A/N: Chapter 9 is re-written!

Also, I re-named the two rare types of bitbeasts in the story, because they were kinda embarrassing (I didn't have the time back then to work on the names too much). So, family-type bitbeasts = synergy-type bitbeasts; and collective-type bitbeasts = parasitic-type bitbeasts from now on.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER #31

All of this is just a game

"Katin's taking too long."

The words made both Sergei and Boris tense as they turned their attention toward their captain. They were in the midst of a beybattle—a makeshift mini tournament among the three of them on a lazy Sunday. Officially, it was a day for rest, but none of them could settle without some beyblading. For Tala, the scrimmage was a chance to test Sergei's new defensive techniques and gauge the subtle flaws in Boris' attacks—red flags in their performance that might doom them against Justice-5.

A bitter taste filled his mouth as he conceded that Volkov's warning had some truth: the Blitzkriegs had somehow clawed their way into the semi-finals, but the output his team was showing was hardly enough to secure a final spot. And time was slipping away—the advantage battle was scheduled for tomorrow. Until then, Tala needed a viable strategy against the former BEGA players.

Boris immediately called back Falborg into his opened palm, and with more willingness than he usually showed, he asked, "Wanna me go after her?"

Tala paused, considering the suggestion. In truth, he didn't want Boris to chase after Katin. Bitterly, he realized he no longer trusted the boy the way he once had. Ever since he'd learnt about his friend's special training. Ever since they had joined Volkov and been separated in the Abbey.

"Maybe we shouldn't have let her go. Volkov messes with insecure people's head too easily."

Boris frowned at Sergei disapprovingly, "Alex isn't insecure."

Sergei merely shrugged; neither was willing to further argue with his friend, nor changing his opinion on the matter. And though Tala privately agreed with Sergei, not able to shake his own misgivings, he didn't want to give his friends more reasons to distrust their teammate.

Tala knew Katin might be uneasy in Volkov's presence, but unlike the rest, she didn't seem to despise that monster in a suit outright. Today's interactions hinted at something more ambiguous—was her behavior born of fear, or was it calculated ambition?

'Two agents could stab you in the back at any time', Tala mused silently, cursing Hiwatari for planting the idea in his mind. Boris's loyalty, he knew, was beyond reproach, but Katin's devotion was murkier.

Regardless of Boris' eagerness to improve his relationship with the blonde, he couldn't let him handle this situation alone. Whether Katin was in trouble or gravitating toward the former director—a possibility Tala found unlikely but also couldn't dismiss — they had to be there for her.

Ever since that sick bastard had run his fingers through Katin's hair with unsettling familiarity, Tala couldn't shake the gnawing unease creeping at the edges of his mind. Volkov had more influence over her than Tala was comfortable admitting. Sergei's knowing look also confirmed this bad feeling in Tala. He and the boys could see through the man's manipulation with ease—so could Kai, Tyson, and now even the Justice-5 members. Basically everyone who had fought against Volkov last year knew exactly what kind of monster he was.

But Katin hadn't been there.

And Volkov, fully aware of that fact, had her caught in his web. He held her like an investment, a tool with untapped potential, waiting for the perfect moment to mold her into something useful for his own twisted purposes.

The Abbey's walls no longer surrounded them, no longer swallowed secrets in its damp stone corridors—but that didn't mean the past had lost its grip. And Tala wasn't convinced Katin realized just how deep its claws still reached.

No, Tala came to a decision, this situation was delicate. Anything involving Volkov required precision. If Boris made a wrong move—reacted too soon, too forcefully, which was quite possible —it could cost them far more than just a tournament. Tala trusted his instincts, trusted the sharpness of his own mind.

And right now, every instinct he had told him to keep a very close eye on Katin.

Finally, Tala broke the silence. "I'll go check on her," he announced. "You two finish your battle—I'll fight the winner." A wolfish grin flickered on his face as he left the training room, the promise of his intervention meant to steady the boys' nerves.

Dubai came alive as night descended upon the city, the humid air humming with the restless energy of summer. The streets pulsed with movement—shoppers weaving in and out of bright storefronts, partygoers spilling onto sidewalks, tourists gazing up at the glittering skyline like it was something out of a dream. It was a city of wealth, indulgence, limitless opportunity — a world in perfect contradiction to Tala's own. He resented it, envied it. He had never wanted to belong to people like this, yet some bitter part of him had always wished he could.

His pace quickened. Katin had been gone for hours, and though Tala wasn't the anxious type (Boris cackled in his mind), something about this 'heart-to-heart' chat with Volkov sat wrong in his gut. Taking into consideration his personal experience with that jerk and the possible scenarios, Katin had either been corrupted already and taken part in Volkov's one of the stupid world-dominating plans, or not, and she was already murdered.

There was no in-between.

Okay, okay. He might have overexaggerated this a bit. But one couldn't be cautious enough when it came to that psychopath.

The stadium corridors were eerily empty at this hour as Tala navigated the upper floors in search of Volkov's office. Unsure of its exact location, he stopped at the front desk. The receptionist—a young woman with kind features and a headscarf—apologetically informed him that Volkov was delayed by a meeting, while she was gathering her everyday belongings to leave. With a pointed gesture, she indicated a door to the right, then she excused herself, wished a good night to Tala and left.

Alone in the vast, silent building, Tala leaned on the desk with an elbow and fixed a steely glare at the entrance of the room in question, straining to hear any sign of conversation from within. For much of his annoyance, nothing came through the thick door.

Before he could start questioning his own idea and reconsidering his leave, the door suddenly swung open and a very much alive Katin stepped out. As the door closed after herself, she exhaled a long and weary breath, clearly overwhelmed by the meeting that Tala so openly disapproved.

Katin started punctiliously fidgeting with the many pockets on her thighs while she walked toward Tala, eye glued to her hands, oblivion to her surroundings.

Just before colliding with his lean form, she finally looked up. For a brief instant, an unsettling emotion flashed over her features before she quickly masked it with an impassive, rigid expression — a disguise she reserved only for Tala. For some reason, the blonde couldn't behave so easy-going with him like with the other two boys. Sergei might have mentioned something the other day about her being afraid of him. But if Alexandra was scared of Tala, she masked it well.

"What are you doing here?" She nearly demanded in surprise.

"Waiting for you." He answered offhandedly, not really appreciating the tone after he walked his way back to the stadium just for her.

She furrowed as if Tala had been said something outrageous. "Why?" Then, the features on her face stiffened for a flicker of a moment. "How long?"

Tala slightly tilted his head at her, red strands shifting aside as he observed the girl and pondered – why was this so important?

"Not more than ten minutes."

Her expression remained the same – tensed though blank – but from the way she forced the air out of her lungs, Tala had a feeling she actually felt relieved. Just then, both their heads snapped toward a noise from behind the door Katin just came through —a signal that Volkov was about to leave as well.

Not keen to meet twice on the same day with the manipulative jerk, Tala pivoted sharply toward the elevator.

"Let's get out of here."

Katin only nodded, quick to follow. They didn't speak until they stepped into the elevator and the heavy doors shut.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Tala broke the quiet as soon as the metal cabin began its slow ascent. "What took you so long?"

"Have you come all the way here to grill me?" she retorted with a mix of defiance and irritation.

"I came because we were starting to worry about you." Tala gave his blunt answer again, tone more annoyed than caring.

She said nothing, her gaze fixed on the shiny elevator doors, but the expression on her face was somehow different. Not smug or impassive as usual, but heavy with a certain weight that Tala couldn't quite trace to its root.

"You shouldn't stay alone with him," Tala continued, his voice rising with frustration. "For God's sake—you shouldn't have agreed to see him. This was a stupid idea!"

