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🕑 Added 2025-07-23 16:47:55 +0000 UTCChapter 61: The Interrupted Match
"..."
Yukimura said nothing, gripping the tennis ball as he prepared to serve.
But the unease inside him only grew stronger.
And soon enough—
That unease became reality.
Tezuka raised his head, his gaze sharp and intense. "Yukimura… I’m going all out now."
The moment the words left his mouth, his aura underwent a dramatic shift. A faint, silvery light began radiating from his entire body.
"This is…!"
Sanada's pupils contracted sharply.
"The Zone of Selfless State?!"
Yukimura furrowed his brows. He and Sanada had both accessed the Selfless State before, so they recognized Tezuka’s condition at a glance. But Yukimura’s playing style had always gone against the principles of the Selfless State, so he’d never fully mastered it.
With a cold scoff, Yukimura said, "Even the Selfless State won’t help you escape from Five Senses Deprivation!"
BAM!
Not wanting to give Tezuka any more time, Yukimura launched his serve.
"You’re right..." Tezuka muttered, adjusting his grip on the racket.
His sense of touch had barely recovered—just a little. His vision and hearing were improving too, but nowhere near enough to completely break free from Yukimura’s Five Senses Deprivation.
Vision and hearing didn’t matter much. What Tezuka needed was touch.
As that thought crossed his mind, the silvery-white particles around him started concentrating in his left arm. A moment later, a soft white mist enveloped it.
And in an instant—his sense of touch returned.
"T-The Pinnacle of Hard Work?! That’s impossible!" Sanada cried out in disbelief.
The Triple Doors of the Selfless State.
Opening those gates was far harder than just entering the basic Selfless State. The difference was like learning how to serve versus mastering Zero-Shiki Serve—completely different leagues.
BAM!
A sharp, explosive sound rang through the court.
The ball vanished in a flash, slicing past Yukimura before he could react.
"Point, Tezuka Kunimitsu! 15–0!"
Cold sweat trickled down Yukimura’s temple. His pupils trembled, filled with shock.
"H-He was still hiding power this whole time..."
Sanada clenched his fists in frustration.
Based on what Tezuka had just displayed, it was obvious he hadn’t even used half his true strength when they played earlier. There had been nothing "evenly matched" about that fight.
Each reveal from Tezuka was like a slap to Sanada’s pride—shattering his self-esteem piece by piece.
Back on the court—
Yukimura realized he was in serious trouble now.
From the quality of that return, it was clear Tezuka had fully regained his sense of touch.
Up until now, Yukimura had never seen his Five Senses Deprivation fail before.
For the first time in the match, a trace of panic appeared in his thoughts.
"Same six-star level, but Tezuka really is in a class of his own. At this rate… he’s already hitting seven-star territory," Yoru muttered as he pulled up Tezuka’s stats again.
Behind Tezuka’s power rating, a small note now appeared: (+0.7)
This meant his actual performance had broken through to the seven-star threshold.
The higher the star ranking, the greater the difference between each level.
To hit seven-star power from a six-star base? That was insane.
Then came the onslaught.
BAM!
"Point, Tezuka Kunimitsu! 4–4!"
BAM!
"Point, Tezuka Kunimitsu! 5–4!"
Just one more game to end the match.
It was Yukimura Seiichi’s service game—and his condition looked terrible. Sweat soaked through his clothes, and his breathing was ragged.
"Yukimura..." Sanada fell completely silent.
He had never seen Yukimura in this state before… never seen anyone push him to the edge like this.
If even Yukimura couldn’t beat Tezuka…
“…?”
Yoru narrowed his eyes.
Something felt off.
Even if Yukimura was losing, he shouldn’t look this exhausted. The veins on his forehead were pulsing—something was wrong.
"Don’t tell me..."
Yoru suddenly remembered something.
"Sanada—"
"Yukimura!"
Before he could finish, Yukimura collapsed silently onto the court. His eyes shut tightly, his body unmoving.
But this wasn’t a conscious motion—it was a clear sign of unconsciousness.
“Young people these days… they can nap anywhere,” Yoru quipped, then ran onto the court with Sanada and Kirigaya.
By the time they got there, Tezuka and Yamato were already kneeling beside Yukimura.
Sanada pushed past them, lifting Yukimura into his arms.
Seeing no response from his friend, Sanada's face turned pale. “Damn it… it’s happening again!”
