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🕑 Added 2025-06-15 16:10:18 +0000 UTCChapter 396: Heading to Melbourne – Beach Tennis Again
The next day.
7:00 AM.
Everyone gathered in the parking lot of the U-17 training base.
Surprisingly, the usually scruffy Tōjiroh Sanda had cleaned himself up—shaved his stubble and even gotten a haircut. Now, dressed in a black suit, he addressed the group with a serious expression.
"High schoolers in one group, middle schoolers in another. Kurobe and I will take the high schoolers. Aoi and Taketora, you’re with the middle schoolers."
After a brief pause to gauge their reactions, he nodded. "If there are no questions, let’s move out."
With that, the selected players boarded their respective buses. Soon after, the vehicles set off for Narita Airport in Tokyo.
From there, their ten-hour flight to the Southern Hemisphere began.
At the same time, U-17 teams from around the world were also making their way to Melbourne.
Melbourne
3:00 PM, Canberra Time
In a coastal building on the outskirts of the city, a handsome boy with pale blue hair sat alone at a chessboard, engrossed in a game against himself.
"I'm back."
A tall, white-haired young man with a haircut styled like the Australian flag walked into the yard.
"Noah."
Seeing the boy’s focused expression, the older brother smiled.
"Brother."
Noah turned toward the voice and nodded. "How did things go with the team?"
"Everything’s fine," the young man replied confidently. "If Fitzpatrick didn’t pick me, he’d have to be blind."
This was J.J. Gorgia, Australia’s officially selected U-17 representative. The boy was his younger brother, Noah Gorgia.
"That’s good." Noah nodded. "But don’t take it too hard, Brother. Captain John has to keep the team united. With the tournament coming up, you all need to support each other."
"I don’t care about that team," Gorgia muttered, shaking his head. "Win or lose, it doesn’t matter to me. If it weren’t for those people, your eyes wouldn’t—" He cut himself off abruptly.
"It’s fine." Noah smiled faintly. "What’s done is done. Since we can’t change it, we should move forward. Even if I can’t play anymore, you’re still representing Australia. So, win for the both of us, okay?"
Gorgia clenched his fists, then nodded firmly. "I will."
At that moment, he silently vowed to crush every opponent in his path—and lead Australia to victory in this World Cup.
"By the way," Noah suddenly said, "have you heard of a player named Shin Ishikawa?"
"Shin… Ishikawa?" Gorgia frowned. "That sounds Japanese."
"It is." Noah nodded. "He’s the captain of Japan’s team. I heard on the radio that he led them to consecutive victories against South Korea and India."
"South Korea and India?" Gorgia scoffed. "Those teams aren’t exactly powerhouses."
He didn’t understand why his brilliant younger brother would take an interest in such low-tier opponents. But then again, with Noah’s blindness preventing him from competing against the world’s best, the thought filled him with bitterness.
"Don’t worry," he said, forcing a smile. "I’ll keep an eye out for any news about him."
"Thanks, Brother."
Noah turned back to his chessboard. "I’m not done with this game yet. Why don’t you take Koala for a walk?"
"Sure."
Gorgia headed inside, then returned with a spotted dog on a leash and left.
Once alone, Noah leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He tilted his head toward the sky, straining to see the blue he remembered—but his world remained pitch black.
Evening
The Japanese team landed at Melbourne International Airport.
Afterward, Sanda, Kurobe, and the others escorted the players to their pre-booked hotel and assigned rooms.
In the large lounge on the sixth floor, Sanda—now in casual wear—glanced at Kurobe. "There’s still time before dinner. Let them explore and get a feel for the local culture."
Kurobe nodded and, along with Aoi, gathered all 28 representatives.
"Awesome! We get to go out!" Kojirō was the most excited. Having once run all the way from Shizuoka to Tokyo, his energy was boundless. Now, on his first trip abroad, he wasn’t about to stay cooped up in a hotel room.
The others were relieved too. Players like Shiraishi and Tachibana, used to U-17’s strict discipline, had expected heavy restrictions.
"Stick to the beach area," Sanda warned. "Dinner is a group event. If anyone wanders off and causes trouble, there’ll be hell to pay."
The team agreed and headed out toward the shore.
Before leaving, Ishikawa pulled Shiraishi and Senri aside. "Keep an eye on Kojirō for me."
"Of course." Shiraishi smiled. "Thanks for the reminder."
It had nearly slipped his mind—aside from Ishikawa, Kojirō was the only first-year selected. In a foreign country with a language barrier, losing him would be a disaster.
The Beach
The group soon arrived at the sandy shore.
Some of the more innocent players turned red at the sight of bikini-clad women everywhere.
Then, someone proposed a "Beach Flirting Challenge"—using their charm to pick up girls. Success meant no penalty, but failure required eating one of Mitsuya’s infamous special onigiri.
(Notably, Mitsuya and Inui, though not officially selected, had joined as special advisors.)
The challenge began, with everyone scrambling to impress the ladies. But Ishikawa, uninterested, wandered off alone.
While the others played games, he was more concerned about scouting the world’s top teams—especially the "Big Four."
