.
Tyson and Ray's eyes locked, neither backing down. Tyson tried to see through Ray's stony facade, to catch some trace of the truth behind it, but it was no use. He wasn't good at reading body language. That was why he always preferred direct, honest conversations. That way, there was no room for misinterpretation. That way, he knew exactly what needed to be done—how to help, how to fix things.
"Okay. I think…" Max hesitated, throwing a glance between them. "Maybe the best thing we can do is just… talk to him first. Someone should try."
Tyson, knowing by experience how lost that case was, exhaled loudly. "Yeah, good luck with that."
A beat of silence. Then, almost instinctively, all four turned their gazes toward Ray again.
The older blader tensed immediately, his features darkening. Then, uncharacteristically dryly, he said, "Don't look at me. I'm not doing it."
Tyson frowned.
Ray wasn't usually like this. This dismissive, this harsh. Sure, he could get frustrated with Kai like the rest of them—anyone would, with how impossible the guy could be—but he was also the one who always tried. The one who had the patience to push past Kai's walls, who knew how to get through to him when the rest of them had already thrown up their hands in exasperation.
Ray understood Kai in a way the others didn't, or maybe just in a way they couldn't. Maybe because he saw something of himself in him—someone who carried the weight of responsibility too heavily, who thought too much before he spoke, who kept his struggles locked away rather than burdening others with them.
That was why they all looked to him now. Because if anyone could get Kai to talk, to admit what was wrong, it was Ray.
And yet, this time, he didn't step up. He didn't offer to help. He just looked away. That, more than anything, burnt like a stabbing pain in his chest.
Like, hell if nothing had happened between these two.
Max was opening his mouth to speak when someone else beat him to it.
"Let me talk with him."
Tyson returned his gaze to Hilary. She looked back at the team shyly, but determination lit up in her eyes.
"Hil, you sure?" Max asked, his voice careful, laced with concern.
Tyson shot her a skeptical look. "You do know what happens when Kai gets irritated, right? He's not exactly gentle with words."
Hilary rolled her eyes. "I know Kai, just as much as you guys do." Then, with a smirk, she added, "And if he starts—"
Before Hilary could finish, the air in the room seemed to shift. A familiar voice, flat and unimpressed, cut through their conversation like a blade.
"I really hope you didn't spend the entire morning talking."
The group stiffened simultaneously. Even without turning around, Tyson could feel the weight of Kai's presence behind them—sharp, controlled, and utterly cold.
Hilary, mid-sentence, snapped her mouth shut. Kenny practically jolted where he stood, hands tightening around his laptop. Max and Ray turned slightly, schooling their expressions into something neutral, though neither of them looked particularly eager to engage.
Tyson, however, didn't move.
He took his time before shifting his gaze over his shoulder, meeting Kai's impassive stare with one of his own.
Kai looked… well, like himself. Expression void of anything remotely resembling warmth, arms folded as he stood a few steps away from them like he owned the place. His usual attire was slightly disheveled—his scarf wasn't wrapped quite as tightly, and there was something about his posture that suggested exhaustion, but his voice hadn't lost its usual sharp edge.
Still, Tyson caught the flicker of something in his eyes, that was not just tired and distant but… unsettlingly dark.
"And what if we did?" Tyson finally asked out of reflexive defiance, tilting his head, letting just the right amount of challenge seep into his tone.
Kai's gaze didn't waver. "Then I'd say you're wasting time."
Tyson scoffed. "Yeah? Well, excuse us for not running ourselves into the ground for once. Not all of us run on ice-cold arrogance and sheer spite."
Kai's eyebrow twitched in something that might have been amusement. Or irritation. It was always hard to tell with him. "That would explain your lack of progress."
Tyson rolled his eyes. "Right, because you're one to talk about performance. You didn't even bother showing up this morning."
Kai's expression didn't change, but there was the briefest hesitation before he replied. "I had things to do."
That was a lie. They all knew it. Ray had told them that Kai had slept through the alarm clock in the morning and Ray asked the team not to disturb the captain. Kai needed rest. So, no one called him out on it.
A heavy silence stretched between them, the weight of unspoken things pressing against the air.
Then, Hilary, still standing beside Tyson, let out a loud, deliberate sigh. "Okay, so now that you're here, are you planning to actually train with us, or did you just drop in to remind us how incompetent we are?" She gave him a sweet, expectant smile.
Kai didn't so much as blink at the sarcasm. "That depends. Are you done talking?"
Tyson bristled. "You're in a real charming mood today, huh?"
Kai exhaled, long and slow, before finally stepping past them, heading toward the training area as if the conversation was already beneath him. "If you're all done standing around, then get back to work."