"Again?" Yamato blinked in surprise. "You mean this isn’t the first time?"
Sanada nodded grimly. "It started about a year ago. Yukimura would sometimes faint without warning. He always woke up quickly, and hospital tests never found anything wrong."
"Let’s get him to the bench."
The group helped Yukimura to a resting spot.
As Yoru looked at Yukimura’s unconscious form, his thoughts spun.
In the original timeline, Tezuka and Yukimura’s match had no clear result in Sanada’s recollections. Now he understood why.
He also remembered the name of Yukimura’s condition: Guillain–Barré Syndrome.
It causes muscle weakness, nerve issues, and in serious cases, respiratory problems that can lead to unconsciousness due to lack of oxygen.
Early detection was difficult. It was often misdiagnosed until neurological symptoms became more severe.
“…Did I pass out again?”
A few minutes later, Yukimura stirred and opened his eyes.
Looking at Sanada, he whispered, “Did I lose?”
Sanada shook his head silently.
Tezuka stepped forward. “You should rest for now. Let’s finish this match another time. For today… let’s call it a draw.”
“…A draw, huh.” Yukimura let out a bitter smile.
He wasn’t the type to cling to semantics—he knew what the result would’ve been if the match continued.
Against Tezuka in that enhanced state… he had no answer.
“Yukimura.” Yoru cut in, his voice serious. “You should go back to the hospital. This time, tell the doctors to check for Guillain–Barré Syndrome.”
“…Guillain–Barré?” Everyone turned to look at Yoru.
“It’s just a hunch. I had a friend with similar symptoms. That’s what he was diagnosed with. The earlier it’s found, the better the chances for treatment.”
Yoru didn’t push it further—medicine wasn’t his field.
His real focus was on the notification from the system:
Ding! You’ve witnessed the match between Yukimura Seiichi and Tezuka Kunimitsu. Side Quest Completed. Reward Unlocked: Second Destiny Chosen One Binding Slot Available!
Ding! Potential Destiny Candidates Detected: Tezuka Kunimitsu! Ding! Potential Destiny Candidates Detected: Sanada Genichirou! Ding! Potential Destiny Candidates Detected: Yukimura Seiichi! Ding! Potential Destiny Candidates Detected: Kirigaya! Ding! Potential Destiny Candidates Detected: Yamato Yudai!
…What the hell?
Tezuka, Sanada, and Yukimura made sense. They were the elite of their generation.
But Kirigaya and Yamato? Destiny Chosen Ones? What kind of joke was that?
Still, Yoru was starting to understand the system’s logic.
Apparently, any character who got screen time—no matter how brief—qualified for "Destiny" status.
Which meant… he had someone better in mind.
“…Looks like it’s time to take a little trip to Germany.” 😎
Chapter 62: Preparing to Leave for Germany; Clash with Ryūzaki Sumire
The journey of the Junior Ranking Tournament had come to an end.
Little Yukimura and Little Tezuka made a brief promise to face each other again in the future before hurriedly parting ways.
Worth mentioning—Little Sanada threw some harsh words before leaving, only to be completely ignored by Tezuka, turning him red with rage on the spot.
...
Arrival at Seigaku
After parting ways with Tezuka and his group, Yoru returned home and immediately headed to the yard, giving Nanjiro, who was flipping through a weekly magazine, a nudge.
“Hey, old man, cough up some gold coins. I’m heading to Germany~”
“Germany?”
Nanjiro quickly folded his magazine, scratching his beard with interest. “Kid, can’t hold back anymore, huh? Planning to head somewhere serious?”
“Just for about a week…”
Yoru explained everything that happened today—his encounter with Schneider and the German coach.
“So basically, the Nationals are too boring for you, and now you want to spar with some German elite players?”
Nanjiro was deadpan.
When did being a tennis club captain get so easy?
Back in his day, being captain meant acting like both dad and mom to the team—he even started growing gray hairs in junior high.
But he wasn’t too emotionally attached to Seigaku. His son’s growth was far more important.
“How long are you planning to stay? I’d better help you make arrangements.”
“Should be… including travel, about a week.”
“Wait a sec.”
Nanjiro started scrolling through his phone contacts.
“Yare yare, found it~”
Ring… ring…
The call went through on speaker mode.
“Nanjiro! What made you suddenly call? Thinking of making a comeback~?”
The other person spoke in German.