Germany, the nine-time defending champions, were aiming for a tenth straight title.
Spain, the mysterious team that had defeated the U.S. in the original timeline, was another enigma.
And with their coach rumored to be the legendary "Samurai of Tennis," plus the disappearance of the Echizen brothers, Akutsu, and Kite, Ishikawa couldn’t shake his suspicions.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
After walking a few hundred meters, Ishikawa heard the distinct sound of tennis balls being struck. Curious, he followed the noise.
Soon, he spotted a beachside court with neatly arranged cans. A young man with bleached blond hair was loudly promoting the game in broken English.
"Step right up! Try your luck at Melbourne Beach’s famous can-knockdown challenge!"
"One dollar per try! Knock down three cans in a row for $10, five for $20, and ten for $100!"
Standing nearby were three familiar faces—Higa Middle’s players: Kite, Chinen, and Tanishi.
If they’re here, then Kite must be around too.
Ishikawa had to admit, their business sense was sharp. Even abroad, they’d found a way to hustle.
With the U-17 tournament drawing crowds, plenty of amateurs were willing to try their luck. At just $1 per attempt, it was cheap entertainment—but hardly anyone succeeded.
The cans were arranged in numerical order, and most people couldn’t even hit one, let alone three in sequence.
Within ten minutes, the Higa trio had already pocketed over $200.
"This looks fun. Let’s give it a shot."
But their luck was about to change.
Two boys in blue-and-white shirts emblazoned with the South Korean flag stepped forward.
Kite’s expression tightened. He recognized skilled players when he saw them—but turning them away would be bad for business.
"Hyun, I’ll go first."
The black-haired boy confidently grabbed a racket and stepped to the baseline.
The crowd watched eagerly, curious to see how many cans he could hit.
"Piece of cake."
The boy smirked, tossing the ball into the air—
Thud!
—only for it to bury itself in the sand.
Silence.
The boy blinked. "What? I calculated the trajectory perfectly—unless…"
His eyes snapped to the racket in his hand.
"This thing’s rigged!"
Ishikawa sighed. Same old trick.
Kite and the others had given him a defective racket.
"Hey!" The boy whirled on them. "This racket’s messed up!"
"Sorry, pal," Kite said smoothly, adjusting his cap. "No excuses. Maybe the problem isn’t the racket—maybe it’s you."
Before the boy could retort, Kite snatched the racket back and—
Crack!
—sent Can #1 flying.
The crowd erupted in applause.
"See?" Kite grinned. "Or are you saying a nobody like me is better than South Korea’s finest?"
The boy’s face burned with humiliation.
"Enough, Yongjun."
His companion stepped forward, shooting Kite a challenging look before taking the racket. After testing its weight, he served—
Thud!
—and missed.
The crowd gasped.
But Kite and the others tensed. This guy was different.
Sure enough, his next shot struck true.
And the one after that.
"He’s good."
Kite exchanged wary glances with his teammates.
Then—
Thud!
The third can wobbled… but didn’t fall.
"Miss!" Kite called.
"What?!" Yongjun exploded. "He clearly hit it!"
"Rules say the can has to fall," Kite said smugly. "Unless you want another demonstration?"
The second boy ignored him and served again—
Thud!
—but the can still didn’t budge.
Three more attempts. Same result.
"Something’s wrong!" Yongjun shouted. "You’re cheating!"
Just then, a cold laugh cut through the noise.
"Pathetic."
A lanky, freckled teenager with tied-back brown hair strode onto the court.
Kite and the others stiffened.
"Let me introduce myself," the boy said with a sneer. "I’m Elmar Seigfried."
Blank stares.
Then, a murmur from the crowd—
"Wait… isn’t he Germany’s prodigy, A. Seigfried?!"
Kite’s blood ran cold.
Chapter 397: Kite’s Ambition, Seda’s Experiment
“Elmar Seifer?”
Lee Soo-ho, standing nearby, blurted out the name upon seeing the sudden appearance of the brown-haired boy. “The rumored No. 2 middle schooler in the German team?”
“Germany’s No. 2?!”
At those words, Kai, Hirakoba, and the others stiffened, their faces darkening. Exchanging glances, they saw the wariness and panic in each other’s eyes. They knew they’d just bitten off more than they could chew.
“Uh… hey, buddy,” Kai reacted quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “There’s an order to these things. Let these two finish their match first, then you can take your turn.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Hirakoba and Chinen chimed in, nodding vigorously.
They caught on—Kai was stalling for time, waiting for Kite to arrive. At the very least, if they could drag this out until the two Korean players finished, they could slip away under some excuse. Right now, the priority was shifting everyone’s attention to the two Korean middle schoolers.
“Tch.”
But Seifer only shot them a dismissive glance. “You two got a problem with that?”
“Ugh…”
Choi Yong-jun and Lee Soo-ho’s expressions twisted. But faced with a representative of the German team—and its No. 2, no less—they opened their mouths but couldn’t muster a rebuttal.
“Trash stays trash.”
Seifer sneered inwardly, then beckoned to Lee Soo-ho. “Hand me the racket. I’ll show you what real tennis looks like.”