Max exchanged a glance with Ray, who sighed in resignation and moved toward the beydishes, shaking his head. Kenny hesitated for only a moment before following, and Tyson, after a long-suffering glance at Hilary, simply muttered,
"Unbelievable."
Kai always did this. Strolled in like nothing was wrong, like they were the ones wasting time, like he wasn't the one shutting them all out and boycotting teamwork. He always had to be the one in control, always had to be the one setting the pace, always the one dictating how things should go.
And no matter how hard Tyson tried to understand him, no matter how much he wanted to reach him, it always ended like this.
A cold, empty wall between them.
Grinding his teeth, Tyson turned on his heel and stomped toward the small beyblade arena. Fine. If Kai wanted to act like nothing was wrong, Tyson would play along.
oOoOo
The boys had been training with Kai only for an hour when the riot broke out with Tyson's lead, loudly declaring that it was time for a lunch break. Max and Ray quickly jumped on board, voicing their agreement with exaggerated groans of exhaustion. Even Hilary's stomach twisted in protest, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast.
Predictably, Kai didn't join in their complaints. He merely gave them a flat stare, as if mentally debating whether to argue, before ultimately relenting with a short nod.
Kenny gathered his laptop and notes while Tyson, Max, and Ray stowed away their beyblades and trudged out of the training room, chatting with newly found enthusiasm. But Kai didn't follow. He remained where he was, reloading his launcher with Dranzer as though their training session hadn't just ended. Hilary watched him for a moment, recognizing that look in his eye. He intended to stay behind and train alone—probably to make up for the hours he'd missed that morning.
She swallowed. This was her chance.
They hadn't exchanged a single word since they… since that night. The reverberation of the electricity between them still lingered at the edges of her mind, uninvited but persistent. A shiver ran down her spine, and she shuddered at the titillating memory of their kiss, her stomach suddenly fluttering with capering butterflies, her skin a mere canvas of goosebumps.
Hilary took a steadying breath as she stepped closer, but the weight in her chest didn't lessen. The anxiety curled deep in her bones, a tight, nagging thing that refused to ease no matter how many times she told herself to relax. But she was brave. She had to be. If she could keep Tyson in check on a daily basis, if she could stand her ground against an entire team of stubborn bladers, then she could handle one cold, arrogant, emotionally distant boy.
Even if that boy happened to be her crush.
Hilary approached him. "Can we talk, Kai?"
He barely glanced up at her, his focus still on Dranzer as it whirled through the obstacle course he had set up earlier for the team. For a moment, she wasn't sure if he had even heard her. Then, without a single wasted movement, he extended a hand, and Dranzer immediately altered its course, returning to him like a trained predator heeding its master's call.
It wasn't an easy trick—as Tyson had made that clear to Hilary once. For a blader to call their beyblade back to their hand like that, there had to be an unshakable bond between wielder and spirit, a mutual understanding built on trust and precision. It wasn't just about power; it was about control, about knowing exactly how much energy to use and when. According to Kenny, even the most skilled bladers needed months of dedicated practice to pull off something like that.
And yet, for Kai, it looked effortless. Like breathing.
He finally turned to face her, slipping Dranzer into his inner pocket. His crimson eyes swept over her with a scrutinizing sharpness, that made her nervous.
"What do you want?" His voice was devoid of hostility, but it wasn't exactly welcoming, either.
Hilary suddenly found herself hesitating. She hadn't thought this through, hadn't planned what to say. She'd just assumed that, when the moment came, she would find the words.
But now, standing under Kai's unwavering gaze, she faltered.
"I just wanted to ask…" she trailed off, searching for the right phrasing, the right approach. She should have prepared better.
She clenched her fist, urging herself to pull it together. Kai had no patience for unnecessary shilly-shallying. He was already closing himself off—she could feel it in the slight tightening of his jaw.
"You look better today," she said instead.
Uh-oh, this was a mistake. His expression already hardened, his gaze sharpening like a knife.
"You don't have to talk about what happened yesterday if you–"
"I had no intention of doing so," Kai cut in, his voice like steel. He turned away from her, staring out through the same window as Hilary and the others had two hours ago.
Hilary clenched her teeth, trying not to show how much that response stung. She had expected resistance, but not this immediate, ruthless dismissal.
"I understand that," she said, nodding. "But it's obvious to all of us that something's weighing on you. Kai, it's—"
"Are you speaking on behalf of the team?" Kai's voice dropped lower, colder. "Is that what this is? A message from the others? Should I brace myself for another ambush in a conference room, where you all turn against me and list off everything that's wrong with me?"