Thanks to memories from two lifetimes, Yoru had picked up most of the world’s major languages, so he understood every word.
“I’m too old to be stirring things up again.”
“Retel, my eldest son will be heading to Germany in a few days. He wants to play around at the Elite Club. Can you arrange something?”
Retel.
Yoru was a bit surprised.
Could it be…
“Your eldest son?”
“Yeah, he’s Rin son. I’m his adoptive father now.”
“Rin son…”
Silence fell on the other end.
Yoru was even more surprised now.
From the way they spoke, Retel clearly knew his father. Looks like his “cheap” dad had broader connections than expected.
The world really is one big social network~
After some idle chatter, Nanjiro suddenly turned to Yoru. “Kid, if you’re going to Germany, you’d better notify your school. Go make a call.”
Yoru understood what he meant. With a shrug, he turned and left.
Once Yoru disappeared around the corner, Nanjiro switched his phone off speaker mode and spoke in a mysterious tone.
“Retel, you’ve got connections in Germany. Set this kid up with some serious players. Doesn’t matter if they’re older—make it rough for him.”
“Huh??”
Retel was stunned.
“Why?”
“I want him to take a hit or two…”
Nanjiro began to recount Yoru’s growth from childhood.
At first, Retel was making surprised noises. By the end, he was speechless.
Especially when he learned that Yoru had already surpassed Nanjiro’s strength at the same age.
Retel used to be Nanjiro’s sparring partner. He knew how monstrous Nanjiro had been—completely unmatched by any peer.
All these years later…
Retel had transitioned from professional sparring partner to assistant coach, yet still hadn’t met a single talent comparable to Nanjiro—not even his current prized students.
If QP could evolve into his ultimate perfect form, he’d come close to reaching the realm of the Tennis God.
But close was all it would ever be.
Because the only people to reach that level were—
—Nanjiro back in the day.
—and now, a reigning champion on the pro circuit with 20 Grand Slam titles.
Hearing Yoru’s talent described as even more monstrous than Nanjiro’s, even the well-traveled Retel was shocked speechless.
After a moment’s hesitation, Retel finally spoke. “You’re not messing with me again, are you?”
“I never joke when it comes to tennis,” Nanjiro replied, serious now.
“This kid’s never suffered a setback in his life. Sure, I was like that too… but you know I had a period of confusion.”
“If not for Rin help back then, I wouldn’t have been able to take that next step.”
“Yoru is even more unstoppable than I was at his age. The higher you stand, the harder it is to push through that door—you know what I mean.”
“…”
Retel fell silent again.
The call lasted an hour.
What exactly they discussed, Yoru didn’t know.
He had his own headache to deal with right now.
“Honestly, I wanted to bring this up ever since you announced the seven fixed regulars,” said Ryūzaki Sumire on the other end of the phone. “Now you’re leaving for a week, and it just happens to be during the Nationals?”
“How are we supposed to fill the vacant spot?”
Seigaku had no substitutes!
If Yoru were still around, it wouldn’t matter. But not coming back before the semifinals was a problem.
The missing position?
Easily solved—just select a player from the club to fill in.
But Yoru had his concerns.
He’d initially set up the “fixed seven” system to encourage a wolf-pack mentality—tough love and internal competition.
If this were Tezuka’s year, maybe substitutes could be added. That group had plenty of talent.
But his current generation? They needed this method to force growth.
It was the “sardine effect”—using pressure from hardworking underclassmen to awaken the survival instincts of players like Kawasaki.
Adding a substitute now would ease that pressure and let people like Kawasaki breathe.
And that, he couldn't allow.
To win Nationals, a four-star team wasn’t enough!
“No.”
“No substitutes.”
After careful thought, Yoru refused.
“Just register someone to take my spot on paper. They won’t play. If we can’t win the first four matches, we’ll forfeit.”
The moment he finished speaking, Ryūzaki’s roar erupted through the phone.
“What… are you insane?! Do you realize how important the Nationals are?!”
“You’re gambling the Nationals?!”
Yoru replied coldly, “Life is a gamble. And you know what it would mean for Kawasaki and the others if we added a substitute. Even if Seigaku gets through Nationals, we won’t be strong enough to challenge for the national championship.”
“Do you want a title, or just an appearance at Nationals, Coach Ryūzaki? You know which choice is better.”
“You handed full control of Seigaku to me—so let me do things my way.”
“Of course, you’re the coach. The final call is yours.”