It was unnecessary to address the 'him' while he chastised her. Tala refused to pollute his tongue even saying aloud the despised man's name.

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much," Katin shot back, her tone sharper than he liked.

Tala's glare darkened, irritation clawing its way under his skin. The confined space of the elevator grew stifling, thick with unspoken tension, snuffing out any chance for a lighter conversation. Even when they stepped out onto the streets, the weight of it lingered between them.

Eventually, she broke the silence, her voice edged with exhaustion. "He made me wait three hours in the lounge downstairs before finally calling me into his office."

Tala scoffed. "And you waited. Like the good little girl you are." His words dripped with disdain. "Why didn't you just leave? What was so damn important that you had to stay and talk with him?"

Katin still refused to meet his gaze. "I already agreed to meet him," she muttered. "And Vladimir doesn't take well to being ignored. I didn't want to make him angry."

Vladimir.

Tala twisted his lips, voice rough and harsh, "You didn't? I'd give a damn what that bastard tolerates and what not. For that matter, I'd rather be intolerable to him than give the impression that I care what he thinks of me." He side-eyed her, "You should do the same."

To his words, Katin stayed tight-lipped, giving him only a contemptuous humming – and somehow, she managed to annoy Tala with that much more than anything else. As if she wanted to rub something obvious in Tala's face that he couldn't see.

"Out with it, Katin!"

She glanced at him, and in that instant, Tala saw a flash of vulnerability before she quickly looked away.

"I'm not able to do that."

"What?" Tala was not sure he heard her uncharacteristically shy response properly in the traffic noise around them.

"I can't do that!" Alexandra repeated louder.

"What can't?"

Overcoming by her own unreasonable uncertainty, Katin came to a stop and turned to Tala, bright green met with ice-cold blue.

"Ignore him. Annoy him. Make him angry with me. I can do none of that!"

"Why?"

"Because–!" Katin fell silent, practically biting on her tongue to withhold the words that wanted to so rashly slip out of her mouth, giving away her real reasons. "Because!" She repeated after a pause, giving her obstinate reply that didn't answer anything.

Tala held her gaze, waiting for more, surprised — almost disappointed—that there weren't visible sparks crackling between them, despite the charged tension hanging thick in the air. He locked eyes with her, unwavering, daring her to be the first to break away. A blink, a glance to the side — any sign of surrender. But much to his irritation, she held firm, unflinching.

Stubborn, he noted. Stubborn enough to earn a sliver of his respect. Few people could withstand the weight of his glare for more than a second.

Tala didn't come with the intention to interrogate the girl, but nothing could stop him to ask, "Did he want something from you?"

Katin frowned. As if she found the question ridiculous and offensive at the same time. "No."

"Did he offer anything in return for a favor?"

"No!"

"What did he want, then?"

"We just talked!"

"Did he threaten you—force you into doing something immoral?"

"Captain Ivanov! Show some respect to the man who raised you!"

'Captain Ivanov'.

Like an avalanche crashing down from the peak of a mountain, fury swept away Tala's composure, reducing it to nothing.

Show respect? To him?! For raising him?!

Volkov hadn't raised him. No one had. The Abbey wasn't a home—it was a battlefield, a ruthless survival game where only the strongest endured. The weak, the ones who fell behind, weren't nurtured or guided. They were discarded. Thrown to the streets of Moscow like broken toys, forgotten without a second thought. And Volkov had made sure the rest of them understood that. His twisted idea of motivation had been simple: push them beyond their limits, no matter the cost. If they shattered along the way—mentally, physically—it was just collateral damage.

"You can't be serious!" he snarled, his voice raw with disbelief. "He's a fucking criminal! A child abuser! And you—you're defending him?!"

Katin didn't flinch. Instead, her voice burned with conviction. "Did he, or did he not shape you into the leader of the most powerful beyblade team to ever represent Russia?" She waited only a moment for him before she added, "You were chosen from over a hundred."

Tala let out a bitter laugh, sharp as a blade. "Exactly. That's my point! He broke people, destroyed them, just to build his own army! He didn't care how many lives he crushed, how many kids he turned into nothing but weapons." His voice darkened. "You think that's something to be grateful for?"

Katin paused, her expression unreadable. When she spoke again, her voice was disturbingly measured. "Is your soul broken, Yuriy?"

"Not mine," Tala shot back, pride bleeding into his tone.

She barely let him breathe before the next strike. "Are you brainwashed?"

His jaw clenched and hands curled into fists. He could already see where she was going with this, and it made his stomach turn.

The word came out more forceful than he intended, his pulse pounding in his ears. "I'm not!"

Not anymore.

A slow smirk tugged at Katin's lips as she concluded softly, "Then I guess Vladimir's training methods were a success."

Tala's neck muscles tensed as he swallowed down his malice. The silence between them was razor-sharp as they glared at each other with unwavering malevolence.

Katin spoke again, her tone more neutral this time.

"You're a competent leader. You can keep a former soldier in check and enforce strict order within the team. You're a strategist, always armed with enough ideas to counter every possible scenario you've envisioned in that smart little head of yours. A keen mind that assesses people and situations in seconds. You make decisions quickly and efficiently. You predict people's thoughts before they even voice them."

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze piercing.

"Tell me, Captain—do you truly believe you would have become this strong-minded, this brilliant, without his training?"

Tala didn't take the bait. Instead, he kept his eyes locked with Katin, their silent standoff stretching between them like a drawn wire. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, though his heart pounded erratically beneath it. Her words had been dressed as praise, almost flattering in their delivery, but he wasn't fooled. They had an edge, sharp and insidious, like a concealed blade slipping between his ribs.

They stood within arm's reach, yet Katin felt worlds away. Volkov's influence still lingered over her, poisoning her mind like a slow-working venom. Unlike him and the rest of the Blitzkrieg Boys, she hadn't freed herself from that grip. She hadn't been there to see the full truth of what the man was—hadn't fought, bled, and broken away the way they had.

Tala needed to close that invisible gap between them, to pull her back before she slipped too far. But how could he fight against something as deeply ingrained as Volkov's conditioning? The man was dangerous, not just for the power once he'd wielded, but for his mastery of manipulation. He was a blade hidden in the dark, striking at a person's very sense of self, slicing deep until nothing was left but a puppet of his making. Sometimes, he used fear. Other times, he used honeyed words, making his victims believe they were chosen, special, needed—until they belonged to him completely. Just like Tala had once.

And Katin—she was still ensnared. She hadn't broken free like the rest of the team had.

The realization settled over him like ice. She still felt a connection to Volkov. She still looked up to him, still carried some twisted sense of gratitude toward the man.

Tala didn't need to dwell on the reasons for long. If what she said was true, she had grown up surrounded by men and boys, the only girl in a world where strength meant survival. Even if her identity had been hidden for years, that didn't mean Volkov hadn't crossed a certain line. Misusing his authority.

Tala's stomach churned violently at the thought. He couldn't be sure—he had no proof—but the possibility was enough to make his hands clench into fists. There was a term for this, wasn't there? He'd read about it once, back when the media had picked apart their past, trying to understand the kind of hell the Blitzkrieg Boys had endured. What they called this condition again?

Stockholm syndrome. That was it.

She needed a way out.

Just like Mr. Dickenson and the BBA had given Tala and the others a second chance, Katin deserved one, too. He had to help her. He couldn't let her slip further into Volkov's grasp, couldn't let that bastard twist her into another cog in his machine. No matter what it took, he had to break that hold before it was too late.

"Why are you staring at me like that? What's keeping that sharp mind of yours so busy?"

Katin's cynical voice cut through the silence, snapping Tala out of his spiraling thoughts. Her scowl had softened into a furrowed brow, and he realized he must have spent longer in his own head than he'd intended.

