Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shu sat quietly in the dimly lit office, the hum of the city outside barely penetrating the thick glass window. His hands rested on the desk, fingers intertwined, but his mind was elsewhere.

The knock on the door had been soft but deliberate, and when the visitor entered, Shu didn’t flinch. He had expected this day might come, but nothing had prepared him for the cold certainty in the stranger’s eyes.

The man was tall, wearing a dark jacket zipped up to his neck, his face shadowed beneath a low cap. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You know why I’m here,” he said, voice low and steady.

Shu nodded slowly. “You have something you want from me.”

“More than something.” The visitor stepped forward and placed a small device on the desk. “This.” He tapped it, and a holographic screen flickered to life, displaying files and images—medical records, scanned documents, and photographs. Shu’s breath caught. Missing organs, notes about pills, clinical reports from the Requiem Project. The past he had buried so deep was suddenly glaring at him in cold, unforgiving light.

“I don’t want to expose you,” the visitor continued. “Not yet. But if you refuse to cooperate, if you don’t join the experiment we have planned, this data gets out. To the public. To your friends. To the world.”

Shu’s eyes narrowed, the weight of the threat pressing down on him. His mind raced, the memories clawing their way up from the darkness he’d kept locked away for so long—the sterile hospital rooms, the endless tests, the pills that had numbed his pain but never erased it. The surgeries. The part of him that was gone. The price he had paid.

He clenched his fists under the desk. “What do you want me to do?”

The visitor’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Simple. Take part in the next phase. Your skills, your body—they’re valuable. We want to push you further. Stronger. Faster. But it’s risky. And you’ll owe us.”

Shu’s throat tightened. He thought of Valt, the team, the Raging Bulls counting on him. If this got out, it wouldn’t just be his secret. It would destroy everything. His silence was fragile enough; this could shatter it.

“I’ll think about it,” Shu said quietly, though inside, his decision was already forming.

The visitor nodded, pocketed the device, and turned to leave. Before he reached the door, Shu’s voice stopped him. “If you do this, if you come back…” He hesitated. “Don’t let my friends find out. Especially not Valt.”

The visitor paused, then smiled coldly. “Of course.”

When the door closed behind him, Shu sank into his chair, the silence wrapping around him like a shroud. He pulled his jacket tighter and stared at the dark city beyond the window, his heart pounding. The past had returned, and this time, it wasn’t going anywhere.

Hours later, Shu lay awake, memories flooding him without mercy—the pills lined up on the bedside table, the pain that never truly left, the faces of those who had watched over him during the experiments. He couldn’t afford to show weakness. He had to find a way out. But first, he had to play their game.

The next morning, Shu moved with measured steps, but inside, his mind churned like a storm. Every corner of his apartment reminded him of the life he wanted to protect. Photos of the Raging Bulls’ victories, messages from Valt, the familiar weight of his Beyblade at his side — all contrasted sharply with the darkness creeping into his life.

He pulled out his phone and stared at Valt’s last message: “Ready for the next tournament? Let’s show them what we’re made of, Shu!”

A pang of guilt hit him. How could he let his friends carry on unaware while his world teetered on the edge?

His gaze drifted back to the visitor’s device, now hidden deep inside his desk drawer. The data was a weapon aimed straight at his heart. Every image was a reminder of what they wanted to erase, to control.

Shu tried to focus on normalcy. Training sessions, meetings with the team, managing schedules — all tasks he threw himself into, but his mind slipped constantly back to the threat looming over him. He remembered the sterile white rooms, the cold metal tables, the dull ache after each procedure. The pills they made him swallow, promising strength but delivering pain.

In quiet moments, he touched the scar beneath his jacket, tracing the faint line with his fingertips. That scar was a secret he guarded fiercely. It was a map of his suffering and survival.

Days passed. Shu avoided mentioning the visitor, brushing off questions with practiced ease. But each night, sleep came with shadows—flashbacks more vivid than before. He saw the faces of scientists, heard the cold voices discussing test results, saw himself lying helpless, a subject in a machine.

One night, after a restless sleep, Shu found himself reaching for the small bottle of pills he’d hidden away, the ones that had once helped dull the relentless pain. His fingers trembled as he held them. They were a bitter reminder of his past—necessary, dangerous, and shameful.

He shook his head, pushing them aside. This time, he needed a clear mind.

