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326-330
🕑 Added 2025-05-29 16:37:28 +0000 UTCChapter 326: Is This Guy Really a Data Player? (Part 2)
The Truth Revealed
Sharama had figured it out.
His opponent’s technique wasn’t some advanced skill—it relied on tiny, barely noticeable pebbles scattered across the court.
A fast, straight serve would hit one of these pebbles, causing the ball to bounce unpredictably.
That was the secret behind his serves!
"So…"
Sharama narrowed his eyes at Ishikawa. "Is this guy another data-driven player, just like Kiran?"
A similar trick had been used by Kiran in his Singles 2 match.
The difference?
Sharama hadn’t considered the possibility earlier. Now, it was clear—his opponent wasn’t some prodigy. He had simply underestimated him.
"Hmph!"
With a cold smirk, Sharama locked onto Ishikawa with a sharp gaze.
BAM!
Another serve.
The ball rocketed past the net, landing precisely on the service line. But this time, Sharama spotted the small pebble lying in wait.
"Did you really think I’d fall for the same trick twice?"
TAP!
The ball struck the pebble, veering off-course—but Sharama, already anticipating it, smoothly adjusted his stance and smashed it back.
"He returned it!"
The Indian team erupted in cheers.
"So that’s how it is."
Rohit, his dark skin glistening with sweat, frowned. "He’s been cheating. His technique isn’t as advanced as we thought."
"Mmm."
Kiran nodded, studying Ishikawa with newfound interest. A data player… just like me.
But then, his expression darkened.
"Too bad for him. Sharama isn’t someone you can beat with just data."
BANG!
Ishikawa countered with a sharp topspin shot, forcing Sharama to scramble toward his backhand side. With the serve advantage and his environmental tricks, Ishikawa had the upper hand.
THUD THUD!
But Sharama’s footwork was exceptional. He caught up effortlessly.
"Don’t get cocky. I’m not some pushover."
Gripping his racket, Sharama’s eyes gleamed. "Let me show you a move that defies data!"
SWOOSH!
His swing seemed to slow—yet multiplied into dozens of afterimages, like the arms of a thousand-handed deity.
"It’s here!"
The Indian team buzzed with excitement.
"The captain’s signature move—*Snake Charmer!"*
WHOOSH!
The afterimages came alive, lashing out like vipers.
CRACK!
The ball split into a swarm of black streaks, darting across the court like serpents hunting prey.
"This technique…?!"
The Japanese team stiffened.
A certain blond, white headband-wearing player came to mind.
"So…" Tokugawa murmured. "Byoudouin learned this during his travels?"
Rumors said Byoudouin had spent the past two years battling worldwide, honing his skills beyond imagination.
Perhaps his natural talent had always matched Oni’s—but those battles had unlocked something monstrous.
Now, it made sense why the coaches had given him the No. 3 position.
SHHHHK—!
Meanwhile, the serpentine trajectories closed in on Ishikawa, swallowing him whole.
"Game over," Kiran said coolly. "Sharama’s already half a step into the pro realm. No data can save him now."
Rohit nodded grimly.
Even his own stamina-focused playstyle would crumble against such overwhelming force.
"Still," the towering Bhatt mused, "forcing Sharama to use this… That’s impressive."
But then—
SWISH!
A silver flash cut through the darkness.
"Wha—?!"
The Indian team froze.
Ishikawa’s racket moved in slow motion—yet the serpentine afterimages slowed with it, as if time itself had warped.
BAM!
With a single stroke, he blasted the real ball back like a lightning strike.
BOOM BOOM BOOM!
The sound of thunder rolled across the court as the ball tore through Sharama’s defenses.
"40-0!"
"You—!"
Sharama’s face twisted in fury.
Not only had his ultimate move failed—his opponent had replicated it in seconds!
"No… He couldn’t have learned it on the spot. He must’ve studied me beforehand!"
A data player’s worst nightmare: being pre-analyzed.
Like Kiran, who’d lost to Tokugawa due to insufficient intel.
"Tch. Annoying."
Sharama’s patience wore thin.
Data players were his least favorite opponents—always exploiting weaknesses.