"Did you even hear what I—"

Before she could finish, Tala spoke without thinking. "Did he hurt you?"

Her frown deepened. "What?"

"I asked if Volkov hurt you— in any way." Tala repeated himself slowly, deliberately, making sure there was no room for misinterpretation.

A cold, humorless laugh broke free from Katin, sharp and bitter— a sound Tala had heard far too often within the Abbey's walls. It wasn't amusement. It was mockery laced with something darker, something too familiar. She tilted her head back, laughing up at the starless sky, and Tala narrowed his eyes, waiting patiently for the moment it would subside.

"You mean, now?" Her lips curled slightly as she shook her head, still chuckling at what she seemed to consider an absurd question. "No. He doesn't make mistakes that easily. You know that."

Interesting. Did she want Volkov to make a mistake?

"And other times?" Tala pressed, already knowing she had her guard up.

The laughter vanished. A beat of silence stretched between them, taut and weighted. Then, finally, she spoke. "This is a stupid question, Captain Ivanov."

Tala inhaled slowly, straightening his posture, tilting his chin up just slightly as if trying to assess her from a different angle.

"This isn't the Abbey, Katin." His voice was quieter now, but no less firm. "He's not your guardian. We don't have to kneel at his feet anymore. You're free."

For the first time, his words had an effect on her. Her gaze dropped, not in shame or submission, but something else. Regret? Pity? Sadness? It was impossible to tell. And just as quickly as it flickered across her face, it was gone. She looked up, and there was fire in her eye.

"I'm perfectly aware of the situation." Her voice was steady, resolute. "Vladimir Volkov may have been a man with strict and unorthodox educating methods in the past—"

"That's quite an understatement" Tala interjected.

"—but that doesn't change the fact that we owe him the respect he deserves for feeding us, clothing us, training us, taking care of us for years— and all he ever asked in return was our commitment. If you ask me, that's a fair price to pay."

Tala could see it now, clear as day— the conviction in her expression, the unwavering belief behind her words. This wasn't just defiance. This was something deeper. Something worse. If push came to shove, she would stand for Volkov.

And that was bad.

Very bad.

He had underestimated just how deeply rooted this was, how twisted her perception had become. And Tala was the type of man who always expected the worst.

Tala scoffed, shaking his head. Katin was more lost than he had initially thought. He should forget it, leave her to her own delusions. His priority was winning this damn tournament, not playing savior. His mind was already drowning in problems— problems that actually mattered.

Then again...

Katin was a teammate now.

"Again, this expression." Katin studied him with cool detachment, her tone almost idle. "How can so much savagery emanate from such a gorgeous face?"

Of all the things about Katin that unsettled Tala, it was this— the way she wove her words into something that cut both ways, sharp and deliberate. Was she flirting with him? Mocking him? Threatening him? All of the above? There was a calculated precision to the way she spoke, an effortless manipulation of meaning that reminded him, uneasily, of Volkov's own insidious charm.

Another warning sign. Another reason to treat her with caution.

"I'm disappointed." Tala clarified, his voice laced with condescension. "You breathed the same air as Volkov for barely two hours, and you're already talking and thinking like him. I didn't expect you to be so…malleable."

For the briefest flicker of a moment, a smirk tugged at Katin's lips— not insulted, but amused. Proud, even. But she smoothed it over just as quickly, her expression returning to that impenetrable mask. Yet somehow, Tala had the distinct feeling that it wasn't a mere slip in her carefully maintained composure—rather, it was the opposite. A deliberate, premeditated attempt to control the impression she left on him.

"Tell me something," Katin said quietly, her eyes glinting with a careful curiosity. "What made you turn against him eventually? When did it happen?"

Tala's gaze darkened as he considered her question. He hesitated – should he be utterly honest, even if it meant baring his soul? Or would his truth become only another weapon for Katin to use against him? Especially now, when she seemed more inclined to seek Volkov's company. But how could he expect to build trust between them if he wasn't willing to offer some in return?

As if building a defense wall around himself, he crossed his arms in front of his heart and spoke in a clipped, measured tone.

"A few days after our defeat against the Bladebreakers," he began, "Volkov made sure we got the punishment we deserved for not meeting his expectations—me losing my battle against Tyson was the last straw for him. Our win was meant to advance his next phase for his plans with Voltaire Hiwatari – Kai's grandfather – and you can imagine, he was furious about our failure. Even Sergei, who managed to win his battle against Kai, got his share of retribution. But Volkov… he was utterly disappointed with me. And with Boris. So, he gave us a lesson and punished us." he licked his lips and dropped his gaze at the ground as if hoping the concreted floor would give him the emotional support he needed.

He lifted his hand, absentmindedly observing the knuckles, still seeing the gore on them.

"Mostly Boris."

Even now, in the quiet aftermath, the memory haunted him. The mixture of tears and smeared blood on Boris' face, his ragged breathing, and that unbearable emptiness in his eyes— once they had been alight with mischievous defiance, but hollow and resigned in that memory. That was the only time when Tala had witnessed Boris submitting to someone else's authority. That his untamable, rebellious spirit had been broken.

That sight had carved a permanent ache into Tala's heart. In that devastating moment, with his truest protector beaten and his own resolve battered, Tala had clung to the only thing that could kept him more or less sane – his fury. A burning anger—a promise to himself that he would never forgive Volkov, and that he would do everything within his power to destroy the man's cruel plans until the very end.

Tala swallowed hard, but when he spoke again his voice was steady with cold determination, "That was the day I decided that as long as I live, I'll make sure Volkov pays—for every hurt he's caused."

The city hummed around them, a restless, indifferent thing. The distant murmur of voices blended with the swooshing of passing cars, creating an ambient backdrop to the silence between them. Tala nearly forgot they were standing and having an argument in the middle of the street.

"The only difference between you and me, Captain," Katin eventually spoke up, her voice was measured, reserved, her gaze cold and unyielding as stone, "is that you knew why you were punished."

Tala blinked, unsure what to do with that. Then blinked again, because his so-called brilliant mind let him down, not coming up with ideas to make a relevant conclusion from Katin's remark.

"What do you mean?" He asked with a harsh edge in his tone after he managed to recover from his shock. If her goal was to make him feel pity for her, she couldn't be more wrong.

Katin tilted her head slightly, as if amused by his reaction, but there was something bitter in the way her lips twitched. "Just what I said," she shot back. "Did they always explain to you what purpose your punishments served?"

The question shouldn't have been difficult to answer. And yet—it was.

Unlike many, Tala had rarely been punished in the Abbey. At least, not in the way others had. He had known how to toe the line, how to obey without hesitation, how to anticipate what was expected of him before it was even demanded. He had been good at it. A model soldier. And for that, he had been protected.

Up until the day he had failed.

Up until he had lost that goddamn battle to Tyson and shattered Volkov's expectations—along with his carefully built place in the hierarchy.

Not that he regretted it. If anything, that loss had been the catalyst for something bigger. In the aftermath of the World Championship, the blindfold he had willingly worn for years had been torn away, exposing everything he had ignored—the ugly, inescapable truth that had always been right in front of him.

Katin must have seen something shift in his expression, because she stepped closer—still cautious, still keeping distance, but there was something dangerous in the movement.

"Do you think they explained to Boris and Sergei why they got the worst of it, while you were privileged enough to have Vladimir's attention and mercy?"

Ah.

Finally, something real.

Tala exhaled, a slow smirk unfurling across his lips. So, that was the root of it. Resentment.

He had to admit, he enjoyed this game with her. It had been a long time since he'd found a worthy opponent in his private game of mind-reading. Most people were far too predictable, too easy to read, too simple to be any real challenge.

