Kristina Kuroda leaned against the balcony rail overlooking the main training floor, arms folded tightly across her chest. The clatter of spinning beys and Valt Aoi’s loud, unfiltered enthusiasm echoed through the building like an unstoppable storm.

“He’s like a human pinball,” she muttered. Her lavender eyes followed the hyper blue-haired boy zigzagging between bladers, firing off introductions, laughter, and compliments. “And he never runs out of energy, huh…”

You stood quietly behind her, hands in your pockets, just watching. Not your usual indifferent glance—no, this time, you were actually watching.

Kristina frowned. “You’re really just gonna stand there staring at him?”

You didn’t reply. Just shrugged.

“He’s just some loud kid from Japan,” she went on, biting a little more than she meant to. “I mean, yeah, he’s got potential, but you usually don’t even bother remembering people’s names until they’ve beaten the coach and Free.”