The visitor’s words echoed in his head: “Stronger. Faster. Risky.” Shu realized this wasn’t just about power. It was control.

If he gave in, would he lose himself? Would he become a pawn in their twisted game? Or could he find a way to fight back, to protect the people he cared about and himself?

Chapter Text

That night, Shu made a plan. He would agree to their demands, but only on the surface. He would play their game, buy time, and gather proof. He would find a way to end this on his terms.

The decision felt like stepping off a cliff, but he steeled himself. The Raging Bulls, Valt, his friends, and his own dignity depended on it.

As he looked out the window at the city lights, the storm inside him settled into cold determination.

The next day, Shu woke to the harsh glare of the morning sun slicing through the thin curtains of his apartment. The light wasn't warm or inviting; it felt invasive, like the truth he'd been trying to suppress was finally breaking through the cracks of his carefully constructed facade. It only reminded him of the impossible choice he'd made the night before.

To pretend. To agree. To lie.

His body ached more than usual, the phantom pain beneath his skin a constant reminder of what the Requiem Project had taken from him—and what he was still fighting to keep hidden.

He lay still for a moment, staring at the cracked ceiling, feeling the weight of the visitor's words sinking deep into his bones.

"If you refuse to cooperate, your secret gets leaked. To the public. To the world. To your friends."

Those words echoed relentlessly in his mind, twisting into something sharper and colder each time.

But Shu wasn't naive. He knew that once something like this was out in the open, it wouldn't just be his secret. It would tear through everything he cared about—the Raging Bulls, the friendships he'd built, the life he'd fought so hard to protect. The thought made his throat tighten, and for a moment, the loneliness he'd been bottling up nearly crushed him.

No one knew. No one could ever know.

He pushed the dark thoughts aside and swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the floor. Today wasn't the day to crumble. Today, he had to think clearly, plan carefully, and most of all, keep moving.

The apartment was quiet, too quiet for Shu's restless mind. He made his way to the small kitchen, mechanically preparing black coffee, his hands steady despite the storm inside. The steam curled up, filling the air with a faint bitterness that matched his mood.

He pulled out his phone and stared at it for a long time, fingers hovering above the screen. Messages were waiting: plans for upcoming training, words of encouragement, casual check-ins. None of them knew what was coming for him. None of them had any idea of the shadows gathering just beyond their horizon.

Shu swallowed hard and locked the phone. He wasn't ready to respond. Not yet.

In the days that followed, Shu began quietly gathering information. Using contacts he'd made over the years in the Beyblade world and beyond, he tried to uncover the Snake Pit's operations. The organization was rooted in Mexico, known for their illegal experiments and dark dealings in organ trafficking. A shadow network of cruelty and power.

He sifted through old news reports, whispered rumors, and anything that could be used as leverage.

He knew the Snake Pit was dangerous, but he had no other choice. The threat wasn't just about him—it was about stopping them from hurting anyone else.

One evening, as Shu dug through a digital dossier about recent arrests linked to the Snake Pit, he paused on a name: Theodore. Once the feared leader of the Snake Pit, now behind bars. But Theodore's arrest didn't mean the organization was gone—it meant someone else had stepped into the void.

And that someone was watching Shu.

Finally, after nights of restless plotting, Shu made a decision. He would go to Mexico himself. He had to confront the Snake Pit directly, find solid proof of their crimes, and bring them down before they could harm him—or anyone else again.

He packed lightly, taking only essentials and the encrypted data he'd managed to collect.

Before leaving, he sent a brief message to the Raging Bulls group chat, and to Valt: "Taking some time off. Will explain when I get back."

No one replied immediately, and Shu felt the bitter sting of distance. Valt was caught up with his own battles and training, far away from the mess Shu was stepping into.

That distance was both a blessing and a curse. No one could reach him here, but no one could stand beside him either.

This journey wasn't just a flight across countries. It was a flight into the darkest parts of his past.

He didn't know what awaited him on the other side. But he knew one thing for sure: he couldn't run anymore.

He had to fight.

 

The plane touched down on a small airstrip carved into the jungle's edge, its wheels kicking up a thin cloud of red dust. Shu stepped off into the thick, humid air of southern Mexico, far from the bright stadiums and familiar faces of the Raging Bulls. His destination was buried deeper—hidden where the sun barely reached and danger thrived in silence.