Boris and Sergei, for instance, were as straightforward as they came—blunt, transparent, incapable of guile. They said exactly what was on their minds, with no layers to peel back, no hidden meanings to uncover. Tala knew their reactions before they even had them. There was no thrill in deciphering them, no satisfaction in untangling motives that were never tangled in the first place. He could trust them, yes, but trust was boring. It was the unknown, the unpredictable, the ones who kept him guessing that truly held his interest. However, with Boris, Tala made a miscalculation.

Kai had been different—a new color in the team last year. His quiet, restrained nature had seemed like a challenge at first, something worth unraveling. But soon enough, Tala had lost interest.

Yes, Kai had secrets. That much had been obvious from the start. But unlike the more cunning ones who played the game with deception and half-truths, Kai never bothered with manipulation. He didn't muddy the waters with lies, didn't try to confuse or mislead. Instead, he kept his silence, holding his truths close to his chest, making no effort to twist or maneuver people the way Tala did. And that was precisely why Tala found him… uninteresting.

Kai's moral rigidity made him predictable. He had no taste for deceit, no patience for mind games. He demanded honesty—not in the naive sense, but in the way of someone who refused to lower himself to trickery, who considered it beneath him. That kind of thinking had its uses, Tala supposed. But in the world they had come from, it was also a weakness.

And then there was the matter of his face. For all his careful restraint, Kai's expressions betrayed him. He never voiced his thoughts outright, but his body language spoke volumes—small twitches of his brow, the briefest narrowing of his eyes. Tala had learned the patterns quickly. Once he had mapped out the meaning behind each subtle shift, even Kai's quiet, noncommittal hums became as clear as words.

So, in the end, Kai had been no real challenge at all. It had taken Tala only a few weeks to learn how to read him, and once he did, the challenge was gone.

That was what made Katin different. There was something elusive about her, something frustratingly complex that kept slipping through his fingers just when he thought he had a firm grasp. She lied, but not outright—she wove truth and deception together so skillfully that even he had trouble distinguishing where one ended and the other began. It was a rare thing, and for the first time in a long while, Tala found himself entertained.

In this moment, however, there was something unmistakable in her tone.

Envy.

Tala's smirk deepened, predatory and sharp. "Are we jealous, Katin?"

The dig hit its mark. Katin stiffened, her eye flashing with indignation as she took a step back, as if physically retreating from his words. But then, just under her breath, she muttered bitterly—perhaps more to herself than to him.

"Who wasn't?"

For a split second, the mask slipped. Just enough for Tala to glimpse something raw beneath the surface. Then, without another word, she turned and resumed her walk toward the hotel. Tala watched her go, the echo of her words lingering in his mind.

He shouldn't have pushed her like that. Not when he was supposed to be earning her trust. Not when Volkov was already winning at this game—because make no mistake, they were playing a game. Volkov was still its master.

And if Tala wanted to beat him, he needed to be smarter. Volkov's strength had always been his ability to twist people into whatever shape best suited his needs. And Katin was still caught in his grip.

The question was—how much longer could Tala afford to let that continue?

oOoOo

The door buzzed and let out a soft beep as he swiped his key card through the reader. Stepping into the dimly lit suite, his eyes landed on Boris sprawled across the couch, one foot lazily propped on the coffee table, his attention fixed on the flashing TV screen. Some brainless action movie played, explosions flickering across his bored expression.

As soon as Boris noticed Tala's presence, he grabbed the remote and shut the TV off.

"Won't you finish it?" Tala asked, red eyebrows raising in surprise. He knew how much Boris enjoyed his movies—mindless entertainment was his preferred escape.

"Seen it already." Boris shrugged, "Oh, and sorry, bro. We didn't wait for you. We got hungry."

Tala waved off the apology. The beybattle they'd promised to finish earlier was the least of his concerns right now. There were far more pressing matters.

"Where's Sergei?" he asked, scanning the room.

Boris jerked his head toward one of the closed doors. "Just got in."

Tala's gaze settled on the bathroom door, his frown deepening. "Is he taking a bath?"

Boris flashed up a serrated smile. "Yeah. Bubbles and everything. The guy's a fucking whale."

Tala rolled his eyes. If Sergei was in the tub, that meant the bathroom was out of commission for at least an hour—if not longer. "Did he bring candles, too?"

"And a rubber duck."

They snickered, brave enough to laugh at their teammate's rather feminine habit because he was not present in the room at the moment.

Just like the TV was Boris' retreat, baths were Sergei's indulgence. The Abbey hadn't offered luxuries like bathtubs — just cold, grim shower stalls, no privacy, no proper hygiene, and never enough hot water. The first time they'd moved into a place with a real tub, Sergei had quickly become obsessed with that thing, taking a good soak at least once a week.

Tala let the silence stretch, sinking into the temporary comfort of it as he paced toward his small workstation. It had been a while since he and Boris had a simple chat instead of a grueling conversation that wasn't about tedious beyblade strategies—or their oppressive, partly intertwined past.

Since he wasn't about to get a relaxing shower to calm down his nerves, Tala settled for the next best thing—distraction. He sat down at the desk, flipping open his notebook and resuming his work on game plans against Justice-5. His fingers drummed against the table as he cursed their awful luck with the semi-final matchups.

"Did you find her?" Boris finally broke the quiet, forcing too much casual indifference into his voice.

Tala, half-occupied replaying his tense conversation with Katin, gave a brief nod, not bothering to meet his friend's gaze.

"We walked back together," he muttered. "Then had a cheerful dinner after we basically screamed at each other in the middle of the street."

"So, business as usual," Boris snorted, amusement lacing his words as if trying to lighten the mood. "Volkov's not the best safe zone for a topic, I guess."

Tala grunted roughly, dismissing the subject with an irritated handwave. Katin's attitude toward Volkov still grated on his nerves too much to discuss. Instead, he leveled Boris with a look, his voice firm.

"I need to talk to you."

The shift in Tala's tone immediately put Boris on guard. His brows pulled together, suspicion flickering behind his eyes. The falcon already had a feeling where this was going, and judging by the way his posture tensed slightly, he didn't like it.

Truthfully, neither did Tala. But if he wanted to stay one step ahead of Volkov, he had to use every resource at his disposal.

And that thought made something ugly stir in his chest.

He clenched his jaw. Did I really just think of Boris as a resource?

Pushing the unsettling notion aside, Tala stood, deliberately avoiding his friend's gaze.

"My room."

Boris didn't argue, but he made a show of dragging his feet, deliberately taking his time as he followed and closed the door after himself. Tala unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it aside before sitting at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands loosely intertwined. Boris, naturally, flopped into the chair in the corner, arms hanging lazily over the armrests, one ankle propped on his knee, exuding pure nonchalance.

Tala let the dim city lights filtering through the windows set the mood, he didn't bother with the lamps. This wasn't a conversation that needed bright exposure.

Without any preamble, he asked, "What did you learn yesterday?"

Boris hesitated. Tala caught the movement of his tongue running over his teeth — the sign of his frustration. His friend was glaring at the wall, bitterness all over his face. But Tala didn't flinch. It had been a long time since he wasn't affected by Boris' mood swings. Simply because he always got away with everything Boris didn't agree with.

Still, Boris held onto his resentment for a second longer before finally caving to his usual coping mechanism — his infamous ill-manner attitude.

A smirk twisted his lips, one that only made him look more menacing than amused. "She ain't a lightweight, I'll give her that. Drank and smoked like a damn pro—enough to put most vodka-swilling Russian barflies to shame."

Not considering shameless drinking as valued quality, Tala exhaled through his nose. "You sound like that impressed you."