Lee Soo-ho bristled at the arrogant white boy but couldn’t summon the courage to defy him. Under the judgmental stares of bystanders, he reluctantly passed the racket over.
“Watch closely.”
Seifer caught the racket with confidence. “This is how you really serve.”
BAM!
The moment he swung, a sharp yellow arc sliced through the air—
THUD!
The ball smashed into the third numbered can, sending it flying as sand spilled out from the impact.
“Wha—?!”
“He did it in one shot?!”
Choi Yong-jun and Lee Soo-ho gaped in shock. They knew how hard it was to generate spin with a worn-out racket—let alone for someone using it for the first time.
“So the cans are filled with sand.”
Choi’s eyes flashed coldly as he turned to Kai and the others. “Care to explain this?”
“They’re rigged!”
“No wonder that kid’s shot earlier didn’t do anything!”
“This is straight-up cheating!”
The crowd erupted in murmurs. Though their English was broken, Kai and Hirakoba caught enough keywords to turn grim. Their little scam had been exposed far sooner than expected.
“Remember, you owe me $10 now.”
But to their surprise, Seifer turned to them with a grin.
“Oh no…”
They realized his game too late.
Seifer was already in motion, firing three more shots in rapid succession.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Cans No. 4, 5, and 6 went flying, each spilling sand as proof of their trickery.
“Not done yet.”
Seifer, now fully engaged, tossed four more balls and served them in quick succession.
BAM! BAM-BAM-BAM!!!
The remaining cans toppled over.
Kai and Hirakoba’s faces darkened further.
“We’re screwed.”
But before they could react, Seifer pointed at the lanky Chinen. “You. Go reset all those cans.”
“This guy…”
Their stomachs sank. They’d clearly run into someone who wouldn’t back down. Yet with the crowd watching, they were trapped.
“What?”
Seifer’s smile vanished, his gaze turning icy. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of skipping out on the bet?”
“Damn it.”
Kai clenched his fists.
If Seifer had been average, they could’ve brushed him off. But his skill was undeniable—Germany’s No. 2 middle schooler wasn’t someone they could handle. Only Japan’s top five might stand a chance.
Against someone like this, they were outmatched.
Sweat dripped down their backs as Seifer’s pressure and the crowd’s scrutiny weighed on them.
Meanwhile…
A short distance away, two figures walked side by side.
One was a bespectacled boy in a purple tank top, hair slicked back with gel. The other wore a mask and kept his hands in his pockets.
“Seda,” the bespectacled boy—Kite Eishirou—spoke up. “The head coach mentioned your incredible mental strength. And you’re only in middle school, right?”
“It’s nothing special.”
Seda’s voice was calm.
“This guy…”
Kite’s eyes narrowed.
A day ago, he’d arrived in Melbourne with Echizen Nanjirou. Ambitious and unwilling to settle for a backup role, Kite had begun probing the team’s dynamics. Thanks to Nanjirou’s influence, the others tolerated him—which meant he’d gathered plenty of intel.
Including details about Spain’s middle school representatives.
And this boy, Seda, was one of their strongest.
Nanjirou had even warned them: Don’t provoke Seda.
But Kite wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.
Having clawed his way up from nothing, he wasn’t afraid of the unknown—he wanted to exploit it.
He no longer played for dreams or school pride.
From now on, everything he did was for himself.
Yet Seda’s aloofness frustrated him.
So he’d brought Seda to the beach courts, hoping to gauge his skills through a match.
Back at the Court…
“Enough!”
A sharp voice cut through the tension.
“Kite!”
Kai and the others turned in relief to see their leader approaching.
“You’re just in time—”
SLAP!
Without warning, Kite’s palm struck Kai’s face—hard.
The crisp sound silenced the beach.
Everyone froze, eyes locked on the red handprint on Kai’s cheek.
“Gulp.”
The two Korean players tensed, unnerved by Kite’s ruthlessness.
“So those are his lackeys?”
From a distance, Seda—still masked—watched with mild interest. “He set them up to run this scam?”
One glance was all he needed.
Having lived in the shadows, he recognized deception instantly.
But Kite intrigued him.
He sensed ulterior motives—and saw an opportunity.
After all, he’d recently mastered a new mental technique… and needed test subjects.
“What better lab rats than Nanjirou’s protégé and Germany’s No. 2?”
A faint glint flickered in Seda’s eyes.
Showdown
“Oh?”
Seifer’s lips curled as Kite stepped forward. “Finally showing your face, huh?”
He’d suspected Kai’s group had a backer—their hesitation made sense now.
“Listen up.”
Kite ignored Seifer, instead glaring at Kai and the others. “If you’re gonna pull stunts like this, at least be smart about it. Don’t drag unnecessary trouble my way.”
“Y-Yes, sir.”
They nodded like scolded children.
Far from home, Kite was their only lifeline.
And he’d promised them a share of his future success—if they obeyed.
THWACK!
A sudden serve tore through the air—
Straight at Kite’s head.
“Holy—!”
Lee Soo-ho and Choi Yong-jun gasped.
