Chapter Text
Valt sat cross-legged on his bed in the BC Sol dorms, tightening the performance tip on Valtryek for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. From the open window, the warm summer air drifted in, carrying the faint buzz of scooters on the street below and the distant laughter of a few teammates still hanging out in the lounge. The smell of dinner from earlier — something with garlic and roasted peppers — still lingered faintly in the air. Training had gone well today, but as Valt stared at his Beyblade, a familiar itch crept into his chest.
An itch to talk to someone.
Someone in particular.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand and scrolled through his contacts until his thumb stopped on one name: Shu. A grin spread across his face.
"Why not?" he muttered under his breath.
The phone rang a few times before a calm voice finally answered.
"Valt?" Shu sounded alert, though there was a faint echo in the background, like he was in a gym or a large empty room. "You do realize it's... what... two in the morning here?"
Valt laughed. "Oh, come on, Mr. Professional! If you're answering, that means you're not sleeping. So, what are you doing?"
"I was reviewing some training footage," Shu admitted, his voice carrying that same measured tone as always.
Valt groaned in mock disbelief. "See? Overworking yourself. Again. Do you ever take a break?"
"I take breaks," Shu said mildly. "Just not as often as you'd like."
"That's because you need me to remind you!" Valt swung his legs off the bed, pacing the room. "Remember the last time you took a break? We ended up battling for six hours straight and then inhaled way too much curry. You can't tell me that wasn't worth it."
Shu chuckled, the sound quiet but real. "I also remember not being able to move my arm the next day."
"Small price to pay for greatness!" Valt grinned at the mental image. He let himself drop back on the bed with a bounce. "You know what? I think it's time for another one of those breaks. Here. With me."
Shu paused, clearly weighing something in his head. "Valt..."
"I'm serious!" Valt leaned forward, voice brimming with excitement. "You've been holed up in New York with the Raging Bulls for months. I bet they haven't seen you smile without a stopwatch in your hand since you got there."
"I'm not holed up. I'm training."
"Training, training, training. Always with the training." Valt made an exaggerated groaning noise. "You need to come here, breathe some fresh Spanish air, battle me in person, and maybe — maybe — I'll forgive you for skipping last month's team reunion."
There was a softness to Shu's tone when he spoke again. "Valt..."
"Don't 'Valt' me," Valt shot back instantly. "You're my best friend, and I miss you. Is that such a crime?"
Shu went quiet for a long moment, and Valt could almost picture him pressing a hand against his forehead, weighing how much trouble this would cause his schedule.
"Besides," Valt added, his voice lowering just a little, "it's been way too long since I've seen your real smile. Not the polite one you give reporters. The real one."
Shu's sigh wasn't the exasperated kind — it was the sound of someone who'd already decided to give in. "You really don't change, do you?"
"Not when it comes to important stuff," Valt said brightly.
"You're impossible," Shu muttered, though there was warmth behind it. "Fine. You win. I'll book a flight. Just for you."
Valt bolted upright. "Wait, seriously?"
"Seriously."
A burst of joy exploded in Valt's chest. "Yes! Okay, okay, I'll set up the perfect battle spot, and we can—"
"Valt," Shu interrupted.
"—and maybe we can visit that place near the beach that makes the huge churros—"
"Valt."
"...Okay, fine, I'll try not to go overboard," Valt said, though the grin in his voice was impossible to hide. "You're the best, Shu."
"Don't make me regret this."
"You won't! Oh, man, I've gotta tell Rantaro—no, wait, I should keep it a secret. Surprise entrance!"
"I'll send you the flight details when I have them," Shu said, his tone returning to calm. "And Valt?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm only doing this because you asked. Not because I need a break."
"Uh-huh," Valt replied, grinning. "Sure, whatever you say, Mr. Totally-Not-Burnt-Out."
Shu chuckled softly, and even after they said goodbye, the sound lingered in Valt's ears.
He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Shu was actually coming. In person. It had been months since they'd stood across from each other in a real match.
The dorm around him felt unusually quiet now, except for the muffled voices in the hallway. He could hear Rantaro and some of the newer members talking excitedly about tomorrow's practice, but it all felt far away. His mind was already jumping ahead — picking stadiums they could battle in, food they could eat, places to show Shu.
He hopped up and dug through his desk drawer until he found a battered notebook. Flipping it open, he started scribbling ideas: rooftop stadium battles, maybe a match right by the harbor at sunset, churros after training, a trip to the old park where BC Sol used to hold friendly tournaments.