The bitterness in his tone made her stomach sink. She had been hoping to avoid triggering his defenses so soon, but he was already retreating behind his walls, raising his guard higher than ever.
Hilary exhaled slowly. Words wouldn't get through to him like this. She had to try something else.
Without thinking, she took a step forward, closing some of the distance between them.
"Kai, you are stressed. You can't deny that," Hilary snapped, knowing full well that her concern would only chase him further away. "This is your last tournament—it's natural to want to push yourself harder than ever. And no one is trying to stop you. But you must see the damage your stubbornness causing." She gestured vaguely at him, at his exhaustion written in every line of his body, though she doubted he even noticed. He was too busy pretending she didn't exist.
Hilary nibbled on her bottom lip, already bracing herself for the inevitable dismissal. "I just want to help you reach your goals. Let me take on some of your responsibilities as captain. I know what I'm doing—I managed G-Revolution last year."
Finally and slowly, he turned his head toward her, meeting her gaze—and holding it for far too long. His stare was a quiet force pressing down on her. Then, without breaking eye contact, he paced closer.
Hilary's stomach twisted. The weight of his presence was suffocating, a deliberate encroachment on her space. His proximity was calculated, a silent warning.
When Kai finally spoke, his voice was quiet and deep, it made the hairs on the back of Hilary's neck stand up. "You don't even understand what I'm dealing with, Hilary."
She swallowed. She wasn't going to let him shut her out that easily.
"I don't have to understand everything to see that you're close to losing it," she countered, forcing her voice to stay steady despite the tightness in her throat. "You don't eat, you barely sleep, and you're pushing yourself past your limit every single day."
Another step. Hilary tensed, every nerve in her body hyper-aware of how close he was now. Every instinct told her to step back, but she held her ground.
Kai was close enough that she could see the sharp angles of his face, the barely-there flicker of crimson in his dark eyes. The intensity in them was staggering, like a fire burning just beneath the surface, waiting to consume Hilary.
She refused to step back. But she also couldn't breathe.
Just an inch closer—and his lips would be on hers again. Every alarm in Hilary's brain screamed at her to hold on to the last shred of her sanity, to resist the magnetic pull between them, to not close that small gap.
"You know why I push myself so hard, Hilary?"
She could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, a dangerous lure that made it nearly impossible to think. Hilary fought through the haze clouding her mind, grasping for clarity, for reason, for something to say—
She shook her head almost numbly.
Kai tilted his head, expression dark. And then, with the slow precision of a dagger wrapped in silk, he merely growled.
"Because I was made to rule." Kai's eyes flicked down for the briefest moment before meeting her gaze again. "To use people for my purposes."
Her stomach flipped at the way he said it—like a warning. Like a threat. The words should have made her angry, should have made her pull away, demand an explanation. But she couldn't. She was still too caught up in the dizzying memory of that night.
"I don't have the luxury of living a simple life, Hilary. I never did. And I never will." His eyes darkened, the crimson flickering beneath the surface like embers waiting to ignite. "You and the others—you laugh, you bicker, you waste time chasing meaningless moments of happiness. You let yourselves feel things. But me?" He let out a soft, almost scoffing breath. "I don't have that option."
Momentarily escaping from the pink cloud, Hilary interjected with a scowl. "You don't have? Or you don't want to have?"
Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to reach for him, to shake him out of whatever twisted mindset had sunk its claws into him. But she stayed frozen, caught in the force of his presence, trapped between the words he had just spoken and the boy she knew he was. The boy she thought she knew.
"I was raised for something greater," Kai continued, his voice was gaining an edge—resolute, unshakable. "Not to be one of you. Not to settle into mediocrity and call it enough. I was made for power."
Hilary's stomach twisted as she listened, but Kai wasn't done.
"Power doesn't come to people who sit around hoping for it, Hilary. It isn't handed to those who laugh and play and waste their lives on trivial things. It doesn't stay with those who aren't willing to suffer for it." His lips curled slightly, something almost cruel tugging at the corner. "You think I push myself too hard? That I should stop? That I should rest? Tell me, what do you think happens to people who hesitate? Who let their weaknesses hold them back?" He paused for the briefest moment. "They break, Hilary. They fall."
"Kai," Hilary sighed dramatically, realizing that Kai's walls didn't just shut her out—they separated their entire worlds, the way they each saw and understood it. "That's not true. Things don't work that way. You're a fool if you want to see the world only in black and white. Strength's not enough to fulfill your purposes in this life."