Seifer had just taken a reckless shot! If it connected, the bespectacled boy was done for!
SWISH!
But Kite—still facing his teammates—twisted at the last second, dodging effortlessly.
In one fluid motion, he snatched Kai’s racket and deflected the ball, catching it mid-air.
“Whoa!”
“That was insane!”
The crowd erupted in awe.
Kite smirked.
He’d heard Seifer—and had wanted to provoke him.
Because Germany’s No. 2 was the perfect stepping stone.
Beating Seifer would make Kite’s name known across the teams. Even a draw would suffice.
Losing?
Not an option.
Unless he faced monsters like Tezuka or Akutsu, Kite was confident in his skills.
“So,” he said coolly, twirling the racket, “German tennis specializes in cheap shots from behind?”
“You—!”
Seifer’s face flushed. He never resorted to sneak attacks—yet something had pushed him to act impulsively.
But pride kept him from explaining.
“Hmph.” He crossed his arms, glaring down at Kite.
Kite’s smile faded.
He hated that look—the arrogance of those born with privilege.
What made them so special?
Talent? Effort?
He had just as much—if not more.
But he held back.
He couldn’t strike first. He needed Seifer to lose control.
Only then could he claim the moral high ground.
“Aramenoma…”
“Aramenoma…”
A whisper slithered into Kite’s ears—
“Guh!”
His suppressed rage flared.
BAM!
Before he knew it, he’d lashed out—
A vicious shot aimed straight at Seifer’s forehead!
“What the—?!”
Seifer barely raised his racket in time, blocking the ball inches from his face.
“Have you lost your mind?!” he roared.
“Not bad,” Kite said smoothly, stepping forward. “As expected of Germany’s No. 2.”
He emphasized the number.
“You bastard…”
Seifer’s eye twitched.
That word—No. 2—was a trigger.
Kite had crossed a line.
The air grew thick as the two locked eyes, the crowd holding its breath.
Only one person remained unfazed—a masked boy in a white T-shirt, watching with quiet amusement.
Chapter 398: The Nonexistent Weakness – The Schemer on the Court
Match?!
When the crowd saw Kite and Siegfried deliberately creating distance between themselves, the spectators buzzed with excitement.
“Whoa! I can’t believe we’re about to see a tennis match here—what luck!”
“Yeah, and one of them is from the German team? This’ll be interesting.”
“Hope the guy with glasses can hold his own…”
Spectators quickly closed in around the court.
Before long, the area was packed—a sea of onlookers, three layers deep.
“Heh.”
Kite smirked at the sight. Though he’d lost control of his emotions earlier, things were now unfolding exactly as he’d planned.
If he could defeat Siegfried…
Kite Eishirou would instantly become the rising star in everyone’s eyes—making his next move far easier.
“Damn bastard!”
On the other side, Siegfried was fuming, his chest burning with rage. He never expected someone to dare lay a hand on him—a representative of Germany’s team.
And what infuriated him even more?
This guy had the nerve to bring up that number—the one he hated most.
“I swear, I’ll make you pay for this!”
Soon, both players took their positions near the baseline.
“Let’s begin.”
Kite gestured for Siegfried to serve first, flashing what he thought was a gentlemanly smile. “As the guest, I’ll let you have the first serve.”
“Arrogant prick!”
Siegfried’s eyes flashed with fury—but he didn’t waste time arguing.
“If you’re so eager to lose, I’ll gladly oblige!”
With a sharp exhale, Siegfried tossed the ball into the air.
His feet pushed off the ground as he leaped, his racket swinging behind his head before snapping forward—
CRACK!
A crisp impact echoed as the ball shot across the net in a golden blur, fast as the wind.
“That speed?!”
“What kind of serve is that?!”
The two Korean middle schoolers paled. They’d seen powerful serves before—but only from elite high school players. For a middle schooler to pull this off? Unless they were one of the absolute top players, it was nearly impossible.
THUD.
The ball landed—
“That placement?!”
Their pupils shrank as they watched the ball crush the white line in the sand.
This wasn’t just power—it was precision.
The ruthless efficiency reminded them of their own national team’s top players.
“As expected of a German representative.”
Choi Yong-jun nodded in reluctant admiration.
Beside him, Lee Soo-hyuk was equally stunned—but before he could speak, his expression twisted in shock.
“That swing speed—?!”
CRACK!
Before Choi could turn, the sound of a return shot already rang out.
The ball flew back in a low, sharp arc—then suddenly accelerated, spinning violently as it dipped.
“A speed-changing shot?!”
On the opposite side, Siegfried frowned.
He hadn’t expected such a sharp counter. His focus sharpened—but his footwork was solid. Anticipating the ball’s trajectory, he dashed forward, racket ready—
WHOOSH!
But then—
The ball twisted mid-air, veering unpredictably like a striking snake!
“What?!”
Siegfried barely had time to jerk his head aside as the ball shot past where he’d just been.
“15–0.”
Kite’s calm voice cut through the tension.
He lowered his racket, a faint, elegant smile playing on his lips.
This was exactly what he wanted.
