(May. 13, 2021  1:02 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 3: Daigo Kurogami

Spoiler (Click to View)

Let this be a story born from emotions and morals. Let this be a lesson to all. Let us see this story as we do with the supernatural: It does not matter if it is true or false. 

The only thing that matters is that the little boy’s character is in all of us. That we all have to overcome this terrible feeling. That maybe, apologizing and confessing is the best way to go. Don’t ask if the character is based on me, someone I knew, or whoever comes to your mind. That’s a foolish question that can’t be answered. 



How many pieces of zombie media have you come across and know about? How many zombie apocalypse origins have you found? The assumed answer is plenty of them, perhaps. One movie might have showed zombies starting off as a creation from aliens. Or there was a a fungus that controlled the minds of humans. Or a very contagious disease. The possibility of what caused zombies to come around in media is so vast and endless. So many explanations and forms.

The creation of guilt is like the creation of a zombie. To many people, the reason their guilt came about can be different from others. You should try asking what strain of weakness plagues them — did they feel guilt because they made a mistake, a bad judgement, or couldn’t do enough for someone? It’s different in everyone, I suppose. Just like everyone’s different theories on what would make zombies. 

Then came this little boy. Guilt had turned him into a zombie of some sorts — he was a lot more quiet and seemed sad. His eyes seemed to be hooded in an ominous and somber way. He seemed like a zombie in a way that he had an eerie stillness to him. The little boy just wasn’t quite the same.

Well, what did he do? He wronged someone, plain as day. He did something that he shouldn’t have done. No one knew about except him. But if no one knew, then he would never be caught. He could have left it at that, yet the guilt had already turned him into a zombie. 

It grasped him lightly at first. From the moment he wronged someone, he knew that his soul wasn’t quite the same. He told himself, It’s okay. I’m still find. But was he really fine? No. 

It felt like his soul chipped a little. Just that one little change, yet it impacted him in a way he couldn’t describe at first. No biggie at first, because it could recover the next day. Right? 

Not really. 

The next day, it felt as if his soul had turned a little heavier. He felt like keeping it healthy and whole became a new responsibility for him. He could tell, because the moment he woke up, he felt like going back to sleep. The little boy then felt like he lost his great sense of responsibility. If he couldn’t force himself out of bed, then what could he do?

The human body does not react well to doing things it does not want to be doing. The brain starts to stress upon looking at the homework’s first math problem. The legs start to give out during gym class. The eyes just want to be closed in order to sleep again. To the little boy, getting out of bed today was a huge chore. His sense of body control seemed too far away.

“I’m okay,” he insisted. He managed to gather the courage to get out of his bed. Now he needed to get his belongings.

The mind also shut down a tiny bit, even if he did not want to grasp it. His Beyblade, lying on his desk, seemed to be a distant figure. He looked at his partner and couldn’t seem to react normally. It felt like he forgot that he liked Beyblade. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? The curse of gradually abandoning your favorite thing? Or losing sense of yourself?  

Without thinking, the little boy got his Beyblade and prepared to bring it along. That’s what he often did, after all. It was by design that he often carried his favorite object around, regardless of his emotions.

And this was the Beyblade that was with him when he wronged someone — the cursed little thing he won the battle with. Even though the Beyblade seemed distant, when he glanced at it again, he saw flashes of his terrible deed. The memories shot by like bullets.

“I’m okay,” he told his partner, even if the object couldn’t acknowledge it back. 

But those were just empty words, as far as the back of his head knew. The weight of his Beyblade in his pocket felt like a curse — it weighed him down as much as his backpack. The Beyblade seemed to be hindering him, having lost its positive aura. It once cheered him up, but now it only seemed to serve as a terrible memory.

Very similar to the phenomenon with the Beyblade, the little boy eventually felt the same energy sapped out from other objects. Holding a toothbrush felt meaningless now. The taste of breakfast seemed bland. The schoolwork he did before — and was so proud of for finishing before bed — did not provoke pride from him. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? For the guilt to bubble up and leach all of your motivation and appreciation away? The little boy could hear from the back of his head, Now you could spend all of your energy thinking about yourself. 

And that’s what he ended up doing, because nothing else seemed to matter. Everything now revolved around the amazing sacrifice he did to win a Beybattle. And the guilt stole all of his old self and replaced it with a zombie husk. 

And eventually the little boy’s sense of time had stopped.

No grasp of numbers in his head. Just wondering if he could have done something else instead of wronging someone.

The little boy could hardly look at his Beyblade without hurting himself with the memories. At first, the guilt made him see the Beyblade as a needless object. But for some reason, it now emitted a terrible energy. It seemed to criticize his actions and individuality.

It called him weak. 

It called him a nobody.

It called him selfish.

It laughed at him.

The little boy could have lived without telling a soul. He could have continued to be the wonderful Blader. He could’ve lived normally and in a good state. But — obviously — the guilt was eating away at him and destroying his individuality.

And before he knew it, it felt as if the winds picked him up or there were strings controlling him. His mind, having rotten like a zombie’s, knew nothing except one thing: He wronged someone, plain as day. That’s all he knew. He didn’t know how long the guilt clung onto him, or how many people noticed how odd he seemed to be. All he knew was that he wronged someone.

Like a zombie, he instinctively walked to where he needed to. He didn’t think about the outcome or how the said someone would react to it. With no sense of time and his grayscale view of the world, his mind was only bent on one thing: He needed to apologize. He needed to tell the wronged person or else he would be completely eaten alive by the guilt.

He kept walking.

He continued to walk.

His soul felt even heavier. So heavy, he could have collapsed right there and sink into the earth. He wouldn’t even have known that he collapsed right there. 

He blinked again.

He suddenly saw the person he had wronged. In just a blink, he was already there... 

And the moment the confession and apology came out of his mouth, all the colors in the world came back to his sight. Most of the guilt stopped gnawing on his mind and his conscience snapped awake. The little boy had the most terrible realization: He was a person all along. A person capable of apologizing, not a zombie who was controlled by guilt and fear. A person who — like any other — was capable of good.

And when the life came back to him, the person he wronged started to yell at him. That’s when the little boy felt like a failure again.

(May. 13, 2021  1:02 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 3: Daigo Kurogami

Spoiler (Click to View)

Let this be a story born from emotions and morals. Let this be a lesson to all. Let us see this story as we do with the supernatural: It does not matter if it is true or false. 

The only thing that matters is that the little boy’s character is in all of us. That we all have to overcome this terrible feeling. That maybe, apologizing and confessing is the best way to go. Don’t ask if the character is based on me, someone I knew, or whoever comes to your mind. That’s a foolish question that can’t be answered. 



How many pieces of zombie media have you come across and know about? How many zombie apocalypse origins have you found? The assumed answer is plenty of them, perhaps. One movie might have showed zombies starting off as a creation from aliens. Or there was a a fungus that controlled the minds of humans. Or a very contagious disease. The possibility of what caused zombies to come around in media is so vast and endless. So many explanations and forms.

The creation of guilt is like the creation of a zombie. To many people, the reason their guilt came about can be different from others. You should try asking what strain of weakness plagues them — did they feel guilt because they made a mistake, a bad judgement, or couldn’t do enough for someone? It’s different in everyone, I suppose. Just like everyone’s different theories on what would make zombies. 

Then came this little boy. Guilt had turned him into a zombie of some sorts — he was a lot more quiet and seemed sad. His eyes seemed to be hooded in an ominous and somber way. He seemed like a zombie in a way that he had an eerie stillness to him. The little boy just wasn’t quite the same.

Well, what did he do? He wronged someone, plain as day. He did something that he shouldn’t have done. No one knew about except him. But if no one knew, then he would never be caught. He could have left it at that, yet the guilt had already turned him into a zombie. 

It grasped him lightly at first. From the moment he wronged someone, he knew that his soul wasn’t quite the same. He told himself, It’s okay. I’m still find. But was he really fine? No. 

It felt like his soul chipped a little. Just that one little change, yet it impacted him in a way he couldn’t describe at first. No biggie at first, because it could recover the next day. Right? 

Not really. 

The next day, it felt as if his soul had turned a little heavier. He felt like keeping it healthy and whole became a new responsibility for him. He could tell, because the moment he woke up, he felt like going back to sleep. The little boy then felt like he lost his great sense of responsibility. If he couldn’t force himself out of bed, then what could he do?

The human body does not react well to doing things it does not want to be doing. The brain starts to stress upon looking at the homework’s first math problem. The legs start to give out during gym class. The eyes just want to be closed in order to sleep again. To the little boy, getting out of bed today was a huge chore. His sense of body control seemed too far away.

“I’m okay,” he insisted. He managed to gather the courage to get out of his bed. Now he needed to get his belongings.

The mind also shut down a tiny bit, even if he did not want to grasp it. His Beyblade, lying on his desk, seemed to be a distant figure. He looked at his partner and couldn’t seem to react normally. It felt like he forgot that he liked Beyblade. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? The curse of gradually abandoning your favorite thing? Or losing sense of yourself?  

Without thinking, the little boy got his Beyblade and prepared to bring it along. That’s what he often did, after all. It was by design that he often carried his favorite object around, regardless of his emotions.

And this was the Beyblade that was with him when he wronged someone — the cursed little thing he won the battle with. Even though the Beyblade seemed distant, when he glanced at it again, he saw flashes of his terrible deed. The memories shot by like bullets.

“I’m okay,” he told his partner, even if the object couldn’t acknowledge it back. 

But those were just empty words, as far as the back of his head knew. The weight of his Beyblade in his pocket felt like a curse — it weighed him down as much as his backpack. The Beyblade seemed to be hindering him, having lost its positive aura. It once cheered him up, but now it only seemed to serve as a terrible memory.

Very similar to the phenomenon with the Beyblade, the little boy eventually felt the same energy sapped out from other objects. Holding a toothbrush felt meaningless now. The taste of breakfast seemed bland. The schoolwork he did before — and was so proud of for finishing before bed — did not provoke pride from him. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? For the guilt to bubble up and leach all of your motivation and appreciation away? The little boy could hear from the back of his head, Now you could spend all of your energy thinking about yourself. 

And that’s what he ended up doing, because nothing else seemed to matter. Everything now revolved around the amazing sacrifice he did to win a Beybattle. And the guilt stole all of his old self and replaced it with a zombie husk. 

And eventually the little boy’s sense of time had stopped.

No grasp of numbers in his head. Just wondering if he could have done something else instead of wronging someone.

The little boy could hardly look at his Beyblade without hurting himself with the memories. At first, the guilt made him see the Beyblade as a needless object. But for some reason, it now emitted a terrible energy. It seemed to criticize his actions and individuality.

It called him weak. 

It called him a nobody.

It called him selfish.

It laughed at him.

The little boy could have lived without telling a soul. He could have continued to be the wonderful Blader. He could’ve lived normally and in a good state. But — obviously — the guilt was eating away at him and destroying his individuality.

And before he knew it, it felt as if the winds picked him up or there were strings controlling him. His mind, having rotten like a zombie’s, knew nothing except one thing: He wronged someone, plain as day. That’s all he knew. He didn’t know how long the guilt clung onto him, or how many people noticed how odd he seemed to be. All he knew was that he wronged someone.

Like a zombie, he instinctively walked to where he needed to. He didn’t think about the outcome or how the said someone would react to it. With no sense of time and his grayscale view of the world, his mind was only bent on one thing: He needed to apologize. He needed to tell the wronged person or else he would be completely eaten alive by the guilt.

