Chapter 5 — Where the Storm Wanders
Ryuga did not return to Japan.
Not because he couldn't.
Because the storm does not circle the place it was born.
It moves.
Europe was different.
The stadiums were older, carved from stone and steel instead of glass and lights. The crowds were rougher—less spectacle, more hunger. Bladers didn't smile when they launched. They watched. Measured. Endured.
Ryuga liked that.
He entered without a name.
Just another traveler with a worn jacket, a calm gaze, and a Bey that hummed softly at his side.
The first battle was in a small underground arena beneath a bridge in Germany.
His opponent was weak.
Wild launches. Poor timing. Too much force, too little control.
Ryuga ended the match in seconds.
Storm Dragoon didn't roar.
It guided.
The blader stared at his stopped Bey in silence.
Ryuga offered no mockery. No praise.
Only understanding.
The second battle lasted longer.
France. A technical blader. Precision-based attacks, clever feints, tight rotations.
Ryuga adjusted.
He didn't overpower.
He adapted.
Storm Dragoon shifted its rhythm, folding power inward, striking only when the opening asked for it.
Victory came quietly.
That night, Ryuga sat alone on a rooftop, watching clouds drift across the moon.
Is this balance? he wondered.
The wind answered—not with words, but with feeling.
Not yet.
As weeks turned into months, Ryuga fought everyone.
The weakest taught him patience.The strongest taught him humility.The reckless taught him restraint.The calculating taught him ferocity.
In Spain, he faced a blader who burned out his own Bey to land a single decisive hit.
Storm Dragoon staggered.
Ryuga felt the pull—the urge to dominate, to crush, to end things absolutely.
He resisted.
Adjusted.
Won.
And afterward, Storm Dragon stirred within the Bey—not approving, not disapproving.
Learning, it seemed to say.
He began to hear it more clearly as he traveled.
Not commands.
Not guidance.
Conversation.
Storm Dragon was not a master.
Nor a weapon.
It was a force—one that responded only when Ryuga understood why he acted, not just how.
"You destroy when destruction is needed," Ryuga said one night, fingers brushing Storm Dragoon's metal.
The wind rose gently.
"And you hold back… when destruction would only create emptiness."
The storm circled him.
Agreement.
By the time Ryuga reached Eastern Europe, whispers followed him.
A balanced blader.A storm that didn't devour.A Bey that adapted without breaking.
He fought champions.
He fought nobodies.
And slowly, inevitably—
He became one of Europe's strongest.
Back in Japan, the ripples were felt.
Lui Shirosagi stood at the summit.
Japanese Number One.
No one could deny it.
He crushed challengers with Longinus's relentless hunger, proving his ideology over and over again. The world bent—or broke.
And yet.
Sometimes, in the moment before launch, Lui felt it.
A pressure.
Like air thickening before lightning strikes.
He smiled wider.
"Good," he muttered. "Grow stronger."
Shu Kurenai rose differently.
Not explosively.
Precisely.
Every victory added to his reputation—not as a monster, but as a genius. Analysts spoke his name with reverence. Veterans acknowledged him with wary respect.
He was named one of the four greatest bladers in Japan.
Alongside Lui.
And yet—his restraint tightened.
Each match required more control. More suppression. More silence.
Sometimes, late at night, Shu's hand would tremble.
And the wind outside his window would feel… unfamiliar.
Three paths.
Three peaks rising in different lands.
Lui ruled Japan through domination.Shu mastered Japan through control.Ryuga carved Europe through balance.
They did not meet.
They did not speak.
But they felt one another—like distant thunder echoing across continents.
The world of Beyblade was changing.
And when the Burst era began—
These three would not simply return.
They would collide.