To make Germany’s No. 2 crumble under pressure—to humiliate him in front of everyone.
The more Siegfried faltered, the more all eyes would be on Kite.
“Damn it!”
Losing the first point on his own serve made Siegfried’s blood boil. His temper was already short—now, it was exploding.
“That shot…”
From the sidelines, Sedat narrowed his eyes.
Siegfried was too blinded by rage to see it—but he noticed.
Kite’s shot wasn’t just skillful—it was unnaturally precise.
This wasn’t even a standard court—it was sand.
Clay courts were already the most demanding for ball control.
Sand? Even worse.
Yet Kite had just pulled off a flawless return under these conditions.
No wonder that man took an interest in him.
Sedat’s lips curled slightly. He rarely respected anyone—but that legendary player was an exception.
And one thing was clear:
Kite hadn’t provoked Siegfried on a whim.
This wasn’t about pride or some hypnotic suggestion.
No—this scheming boy had a much bigger plan.
“Alright then.”
Sedat’s gaze locked onto Kite.
“Let’s see what you’re really after… Kite Eishirou.”
CRACK!
After losing the first point, Siegfried attacked again.
His style was pure aggression—serving, then charging the net to dominate the pace.
But Kite countered perfectly.
Each return hugged Siegfried’s feet, forcing him to slow down. What should’ve been a fluid, unstoppable advance turned sluggish.
Yet Siegfried was Germany’s No. 2 for a reason.
Even at a disadvantage, his raw skill carried him to the net.
“Hmph!”
At the perfect striking position, he glared at Kite.
“I’ve found your weakness. Now—pay for crossing me!”
CRACK!
A powerful shot rocketed toward Kite’s far backhand corner—
“Great shot!”
“That’s the German team for you!”
“Finish him!”
The crowd erupted—mostly white tourists, already biased toward Siegfried.
To them, Kite could be strong…
But the winner had to be Siegfried.
SWISH!
Then—
A shadow blurred across the court, intercepting the ball at lightning speed.
“What?!”
Siegfried’s face twisted in shock.
He hadn’t even seen Kite move.
“His footwork… is that fast?!”
THUD.
Kite’s return shot streaked past Siegfried, landing dead on the baseline.
“0–30.”
GASP!
The crowd went silent—stunned.
All eyes locked onto Kite with newfound awe.
“Tch!”
Siegfried stormed back to position, teeth gritted.
He served again, refusing to back down.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
His relentless assault pushed Kite into defense—
But just as Siegfried lined up the finishing strike—
Kite moved.
SWOOSH!
A single step to the left—
Then, before his foot even touched the ground, the distance between him and the ball vanished.
“A—a teleport?!”
The Korean players’ jaws dropped.
From their perspective, Kite had instantly appeared at the ball’s landing spot.
What kind of inhuman speed was that?!
“This guy…!”
Siegfried’s face darkened.
If Kite could literally teleport, his net-rushing strategy was useless.
Taking a deep breath, Siegfried forced himself to think.
He was facing a real opponent now. If he kept playing recklessly, he’d lose.
So—he observed.
And Siegfried was talented.
After losing the third point, he cracked Kite’s pattern.
“He’s not actually teleporting.”
Despite the score, his eyes sharpened.
“He’s using some kind of footwork trick to fake it. And since he’s glued to the baseline… his weakness must be the net!”
A quick analysis—but a solid one.
Kite was a baseline player.
TAP!
So Siegfried switched tactics—
A sudden drop shot!
The ball landed softly in the frontcourt sand, bouncing low.
Kite reacted too late—
“15–40.”
Siegfried smirked, confidence surging.
“I’ve found your flaw.”
He locked eyes with Kite.
“You’ve already lost.”
And he proved it.
Point by point, he clawed back—
Until finally—
“Game! Siegfried leads, 1–0!”
The crowd roared.
“What a rally!”
“That’s the German team’s strength!”
“Hang in there, glasses! Don’t lose too badly, haha!”
The spectators laughed, thrilled by Siegfried’s comeback.
They wanted the European to win.
“Wait… Eishirou?”
But the boys from Higa frowned.
They’d seen Kite’s “Shukuchihou” before—this wasn’t its full power.
“Did he get injured in that last match?”
Chinen recalled Kite’s brutal match against Tohno—was that the reason?
“Don’t overthink it.”
Kai, still nursing a red mark on his face, shook his head.
“Eishirou knows what he’s doing.”
“Right.”
Hirakoba agreed.
They followed Kite not just out of loyalty—but because they believed in him.
The boy who’d schemed for years to defeat Ishikawa wouldn’t make careless mistakes.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Yet Siegfried kept dominating.
Point after point, game after game—
“Game! Siegfried, 2–0!”
“Game! Siegfried, 3–0!”
“Game! Siegfried, 4–0!”
“Game! Siegfried, 5–0!”
In what felt like an instant, Siegfried was one game from victory.
His aggressive play left no openings.
“Hmph.”
As Kite prepared to serve in the sixth game, Siegfried smirked.
“And here I thought you’d be a challenge. Is this all you’ve got?”