"Fine. If that’s how you want to play…"
He exhaled sharply, his demeanor shifting.
No more holding back. He’d crush this guy before he could adapt.
BAM!
Ishikawa’s next shot came fast.
THUD THUD!
Sharama intercepted it with a vicious slice, the ball spinning like a crescent blade toward the corner.
"That speed…!"
Even among Japan’s elites, only a few (like Mouri or Yukimura) could hope to return it.
But Ishikawa?
He glided across the court, reaching the ball a full step ahead of normal reaction time.
BAM!
Effortless.
Sharama’s eyes narrowed.
He repeated the slice—harder, sharper.
WHOOSH!
Dust swirled as the ball skidded toward the opposite corner.
Yet again, Ishikawa was there.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
No matter how Sharama attacked, every shot was sent back with precision.
"His foresight is insane," Coach Vyas muttered. "I’ve never seen anyone read Sharama this easily."
"Is this all India’s best has?"
On Japan’s side, Akutsu adjusted his cap with a smirk. "Even Korea’s captain put up more of a fight."
"Bastard!"
Though Sharama didn’t understand the words, the mocking tone was unmistakable.
Frustration boiled over.
HUM!
A golden aura erupted around him.
"Brahma’s Radiance!!"
The Indian team gasped.
Brahma—the Hindu god of creation, wielder of infinite power. A technique worthy of the name.
"Enough games."
Sharama’s voice turned icy. "Time to show you the gap between mortals and gods."
CRACK!
His racket became a blur.
The ball shot forward, wrapped in golden flames and crackling electricity. A dust storm trailed in its wake.
"MOO!!"
A deafening bull’s roar echoed as the shot morphed into a divine charging beast, its hooves shaking the earth.
"It’s here!" Kiran’s breath hitched. "Sharama’s Raging Bull Charge!"
A move that had once shattered an Argentine captain’s racket.
Most players couldn’t even see it—let alone return it without their gear being destroyed.
THUD THUD!
But then—footsteps.
Ishikawa was chasing it down.
"He’s keeping up?!"
A silver streak flashed through the dust.
BOOM!
The ball screamed back, carrying the fury of a spring thunderstorm.
Sharama’s vision blurred—raindrops, lightning, an unnatural chill—
"An illusion?!"
He shook it off just in time to swing—
SNAP!
His racket tore apart like paper.
"GAME! Japan leads 1-0!"
Silence.
Sharama stared at his broken racket, numb.
"How…?"
The Indian team was speechless.
"The Raging Bull… was crushed?"
Kiran and the others exchanged stunned glances.
Sharama had used three ultimate techniques in one game—and hadn’t scored a single point.
"Speed, power, perception…"
Coach Vyas studied Ishikawa intently. "His physical stats are beyond data-player range. This isn’t just analysis—it’s monstrous talent."
Even against Argentina’s captain, Sharama had never been shut out so completely.
But then—
A shudder ran through Sharama’s body.
His posture shifted.
"Ah." Vyas’ lips curled. "Finally… His second consciousness has awakened."
Chapter 327: The Second Consciousness – Dark Strike [Illusion] (1)
"This Ishikawa Shin is terrifying!"
Outside the court, the dark-skinned Rohan frowned, his expression grim. "It's hard to believe that even Sharma couldn’t score a single point."
"Yeah." Kiran’s face was equally tense.
The Snake Charmer, the Moon Blade Strike, the Roar of the Sacred Bull—each of these moves was top-tier. If he had been the one receiving them, even with the boost from Sharma’s Brahma’s Aura, he doubted he could return them with both hands.
Yet, not only had Ishikawa countered them, he’d shattered Sharma’s racket in the process.
By any measure, the two weren’t even on the same level.
"Huh?"
Just then, one of the Indian team members noticed something odd. "Captain Sharma… something’s off."
At those words, everyone turned their attention back to the court.
Sure enough, Sharma’s usual arrogance had morphed into something colder, more distant. He stood there, yet he felt worlds apart—unreachable.
"Finally, you let me out."
On the court, Sharma’s body trembled slightly as he muttered to himself in an odd, archaic dialect of Hindi.
Swish!
His head snapped up, his sharp gaze locking onto the black-haired boy across the net.
