He walked slowly, dragging his feet with a sullen, heavy feeling. The world around him was fading with the sunset, but it didn't feel beautiful. It just felt lonely. A deep scowl was fixed on his face, a clear sign of his bad mood.
The day had been long, boring, and completely meaningless, and the chilly evening air matched the cold dissatisfaction settling in his chest.
The day's pointless lectures had crushed his spirit, leaving him feeling hollow. His frown deepened, carving lines of pure irritation into his face.
A bitter thought echoed in his mind: if one more well-meaning person nagged him to "focus on his future," he wouldn't be responsible for what happened to this textbook. He'd happily stuff it where light never reached.
His phone was his single refuge. He clicked it on, and the algorithm, picking up on his deep disinterest in everything, delivered a hit of pure nostalgia: a compilation of the most epic Beyblade: Metal Fight moments. Instantly, the display was alive with whirling tops, meeting in a storm of metallic screams and blinding flashes. A sad, yearning sound escaped him. "Now that was a life worth having," he thought, staring bitterly at the screen, "not this boring crap I'm stuck with."
He was completely lost in the glowing screen, wrapped up in the thrilling digital memories. His eyes were glued to the battles of the past, making him blind to the present. So, he didn't see the ridiculous, almost too-perfect obstacle lying on the clean sidewalk. His foot landed directly and perfectly on a discarded banana peel.
Suddenly, the world spun sideways with a ridiculous, violent lurch. A shocked yell burst from his lips. "You have GOT to be kidding me! A banana peel?!" he shouted as he fell. "Is this some kind of bad joke—"
His angry shout was cut off instantly as the back of his skull hit the hard concrete with a sickening crack. A jarring shockwave blasted through his body. The world began to fade, darkness rushing in from the sides of his vision like a swarm of insects, swallowing the light. His last conscious feeling wasn't fear, but pure, hot indignation. A final, stubborn thought flashed before everything went black: If I die from something this stupid... I swear I'll haunt every supermarket fruit section forever.
Consciousness came back harshly. The first things he noticed were the uncomfortable lumps in the mattress and the old, dusty smell in the air. His head was pounding. Confusion hit him—everything felt strange and wrong. The bed was too small. The blanket felt rough. He tried to mutter "ow," but what escaped his lips was a strange, high-pitched groan that made his eyes snap open in shock.
Panic exploded inside his head. Every instinct told him something was off. He pushed the rough, uncomfortable blanket aside, his movements quick and nervous. Needing to see, to confirm his fear, he looked down. And there they were: his hands. The sight of them sent a jolt of pure disbelief through his entire body.
His heart stopped. These weren't his hands. They were smaller, with a youthfulness that sent a chill down his spine. The skin was soft and unmarked, completely unlike his own. A cold wave of disbelief washed over him.
Pure, chilling panic shot through his veins. He had to see. He flung himself from the small bed, his arms and legs feeling weak and foreign. He could barely keep his balance as he staggered toward the wall. His eyes were locked on the small, grimy mirror hanging there, his heart pounding with dread.
He stared at the reflection. It was his face, but wrong. It was him from four years ago, caught in the early, clumsy stages of being a teen. His look was softer, more innocent and handsome with a cute, childlike fullness to his cheeks. A hot wave of anger rose in his chest. He was, without a doubt, and incredibly annoyingly, thirteen years old.
"What the actual hell?!" The curse exploded from his mouth in a high, almost cute voice that completely betrayed the volcano of rage inside him. The sound was so pathetic it made him even angrier. "I got sent to another world and turned into a kid?!" he yelled at his reflection. "This is top-tier bullshit! What happened to my muscles? I look like a scared, skinny twig!"
Just then, as if it had been waiting, a fake-happy, mechanical voice rang out. But it didn't come from the room. It chimed directly inside his head, with a strange clarity that made it seem like an invisible person was whispering right next to his ear.
Ding Ding! A sound like a happy bell chimed in his mind. "Congratulations!" a mechanically cheerful voice announced. "You have successfully been transported to a new world! The system has detected the perfect age for a Blader and has applied it to your new body!"
The overly happy tone was the final insult. It broke the last of his control.
"Optimal?!"Karan screamed, his new, squeaky voice breaking with the strain. "Blader... that means a Beyblade world, doesn't it?!" He yelled at the empty, silent room. "You call this optimal?! I can't even reach a damn top shelf, you stupid voice! Which world is this? The old one with Tyson, or the metal one with Gingka?" He waited, but there was only silence. "And the system doesn't even answer? Damn, this thing is complete sh—"
The insult was left unfinished.