Halfway down the page, he realized he was humming without thinking. It was the same tune he used to hum while waiting for Shu before a big match back in their earlier days.
The warm night breeze stirred the curtains, carrying in the distant sound of waves from the coast. Valt closed his eyes for a moment and smiled. For the first time in weeks, the dorm felt a little less empty.
Shu's apartment in New York was unusually quiet as he packed his bag, the muted hum of the city outside contrasting with the clatter of his carefully organized equipment.
The call from Valt had been unexpected, but impossible to resist. That ridiculous grin, the teasing about overworking himself, the casual insistence that he come to Spain—it had been like a spark igniting something inside him that he hadn't felt in months. He shook his head and smiled faintly. Valt's energy was infectious, even from across the world.
Shu packed methodically, as he always did, double-checking that each item was in the right compartment. Clothes folded precisely, Beyblade gear secured in its case, chargers and documents neatly stacked. He didn't usually travel for anything short of tournaments, but this trip was different. This trip was personal.
When he finally zipped his bag and slung it over his shoulder, he paused for a moment, glancing around the apartment. The quiet weight of solitude pressed in on him. Over the years, he had become accustomed to this silence, to the rhythm of training alone, analyzing data, improving technique. But now, with the thought of Valt waiting for him in Spain, the apartment felt empty in a new way, as if it had been holding its breath for something significant.
He left a brief note and stepped out into the warm night. The streets were calm, the usual bustle of New York muted by the late hour. He hailed a cab and gave the driver the airport address, his mind already shifting to the upcoming flight, the crossing of oceans, and the moment he would see Valt again.
The airport was bright and alive even at this hour, a chaotic dance of travelers and luggage carts. Shu moved through it with the quiet efficiency of someone used to navigating chaos, checking his ticket, boarding pass, and passport in a seamless flow. At the gate, he took a deep breath, letting the excitement and tension settle together in his chest.
He settled into his seat near the window, Valtryek and a couple of other Beyblades secured in the bag at his feet. For a moment, he simply watched the runway lights stretch into the distance, blinking like tiny constellations in the night. Somewhere far below, the city pulsed with life, oblivious to the journey about to unfold.
As the plane taxied and the engines roared to life, Shu's thoughts drifted. He thought about the last time he had really battled Valt, that sunlit stadium where their Beyblades had spun furiously, laughter echoing through the air. He thought about the hours of training since then, the sacrifices, the victories, and the quiet losses that accompanied them. And now, finally, he was going to Spain—not for a tournament, not for records, not for anyone but Valt.
The plane lifted into the sky, the city shrinking below them, lights flickering as New York became a patchwork of darkness and illumination. Shu leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. It had been a long time since he had felt this kind of anticipation, this kind of simplicity. The hum of the engines and the occasional murmur of passengers around him created a rhythm that was strangely comforting.
Hours passed, and Shu found himself lost in reflection. He thought about Valt's energy, that unstoppable drive to push forward no matter what. He thought about their conversations, the teasing, the camaraderie, and the quiet understanding that had formed between them over years of battles and training. It was rare, he realized, to find someone who could match you in skill and in spirit, and Valt had always been that for him.
A sudden jolt brought him back to the present. The plane shuddered lightly, a routine turbulence, but enough to make his fingers tighten around the strap of his seat. He looked out the window at the clouds glowing faintly in the moonlight, the sky vast and unending, serene yet unknowable. He tried to focus on the calm, telling himself that it was normal, that the pilots were trained for every possible scenario.
Minutes stretched into tense stretches of quiet. Then, a sharper shake, followed by a flicker of the cabin lights. Murmurs rippled through the passengers, a subtle edge of panic creeping into the air. Shu kept his composure, hands clasped over his lap, voice low as he reassured himself. It's just turbulence. Just turbulence.
The plane rocked again, more violently this time, and an alarm chimed faintly in the cabin. Shu glanced around at the other passengers: some were gripping their armrests, eyes wide with fear; others muttered prayers under their breath. Flight attendants moved quickly but carefully, their calm masks betraying a hint of tension.
Shu's mind raced, analyzing the situation logically. He had been trained to remain focused under pressure, to maintain clarity when everyone else panicked. Still, even his calm was tinged with unease. The turbulence was stronger than anything he had experienced in his long travels. The engines hummed with an odd irregularity, and a faint scent of smoke began to drift down the cabin aisle.
