The sparks from our opening clash faded quickly, but Leviathan didn't waste a heartbeat. The moment our Beys bounced apart, hers slid straight back into the center circle, locking it down like it was her personal territory.
Snake kept circling, hunting for an opening, but Kaiya's control over the middle was absolute. Every time I angled inward, Leviathan shifted just enough to intercept, its wide defense tip gripping the stadium floor with stubborn precision.
She wasn't aiming for a knockout. Not yet. I could feel it in the way her Bey moved—no reckless charges, no wasted swings. She was draining my spin bit by bit, forcing me to keep moving while she conserved every ounce of hers.
The hum in my chest told me Snake was working harder than it should be this early. Each impact carried a subtle vibration—not a crushing blow, but enough to shave away stability. That was her style—steady pressure, chip away, and strike only when the target was too slow to recover.
Leviathan slid forward again, nudging Snake closer to the slope at the edge of the stadium. My eyes tracked every shift, my breathing steady, syncing with the rhythm of Snake's rotations. Kaiya's style was patient, controlled… predictable, if you had the nerve to watch instead of react.
"You're already losing ground," she said lightly, her gaze fixed on the stadium.
Maybe I was. But that didn't matter. I wasn't going to waste my special just to force her back. She wanted me to overcommit—to rush the center, hit head-on, and bleed momentum while she absorbed the hits.
Snake skirted the slope, the scrape of metal against the stadium wall cutting through the noise. I let it happen, letting her think she had me cornered. Leviathan glided forward again, ready to press.
The steady link between me and Snake pulsed at the back of my mind—not panic, but measured pressure. I leaned into it, pushing past the crowd's noise.
Kaiya didn't break her tempo. Her Bey moved with the same calm rhythm, waiting for me to bite. I'd studied her earlier matches; she liked to finish an edge trap with a sudden counter-hook. React too late, and Snake would be gone before I could stabilize.
The next nudge came from the right, same as before. I let it push Snake almost to the rim before tightening into a sharper path, slipping free of the hook at the last second. No counterstrike—just space to breathe.
Her eyes flicked toward me, just for a moment. She'd noticed.
We reset. The stadium was briefly quiet except for the grind of tips on plastic and the clink of fusion wheels brushing. She still held the center, still had the advantage, but I wasn't letting her play the same game without resistance anymore.
Leviathan pressed again—smooth, deliberate—keeping Snake moving. My muscles stayed loose, my breathing even. The strike wasn't ready yet. But it was coming. And when it did, I'd make it count.
Kaiya's pressure hadn't broken me, but I could feel the weight of each second. The longer this went, the more spin I'd lose. She knew it. That was why her face stayed calm, eyes locked on the stadium—waiting for the perfect moment to end it.
Then her voice cut through the air.
"Sea Mirage—Tide Breaker!"
Leviathan shifted instantly. Its slow, patient rotations exploded into a smooth, sweeping rush, like it had been storing energy for this exact second. The sound deepened—lower, resonant, like the hum of a hidden current.
The shift in pace caught me for a fraction of a second. Leviathan wasn't just faster; it moved in warped arcs, sliding through invisible streams. Every change in direction carried a subtle shove, edging Snake back even without direct contact.
The first real hit came clean, rocking Snake toward the slope. I corrected instantly, but the follow-up came before I could reset—this time from a low arc that nearly undercut my balance.
The crowd roared, the announcer's voice rising with the energy. "Kaiya Mizuno unleashes the Mirage Tide! Can Ethan recover from this pressure?"
I tuned it out. My focus stayed locked on the vibrations feeding through my link with Snake. Every hit carved away at our stability. These weren't wild swings—they were precision strikes, each one meant to force me out or weaken my spin for the kill.
Snake skirted the ridge again. My grip tightened, but I didn't call Abyss Vortex. Not in the middle of her surge—it would be like throwing a strike into a breaking wave.
Leviathan came again, its wheel flashing under the lights as it slammed into another sharp hit. Sparks burst, the metal grind cutting through the arena noise.
For a heartbeat, Snake wobbled—not badly, but enough for me to know she'd seen it.
Kaiya didn't taunt. Didn't grin. She just kept the pressure rolling, guiding Leviathan like she was steering a storm.
I countered when I could—tight arcs, slipping past hooks—but the tempo was hers.
Another hit sent Snake halfway up the slope before I yanked him into a recoil. The crowd gasped—it must have looked like a near ring-out.
But Snake was still spinning. And so was Leviathan.
The Tide Breaker rhythm held, her stamina holding up better than I'd guessed. The match was still balanced on a knife's edge.
Our Beyblades met again near the center, the impact sparking between them. The sound echoed in my chest, the link with Snake pulsing steady despite the strain.
I narrowed my eyes. The chance would come.
It just wasn't here yet.
For now, we were still locked in the fight.