A battered pickup waited, its driver—a wiry man with sharp, cautious eyes—did not speak but motioned silently for Shu to get in. The air inside was stale, tinged with the scent of sweat and old leather. Shu adjusted the strap of his backpack and settled in, his heart tightening with a mix of dread and resolve.

The pickup jolted onto a rough dirt road, weaving between colossal trees whose twisting branches interlocked overhead to form a near-impenetrable canopy. The jungle's thick breath pressed against the windows, thick with the scents of damp earth, moss, and wild growth. Cicadas droned relentlessly, and unseen creatures rustled in the shadows.

Every bump and jolt rattled through Shu's bones, stirring memories he had tried desperately to suppress.

His hands clenched into fists as the pickup rumbled onward.

After nearly two hours, the road ended abruptly at the edge of a narrow footpath disappearing into the jungle's impenetrable heart. The driver turned without a word, leaving Shu with a small pack of supplies and a silent warning in his eyes.

"From here on, it's your fight."

Shu nodded, steeling himself, and plunged into the jungle.

The first steps were brutal. The ground was uneven and slick with moss; vines reached out like grasping hands to snag at his clothes and trip his feet. The air was thick and hot, heavy with the scent of wet leaves and decay. Sweat poured down his face and back as the thick jungle swallowed him whole.

Birdcalls echoed in the distance, but Shu heard something else beneath it—the faint murmur of human voices, the quiet scuff of boots on dirt. His pulse quickened. The Snake Pit wasn't far.

The trail twisted endlessly, roots snagging his boots, branches scratching at his skin. Occasionally, a flash of movement would catch his eye—an animal, or a guard watching from the shadows. Every sense was on edge, every nerve alive with tension.

The oppressive heat mixed with the cold dread in his gut.

Hours passed. The sun sank lower, filtered to a dim green twilight through the dense canopy. Finally, the path opened into a clearing.

At the center, half-hidden beneath creeping vines and camouflage netting, stood the Snake Pit.

The air was thick with the stench of chemicals, disinfectants mixed with rot and something darker—fear.

Shu approached cautiously, hugging the shadows, slipping through a gap. Inside, the compound was a hellish maze of concrete and rust, wires hanging loose, pipes dripping unknown fluids. The faint hum of machines and distant voices drifted through the air.

He kept to the edges, eyes scanning for any sign of the horrors he knew awaited.

Shu moved, skirting the perimeter, avoiding patrols and spotlights.

Inside the main office, he found files—blueprints, shipping manifests, medical records, carefully hidden.

He photographed every page, hands shaking but determined.

His phone vibrated—a call from a friend of his.

Valt.

Shu stared at the screen, thumb hovering. Not yet.

Some battles must be fought alone.

The night wrapped around Shu like a shroud as he moved quietly through the Snake Pit's grounds. The place thrummed with raw energy—everywhere, the sounds of blades clashing rang out sharply through the humid night air. Fierce bladers pushed themselves to their limits here, shouting challenges and encouragement as they fought to become stronger, faster, better. This wasn't some abandoned den of criminals—it was a battleground where the desperate and the dangerous tested their wills.

But Shu wasn't here to join the battles. His mission was more delicate—and infinitely more dangerous.

Every footstep he took was measured and quiet, careful not to draw attention. Sweat dripped down his back beneath the weight of his pack, but he forced himself onward. He couldn't let the ghosts of his past win. Not now.

A sharp crack of a Beyblade echoed nearby, followed by grunts and shouted orders. Shu slipped closer to a low tent where he'd been told the Snake Pit's current leaders kept records—files and audio evidence, proof of everything he needed.

The man who'd taken Theodore's place was even worse—crueler, more calculating, obsessed with profit and power, with no regard for humanity.

Keeping low, Shu plugged his phone into an old tablet rigged with recording software. His hands moved quickly, downloading encrypted files and snapping pictures of lists—organs for sale, schedules for "experiments," and names he recognized from whispered rumors.

Nearby, the low murmur of voices became clearer.

He held his breath, turning on his phone's microphone to capture everything.

Two men spoke just beyond the tent flap.

"We need fresh stock for the next auction," one said, voice low but rough with impatience. "The buyer wants premium organs. Kurenai's body is the centerpiece. We need them as soon as possible."

The other chuckled darkly. "The Requiem Project paid off better than anyone expected. His enhancements fetch a fortune."

