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🕑 Added 2025-07-22 16:28:29 +0000 UTCChapter 56: The Power of Reverse Domain; Yukimura's Disappointment
A scoring shot?
Before anyone could process what happened, the moment the ball crossed the net, a vortex reappeared.
Unlike the previous bluish-white one, this vortex was black and red, and instead of pulling things in, it pushed outwards.
The ball, which was supposed to land inbounds, was forcefully deflected at a sharp angle by the swirling wind.
After a brief flight, it landed out of bounds.
"How... how is that possible?"
Schneider stood there, stunned.
The deviation was far too extreme—it was clear to anyone watching that this wasn’t a mishit by Schneider.
Combined with what Yoru had said earlier, it wasn’t hard to figure out that this was another form of a domain.
From pulling to pushing.
It sounds simple, but... is that even humanly possible?
Anyone could tell that a reverse domain was significantly harder to pull off than a standard domain. Yet Yoru executed it with ease.
And judging by the effect, it wasn’t just a fluke—he was clearly experienced with it.
“So this is... another application of the domain.” Tezuka’s pupils narrowed.
He had never even considered that a domain could be used like this.
At his current level, just mastering a regular domain was already a monumental task—let alone developing new variations.
In the original manga, Tezuka only came up with the idea of a reverse domain in his third year, and it wasn’t until his later matches with Ryoma that he actually managed to develop and use it in practice.
“Did you see that clearly?”
Yoru looked toward Tezuka.
Tezuka gave a slight nod, but the shock in his eyes couldn’t be hidden.
“I scored. 15–0!”
“Keep serving, Schneider.”
Like a puppet on strings, Schneider seemed to have lost the ability to think for himself. Instinctively, he served the next ball.
And it wasn’t just Tezuka and the others.
Even Schneider himself wanted to witness that reverse domain again.
The emergence of the reverse domain was undoubtedly a revolutionary upgrade—it elevated the domain technique to an entirely new level.
Wham!
Yoru flicked his wrist and returned the serve.
Once again, the ball spun with an unusual and powerful rotation.
Schneider didn’t dare underestimate it. He swung his racquet with the force of a tornado, trying to counter the spin.
He was hoping to shatter the spin using a full-power counterattack.
But if he couldn’t even break the spin of a normal domain, how could he possibly neutralize the even stronger spin of a reverse domain? Predictably, the ball got pushed out of bounds.
“Point, Yoru. Score: 30–0!”
“The reverse domain pushes the opponent’s shots out of bounds. If both players are similar in their base five attributes, both domain and reverse domain can forcefully control the ball.”
“But if your stats are lower, you’ll need to rely on prediction and guidance.”
Yoru explained while returning the ball.
After mastering his own domain, he came to understand just how terrifying the reverse domain could be.
As long as the difference in base attributes wasn’t too huge, the reverse domain could control the ball almost unconditionally.
In the original series, during Tezuka’s match against Sanada, he had to rely on preemptive predictions to pull off "Tezuka Phantom." A big reason was that he had just developed it and lacked proficiency.
Otherwise, Sanada would’ve lost much sooner.
Later in the World Cup, a more polished "Tezuka Phantom" absolutely crushed Atobe and Irie, treating them like rookies.
As for Yoru, with his level 8 reverse domain, this wasn’t even a problem.
The higher your overall technique level, the better you can manipulate the match even if your five base stats are a bit lower. The reverse domain is a ridiculously broken technique.
Just goes to show—Tezuka really was the series’ golden boy.
All the coolest and strongest stuff ended up with him.
“Point, Yoru. Score: 40–0!”
“Game, Yoru. 6–0!”
Match over. Yoru shuts out Schneider!
Schneider stared blankly at the tennis ball outside the court.
It had been a long, long time since he’d experienced such a crushing defeat. In fact, this might have been the worst loss of his entire career.
Even against Bjorn Borg, he had managed to score a few points.
But this match? Six games. Twenty-four points. Not a single one was his.
The pride he held in becoming a professional player was shattered completely.
Smack!
Just as Schneider was spiraling into self-doubt, Adler walked up and patted his shoulder.
Schneider turned to him, looking hollow: “Coach... I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
Harold Adler shook his head.
He wasn’t an idiot—anyone could see how vast the gap between the two players was.