He closed his eyes, grounding himself. Panic would solve nothing. He had to stay present, aware, calculating. Yet even as he focused, a gnawing fear grew—a small, persistent thought that maybe, just maybe, something was very wrong.
The plane tilted sharply, and the lights flickered violently. The murmurs turned into gasps, passengers gripping each other, the seatbelts of everyone tightened to their maximum. Shu felt the stomach-dropping shift of descent, the cabin vibrating with the unnatural rhythm of a machine failing.
For a moment, he allowed himself to think of Valt, of the silly grin on his face, the teasing voice over the phone, the promise of Spain and sunlight and battles. That thought, fragile and fleeting, became his anchor as chaos swirled around him.
Another jolt, stronger this time. The plane's engines roared, the vibrations thrumming through every inch of metal and plastic. Shu gripped the seat, his mind calculating probabilities, escape routes, contingencies, and failing to find one. The alarm sound grew louder, a constant, screaming reminder that control was slipping.
Time seemed to stretch, each second a weighted eternity. Shu's breathing was steady, even as the cabin shook violently. He closed his eyes once more, summoning the countless hours of focus and resilience that had defined his life. But even the strongest will could not stop what was happening.
A deafening roar filled the cabin as the plane pitched sharply downward. Shu braced himself against the straps, eyes shut, and his Beyblade tucked tightly at his side. The city lights below blurred into streaks of white and yellow as gravity pulled them closer.
Then, suddenly, all went black.
The flight had begun as a bridge between worlds — New York to Spain, distance and time shrinking under the promise of reunion. But now, as darkness closed in, all that remained was the unbroken, silent chaos of a moment ending too soon.
Valt woke before the alarm, heart already racing with the restless energy that came after a night of planning. He had barely slept, his mind running through every detail of what he would do when Shu arrived. He imagined the surprise when he opened the dorm lounge to find Shu standing there, grinning with that calm, unshakable composure that somehow made Valt want to punch him in the arm and hug him at the same time.
The BC Sol dorm was unusually quiet that morning. Most of the team had left for early practice, leaving the corridors empty except for the distant hum of the city outside. Valt paced the room, Valtryek spinning idly on the floor, then stopped to pull out his phone. He checked the time, then stared at the screen, waiting.
Waiting for a message from Shu confirming his flight, or maybe a text saying he'd landed safely. Any little sign that he was on his way.
Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, casting bright streaks through the windows. Valt tried to distract himself with training exercises, spinning Valtryek repeatedly, analyzing launches, practicing stamina techniques. But every time he paused, his thoughts drifted back to Shu. The phone stayed at his side, vibrating occasionally with notifications from teammates, yet none of them were from the one person he truly wanted to hear from.
By midday, the anticipation had turned into anxiety. Valt moved faster, talking louder to himself as he imagined Shu stepping into the lounge, joking about his overworking habits, maybe teasing Valt back for the countless messages and calls.
Then, the phone rang.
At first, he didn't recognize the number. It wasn't Shu. The ringing felt unreal, slicing through the morning with sudden, sharp clarity. Valt grabbed the phone, answering before even thinking.
"Valt?" The voice on the line was unfamiliar, calm but urgent. "This is a representative from the airline."
Valt's heart skipped a beat. "Is this about my friend? Is he—"
"Please, calm down," the voice said gently. "There's been an accident with the plane your friend was on traveling from New York to Spain. Rescue teams responded, but... there were no survivors. I'm so sorry."
The words struck him like a physical blow. Valt's hand went slack on the phone, his vision narrowing as if the world had constricted around him. He tried to process it. No survivors.
"No, that's... that can't be right," he whispered, shaking his head. "He said he was coming..."
The representative's voice continued, gently but firmly. "I'm very sorry. All passengers on that flight were accounted for. I'm so sorry for your loss."
Valt collapsed onto the bed, phone clutched tightly, Valtryek untouched beside him. His mind was a storm, spinning images of Shu's calm face, the phone call from the day before, his teasing voice, the promise of Spain and sunlight and battles. None of it made sense anymore.
"This isn't real. He can't be gone." Valt whispered again. "He can't..."
Rantaro's footsteps echoed down the hallway, then paused as he saw Valt slumped on the bed, pale and trembling. "Valt?" he said cautiously. "What... what happened?"