Shu's stomach churned. The words stabbed him like knives.

He tightened his grip on his phone, fingers trembling despite his efforts to stay calm.

A sudden noise—a twig snapping beneath a boot—made Shu freeze. The bladers training nearby had stopped, sensing the intrusion. He pressed himself flat behind a stack of crates, heart hammering. When the footsteps passed, Shu dared to move again.

He gathered as much as he could—more recordings, photographs of rusted cages filled with broken equipment and personal belongings, proof of the suffering the Snake Pit inflicted and stuffed them in his backpack.

Then, a heavy hand grabbed his arm.

"Finally found you," a voice growled.

Shu spun around, eyes meeting those of a tall, muscular man with a cruel sneer.

"The boss wants to see you."

His muscles tensed, but Shu didn't resist. He knew better than to fight here.

They led him through the chaotic grounds, past the sharp clangs and shouts of bladers training with fierce determination. Some glanced at Shu with curiosity or suspicion; others looked away.

At last, they reached the leader's office—the largest and most guarded.

Inside, smoke curled through the air, mixing with the sharp scent of antiseptic.

The new leader sat behind a battered desk, his gaze cold and unblinking. He was younger than Shu had expected, but the ruthless glint in his eyes was unmistakable.

"So," the leader began, voice calm and deadly, "Kurenai. Back to visit your old... home."

He gestured to a corner, where a cage stood half-hidden in shadows. The infamous "room" where Shu had once been held during the experiments.

Shu's breath hitched. The memories slammed into him—cold, dark, suffocating.

The harsh sting of needles, the oppressive silence broken only by the drip of liquids and muffled screams.

The endless nights trapped inside that cage, a prisoner not just of steel bars, but of pain and broken hope.

The leader's voice cut through his thoughts.

"You know why you're here."

He leaned forward, lips curling into a cruel smile.

"We want you to rejoin the project. The next phase. Refuse, and all this goes public. Your pills, your past, everything you tried to hide."

Shu's jaw clenched. "I won't be your pawn."

The leader's smile vanished. He stood abruptly, voice cold as ice.

"Then you leave me no choice."

Two guards stepped forward.

But inside Shu, something fierce and unbreakable ignited.

He had survived the worst, and he would not bow now.

The confrontation was far from over.

The guards advanced with deliberate, heavy steps, their boots thudding on the cracked concrete floor. Shu's heart thundered in his chest, but his face remained a mask of calm defiance. He met the leader's cold gaze squarely and refused to show the slightest tremor.

The leader nodded to the guards. "Take him to the holding cells. We'll see if he's truly ready for the next phase."

Shu's fists clenched. The holding cells — memories surged, like ice-cold water poured over his mind. The suffocating darkness. The chains. The cold metal.

The guards grabbed him roughly, but Shu twisted with the strength born of survival. One guard sneered, trying to pin Shu's arm behind his back, but Shu slipped free, his movements swift and precise despite the exhaustion gnawing at his bones.

"Enough," the leader snapped, drawing a pistol from beneath his desk. The barrel gleamed coldly in the dim light.

Shu froze. The gunshot would shatter everything. But the leader's voice stopped him before the trigger was pulled.

"Let him go. For now."

The guards hesitated, then released Shu reluctantly.

The leader leaned forward again, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "You're stronger than I expected. That's exactly why we need you. This next phase... it's beyond anything you've endured. And you won't have a choice."

Shu swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the threat settle over him like a storm cloud. "I said it once, and I will say it again. I will never be your pawn."

"Words are cheap," the leader said. "Actions speak louder. Soon, you'll see what I mean."

The leader waved at the guards. "Escort him to his room. He'll have time to reconsider."

Shu was dragged back through the compound's twisted maze, every step a reminder of how far he'd come—and how close he still was to losing everything. The training grounds were alive with the clang of metal and sharp cries of battle, but none of it reached Shu now. His world had shrunk to the narrow corridor and the cold, hollow promise of captivity.

Inside his "room," a barren concrete cell with a single narrow window high above, Shu dropped to the floor, exhaustion crashing over him like a tidal wave.

His mind raced. The evidence he'd collected was dangerous—but it was also his weapon. If he could get it to the right people, the Snake Pit's reign of terror might finally end.

But how?