He sighed mockingly, trying to provoke Kite.
“Oh?”
But Kite only smiled.
“If that’s the case… then you’ve shown me everything you have too.”
His tone was almost amused, as if he were the one in control.
“Heh.”
Siegfried scoffed.
“Keep talking. The scoreboard doesn’t lie. I’ll crush you now.”
“I look forward to it.”
Kite’s calm was unnerving.
Despite Siegfried’s lead, he seemed like the composed one—while Siegfried was on the verge of snapping.
CRACK!
Kite served.
Siegfried returned with a sneer, then launched his usual assault—alternating deep shots with sudden drop shots.
TAP!
Another sneaky drop shot—
“Let’s see you save this one.”
SWOOSH!
But Kite moved.
In the blink of an eye, he’d covered the entire court—
CRACK!
The ball whipped past Siegfried before he could react.
“My apologies.”
Kite adjusted his glasses, smiling.
“But I have no weaknesses.”
“Wha—?!”
Siegfried’s eyes bulged.
His certainty shattered.
How?! He’d confirmed Kite’s net weakness!
“N-no way! That was a fluke!”
He snarled, refusing to accept it.
Kite didn’t answer.
He simply served again—
CRACK!
The ball twisted mid-air, writhing like a living thing—
Before slithering past Siegfried’s racket.
“I… couldn’t even see it?!”
Sweat dripped down Siegfried’s face.
He’d completely lost track of the ball.
“As I thought.”
From the sidelines, Sedat’s eyes gleamed.
“He let Siegfried ‘discover’ his weakness.”
There was no weakness.
It was all part of Kite’s plan.
“Kite Eishirou…”
Sedat murmured, impressed.
“You truly are a master schemer.”
Chapter 399: The Presence That Terrified Kite, the Gaze That Shuddered Sedah
Thud.
Two minutes later.
Elmar Siegfried—once brimming with arrogance and confidence in his skills—now knelt on the court, his eyes hollow and lifeless.
"H-how… is this possible…?"
He muttered to himself, his spirit utterly shattered.
"This guy… he’s insane!"
Outside the court, Lee Soo-hyuk and Choi Yong-jun of the Korean team stared in shock.
They never imagined that Germany’s second-ranked middle school player would lose… and to someone completely unknown, no less.
"Who is he?"
The question buzzed through the crowd. Among the spectators were seasoned tennis enthusiasts who recognized Siegfried’s identity. Unlike casual onlookers, they knew—this was Germany’s rising star, a 14-year-old prodigy already approved for their elite training center. A future champion.
Yet here he was, crushed beyond belief.
"Hmph."
On the court, Kite smirked under the weight of their stares.
This was the effect he’d aimed for: lull the opponent into underestimating him, then dominate. Maximize the drama.
But even he was surprised.
Germany’s second-best middle schooler… was this weak?
"The world’s smaller than I thought."
The victory dissolved his lingering doubts and fears about the global stage. Now, anticipation for the upcoming World Cup burned in his chest.
"Soo-hyuk! Yong-jun!"
A sharp voice cut through the air.
The two Koreans flinched.
"Trying to sneak off?"
Before they could bolt, the voice snapped again: "Come back now. If the captain finds out you ditched training, even I can’t save you."
"Y-yes, sir…"
At the mention of their captain, the pair exchanged resigned glances.
Rumors swirled about their leader’s recent transformation. After a match a month ago, his already-stern demeanor had turned ruthless. Training intensified; slackers—even first-string members—faced brutal consequences.
In the Korean team, he’d earned a new title: The Merciless Asura.
And now, he was obsessed with mastering the "Path of Asura"—a realm of untapped power.
"Huh?"
Soon, a figure with golden hair pushed through the crowd—Kim Tae-woo, Korea’s No. 2 player, nicknamed Golden Lightning.
Tae-woo’s eyes flicked to the defeated Siegfried. "A match? Already over?"
Then he turned, voice icy: "But don’t dare tell the captain you skipped training to spectate. That excuse won’t fly."
"W-we know!" They nodded frantically.
Choi Yong-jun added, "Hyung, this wasn’t just any match. It was… unbelievable."
"Tch. Still lying?" Tae-woo scoffed. "You think I’m as gullible as Kim Joon-seok?"
Lee Soo-hyuk hurriedly clarified, "That loser? He’s Elmar Siegfried—Germany’s No. 2 middle schooler!"
"What?"
Tae-woo’s smirk vanished. "You’re joking."
"Dead serious," Choi insisted.
Germany. The nine-time consecutive world champions. The undisputed kings of Big Four, with double Switzerland’s points. Even their middle schoolers were forces to reckon with.
Yet here one lay, broken on a beachside court.
Tae-woo’s gaze snapped to the bespectacled boy across the net—Kite.
Their eyes locked.
Both tensed.
"A… threat."
Kite’s pulse quickened. Tae-woo’s aura, though restrained, screamed danger.
"Those two Koreans…" Kite noted the duo beside Tae-woo. So he’s their ace?
A reckless urge surged: Challenge him. Prove yourself.