“Take a good rest.”
Then, Adler turned to Yoru and pulled out a business card: “Mr. Yoru, your skill is truly exceptional. If you’re interested, we’d love to invite you to return with us to Germany next week. There are some great players there waiting to meet you.”
“If you're willing, the door to the German Elite Club will always be open to you.”
He didn’t offer a formal invitation letter.
The pre-match atmosphere had been tense, and Yoru didn’t seem particularly fond of the Elite Club anyway, so Adler tried a different approach.
By inviting him to Germany first, he was betting on the country’s world-class training environment to do the persuading. The official invitation could wait.
“I...”
Just as Yoru was about to respond, Adler quickly cut in: “Please don’t reject us outright. Exploring the world a bit never hurts. We’ll cover all your travel expenses.”
A free trip, huh?
No need for that.
Yoru took the card. “Thank you.”
Seeing Yoru accept the card, Adler let out a sigh of relief. Then he turned to Tezuka: “I hope you’ll consider it seriously too. We’ve got many excellent players in the club who could help you improve.”
“Alright.”
Tezuka nodded, though his expression remained calm.
After watching this match, he had already made up his mind to stay in Japan and grow by following in Yoru’s footsteps.
“Alright then, I won’t disturb you any further.”
“Let’s go, Schneider.”
At the JR Tournament Finals venue
The referee checked his watch and frowned slightly before announcing into the mic: “The 10-minute grace period has passed. Tezuka Kunimitsu has failed to appear. This match goes to Yukimura Seiichi by default!”
A wave of disappointment rippled through the crowd.
“What happened? Is he not playing?”
“Where is he?”
“Maybe he’s too exhausted. Honestly, this schedule is kinda messed up—semi-finals and finals so close together? No one gets enough rest.”
“Such a shame. Both Tezuka and Yukimura were incredible in the semis. I really thought we were going to witness a match for the ages.”
“Well, that’s life. Sometimes things just don’t go the way you want.”
Yukimura sat expressionlessly on the bench.
He had mentally and physically prepared for this match more than ever—even his pre-match warm-up had gone longer than usual.
And yet, Tezuka never showed.
After a long pause, Yukimura slowly stood up and draped his jacket over his shoulders.
“Let’s go, Sanada.”
His voice was calm.
But Sanada, more than anyone, could sense Yukimura’s disappointment.
Yukimura had always longed for a true rival—someone who could stand on equal footing with him. Unfortunately, Sanada never quite fit that mold.
Which was exactly why Sanada had been working so hard all this time.
Tezuka’s dominant performance had clearly met Yukimura’s expectations.
“Isn’t that Tezuka over there?”
Sanada suddenly raised his hand, pointing toward a group of figures approaching in the distance.
Chapter 57: Yukimura vs. Tezuka
"So, the concept behind 'Reverse Domain' is to add at least 60% more spin than usual, while simultaneously predicting and countering your opponent’s next move?"
"Mm, you could put it that way."
Ever since his match with Schneider, Tezuka had been constantly asking questions about how to use Reverse Domain.
Even though he couldn’t pull it off just yet—
He understood that this technique was the future evolution of the Domain.
"Tezuka Kunimitsu!"
A calm, cool voice called out.
Everyone stopped walking and looked up to see Yukimura and Sanada walking toward them.
"Why didn’t you..."
Before Sanada could speak, Yukimura grabbed Tezuka’s arm and asked sternly, "Why didn’t you show up for our match?!"
Tezuka frowned slightly. "Something came up."
"Then let's play now!"
Without another word, Yukimura started dragging Tezuka toward the court.
"Seiichi..."
Sanada looked hesitant. He’d never seen his friend this out of sorts.
However—
Yukimura couldn’t move Tezuka an inch.
"Why does this feel... kinda weird..." Yoru muttered, suddenly getting goosebumps.
Sanada looked between Yukimura holding onto Tezuka and Tezuka standing there like an immovable tree stump. It was, strangely... intense.
“I don’t want to play a match right now,” Tezuka said firmly.
He was still deep in his questions about Reverse Domain, and didn’t want to waste mental energy on a match he deemed pointless.
Yukimura stood frozen.
He was still young and had never dealt with a situation like this. All he knew was that the finals hadn’t been played yet—so they had to be.