"Strength is the only thing that matters," Kai went on, voice unwavering. "And I will be strong enough. Strong enough to never break, to never be controlled, to never—*" he cut himself off, something flickering across his face for the briefest of moments before it disappeared, buried beneath the cold mask once more. "—to never be weak again."
Hilary felt her throat tighten. She sensed that Kai was slipping farther away with each moment, and she was not capable enough to stop him. But it didn't mean she was willing to leave his side.
"Alright," she dropped her gaze for a moment, feeling defeated, "I see there's no point convincing you otherwise. Still," In her unease, she absentmindedly started fidgeting with the edge of Kai's jacket before she finally muster her courage to look up at him. "My offer to help stands. I'm here. Use me."
Kai was looking at her in a way he never had before. Not with the detached indifference he reserved for most people. Not with the occasional flickers of reluctant trust he allowed himself to show around the team.
Something darker.
Hilary's heart pounded, her mind screamed at her to move, to run, to do something.
Kai's voice was barely above a whisper. "Telling someone like me to 'use' you…" he shook his head once. "Do you know me at all?"
Hilary felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. There it was. The final wall slamming down between them. She opened her mouth to speak, but Kai didn't give her the chance.
"I know what you really want to know, Hilary. And my answer is – I don't have time for distractions." Kai's every word carried a razor's edge that cut deep in her little stupid heart. "And I certainly don't have the capacity for whatever you hoped would happen between us."
The finality in his tone made her stomach drop. He was cutting her off. Closing a door before she even had the chance to see what was on the other side.
Before she could comprehend and grasp at his definite, wounding words and find her voice, unexpectedly, Kai pulled her closer, bridging the small gap that had been there too long. Hilary barely had time to react before she could feel the all-consuming touch of his lips against hers.
The first brush of his lips was light—fleeting, almost careful, as if testing, waiting for resistance. But Hilary didn't pull away. She couldn't. She didn't want to. And the second Kai registered her lack of protest, the restraint shattered. The kiss deepened in an instant, all hesitation burned away.
He kissed her with finality. Like he was staking a claim, one she had no choice but to surrender to. His mouth moved against hers with a certainty that made her weak, as if making sure she understood – whatever this was, whatever she thought it could be, Hilary was already his for the taking.
It ended far too soon. She wanted more, wanted it to last forever, to stay in his arms, to drown in the searing heat of him – no matter how painful it became after that. Instead, reality crashed into her with the sudden absence of his touch. The cool air against her lips was a cruel reminder that the moment was over.
Kai stepped back, his expression had already shifted into a closed off and untouchable mask.
"Next time, careful with what you offer, Hilary," he said, voice dark, "Because people like me don't simply take. We own."
Then, with the same cold efficiency as always, Kai simply walked away. Leaving her standing there. Breathless. Humiliated. Drowning in the weight of everything unsaid.
His steps echoed through the empty training room, each fading footfall hammering the rejection deeper into her. And when even that sound vanished, when the silence fully closed in around her, the weight of it all came crashing down—sharp, suffocating and inescapable.
Tears welled up and spilled down her face sooner than she expected. Desperate to escape further humiliation, Hilary ran into the women's restroom, seeking refuge from the world—from the sharp, frantic ache in her chest.
Inside, she pressed her back against the cool tiled wall beside the sink and let the pain consume her, sinking into self-pity.
And just cried.
She had no idea how much time had passed. It could've been thirty minutes, an hour, maybe even longer. All she knew was that the weight in her chest wasn't getting any lighter. She sat curled up on the cold tiled floor of the empty women's restroom, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Her face felt hot and raw from crying, body aching from how tightly she'd been holding herself together.
And for what? Kai was gone. He had walked away without so much as a backward glance, leaving her drowning in the wreckage of what she thought could have been.
She should have expected this. And, in truth, she actually had. Just… didn't think it would be this painful.
Hilary sniffled, dragging the sleeve of her jacket across her damp cheeks. She had thought she was done crying, thought there was nothing left in her to spill, but the moment she let out a shuddering breath, another quiet sob slipped past her lips.
One moment, she was in heaven, and the next... She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to silence the thoughts clawing at her mind, but it was no use.
The restroom door swung open with a sharp creak, and the sound of heavy boots thudding against the tile made Hilary's breath catch.
She tensed. Her first instinct was to turn away, to shrink into herself, but there was nowhere to hide—not from the humiliation of being found like this.
Alexandra stood in the doorway, frowning down at her. For a moment, she just stared.
Then, with a decisive motion, she slammed the door shut behind her and crossed the room in a few casual strides. In one smooth motion, she crouched down, balancing effortlessly on her heels, arms resting on her knees.
