After everything that had happened—he was yet, still in rehilibitation. He's been doing better, he thinks so. Even though he swore not to blade anymore—he still does so just to reminisce the times where he had confidence and power.

He walked alone in the dark streets, the light from the street lamp highlighting his long white hair. He perks up, hearing laughter and bey clashes. He stepped slowly, upon seeing a group of teenagers—around his age—playing with their beyblades.

'Should I join them?' he thought to himself.