With that, Yoru hung up.
Rude? Perhaps.
But women—especially menopausal old ladies—need time and space to calm down.
“That damn brat!”
Ryūzaki’s vein bulged as the dial tone rang in her ears.
But she quickly settled down, falling into deep thought.
Chapter 63: Arrival in Germany
The next evening.
Yoru boarded the Echizen family’s private jet, heading for Berlin.
Earlier, he had considered traveling to Germany with Schneider’s group. Unfortunately, they weren’t leaving until a week later, which would conflict with his schedule—he’d likely miss the Kanto Tournament finals.
Besides, Nanjiroh’s acquaintance, Lendert L. Raitlair (雷特鲁), happened to be the very person Yoru was looking for, so going alone was enough.
After half a day of smooth flying with no turbulence, Yoru arrived in Berlin the following morning, well-rested.
A car was waiting for him at the airport, its door emblazoned with German text:
"German Tennis Training Center."
A middle-aged man stepped out from the driver’s seat and hurried over. "Hello, Mr. Yoru. I’m Amos, your driver for this trip," he said in slightly awkward but understandable Japanese.
"You can speak German. I understand and can speak it," Yoru replied.
"Ah, that’s wonderful!" Amos beamed. "Please, get in. I’ll handle your luggage."
Yoru nodded, handing over his backpack—his only luggage.
Thanks to Nanjiroh’s generous funding, he’d traveled light, packing just a change of clothes and his tennis bag.
As the car left the airport, a brief conversation revealed something surprising: Raitlair had become the principal of the German Tennis Training Center.
In the original Prince of Tennis storyline, this was where QP (Quality of Perfect) had grown up.
An orphan with a naturally aloof personality, QP had decent tennis talent. Under Raitlair’s guidance, he transformed from Quark Puppe ("insignificant puppet") into Quality of Perfect—a being of flawless skill.
Did Raitlair become the principal because he nurtured QP? The so-called ‘genius effect’?
No wonder they sent a car just for me.
After about an hour’s drive, the car entered a walled compound, a sign at the gate reading "Tennis Training Center."
Once parked, a knock came at the window.
Yoru looked out to see a kind-faced foreign man—undoubtedly Raitlair, who looked exactly like his manga counterpart, radiating an oddly familiar warmth.
Yoru stepped out and extended his hand. "Uncle Raitlair? I’m Yoru."
Since Raitlair was Nanjiroh’s old friend, the familial address was fitting—and a good way to break the ice.
Raitlair studied him closely. "Rin’s son has grown so much."
"Your father and I worked together for years. After Nanjiroh retired, we went our separate ways… I never imagined that would be the last time."
Yoru’s resemblance to his father seemed to stir old memories, a touch of nostalgia crossing Raitlair’s face.
"Enough of that," Raitlair said, shaking off the past. "Nanjiroh mentioned you came to Germany to visit the Elite Club?"
"Yes."
"I’ll arrange your lodging first. Rest up, and we’ll go to the Elite Club tomorrow."
Normally, Raitlair would’ve refused outright—the Elite Club was an exclusive hub for prodigies, nearly impossible to enter without connections.
But Yoru was different.
Not only was he the son of an old friend, but he also had Echizen Nanjiroh’s personal guarantee.
Yoru shook his head. "No need to rest—I slept plenty on the plane. Can we go now?"
Raitlair hesitated. "The Elite Club has strict rules. Outsiders can’t enter unless escorted by a member. I’d need to contact one of my students first."
QP, perhaps?
Yoru pondered.
QP should be a year or two older than him, around Yamato’s age. By now, he’d have already left the training center and joined the Elite Club.
After a moment, Raitlair nodded. "Wait here. If he’s free, we can go today."
"Understood."
Raitlair stepped aside to make a call while Yoru gave him space.
A few minutes later, Raitlair returned. "Good news, Nan. He’ll be here in about an hour."
"Great."
"We’ve got some time. I’ll handle some work in my office and arrange your stay. Feel free to look around if you’re not tired."
Raitlair waved to Amos. "Show Yoru around."
"Yes, Boss!"
Meanwhile, at the German Elite Club...
A handsome young man was returning balls fired relentlessly by five serving machines simultaneously.
On the court were five small numbered circles—each barely large enough for a single ball to land. The young man methodically returned each shot into its designated circle.