"Aramenoma… Aramenoma…"
A low, hypnotic chant slithered into Kite’s ears. The calm he’d fought to maintain frayed, aggression bubbling up.
"If Germany’s No. 2 was this easy…"
His glasses glinted. "How tough could Korea’s best be?"
The chant fed his arrogance, stoking the darkness in his heart.
"This guy’s… unstable."
Tae-woo sensed the shift. Kite’s gaze turned predatory.
But Tae-woo wasn’t reckless. This wasn’t Korea; globally, he was a small fish. Picking fights here risked humiliation—and their captain’s wrath.
Yet…
"Aramenoma… Aramenoma…"
The same chant coiled around him. His vision hazed. Rationality warred with rising fury.
"If I back down now…"
The crowd’s eyes felt heavier.
"Germany’s No. 2 lost. News will spread. They’ll recognize me next."
"I can’t let this slide."
When Tae-woo looked up again, his eyes blazed with battle lust.
"T-Tae-woo hyung…?"
Soo-hyuk and Yong-jun recoiled. Their composed senior now radiated menace.
"Hyung, what about the captain—?"
"SHUT IT!" Tae-woo snarled, jabbing a finger toward an alley. **"Go back if you want. But I’m crushing this guy first—"**
Abruptly, he froze.
His rage dissolved into sheer terror.
"W-we’re leaving. Now."
Without another word, he fled.
"Running?" Kite taunted in flawless English.
The crowd stirred, but Tae-woo didn’t glance back.
Kite frowned. No one ignores a direct challenge… unless they’re terrified of someone else.
His eyes scanned the area—but found no obvious threat.
Then…
A familiar silhouette.
"Kaede. Hirakoba. Pack up. Now."
His team gaped. "But—"
"MOVE!"
They scrambled to obey.
"…Strange."
Sedah, hidden among spectators, frowned. His mental whispers had worked—Kite and Tae-woo should’ve clashed.
Yet something—someone—had derailed it.
His gaze landed on a black-haired boy in a white T-shirt.
Testing him, Sedah brushed past, murmuring:
"Aramenoma… Aramenoma…"
The boy paused.
Got you.
Sedah’s lips curled. But when he met the boy’s eyes—
BOOM.
The world shattered.
The boy’s presence swelled, towering over him like a god. Sedah’s body locked; his soul screamed.
In that moment, he understood true fear.
Chapter 400: The State of the Teams Before the World Cup Warm-Up
At this moment, Seda felt as though he were staring up at a god.
A bone-deep terror gripped him, sending uncontrollable shivers through his body.
Then—
The light around him faded completely, plunging him into absolute darkness. As time passed, the oppressive weight of the void grew heavier, amplifying his fear.
"I can't fall here!"
"I am Hades—no, I am Seda!"
"You think something this small can break me?!"
With a concentrated burst of mental energy, the black prison trapping his consciousness shattered.
BZZT—!
At the same time, a radiant, multicolored energy halo erupted around him. His once-subdued aura now blazed with undeniable sharpness.
"Uh…"
But when Seda glanced around, he froze.
The people nearby were staring at him with strange expressions. And the mysterious black-haired boy from earlier? Nowhere to be seen.
"Damn it…"
Seda’s lips twitched beneath his mask. Suppressing his embarrassment, he turned and melted into the crowd.
"Who the hell was that guy?"
Even as he walked away, his eyes darted around, searching for any trace of the boy—but it was futile. Deep down, Spain’s top prodigy had already seared that face into his memory.
He knew they would meet again on the court.
And for the first time, the ever-confident Seda felt a flicker of unease.
Then, he vanished into the sea of people.
"Senpai… what are you looking at?"
Nearby, a freckled, brown-haired boy nervously glanced at the tall, aloof young man beside him.
"Something interesting."
The young man’s voice was calm, his light-brown bangs parted neatly. His cold demeanor made it clear he wasn’t open to small talk.
"Elmer."
He turned, his tone stern. "I’ll report this to the team leader. And when we get back, write a reflection on why you lost today."
"…Understood."
Elmer Seyfried, the boy who had just been defeated by Kintarō, hung his head.
It was hard to believe this was the same arrogant, condescending player from earlier.
But there was a reason for his obedience.
The young man in front of him was Germany’s second-in-command—Q·P, the so-called "Quality of Perfect."
Though not yet a registered pro, everyone in the German team knew Q·P was already at a professional level.
And as a second-year, his potential was considered even greater than their captain, Volk’s.
Normally, Q·P handled data analysis and strategy—core responsibilities for the team.
But with the World Cup approaching, he had taken an interest in scouting certain players in person.
However, just as he stepped out, Captain Volk had tasked him with retrieving Seyfried, who had left the hotel without permission.
After some searching, Q·P found him near the beach.
To his surprise, the usually brash boy seemed utterly dejected—as if he’d suffered a crushing defeat.
A quick inquiry revealed the truth: Seyfried had been thoroughly outplayed in a tennis match.
That piqued Q·P’s interest.
But by the time he arrived, the victor was long gone.
Just as Q·P prepared to leave, something caught his attention.