Without warning,a searing, electric pain exploded through his entire being. BZZT! The sensation was like being burned from the inside out. His body jerked violently, completely out of his control. His breath caught in his throat as he crumpled to the floor, falling to his knees with a hard thud.
The happy voice was gone. Now, a cold and mechanical voice echoed in his mind, hard and unforgiving. "Warning: Verbal abuse detected," it stated. "If the host speaks another disrespectful word, the intensity of the electric shock will increase."
He knelt on the hard floor, his body trembling. The faint scent of a lightning strike lingered. He gritted his teeth until they hurt, his normally charming face now a picture of utter, powerless fury. He didn't speak a word. He just sat, silently boiling with anger—a thirteen-year-old shell filled with the intense rage of a seventeen-year-old who had been terribly wronged.
Seeing that he was now silent and subdued, the system began talking again. Its voice switched back to its usual, infuriatingly happy and lively setting, as if the painful warning had never happened.
The system's voice chimed brightly, "Now delivering your welcome package... Excellent news, Host! You have received:
· A Unique Beyblade - the 'Dark Abyss Phoenix'!
· A starter pack of Blader Gear!
· Everything you need to live here: An ID, 5,000 Bey-Points, and a lease for a small apartment!"
A glowing, three-dimensional image appeared in the air before him, turning slowly. This was a Beyblade, but it was different from any he remembered from the shows. It was a work of art, but a dark and dangerous one. Its body was a mix of deep, dark purple and solid, shiny black. Sharp details in blood-red looked like burning coals.The top piece looked like the head of a Phoenix bird, and its eyes seemed to glow with a nasty, intelligent light. The metal parts were all sharp and fierce, clearly made for one thing only: pure, utter destruction.
For a moment, his fury was completely forgotten. A wave of awe swept through him. "Dark Abyss Phoenix?" he whispered, his childish tone filled with astonishment. "A Phoenix Beyblade... I really like that." He looked at the dark, powerful design, and a slow, sure smile spread over his face. "And 'Dark Abyss'..." he said, his voice dropping to a more serious note. "Yeah. That name... I like that even more."
He mentally reached out, and his hand lifted on its own. In a burst of violet and shadowy light, the Beyblade became real in his palm. The metal was cold and had a solid, heavy feel. It hummed with a raw, dormant power that he could feel shaking through his bones. Most unnerving of all, it didn't feel like a simple object. It felt... awake. Alive.
"Whoa," he breathed out, feeling the solid weight of it in his hand. "Okay, this is seriously cool." A slight, ironic smile touched his lips. "And I mean that literally." His eyes then dropped to his own shorter limbs and childish frame, and the wonder faded, replaced by a familiar irritation. He let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm still super pissed about being stuck like this, though."
Feeling more curious than angry now, Karan decided to look around. He put his Beyblade in his pocket and walked out.He left his small, shabby apartment and entered a quiet, traditional Japanese neighborhood. The street was lined with old-fashioned wooden houses. The air was clear and carried the fresh, clean smell of the outdoors, a stark contrast to the dusty room he had just left.
Then, a familiar sound reached his ears.
WHIRR-CLASH! WHIRR-BOOM!
The noise was impossible to mistake.Drawn by the sound, he walked to a nearby park and stopped, his mouth falling open in amazement. The park was packed with kids and teens, all clutching BeyLaunchers. Their faces were glowing with fierce passion as their spinning tops crashed together in homemade stadiums. The feeling in the air was incredible—a buzzing, electric sense of pure excitement and competition that he could almost touch.
His eyes quickly scanned the park, absorbing every little thing. He saw food stalls selling takoyaki and soft drinks, but the prices on the signs weren't in yen. Instead, they were clearly marked: "TAKOYAKI - 50 Bey-Points!" and "COLA - 20 Bey-Points!" This small detail confirmed just how different this world truly was.
But the final, undeniable proof was the Beyblades themselves. These weren't the simple plastic tops from the oldest series. They were complex, heavy-looking metal beasts. When they smashed into each other, they sent out real sparks and let out piercing shrieks of metal grinding on metal. Every collision had a solid, powerful force behind it, a feeling of pure, raw destruction.
A huge, real smile spread across Karan's face, washing away all his earlier frustration in a single, powerful wave of happiness. His mind raced with the incredible realization. No way... Every single Beyblade here is made of metal! This isn't the old world of plastic tops and Tyson. This is the era of Metal Fight. This is Gingka's world. A stunned whisper escaped his lips. "Holy crap."
He held onto Dark Abyss Phoenix inside his pocket, feeling its cool, metallic weight. That simple sensation was a comfort, a guarantee of the power he now possessed. The thought echoed in his mind, clear and undeniable now: It's all actually real.