Despite the high-pressure drill, he was also talking on the phone, multitasking effortlessly.
As the call ended, the machines ran out of balls.
The circles on the court were scorched black, smoke rising faintly.
Clap clap clap—
Applause came from the sidelines.
An assistant coach walked in. "Excellent training today."
Seeing the young man barely sweating, the coach couldn’t help but marvel—natural talent truly was unfair.
Ever since the club’s former strongest genius left for a professional career, this young man had taken his place as the undisputed top player.
"Today’s drills are done. Should I arrange your usual matches?" the assistant asked.
By habit, the young man played five matches daily after training, pushing himself relentlessly. Most would’ve crumbled under such pressure, yet he’d kept this routine for two straight years without rest—unless he was away for tournaments.
The young man shook his head. "No. I’m heading back to the training center."
"To see Mr. Raitlair?" The assistant’s tone was respectful.
"Yes. I’ll visit my teacher."
As he turned to leave, the young man paused at the court’s exit.
"One more thing," he said without looking back. "Any progress on finding players with ‘Aura of Love’ or ‘Aura of Fortitude’?"
The assistant stiffened. "N-Not yet..."
Though he held a high position, this young man was no ordinary member.
He was the club’s greatest genius in history—someone even the previous top player had called "a potential God of Tennis." His influence rivaled the head coach’s.
"Keep searching."
Without another word, the young man left.
Meanwhile, something interesting was unfolding at the German Tennis Training Center...
Chapter 64: Hygiene Needs Improvement—Trash Scattered Everywhere
"Mr. Yoru, our tennis training center is a subsidiary of the Elite Club, specializing in nurturing young talents before they reach middle school."
"Those who excel are sent to the Elite Club for advanced training after elementary school. Those who don’t make the cut continue their education here until middle school graduation."
Along the way, the principal’s assistant, Amos, guided Yoru through the tennis training center.
It had to be said—Germany’s tennis environment was far superior to that of the U.S. or Japan. The facilities were top-notch, complete with an abundance of assistant coaches.
In Japan, only the U-17 training camp could offer such luxury.
"I’d like to see the tennis courts."
After touring the facilities, Yoru was more interested in assessing Germany’s foundational tennis training.
"My apologies for the oversight. Right this way~"
Amos gestured politely.
About ten minutes later, the crisp, rhythmic sound of bouncing tennis balls echoed in the distance.
The training center was massive—unexpectedly so. It was roughly twice the size of Seigaku’s campus.
Strictly speaking, Germany wasn’t even as large as Japan. Yet, they’d managed to secure such a huge plot of land in Berlin—impressive.
The court layout resembled the U-17 training camp from the original series.
A central path divided rows of courts on either side.
Unlike Japan, where chain-link fences separated each court, the German facility only had walls at the front and back, creating an open, premium environment.
Placing Seigaku’s tennis club here would be like comparing a luxury condo to a pigsty.
"So this is Germany’s foundational training..."
Yoru was impressed.
Every court buzzed with active players. According to the system’s assessment, most fell within the 3 to 4-star range, with only the youngest kids at 1 or 2 stars.
A rare few even reached 5 stars.
Even without top-tier players, this group could easily crush 90% of Japan’s middle schoolers.
"Interesting."
Yoru smirked, suddenly pushing Amos aside and sidestepping himself.
"Huh? What’s—"
Before Amos could finish, a golden streak shot between them.
A group of middle-schoolers in training uniforms huddled together, watching Yoru with curiosity.
An Asian face stood out here—especially one accompanied by the principal’s assistant.
"Hey, check it out—an Asian guy!"
"He’s carrying a racket bag. Here to play?"
"Doubt he’s enrolling. At his height, he’s probably already in middle school. Who’d join a training center at that age?"
"Look at his clueless expression."
"Kinda hot though. First time I’ve found an Asian face attractive~"
"Let’s mess with him!"
"Hopkins, don’t start trouble! If Amos is with him, he’s gotta be someone important!"
"Scared? Then scram. I’m bored anyway!"
The leader, Hopkins, pulled out a tennis ball with a vicious grin.
BANG!
A "Blast Serve" rocketed toward Yoru.
"Whoa, Hopkins! That’s overkill!"
"Relax~ Accidents happen on the court, right?"
Hopkins sneered, his scarred face twisting.
A childhood accident had left him permanently scarred—and hating anyone with a pretty face.