Did every Russian squat like that? Hands dangling, back curved, expression unreadable—pure indifference. Hilary saw not once Boris or Sergei – even Yuriy – squatting just like that. Was it a cultural thing?
The Russian girl's hair was still damp from their fight in the pool earlier that morning, but she'd changed her clothes since then. Now, dry fabric clung to her frame, the scent of chlorine still faintly lingering in the air.
"What happened?" Alexandra didn't simply ask—she demanded.
Hilary shook her head, attempting to wave a hand dismissively, as if it were nothing at all. But the lump in her throat swelled, and the threat of fresh tears forced her to squeeze her eyes shut, desperately holding them back.
"Oh, don't think you can get away without telling me." The blonde warned with her Russian accent, unimpressed. "One way or another, you'll start chirping—just like the little bird you always are."
Hilary swallowed, pressing her sleeve against her tear-streaked face. Her cheeks were hot, swollen. Part of her wanted to dismiss the question, pretend everything was fine and send the Russian girl on her way. But the ache in her chest was too raw, too fresh to conceal. Also, the blonde girl could be quite intimidating and convincing at the same time when she wanted.
"Remember what we talked about in the club's restroom at the party?" Hilary's voice cracked, thick with the remnants of her crying. Alexandra's frown deepened, so Hilary elaborated. "You said… if the guy I liked didn't make a move, I should take the initiative."
Alexa blinked, then slowly nodded. "That does sound like something I'd say. Though, I'll be honest—I don't remember everything of that night." She squinted slightly. "Wait. Did you actually take my advice?"
Hilary barely registered her words. Her heart was still pounding from the humiliation of earlier. She sniffled. "I took your advice, yes… And I kissed him."
The smirk that curled across Alexa's lips was downright a shark's that smelled blood underwater. "Nice. Attagirl."
Then, just as quickly, her expression sobered. "Did he reject you?"
Hilary shook her head. "No. He kissed me back."
"Oh. That's good." Alexa nodded, but Hilary's sad face made her re-considerate. "Was he clumsy? It could be disappointing."
Hilary let out a broken chuckle—short-lived, humorless. Wish this would have been the problem. Kai was simply perfect.
"No, it was just as I've always imagined."
Alexa arched a brow. "Okay," she drawled, "then, help me out here. Why do you look so miserable?"
Hilary exhaled sharply and looked at the ceiling in her helplessness. She could feel the pain was slowly molding into anger.
"Because… after he's been pretending nothing happened, I confronted him." Her throat tightened. "And he said…" Hilary blinked, struggling to recollect Kai's words. "I don't even know what he said actually. Basically, that I wasn't good enough for him. So, I should just… piss off."
The words felt even worse spoken aloud, like re-opening a wound that had barely started to close.
"It was so humiliating." Hilary whimpered, covering her face to prevent her mouth running any longer.
Something flickered across Alexandra's face—sharp and dark.
"I can beat him up for you, if you want." The Russian said it so casually, like offering a candy.
Hilary blinked. "W-What?"
Alexa tapped her lips with a finger thoughtfully. "I could even rope in Sergei and Boris. Definitely Boris." A smirk spread on her face. "He loves breaking ribs. Yuriy, though… He's inflexible prick. I doubt he'd care. He's not interested in anything that's not championship related." She rolled her uncovered eye. "Anyway. Just say the word, and I'll personally make sure this jerk regrets his life choices."
Hilary let out a surprised laugh—her first real one since the whole awful ordeal with Kai. It was obvious that the blonde wasn't serious – or so Hilary hoped. Definitely not the best idea to solve a love-rejection problem.
Also, Alexa's ability to talk about her teammates—the Blitzkrieg Boys!—so casually, so irreverently, as if they weren't some terrifying, untouchable force, was almost surreal.
"You think I'm joking," Alexa mused, wagging a finger, "but I assure you—I'm not." She straightened some but still kept her posture. "Back home, girls always came to me when their hearts got broken."
Hilary wiped at her face, still smiling faintly. "I believe you." Then, softer, "Thanks, but I think I'll pass. I don't want to see him getting harmed. He's already worn-out enough already."
Alexandra tilted her head, she examined Hilary with a deep frown, though she remained silent.
"Sorry for dumping my silly problems on you." Hilary apologized, utterly ashamed of her behavior. This was inappropriate. "You must find this horribly boring."
"Are you kidding?" The blonde pulled a face, clearly exasperated. "Finally, I get to talk about something other than bey-strategies and launch techniques. Yuriy's adamant about giving me zero breaks."
Hilary giggled—she could relate to that. She often went to bed with her head buzzing with beyblade tactics.