He kept walking.

He continued to walk.

His soul felt even heavier. So heavy, he could have collapsed right there and sink into the earth. He wouldn’t even have known that he collapsed right there. 

He blinked again.

He suddenly saw the person he had wronged. In just a blink, he was already there... 

And the moment the confession and apology came out of his mouth, all the colors in the world came back to his sight. Most of the guilt stopped gnawing on his mind and his conscience snapped awake. The little boy had the most terrible realization: He was a person all along. A person capable of apologizing, not a zombie who was controlled by guilt and fear. A person who — like any other — was capable of good.

And when the life came back to him, the person he wronged started to yell at him. That’s when the little boy felt like a failure again.

(May. 13, 2021  1:02 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 3: Daigo Kurogami

Spoiler (Click to View)

Let this be a story born from emotions and morals. Let this be a lesson to all. Let us see this story as we do with the supernatural: It does not matter if it is true or false. 

The only thing that matters is that the little boy’s character is in all of us. That we all have to overcome this terrible feeling. That maybe, apologizing and confessing is the best way to go. Don’t ask if the character is based on me, someone I knew, or whoever comes to your mind. That’s a foolish question that can’t be answered. 



How many pieces of zombie media have you come across and know about? How many zombie apocalypse origins have you found? The assumed answer is plenty of them, perhaps. One movie might have showed zombies starting off as a creation from aliens. Or there was a a fungus that controlled the minds of humans. Or a very contagious disease. The possibility of what caused zombies to come around in media is so vast and endless. So many explanations and forms.

The creation of guilt is like the creation of a zombie. To many people, the reason their guilt came about can be different from others. You should try asking what strain of weakness plagues them — did they feel guilt because they made a mistake, a bad judgement, or couldn’t do enough for someone? It’s different in everyone, I suppose. Just like everyone’s different theories on what would make zombies. 

Then came this little boy. Guilt had turned him into a zombie of some sorts — he was a lot more quiet and seemed sad. His eyes seemed to be hooded in an ominous and somber way. He seemed like a zombie in a way that he had an eerie stillness to him. The little boy just wasn’t quite the same.

Well, what did he do? He wronged someone, plain as day. He did something that he shouldn’t have done. No one knew about except him. But if no one knew, then he would never be caught. He could have left it at that, yet the guilt had already turned him into a zombie. 

It grasped him lightly at first. From the moment he wronged someone, he knew that his soul wasn’t quite the same. He told himself, It’s okay. I’m still find. But was he really fine? No. 

It felt like his soul chipped a little. Just that one little change, yet it impacted him in a way he couldn’t describe at first. No biggie at first, because it could recover the next day. Right? 

Not really. 

The next day, it felt as if his soul had turned a little heavier. He felt like keeping it healthy and whole became a new responsibility for him. He could tell, because the moment he woke up, he felt like going back to sleep. The little boy then felt like he lost his great sense of responsibility. If he couldn’t force himself out of bed, then what could he do?

The human body does not react well to doing things it does not want to be doing. The brain starts to stress upon looking at the homework’s first math problem. The legs start to give out during gym class. The eyes just want to be closed in order to sleep again. To the little boy, getting out of bed today was a huge chore. His sense of body control seemed too far away.

“I’m okay,” he insisted. He managed to gather the courage to get out of his bed. Now he needed to get his belongings.

The mind also shut down a tiny bit, even if he did not want to grasp it. His Beyblade, lying on his desk, seemed to be a distant figure. He looked at his partner and couldn’t seem to react normally. It felt like he forgot that he liked Beyblade. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? The curse of gradually abandoning your favorite thing? Or losing sense of yourself?  

Without thinking, the little boy got his Beyblade and prepared to bring it along. That’s what he often did, after all. It was by design that he often carried his favorite object around, regardless of his emotions.

And this was the Beyblade that was with him when he wronged someone — the cursed little thing he won the battle with. Even though the Beyblade seemed distant, when he glanced at it again, he saw flashes of his terrible deed. The memories shot by like bullets.

“I’m okay,” he told his partner, even if the object couldn’t acknowledge it back. 

But those were just empty words, as far as the back of his head knew. The weight of his Beyblade in his pocket felt like a curse — it weighed him down as much as his backpack. The Beyblade seemed to be hindering him, having lost its positive aura. It once cheered him up, but now it only seemed to serve as a terrible memory.

Very similar to the phenomenon with the Beyblade, the little boy eventually felt the same energy sapped out from other objects. Holding a toothbrush felt meaningless now. The taste of breakfast seemed bland. The schoolwork he did before — and was so proud of for finishing before bed — did not provoke pride from him. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? For the guilt to bubble up and leach all of your motivation and appreciation away? The little boy could hear from the back of his head, Now you could spend all of your energy thinking about yourself. 

And that’s what he ended up doing, because nothing else seemed to matter. Everything now revolved around the amazing sacrifice he did to win a Beybattle. And the guilt stole all of his old self and replaced it with a zombie husk. 

And eventually the little boy’s sense of time had stopped.

No grasp of numbers in his head. Just wondering if he could have done something else instead of wronging someone.

The little boy could hardly look at his Beyblade without hurting himself with the memories. At first, the guilt made him see the Beyblade as a needless object. But for some reason, it now emitted a terrible energy. It seemed to criticize his actions and individuality.

It called him weak. 

It called him a nobody.

It called him selfish.

It laughed at him.

The little boy could have lived without telling a soul. He could have continued to be the wonderful Blader. He could’ve lived normally and in a good state. But — obviously — the guilt was eating away at him and destroying his individuality.

And before he knew it, it felt as if the winds picked him up or there were strings controlling him. His mind, having rotten like a zombie’s, knew nothing except one thing: He wronged someone, plain as day. That’s all he knew. He didn’t know how long the guilt clung onto him, or how many people noticed how odd he seemed to be. All he knew was that he wronged someone.

Like a zombie, he instinctively walked to where he needed to. He didn’t think about the outcome or how the said someone would react to it. With no sense of time and his grayscale view of the world, his mind was only bent on one thing: He needed to apologize. He needed to tell the wronged person or else he would be completely eaten alive by the guilt.

He kept walking.

He continued to walk.

His soul felt even heavier. So heavy, he could have collapsed right there and sink into the earth. He wouldn’t even have known that he collapsed right there. 

He blinked again.

He suddenly saw the person he had wronged. In just a blink, he was already there... 

And the moment the confession and apology came out of his mouth, all the colors in the world came back to his sight. Most of the guilt stopped gnawing on his mind and his conscience snapped awake. The little boy had the most terrible realization: He was a person all along. A person capable of apologizing, not a zombie who was controlled by guilt and fear. A person who — like any other — was capable of good.

And when the life came back to him, the person he wronged started to yell at him. That’s when the little boy felt like a failure again.

(May. 13, 2021  1:02 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 3: Daigo Kurogami

Spoiler (Click to View)

Let this be a story born from emotions and morals. Let this be a lesson to all. Let us see this story as we do with the supernatural: It does not matter if it is true or false. 

The only thing that matters is that the little boy’s character is in all of us. That we all have to overcome this terrible feeling. That maybe, apologizing and confessing is the best way to go. Don’t ask if the character is based on me, someone I knew, or whoever comes to your mind. That’s a foolish question that can’t be answered. 



How many pieces of zombie media have you come across and know about? How many zombie apocalypse origins have you found? The assumed answer is plenty of them, perhaps. One movie might have showed zombies starting off as a creation from aliens. Or there was a a fungus that controlled the minds of humans. Or a very contagious disease. The possibility of what caused zombies to come around in media is so vast and endless. So many explanations and forms.

The creation of guilt is like the creation of a zombie. To many people, the reason their guilt came about can be different from others. You should try asking what strain of weakness plagues them — did they feel guilt because they made a mistake, a bad judgement, or couldn’t do enough for someone? It’s different in everyone, I suppose. Just like everyone’s different theories on what would make zombies. 

Then came this little boy. Guilt had turned him into a zombie of some sorts — he was a lot more quiet and seemed sad. His eyes seemed to be hooded in an ominous and somber way. He seemed like a zombie in a way that he had an eerie stillness to him. The little boy just wasn’t quite the same.

Well, what did he do? He wronged someone, plain as day. He did something that he shouldn’t have done. No one knew about except him. But if no one knew, then he would never be caught. He could have left it at that, yet the guilt had already turned him into a zombie. 

It grasped him lightly at first. From the moment he wronged someone, he knew that his soul wasn’t quite the same. He told himself, It’s okay. I’m still find. But was he really fine? No. 

It felt like his soul chipped a little. Just that one little change, yet it impacted him in a way he couldn’t describe at first. No biggie at first, because it could recover the next day. Right? 

Not really. 

The next day, it felt as if his soul had turned a little heavier. He felt like keeping it healthy and whole became a new responsibility for him. He could tell, because the moment he woke up, he felt like going back to sleep. The little boy then felt like he lost his great sense of responsibility. If he couldn’t force himself out of bed, then what could he do?

The human body does not react well to doing things it does not want to be doing. The brain starts to stress upon looking at the homework’s first math problem. The legs start to give out during gym class. The eyes just want to be closed in order to sleep again. To the little boy, getting out of bed today was a huge chore. His sense of body control seemed too far away.

“I’m okay,” he insisted. He managed to gather the courage to get out of his bed. Now he needed to get his belongings.

The mind also shut down a tiny bit, even if he did not want to grasp it. His Beyblade, lying on his desk, seemed to be a distant figure. He looked at his partner and couldn’t seem to react normally. It felt like he forgot that he liked Beyblade. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? The curse of gradually abandoning your favorite thing? Or losing sense of yourself?  

Without thinking, the little boy got his Beyblade and prepared to bring it along. That’s what he often did, after all. It was by design that he often carried his favorite object around, regardless of his emotions.

And this was the Beyblade that was with him when he wronged someone — the cursed little thing he won the battle with. Even though the Beyblade seemed distant, when he glanced at it again, he saw flashes of his terrible deed. The memories shot by like bullets.

“I’m okay,” he told his partner, even if the object couldn’t acknowledge it back. 

But those were just empty words, as far as the back of his head knew. The weight of his Beyblade in his pocket felt like a curse — it weighed him down as much as his backpack. The Beyblade seemed to be hindering him, having lost its positive aura. It once cheered him up, but now it only seemed to serve as a terrible memory.

Very similar to the phenomenon with the Beyblade, the little boy eventually felt the same energy sapped out from other objects. Holding a toothbrush felt meaningless now. The taste of breakfast seemed bland. The schoolwork he did before — and was so proud of for finishing before bed — did not provoke pride from him. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? For the guilt to bubble up and leach all of your motivation and appreciation away? The little boy could hear from the back of his head, Now you could spend all of your energy thinking about yourself. 

And that’s what he ended up doing, because nothing else seemed to matter. Everything now revolved around the amazing sacrifice he did to win a Beybattle. And the guilt stole all of his old self and replaced it with a zombie husk. 

And eventually the little boy’s sense of time had stopped.

No grasp of numbers in his head. Just wondering if he could have done something else instead of wronging someone.

The little boy could hardly look at his Beyblade without hurting himself with the memories. At first, the guilt made him see the Beyblade as a needless object. But for some reason, it now emitted a terrible energy. It seemed to criticize his actions and individuality.

It called him weak. 

It called him a nobody.

It called him selfish.

It laughed at him.