As the ball hurtled toward Yoru, Hopkins’ grin widened—until Yoru sidestepped effortlessly, pulling Amos with him.
THUD!
The ball smashed into a tree, leaving deep marks.
Amos’ face darkened. "HOPKINS!"
He turned to Yoru, apologetic. " Yoru, I’m so sorry!"
"No need."
(Men couldn’t scare him anyway.)
Yoru eyed Hopkins—5-star middle schooler.
"Your training program is impressive. But the hygiene needs work. Don’t leave trash lying around."
Amos coughed awkwardly. "Those are our middle-school trainees. At this age, if they’re not scouted by the Elite Club... well, they’ve got no future."
Even I can’t control them.
"Hey, punk! What’d you just say?!"
Hopkins stormed over, his gang in tow.
Yoru’s indifferent expression only fueled his rage.
"If you weren’t picked, you’re trash. Simple."
"You think Amos can protect you?"
Hopkins loomed over Yoru, his 180cm frame casting a shadow.
"Even the principal can’t save you now. Pick up that ball, kneel, and maybe I’ll let this slide."
His lackeys closed in.
Amos paled. "Hopkins, stop! He’s the principal’s guest!"
"So what? I graduate soon. You—choice time. Go fetch or—"
THUD.
Mid-sentence, Hopkins collapsed to his knees, trembling violently.
His breathing turned ragged, pupils dilating as he flailed like a drowning man.
"W-What did you do?!"
The others froze in fear.
Yoru hadn’t even moved.
"Yoru...!" Amos whispered urgently as Hopkins’ face turned purple.
"Trash."
A snap of Yoru’s fingers, and Hopkins crumpled.
"Ten Sense Manipulation."
Against opponents with mental stats two tiers below his, Yoru could instantly trap them in a fabricated reality—far more terrifying than Mouri’s mental pressure.
"Wh... Where am I?!"
Hopkins scrambled back, drenched in cold sweat.
"Boss, you okay?!"
His gang hesitated, unsure if he’d lost his mind.
"I-I was... drowning..." Hopkins gasped.
Yoru crouched before him.
"Hey, trash."
"Ghk—!"
Hopkins flinched, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Here’s your chance at revenge. Warm me up—I haven’t played today."
"N-No! I’ll die—!"
"I won’t use that again. Play, or I’ll send you back. Closing your eyes won’t help."
"...Fine! I’ll play!"
Chapter 65: Quality of Perfect – QP
QP.
In the original Prince of Tennis World Cup arc, he was the second-in-command of the German team.
He had no real name—only the initials "QP," short for "Quality of Perfect."
But his past was far from perfect.
An orphan abandoned as an infant, he was sent to the German Tennis Training Center, where "QP" originally stood for "Quark Puppe"—"an insignificant puppet."
This shaped his cold, isolated personality, making him an outcast.
At age five, while learning the basics, his demeanor alienated the assistant coaches. Even the center’s former principal considered sending him to an orphanage.
But then, Raitlair stepped in.
Recognizing QP’s talent, Raitlair risked his job to protect him, even accepting menial work just to stay by QP’s side. That devotion forged the "Quality of Perfect" the world now knew.
After graduating elementary school, QP was scouted by the Elite Club.
In his first year, he was hailed as the "masterpiece of elite training," crushing every opponent and standing only below the club’s strongest—Jürgen Volk.
In fact, during middle school, QP’s performance surpassed Volk’s at the same age.
Volk himself once declared:
"This guy might become the closest thing to a God of Tennis."
That statement skyrocketed QP’s status in the club.
As for Raitlair?
He went from janitor to principal of the training center—all because of QP’s rise.
To QP, Raitlair wasn’t just a mentor. He was family.
Which was why, when Raitlair called, QP always answered.
Reunion at the Training Center
After a 30-minute drive, QP arrived.
The gates swung open automatically. A security guard waved. "Hey QP! Long time no see!"
QP nodded silently and walked past.
He never was one for conversation. The guard knew that, so he didn’t mind.
QP surveyed the familiar campus—no nostalgia, no hesitation. He pulled out his phone and dialed Raitlair.
"Teacher, I’m here. Where are you?"
"Already back? Wait there—I’ll come down."
Half a minute later, Raitlair rushed out of the office building. His eyes softened at the sight of QP.
"You’ve grown taller again," he chuckled, reaching out to ruffle QP’s hair.
