Chapter 1 – The Last Walk Home
The streetlights blinked on one by one as I left the warehouse.
Another long day. Same routine.
I adjusted the strap of my bag and started down the familiar road toward my apartment.
The air smelled faintly of rain and fuel, a mix I'd stopped noticing years ago.
It was already dark enough for my reflection to fade in the shop windows.
Tomorrow was Saturday.
For once, I didn't have to work.
Maybe I could finally visit my parents. I hadn't seen them since New Year's.
I could already imagine my mother's cooking, my father's quiet jokes about how tired I looked.
They lived only two train stops away, yet somehow it always felt too far.
I sighed and kicked at a loose pebble.
"I'll call them tomorrow," I murmured.
It was the same promise I'd made the week before.
The crossing light ahead flickered green, and I stepped off the curb without thinking.
Someone shouted.
A horn screamed.
Bright white filled my vision.
For a moment, there was only sound—
then silence.
I tried to move. I couldn't.
My body felt heavy, distant.
Warmth spread from somewhere deep, then slipped away.
Was this it?
Just like that?
Faces flashed through my head—my parents, my tiny apartment, the stack of dishes I hadn't washed.
I wanted to say something, anything, but no words came out.
The light faded completely, and I thought I heard a heartbeat that wasn't mine.
Slow. Steady. Getting closer.
Then came a voice.
Soft. Muffled. Familiar in a way that made no sense.
He's here…
Warmth returned, but different this time.
Gentle hands lifted me, and light hit my eyes again—so bright it hurt.
A woman laughed.
A man spoke in Japanese.
My name wasn't my name anymore.
I cried without meaning to, and the sound of it echoed strangely in the room.
The world was small, warm, and new.
I didn't know where I was.
But somehow, deep down, I understood one thing.
My life hadn't ended.
It had restarted.
The years slipped by quietly.
At first, everything was sound and color, then faces I began to recognize.
The woman from that first light was my new mother.
The man who always smelled faintly of metal and oil was my new father.
Their names were Aya and Ren.
They were kind. They smiled often. They held me close when I cried.
But sometimes, when the house grew quiet at night, I felt something missing.
I could almost see my old parents' faces, hear my mother's voice from the other world.
The memories were fading, yet the feeling stayed.
I told myself I would remember them even if I forgot the details.
Ren worked in a small repair shop connected to our home.
He fixed toys, radios, even old Beyblades people didn't use anymore.
The first time I saw one spin on his desk, something inside me woke up.
I knew that sound.
I knew that rhythm.
Beyblade.
I didn't tell anyone, but I already knew the names of the legends.
Valt Aoi. Shu Kurenai. Wakiya.
They were real here, not just characters from a show.
And that realization made my heart race every time I saw a stadium on TV.
Ren caught me watching once and smiled.
"You like Beys?"
"Yeah," I said, maybe a bit too quickly.
He laughed. "Then we'll need to find you one someday."
The thought never left me.
While other kids played outside, I stayed in the workshop.
I watched how Ren repaired layers and drivers.
I learned how metal felt different from plastic, how weight changed balance.
He didn't teach me directly. He just let me stay near and learn with my eyes.
Every night, before bed, I would look out the small window and whisper,
"Mom, Dad… if you can see me, I'm okay. I'm learning."
The wind never answered, but it made the curtains move as if it listened.
When I turned six, Aya made rice cakes and hung small decorations around the door.
Ren placed a small box on the table.
Inside were old Bey parts, neatly cleaned.
"You're finally old enough," he said.
"Old enough for what?" I asked.
"To make your own," he said simply. "You've watched me long enough. Let's see what you can create."
I froze for a moment, not sure if I had heard him right.
Then the excitement hit.
My own Bey.
My first real step in this world.
I didn't know how to thank him, so I just nodded.
Ren smiled, the quiet proud smile he always had.
That night, before I slept, I stared at the box again.
This was the first birthday I could remember clearly.
I still missed my old parents, but I knew they would want me to move forward.
"I'll make something special," I whispered.
And for the first time since I was reborn, the thought of tomorrow didn't feel strange.
It felt right.
The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual.
The box from yesterday still sat on the table, waiting for me.
Inside were parts—some old, some worn down, but all carefully cleaned.
Ren was already in the workshop when I walked in.
He didn't say "good morning."
He just looked up from his bench and asked,
"Ready?"
I nodded.
He pulled out a notepad and handed it to me.
"If you want to build something real," he said, "you start with an idea.
Tell me what kind of Bey you want it to be."
I thought for a moment.
Images from the anime in my old world flashed in my mind—dragons, fire, light.
But this wasn't fiction anymore.
Here, Beys weren't symbols or props.
They were tools, extensions of the bladers themselves.
"I want one that doesn't run from hits," I said.
"I want control, not speed.
A Bey that waits for the right moment and then strikes hard."
Ren smiled faintly. "That sounds like you."
He drew a rough sketch: a compact ring with three curved edges.
Not sharp, but angled just right to catch incoming hits.
Then he pointed to the center. "Theme?"
"Dragon," I said without hesitation.
His pencil paused. "A dragon, hm? Fierce choice."
"Not fierce," I said. "Calm. But dangerous when it needs to be."
That made him grin. "Alright, let's build your dragon."
---
We started with the layer.
Ren showed me how to sand the plastic evenly and where to reinforce weak spots.
He let me choose the colors—deep red and gold.
The metal core came next, carved carefully from a broken part he had stored for years.
We fitted it in place, making sure the weight was balanced.
Then came the forge disc.
Round, clean, with three vents cut for left spin.
Ren called it Vortex.
"It should help air flow," he explained, "and make your Bey glide smoother."
Finally, the driver.
This one we built from scratch.
A narrow tip for speed, a rubber ring that would only touch when the spin slowed down.
It was clever, and simple.
I named it Ignis Claw.
Ren just nodded. "Good name. Now, put it all together."
Click.
The sound of the parts locking felt… right.
I placed the Bey on the table.
Gold and red glinted under the light.
Not too shiny, not perfect, but alive.
"What's its name?" Ren asked.
I didn't even have to think.
"Eclipse Drago."
He repeated the name quietly. "Eclipse Drago… yeah. It fits."
---
We didn't test it that night.
Ren said a Bey deserved a proper launch for its first spin.
So we waited until morning.
When the sunlight hit the small window, I was already dressed.
Ren set down the metal bowl that served as our practice stadium.
"Alright," he said, "let's see what your dragon can do."
I held the launcher tight and took a breath.
"Three… two… one…"
Let it rip.
Eclipse Drago slid forward, slower than I expected, then steadied itself near the rim.
It spun low, holding the line.
No wobble. No wild movement.
Just steady control.
Ren crossed his arms and nodded once.
"Good balance," he said. "Now, launch again."
The second launch was cleaner.
Drago stayed lower this time, almost hugging the metal.
I couldn't stop smiling.
It wasn't perfect, but it was mine.
When the spin finally stopped, I picked it up gently.
It was warm in my hand, still vibrating faintly.
Ren placed a hand on my shoulder.
"From now on, this Bey will show you who you are," he said.
"Train with it. Learn from it. Don't force it to be something it isn't."
I nodded. "I will."
That night, I set Eclipse Drago beside my bed.
The golden ring caught a bit of moonlight, and for a second, I could swear it moved.
My first Bey.
My first real step in this world.
And somehow, deep inside, I knew—
this was only the beginning.