“Go ahead, Tezuka. There’s plenty of time in the future, but you shouldn’t disregard someone’s expectations so lightly.”
Right when Yukimura was visibly at a loss, Yoru’s calm voice rang out.
“Senpai…”
Tezuka looked uncertain.
Yoru said quietly, “You’ve got my number. But this match... this one, you really shouldn’t skip.”
“Yukimura Seiichi is a strong opponent. I think you two will give us a spectacular game.”
(Yeah, no kidding. If you don’t play, where’s my reward supposed to come from?!)
With things said this far, Tezuka couldn’t really refuse anymore. He nodded.
Right now, Tezuka respected Yoru almost like a god.
He was a genius obsessed with tennis, someone aiming for the pro circuit—and yet he’d faced off against someone on the level of a near-pro and won. That kind of strength demanded immense respect.
“Ooh, another match to watch~” Kirigaya said with a look of excitement.
Just like Tezuka, Kirigaya and Yamato now held even deeper respect for their captain.
After all, none of them had expected Yoru to actually be able to compete with a pro.
No—scratch that.
Not just compete. He dominated!
There were plenty of courts at the Junior Regional venue, and the group found an empty one within a few steps.
“Yamato, you ref the match.”
“Sure thing~”
Yukimura started warming up again. Tezuka did the same on the other side of the court.
Tezuka quietly studied Yukimura.
Unlike Tezuka, who kept a low profile, Yukimura was well-known in Kanagawa. He’d been winning titles since he was a kid.
Even Tezuka, all the way in Tokyo, had heard of him.
Part of the reason Tezuka had rushed from Seigaku to join the JR Tournament was because he wanted to test himself against the so-called prodigies—and Yukimura Seiichi was one of them.
But after yesterday’s boring match schedule and that lackluster game with Sanada, his excitement for a match with Yukimura had dropped to almost zero.
Ten minutes later, both players stood at the net, eyes locked across the distance.
“Heads or tails?”
“Heads.”
Clack!
The racket spun and landed with the handle down—letter side up.
Yukimura won the serve.
“A match worth looking forward to,” Yukimura said, taking a deep breath.
Even though things hadn’t gone as planned, he was finally getting what he wanted.
He had watched the match between Sanada and Tezuka and could tell Tezuka had been holding back.
Now he was certain—Tezuka was the rival he’d been searching for all this time.
“Match start! Yukimura Seiichi to serve!” Yamato called out.
Smack—!
No unnecessary words.
Yukimura swung and served. It was a simple flat serve, but the speed, power, and angle were all excellent.
Everyone watching had already seen Yukimura play and knew how solid he was.
His fundamentals were just as good as Tezuka’s, and his five core abilities were very well-balanced.
Smack—!
After a few rallies back and forth—
Tezuka made the first move. He swung his racket and aimed a sharp angled shot toward the front corner of the court.
“Near-corner shot—very dangerous and hard to pull off. It takes precise control and power,” Yukimura’s calm voice echoed across the court. “But the direction is always one of two options, and the bounce zone is small. Once familiar with it, it's easy to counter.”
Even as he spoke, Yukimura had already stepped into the path of the ball and swung for a return.
At the same time—
Tezuka, fully aware of the weaknesses of a near-corner shot, knew that if the opponent anticipated it, they could easily seize control of the rally.
So he didn’t sit back.
He rushed forward toward the net, compressing Yukimura’s available return space.
Whoosh—!
The sharp sound of spin echoed across the court.
Just as Tezuka neared the net, he executed a short drop shot with intense spin, sending the ball barely skimming over the net.
“A non-bouncing front court slice, huh... As long as I hit it before it lands, it becomes a perfect setup for me.”
Before the sentence even finished—
Yukimura had already rushed in and scooped the ball upward from below.
A lob.
From Tezuka’s position at the net, Yukimura only had two options—either a passing shot or a lob.
Knowing how unlikely a passing shot would succeed against Tezuka, Yukimura went with the safer lob to leave himself some backup space.
Whoosh—!
But before the ball could even cross the net, a dark shadow loomed across the court.
Yukimura looked up in disbelief.
Tezuka had predicted his move, leaping ahead of time and intercepting the lob in midair—completely cutting off its trajectory.
A front-court smash!
And with Yukimura still near the net, there was no way to return it!