The leader's threats were clear: refuse, and everything was exposed. Agree, and Shu became their tool, a test subject for twisted experiments that might destroy him completely.

He pressed his hand to his forehead, the faint pulse of phantom pain beneath his skin a cruel reminder of his past.

The next morning, Shu awoke to the faint hum of activity beyond his cell. The leader's footsteps echoed down the corridor, deliberate and slow.

The door clanged open.

"You have a choice," the leader said softly. "Join us willingly, and you keep control. Refuse, and you lose everything."

Shu looked up, eyes burning with quiet fury. "Control? You took everything from me already."

The leader smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "That was the old world. This is different. You'll be stronger. Faster. More than human."

Shu shook his head. "I'm not a weapon."

"Not yet," the leader said, stepping closer. "But you will be."

That night, Shu lay on the hard floor, the weight of his decision crushing him. If he agreed, he might survive—might even gain power to fight back. But at what cost? His body, his mind, his very soul?

The shadows in the cell seemed to whisper, pressing closer.

He couldn't do this alone. But no one could know.

Over the next days, Shu's captivity was punctuated by daily visits from the leader and his guards. They brought food and water, but also new demands.

"Cooperate," the leader urged. "The next phase starts soon. You're ready."

Shu stayed silent, his resolve hardening.

One night, when the compound was quiet, Shu heard voices beyond his cell—bladers laughing, sharing stories, unaware of the horrors just yards away.

The contrast tore at him.

He had to find a way out.

 

Using scraps of metal from a broken bed frame and a shard of glass he'd found in the room, Shu began working on the lock of his cell door. Each movement was slow, precise, measured to avoid detection.

The leader's words echoed in his mind: "Join us willingly."

No. Shu would choose his own path.

One evening, as the guards made their rounds, Shu pretended to be asleep. When the door clicked open, he sprang to his feet, shoving one guard back with a strength born of desperation.

The other guard rushed in, but Shu caught his wrist, twisting it sharply.

"Let me go!" Shu hissed.

The guards struggled, but Shu's training gave him the edge.

He grabbed the shard of glass and pressed it against the nearest guard's throat.

"Enough," the guard snarled, eyes wide.

"Open the door," Shu demanded, voice low and hard.

Reluctantly, the guard complied.

Shu took his backpack and slipped into the corridor, heart pounding. The compound was a chaotic maze, but he'd memorized the layout from his previous visit.

He moved quickly, shadows swallowing him as he made his way toward the central building.

Every step was a gamble.

He reached the main office and slipped inside. The files he'd seen before were gone.

Frustration burned hot in his chest.

Then he noticed a small, blinking device on the desk—a data pad.

Shu grabbed it, fingers trembling, and quickly copied the files.

Suddenly, footsteps thundered down the hall.

"Hey! Stop him!"

Shu bolted, darting through the halls, the sound of pursuit close behind.

He burst into the jungle, lungs burning, branches scratching at his skin.

He didn't look back.

He ran until the compound's lights faded behind the trees.

Hours later, Shu collapsed near a small stream, the data pad safe in his pack.

He stared at the night sky, each star a distant promise of hope.

He was far from safe. The Snake Pit would come after him harder now.

But he had proof.

And that was power.

Back at the BC Sol's headquarters, Valt paced, worry gnawing at him.

Shu's message had been brief—"Taking some time off. I will explain when I get back."

But no explanation came.

Valt's phone buzzed—a message from an unknown number.

"Tell Kurenai to stay quiet. Or we'll make sure he regrets it."

Valt's fists clenched.

What does that mean?

What is going on, Shu?

Half a world away, Shu prepares to disappear again.

In the depths of the jungle, the Snake Pit's leader stared at the empty cell where Shu had been held.

"Find him," he ordered coldly. "He's more than just a test subject now. He's a threat."

His voice was a promise of war.

Shu tightened his jacket, the data pad's weight in his bag pack constant reminder of his mission.

The city skyline was far behind him, but the fight for his future was just ahead.

He would face the darkness.

And he would win.

 

The air hung thick and heavy in the dimly lit room where Shu sat, clutching the slim, worn data pad tightly in his hands. He rented an apartment the night before. The faint hum of distant city life seeped through the cracked window, but inside, silence pressed down on him like a stone. Every nerve was taut, every shadow seemed to watch.