"Actually, it kinda did," Boris chuckled darkly, though Tala suspected he was doing it just to rile him up. But when the teasing wore off, his tone sobered. "You don't gotta worry about her, though. Said she only drinks like that when she's in a shit mood."

Tala's lips twisted. "Isn't that the motto of every alcoholic?" He shook his head. Focus. "What was her problem?"

Boris shrugged, staring out the window. "Dunno. Maybe still 'cause our combat. She also mumbled some crap about people forgetting her. Said she feels like a 'fucking ghost' or somethin'—real self-pitying bullshit."

Tala leaned back on his hands, eyes flicking to the ceiling as he processed that. Forget? A thread of intrigue pulled at his mind. Yesterday, he'd told her about Kai's amnesia. Was that what she'd meant? That would confirm Boris' earlier theory—Katin had a soft spot for that snobbish bastard.

"She also told me," Boris continued, still watching the city below, "that before she joined the BBA, she worked in a massage salon. As a laundry girl."

Tala frowned. "A massage salon?"

"Yeah," Boris nodded, then added in a tone unusually soft for him—gritted, rough around the edges, but still tinged with something almost wistful. "And from the way she talked about it, she was happy there."

Tala absorbed that in silence before asking the obvious. "Then why'd she leave?"

Boris gave another indifferent shrug. "Didn't ask."

Tala rolled his eyes in the dark. Of course he didn't. Boris was observant, sure—but only about things that interested him. Anything else, he either ignored or didn't bother to dig into. Tala let it slide, focusing on the next point.

He waited for Boris to continue, but the older boy seemed distracted, lost in his own thoughts.

Tala sighed, cutting through the silence. "What else?"

That snapped Boris out of it. For the first time since they sat down, he turned his gaze to Tala.

And just… stared.

Tala frowned. "What?"

Boris didn't answer. Just kept looking. Studying. Like he was hesitating over something.

Annoyed, Tala met his gaze, holding steady, pressing him to react.

It worked. Boris looked away first, shifting his focus to the corner of the room. Tala smirked inwardly. He'd learnt a long time ago how to use the harshness of his gaze, how to intimidate the other without lifting a finger. The ice-blue eyes were Tala's biggest pride – and his most convenient weapon.

Boris exhaled heavily. "There's somethin' else," he admitted, fiddling absently with the laces of his boot. "She's scared shitless of dogs."

Tala arched a brow, not certain catching well what he'd just heard.

Then he laughed.

"What? Dogs?"

Boris didn't join in. He just stared at Tala's amusement with an unreadable expression.

Tala's laughter got louder – lively, delightful noise. His chest and throat vibrated with therapeutic energy.

"What's so fucking funny about that, Yuriy?"

At Boris' dark tone—and the use of his full name, which only ever meant he wasn't joking—Tala made a half-hearted attempt to school his expression. He failed. Miserably.

He couldn't help it. Dogs?

Out of all the things Katin could be terrified of, this was it? He'd expected something darker, something truly unsettling—something that fit the jagged edges of the girl who always seemed to carry ghosts in her shadow. But dogs? The most helplessly loyal, eager-to-please creatures on the planet?

The sheer absurdity of it cracked something loose inside him.

A new wave of laughter clawed at his chest, threatening to spill over. And maybe, just maybe, it had less to do with Katin's fear and more to do with the past few days of relentless tension piling up inside him, finally snapping in the most ridiculous way.

"How—" Tala gasped between chuckles, wiping at his eyes, "—how can someone be scared of dogs?"

"Yuriy."

But Tala was already too far gone, clutching his stomach, laughter spilling out in bursts.

"Jesus, bro, you sound like a damn lunatic. It ain't funny."

"Oh, it is," Tala wheezed, still catching his breath.

Boris shot him a sharp glare, the kind that usually warned someone to shut the hell up before he lost his patience. "Seriously, she ran, like, miles without looking back. Just 'cause she saw one on the street."

Tala's laughter tapered into an incredulous chuckle, and he blinked at Boris, momentarily regaining control over himself. Okay… that sounded more serious. He knew fear could do strange things to people, but still—dogs?

"What kind of dog was it that sent her running? A Great Dane?" He arched a brow, half-serious.

For some reason, Boris hesitated. That alone was suspicious. Then, he muttered, "A dachshund."

Silence.

Then, all at once, Tala lost it.

A cackle burst out of him, shaking his shoulders as he collapsed back onto the bed, gripping his stomach. His laughter echoed off the walls, pure, unfiltered amusement tearing through his chest. It was the kind of laugh that drained the tension from his body, that pulled at something tight and heavy in his ribs and loosened it, like finally ripping out a splinter that had been festering for days.

And this time—finally—Boris cracked too. A rough chuckle escaped him, reluctant at first, but then it took over, rolling out of him despite himself.

After several minutes, Boris huffed, dragging a hand down his face before forcing himself back into a grim tone. "We really shouldn't be laughing. She almost got herself killed, dude. She ran straight into traffic—blind with fear."

Tala exhaled a lingering chuckle, feeling exhausted and trying to suppress the last tremors of amusement. He sat back up, elbows resting on his knees, fingers rubbing at his lips as he willed himself to focus. Sergei would be out of the damn tub soon, and if he wanted a decent conversation with Boris, he shouldn't waste more time.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he admitted, clearing his throat. "But still—dogs? Seriously?" He shook his head, still struggling to fully grasp it. "You literally just pat them on the head, and they'll wag their tails and do whatever the hell you want, all goofy and happy to please."

Boris let out a deep, exasperated sigh. "Aight, fine. Try this, then." He leaned forward slightly, gaze darkening. "She looked as scared as you were that time we ran into your old man at the market in Severodvinsk."

Tala stiffened.

Boris didn't stop. "When he grabbed you and tried to drag you back to his house—remember? And you freaked out so bad, you bolted straight into the sea. I had to jump into the fucking frozen water in the middle of February to haul your dumb ass back out."

"It was March," Tala corrected in a low, half-stubborn voice. Not laughing anymore.

Boris paused, his stare holding Tala's in the dim light, the weight of old wounds hanging heavy between them. "Right. Whatever. The sea was still frozen. We shivered all damn night after that." With a slow, exhausted sigh, Boris finally dropped himself back in the chair. He let the silence settle before muttering under his breath, barely loud enough for Tala to catch, "It's a miracle we're still alive."

A miracle, indeed.

If it hadn't been for Boris, Tala wouldn't have made it past his first winter on the streets. Would've been just another frozen corpse in some alleyway, forgotten before spring.

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Tala stared at the floor, fingers curling into his palms, pressing against old scars no one could see.

"So," Boris broke the silence again, steering them back to the original subject, his voice rough but lacking its usual sharpness. "Maybe stop being a dick and work something out of this inside story."

Tala clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly through his nose. He hated when Boris was right. It didn't happen often—but when it did, it hit like a gut punch.

And he really hated the comparison.

Dogs weren't the same as an angry father who could beat you senseless for looking at him the wrong way. A father who made you stay hyper-aware of every shift in his stance, every slight change in his tone, just to have a chance to dodge the next blow. Because no matter how fast he was, how cautious—Tala had always been too small. Too weak. Too young. There had never been a chance to fight back against a fully grown soldier with a temper like a landmine.

But fear was subjective.

Katin probably wouldn't be scared of his father the way Tala was. Just like he wouldn't be scared of a dachshund the way she was. Maybe she had her own monsters, her own scars hidden under that sharp tongue and stubborn mask.

And maybe, for once, he should try to understand and not looking down the girl.

"Anything else to add?" Tala asked flatly. He'd rather get this conversation over with.

The falcon was occupied again with admiring the city landscape from that height, not rushing with the answer. His mirrored expression on the window glass seemed distant.