BANG—!
The ball struck the racket with a loud crack, flying past Yukimura like a beam of light and slamming into the baseline before bouncing out of bounds.
“Point, Tezuka Kunimitsu! Score: 15–0!” Yamato announced, his eyes filled with admiration.
“Such decisiveness,” Sanada murmured, tightening his grip.
Neither player was underestimating the other. It was clear that every move was part of a calculated plan.
He knew Yukimura had spent nearly an hour mentally simulating this match.
But Tezuka—
Tezuka’s play felt like it came from sheer experience.
In a clash of prediction and counter-prediction, Tezuka had the edge. Sanada could hardly believe it.
“Both of them are monsters,” Kirigaya said simply.
Back on the court—
Yukimura tapped his racket lightly on the ground.
Losing a point didn’t shake him one bit. It was as if he had expected it all along.
Smack—!
The match resumed.
Yukimura served again. This time, the ball landed at a spot equidistant from the last, the difference nearly imperceptible to the naked eye.
The two engaged in another high-speed rally.
Six or seven exchanges later, Tezuka found his opportunity and went for another near-corner shot.
But Yukimura read it again and intercepted the shot with ease.
Just like that, the match tempo returned to an even back-and-forth rhythm.
Chapter 58: The True Nature of the Five Senses Loss
"The same technique won’t work on me twice." "If it fails the first time, there’s no reason to try it again."
Wham!
Yukimura spoke calmly while returning the ball.
"That Yukimura kid sure talks a lot," someone remarked.
"It’s not just that," Yoru said.
"Huh?" Kirigaya looked at him, confused.
Yoru explained in a composed tone, “Imagine you were on the court. If someone not only returned your shot but also explained the principle and the flaw behind it, how would that make you feel?”
Kirigaya frowned and thought for a moment. “I guess... it would create a lot of psychological pressure.”
“Exactly. He’s setting a trap for Tezuka. Pay attention to Yukimura’s returns—they’re practically copy-paste, repeating the same shots like a replication machine.”
“Now that you mention it... you’re right.”
He had spoken casually, but Sanada, who was sitting not far away, was deeply shaken.
He had known Yukimura for a long time and was very familiar with his playing style.
Yet this guy, who was seeing Yukimura play for the first time, could read that much?
Sanada couldn’t help but look at Yoru with newfound awe.
Just like Yoru said—Yukimura’s verbal remarks were meant to chip away at Tezuka’s mental state.
At first, it wasn’t much.
But as the match dragged on, those constant little comments would weigh on Tezuka like boulders—stress would keep piling up.
What shocked Sanada even more was that Yoru had noticed Yukimura’s replication-style returns.
That kind of repeated play, combined with psychological warfare, would snowball into more severe effects.
All of which were meant to lay the groundwork for that move.
Wham!
Tezuka seized an opening and slammed a clean winner.
"Point, Tezuka Kunimitsu! Score: 30–0!"
Actually, Yukimura could’ve returned it.
But he didn’t even try, letting the ball fly past him and out of bounds.
"Wow, he’s got nerves of steel," Kirigaya said, surprised.
Yoru shook his head. “It’s not that. He’s just very clear about his objective. He knows what he needs to do. Choosing not to chase some shots is his way of conserving energy.”
The match had only just begun. Losing a few points now wasn’t a big deal.
Yukimura’s goal was to lengthen each rally, but that didn’t mean he’d chase every shot. That would just wear him down faster.
Wham! Wham! Wham!
The two continued exchanging shots.
After about ten rallies, a vortex of energy began forming around Tezuka, expanding to cover his half of the court.
“His Domain,” Sanada muttered, grabbing the railing, veins bulging on his forehead.
That technique was what had broken him.
“Ha... Looks like Yukimura’s trap isn’t ready yet, but Tezuka’s Domain activated first,” Kirigaya smirked as he looked at Yukimura.
When facing a player with Domain, dragging out the match would eventually bring it out.
Even if Tezuka hadn’t planned on using it, his habitual training would kick in and guide his returns until it formed naturally.
“Domain guides your opponent’s returns using prediction and spin,” Yukimura murmured, unbothered. “It’s precise and hard to break... but it also forces you to respond to every shot in the exact same way.”
Everyone blinked, confused.