He had been on the run for days—escaping one close call after another. The Snake Pit's reach was vast, their hunger to retrieve that device insatiable. That data pad wasn't just a piece of technology. It was a ticking time bomb, loaded with secrets that could destroy the Snake Pit if exposed.

And Shu was the only one standing between that empire and collapse.

Suddenly, the screen of the small communicator on his worn table blinked alive. There was only one person who would dare reach out to him now—the leader of the Snake Pit.

Shu's pulse quickened as he tapped the accept button. The call connected with a low buzz, then silence.

"Shu," a cold, gravelly voice said, thick with menace and calculation. "You have something that belongs to me."

The voice sent a shiver down his spine, but Shu squared his shoulders. "I'm not handing it over."

There was a pause, long and tense. Then the voice said, "You're making a mistake. That data pad contains information that belongs to all of us—our operations, our allies. If you leak your part of it, you threaten the whole network."

"I know exactly what's on this," Shu said, voice steady. "And I know what it's cost to get it. I'm not afraid."

The voice chuckled darkly. "You should be."

"Let me make something perfectly clear," Shu said, voice dropping to a hard edge. "If you leak any information about me or this pad—if you try to use it against me—I will leak everything. Your secrets, your hideouts, your contacts with corrupt officials. I'll take it all straight to the cops. And I promise you, that will be the end of you."

There was silence on the other end.

"You wouldn't dare," the voice finally said, venom lacing the words. "You think the authorities will protect you? The Snake Pit has eyes everywhere. They'll make you disappear before anyone even hears your story."

Shu smiled grimly, even though the fear gnawed at his insides. "I'm counting on that. But I'm ready to disappear if it means stopping you."

"You're playing a dangerous game," the voice warned.

"So are you," Shu replied, voice cold and unyielding.

The call ended abruptly.

Shu sat back in his chair, the weight of the conversation settling over him. This was no longer just about survival. It was a battle of wills, a high-stakes poker game where the chips were lives.

The night crept on, but sleep was impossible. Shu kept the data pad close, fingers brushing over its cracked screen as if willing it to keep them safe.

He knew the Snake Pit wouldn't stop hunting him. They had resources, money, influence — and brutal mercenaries who wouldn't hesitate to kill.

But Shu had leverage. And he was determined to use it.

Days passed with no sign of immediate retaliation, but Shu never let his guard down. Every sound outside his door made him flinch. Every unexpected message or phone call made his heart race.

He was alone, hunted, and desperate—but he was also dangerous.

One afternoon, as Shu sat in a crowded café pretending to read a book, his communicator buzzed again. This time, it was a text message.

"You have three days. Hand it over, or we leak you first."

Shu's fingers hovered over the reply button. The threat was clear. But he didn't respond right away.

Instead, he typed slowly:

"Leak me, and I leak everything. I'm already talking to the police. Your empire ends in the shadows you hide."

There was no immediate reply.

But Shu's message was a declaration. He was no longer just running. He was fighting.

That night, Shu found himself walking the darkened streets, the city's glow casting long shadows. He thought about what was at stake—not just for him, but for the countless victims caught in the Snake Pit's grasp.

He thought about the lives ruined by their experiments, the families shattered by violence and corruption.

He thought about the moment when truth could finally break the chains.

He had a plan forming in his mind. The police would be his next step. He knew the risk—he could end up behind bars himself if the Snake Pit's corruption reached deep enough into the system.

But he also knew the risk of silence was far worse.

The next day was a blur of careful movements and coded messages to law enforcement contacts he had started to trust. Every step forward was laced with danger, but Shu's resolve hardened.

On a rainy afternoon, as Shu prepared to leave his apartment for a clandestine meeting with a journalist, he heard the sharp sound of breaking glass.

Shu ducked instinctively as a bullet shattered the window behind him.

His heart thundered, but he didn't falter.

He grabbed the data pad, slipped it into a hidden pocket, and melted into the shadows.

The Snake Pit's hunt had become deadly serious.

But Shu had one last move.

From a safe location, Shu sent a final encrypted message to every contact he trusted in law enforcement and investigative journalism.

"This is everything. The Snake Pit's secrets, their crimes, their connections. Use this. End them."

Then he disappeared into the night.

In the dark, Shu allowed himself a single thought.

No matter what happened next—he had already won the most important battle.

The truth was out.

Not even 3 hours later, and the city was alive with sirens and flashing lights. Police had surrounded the Snake Pit, moving in with precise coordination.