Valt could barely speak. Words failed him. "It's Shu," he finally managed, voice breaking. "He was on a flight to come here, and it..." His throat tightened; the sentence collapsed under the weight of grief.
Rantaro's face went pale. He didn't wait for Valt to finish his sentence, because he already suspected what happened. Instead he knelt beside him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Come here... I'm so sorry, Valt."
Valt shook his head violently, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. His mind replayed the phone call over and over: the representative's voice, the words he wished he could unhear. He pressed his face into his hands, trying to block out the reality, but the truth kept slipping in.
Hours passed, though it felt like minutes and lifetimes at once. The dorm remained quiet, the other teammates returning from practice, faces concerned, voices hushed. Everyone could tell something was wrong, though none could grasp the depth of the wound in Valt's chest.
He wandered through the dorm lounge, aimless, Valtryek spinning in his hand but without focus. He imagined Shu stepping through the door, like old times, waving lazily, that calm, confident look he always carried. But the space remained empty.
Finally, Valt found himself on the dorm terrace overlooking the city, the streets below alive with movement, completely unaware of the devastation in one small corner of the world. He dropped Valtryek onto the railing, letting it spin for a few seconds, hypnotized by the rotation before it toppled to the floor.
His hands shook as he dialed Shu's number, then stopped midway. Of course there would be no answer. The call replayed in his mind: the Captain's voice, the words he wished he could erase. Valt sank to the floor, leaning against the railing, staring out at the horizon.
"Why him?" he whispered. The words were almost carried away by the wind. "Why now... why like this... why me?"
Memories flooded him. All the times he had teased Shu, pushed him, insisted he take a break, laughed about his seriousness. All the matches, all the victories and losses, all the quiet conversations late at night about strategy or dreams. And now... gone.
Rantaro came out onto the terrace, sitting beside him without saying a word. He didn't offer empty words, didn't try to cheer him up. He just let Valt sit with the weight of the loss, letting the grief pour out freely.
Valt's hands clenched into fists. "I should have stopped him. I shouldn't have told him to come. I should've—" His voice broke entirely, tears spilling down his face. "I should've done something!"
"You did everything you could," Rantaro said softly. "It wasn't your fault, Valt."
Valt shook his head violently. "It is my fault! I told him to come! I begged him! I... I wanted to see him... I wanted to see him so badly and now he's..." His voice faltered, choked by grief.
The city stretched before him, indifferent. The sunlight now felt harsh, cold, highlighting the emptiness where Shu's arrival should have been. Valt's gaze followed the horizon, lost in thought, lost in guilt, lost in the hollow ache of absence. Every plan he had made for Shu's visit, every imagined battle, every laugh, every sunset—vanished.
Time passed, or maybe it didn't. Valt didn't notice. The dorm remained quiet, the city below oblivious to the devastation in this one small terrace. And Valt sat there, Valtryek idle at his side, thinking of a friend who had crossed oceans just to be with him—and now would never arrive.
The grief was suffocating, sharp, a constant pulse that seemed to echo in his chest with every heartbeat. He pressed his face to his knees, trying to stifle the sobs, trying to make sense of what had happened. But there was no sense to be made. Only absence. Only silence. Only the memory of a friend who should have been here, and wasn't.
And in the quiet, as the sun climbed higher, Valt whispered a name over and over, as if saying it could somehow bring him back.
He stayed there long after, staring at the empty horizon, as if Shu might somehow appear from the sunlight. Every sound of the city below reminded him that the world kept moving, indifferent to the emptiness in his chest. His hands gripped Valtryek tighter, knuckles white, and yet he felt paralyzed, unable to rise or call out.
Memories of Shu—the laughter, the challenges, the quiet moments of camaraderie—flooded his mind, each one cutting sharper than the last. Valt's chest ached with the knowledge that those moments were gone, irretrievable, and no amount of wishing could change it.
"I... I can't believe you're really gone," he whispered again, his voice barely audible over the wind. "I should've... I should've done something."
And still, he kept whispering Shu's name, over and over, as if saying it might pull him back, as if the repetition could stave off the crushing reality that he would never hear that calm, confident voice again.
Minutes stretched into hours, and Valt remained on the terrace, lost in grief, yet somewhere deep inside, a small, fragile spark lingered—a determination, born not of hope, but of love and memory, that he would carry Shu with him, always.