The little boy could have lived without telling a soul. He could have continued to be the wonderful Blader. He could’ve lived normally and in a good state. But — obviously — the guilt was eating away at him and destroying his individuality.

And before he knew it, it felt as if the winds picked him up or there were strings controlling him. His mind, having rotten like a zombie’s, knew nothing except one thing: He wronged someone, plain as day. That’s all he knew. He didn’t know how long the guilt clung onto him, or how many people noticed how odd he seemed to be. All he knew was that he wronged someone.

Like a zombie, he instinctively walked to where he needed to. He didn’t think about the outcome or how the said someone would react to it. With no sense of time and his grayscale view of the world, his mind was only bent on one thing: He needed to apologize. He needed to tell the wronged person or else he would be completely eaten alive by the guilt.

He kept walking.

He continued to walk.

His soul felt even heavier. So heavy, he could have collapsed right there and sink into the earth. He wouldn’t even have known that he collapsed right there. 

He blinked again.

He suddenly saw the person he had wronged. In just a blink, he was already there... 

And the moment the confession and apology came out of his mouth, all the colors in the world came back to his sight. Most of the guilt stopped gnawing on his mind and his conscience snapped awake. The little boy had the most terrible realization: He was a person all along. A person capable of apologizing, not a zombie who was controlled by guilt and fear. A person who — like any other — was capable of good.

And when the life came back to him, the person he wronged started to yell at him. That’s when the little boy felt like a failure again.

(May. 13, 2021  1:34 AM)PinkRose Wrote: [quote='XSabxManiacX' pid='1763580' dateline='1620864164']
Chapter 3: Daigo Kurogami

[spoiler]

Let this be a story born from emotions and morals. Let this be a lesson to all. Let us see this story as we do with the supernatural: It does not matter if it is true or false. 

The only thing that matters is that the little boy’s character is in all of us. That we all have to overcome this terrible feeling. That maybe, apologizing and confessing is the best way to go. Don’t ask if the character is based on me, someone I knew, or whoever comes to your mind. That’s a foolish question that can’t be answered. 



How many pieces of zombie media have you come across and know about? How many zombie apocalypse origins have you found? The assumed answer is plenty of them, perhaps. One movie might have showed zombies starting off as a creation from aliens. Or there was a a fungus that controlled the minds of humans. Or a very contagious disease. The possibility of what caused zombies to come around in media is so vast and endless. So many explanations and forms.

The creation of guilt is like the creation of a zombie. To many people, the reason their guilt came about can be different from others. You should try asking what strain of weakness plagues them — did they feel guilt because they made a mistake, a bad judgement, or couldn’t do enough for someone? It’s different in everyone, I suppose. Just like everyone’s different theories on what would make zombies. 

Then came this little boy. Guilt had turned him into a zombie of some sorts — he was a lot more quiet and seemed sad. His eyes seemed to be hooded in an ominous and somber way. He seemed like a zombie in a way that he had an eerie stillness to him. The little boy just wasn’t quite the same.

Well, what did he do? He wronged someone, plain as day. He did something that he shouldn’t have done. No one knew about except him. But if no one knew, then he would never be caught. He could have left it at that, yet the guilt had already turned him into a zombie. 

It grasped him lightly at first. From the moment he wronged someone, he knew that his soul wasn’t quite the same. He told himself, It’s okay. I’m still find. But was he really fine? No. 

It felt like his soul chipped a little. Just that one little change, yet it impacted him in a way he couldn’t describe at first. No biggie at first, because it could recover the next day. Right? 

Not really. 

The next day, it felt as if his soul had turned a little heavier. He felt like keeping it healthy and whole became a new responsibility for him. He could tell, because the moment he woke up, he felt like going back to sleep. The little boy then felt like he lost his great sense of responsibility. If he couldn’t force himself out of bed, then what could he do?

The human body does not react well to doing things it does not want to be doing. The brain starts to stress upon looking at the homework’s first math problem. The legs start to give out during gym class. The eyes just want to be closed in order to sleep again. To the little boy, getting out of bed today was a huge chore. His sense of body control seemed too far away.

“I’m okay,” he insisted. He managed to gather the courage to get out of his bed. Now he needed to get his belongings.

The mind also shut down a tiny bit, even if he did not want to grasp it. His Beyblade, lying on his desk, seemed to be a distant figure. He looked at his partner and couldn’t seem to react normally. It felt like he forgot that he liked Beyblade. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? The curse of gradually abandoning your favorite thing? Or losing sense of yourself?  

Without thinking, the little boy got his Beyblade and prepared to bring it along. That’s what he often did, after all. It was by design that he often carried his favorite object around, regardless of his emotions.

And this was the Beyblade that was with him when he wronged someone — the cursed little thing he won the battle with. Even though the Beyblade seemed distant, when he glanced at it again, he saw flashes of his terrible deed. The memories shot by like bullets.

“I’m okay,” he told his partner, even if the object couldn’t acknowledge it back. 

But those were just empty words, as far as the back of his head knew. The weight of his Beyblade in his pocket felt like a curse — it weighed him down as much as his backpack. The Beyblade seemed to be hindering him, having lost its positive aura. It once cheered him up, but now it only seemed to serve as a terrible memory.

Very similar to the phenomenon with the Beyblade, the little boy eventually felt the same energy sapped out from other objects. Holding a toothbrush felt meaningless now. The taste of breakfast seemed bland. The schoolwork he did before — and was so proud of for finishing before bed — did not provoke pride from him. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? For the guilt to bubble up and leach all of your motivation and appreciation away? The little boy could hear from the back of his head, Now you could spend all of your energy thinking about yourself. 

And that’s what he ended up doing, because nothing else seemed to matter. Everything now revolved around the amazing sacrifice he did to win a Beybattle. And the guilt stole all of his old self and replaced it with a zombie husk. 

And eventually the little boy’s sense of time had stopped.

No grasp of numbers in his head. Just wondering if he could have done something else instead of wronging someone.

The little boy could hardly look at his Beyblade without hurting himself with the memories. At first, the guilt made him see the Beyblade as a needless object. But for some reason, it now emitted a terrible energy. It seemed to criticize his actions and individuality.

It called him weak. 

It called him a nobody.

It called him selfish.

It laughed at him.

The little boy could have lived without telling a soul. He could have continued to be the wonderful Blader. He could’ve lived normally and in a good state. But — obviously — the guilt was eating away at him and destroying his individuality.

And before he knew it, it felt as if the winds picked him up or there were strings controlling him. His mind, having rotten like a zombie’s, knew nothing except one thing: He wronged someone, plain as day. That’s all he knew. He didn’t know how long the guilt clung onto him, or how many people noticed how odd he seemed to be. All he knew was that he wronged someone.

Like a zombie, he instinctively walked to where he needed to. He didn’t think about the outcome or how the said someone would react to it. With no sense of time and his grayscale view of the world, his mind was only bent on one thing: He needed to apologize. He needed to tell the wronged person or else he would be completely eaten alive by the guilt.

He kept walking.

He continued to walk.

His soul felt even heavier. So heavy, he could have collapsed right there and sink into the earth. He wouldn’t even have known that he collapsed right there. 

He blinked again.

He suddenly saw the person he had wronged. In just a blink, he was already there... 

And the moment the confession and apology came out of his mouth, all the colors in the world came back to his sight. Most of the guilt stopped gnawing on his mind and his conscience snapped awake. The little boy had the most terrible realization: He was a person all along. A person capable of apologizing, not a zombie who was controlled by guilt and fear. A person who — like any other — was capable of good.

And when the life came back to him, the person he wronged started to yell at him. That’s when the little boy felt like a failure again.

(May. 13, 2021  3:39 PM)PinkRose Wrote: Ngl even thinking about what Valt could write scares me.

(May. 13, 2021  4:45 PM)XSabxManiacX Wrote:

(May. 13, 2021  3:39 PM)PinkRose Wrote: Ngl even thinking about what Valt could write scares me.

I have Valt’s one in the works atm but I havent worked on it as much since it was, er, hard. People say Im a good writer but I dont think Im capable of acting as Valt — I personally feel like hes gonna lack writing skill compared to the others so its gonna be excruciating to not write as my peak haha /lh

But yeah, its in the works.... soon, Valt, soon!

(May. 13, 2021  1:02 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 3: Daigo Kurogami

Spoiler (Click to View)

Let this be a story born from emotions and morals. Let this be a lesson to all. Let us see this story as we do with the supernatural: It does not matter if it is true or false. 

The only thing that matters is that the little boy’s character is in all of us. That we all have to overcome this terrible feeling. That maybe, apologizing and confessing is the best way to go. Don’t ask if the character is based on me, someone I knew, or whoever comes to your mind. That’s a foolish question that can’t be answered. 



How many pieces of zombie media have you come across and know about? How many zombie apocalypse origins have you found? The assumed answer is plenty of them, perhaps. One movie might have showed zombies starting off as a creation from aliens. Or there was a a fungus that controlled the minds of humans. Or a very contagious disease. The possibility of what caused zombies to come around in media is so vast and endless. So many explanations and forms.

The creation of guilt is like the creation of a zombie. To many people, the reason their guilt came about can be different from others. You should try asking what strain of weakness plagues them — did they feel guilt because they made a mistake, a bad judgement, or couldn’t do enough for someone? It’s different in everyone, I suppose. Just like everyone’s different theories on what would make zombies. 

Then came this little boy. Guilt had turned him into a zombie of some sorts — he was a lot more quiet and seemed sad. His eyes seemed to be hooded in an ominous and somber way. He seemed like a zombie in a way that he had an eerie stillness to him. The little boy just wasn’t quite the same.

Well, what did he do? He wronged someone, plain as day. He did something that he shouldn’t have done. No one knew about except him. But if no one knew, then he would never be caught. He could have left it at that, yet the guilt had already turned him into a zombie. 

It grasped him lightly at first. From the moment he wronged someone, he knew that his soul wasn’t quite the same. He told himself, It’s okay. I’m still find. But was he really fine? No. 

It felt like his soul chipped a little. Just that one little change, yet it impacted him in a way he couldn’t describe at first. No biggie at first, because it could recover the next day. Right? 

Not really. 

The next day, it felt as if his soul had turned a little heavier. He felt like keeping it healthy and whole became a new responsibility for him. He could tell, because the moment he woke up, he felt like going back to sleep. The little boy then felt like he lost his great sense of responsibility. If he couldn’t force himself out of bed, then what could he do?

The human body does not react well to doing things it does not want to be doing. The brain starts to stress upon looking at the homework’s first math problem. The legs start to give out during gym class. The eyes just want to be closed in order to sleep again. To the little boy, getting out of bed today was a huge chore. His sense of body control seemed too far away.

“I’m okay,” he insisted. He managed to gather the courage to get out of his bed. Now he needed to get his belongings.

The mind also shut down a tiny bit, even if he did not want to grasp it. His Beyblade, lying on his desk, seemed to be a distant figure. He looked at his partner and couldn’t seem to react normally. It felt like he forgot that he liked Beyblade. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? The curse of gradually abandoning your favorite thing? Or losing sense of yourself?  

Without thinking, the little boy got his Beyblade and prepared to bring it along. That’s what he often did, after all. It was by design that he often carried his favorite object around, regardless of his emotions.

And this was the Beyblade that was with him when he wronged someone — the cursed little thing he won the battle with. Even though the Beyblade seemed distant, when he glanced at it again, he saw flashes of his terrible deed. The memories shot by like bullets.

