𝓕𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 ~ Hikaru Hizashi x oc ~ Beyblade Burst

Chapter 20

She had spilled. She'd spilled the truth like a bubbling teapot. She hadn't meant to, but the emotions overcame her. . .

So much for discreetness.

Hikaru didn't interrupt. Not when her voice cracked, not when the silence grew jagged. He just sat there, hands folded in his lap, eyes steady on hers like he was holding space big enough for both of their ghosts.

When she finished, when the word murderer hung in the air like smoke, she thought he'd look away. Pity her. Hate her. Something.

Instead, he leaned forward, careful as if she might shatter. "Suisei... you were a kid. You didn't kill him. You survived."

The words punched something loose in her chest, but the fear didn't vanish. "My mother thinks I did. And she's not done with me." She swallowed, nails biting her palms. "Kazuma—he's just her pawn. If he spreads lies, if he twists things, it's not just my name ruined. It's my father's. His memory."

Hikaru's jaw set. He reached over, hooked his pinky through hers, grounding her with the tiny star charm that jingled between them. "Then we don't let him. We ruin him first."

Her heart stuttered. The thought was reckless, dangerous—delicious. "How?"

The answer came from the doorway. Akira, leaning against the frame, calm as ever. "We tell the truth," he said. "We get evidence. We make sure Kazuma can't buy silence or twist the narrative. He wanted control? We flip the board."

Suisei blinked. "You knew—"

"I've known enough," Akira said simply. He stepped in, set two mugs on the table, steam curling like signals in the dim light. "You don't run. Not anymore. We make him choke on the lies he thought he could spin."

Suisei pressed her palms against the warm ceramic. For the first time since she'd started talking, she felt a flicker of something sharp and alive. Not guilt. Not fear. Fight.

"...Okay," she whispered. "Let's ruin his lie."

-Time Skip-

They worked fast.

Akira made calls to people who owed him favors—a washed-up paparazzi, a producer with loose lips, an investigator who thrived on mess. Hyuga rallied the Comets' social circle, fishing for anyone who'd noticed Kazuma's shadowy habits. Aiko pulled up spreadsheets like a general mapping a war.

Suisei did the hardest thing: reliving Kazuma. Every conversation. Every meeting. Every uneasy glance at his phone. She laid it bare, while Akira typed with surgical precision. Patterns emerged—obsession, payments, third parties. A name surfaced: Taro Watanabe. A freelance photographer. A middleman.

That was their crack in the wall.

The café meeting was ugly. Taro looked nervous, sweat clinging to his collar. But when Akira slid a contract and a recorder across the table, nerves gave way to truth.

"Kazuma wired me money," Taro admitted. "Said it was for a private shoot. No names. But I saw Suisei. He told me where she'd be with Hikaru. Half upfront, half after. I didn't think he'd use it like—like this."

Proof. Metadata. Bank transfers. A draft email in Kazuma's account: Make sure Suisei sees the photos. She'll thank me someday.

Suisei's stomach rolled, but the fury steadied her spine. "We can prove it," she whispered. "We can end him."

"Exactly," Akira said. "And we will."

They moved in sync.
Step one: leak the evidence to a reporter who hated cover-ups more than he loved clicks.
Step two: push the receipts through social channels, witnesses ready to back it.
Step three: confront Kazuma with his own rot—corner him until the mask cracked.

And when it cracked, it was public. The reporter's story dropped with screenshots and statements. Kazuma tried to weasel, to smooth-talk, but the receipts screamed louder. His allies backed away. His smirk turned brittle. The rumor mill flipped overnight: Kazuma orchestrated the scandal. Kazuma paid for it. Kazuma lied.

At the gym, laughter came easier. Hyuga tried a ridiculous dance to celebrate. Aiko actually cracked a smile. Akira poured tea like victory was just another kind of routine.

And Hikaru leaned close to Suisei in the corner, voice soft, full of something she hadn't dared name. "You did it."

"We did it," she corrected, her hand brushing the star charm. "All of us."

But later, when the noise faded and the evidence was tucked safely into the hands of people who wouldn't let it die, Akira tapped a pen against the table like a drumbeat.

"Kazuma was just the start," he said, red eyes flashing with determination. "Our mother's the real player. We've cut one string. Now we cut the rest."

Suisei met Hikaru's gaze, then Akira's. Her fear hadn't vanished. But it had changed. It had sharpened.

"Then let's finish it," she said, her own pink-red eyes looking into her brothers'. "Let's make sure she never pulls strings again."

The star charm at Hikaru's wrist gleamed in the dim light. For once, she didn't feel guilty. She felt like a weapon.

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Let's pretend I didn't have Suisei with a bracelet on Ch 18 cuz I forgot who had the charm bracelet and never bothered to check hee hee. . . .