Inside, chaos reigned. Men scrambled to destroy evidence, papers burned, and commands shouted in desperation.

Shu, hidden in the shadows, slipped through the chaos. He wasn't here to run. He was here to finish what he started.

He found the room where the leader and his closest men gathered, faces grim, lit only by the glow of laptops and tablets.

"Looking for this?" Shu said, stepping into the light, holding up the tablet containing all the data they planned to leak about him.

The leader's eyes flashed with rage. "You're a fool."

"Maybe," Shu said calmly. "But I'm the one holding the cards now."

The leader's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You think you're safe? If we go down, you go with us. You won't walk away from this."

Shu's jaw tightened. "I already did what I had to do. The cops have your operations in cuffs. You're the ones who should be afraid."

Suddenly, the door burst open. Police officers swarmed in, weapons drawn, shouting orders.

"Freeze!" the lead officer commanded.

The leader and his men made no move to resist. The empire they'd built was crumbling.

As they were handcuffed, the leader glared at Shu.

"This isn't over," he hissed. "You think your little leaks saved you? We'll be watching."

Shu met his gaze, unflinching. "Then I'll be ready."

Outside, the rain had stopped. The city was waking up to a new dawn—one where secrets were exposed and power shifted.

Shu handed the tablet to the lead officer.

"This has everything they wanted to use against me," he said.

The officer nodded. "We'll make sure it never sees the light of day."

The streets buzzed with rumors and news reports. The Snake Pit was dismantled, their leader and men in custody.

The fight was over. He'd won.

 

Shu sat in the small interrogation room, the harsh fluorescent light overhead buzzing faintly as officers moved quietly outside the door. The Snake Pit members had just been led away in handcuffs, the police now fully in control of the situation. The smug satisfaction from his earlier gambit hadn't yet faded, but Shu knew this wasn't the end. The data pad still rested on the table before him — the last piece in this high-stakes game.

The tablet's screen glowed softly in the dim room. It was more than just a device — it was the key to everything, the digital record of all the sensitive information that the Snake Pit had hoped to use against him. Shu's heart pounded as he thought back to how close he'd come to losing it all. But now, the power was in his hands.

His fingers hovered over the screen, hesitant for a moment. Then, with steady resolve, he began the deletion process. The interface was encrypted, protected by multiple layers of security protocols. Shu had expected this, and was prepared— after all, the Snake Pit had been cautious about keeping their leverage.

The screen flickered as files began to erase one by one. Each deletion was a small victory, but Shu knew better than to relax. Data could sometimes be recovered; digital footprints could be traced. He initiated a deep-clean, running algorithms that shredded the data irreversibly, scrambling bits until nothing remained but digital noise.

Minutes passed in tense silence. Finally, a confirmation popped up:
"All user data securely erased."

Shu exhaled deeply, relief washing over him. The Snake Pit had no leverage anymore. They had nothing. Not a single byte. Their threats were empty now.

He slid the tablet into a pouch and looked up as the detective entered the room.

"Good work," the officer said, nodding approvingly. "We'll take custody of the device. With that data gone, their threat evaporates. You did exactly the right thing."

Shu nodded. "I just want to move on. This whole mess has drained me."

"Understandable. But this isn't over yet — they're facing serious charges. Thanks to you, the police have what they need to bring them down."

The next few days were a whirlwind. Police interviews, paperwork, and the slow but steady unraveling of the Snake Pit's operations filled Shu's time. The weight on his shoulders began to lift, replaced by a new sense of cautious optimism.

Still, Shu couldn't shake the feeling of displacement. Mexico had been a strange and complicated chapter — a place where he had almost lost everything, yet also found the strength to fight back. Now, his thoughts turned to the future.

He packed his belongings carefully, every item a reminder of the battle he'd fought. The tablet, now emptied and handed over to the authorities, was gone — a symbol of the control he'd regained.

As he stood by the window of his rented apartment, looking out over the city's sprawling neon-lit skyline, Shu allowed himself a quiet moment of reflection.

He thought of the Raging Bulls waiting for him back in America.

He'd been away for too long. It was time to go home.

The flight was long but peaceful. Shu stared out the airplane window as clouds drifted by beneath him, feeling the hum of the engines vibrate through the seat. This trip wasn't just a return to a place; it was a return to himself.