Maybe it was exhaustion. Or the raw vulnerability of the moment. But suddenly, Hilary felt the urge to say something kind to Alexandra. A way to express her gratitude, to acknowledge how much she appreciated the blonde for simply listening.
Also, she had a suspicion that Alexandra didn't hear kind words often from her teammates. Even Hilary, surrounded by the warm-hearted Bladebreakers – except Kai, who was a hot heartbreaker, and Tyson whose emotional intelligence was almost non-existent – sometimes felt invisible as the only girl in the group. If she struggled with that, then what must it be like for Alexandra among the Blitzkriegs?
"I don't know if my opinion matters to you," Hilary admitted, "but I think you fit in perfectly with the Blitzkriegs. And I mean that as a compliment." Then, with uncertainly, she added, "Kai never looked like one of them, despite sharing a similar past."
Alexa snorted incredulously, but the muscles around her sharp eye loosened. "Thanks."
A brief silence settled between them. Then, after a moment, Alexandra spoke again, her tone thoughtful.
"The boys never liked Kai – that much I gathered."
Hilary blinked at the sudden shift in topic. "Why's that?"
She wasn't sure why she asked. Maybe curiosity, maybe spite. Maybe, deep down, she was looking for something—anything—that would make it easier to let go of the boy who had just shattered her heart.
"Because he's upper class?" Alexa shrugged, indifferent. "He was too arrogant with them, I think. And the guys don't take well to arrogance."
That wasn't exactly news to Hilary. Kai was arrogant with everyone—as she'd been painfully reminded just a little while ago.
But Alexandra didn't seem to be looking for a response. She was already lost in thought, drumming her fingers lightly against her knee, her gaze unfocused.
"It's strange, isn't it?" she mused, tilting her head. "I mean, from what I've seen, Kai is… competent. Focused. Disciplined. Even by our standards. And, despite his irritating personality, he's an asset to any team. He's smart, strategic. He doesn't make stupid mistakes. And if we're being completely honest—" she shot Hilary a conspiratorial glance "—he's not exactly hard on the eyes, either."
Hilary nearly choked. The words slammed into Hilary like a wrecking ball, heat flooding her face.
Alexa didn't seem to notice. She simply sighed, shifting her position. "But maybe that's problem," she went on. "Maybe they hated him because they knew he was better. Because deep down, they knew he was everything they wanted to be."
Hilary said nothing. Couldn't say anything. Her throat was too tight, her mind scrambling. How was she supposed to respond to something like that? To someone so casually pointing out the very things she had been drawn to in Kai—the very reasons she had fallen for him?
Unfortunately, her troubled silence didn't stay unnoticed for the Russian.
"Hilary, are you listening?" Alexa asked with a hint of indignation in her tone.
"Y-yes." She finally managed, but that was all she could say. After that, Hilary pressed her lips together tightly, teeth painfully gritting as she fought again with her tears not to spill over again.
Her silence stretched on too long. Too long for Alexa not to get suspicious about it. The Russian girl narrowed her eye and leaned forward to get a better sight at Hilary, turning her full attention to her.
At first, it was just a glance. A lazy, half-interested flicker of an eye, as if she were merely gauging whether Hilary was still listening. Then something shifted. Alexa's gaze sharpened.
And then—oh.
Hilary could practically see the realization dawn in real-time. Alexa's body tensed ever so slightly before slowly rising, towering over Hilary, her lips parting just the tiniest bit, her mind clearly putting the pieces together.
And when she finally spoke, her voice was slow. Measured. Careful.
"Hilary."
Hilary's stomach dropped.
Alexa dipped her head in just a fraction, watching her closely. "The guy you kissed," she murmured, a knowing edge creeping into her tone. "The one who rejected you."
She let the words linger, drawing them out, watching as Hilary shifted uncomfortably. Then, finally, she asked the question.
"It was Kai, wasn't it?"
Hilary's breath hitched. She buried her face in her hands, as if that could somehow undo everything, erase the truth. But there was no point in denying it. Eventually, Hilary forced herself to look up, her hands trembling as she gave the smallest of nods.
And for the first time since Hilary had met her—since she'd known this confident, sharp-tongued, unreadable girl—Alexa actually looked stunned. Not smug. Not amused. Just completely, utterly shocked. As if this new information had just rewritten everything she thought she knew. As if Hilary's confession—unspoken as it was—had changed something for her.
And Hilary wasn't sure whether to be terrified or relieved.
"Kai?" The blonde repeated, her voice sharp—too sharp, like the edge of a blade. Was it shock? Or rather a threat? Hilary couldn't tell. "Your crush is Kai Hiwatari? And he kissed you?"