“What does he mean by that?”
Not just Yamato—even Kirigaya looked puzzled.
“Just keep watching,” Yoru said casually.
Wham!
"Point, Tezuka Kunimitsu! Score: 40–0!"
"Game, Tezuka! 1–0!"
Once Domain was activated, Yukimura barely lasted a few rallies before losing his service game.
After all, Domain gave Tezuka complete control of the court.
Being constantly moved around, even someone as precise as Yukimura was bound to make mistakes eventually.
“Yukimura lost a game?” Sanada murmured, unable to believe it.
He’d known Yukimura for years.
In every match—including against Sanada himself—Yukimura had never lost a single game.
So, yes, he was worried.
But seeing Yukimura so calm and composed made him feel like maybe Yukimura had expected this all along.
“Could it be... that stripping away Tezuka’s five senses is actually harder than I thought?”
The thought sent a chill down Sanada’s spine.
The first game ended.
Without a word, both players changed ends.
Second game. Tezuka to serve.
He tapped the ball with his racket, adjusting his stance.
“…Huh?” Kirigaya frowned. “Something feels off.”
Tezuka was clearly the one in control.
But he was sweating. His breathing was heavier than Yukimura’s.
Even his usual pre-serve routine was taking longer, which meant… he needed more rest time.
“Is it… pressure?” Kirigaya turned to Yoru.
Yoru nodded. “The Domain reduced his physical exertion, but it also restricted how he can return each ball.”
“To most players, Domain is a nightmare. But for someone like Yukimura, it’s practically a catalyst.”
Then Yoru suddenly turned to Sanada.
“Hey, kid… your friend’s trying to induce Yips through tennis, isn’t he?”
“Y-You…!”
Sanada’s skin crawled.
"How… how do you know that?!"
Who was this guy?
With just a few words, he had seen right through the true nature of Yukimura’s five senses loss.
“What’s Yips?” Kirigaya asked, still confused.
Yoru explained calmly, “Yips is a neuromuscular condition where athletes suffer involuntary muscle contractions—a physiological disorder.”
“It was first discovered in golfers, but it’s been seen in baseball players, tennis players, billiards players, dart throwers... lots of sports.”
“Yukimura prolongs rallies and creates intense pressure, using it to induce a temporary form of the Yips.”
It was a real medical condition.
But in the New Prince of Tennis universe, under the "High School Tennis of the World" setting, it had evolved into something more extreme—what they called “Loss of the Five Senses.”
“Tennis can do that?” Kirigaya’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Using tennis to trigger a medical disorder?
He’d never heard anything like it.
Sanada, on the other hand, was already too shocked to speak.
His mind was spinning with thoughts like Who is this guy? and How did he figure that out in one glance?!
Even Sanada hadn’t understood the true nature of the five senses loss until Yukimura explained it to him directly.
This kind of insight blew his mind.
Wham!
Just as they were deep in discussion—
The match shifted.
After the Domain pulled the ball into Tezuka’s return zone, Tezuka’s shot unexpectedly went out of bounds.
"Point, Yukimura Seiichi! Score: 15–0!"
Tezuka frowned and flexed his hand, but didn’t feel anything wrong physically.
Meanwhile, across the court, Yukimura lowered his head slightly and smiled faintly.
“Let’s begin, Tezuka-kun~”
Chapter 59: The Loss of the Five Senses; Zero-Shiki Serve; Sanada’s Rage
“That move... it’s happening again.”
“The Five Senses Deprivation.”
Sanada’s eyes flickered with fear, and his body trembled involuntarily.
As a close friend—and Yukimura’s only long-time rival—he had experienced this terrifying technique more than anyone else.
For years, he’d tried every method to counter it, but nothing ever worked.
Yukimura’s Gokan Hakudatsu was like a domain—once you started returning shots, it slowly drew you in. There was no way to escape.
Bam!
Point for Yukimura Seiichi. The score is 30–0.
Bam!
Point for Yukimura Seiichi. The score is 40–0.
In the next two rallies, Tezuka began to show signs of faltering—committing simple, uncharacteristic errors.
“What’s going on...?”
Kirigaya frowned slightly.
Yoru explained, “Yips syndrome is starting to kick in.”