"She didn't go to the Abbey by choice." Boris answered. There was an odd sincerity in his tone, like the words carried something heavier than he was letting on. "From the little she let slip last night, I think Alex was actually taken from her family. Forced into it."

Tala's gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade.

Boris must have sensed Tala's glare, because he tore his eyes away from the window and gave him back a meaningful look.

Tala let the silence stretch as he absorbed it.

Volkov had taken her.

Not recruiting her from the streets like him and Boris, or housing her like Sergei. Taken her.

That changed things.

Tala knew how Volkov operated. He didn't waste time on ordinary people. If he had gone out of his way to separate Katin from her family, then it meant she had been worth something to him.

The question was what.

What did Volkov see in her?

Tala's mind immediately started weighing the possibilities. Either she had some latent talent, some buried strength that Volkov had recognized before anyone else, something that made her valuable enough to be molded into a weapon…

But that didn't quite add up.

Tala had been watching her. Studying her. And so far, he hadn't seen anything remarkable—nothing that stood out as exceptional skill or potential. She was competent, sure, but not extraordinary. Not in the way that would justify Volkov's level of interest. And that was what unsettled him the most.

Which left the second possibility.

It sat wrong in his gut.

Maybe Volkov's interest in her had nothing to do with battle potential. Maybe it was something personal.

Whatever the case, he had to cut those strings that made Katin his puppet. If she was still tangled in Volkov's grip—whether she realized it or not—then she was a liability.

And Tala had no patience for liabilities.

"We swapped ideas on how Volkov should bite the dust," Boris spoke up again, yanking Tala out of his thoughts with his usual brand of dark amusement. "That was fun."

Tala blinked, momentarily thrown by the abrupt shift in tone.

He frowned slightly. "What, she's gotten to your soft side now?"

Boris snorted, incredulous. "My what?"

Tala smirked faintly. That was more like him.

They didn't have much time before Sergei emerged from his self-indulgent spa retreat, and Tala needed to wrap this conversation up.

"If you have the chance," Tala began, voice stern and commanding – he was not a friend to Boris right now, but his captain, "ask about her past with Volkov. What kind of relationship they share. Whether he…" Tala trailed off, jaw tightening slightly.

Choosing his words carefully, dancing around implications—it made him feel like he was tiptoeing through a minefield, trying not to set Boris off while still making sure the instructions were clear.

Finally, Tala exhaled sharply and went for bluntness.

"I need to know if he's molested her."

Boris' features slackened, his usually sharp, guarded expression turning oddly blank for a second. Tala watched as Boris' jaw loosened, just slightly at first, then more, his lips parting as though his body was reacting before his brain could catch up.

His hands, which had been resting lazily on the armrests, twitched. First a flex of the fingers, then a slow curl, tightening into white-knuckled fists before easing open again, uncertain where to settle. He didn't lean forward immediately, as if his body needed time to catch up with the weight of Tala's words.

And then he did. Slowly, deliberately, his frame edged forward, his forearms pressing against his knees, his eyes locked onto Tala like he was trying to decipher if this was a joke.

"Or whether she's in love with Volkov." Tala continued, his voice even and clinical, as if he were analyzing battle formations. "Anything that'll help me understand what's going on between them."

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and ready to break.

The only sound was the distant hum of the city beyond the window, muted and indifferent to the sudden stillness that had settled in the room.

Tala could feel Boris staring at him, unmoving, as if his mind had momentarily short-circuited. For a second, he thought his friend might not respond at all.

Then, Boris exhaled sharply, a breathless, disbelieving scoff that shattered the stillness like glass.

"Are you serious?" His voice, when it finally came, was raw and rough, cutting too loud through the quiet that had become almost unbearable. "What the hell are you suggesting? You think—what? That they… that they're a thing? You overthink this shit, Yuriy."

Tala watched him closely, not responding right away. He'd barely had the chance to catch his friend stammering, despite knowing him for more than a decade.

Boris dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, slow and absent, like he wasn't even aware of doing it. The way his teeth caught the inside of his cheek, working against it in silent tension. And the way his jaw tightened, the muscle twitching as if he were physically biting down on the disgust threatening to spill out.

Barely noticeable, delicate signs of the older Russian's stirred up feelings. Tala couldn't decide what unsettled Boris more—the idea that his teammate had been forced into something or the thought that she might have willingly chosen to be close to Volkov.

Whichever it was, Boris' reaction was more intense than expected.

Tala let a beat pass before answering, his tone brisk, controlled, shutting down whatever storm was brewing on the other side of the room. "I only have speculations."

"Okay, and what the hell do you expect me to do?" Boris' voice carried a sharp edge now, his irritation no longer subtle.

Tala didn't answer immediately, which only made Boris more agitated. "Hm?" He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "What the hell do you want? I can't just ask her shit like that – man, are you fucking kidding me?"

Tala didn't dignify that with a verbal response. Instead, he leveled a stare at Boris—cold, cutting, expectant. A silent command.

And Boris got it. Of course, he did.

This was an ugly conversation, one Tala didn't particularly enjoy having either. But Boris was the only one who could get the answers. For whatever twisted reason, Katin had chosen him—him—to trust. Out of everyone, she confided in the guy who had once been her worst nightmare. Or so they had been told.

That alone unsettled Tala more than he wanted to admit.

Was this part of some elaborate game of hers? Another layer of deception? Or did she truly see Boris as someone she could rely on? He hated not knowing. And he hated that this missing piece in the puzzle made it impossible for him to see the full picture—the real picture.

Because he didn't believe for a second that Katin had entered the championship just to chase fame. She didn't seem like the type to crave attention. If anything, she actively avoided the spotlight. That didn't add up.

And according to Boris, she'd had a decent life before all this. People who'd clawed their way out of the Abbey wouldn't throw away security and stability just for the thrill of a tournament.

Unless she wasn't running toward something—she was running from something.

A headache was approaching him, a dull, persistent throb at his temples. He exhaled slowly through his nose, fingers pressing against the tension building in his skull. He was thinking too much again.

Tala waved Boris off dismissively. "You'll figure it out."

"Oh, will I?" Boris snapped, voice laced with disbelief. "Maybe I'll just go up to her and say, 'Hey Alex, quick question—did that sick fuck touch you or what?' I'm sure that'll go great!"

Tala gave him an unimpressed look. "I trust your tact."

Boris let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You are such a prick." Boris dropped his head back in his helpless frustration. "Fuck, Tala, that's… That's heavy. And gross."

Tala hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Boris heaved a long, frustrated groan, "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

Before he could launch into another rant, Tala cut in. "Did you ask her why she joined the championship?"

That threw Boris completely off.

He blinked, like he had to switch gears and been caught off guard by the sudden change in subject. His brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to recall something.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Said it was because of me."

Tala raised an eyebrow. "You?"

Boris nodded again in confirmation. His jaw tensed, the ghost of a sneer curling at the corner of his mouth as he said, "She wanted to look in my eye as a murderer or some shit like that… Not sure. We were wasted."

Huh.

That was a… believable lie from Katin.

Too believable. It wasn't a bad excuse, but it also wasn't the reason.

Tala didn't voice that thought, though. He only tilted his head slightly, watching Boris with cool, unreadable eyes.

There was no doubt in his mind that Katin had thrown that explanation at Boris knowing he'd be too drunk to scrutinize it properly. And if she'd wanted to be vague—if she'd wanted to mislead him—then she had something to hide. A thread of intrigue curled in the back of his mind, but Tala forced himself to let it go for now.

No point in pushing Boris further tonight.

