The stadium floor had a subtle hum to it, a faint vibration that buzzed through the soles of Aaric's shoes. The Beginner Challenge platform wasn't as big as the one in the plaza's main arena, but up close, it felt alive — like the whole structure was waiting for the clash to start.
He stepped forward, the crowd parting just enough to let him through. Riku trailed behind for a few steps before stopping at the outer rail, tossing the black-and-red launcher toward him. Aaric caught it with both hands, the weight settling in his palms with more presence than he expected.
It was heavier than it looked. Not the kind of heavy that made his arms strain, but solid — balanced — like every gram of it had a purpose. The grip was molded for a hand slightly smaller than his, but it still fit well enough, the textured plastic pressing into his skin. A faint scent of oil and dust clung to it, a smell that spoke of countless matches, probably in less-than-clean back-alley stadiums.
He turned it slightly, running his thumb along the ripcord slot. The surface was scuffed in a few places, edges dulled from repeated use, but the mechanism inside gave a sharp click when he tested the trigger. This wasn't some toy-store launcher; it had seen battles.
Aaric let out a slow breath through his nose. Back on Earth, he'd never so much as touched a real launcher. The closest he'd gotten was holding the cheap plastic ones in stores while his older brother debated which model to get for himself. Now, standing in the middle of a stadium in another world, the launcher in his hand felt… different. It wasn't just a piece of equipment. It was the only link between him and the Immortal Phoenix in his other hand.
He shifted Phoenix into place, the teeth of its gear clicking cleanly into the launcher's prongs. The lock felt smooth, firm, like it was meant to be there. He adjusted his grip, finding the balance between the launcher's weight in his right hand and the ripcord's tension under his left.
For a moment, the noise of the crowd faded. His eyes lowered to the golden-red shine of Phoenix, the emblem catching the stadium light. He could feel a faint hum through the launcher — not mechanical, but something else. A warmth, subtle but present, running from Phoenix into his fingers.
It was a strange feeling. Unfamiliar. Yet, in some quiet way, it felt right.
Aaric rolled his shoulders back, tightening his stance. The crowd was still a dull roar in his ears, but his focus had narrowed to the Beyblade in his hand and the heat building quietly in his chest. The warmth from Phoenix was steady now, almost like a pulse, and for a heartbeat, it was the only thing that existed.
Then movement across the stadium floor caught his attention.
The other challenger was already waiting. He looked maybe a year older than Aaric, but carried himself like someone used to winning — chin high, stance loose, a grin already tugging at his mouth as he watched Aaric slot Phoenix into the borrowed launcher.
"That yours?" the boy called, nodding toward the launcher in Aaric's hand.
Aaric didn't answer. He adjusted his grip instead, making sure Phoenix sat flush in the prongs.
The boy smirked. "Didn't think so. Figures. New guy shows up with a shiny Beyblade but no way to actually use it. Guess that means you've been bumming gear off someone else." His eyes flicked briefly toward Riku, who leaned on the railing just behind Aaric. "What's the split, huh? Sixty-forty? Or are you just borrowing it for pity?"
A couple of people in the crowd chuckled — not loudly, but enough for the sound to carry. Aaric heard it. He felt their eyes on him, weighing him, deciding how much of a challenge he could possibly be if he didn't even own his own launcher.
But he didn't rise to it.
The mockery slid over him like rain on glass. He'd seen this before — not in a stadium, but back home. The same tone. The same little smirk people wore when they thought the ground they stood on made them taller than you. On Earth, it had been money. Here, it was gear. Different rules, same game.
So he stayed quiet. Not because the words didn't sting, but because giving them weight would only make them heavier.
He raised his head just enough to meet the boy's eyes. His face was calm, unreadable, the kind of look that didn't give away whether he was irritated or amused. Then he looked back down at Phoenix, brushing his thumb once over the emblem.
The boy's grin twitched, just slightly, like he wasn't sure if he'd been ignored or dismissed. "Alright then," he said, voice tightening, "let's see if you can even make it spin before I knock it out of the stadium."
Riku leaned forward on the railing. "Careful, Jin," he called. "That 'shiny Beyblade' might surprise you."
"Not with that secondhand launcher," Jin shot back without looking away from Aaric.
The referee — a tall man with a tablet in one hand — stepped up to the side of the stadium. "Challengers, ready positions," he called, his voice cutting through the background chatter.
The crowd settled into a hush, the kind of silence that wasn't really quiet at all — just the tension pulling tight in the air. Aaric stepped up to his mark, the metal lip of the stadium cool under his shoes.
He took a slow breath, feeling the weight of the launcher in his hand again. It wasn't his, but the moment Phoenix locked into place, something about it felt like it could be.
Across from him, Jin lifted his own launcher — a sleek silver model with a reinforced grip and a long ripcord. His Beyblade was already loaded, the polished steel ring glinting under the stadium lights.
"You ready, newbie?" Jin asked, his voice low now, meant for Aaric alone.
Aaric's gaze didn't waver. "Always."
For just a fraction of a second, something shifted in Jin's expression — the smallest flicker of annoyance at not getting the reaction he wanted.
The referee raised his hand. "Three…"
The tension in the air thickened. Aaric's fingers flexed slightly on the grip, feeling the launcher's weight one last time.
"Two…"
The crowd leaned forward. Someone near the front whispered, "Borrowed launcher or not, that's a good stance."
"One…"
Aaric's heart beat once — steady, strong — in sync with the warmth pulsing from Immortal Phoenix.
"Let it rip!"