“Combine mimicry-based counters, relentless psychological pressure, and prolonged high-speed rallies—it’s enough to temporarily shut down Tezuka’s sense of touch during the match. That’s what’s causing the errors.”
“If Tezuka keeps returning Yukimura’s shots, his tactile sense will be completely wiped out. And if it goes further, his other senses might start to break down too.”
The senses…?
Kirigaya swallowed hard.
The yips were bad enough—but this? Losing your senses mid-match? How are you supposed to keep playing like that?
This guy...!
Sanada shot Yoru a hard stare.
Since earlier, everything Yoru said had cut straight to the heart of Yukimura’s technique—exposing its structure, its essence, and even its effects.
Just who was this guy?
Feeling Sanada’s gaze, Yoru kept calm and composed, maintaining his aloof image as he watched the match with quiet confidence.
On court...
Tezuka clenched his palm.
At first, there wasn’t much of a difference. But by the third squeeze, he felt... emptiness. His hand had completely lost its sense of touch.
“The Five Senses Deprivation—my personal technique. The first sense I strip away is your sense of touch.”
Yukimura’s cold voice echoed from across the court.
Seeing Tezuka’s reaction, he calmly explained, “Tezuka-kun, with each stroke, your tactile sense will fade more and more.”
“There’s no point testing it—you’ll lose it entirely if you keep playing. It’s only a matter of time.”
Hiss—
Tezuka remained unreadable, but Yamato, the umpire, gasped softly.
These kids today are terrifying.
He had already thought the team captains were ridiculous. But now these younger players were showing even more outrageous talent—and at a younger age too.
What is happening to the world of tennis?
Whoosh—!
Unfazed by Yukimura’s words, Tezuka tossed the ball high into the air.
He bent his knees and leapt, slicing downward with his racket.
The ball drew a graceful arc through the air, landing softly near the inner corner. Its speed was slow, but the spin was intense.
“A spin serve?”
“No matter how strong the spin is, if you return it the moment it bounces, you can negate the effect.”
Yukimura muttered as he glided to the landing point.
“Trying to use spin to slow down the Five Senses Deprivation won’t work.”
Watching closely, Sanada shook his head.
He had tried everything over the years. Nothing ever worked.
Hearing the commentary, Kirigaya teased with a grin, “Kid, your friend won’t be able to return that serve~”
Unable to return it?
Sanada scoffed.
Yukimura could see through the core of any technique.
Whoosh whoosh—!
Back on court.
Yukimura raised his racket high—but frowned.
The ball lingered on the ground far longer than it should’ve.
“Even if it lingers, it’ll still bounce—wha—?!”
Before he could finish, his voice froze.
After spinning in place for a few moments, the ball rolled backwards... and then came to a complete stop just beneath the net.
“Th-This... what?”
Sanada was stunned.
The serve... didn’t bounce?
How was that even possible?! A serve that doesn’t bounce?
But the truth was right there in front of him—undeniable.
“Point for Tezuka Kunimitsu. The score is 15–40.”
Yukimura furrowed his brow.
It took him a moment to make a decision—there was no way he could return that serve.
Even as someone who prioritized victory above all else, he couldn’t bring himself to break the very fundamentals of tennis just to scoop up a ball that never bounced.
A ball that didn’t bounce... was impossible to return.
In a sense, this was an invincible serve.
“But still…”
Yukimura narrowed his eyes.
He had already conceded one game. Giving up another didn’t bother him.
Once it was his service game, Tezuka would be forced to keep returning—and eventually, his tactile sense would be stripped away completely.
Bam!
Whoosh whoosh whoosh—!
The beautiful sound of spinning echoed across the court.
Tezuka hit another Zero-Shiki Serve, scoring easily.
“30–40!”
“Damn it… he was holding back when he played me, wasn’t he...?”
Sanada clenched his fists tightly.
The stronger Tezuka appeared, the more it reminded Sanada of his own inadequacy.
Yoru glanced sideways at him.
Not only did you get shut out, but now you realize he had more up his sleeve... that’s a brutal hit to your pride.
Bam!
“Point for Tezuka Kunimitsu. The score is 40–40.”
Bam!
“Point for Tezuka Kunimitsu. The score is A–40.”
After 40–40, whoever scores the next point gets an “A” for advantage. Score again, and they win the game. If the opponent scores, it resets to deuce.