Two boys passed each other.
Their eyes met—and one froze as if struck by paralysis.
At first, Q·P assumed it was just intimidation.
But 30 seconds later…
The masked boy erupted with an astonishing aura.
"Was that… the Olympian Rainbow Light?"
Q·P’s interest flared.
On his list, Greece wasn’t a major threat—but their captain, Zeus Illiopoulos, was a different story.
A prodigy destined for greatness, largely thanks to that very technique.
"To think someone besides Zeus has mastered it…"
And that made Q·P even more curious about the black-haired boy in white shorts.
"Let’s go."
With a cold tone, he led Seyfried away.
Meanwhile, Ishikawa returned to where the Japanese team was gathered.
The beach pickup contest had ended—but the scene looked like a battlefield.
Teens sprawled across the sand, some foaming at the mouth, others with twisted limbs and rolled-back eyes. It could’ve been mistaken for a zombie outbreak.
"That’s enough."
Kurobe stepped forward. "Dinner’s ready. Follow me."
With groans and sighs, the exhausted group limped back to the hotel.
After dinner, they were confined to their rooms.
Whether from the long flight or sheer exhaustion, everyone fell asleep quickly.
The night passed without incident.
The next morning, Ishikawa knocked on each door, rallying the team for training.
Despite the World Cup’s imminent start, he showed no signs of slacking—and neither did the others.
"This guy… is a monster."
Duke, mid-workout, glanced at Ishikawa sprinting at full speed on the treadmill—his legs a blur.
"Yeah."
Byōdōin nodded.
Something felt different. Ishikawa’s speed had improved drastically in just a month.
Even more impressive? After half an hour at max speed, he barely broke a sweat.
His stamina had skyrocketed too.
For a 12-year-old, it was terrifying.
And yet, despite his overwhelming strength, Ishikawa trained harder than anyone.
That intensity pushed Byōdōin—and the others—to match it.
Even the coaches noticed.
"This kid’s something else," muttered Tōnobe.
Saitō, however, looked uneasy. "Training’s good, but we can’t risk injuries."
"Relax," Kurobe said. "They know their limits. And with Tōzoe here, nothing will go wrong."
Saitō nodded. For the first time, he felt oddly at ease before a World Cup.
But then, Inui and Yanagi arrived with data.
"Coaches," Inui said seriously, "tonight’s the warm-up match draw. Each of the 32 teams must field three pairs—one high schooler and one middle schooler each."
"Here’s our proposed lineup," Yanagi added, handing over a list.
"Good work."
Tōnobe skimmed it before passing it to Kurobe and Saitō. "The warm-ups don’t affect the main tournament. Handle this yourselves."
The two nodded, tension in their eyes.
This was their first real test.
Elsewhere, other teams were preparing too.
USA Team Hotel
"Ralph, the lineup’s yours now."
The middle-aged coach dropped a sheet on the table, gave the blond captain a long look, and left.
"Uh… what was that about?"
The androgynous Barientos frowned.
Usually, Reinhardt was consulted on all decisions.
But this time? No discussion.
Dudu, the tall black player, shrugged. "Probably nothing."
But the vice-captain, Alan Hopkins, knew better.
This was about him—the missing friend Reinhardt had once valued above all else.
"Make your choice, Ralph," Alan said firmly. "Our dream doesn’t depend on one person."
Reinhardt looked up, meeting his teammates’ determined gazes.
The hesitation vanished.
"You’re right. Victory belongs to us!"
From this moment on, Reinhardt was no longer just Ralph—he was the captain of Team USA.
And his goal was clear: the championship.
Spain Team Hotel
Seda collapsed onto his bed, exhausted.
Breaking free from that mental prison had drained him. Without the Olympian Rainbow Light, he’d have passed out.
"Hm? Little Seda…"
A tall, beautiful long-haired "woman" peeked in, concerned.
Then gently closed the door.
"Strange. Did he overheat?"
"Don’t worry, Mars."
A voice came from behind.
Mars turned to see a middle-aged man in black robes—Coach Nanjirō.
"Coach! Is Seda okay?"
"He’s just tired. Rest will fix it." Nanjirō smiled. "But stop playing matches with Ryōga for now."
"…Got it."
As Nanjirō walked away, he mused:
"So he ran into that kid."
After hearing Kintarō’s report, he’d pieced it together.
"To think he’s grown this much…"
When Nanjirō first saw Ishikawa at the Tokyo tournament, he’d seen potential.
But this?
This was beyond expectations.
Defeating Ten’i Muhō no Kiwami Ryōma, overpowering Muga no Kuchi’s Akutsu, even crushing Ryōga’s fused Hado—
Ishikawa was easily top five among high schoolers worldwide.
"If even Master Buggy acknowledges him… he might just rewrite history."
Nanjirō’s eyes gleamed.
"Ryōma… you’d better catch up."
Germany Team Hotel
In a room piled with documents, Q·P set down a file.
His eyes sharpened.
"So his name is Ishikawa Shin… Japan’s team leader."
Then he saw it—
Middle School Student.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
(End of Chapter)
