The first thing I felt was weight — a light, balanced weight in my hands.
A tray. Two glasses of water, a folded menu, and the faint clink of ice. My fingers tightened around it automatically, though I had no idea why I was holding it.
The void was gone.
In its place stood a restaurant bathed in warm, late-afternoon sunlight. Large windows lined one wall, the bright blue of the sky spilling in, broken only by the distant shapes of city buildings and power lines. The sunlight stretched across neatly arranged booths — pink cushions with a clean white stripe down the middle, tables polished enough to catch the light. Each one was organized with a neat set of condiments, menus, and napkin holders.
The air carried a pleasant blend of brewed tea, fried batter, and something faintly sweet. The hum of soft chatter filled the space, only a few customers scattered here and there.
I glanced down. A plain beige apron hung over my frame, tied around the waist of black pants. My sleeves were rolled to my elbows, and the faint smell of dish soap clung to my hands.
I wasn't a customer here. I worked here.
And then it hit me — not all at once, but in pieces, like shards of glass falling together into a shape.
I was still fifteen. Still me. The same boy who'd been walking home with groceries only… what? Minutes ago? Hours?
The voice in the void.
The promise of a new life in the Beyblade Metal Universe.
The two wishes.
Perfect Mental Link.
No-Limit Beyblade.
I remembered it all vividly… until my thoughts turned to the Metal Saga itself.
And found nothing.
It wasn't a vague memory or a blur — it was a wall. I couldn't recall a single blader's face, a single battle, a single name. It was like trying to grab smoke; the harder I reached, the faster it slipped away.
The voice had warned me about this. My knowledge of the Metal Fusion era… gone.
For a heartbeat, I was still, letting the reality of it sink in.
Then… I smiled.
If I'd come here with full knowledge, I'd know what to expect — who the top bladers were, how tournaments unfolded, what rivalries would shape the future. But now?
It was a blank slate.
Every battle, every opponent, every path forward — unknown. I wasn't stepping into someone else's story. I'd be carving my own from the very first launch.
The thought made my chest tighten, not with fear, but with a pulse of anticipation.
This was going to be fun.
My hand slipped into the deep pocket of my apron, fingers brushing against something cool and metallic. I pulled it out slowly.
A Beyblade.
It was… ordinary. A well-used Metal Wheel, a slightly scuffed Energy Ring, a Track and Tip that had clearly seen a few battles. Balanced, but nothing special.
Was this it? The so-called "Beyblade with no limits" I'd wished for?
A flicker of doubt whispered in my mind.
Did that voice… trick me?
I turned it in my hand, the light catching on the worn edges. The Perfect Mental Link I'd wished for… I didn't feel it. Not yet.
And then, something shifted.
A pulse — faint at first, like a heartbeat deep beneath the surface of still water. Then another. Stronger.
Heat spread through my palm, subtle but undeniable. My breath caught.
And in that moment, the restaurant faded into the background. The quiet chatter, the sunlight, the polished tables — they were still there, but I wasn't seeing them anymore.
In my mind's eye, darkness bloomed… and from it, fire.
Wings tore through the void, massive and jagged, trailing embers that burned so hot they turned the air into rippling waves. Each feather glowed like molten steel, shedding sparks that scattered into the dark. Its eyes — twin orbs of molten gold and crimson — locked onto me with a gaze that was both ancient and unyielding.
A Phoenix.
But not just any Phoenix.
My Phoenix.
The realization wasn't spoken aloud — it was instinct, truth woven into my bones. This wasn't just a Beyblade spirit. This was a part of me. The Perfect Mental Link wasn't just communication; it was unity. The fire in its wings was the same fire in my veins.
The creature's voice wasn't sound. It was impact — a resonance in my mind and chest.
"Abyss Phoenix."
The name burned into me, and with it came flashes of battles I hadn't fought yet — stadiums ablaze with spinning flame, opponents falling one after another, their power devoured and reborn in ash.
In the real world, the Beyblade in my palm began to change.
The plain Metal Wheel twisted, edges flaring into a jagged, dark crimson ring veined with ember-like streaks. The Energy Ring bled into a deep, glassy red, faint cracks glowing as if magma flowed beneath the surface. At the center, the Face Bolt shifted, its old design replaced by the fierce silhouette of Abyss Phoenix — wings spread, beak open mid-cry, framed by a blazing halo.
The Track reinforced itself, metal and crystal-like material merging seamlessly. The Tip hardened, its core glowing faintly as if lit from within.
I stared, my pulse matching the steady thrum of the Phoenix's presence in my mind.
No-limit Beyblade.
Perfect Mental Link.
This was it.
Even without knowing the bladers or battles that ruled this world, I already had something no one else did — a weapon that would never stop growing, and a partner that was as much a part of me as my own heartbeat.
And in a world I knew nothing about, that wasn't a weakness.
It was an edge.
I slipped Abyss Phoenix back into my pocket, its warmth lingering against my palm. The hum of its presence stayed with me, quiet but constant, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
A customer waved from one of the booths, breaking the moment. I walked over, forcing my expression back to neutral. No one here could know what I carried — not yet.
Because when I stepped into a stadium for the first time, I wanted their surprise to burn as hot as my Phoenix's fire.