Hilary shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. Was Alexandra... jealous? Did she have feelings for Kai? If yes, she bore her soul to the wrong person.
Then, another thought made Hilary even more uncomfortable. How could she possibly compete with someone like Alexandra? She was tall, smart, confident. Even with her sharp edges and half-blindness, there was something striking, magnetic about her.
Hilary, on the other hand, was just—ordinary. Mediocre.
No way she would have hold any chance against the blonde or anyone else who had enough confidence. Or a prettier face. Or an interesting personality.
Hilary wrapped her arms around her knees, dropping her gaze to the floor. How had she ever convinced herself she stood a chance with Kai? There was nothing remarkable about her—nothing that could ever truly hold his attention.
"But I…" Alexa was still caught up in her own shock. "I thought you fell for Tyson or Ray… I was almost sure of it."
Hilary peeked above her arms, momentarily forgetting her heartbreak.
"Ray?" she echoed, her voice bordering on disbelief. "Tyson—I can understand. For some reason, people like to see us as a couple, though I'll never get why. But Ray? He belongs to Mariah! Don't you remember how possessive she was over him at the club?"
"Yeah, I vaguely remember, but I thought she was just a crazy bitch because you already had some kind of history with him." Alexandra shot back, arguing as if it was the most urgent problem they had to resolve. "He's a nice guy, after all. And a good fighter."
The Russian gave Hilary a pointed look, as if Ray's martial arts skills were a lottery win in themselves.
Definitely not a quality Hilary would look for in a boy.
Hilary tilted her head against the wall, and before she knew it, laughter burst from her chest. Since she'd met Alexandra, she felt like they were having a real conversation for the first time. Not as rivals. Not as opponents. Just as two girls, trying to make sense of the world – and the boys – around them.
"So, it's actually Kai," Alexa confirmed, her voice sobering.
Hilary's laughter faded. Anxiety coiled in her stomach as she hesitated. "Are you… angry with me?"
Alexa raised a brow. "For what?"
Hilary swallowed. "I don't know," she admitted, voice small. "Your reaction… it just seemed like… maybe you were also… you know, into Kai."
A beat of silence. Then, Alexa let out a series of amused snorts that told Hilary couldn't be more wrong.
"I'd be more worried about the public's reaction," the blonde said evasively, shaking her head, and again, Hilary couldn't tell if it was a friendly warning or an actual threat. It was so hard to read this girl. Alexa's smirk was wicked. "His fangirls will scratch your eyes out in jealousy if they found out you kissed their prince."
A fresh wave of panic surged through Hilary, and before she could stop herself, she shot forward, instinctively grabbing Alexandra's forearm.
"Please, don't tell anyone! Please, Alexa! I'm begging you!"
The moment she latched onto her, Alexandra winced and yanked her arm back with a sharp hiss.
Hilary froze, horror flooding her system. "Oh my God! Are you hurt? I'm so sorry! I didn't know—"
Alexa shook her head, rolling her shoulder slightly as she rubbed her arm. "It's fine. It's just sore from repetitive launching."
She let her hands drop back to her sides, watching Hilary carefully.
"Don't worry, Hilary. Rule number 2," Alexa said eventually with an uncharacteristically reassuring, warm smile. "I'm good with secrets."
"Thank you," Hilary breathed, relieved, though not completely. She didn't know just how much she could trust a Blitzkrieg. "What's rule number 2, by the way?"
"Keep secrets secret." Alexa explained, but it still didn't say anything to Hilary. The Russian tilted her head. "Haven't you heard about the Girl Code? I thought it was an international thing."
"No," Hilary replied with a shrug. "I spend most of my times around boys. I've never really had a girl friend actually."
Not one she could trust, anyway. Girls had a way of stabbing you in the back when you least expected it.
It wasn't like she hadn't tried. During last year's championship, she had met female bladers—Mathilda, Julia, even Mariah and Emily—but no matter how much she might have liked them, their conversations always circled back to one thing: beyblade. Strategies, techniques, training schedules. Hilary enjoyed the sport, of course—she wouldn't have stuck around the Bladebreakers otherwise—but there was only so much spinning top talk she could take before it all started to feel suffocating.
She had hoped to form a real connection, something beyond friendly small talk about launches and spin trajectories. But in the end, the distance remained.
"Aww, poor little Hilary. Doesn't know how to bond with her own kind," Alexa cooed.
Hilary rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. Pulling herself up and turning to the sink, she splashed cold water on her face, trying to cool the puffiness in her cheeks.
"You feel better now?"