Tala was also running on fumes, his brain wrung dry like a zested lemon, squeezed for every last drop of deduction it could produce today. He stood up, already peeling off his black tank top, preparing for bed, also signaling the conversation was over.

"Go get some sleep. We're done." he said.

Boris scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Night, Captain." He merely spat the last word.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Tala exhaled. The bed creaked slightly as he fell on it, rolling his shoulders to shake off the weight of the night.

Too many theories. Too many questions.

And not nearly enough answers.

oOoOo

The analysis was still unfinished, despite the countless hours Kenny had poured into his research. Something didn't fit. His calculations were accurate, yet they failed to explain the anomaly he'd discovered in the Russian girl's beyblade.

With a frustrated sigh, Kenny rubbed his eyes, trying to ward off the fatigue that burned them. He knew it was useless to keep pushing himself tonight, so he decided to call it a day. Looking for his laptop charger, he rummaged around the cluttered table until he remembered leaving it in the lounge room earlier, back when he'd been hanging out with the others.

Laptop in hand, he quietly slipped out of the bedroom—he didn't want to wake up Hilary. She'd been quieter than usual, but Kenny wasn't too concerned about it. Maybe she'd just had a bad day. It happened to all of them every now and then.

As he stepped into the longue, he heard murmured words from the other side of the room. Glancing over, he registered Kai was on the phone in one of the armchairs, speaking in a low voice. Who would he talk to at such an hour?

Now, unlike Hilary, Kai was a whole different story regarding his concerns. His behavior had grown increasingly unpredictable lately, and while everyone on the team had their own theories, none of them knew for sure what was wrong with him or how to help. Still, Kenny suspected Kai would soon have no choice but to seek their support. It had been always like this.

Intent only on retrieving his charger, Kenny padded into the room. His device lay abandoned on the floor beside the couch, still plugged into the outlet. He didn't want his presence to be discovered by his unpleasant teammate.

"...and what do you think—can these connected bitbeasts affect their wielders' psyche? Could the wielder feel the other bitbeast's fear or anger?"

Kenny paused, brow creasing at the back of Kai's armchair.

What kind of question is that? He couldn't resist edging closer, even though he knew eavesdropping could invite trouble. The scientist in him was too intrigued to ignore Kai's strange inquiries. Frustratingly, he couldn't make out what the person on the other side of the line was saying.

"I see. Thank you for your time!" How unnaturally polite Kai could be when he was talking to someone higher than his rank. The captain paused for a moment before adding in a sterner tone, "One more thing. You may have two sons, Mr. Granger, but Tyson only has one father. Keep that in mind."

Kenny frowned and could've sworn he heard a startled noise on the other end just before Kai hung up.

The older boy exhaled a long, weary breath, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. He looked exhausted in a way that reminded Kenny how unusual it was for them to be alone together like this.

Feeling suddenly awkward lurking behind the wall that separated the small corner between the longue and the bathroom, Kenny cleared his throat and stepped forward with deliberate heaviness so Kai would notice him.

The blue markings were already repainted on Kai's face, sharp and intimidating, giving him that ruthless "stay away" look. He preferred his paintless face. The former Bladesharks leader still looked dangerous with his menacingly cold and sharp eyes, but at least he was less a domineering bully without them.

Kai opened his eyes and flicked them at Kenny in mild acknowledgment.

"How are you?" Kenny ventured. They rarely talked one-on-one.

Kai responded with a noncommittal grunt that made Kenny's brows shoot up. Taking a closer look, Kenny noticed the signs of deep exhaustion: dark circles under bloodshot eyes, paler skin than usual, and a posture that seemed far too slumped for someone so proud.

"Maybe you should get some rest," Kenny advised.

Kai leaned on one elbow and scrubbed his eyes, and though his tone was blunt, it lacked the usual harsh edge. "Is there a reason you're bothering me, Kenny, or are you just bored?"

Kenny swallowed his retort and used a more impassionate tone instead, "Well, since you're awake, I wanted to update you on my latest findings about Alexandra Katin's beyblade."

To his surprise, Kai actually looked interested. "Did you learn something about her?"

"There's an inconsistency in the data I extracted from her beyblade for a while," Kenny began, immediately shifting into analytical mode. "Basically, Baladrac's design doesn't match any known type, but it meets the criteria of all types. For instance, the attack and weight rings—"

"Keep it short, Kenny." Kai interrupted with an exasperated sigh.

"In a nutshell, with that design, her beyblade shouldn't function at all. But somehow, it does—and quite effectively."

Kai blinked slowly and sleepily at him. Man, this guy was really worn to a frazzle.

"What do you want to say with that?"

"I have a theory." Kenny heaved, gathering his courage to discuss it.

He hesitated, not because he doubted his own reasoning—his mind was the one thing he trusted implicitly—but because he feared being dismissed. Ridiculed. He had no courage like Tyson, no quiet wisdom like Ray, no boundless optimism like Max, and certainly none of Kai's confident presence. He was not gifted with a tall, handsome appearance or strong masculinity. He was small, fragile, often clumsy. His usefulness began and ended with his intellect.

That was why, when his ideas were questioned—worse, when they were mocked—it felt like an attack on his entire worth and easily lost his confidence. It didn't happen often. But with Kai, it was always a risk.

"A poorly designed beyblade—one that, by all logic, shouldn't function as well as it does—must be controlled by something else. Something with conscious awareness and an understanding of the mechanics that allow it to perform optimally."

Kai frowned, absorbing Kenny's words. It took him much longer to process and figure out the riddle than usual, but Kenny gave him time. If he had to name one thing that he liked in Kai was his patience and open-mindedness for puzzles. Unlike Tyson who generally demanded the simplest explanation from Kenny in the shortest time, the future tycoon loved figuring out problems by himself, grinding his brain to come up with solutions, taking a part in Kenny's intellectual games.

Eventually, the leader drawled, "You're talking about artificial intelligence?"

Kenny was sincerely taken aback by the other boy's suggestion. He didn't think of this possibility until now – but why not? It was a plausible theory. He should have thought of it himself.

"No, but that's also an idea." He adjusted his glasses, refocusing. "I was thinking of something… living."

Kai's expression didn't shift.

"So, you're saying – it's actually her bitbeast that rules the beyblade?" Kai asked flatly, looking unimpressed.

"That's the best theory I have, though I don't know if it's possible or how her bitbeast's even capable of that. Based on the data, Baladrac doesn't appear strong enough to manage something that complex. Still, I believe this is the explanation for the inconsistency I keep running into." Kenny glanced at his screen again, verifying the figures. "Any other guess about how her beyblade might work?"

The phoenix wielder sat in silence for a while and hesitated, clearly weighing whether to speak. At length, he straightened and asked, "Could her bitbeast be a demon?"

Kenny blinked in surprise. "From what the data shows, hardly. Baladrac is a synergy, water type bitbeasts, nothing extraordinary—aside from her astonishingly powerful ultimate attack. But that's still not unheard of."

Kai paused again, seemingly wrestling with a decision in his head, and Kenny was curious what the captain could know about the Russian girl.

"One night, I saw Alexandra training in the stadium."

"In the stadium? How? It's not allowed to—" Kenny began, then fell silent under Kai's frosty glare. "Right. Sorry. Go on."

"She managed to summon multiple bitbeasts from her beyblade," Kai said slowly, as though even recalling it was surreal. "All of them different. And they answered her commands."

Kenny froze, mind racing with questions. "Multiple?"

"Hm."

"And different? Each of them?"

"Hn."

Kenny mentally took a step back and watching the whole picture tried to solve the puzzle that was clearly missing parts. Different bit-beasts summoned by the same wielder – that was unconventional.

"Approximately how many?" It was a bit stupid question, but Kenny was getting frustrated to look for a new approach of the problem.