QP dodged, cheeks faintly pink. "Teacher, I’m not a kid anymore."
"You’re in middle school! At the training center, you wouldn’t even be graduating yet!"
Raitlair grinned. "Come on. Let’s go meet that boy."
The Search for the Auras
As they walked toward the courts, QP cut straight to business.
"Any progress on finding players with the 'Aura of Love' or 'Aura of Fortitude'?"
Raitlair sighed. "The Elite Club hasn’t found either yet. There are rumors of 'Aura of Love' abroad, but 'Aura of Fortitude'..."
He patted QP’s shoulder. He knew how badly his student wanted to evolve—to become the true "Quality of Perfect."
Among the Three Auras of Tennis, "Aura of Love" and "Aura of Resignation" were relatively common.
But "Aura of Fortitude" was vanishingly rare. Even the Elite Club’s vast network couldn’t track it down.
"Don’t rush. These things take—"
BOOM!
A deafening impact cut him off.
Both turned toward the junior training courts—where a crowd of students lay groaning on the ground.
At the center of the devastation knelt one boy, terrified.
Yoru’s Wrath
In less than an hour, Yoru had wiped out the training center’s middle schoolers.
He wasn’t one to hold grudges. He settled them on the spot.
The defeated players bore injuries of varying severity.
Yoru’s gaze swept over a group of elementary students watching from the sidelines.
"You kids want a turn?"
"NO!"
They shook their heads furiously. Even the middle schoolers got wrecked—they weren’t stupid enough to challenge him.
"H-He’s insane..."
"Look at Hopkins! He’s barely breathing!"
"Why’s someone this strong even bothering with us?"
"Because Hopkins picked a fight! That guy’s the principal’s VIP guest!"
"Idiot!"
The kids whispered, too scared to meet Yoru’s eyes.
The Arrival of Perfection
"What happened here?!"
Raitlair and QP approached, the former shooting a questioning look at Amos.
The driver quickly explained—including Hopkins’ instigation.
Raitlair wasn’t surprised. If anything, he looked amused.
"Teacher," QP said, eyes locked on Yoru, "is this the one you wanted me to take to the Elite Club?"
His instincts flared.
Beneath Yoru’s lean frame lurked explosive muscle density.
Almost as if sensing the scrutiny, Yoru glanced up.
Their eyes met.
"So you’re here," Yoru smirked. "The 'Quality of Perfect.'"
Instantly, QP’s stats materialized before him:
[Name]: Aogiri (QP)
[Age]: 13
[Techniques]:
Personal Five Dimensions (Lv. 7)
Tennis Fundamentals (Lv. 7)
[Talent]: Quality of Perfect
[Combat Power]: ★★★★☆ (8-Star)
[Quality of Perfect]:
Perfectly develops all abilities.
Extracts experience from matches against the Three Auras.
Each aura absorbed boosts Five Dimensions & Fundamentals by a % in real combat.
Currently Absorbed: Aura of Resignation.
(Note: Collecting all Three Auras evolves "Quality of Perfect" into "Ultimate Quality.")
Pure. Terrifying.
QP had no flashy techniques—just flawless fundamentals and perfectly balanced stats.
Though rated 8-Star, his real combat power likely reached mid-tier 8-Star thanks to his talent.
If Ralph didn’t have my guidance, he’d probably lose to QP right now.
Yoru guessed Ralph only became a true top-tier (T1) player after the first World Cup, once he refined his weaknesses and matured physically.
But one detail puzzled him.
"Aogiri?"
That wasn’t QP’s name—it was a private nickname between him and Raitlair.
The Challenge
"Sorry about this, Nan," Raitlair said, ignoring the groaning students. "Let me introduce QP—my finest student. He’ll take you to the Elite Club."
Pride laced his voice.
"QP," the boy said, extending a hand.
Yoru shook it. "If Raitlair calls you his best, I’d love to see it for myself."
"That might not be wise..." Raitlair hesitated.
He only knew Yoru’s strength through Nanjiroh’s stories.
But QP?
Once a match started, QP didn’t hold back.
Raitlair didn’t want to explain to Nanjiroh why his son got hospitalized.
QP, however, remained calm.
"I haven’t played my daily matches yet. Let’s see if you’re worthy of visiting the Elite Club."
Yoru grinned. "Wouldn’t miss it."
At that moment—
[Ding!]
A system notification chimed in Yoru’s mind.