He thought about how much had changed — the enemies he'd faced, the secrets uncovered, the risks taken. But in the end, he had won. The Snake Pit was neutralized, their threats erased, and the police had the upper hand.

As the plane began its descent, Shu felt a steady pulse of excitement build inside. The city spread out below, its familiar skyline sharp against the sky.

His phone buzzed softly — a message from one of the Bulls, welcoming him back, eager for the team to get back together.

Shu smiled, typing a quick reply:
I'm ready to come back.

Stepping off the plane, the cool New York air hit Shu's face. The city buzzed with energy — honking taxis, bustling crowds, the constant rhythm of life that had always been his backdrop.

At the airport, he was greeted by a few members of the Raging Bulls. Fubuki and Lain were there, and even some of his students. Faces he'd missed, friends who had been holding down the fort. They clapped him on the back, joked about how long he'd been gone, and filled him in on the latest news.

Later, night had fallen over New York, and the Raging Bulls' training facility was quiet. Practice had ended hours ago, the clatter of Beyblades against stadium walls replaced by the distant hum of city traffic.

Shu sat in his small office, the glow of his desk lamp throwing soft light across stacks of paperwork and the Raging Bulls' latest tournament schedules. His phone sat face-up on the desk, Valt's name in bold at the top of the screen.

He'd been staring at it for several minutes now, thumb hovering over the call button. The weight of the past weeks in Mexico pressed against him like an invisible hand — the threats, the danger, the narrow escape. He still hadn't told Valt. He wasn't ready. Maybe he never would be.

But silence had its own cost.

Finally, with a quiet sigh, Shu tapped the button.

The line rang twice. "Shu?" Valt's voice was warm, familiar, and steady, though it carried a hint of surprise.

"Hey," Shu said, his voice calm but quieter than usual.

There was a pause. Then, softly: "I'm glad you called."

Shu leaned back in his chair, letting the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. "Yeah. I figured it was time."

Valt didn't rush him, didn't fill the silence. "You've been busy?"

"Something like that," Shu replied. His words were carefully measured. "I had to deal with... a situation. It's over now."

Another pause. Valt didn't push. "Alright. You don't have to explain, Shu. If you want to talk about it, you can. But if not... I get it."

That was one thing about Valt — he never tried to dig where Shu didn't want him to. He just stayed there, steady as ever.

"Thanks," Shu said, the word holding more weight than it seemed.

"Just promise me one thing," Valt added. "Don't shut me out completely."

Shu's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "I won't."

They spent the next ten minutes talking about ordinary things — BC Sol's training, a few jokes about old matches, and Valt's latest strategy experiments. It felt normal, grounding. Exactly what Shu needed.

When the call ended, Shu set the phone down, the faint warmth of the conversation still lingering in his chest.

The next morning, the Raging Bulls' arena was alive with energy. The sounds of launchers clicking, Beyblades clashing in metal stadiums, and the shouts of bladers filled the air. Shu stepped inside, the familiar smell of polished floors and machine oil greeting him like an old friend.

The team had been holding steady during his absence, but there was no mistaking the way the younger bladers lit up when they saw him walk in. Even without knowing where he'd been, they recognized the quiet authority in his presence.

"Shu!" one of them called, waving.

Shu raised a hand in greeting, his usual composed smile in place. "Morning. Let's keep the battles clean — watch those launch angles."

He moved through the rows of stadiums, clipboard in hand, jotting down notes on performance and maintenance needs. It was work, but it was steady work — a far cry from the chaos of the Snake Pit.

By the time practice wrapped up, the sky outside was turning gold.

Stepping out into the cooling evening air, he let his shoulders relax. The city was alive around him, but for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could walk through it without constantly glancing over his shoulder.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A short message from Valt: Glad we talked. Don't disappear again.

Shu stared at it for a moment, then typed back a simple reply: I won't.

Later that night, Shu sat by his apartment window, the faint city lights flickering in the distance.

The Snake Pit had played their last card, and he had taken it from them. Completely.

He didn't regret keeping it from Valt. Some burdens were meant to be carried alone. But it was enough to know that, if he ever chose to share it, Valt would listen without judgment.

Tomorrow, he'd be back there, managing matches, training schedules, and making sure the team stayed sharp for the next big tournament. It was steady. Predictable.

And that was exactly what he wanted.