“I’m okay,” he told his partner, even if the object couldn’t acknowledge it back. 

But those were just empty words, as far as the back of his head knew. The weight of his Beyblade in his pocket felt like a curse — it weighed him down as much as his backpack. The Beyblade seemed to be hindering him, having lost its positive aura. It once cheered him up, but now it only seemed to serve as a terrible memory.

Very similar to the phenomenon with the Beyblade, the little boy eventually felt the same energy sapped out from other objects. Holding a toothbrush felt meaningless now. The taste of breakfast seemed bland. The schoolwork he did before — and was so proud of for finishing before bed — did not provoke pride from him. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? For the guilt to bubble up and leach all of your motivation and appreciation away? The little boy could hear from the back of his head, Now you could spend all of your energy thinking about yourself. 

And that’s what he ended up doing, because nothing else seemed to matter. Everything now revolved around the amazing sacrifice he did to win a Beybattle. And the guilt stole all of his old self and replaced it with a zombie husk. 

And eventually the little boy’s sense of time had stopped.

No grasp of numbers in his head. Just wondering if he could have done something else instead of wronging someone.

The little boy could hardly look at his Beyblade without hurting himself with the memories. At first, the guilt made him see the Beyblade as a needless object. But for some reason, it now emitted a terrible energy. It seemed to criticize his actions and individuality.

It called him weak. 

It called him a nobody.

It called him selfish.

It laughed at him.

The little boy could have lived without telling a soul. He could have continued to be the wonderful Blader. He could’ve lived normally and in a good state. But — obviously — the guilt was eating away at him and destroying his individuality.

And before he knew it, it felt as if the winds picked him up or there were strings controlling him. His mind, having rotten like a zombie’s, knew nothing except one thing: He wronged someone, plain as day. That’s all he knew. He didn’t know how long the guilt clung onto him, or how many people noticed how odd he seemed to be. All he knew was that he wronged someone.

Like a zombie, he instinctively walked to where he needed to. He didn’t think about the outcome or how the said someone would react to it. With no sense of time and his grayscale view of the world, his mind was only bent on one thing: He needed to apologize. He needed to tell the wronged person or else he would be completely eaten alive by the guilt.

He kept walking.

He continued to walk.

His soul felt even heavier. So heavy, he could have collapsed right there and sink into the earth. He wouldn’t even have known that he collapsed right there. 

He blinked again.

He suddenly saw the person he had wronged. In just a blink, he was already there... 

And the moment the confession and apology came out of his mouth, all the colors in the world came back to his sight. Most of the guilt stopped gnawing on his mind and his conscience snapped awake. The little boy had the most terrible realization: He was a person all along. A person capable of apologizing, not a zombie who was controlled by guilt and fear. A person who — like any other — was capable of good.

And when the life came back to him, the person he wronged started to yell at him. That’s when the little boy felt like a failure again.

(May. 14, 2021  2:31 AM)tenma Wrote:

(May. 13, 2021  1:02 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 3: Daigo Kurogami

Spoiler (Click to View)

Let this be a story born from emotions and morals. Let this be a lesson to all. Let us see this story as we do with the supernatural: It does not matter if it is true or false. 

The only thing that matters is that the little boy’s character is in all of us. That we all have to overcome this terrible feeling. That maybe, apologizing and confessing is the best way to go. Don’t ask if the character is based on me, someone I knew, or whoever comes to your mind. That’s a foolish question that can’t be answered. 



How many pieces of zombie media have you come across and know about? How many zombie apocalypse origins have you found? The assumed answer is plenty of them, perhaps. One movie might have showed zombies starting off as a creation from aliens. Or there was a a fungus that controlled the minds of humans. Or a very contagious disease. The possibility of what caused zombies to come around in media is so vast and endless. So many explanations and forms.

The creation of guilt is like the creation of a zombie. To many people, the reason their guilt came about can be different from others. You should try asking what strain of weakness plagues them — did they feel guilt because they made a mistake, a bad judgement, or couldn’t do enough for someone? It’s different in everyone, I suppose. Just like everyone’s different theories on what would make zombies. 

Then came this little boy. Guilt had turned him into a zombie of some sorts — he was a lot more quiet and seemed sad. His eyes seemed to be hooded in an ominous and somber way. He seemed like a zombie in a way that he had an eerie stillness to him. The little boy just wasn’t quite the same.

Well, what did he do? He wronged someone, plain as day. He did something that he shouldn’t have done. No one knew about except him. But if no one knew, then he would never be caught. He could have left it at that, yet the guilt had already turned him into a zombie. 

It grasped him lightly at first. From the moment he wronged someone, he knew that his soul wasn’t quite the same. He told himself, It’s okay. I’m still find. But was he really fine? No. 

It felt like his soul chipped a little. Just that one little change, yet it impacted him in a way he couldn’t describe at first. No biggie at first, because it could recover the next day. Right? 

Not really. 

The next day, it felt as if his soul had turned a little heavier. He felt like keeping it healthy and whole became a new responsibility for him. He could tell, because the moment he woke up, he felt like going back to sleep. The little boy then felt like he lost his great sense of responsibility. If he couldn’t force himself out of bed, then what could he do?

The human body does not react well to doing things it does not want to be doing. The brain starts to stress upon looking at the homework’s first math problem. The legs start to give out during gym class. The eyes just want to be closed in order to sleep again. To the little boy, getting out of bed today was a huge chore. His sense of body control seemed too far away.

“I’m okay,” he insisted. He managed to gather the courage to get out of his bed. Now he needed to get his belongings.

The mind also shut down a tiny bit, even if he did not want to grasp it. His Beyblade, lying on his desk, seemed to be a distant figure. He looked at his partner and couldn’t seem to react normally. It felt like he forgot that he liked Beyblade. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? The curse of gradually abandoning your favorite thing? Or losing sense of yourself?  

Without thinking, the little boy got his Beyblade and prepared to bring it along. That’s what he often did, after all. It was by design that he often carried his favorite object around, regardless of his emotions.

And this was the Beyblade that was with him when he wronged someone — the cursed little thing he won the battle with. Even though the Beyblade seemed distant, when he glanced at it again, he saw flashes of his terrible deed. The memories shot by like bullets.

“I’m okay,” he told his partner, even if the object couldn’t acknowledge it back. 

But those were just empty words, as far as the back of his head knew. The weight of his Beyblade in his pocket felt like a curse — it weighed him down as much as his backpack. The Beyblade seemed to be hindering him, having lost its positive aura. It once cheered him up, but now it only seemed to serve as a terrible memory.

Very similar to the phenomenon with the Beyblade, the little boy eventually felt the same energy sapped out from other objects. Holding a toothbrush felt meaningless now. The taste of breakfast seemed bland. The schoolwork he did before — and was so proud of for finishing before bed — did not provoke pride from him. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? For the guilt to bubble up and leach all of your motivation and appreciation away? The little boy could hear from the back of his head, Now you could spend all of your energy thinking about yourself. 

And that’s what he ended up doing, because nothing else seemed to matter. Everything now revolved around the amazing sacrifice he did to win a Beybattle. And the guilt stole all of his old self and replaced it with a zombie husk. 

And eventually the little boy’s sense of time had stopped.

No grasp of numbers in his head. Just wondering if he could have done something else instead of wronging someone.

The little boy could hardly look at his Beyblade without hurting himself with the memories. At first, the guilt made him see the Beyblade as a needless object. But for some reason, it now emitted a terrible energy. It seemed to criticize his actions and individuality.

It called him weak. 

It called him a nobody.

It called him selfish.

It laughed at him.

The little boy could have lived without telling a soul. He could have continued to be the wonderful Blader. He could’ve lived normally and in a good state. But — obviously — the guilt was eating away at him and destroying his individuality.

And before he knew it, it felt as if the winds picked him up or there were strings controlling him. His mind, having rotten like a zombie’s, knew nothing except one thing: He wronged someone, plain as day. That’s all he knew. He didn’t know how long the guilt clung onto him, or how many people noticed how odd he seemed to be. All he knew was that he wronged someone.

Like a zombie, he instinctively walked to where he needed to. He didn’t think about the outcome or how the said someone would react to it. With no sense of time and his grayscale view of the world, his mind was only bent on one thing: He needed to apologize. He needed to tell the wronged person or else he would be completely eaten alive by the guilt.

He kept walking.

He continued to walk.

His soul felt even heavier. So heavy, he could have collapsed right there and sink into the earth. He wouldn’t even have known that he collapsed right there. 

He blinked again.

He suddenly saw the person he had wronged. In just a blink, he was already there... 

And the moment the confession and apology came out of his mouth, all the colors in the world came back to his sight. Most of the guilt stopped gnawing on his mind and his conscience snapped awake. The little boy had the most terrible realization: He was a person all along. A person capable of apologizing, not a zombie who was controlled by guilt and fear. A person who — like any other — was capable of good.

And when the life came back to him, the person he wronged started to yell at him. That’s when the little boy felt like a failure again.

This chapter hits really hard due to how similar I feel like towards Daina lately :[  And, uh question: is this a reference to that one episode where he cheated in the battle towards Yugo? Is the person he wronged Yugo?

Also I heard we're getting a chapter about Valt so I better prepare my tear glands ;;-;;

(May. 13, 2021  1:02 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 3: Daigo Kurogami

Spoiler (Click to View)

Let this be a story born from emotions and morals. Let this be a lesson to all. Let us see this story as we do with the supernatural: It does not matter if it is true or false. 

The only thing that matters is that the little boy’s character is in all of us. That we all have to overcome this terrible feeling. That maybe, apologizing and confessing is the best way to go. Don’t ask if the character is based on me, someone I knew, or whoever comes to your mind. That’s a foolish question that can’t be answered. 



How many pieces of zombie media have you come across and know about? How many zombie apocalypse origins have you found? The assumed answer is plenty of them, perhaps. One movie might have showed zombies starting off as a creation from aliens. Or there was a a fungus that controlled the minds of humans. Or a very contagious disease. The possibility of what caused zombies to come around in media is so vast and endless. So many explanations and forms.

The creation of guilt is like the creation of a zombie. To many people, the reason their guilt came about can be different from others. You should try asking what strain of weakness plagues them — did they feel guilt because they made a mistake, a bad judgement, or couldn’t do enough for someone? It’s different in everyone, I suppose. Just like everyone’s different theories on what would make zombies. 

Then came this little boy. Guilt had turned him into a zombie of some sorts — he was a lot more quiet and seemed sad. His eyes seemed to be hooded in an ominous and somber way. He seemed like a zombie in a way that he had an eerie stillness to him. The little boy just wasn’t quite the same.

Well, what did he do? He wronged someone, plain as day. He did something that he shouldn’t have done. No one knew about except him. But if no one knew, then he would never be caught. He could have left it at that, yet the guilt had already turned him into a zombie. 

It grasped him lightly at first. From the moment he wronged someone, he knew that his soul wasn’t quite the same. He told himself, It’s okay. I’m still find. But was he really fine? No. 

It felt like his soul chipped a little. Just that one little change, yet it impacted him in a way he couldn’t describe at first. No biggie at first, because it could recover the next day. Right? 

Not really. 

The next day, it felt as if his soul had turned a little heavier. He felt like keeping it healthy and whole became a new responsibility for him. He could tell, because the moment he woke up, he felt like going back to sleep. The little boy then felt like he lost his great sense of responsibility. If he couldn’t force himself out of bed, then what could he do?