"I don't know." Kai rubbed his eyes again. "Dozens."

Kenny's eyes widened, jaw on floor. "Dozens?! I thought we were talking about three or five on top. Are you sure?"

His tired companion glared at him with a determined expression, "Yes, I am sure."

"Tha-that's not possible! That's… That's not possible!" Kenny stuttered in disbelief. "Wielding and controlling one bit-beast can be a grueling process already, but plenty?! Wasn't it just Baladrac's special attack you saw? Like, the one she used against Max?"

Kai shook his head. "No. It looked nothing like that."

"And she summoned them from the same beyblade?!"

"From the same beyblade." The phoenix wielder nodded gravely.

A heavy silence descended, though Kenny's heart was nothing but calm. The picture that Kai just described filled him with excitement and anxiety, charging him up with enough energy to forget his original plan of getting rest and start working on the data again.

"B-but… one would die from that." Kenny continued to argue, unable to comprehend the conception. "Based on what all of you told me regarding the power and connection with your bitbeasts, that many spirits required way too much energy and would drain even your soul." Kenny shook his head in denial. "She looks totally in control to be in possession of dozens of bit-beasts. Are you sure you haven't… hallucinated, perhaps?"

Kai gave him a blunt glare, making the favor for Kenny to ignore his last question. Instead, he aimed at a new angle, "And if I told you, particular bit-beasts are actually capable to connect with other bit-beasts without depleting its wielder's energy?"

Kenny scrunched his face with confusion and disbelief. "Does exist a bitbeast like that?"

"It does." Kai exhaled a long sigh with a meaningful glare that implicated Kenny should know about it, too.

There were really not many options that narrowed the spontaneous research in Kenny's head. So far, he'd heard of only one particular bitbeast that applied to the criteria.

"What… You mean… Like, Black Dranzer? Is this what you think?" He asked with uncertainty.

"It's not Black Dranzer."

Kenny furrowed.

"Only Black Dranzer was able to capture other bitbeasts." Kenny stated and stared into Kai's indifferent face while his brain was working with lightspeed.

"Black Dranzer's dead." The leader opposed almost stubbornly.

Kenny tilted his head as if that would make it easier to find the missing factor in his equation. Kai denied it was Black Dranzer, yet his argumentation kept suggesting Kenny no other bit-beast could do the thing they were eagerly discussing.

"But…you still think it's alive."

Kai dropped his gaze at his lap, sounding uncommonly doubtful as he admitted, "I don't know what to think anymore."

The mechanic hummed, conflicted with his own thoughts. What else could be if not Black Dranzer? Thinking of that – how many demons may have existed? They didn't know many apart from Black Dranzer. And Zeus. Also, the Dark Bladers' nasty spirits, but those hadn't been endowed with impressive enough powers to be significant.

Kai's hoarse voice interrupted his thoughts, "But, as you know… According to the mythology, phoenixes can regenerate themselves and born again. So, practically, they're immortal creatures."

The air gasped out of Kenny, feeling the sudden weight of Kai's words crashing on his shoulders. Fully aware of the flaws of the demonic bird that couldn't stand against the power of sacred bitbeasts – so their team hypothetically could defeat it – the unmerciful and grim creature's greediness to feed itself lived on as an appalling memory in his mind. He involuntarily recalled their time in Moscow, the lowest point of the team's history when Kai'd betrayed them, and bitterness corrupted his relationship with the painted-faced boy once again. They had even gone to a rescue mission to bring back Kai from the Abbey that he'd visited all by himself, because he had a dream about it.

Kenny's thoughts paused here, mentally hovering over this memory as he took in the sight again of the completely worn-out figure before him.

"Is this why you look so tired?" Kenny asked with indelicate interest, "Black Dranzer haunts your dreams again?"

Kai glanced at him as a reply then turned back to his lap with a resigned breath.

However heartless and rude Kai was with him most of the time, unwanted worry was bubbling up in Kenny for the team leader. The fact that Kai lowered his guards down enough for Kenny to see him in this state already spoke volumes of the sleep deprivation the stoic boy clearly suffered.

And this didn't mean that it could erase every demeaning comment and wicked act Kai had directed at him, but Kenny's heart was not as rigid and cold as the captain's. It could beat and pump warm blood that helped him to make the right decisions to lend a hand to an ungrateful friend in need.

"It can't be Black Dranzer. Even if it was immortal, I demolished its chip right after the World Championships." Kai murmured with the uncertainty of someone who was more eager to convince himself than his companion.

More questions flooded Kenny's mind – what happened to the bitbeasts whose bit-chip had been destroyed? After all, both Max's Draciel and Ray's Driger had returned to them after their beyblades had been blown to pieces after a heavy battle. It was true that Black Dranzer hadn't got the chance to bond properly with a wielder, but if Draciel and Driger's spirits could stay alive, what would prove the death of Black Dranzer?

Also, could be a bit-beast – a spirit – destroyable at all?

Knowing that it wouldn't lessen the uneasiness in his teammate's heart, Kenny eventually said in a low voice, "I'm not sure a bitbeast's spirit can be extinguished so easily. Dranzer also reunited with you not long after the wondrous battle you had against Brooklyn."

A ghost of a smile tucked in the corner of Kai's lips for a second as he scoffed and, what the hell – did Kenny just feed Kai Hiwatari's ego further? What was he doing? If anything, expressing admiration was the last thing the pompous guy deserved.

"That's why you talked with Mr. Granger?" Kenny asked quickly in an indifferent tone, to shoo away the memory of his mistake, "To ask about Black Dranzer?"

"Among other things." Kai confirmed, putting more and more weight on his elbow.

"What did he say?"

"He was not very useful." He replied slowly. "There are too many open questions."

That Kenny could agree with. A vast number of unanswered questions buzzed annoyingly and tirelessly in his mind, not giving a piece of calm to Kenny for a mere second. He'd always hoped for progress in his research, but lately, it had happened in the opposite way more often than with what he was comfortable.

Nonetheless, the stillness of nighttime, the absence of brisk impulses made him observe the problem more focused, and – reluctant to admit even to himself – Kenny somewhat enjoyed this conversation with Kai. The tyrant boy didn't criticize or ignore him – the very opposite. Kai was listening and brainstormed with Kenny, which was his most favorite activity.

Kenny opened his mouth to ask more about Black Dranzer and Kai's dreams—there could be details that might help his research—but he hesitated when he noticed the captain struggling to fight off sleep, his eyelids heavy, his posture slouching ever so slightly.

"I think you should lie down and rest," Kenny said eventually.

To his dismay, and proving his concern right, Kai pushed himself up and headed toward his bedroom.

"Don't try bossing me around, Kenny. It doesn't suit your character."

Written: January–February, 2025

A/N: Phew. I worked really hard on this chapter, which may seem unreasonable, considering the fact that nothing really happens in it - also, did you notice the whole chapter is actually about Alexandra and her bitbeast? lol. To understand her character and prepare some future plots (there are so many small and foreshadowing details in this chapter, I hope I didn't leave out anything important), I wanted to give her some attention - and Tala's analytical mind was really helpful in that. I'm getting attached to this sassy redhead, I really enjoy writing his parts, his thoughts and his past with Boris - I don't know what about you.

A big thanks to Bling101 for the writing advice on the last part (she's also the reason you could read this chapter today. I intented to upload it only at the weekend. I wanted to let it sit and make sure I wrote down everything I originally planned in this chapter). Aside from Kai, I struggle quite a lot with the Bladebreakers characters. They're so cheerful and... normal. XD

As always, thank you for the reviews and the amazing words and feedbacks you leave here! I have the best readers! Peace and love to everyone, take care until the next update!