Bam!
Another Zero-Shiki Serve hit the court.
Yukimura raced to the ball, ready to return it the moment it bounced—even the slightest lift would be enough.
But the ball spun… and stopped dead right in front of him.
“Point for Tezuka Kunimitsu. The score is 2–0.”
“Completely unreturnable…”
Yukimura sighed.
But he didn’t look worried.
Once Tezuka’s sense of touch was fully erased, he wouldn’t be able to use the Zero-Shiki Serve at all.
Anyone could tell—such a serve required immense control.
Without tactile feedback, controlling the ball would become almost impossible.
Game 3: Yukimura Seiichi to serve.
The players switched sides.
Tezuka clenched his hand again.
Even with the delay created by his Zero-Shiki Serve, the sensation in his palm had barely recovered.
Bam!
Yukimura served again from across the court.
The ball was even faster than before—blazing past the net and appearing in front of Tezuka in the blink of an eye.
While not beyond Tezuka’s capability, it forced him to focus all his attention on it.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
After several rallies, the vortex of Yukimura’s domain began to manifest again.
The previously high-speed shots were dragged back into Tezuka’s court.
Whoosh!
Tezuka swung his arm.
But just as the racket was about to connect, a sudden, overwhelming sense of weightlessness flooded his arm.
His racket slipped from his grip and flew out of bounds.
“...It worked.”
Sanada’s expression grew serious.
Once the sense of touch is fully stripped away, the most immediate effect is this—you can’t hold onto your racket during a return.
Of course, this only happens the first time it's fully deprived.
Afterward, the player would consciously tighten their grip. But without any feedback, they’d have no idea how much force they were actually using—control would plummet drastically.
Diverting so much focus to the racket arm also sets the stage for the next sense to be stolen.
The Five Senses Deprivation is a chain—once it starts, you fall deeper and deeper, with no way out.
“Point for Yukimura Seiichi. The score is 15–0.”
Chapter 60: Tezuka in Crisis – His Natural Feel for the Ball
"You've completely lost your sense of touch, haven't you?"
"So what are you going to do next, Tezuka?"
Yukimura wore a confident smile.
He knew that the moment Tezuka’s sense of touch was stripped away, the match would shift in his favor.
Smack!
As soon as he finished speaking, Yukimura served again.
The ball zipped through the court in the blink of an eye, flying straight toward Tezuka.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
The two immediately engaged in a high-speed rally.
With his sense of touch gone, Tezuka's return shots lost their usual sharpness, and his Tezuka Zone began to falter.
Still, relying on observation and experience, Tezuka managed to maintain the zone temporarily and keep up with Yukimura.
But...
Smack!
After a long exchange, Tezuka’s grip gave out again. His racket flew from his hand, completely out of control.
"Point, Yukimura Seiichi! Score: 30–0!"
"He can't even hold his racket anymore..."
Kiritani watched in shock, unable to imagine what Tezuka was enduring.
Yoru explained, "Without a sense of touch, Tezuka has to concentrate all his focus on gripping his racket tightly."
"But because he can't feel it, he ends up overcompensating and gripping too hard, which causes sudden muscle cramps."
"Even if he can’t feel the pain, the cramp forces his hand to open up against his will, as if the brain loses control over his muscles for a moment."
Hiss~
Kiritani sucked in a breath. "How can he even continue the match like this? Just the loss of touch is causing this many problems. If what you say is true, won’t his other senses be affected too?"
Yoru remained calm. "Of course. Why do you think Yukimura is keeping the pace so high?"
Nearby, Sanada’s brow twitched as he overheard the conversation.
It felt like Yukimura’s entire strategy had been completely seen through.
When did Seigaku get someone like that?
Sanada glanced at Yoru, now deep in thought.
He had researched Seigaku before—it was the school Echizen Nanjiro once attended—but their record was nothing to brag about. He hadn’t paid them much attention.
Smack!
"Point, Yukimura Seiichi! Score: 40–0!"
Smack!
"Game, Yukimura Seiichi! 2–1!"
Four straight points secured him the third game.
That rally had lasted nearly ten minutes, with Yukimura relentlessly returning the ball to Tezuka, forcing him to respond directly.
Tezuka was caught in a trap.
Not returning the ball would cost him points, but every return sped up the breakdown of his senses.