"Yes. Thanks again for this... for listening." Hilary nodded. "It was also nice to talk about something other than beyblade."
Alexa hummed in agreement. "You're telling me. I hate beyblading. And just my luck, these boys are obsessive maniacs."
Hilary blinked in surprise. "You hate beyblading? Then why are you even here?"
She hadn't meant it as anything other than curiosity, but something in Alexandra's expression shifted. Not embarrassment—Alexa didn't seem the type for that. But hesitation.
"…It's not easy to fit in for someone like me." The Russian eventually said. Her voice was quieter this time, her usual sharp confidence softened. "I thought I'd take one last shot with this insufferable bunch, since I got necessary skills to compete."
Hilary frowned as she grabbed a paper towel. For the first time, she wondered if Alexandra had really sought her out just to pry into the Bladebreakers—or if, maybe, she was just as lonely she felt sometimes.
Hilary hesitated. "One last shot before what?"
"Nothing. It was a figure of speech." Alexa shrugged, flicking a hand dismissively. She paused for a moment before continued in a more serious tone. "I'd appreciate it if we kept this between us, though. My team wouldn't appreciate this fact about me. Yuriy already hates my guts for not taking seriously my training."
Hilary mimed zipping her lips and winked. "Rule number two."
She was more than happy to keep one of Alexa's secrets—it meant she wasn't entirely defenseless against the blonde. If Alexa ever decided to change her mind and betray Hilary's trust, at least she'd have something to hold against her, too. Not exactly the foundation of a beautiful friendship, but then again, Hilary hadn't been looking for one in the first place.
Alexa smirked, "You learn quickly."
The door suddenly swung open violently, and a very irritated Yuriy stood in the doorway.
Hilary froze.
The Russian's icy glare landed on Alexandra first, then flicked to Hilary. She quickly dropped her gaze to her hands still rubbing the paper towel, feeling small under his presence.
"Where's your manners, Yuriy? This is the women's restroom." Alexa scowled, completely unfazed by her captain's intrusion. Hilary was genuinely impressed by her nerve—who in their right mind talked back to Yuriy like that?
The Blitzkriegs captain responded in his native tongue, his voice rough, clipped, and clearly impatient. Hilary didn't understand a word, but she didn't need to—his tone alone told her it wasn't anything friendly.
Alexandra, however, remained unfazed. She shot back something in Russian, her words dry, dismissive. Whatever she said, it didn't seem to please Yuriy, whose already thin patience was wearing dangerously close to snapping.
Then, without missing a beat, Alexa flashed a smile, and as if they hadn't just exchanged tense words, she casually switched back to English, "Captain, do you wanna punch Kai in the face?"
A tense silence followed. Yuriy arched a sharp brow, his expression unreadable, but before he could respond, a voice rang out from deeper in the training room.
"At your service anytime, baby!"
Hilary didn't even have to look to know it was Boris. And then, from somewhere beside him, Sergei let out a low, thoughtful hum of agreement.
Alexa grinned smugly, flicking her gaze back to Hilary as if to say – See? We've got your back. It was such a ridiculous – also heart-warming – moment that Hilary couldn't help it, she let out a small, surprised laugh. The sheer absurdity of it all warmed something in her chest, easing just a little of the heavy ache still lingering there.
The amusement, however, was cut short by Yuriy's sharp voice.
"You're already on thin ice, Katin," he warned, his tone dropping into something dangerous. "Stop stirring up trouble and get back to training! Now!"
Alexa let out a dramatic sigh as Yuriy turned and marched off, his barked orders echoing from the training room beyond.
"See?" She turned back to Hilary with a knowing look. "Absolute pain in my ass."
With that, she wiggled her fingers at her, then pulled open the door and disappeared after her captain, leaving Hilary alone with the remnants of their absurd yet oddly comforting exchange.
Written: March 2025
A/N: Okay, I must tell you - this chapter gave me an actual headache. I simply can't figure Tyson's character out and his relationship with Kai. Yeah, yeah, their dynamic is based on their neverending rivalry, I know, but that's too shallow for me in this story. Anyway, I managed to come up with something eventually, I guess, but if Tyson feels a bit OOC, I'm sorry, that's what you get. :'D There are other, more talented authors (*pointed look at Bling101*) who are capable to give deepness to this character. But since Tyson is not the main character in this story, I won't stress over it. I'd appreciate your feedback on him, anyway. I'm ready to learn and cry my eyes out on my pillow.
Kai, though, was brrrr... just too cold in this chapter. I'm not sure how it happened, but I think it fits well.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know we're taking babysteps toward the semi-finals, but we'll get there eventually, I promise. Haha.