The human body does not react well to doing things it does not want to be doing. The brain starts to stress upon looking at the homework’s first math problem. The legs start to give out during gym class. The eyes just want to be closed in order to sleep again. To the little boy, getting out of bed today was a huge chore. His sense of body control seemed too far away.

“I’m okay,” he insisted. He managed to gather the courage to get out of his bed. Now he needed to get his belongings.

The mind also shut down a tiny bit, even if he did not want to grasp it. His Beyblade, lying on his desk, seemed to be a distant figure. He looked at his partner and couldn’t seem to react normally. It felt like he forgot that he liked Beyblade. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? The curse of gradually abandoning your favorite thing? Or losing sense of yourself?  

Without thinking, the little boy got his Beyblade and prepared to bring it along. That’s what he often did, after all. It was by design that he often carried his favorite object around, regardless of his emotions.

And this was the Beyblade that was with him when he wronged someone — the cursed little thing he won the battle with. Even though the Beyblade seemed distant, when he glanced at it again, he saw flashes of his terrible deed. The memories shot by like bullets.

“I’m okay,” he told his partner, even if the object couldn’t acknowledge it back. 

But those were just empty words, as far as the back of his head knew. The weight of his Beyblade in his pocket felt like a curse — it weighed him down as much as his backpack. The Beyblade seemed to be hindering him, having lost its positive aura. It once cheered him up, but now it only seemed to serve as a terrible memory.

Very similar to the phenomenon with the Beyblade, the little boy eventually felt the same energy sapped out from other objects. Holding a toothbrush felt meaningless now. The taste of breakfast seemed bland. The schoolwork he did before — and was so proud of for finishing before bed — did not provoke pride from him. 

Was this the price of wronging someone? For the guilt to bubble up and leach all of your motivation and appreciation away? The little boy could hear from the back of his head, Now you could spend all of your energy thinking about yourself. 

And that’s what he ended up doing, because nothing else seemed to matter. Everything now revolved around the amazing sacrifice he did to win a Beybattle. And the guilt stole all of his old self and replaced it with a zombie husk. 

And eventually the little boy’s sense of time had stopped.

No grasp of numbers in his head. Just wondering if he could have done something else instead of wronging someone.

The little boy could hardly look at his Beyblade without hurting himself with the memories. At first, the guilt made him see the Beyblade as a needless object. But for some reason, it now emitted a terrible energy. It seemed to criticize his actions and individuality.

It called him weak. 

It called him a nobody.

It called him selfish.

It laughed at him.

The little boy could have lived without telling a soul. He could have continued to be the wonderful Blader. He could’ve lived normally and in a good state. But — obviously — the guilt was eating away at him and destroying his individuality.

And before he knew it, it felt as if the winds picked him up or there were strings controlling him. His mind, having rotten like a zombie’s, knew nothing except one thing: He wronged someone, plain as day. That’s all he knew. He didn’t know how long the guilt clung onto him, or how many people noticed how odd he seemed to be. All he knew was that he wronged someone.

Like a zombie, he instinctively walked to where he needed to. He didn’t think about the outcome or how the said someone would react to it. With no sense of time and his grayscale view of the world, his mind was only bent on one thing: He needed to apologize. He needed to tell the wronged person or else he would be completely eaten alive by the guilt.

He kept walking.

He continued to walk.

His soul felt even heavier. So heavy, he could have collapsed right there and sink into the earth. He wouldn’t even have known that he collapsed right there. 

He blinked again.

He suddenly saw the person he had wronged. In just a blink, he was already there... 

And the moment the confession and apology came out of his mouth, all the colors in the world came back to his sight. Most of the guilt stopped gnawing on his mind and his conscience snapped awake. The little boy had the most terrible realization: He was a person all along. A person capable of apologizing, not a zombie who was controlled by guilt and fear. A person who — like any other — was capable of good.

And when the life came back to him, the person he wronged started to yell at him. That’s when the little boy felt like a failure again.

(May. 15, 2021  12:35 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 4: Valt Aoi

Spoiler (Click to View)

Funny thing: I would have never found myself writing for leisure and in my spare time. Not in a million years, I thought. Writing was something most people thought would never come naturally to me. 

And yeah, that's right. I was always the one behind at school. I was the energetic kid at Beigoma Academy and wasn't as studious as students like Shu. I couldn't even write 10 words before deciding that I want to be out in the open, breathing the air... out in the open where I was free! Don't count on me to sit in my spot for too long, haha. 

But why was I writing now? There were some reasons for that.

It started when I felt like I was at my prime. The world wanted to know me. Me! Valt Aoi, one of the the best Bladers in the world. I couldn't believe it — I was famous enough that people actually wanted to see my thoughts and get to know me. So there. With some new social media accounts, I quickly gathered a crowd. Quickly wanted to write. 

Well, uh, why are these posts called "tweets?" Funny thing to assume that only birds talk!

Okay, nevermind.

I never considered myself much of a writer. I never wrote more than 30 words in my posts... maybe that's an upgrade from my 10 words from years ago? Maybe I turned smarter! Haha! But still, I didn't think I would be a writer. Or at least, someone who actually cared to put down words for once.

My other reason for actually writing now? It was weird! Same reason Shu started to get into Beyblade: Because a friend did that.

And where did that come to? Me seeing Shu write something. Duh.

I assumed it was some business report or something else important. Maybe a document for his Raging Bulls thing in America — I shouldn't bother him when he's writing something important. He never has time for anything now, not even visiting his home country, so leaving him alone was best.

I was only briefly joking about that when Shu chuckled. He said he was just writing his thoughts. He said it was something small he thought of and wanted to use his time for it. I only smiled. He smiled back. 

Shu has great ideas! He's pretty much the best person I know. He is always using time wisely. ALWAYS.

So later that day, I did the same thing. I sat down and started writing like he did. I didn't know what in particular, really. All I knew was that I could recount why I started to write. It should be easy. It was in the same way how I remembered my Blading journey start-to-finish.

So I did. Now that led me to here. Hmm, I'm not a very good writer so I'm sorry to leave you hanging. I'll come back when I have more thoughts to put onto paper, bye!





Is this how you do it? Is there a rule for how many lines to skip to show that there's, uh, a time skip? I'm not too sure. 

I came back after awhile. Ijust wanted to say that I found something at the park. The park where I often went to had this bulletin board where we could put anything on it. 

Okay, cut to the chase: Shu wrote something and put it onto the board! For just a couple minutes, I took what he wrote and sat on a bench to read it. I’m normally not a good reader, so it might have taken a lot more time than it should have.

But with Shu... reading it seemed like a breeze. I didn’t have to ask annoying questions like I did in class. I felt like I empathized with him on the spot, or perhaps his mind connected with mine. Between him and I were lies and dishonesty and mistrust. I never knew how dishonest best friends could be.

Am I the optimistic Blader who understood others and remained positive? Definitely. Should I be upset that I didn’t know how terrible Shu felt the entire time? Ditto. 

Can I feel those two emotions at the same time? Well, duh.

I am Valt Aoi, the boy who never blamed and the boy who keeps his foot forwards. The boy who tries his best. Everyone thinks he is hardworking. Everyone thinks he is sweet and friendly. That’s what makes me Valt Aoi.

I’m not going to be sappy. I don’t have enough writing skills to make something that would make you bawl your eyes out. Unlike Shu, I don’t have enough hurt to put my sadness into well-rhythmed text. Maybe I was so happy, I couldn’t see what others went through.

Maybe it goes both ways, huh? I thought Shu had grown past his old, ambitious self. I thought he became the greatest Blader I knew I could put my belief in. And he — as well as everyone else — thought that I was the happy-go-lucky boy who always tries his best. People truly never see under others until it is too late, huh?

Maybe when I get over reading Shu’s writing, I would talk to him. I would offer him all that time I never gave after the tournament years ago, when I freed him from Spryzen. Give him a hug as well, maybe. I would offer him everything as an apology for not seeing his guilt and hurt.

I want you to be empathetic as well. That’s why I brought Shu’s writing back to the board. I was hoping someone would feel as bad as I did. Hoping that we could all learn.

I know this wasn’t as much, but it’s something. Maybe it’s not me being bad at writing — maybe it’s because emotions can’t be put into words well.

And now that you’re reading mine, you could see that underneath, I sometimes regret what my happy-go-lucky mentally made me overlook in life.

In short? I feel a little bit terrible for not noticing what was wrong with Shu. He’s my friend and I should’ve seen it beforehand. 

(May. 15, 2021  12:35 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 4: Valt Aoi

Spoiler (Click to View)

Funny thing: I would have never found myself writing for leisure and in my spare time. Not in a million years, I thought. Writing was something most people thought would never come naturally to me. 

And yeah, that's right. I was always the one behind at school. I was the energetic kid at Beigoma Academy and wasn't as studious as students like Shu. I couldn't even write 10 words before deciding that I want to be out in the open, breathing the air... out in the open where I was free! Don't count on me to sit in my spot for too long, haha. 

But why was I writing now? There were some reasons for that.

It started when I felt like I was at my prime. The world wanted to know me. Me! Valt Aoi, one of the the best Bladers in the world. I couldn't believe it — I was famous enough that people actually wanted to see my thoughts and get to know me. So there. With some new social media accounts, I quickly gathered a crowd. Quickly wanted to write. 

Well, uh, why are these posts called "tweets?" Funny thing to assume that only birds talk!

Okay, nevermind.

I never considered myself much of a writer. I never wrote more than 30 words in my posts... maybe that's an upgrade from my 10 words from years ago? Maybe I turned smarter! Haha! But still, I didn't think I would be a writer. Or at least, someone who actually cared to put down words for once.

My other reason for actually writing now? It was weird! Same reason Shu started to get into Beyblade: Because a friend did that.

And where did that come to? Me seeing Shu write something. Duh.

I assumed it was some business report or something else important. Maybe a document for his Raging Bulls thing in America — I shouldn't bother him when he's writing something important. He never has time for anything now, not even visiting his home country, so leaving him alone was best.

I was only briefly joking about that when Shu chuckled. He said he was just writing his thoughts. He said it was something small he thought of and wanted to use his time for it. I only smiled. He smiled back. 

Shu has great ideas! He's pretty much the best person I know. He is always using time wisely. ALWAYS.

So later that day, I did the same thing. I sat down and started writing like he did. I didn't know what in particular, really. All I knew was that I could recount why I started to write. It should be easy. It was in the same way how I remembered my Blading journey start-to-finish.

So I did. Now that led me to here. Hmm, I'm not a very good writer so I'm sorry to leave you hanging. I'll come back when I have more thoughts to put onto paper, bye!





Is this how you do it? Is there a rule for how many lines to skip to show that there's, uh, a time skip? I'm not too sure. 

I came back after awhile. Ijust wanted to say that I found something at the park. The park where I often went to had this bulletin board where we could put anything on it. 

Okay, cut to the chase: Shu wrote something and put it onto the board! For just a couple minutes, I took what he wrote and sat on a bench to read it. I’m normally not a good reader, so it might have taken a lot more time than it should have.

But with Shu... reading it seemed like a breeze. I didn’t have to ask annoying questions like I did in class. I felt like I empathized with him on the spot, or perhaps his mind connected with mine. Between him and I were lies and dishonesty and mistrust. I never knew how dishonest best friends could be.

Am I the optimistic Blader who understood others and remained positive? Definitely. Should I be upset that I didn’t know how terrible Shu felt the entire time? Ditto. 

