Madoka's workshop was a haven of rhythm.
The constant whirr of tools, soft beeps from idle scanners, and the faint metallic clicks of launchers being adjusted blended into a quiet symphony that suited Aarav's world. Phoenix and Pegasus had already been repaired after their clash, now resting on the workbench—intact, but waiting.
Gingka sat lazily on a stool, his scarf loose around his neck, casually tinkering with his launcher, tightening the grip, as if the world outside didn't exist.
Aarav stood by the workbench, fingers gliding over Phoenix's surface, adjusting the balance ring with fluid precision. He wasn't fixing—he was syncing. Every small movement was about feel, not repair.
Madoka, scanning through spare parts out of habit, occasionally glanced up, observing the quiet dance of two Bladers preparing—not for a battle, but because rhythm never stops.
The peace was broken when the workshop door slammed open.
Kenta stumbled in, out of breath, his face flushed from the sprint.
"Aarav… Kyoya's calling you out."
Gingka sat up straight, his playful grin replaced with sharp focus.
Aarav didn't turn immediately. His fingers finished tightening Phoenix's core before he slowly placed it onto the workbench. Then, his gaze met Kenta's.
Madoka crossed her arms, reading the tension instantly. "What happened?"
Kenta swallowed, still catching his breath. "Benkei… the Face Hunters… they ambushed me. Challenged me to a battle in Metal Park. I fought, but… he crushed Sagittario. Took it."
Madoka's fists clenched.
"But then," Kenta continued, "they gave it back. Told me to deliver a message."
His voice hardened, words no longer trembling.
"Kyoya wants you, Aarav. No more silent battles, he said. He's done watching. If you don't face him, next time, I won't get Sagittario back."
The workshop fell silent.
Madoka's eyes narrowed. "Typical Face Hunters tactics. Pick on those around you to provoke a reaction."
But Kenta's eyes remained fixed on Aarav.
"I told them you'd come."
Aarav's expression didn't shift. He walked to the workbench, picked up Phoenix, and clipped it onto his belt with a clean, sharp motion.
Gingka rose, his grin widening. "So, someone wants to break your rhythm. What do we do?"
Aarav's answer was quiet. "We go."
The walk through Metal City felt different this time.
The usual hustle of Bladers, the clatter of parts vendors, and the hum of battle chatter faded as Aarav, Gingka, Kenta, and Madoka moved through the alleys.
But the city wasn't quiet.
It was watching.
Whispers trailed behind them as if the buildings themselves were carrying the challenge ahead.
"Face Hunters picked a fight."
"Kyoya's targeting the Silent Blader."
"They say this battle will decide who really owns Metal City."
Gingka was used to attention. He thrived in the roar of the crowd. But today, he didn't crack jokes. His eyes were sharp, reading the undercurrent of tension.
Kenta walked beside Aarav, clutching Sagittario close, his frustration palpable. "I'm sorry, Aarav. I—"
"You don't apologize for battling," Aarav said, his tone flat but not cold.
Kenta blinked, then smiled faintly. That was all the reassurance he needed.
Madoka kept pace, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "They chose the Park, huh? Of course. Open space, rough stadiums. Perfect for brute force tactics."
Gingka smirked. "Perfect for a rhythm breaker like Aarav too."
Aarav said nothing. His presence didn't need words.
Metal Park wasn't what it had been that morning.
Now, it was an arena.
Crowds lined the edges, whispers floating like static electricity. The Face Hunters prowled the perimeter, their swagger loud and invasive, but their leader stood apart.
Kyoya Tategami waited in the center, arms crossed, eyes sharp, his stance unmovable.
When Aarav's group arrived, the crowd's hum dipped into silence.
Kyoya's lips curled into a smirk.
"So, the ghost shows up."
Aarav stopped a few steps away, standing with his usual composed stance, Phoenix glinting at his waist.
"You've been hiding behind rhythm for too long," Kyoya continued, stepping forward. "But rhythm can be broken."
Benkei stepped up, pointing at Aarav. "Boss is gonna tear through your calm, Silent Blader."
Gingka, ever the storm, chuckled. "He's talking like Aarav's going to stand still."
Madoka's arms were crossed, her sharp gaze reading Kyoya's posture. "He's not underestimating. He's targeting."
Kyoya's eyes never left Aarav.
"You think silence is strength. That if you don't shout, no one can crack you. But Metal City doesn't bow to silence. It bows to the wild."
He unclipped Leone from his belt, the metallic sound slicing through the air.
"Show me how long your rhythm lasts against the storm."
Aarav stepped forward, unclipping Phoenix with a fluid motion.
He didn't speak.
But his answer was heard.
The stadium they stood in was nothing more than a sunken pit surrounded by worn concrete. The ground was uneven, with cracks that told stories of a hundred battles before.
But none of that mattered now.
The storm had been called.
And Aarav had answered.
The Bladers positioned themselves.
Kyoya's stance was wide, aggressive, his launcher gripped like a weapon, his body coiled with wild energy.
Aarav's posture was low, balanced, his grip firm but relaxed, every angle calculated.
Gingka watched from the sidelines, arms folded, a grin playing at his lips.
"This is going to be good."
Madoka didn't smile. Her eyes were locked on the Beyblades, her mind already analyzing variables.
Kenta stood beside her, Sagittario clutched tightly, silently cheering.
"3…"
Kyoya's smirk widened.
"2…"
Aarav's gaze narrowed, his breath syncing to Phoenix's imagined spin.
"1…"
Kyoya's grip tightened.
"Let it rip!"
The ripcords snapped.
Leone exploded onto the stadium, its raw power shaking the cracked concrete, storming forward with a feral growl.
Phoenix launched smoothly, its glide across the stadium floor so fluid it seemed untouched by friction.
The first clash was inevitable.
Leone struck with brute force, aiming to disrupt Phoenix's center hold immediately.
But Phoenix absorbed.
Not by force.
By flow.
The crowd's breath hitched.
Kyoya's eyes gleamed. "Not bad."
But the storm was only beginning.
Leone attacked again, and again, each strike a calculated attempt to shatter Phoenix's rotational rhythm.
But Aarav's fingers adjusted, subtle micro-tilts syncing Phoenix to the stadium's pulse.
The battle wasn't loud.
But the tension was deafening.