As the match continued...
Tezuka’s error rate increased, and Yukimura’s attacks became even more aggressive.
The score began to shift rapidly.
Smack!
"Point, Yukimura Seiichi! 3–2!"
...
Smack!
"Point, Yukimura Seiichi! 5–2!"
...
In less than five minutes, Yukimura had gained overwhelming control of the scoreboard.
Tezuka might’ve looked calm on the outside, but his situation was dire.
The sounds in his ears were becoming muffled.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The real problem was his vision. What he saw began to blur and double, making it harder and harder to track the ball.
Eighth game – Tezuka’s serve.
Tezuka gripped his racket tightly, hesitating to serve.
"Tezuka’s eyes..." Kiritani noticed his pupils had begun to lose focus.
"Looks like his vision’s been affected too. That probably means his hearing’s off as well."
"What a shame... my technique’s not complete yet. If it were, you’d have completely lost your sight, hearing, and touch."
"So how do you plan to keep playing, Tezuka?"
Yukimura said this calmly.
But inside, he wasn’t so relaxed.
He’s too calm!
Tezuka was unnervingly composed.
Most people would panic in this situation. Some might even lose the ability to continue the match.
But Tezuka remained unnaturally calm.
That unshakeable composure made Yukimura uneasy.
"Even with three senses impaired, what can you possibly do?"
Yukimura muttered to himself, then took up a defensive stance.
Smack!
A soft sound echoed through the court.
A peculiar serving motion… the inside curve… that clean spin... the feather-light bounce...
All signs pointed to that technique!
Zero-Shiki Serve!
"No way!"
The ball hit the ground, and Yukimura’s expression changed dramatically.
To everyone’s disbelief, the ball spun in place beneath the net instead of bouncing back.
"Point, Tezuka Kunimitsu! Score: 15–0!"
Even Yamato, who had been calling the score, was taken aback by the sudden use of the Zero-Shiki Serve.
Tezuka hadn’t used it since Yukimura stripped away his sense of touch in the third game. How could he pull it off now, in an even worse condition?
"Why...?"
Yukimura stared at Tezuka, eyes locked on him.
But Tezuka gave no explanation. He simply walked to the other side of the court... and served another Zero-Shiki!
Swish swish swish—
The sound rang through Yukimura’s mind like a death knell.
"Point, Tezuka Kunimitsu! Score: 30–0!"
What’s going on!?
He had lost his sense of touch, and now even his vision and hearing were compromised. How could he still perform a Zero-Shiki Serve?
Yukimura didn’t understand.
Neither did Sanada, Kiritani, or Yamato.
They weren’t amateurs—they could all tell that a Zero-Shiki Serve required extremely high technical control.
Yet even in this condition, Tezuka was executing it flawlessly.
"Surprised?"
Yoru, who had been quiet for a while, finally spoke with a smile. "Those two kids might not get it, but you should know, right? You’ve seen Tezuka play before."
"Huh?" Kiritani was completely lost.
"Every one of Tezuka’s techniques relies on one key factor... control."
"Most people can develop good control through practice. But some people are born with an extraordinary sense for the ball. That’s what we call natural ball feel."
"Ball feel is essentially a player’s ability to perceive and control the ball. It’s a combination of instinct and skill developed over years of play—understanding the ball’s shape, weight, speed, bounce, and being able to predict and guide its trajectory and landing."
"Tezuka has something even rarer—absolute ball feel. It’s pure talent. Even without any of his five senses, he can still grasp his and the ball’s position through that innate sense."
Absolute Ball Feel—a sixth sense born of genius.
A gift that no amount of practice could ever replicate.
Kiritani and Sanada stood frozen.
They’d always known Tezuka had superb control, but they’d never realized the depth of it.
"Point, Tezuka Kunimitsu! Score: 40–0!"
"Game, Tezuka Kunimitsu! Score: 3–4!"
Another Zero-Shiki Serve brought Tezuka closer to evening the score—just one point away!
"Stay calm..."
"Stay calm. I’ve already got the upper hand. As long as I hold my serve, I can win."
Yukimura took a deep breath and slapped his racket against the court.
He was just about to serve when Tezuka's voice echoed across the court.
"If you really want to win... just holding your serve won’t be enough, right... Yukimura?"
