Tony's eyes fluttered open.
The first thing he saw was a white ceiling and the faint glow of the hospital lights.
He lay still, breathing in the sharp scent of disinfectant.
A nurse was by his side. The moment she saw him awake, she leaned forward, checking his pulse and scanning the monitor beside his bed.
"Patient N.41 is awake," she called over her shoulder.
Tony's voice came out weak, almost a whisper.
"Ahh… my head hurts. Who… am I? What's my name?"
"Your name is Tony Durante," the nurse replied.
Somehow, the name didn't feel strange… yet it didn't feel like his, either.
And as fate would have it, the man who once owned this body had been called Tony as well.
The doctor arrived a few minutes later, his face calm but serious. After examining Tony, he said,
"Everything seems normal. You should be ready to go home soon."
An hour later, the door swung open.
A woman rushed inside, eyes glistening with tears. She wrapped her arms around him and didn't let go for a long moment.
Then she smiled warmly and pulled out a small container.
"Open your mouth, son," she said, holding out a piece of fruit.
Tony chewed slowly.
But as she fed him, her eyes fell on something at the back of his head — neat stitches and faint bruises trailing down to his lower spine.
"Who are you?" Tony asked suddenly.
Her smile vanished. "I'm your mother. You're my son," she said, but her voice trembled.
Her hands tightened around the container as if she was afraid to let go.
She quickly called the doctor back.
Minutes later, he returned and ordered more X-rays.
His brow furrowed as he studied the scans.
"There's a small injury near the cerebrum," he said at last.
"I've seen many cases like this. Your son is out of danger, ma'am. His memories will return… slowly."
The woman's shoulders eased, a sigh escaping her lips. She stepped aside to make a phone call, updating her family about Tony's condition.
The doctor turned to her before leaving.
"You can take him home tomorrow."
The moment those words reached Tony's ears, pain flared at the back of his head.
His vision blurred. His eyelids grew heavy.
And then — darkness.
A few hours later…
"Huff—Huff—Huff—"
Tony's chest rose and fell, each breath ragged.
"What kind of Bey is that? You're a shame to this world!"
The voice boomed from somewhere he couldn't see.
"Let me show you what a real Bey looks like! Special Move — Rock Crushing Claws!"
Two spinning Beys slammed into each other with a deafening crack. Sparks tore through the air, and a wave of dust swallowed the battlefield.
When it cleared, one Bey lay in pieces, its fragments scattered like broken teeth.
Tony's stomach twisted. "Why would someone be so cruel? Who is this guy? Where… am I?" His voice trembled as the questions tumbled out.
The answer didn't come in words — it came in images.
He was seeing through the eyes of another Tony, the one who had lived in this world before him.
The scene shifted without warning.
Suddenly, he was in the middle of a battle — five opponents surrounding him, their Beys crashing into his again and again. Each collision sent tremors through the ground, the vibrations crawling up his legs. The sound was deafening, metal grinding against metal.
The buildings around them groaned under the pressure. Cracks spiderwebbed across the walls, dust raining down from above.
And then… they collapsed.
The rubble crashed down, crushing the air from his lungs. Dust filled his throat. His chest screamed in pain.
"Help—!"
Tony's eyes shot open.
The hospital ceiling stared back at him. Sweat clung to his skin, and his heart pounded hard against his ribs.
He sat up slowly, his breath still uneven.
"It was just a dream… but it felt too real," he muttered.
Then his gaze drifted to the small table on his right.
Lying there… was a piece, of a Beyblade.