Can I feel those two emotions at the same time? Well, duh.

I am Valt Aoi, the boy who never blamed and the boy who keeps his foot forwards. The boy who tries his best. Everyone thinks he is hardworking. Everyone thinks he is sweet and friendly. That’s what makes me Valt Aoi.

I’m not going to be sappy. I don’t have enough writing skills to make something that would make you bawl your eyes out. Unlike Shu, I don’t have enough hurt to put my sadness into well-rhythmed text. Maybe I was so happy, I couldn’t see what others went through.

Maybe it goes both ways, huh? I thought Shu had grown past his old, ambitious self. I thought he became the greatest Blader I knew I could put my belief in. And he — as well as everyone else — thought that I was the happy-go-lucky boy who always tries his best. People truly never see under others until it is too late, huh?

Maybe when I get over reading Shu’s writing, I would talk to him. I would offer him all that time I never gave after the tournament years ago, when I freed him from Spryzen. Give him a hug as well, maybe. I would offer him everything as an apology for not seeing his guilt and hurt.

I want you to be empathetic as well. That’s why I brought Shu’s writing back to the board. I was hoping someone would feel as bad as I did. Hoping that we could all learn.

I know this wasn’t as much, but it’s something. Maybe it’s not me being bad at writing — maybe it’s because emotions can’t be put into words well.

And now that you’re reading mine, you could see that underneath, I sometimes regret what my happy-go-lucky mentally made me overlook in life.

In short? I feel a little bit terrible for not noticing what was wrong with Shu. He’s my friend and I should’ve seen it beforehand. 

(May. 15, 2021  3:36 AM)PinkRose Wrote: [quote='XSabxManiacX' pid='1764412' dateline='1621035319']
Chapter 4: Valt Aoi

Spoiler (Click to View)

Funny thing: I would have never found myself writing for leisure and in my spare time. Not in a million years, I thought. Writing was something most people thought would never come naturally to me. 

And yeah, that's right. I was always the one behind at school. I was the energetic kid at Beigoma Academy and wasn't as studious as students like Shu. I couldn't even write 10 words before deciding that I want to be out in the open, breathing the air... out in the open where I was free! Don't count on me to sit in my spot for too long, haha. 

But why was I writing now? There were some reasons for that.

It started when I felt like I was at my prime. The world wanted to know me. Me! Valt Aoi, one of the the best Bladers in the world. I couldn't believe it — I was famous enough that people actually wanted to see my thoughts and get to know me. So there. With some new social media accounts, I quickly gathered a crowd. Quickly wanted to write. 

Well, uh, why are these posts called "tweets?" Funny thing to assume that only birds talk!

Okay, nevermind.

I never considered myself much of a writer. I never wrote more than 30 words in my posts... maybe that's an upgrade from my 10 words from years ago? Maybe I turned smarter! Haha! But still, I didn't think I would be a writer. Or at least, someone who actually cared to put down words for once.

My other reason for actually writing now? It was weird! Same reason Shu started to get into Beyblade: Because a friend did that.

And where did that come to? Me seeing Shu write something. Duh.

I assumed it was some business report or something else important. Maybe a document for his Raging Bulls thing in America — I shouldn't bother him when he's writing something important. He never has time for anything now, not even visiting his home country, so leaving him alone was best.

I was only briefly joking about that when Shu chuckled. He said he was just writing his thoughts. He said it was something small he thought of and wanted to use his time for it. I only smiled. He smiled back. 

Shu has great ideas! He's pretty much the best person I know. He is always using time wisely. ALWAYS.

So later that day, I did the same thing. I sat down and started writing like he did. I didn't know what in particular, really. All I knew was that I could recount why I started to write. It should be easy. It was in the same way how I remembered my Blading journey start-to-finish.

So I did. Now that led me to here. Hmm, I'm not a very good writer so I'm sorry to leave you hanging. I'll come back when I have more thoughts to put onto paper, bye!





Is this how you do it? Is there a rule for how many lines to skip to show that there's, uh, a time skip? I'm not too sure. 

I came back after awhile. Ijust wanted to say that I found something at the park. The park where I often went to had this bulletin board where we could put anything on it. 

Okay, cut to the chase: Shu wrote something and put it onto the board! For just a couple minutes, I took what he wrote and sat on a bench to read it. I’m normally not a good reader, so it might have taken a lot more time than it should have.

But with Shu... reading it seemed like a breeze. I didn’t have to ask annoying questions like I did in class. I felt like I empathized with him on the spot, or perhaps his mind connected with mine. Between him and I were lies and dishonesty and mistrust. I never knew how dishonest best friends could be.

Am I the optimistic Blader who understood others and remained positive? Definitely. Should I be upset that I didn’t know how terrible Shu felt the entire time? Ditto. 

Can I feel those two emotions at the same time? Well, duh.

I am Valt Aoi, the boy who never blamed and the boy who keeps his foot forwards. The boy who tries his best. Everyone thinks he is hardworking. Everyone thinks he is sweet and friendly. That’s what makes me Valt Aoi.

I’m not going to be sappy. I don’t have enough writing skills to make something that would make you bawl your eyes out. Unlike Shu, I don’t have enough hurt to put my sadness into well-rhythmed text. Maybe I was so happy, I couldn’t see what others went through.

Maybe it goes both ways, huh? I thought Shu had grown past his old, ambitious self. I thought he became the greatest Blader I knew I could put my belief in. And he — as well as everyone else — thought that I was the happy-go-lucky boy who always tries his best. People truly never see under others until it is too late, huh?

Maybe when I get over reading Shu’s writing, I would talk to him. I would offer him all that time I never gave after the tournament years ago, when I freed him from Spryzen. Give him a hug as well, maybe. I would offer him everything as an apology for not seeing his guilt and hurt.

I want you to be empathetic as well. That’s why I brought Shu’s writing back to the board. I was hoping someone would feel as bad as I did. Hoping that we could all learn.

I know this wasn’t as much, but it’s something. Maybe it’s not me being bad at writing — maybe it’s because emotions can’t be put into words well.

And now that you’re reading mine, you could see that underneath, I sometimes regret what my happy-go-lucky mentally made me overlook in life.

In short? I feel a little bit terrible for not noticing what was wrong with Shu. He’s my friend and I should’ve seen it beforehand. 

(May. 27, 2021  12:38 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 5: Gabe Brunai

Spoiler (Click to View)

Lui would never write something like this on his own. Bet you didn't expect that.

So, suppose someone else would be the one to do that for him. Only someone who understands him really well would do something like that. The Luínor Blader would not have allowed anyone else to — he hates simple acts of kindness and compassion such as this. But it happened anyway. 

Nothing too personal will come out of this, perhaps. And nothing too sad, perhaps. There's no use in ruining your day by going melodramatic about one of the greatest Bladers. Lui does not like getting sympathy. He is just like that.

Well, what would happen to the person writing this? Lui doesn't have the nerve to beat him up for this. He might act like a brat at times but he does not do that to someone he respects.

Maybe after he reads this, he might be impressed... he might stare at the writer, and then would note that this was accurate. That would be a great chuckle — someone really took the challenge of writing Lui's biography for him. Someone out there really knew him well enough.

So, what do you want to know about Lui? Something that won't come straight from his mouth? Something that makes him seem more human? Sort of. 

Enough teasing. 

He just happened to enter the lives of many people one day in class. There was no fanfare and nearly no one knew about him. Like an enigma, he appeared at one desk and stared outside the window. Upon closed inspection, he seemed to have a longing — or was it sad? — look in his eyes. Everyone entered the classroom and whispered amongst themselves. 

Lui did not acknowledge anyone. He continued to stare outside the window, as if something invisible caught his eye and no one else could tell what it was. 

His aloof demeanor only spurred more murmuring from the students. Some even feared having a seat next to him (to bad one of those said seats belonged to his future best friend), being afraid of how enigmatic he seemed.

The spell was broken when everyone settled down when class started. The teacher had also instructed Lui to come to the board. All over the class, eyes became focused — now it's time to see who this new student really was.

"My name is Lui Shirosagi," the blue-haired student introduced himself. His voice was quite chilling as well, like icicles snapping or the whispering of fog. The class only stared, most of them intrigued or slightly fearful of his stone-cold introduction. 

Everyone watched as he then wrote on the board — first, his name in Japanese, and then his name in what seemed to be English. After finishing up, the boy paused for a moment. Barely anyone noticed the brief, cold look in his eyes after he wrote in another language.

"I'm from overseas, particularly the Americas," Lui finally spoke up. "I came back to Japan and I am glad to be back." 

"Did you enjoy being overseas?" the teacher kindly asked him.

Lui blinked for a moment and paused again. Almost forcibly, he brought himself to say, "It was fine." So forced, it ended up sounding more flat than anything.

The teacher, for obvious reasons, sounded quite forcibly chipper in return. "I'm glad to hear that. I hope you enjoy your return." she smiled.

Normally, students would pay no mind to introductions. Because what for? Hearing someone state their name and brief facts about themselves? Usually it was just best to learn about someone on your own.

But with Lui... people started to whisper among themselves. They spoke about his odd and cold demeanor. They spoke about how different he was compared to the rest of the class. It seemed as if everyone had something to say about the new student, no less. And eventually the class started to feel as if he had a special flair to him — they felt as if he had a superior aura. Though, not too many people tried to befriend him, having been afraid that he might snap at them or something.

But the student who sat next to him did not see him like that. That student — his future best friend — knew that there was something hidden under Lui’s layers of ice. Something about Lui told him that the blue-haired boy must have come a long — and tough — way. Obviously, it made the student more open-minded about their new classmate.

“So, Lui,” the student greeted one day as he entered class. It was afterschool, and he remembered how Lui often liked to stay in class by then. Lui pulled his gaze away from the window without a word. “Thanks for watching me practice.” the student noted. It was rather unexpected for the new kid to watch him practice Blading, but he nevertheless appreciated it. Even if Lui had some pretty blunt things to say.

Lui’s harsh stare did not relent, though he was a little slow to say his usual response, as if he held himself back a little. “Whatever.” he turned back to gazing outside the window. The student looked down at his feet for a moment, before taking a seat at his desk. 

His focus remained on Lui nevertheless. It’s okay. Just say “thank you” and go. He’s not the type to talk. “Thank you. There’s not a lot of people at this school who like Beyblade.” he sighed out a bit.

“Beyblade isn’t for everyone,” Lui quickly responded without turning his head. The student perked up, for he did not expect the new student to respond. Lui had a habit of finishing a conversation too quickly, he noticed. “Some people just don’t bond well with their Beys.” 

The student did not have to crane his neck to observe Lui’s expression. The boy sounded a tad bit more sad when he finished up his response. Of course, that wasn’t his job to point it out.

“It happened to me,” Lui filled in the awkward gap when he noticed the student didn’t respond. He turned his head and body at last, finally bringing focus onto his neighboring student. “But I managed to do it.” he gave a smirk.

The student gave a small smile. “You did well, then. You must have played Beyblade for a long time, I suppose.” 

“Oh, I only started overseas.”

There it was again — the disdain at the mention of foreign lands. Lui’s voice was just as distasteful as when he introduced himself. 

The student looked away a little, as to not offend Lui or seem confrontational. “Did you not like being away from Japan?” 

Lui scoffed. “It’s fine. It’s pretty harsh and not as good as I wanted to be, but that is alright.” 