A powerful new feeling of determination filled him. Well, he thought, if I can't leave, I'll just have to become the strongest one here. A competitive glow lit up his eyes. He was ready. Let's find out what kind of power this 'abyss' holds.
He didn't have to wait long for a challenge. A tall, skinny blader, who looked a few years older than Karan's new body, noticed him standing alone at the edge of the park. The older boy swaggered over with an arrogant walk, his mouth curled into an ugly, mocking sneer.
"Hey, kid! Get over here!" the older boy barked, his tone demanding and rude. He jabbed a finger directly toward Karan's chest. "Hand over your points.''
A familiar, mocking smirk instantly reappeared on Karan's face. His natural sarcasm, undampened by his new body, rose to the surface. "Kid?" he replied, his tone dripping with false politeness. "Hey, listen, man. The name's Karan. You can use that, not 'kid.' Got it?"
The older boy's expression darkened with fury. "Shut up!" he barked. "No more talking! Take out your Bey and give me your points, damn it!"
Karan let out a low chuckle as he drew his launcher and the ominous Dark Abyss Phoenix. The sight of the dark, intimidating Bey made the bully hesitate for a split second, but he quickly brushed off his unease. "You seem to be in a real rush to meet the King of the Abyss," Karan taunted, smoothly clicking his Bey into place.
The moment his fingers touched the launcher, a wave of new feelings washed over him. There was the old, familiar memory of launching Beys as a kid. But now, it was mixed with something much stronger—a deep, gut-level instinct. It was a pure, raw link to the dark metal in his hand. He could sense the sleeping strength inside it, and a fierce, impatient desire to fight.
"Enough talk!" the bully yelled, loading his own, far more generic-looking Bey.
"Stop talking!" the bully shouted, snapping his own plain-looking Bey into place.
They moved to the edge of the plastic stadium.Together, they started the count. "1, 2, 3!" their voices rang out as one. Then, they roared the battle cry so loudly it filled the entire park:"LET IT RIP!"
Karan's launch was a blast of pure force. His opponent's Bey spun into the arena with a simple whirring noise. In contrast, Dark Abyss Phoenix roared out. It exploded from the launcher like a shadowy missile, a whirlwind of dark power forming around it as it landed. A noticeable chill instantly filled the air.
The two tops smashed together. But this wasn't a fight; it was a total defeat. Dark Abyss Phoenix didn't simply hit the other Bey. It engulfed it. A dark, shadowy energy poured from it, wrapping around the opponent and seeming to suck the very life and spin right out of it. Then, with a final, brutal impact, it shattered the weakened Bey into pieces.
CRACK!
The sound was sharp,ugly, and final. The bully's Beyblade didn't just break—it burst apart, sending glittering pieces of metal skittering across the stadium floor.
A heavy,stunned silence immediately swallowed the entire park. The bully just stood there, frozen, his eyes wide and fixed on the destroyed pieces. His face was a perfect picture of pure shock and horror, completely unable to process what had just happened.
Karan called his Beyblade back, and it flew smoothly into his open palm. The metal was still cool to the touch, but now a warm, throbbing energy pulsed from within it. He could feel a clear, wild excitement coming from the Bey—a fierce joy that perfectly matched his own. He let out a soft, low whistle as he looked over the scattered pieces in the stadium.
"Well, damn," he said with a grin. "I won't say anything else. It's my first battle, after all."
Ding!A happy sound rang in his mind. "Great job, Host! Victory in your first battle! Reward: 500 Bey-Points. Title 'Novice Blader' has been unlocked!"
Karan put his Bey away, feeling the weight of his new points, and turned to go. The hushed, amazed whispers of the other bladers trailed behind him like a shadow. But his feeling of victory didn't last long.
A rough,deep voice, much louder than the murmurs, sliced through the air. "Hey, kid! Don't you move!"
Karan froze. He turned, ready to spit a sarcastic insult at whoever was bothering him now.
The insult died before he could speak it.
A huge man was standing in his path.He was fat and had a wild patch of orange hair. Two thuggish helpers flanked him, looking ready for a fight. The man's face was locked in a furious scowl. It was a face Karan knew perfectly from countless episodes on his screen.
The man's face twisted into an even deeper scowl. "You think you can just win and walk away?!" he snarled, his voice rough with anger. He jabbed a thick, meaty finger toward Karan. "Damn it, leave your points here right now! If you don't," he threatened, his eyes locking onto the Beyblade, "I'll personally smash that fancy black Beyblade into pieces!"
Karan's mind went blank, then screamed into a full-blown internal panic.
Shit! Shit! That face... it looks exactly like Benkei!
His eyes darted to the man's Bey, recognizing the Bull-like design of his partner.
I've been here five minutes and I'm already on the radar of the Face Hunters?!