Tony's eyes snapped open.
But he wasn't in the car anymore.
He stood inside a familiar room. A small child sat at a desk, carefully sketching a stickman on a sheet of paper. Moments later, a woman appeared behind him, her smile warm and tender.
"Aww… my baby, that's such a good drawing," she said softly, leaning down to look.
Tony's chest tightened. Her face and her voice, it was the exact same as his mother's.
He blinked, unsettled. Wait… what is this?
Then it hit him.
He wasn't seeing his own memories.
He was watching the life of the one who came before him—
…the previous Tony.
The air shimmered like glass cracking apart, and suddenly the scene shifted.
Now he stood before a massive Bey stadium. Transparent glass walls surrounded the arena, keeping the roaring crowd safe as two bladers clashed head-on. Sparks flew with every collision, rattling the barriers, but they held firm.
"Mom… when I grow up, I want to be a Beyblader!" the boy shouted, his eyes shining with excitement.
The vision trembled, then melted away.
This time, Tony saw a teenage boy—thirteen, maybe fourteen—walking into a living room where his father sat watching TV.
"Dad… I want money to buy a Beyblade," the boy said, his voice steady but urgent.
His father didn't look away from the screen. "Son, you need to be of legal age to purchase one."
"That's not fair!" the boy snapped. "Why should age matter when it comes to Beyblading?"
The moment froze, then shattered like glass, reforming into something new.
Now, the boy pushed open the creaking door of an old shop. Dust clung to the shelves, and the faint smell of metal and oil lingered in the air.
"Here," the shopkeeper said with a grin, sliding a battered box across the counter. "Make it however you like, kid."
The box was overflowing with Bey parts—some broken, some bent, most worn down from years of battles. Yet all of it was his… for just fifty dollars.
Tony leaned in, heart racing. He watched the previous Tony dig through the box like it held treasure. The boy's clumsy, novice hands snapped parts together just because they looked cool.
Then—darkness. Everything blinked out, leaving only silence.
In the stillness, a voice echoed.
"No!! Please… don't destroy my Beyblade!"
Tony's eyes widened. A young boy stood on the battlefield, tears streaming down his face.
Before Tony could react, his past self stepped forward. The previous Tony gripped his launcher and sent his Bey spinning across the stadium. Sparks flashed as the bully's Bey was knocked clean out of the arena.
"You alright, kid? You can go home now," the previous Tony said, his voice softer than his fierce actions.
The child sniffled, wiped his eyes, and nodded gratefully before hurrying away.
Tony stood frozen. So this is how he was… protecting others, even back then.
But the bully only laughed, taking a step closer.
"So… now you think you're some sort of hero, huh?"
Tony felt the anger radiating from his past self as if it were his own.
"What did you just say?" the boy demanded, eyes sharp.
"If you're a true Blader and not some jerk, who interferes in other people's battles, then prove it. Beat me."
The previous Tony's jaw tightened. "You'll regret making me angry."
Tony's breath caught. He couldn't move, couldn't interfere and only watch, as his past self and the bully raised their launchers.
"Three… two… one…"
"Let it rip!!"
The two Beys clashed in the center, sparks flashing as they pushed against each other. One spun fierce and wild like a wolf, the other sly and sharp like a fox. Both circled, waiting for the other to make the first mistake.
In a flash, Tony's Bey lunged forward, ramming its opponent with full force—yet he didn't even budge.
"You think an attack like that could scratch my Bey?" the bully sneered. "Don't make me laugh."
The past Tony smirked back. "Looks like your Bey can't even keep up with my low-level power."
The bully's Bey wobbled slightly, its stamina draining fast. Still, he kept taunting, his grin wide and arrogant. The past Tony exhaled calmly, ready to finish it.
His Bey shot forward, gathering speed, momentum building like a storm. But halfway through the charge, the bully's smirk twisted into something darker.
"You shouldn't have let your guard down… idiot!!" he shouted.
Suddenly—bang! Two more Beys shot into the stadium from opposite sides, colliding with Tony's mid-charge. The impact sent his Bey spinning violently backward, wobbling dangerously.
Tony's eyes widened. Three against one?!
"Wait… what?!" his past self roared.
"That's unfair! You call me an interrupter, yet you need backup to fight? Shame on you, cowards!"
"Everything is fair in love and war," the bully sneered.
The three Beys surged forward, locking Tony's in a triangular trap. One strike after another hammered down, their combined force slowly grinding his Bey apart. His stamina drained fast, every collision rattling the arena.
Shockwaves rattled the ground, shaking the old, rusted buildings. Then, with one final hit—crack!—Tony's Bey shattered into pieces. The blast hurled his past self to the dirt, his vision fading as the buildings around him began to collapse.
Tony's chest tightened as he watched—outnumbered, betrayed, and defeated. Anger rose within him, a fierce desire for revenge burning in his heart.
But then… the past Tony moved, lifting his battered head and locking eyes with him.
Tony froze.
Did… did he just see me?
A faint smile tugged at the past Tony's lips.
"Wake up, Tony," he whispered.
The world wavered. Colors bent and stretched. Light twisted around him. Tony felt his chest tighten, the ground tilting beneath his feet. Everything he knew—his body, his senses, his memories—shivered like glass about to crack.
And then… darkness swallowed him.