“Did you get bullied or something? Did people — were you not a good Blader...?”

The student had to refrain from choking himself. That was entirely wrong.

Obviously, that was a rather rude question. Pretty rude towards a student he did not know well and might have sparked his trauma (?) again. Or was completely false from what happened in reality. The student mentally facepalmed himself and hoped for the best.

Lui narrowed his eyes, but not in anger. Instead, his head tilted downwards a little so he could stare at the ground. “Bullied? Ha.” he gave a shaky laugh. “That’s not what I want to call it. Someone like me wouldn’t get made fun of like that. It would be... hard to do something like that.” 

That’s not what your expression says, The student mused sadly. “I’m sorry for asking, then.” 

“Whatever,” Lui turned his body back towards the window. And the conversation apparently ended. 

The student sat in his seat rather awkwardly, unsure of what to do now. He had a mistake of not bringing in his school books to at least study. He only had his Beyblade in his pocket, an object that would build their friendship in the future. So, he and Lui were going to have to share the silence together. Perhaps until Lui was summoned home or wait until the end of the day, when the teacher would return to shoo them out of class.

And even for a conversation that short, the student felt like he knew a lot about Lui afterwards. 

One: Lui hates questions. 

Two: Lui likes Beyblade too.

Three: Whatever is up with Lui stays within Lui. No getting into his business, whatever it may be.

From then, only that student knew how vulnerable and sad Lui was. No one else did, because that was none of their business. No one else could really get close to him, lest they want to unleash his inner dragon or something. The student did not really understand or receive Lui’s entire life story, but he got all he needed from that conversation to understand him. That was enough.

So, it was the both of them against every Blader and the people of the world. 

As long as they understood each other, nothing else mattered.

(May. 27, 2021  5:04 PM)tenma Wrote:

(May. 27, 2021  12:38 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 5: Gabe Brunai

Spoiler (Click to View)

Lui would never write something like this on his own. Bet you didn't expect that.

So, suppose someone else would be the one to do that for him. Only someone who understands him really well would do something like that. The Luínor Blader would not have allowed anyone else to — he hates simple acts of kindness and compassion such as this. But it happened anyway. 

Nothing too personal will come out of this, perhaps. And nothing too sad, perhaps. There's no use in ruining your day by going melodramatic about one of the greatest Bladers. Lui does not like getting sympathy. He is just like that.

Well, what would happen to the person writing this? Lui doesn't have the nerve to beat him up for this. He might act like a brat at times but he does not do that to someone he respects.

Maybe after he reads this, he might be impressed... he might stare at the writer, and then would note that this was accurate. That would be a great chuckle — someone really took the challenge of writing Lui's biography for him. Someone out there really knew him well enough.

So, what do you want to know about Lui? Something that won't come straight from his mouth? Something that makes him seem more human? Sort of. 

Enough teasing. 

He just happened to enter the lives of many people one day in class. There was no fanfare and nearly no one knew about him. Like an enigma, he appeared at one desk and stared outside the window. Upon closed inspection, he seemed to have a longing — or was it sad? — look in his eyes. Everyone entered the classroom and whispered amongst themselves. 

Lui did not acknowledge anyone. He continued to stare outside the window, as if something invisible caught his eye and no one else could tell what it was. 

His aloof demeanor only spurred more murmuring from the students. Some even feared having a seat next to him (to bad one of those said seats belonged to his future best friend), being afraid of how enigmatic he seemed.

The spell was broken when everyone settled down when class started. The teacher had also instructed Lui to come to the board. All over the class, eyes became focused — now it's time to see who this new student really was.

"My name is Lui Shirosagi," the blue-haired student introduced himself. His voice was quite chilling as well, like icicles snapping or the whispering of fog. The class only stared, most of them intrigued or slightly fearful of his stone-cold introduction. 

Everyone watched as he then wrote on the board — first, his name in Japanese, and then his name in what seemed to be English. After finishing up, the boy paused for a moment. Barely anyone noticed the brief, cold look in his eyes after he wrote in another language.

"I'm from overseas, particularly the Americas," Lui finally spoke up. "I came back to Japan and I am glad to be back." 

"Did you enjoy being overseas?" the teacher kindly asked him.

Lui blinked for a moment and paused again. Almost forcibly, he brought himself to say, "It was fine." So forced, it ended up sounding more flat than anything.

The teacher, for obvious reasons, sounded quite forcibly chipper in return. "I'm glad to hear that. I hope you enjoy your return." she smiled.

Normally, students would pay no mind to introductions. Because what for? Hearing someone state their name and brief facts about themselves? Usually it was just best to learn about someone on your own.

But with Lui... people started to whisper among themselves. They spoke about his odd and cold demeanor. They spoke about how different he was compared to the rest of the class. It seemed as if everyone had something to say about the new student, no less. And eventually the class started to feel as if he had a special flair to him — they felt as if he had a superior aura. Though, not too many people tried to befriend him, having been afraid that he might snap at them or something.

But the student who sat next to him did not see him like that. That student — his future best friend — knew that there was something hidden under Lui’s layers of ice. Something about Lui told him that the blue-haired boy must have come a long — and tough — way. Obviously, it made the student more open-minded about their new classmate.

“So, Lui,” the student greeted one day as he entered class. It was afterschool, and he remembered how Lui often liked to stay in class by then. Lui pulled his gaze away from the window without a word. “Thanks for watching me practice.” the student noted. It was rather unexpected for the new kid to watch him practice Blading, but he nevertheless appreciated it. Even if Lui had some pretty blunt things to say.

Lui’s harsh stare did not relent, though he was a little slow to say his usual response, as if he held himself back a little. “Whatever.” he turned back to gazing outside the window. The student looked down at his feet for a moment, before taking a seat at his desk. 

His focus remained on Lui nevertheless. It’s okay. Just say “thank you” and go. He’s not the type to talk. “Thank you. There’s not a lot of people at this school who like Beyblade.” he sighed out a bit.

“Beyblade isn’t for everyone,” Lui quickly responded without turning his head. The student perked up, for he did not expect the new student to respond. Lui had a habit of finishing a conversation too quickly, he noticed. “Some people just don’t bond well with their Beys.” 

The student did not have to crane his neck to observe Lui’s expression. The boy sounded a tad bit more sad when he finished up his response. Of course, that wasn’t his job to point it out.

“It happened to me,” Lui filled in the awkward gap when he noticed the student didn’t respond. He turned his head and body at last, finally bringing focus onto his neighboring student. “But I managed to do it.” he gave a smirk.

The student gave a small smile. “You did well, then. You must have played Beyblade for a long time, I suppose.” 

“Oh, I only started overseas.”

There it was again — the disdain at the mention of foreign lands. Lui’s voice was just as distasteful as when he introduced himself. 

The student looked away a little, as to not offend Lui or seem confrontational. “Did you not like being away from Japan?” 

Lui scoffed. “It’s fine. It’s pretty harsh and not as good as I wanted to be, but that is alright.” 

“Did you get bullied or something? Did people — were you not a good Blader...?”

The student had to refrain from choking himself. That was entirely wrong.

Obviously, that was a rather rude question. Pretty rude towards a student he did not know well and might have sparked his trauma (?) again. Or was completely false from what happened in reality. The student mentally facepalmed himself and hoped for the best.

Lui narrowed his eyes, but not in anger. Instead, his head tilted downwards a little so he could stare at the ground. “Bullied? Ha.” he gave a shaky laugh. “That’s not what I want to call it. Someone like me wouldn’t get made fun of like that. It would be... hard to do something like that.” 

That’s not what your expression says, The student mused sadly. “I’m sorry for asking, then.” 

“Whatever,” Lui turned his body back towards the window. And the conversation apparently ended. 

The student sat in his seat rather awkwardly, unsure of what to do now. He had a mistake of not bringing in his school books to at least study. He only had his Beyblade in his pocket, an object that would build their friendship in the future. So, he and Lui were going to have to share the silence together. Perhaps until Lui was summoned home or wait until the end of the day, when the teacher would return to shoo them out of class.

And even for a conversation that short, the student felt like he knew a lot about Lui afterwards. 

One: Lui hates questions. 

Two: Lui likes Beyblade too.

Three: Whatever is up with Lui stays within Lui. No getting into his business, whatever it may be.

From then, only that student knew how vulnerable and sad Lui was. No one else did, because that was none of their business. No one else could really get close to him, lest they want to unleash his inner dragon or something. The student did not really understand or receive Lui’s entire life story, but he got all he needed from that conversation to understand him. That was enough.

So, it was the both of them against every Blader and the people of the world. 

As long as they understood each other, nothing else mattered.

Yoo this platonic GouLui or smth?? 😳😳 /hj

(May. 27, 2021  12:38 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 5: Gabe Brunai

Spoiler (Click to View)

Lui would never write something like this on his own. Bet you didn't expect that.

So, suppose someone else would be the one to do that for him. Only someone who understands him really well would do something like that. The Luínor Blader would not have allowed anyone else to — he hates simple acts of kindness and compassion such as this. But it happened anyway. 

Nothing too personal will come out of this, perhaps. And nothing too sad, perhaps. There's no use in ruining your day by going melodramatic about one of the greatest Bladers. Lui does not like getting sympathy. He is just like that.

Well, what would happen to the person writing this? Lui doesn't have the nerve to beat him up for this. He might act like a brat at times but he does not do that to someone he respects.

Maybe after he reads this, he might be impressed... he might stare at the writer, and then would note that this was accurate. That would be a great chuckle — someone really took the challenge of writing Lui's biography for him. Someone out there really knew him well enough.

So, what do you want to know about Lui? Something that won't come straight from his mouth? Something that makes him seem more human? Sort of. 

Enough teasing. 

He just happened to enter the lives of many people one day in class. There was no fanfare and nearly no one knew about him. Like an enigma, he appeared at one desk and stared outside the window. Upon closed inspection, he seemed to have a longing — or was it sad? — look in his eyes. Everyone entered the classroom and whispered amongst themselves. 

Lui did not acknowledge anyone. He continued to stare outside the window, as if something invisible caught his eye and no one else could tell what it was. 

His aloof demeanor only spurred more murmuring from the students. Some even feared having a seat next to him (to bad one of those said seats belonged to his future best friend), being afraid of how enigmatic he seemed.

The spell was broken when everyone settled down when class started. The teacher had also instructed Lui to come to the board. All over the class, eyes became focused — now it's time to see who this new student really was.

"My name is Lui Shirosagi," the blue-haired student introduced himself. His voice was quite chilling as well, like icicles snapping or the whispering of fog. The class only stared, most of them intrigued or slightly fearful of his stone-cold introduction. 

Everyone watched as he then wrote on the board — first, his name in Japanese, and then his name in what seemed to be English. After finishing up, the boy paused for a moment. Barely anyone noticed the brief, cold look in his eyes after he wrote in another language.

"I'm from overseas, particularly the Americas," Lui finally spoke up. "I came back to Japan and I am glad to be back." 

"Did you enjoy being overseas?" the teacher kindly asked him.

Lui blinked for a moment and paused again. Almost forcibly, he brought himself to say, "It was fine." So forced, it ended up sounding more flat than anything.

The teacher, for obvious reasons, sounded quite forcibly chipper in return. "I'm glad to hear that. I hope you enjoy your return." she smiled.

Normally, students would pay no mind to introductions. Because what for? Hearing someone state their name and brief facts about themselves? Usually it was just best to learn about someone on your own.

But with Lui... people started to whisper among themselves. They spoke about his odd and cold demeanor. They spoke about how different he was compared to the rest of the class. It seemed as if everyone had something to say about the new student, no less. And eventually the class started to feel as if he had a special flair to him — they felt as if he had a superior aura. Though, not too many people tried to befriend him, having been afraid that he might snap at them or something.

But the student who sat next to him did not see him like that. That student — his future best friend — knew that there was something hidden under Lui’s layers of ice. Something about Lui told him that the blue-haired boy must have come a long — and tough — way. Obviously, it made the student more open-minded about their new classmate.

“So, Lui,” the student greeted one day as he entered class. It was afterschool, and he remembered how Lui often liked to stay in class by then. Lui pulled his gaze away from the window without a word. “Thanks for watching me practice.” the student noted. It was rather unexpected for the new kid to watch him practice Blading, but he nevertheless appreciated it. Even if Lui had some pretty blunt things to say.

Lui’s harsh stare did not relent, though he was a little slow to say his usual response, as if he held himself back a little. “Whatever.” he turned back to gazing outside the window. The student looked down at his feet for a moment, before taking a seat at his desk. 

His focus remained on Lui nevertheless. It’s okay. Just say “thank you” and go. He’s not the type to talk. “Thank you. There’s not a lot of people at this school who like Beyblade.” he sighed out a bit.

“Beyblade isn’t for everyone,” Lui quickly responded without turning his head. The student perked up, for he did not expect the new student to respond. Lui had a habit of finishing a conversation too quickly, he noticed. “Some people just don’t bond well with their Beys.” 

The student did not have to crane his neck to observe Lui’s expression. The boy sounded a tad bit more sad when he finished up his response. Of course, that wasn’t his job to point it out.

“It happened to me,” Lui filled in the awkward gap when he noticed the student didn’t respond. He turned his head and body at last, finally bringing focus onto his neighboring student. “But I managed to do it.” he gave a smirk.

The student gave a small smile. “You did well, then. You must have played Beyblade for a long time, I suppose.” 

“Oh, I only started overseas.”

There it was again — the disdain at the mention of foreign lands. Lui’s voice was just as distasteful as when he introduced himself. 

The student looked away a little, as to not offend Lui or seem confrontational. “Did you not like being away from Japan?” 

Lui scoffed. “It’s fine. It’s pretty harsh and not as good as I wanted to be, but that is alright.” 

“Did you get bullied or something? Did people — were you not a good Blader...?”

The student had to refrain from choking himself. That was entirely wrong.

Obviously, that was a rather rude question. Pretty rude towards a student he did not know well and might have sparked his trauma (?) again. Or was completely false from what happened in reality. The student mentally facepalmed himself and hoped for the best.

Lui narrowed his eyes, but not in anger. Instead, his head tilted downwards a little so he could stare at the ground. “Bullied? Ha.” he gave a shaky laugh. “That’s not what I want to call it. Someone like me wouldn’t get made fun of like that. It would be... hard to do something like that.” 

That’s not what your expression says, The student mused sadly. “I’m sorry for asking, then.” 

“Whatever,” Lui turned his body back towards the window. And the conversation apparently ended. 

The student sat in his seat rather awkwardly, unsure of what to do now. He had a mistake of not bringing in his school books to at least study. He only had his Beyblade in his pocket, an object that would build their friendship in the future. So, he and Lui were going to have to share the silence together. Perhaps until Lui was summoned home or wait until the end of the day, when the teacher would return to shoo them out of class.

And even for a conversation that short, the student felt like he knew a lot about Lui afterwards. 

One: Lui hates questions. 

Two: Lui likes Beyblade too.

Three: Whatever is up with Lui stays within Lui. No getting into his business, whatever it may be.

From then, only that student knew how vulnerable and sad Lui was. No one else did, because that was none of their business. No one else could really get close to him, lest they want to unleash his inner dragon or something. The student did not really understand or receive Lui’s entire life story, but he got all he needed from that conversation to understand him. That was enough.

So, it was the both of them against every Blader and the people of the world. 

As long as they understood each other, nothing else mattered.

(May. 27, 2021  6:42 PM)MasterofDerp Wrote:

(May. 27, 2021  12:38 AM)XSabxManiacX Wrote: Chapter 5: Gabe Brunai

Spoiler (Click to View)

Lui would never write something like this on his own. Bet you didn't expect that.

So, suppose someone else would be the one to do that for him. Only someone who understands him really well would do something like that. The Luínor Blader would not have allowed anyone else to — he hates simple acts of kindness and compassion such as this. But it happened anyway. 

Nothing too personal will come out of this, perhaps. And nothing too sad, perhaps. There's no use in ruining your day by going melodramatic about one of the greatest Bladers. Lui does not like getting sympathy. He is just like that.

Well, what would happen to the person writing this? Lui doesn't have the nerve to beat him up for this. He might act like a brat at times but he does not do that to someone he respects.

Maybe after he reads this, he might be impressed... he might stare at the writer, and then would note that this was accurate. That would be a great chuckle — someone really took the challenge of writing Lui's biography for him. Someone out there really knew him well enough.

So, what do you want to know about Lui? Something that won't come straight from his mouth? Something that makes him seem more human? Sort of. 

Enough teasing. 

He just happened to enter the lives of many people one day in class. There was no fanfare and nearly no one knew about him. Like an enigma, he appeared at one desk and stared outside the window. Upon closed inspection, he seemed to have a longing — or was it sad? — look in his eyes. Everyone entered the classroom and whispered amongst themselves. 

Lui did not acknowledge anyone. He continued to stare outside the window, as if something invisible caught his eye and no one else could tell what it was. 

His aloof demeanor only spurred more murmuring from the students. Some even feared having a seat next to him (to bad one of those said seats belonged to his future best friend), being afraid of how enigmatic he seemed.

The spell was broken when everyone settled down when class started. The teacher had also instructed Lui to come to the board. All over the class, eyes became focused — now it's time to see who this new student really was.

"My name is Lui Shirosagi," the blue-haired student introduced himself. His voice was quite chilling as well, like icicles snapping or the whispering of fog. The class only stared, most of them intrigued or slightly fearful of his stone-cold introduction. 

Everyone watched as he then wrote on the board — first, his name in Japanese, and then his name in what seemed to be English. After finishing up, the boy paused for a moment. Barely anyone noticed the brief, cold look in his eyes after he wrote in another language.

"I'm from overseas, particularly the Americas," Lui finally spoke up. "I came back to Japan and I am glad to be back." 

"Did you enjoy being overseas?" the teacher kindly asked him.

Lui blinked for a moment and paused again. Almost forcibly, he brought himself to say, "It was fine." So forced, it ended up sounding more flat than anything.

The teacher, for obvious reasons, sounded quite forcibly chipper in return. "I'm glad to hear that. I hope you enjoy your return." she smiled.

Normally, students would pay no mind to introductions. Because what for? Hearing someone state their name and brief facts about themselves? Usually it was just best to learn about someone on your own.

But with Lui... people started to whisper among themselves. They spoke about his odd and cold demeanor. They spoke about how different he was compared to the rest of the class. It seemed as if everyone had something to say about the new student, no less. And eventually the class started to feel as if he had a special flair to him — they felt as if he had a superior aura. Though, not too many people tried to befriend him, having been afraid that he might snap at them or something.

But the student who sat next to him did not see him like that. That student — his future best friend — knew that there was something hidden under Lui’s layers of ice. Something about Lui told him that the blue-haired boy must have come a long — and tough — way. Obviously, it made the student more open-minded about their new classmate.

“So, Lui,” the student greeted one day as he entered class. It was afterschool, and he remembered how Lui often liked to stay in class by then. Lui pulled his gaze away from the window without a word. “Thanks for watching me practice.” the student noted. It was rather unexpected for the new kid to watch him practice Blading, but he nevertheless appreciated it. Even if Lui had some pretty blunt things to say.

Lui’s harsh stare did not relent, though he was a little slow to say his usual response, as if he held himself back a little. “Whatever.” he turned back to gazing outside the window. The student looked down at his feet for a moment, before taking a seat at his desk. 

His focus remained on Lui nevertheless. It’s okay. Just say “thank you” and go. He’s not the type to talk. “Thank you. There’s not a lot of people at this school who like Beyblade.” he sighed out a bit.

“Beyblade isn’t for everyone,” Lui quickly responded without turning his head. The student perked up, for he did not expect the new student to respond. Lui had a habit of finishing a conversation too quickly, he noticed. “Some people just don’t bond well with their Beys.” 

The student did not have to crane his neck to observe Lui’s expression. The boy sounded a tad bit more sad when he finished up his response. Of course, that wasn’t his job to point it out.

“It happened to me,” Lui filled in the awkward gap when he noticed the student didn’t respond. He turned his head and body at last, finally bringing focus onto his neighboring student. “But I managed to do it.” he gave a smirk.

The student gave a small smile. “You did well, then. You must have played Beyblade for a long time, I suppose.” 

“Oh, I only started overseas.”

There it was again — the disdain at the mention of foreign lands. Lui’s voice was just as distasteful as when he introduced himself. 

The student looked away a little, as to not offend Lui or seem confrontational. “Did you not like being away from Japan?” 

Lui scoffed. “It’s fine. It’s pretty harsh and not as good as I wanted to be, but that is alright.” 

“Did you get bullied or something? Did people — were you not a good Blader...?”

The student had to refrain from choking himself. That was entirely wrong.

Obviously, that was a rather rude question. Pretty rude towards a student he did not know well and might have sparked his trauma (?) again. Or was completely false from what happened in reality. The student mentally facepalmed himself and hoped for the best.

Lui narrowed his eyes, but not in anger. Instead, his head tilted downwards a little so he could stare at the ground. “Bullied? Ha.” he gave a shaky laugh. “That’s not what I want to call it. Someone like me wouldn’t get made fun of like that. It would be... hard to do something like that.” 

That’s not what your expression says, The student mused sadly. “I’m sorry for asking, then.” 

“Whatever,” Lui turned his body back towards the window. And the conversation apparently ended. 

The student sat in his seat rather awkwardly, unsure of what to do now. He had a mistake of not bringing in his school books to at least study. He only had his Beyblade in his pocket, an object that would build their friendship in the future. So, he and Lui were going to have to share the silence together. Perhaps until Lui was summoned home or wait until the end of the day, when the teacher would return to shoo them out of class.

And even for a conversation that short, the student felt like he knew a lot about Lui afterwards. 

One: Lui hates questions. 

Two: Lui likes Beyblade too.

Three: Whatever is up with Lui stays within Lui. No getting into his business, whatever it may be.

From then, only that student knew how vulnerable and sad Lui was. No one else did, because that was none of their business. No one else could really get close to him, lest they want to unleash his inner dragon or something. The student did not really understand or receive Lui’s entire life story, but he got all he needed from that conversation to understand him. That was enough.

So, it was the both of them against every Blader and the people of the world. 

As long as they understood each other, nothing else mattered.

This is awesome. By chance can I request a Hearts story?

(May. 27, 2021  5:56 PM)XSabxManiacX Wrote:

(May. 27, 2021  5:04 PM)tenma Wrote: Yoo this platonic GouLui or smth?? 😳😳 /hj

Why, yes

Spoiler (Click to View)

But Ill be fair: Im not against people shipping them, though. Im not a huge shipper nowadays so at most, I think theyre just Best Friends for Life™️