"So, this is the one?" His brow arched slightly. "Hmph. He does seem… unusual."
His eyes raked over Ishikawa, dissecting him like a specimen.
"What’s going on?"
The Indian team exchanged confused glances. "Since when does the captain speak Hindi?"
While Hindi was widely spoken in India, elite players like them were expected to master English—both for international competition and career advancement. It was an unspoken rule, a mark of their status.
Yet here Sharma was, muttering to himself like a madman, his demeanor completely unhinged.
"A second personality?"
Ishikawa studied his opponent, recalling his own encounter with a so-called second consciousness in the mental cavern.
In a way, this was an alternate persona—a suppressed aspect of the self that fought for control.
And because it stemmed from the subconscious, it often wielded hidden power.
Stronger than the original.
Like the one Ishikawa had faced before. Or like Akaya Kirihara’s demonic transformation.
But unlike Kirihara’s malevolent shift, Sharma’s presence wasn’t evil—just arrogant.
The two exchanged sides without a word.
As they passed each other, Sharma suddenly smirked.
"Japan’s captain," he said in flawless Japanese, "I hope you won’t disappoint me."
"Weird."
Ishikawa remained unfazed, but Kiran frowned. "Since when does Tarun speak Japanese?"
As far as he knew, Sharma had never shown interest in languages. His life revolved around training, yoga, and meditation—ascetic, almost monk-like.
That discipline was why Sharma’s position in India’s U-17 team was unshakable.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
On his new side, Sharma bounced the ball a few times, his movements stiff—almost rusty.
But with each repetition, his rhythm smoothed out.
"Ah… the feel of a real match," he mused, catching the ball. "How nostalgic."
Then, without warning, his gaze sharpened.
"Watch closely. Don’t blink."
Whoosh!
He tossed the ball and swung.
The moment racket met ball, a violent gust erupted, kicking up a swirling dust storm that swallowed Ishikawa whole.
"This power?!"
The Indian team’s eyes widened. Their captain had been hiding this?
It was like watching a myth come to life—a mere flick of his wrist summoning a sandstorm.
Crack!
But then—a crisp return shot through the haze.
Swoosh!
A silver streak sliced through the dust, cleaving it clean in half as the ball rocketed toward Sharma’s far corner.
"Oh?"
Sharma’s brows lifted in amusement. "Not only did you return it, but with a counter like that? Interesting."
He chuckled before moving.
His speed was unreal—less like he was chasing the ball, more like the ball was being pulled to him.
"That footwork…"
Mizuki’s eyes narrowed. The sheer velocity was unnerving.
Thwack!
Sharma caught the return effortlessly.
"Good," he mused, feeling the impact. "You’ve got skill. No wonder you replaced him."
Him?
The Japanese team stiffened.
Did he mean…
"Wait."
Kiran’s mind raced.
Two years ago, when Japan’s Golden Generation had clashed with India, Sharma—then the No. 3—had faced him in the final singles match.
Sharma had been crushed.
But at the last moment, something awoke.
His speed, precision—everything surged. He’d even stolen two games back before he ended it with a single, devastating strike.
After that, Sharma had buried himself in training, yoga, and solitude.
Now, it seemed that other self had fully emerged.
And if then he’d briefly rivaled him…
How strong is he now?
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Sharma launched a relentless assault, each shot like a cannon blast.
The Indian team watched in awe.
"This is insane!" Rohan muttered. "Even at full strength, I wouldn’t last three exchanges!"
"Exactly."
Viyas, lounging on the bench, smirked. "The best defense is offense. Control the rally, control the match. Show them, Tarun—show them your Hyper-Aggressive tennis!"
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Golden motes of Brahma’s Aura flickered around Sharma as he struck, each impact sending shockwaves through the air.
Spectators in the front rows flinched from the heat.
Yet despite the onslaught, something felt… off.
Thud!
Another return.
Sharma’s smirk faded.
"His defense… is ridiculous."
For the first time, the second Sharma felt a flicker of doubt.
Swoosh!
A white flash.
The ball streaked past him before he could react—landing just inside the line.
"0-15!"
"No way!"
The Indian team gaped.
"That’s—that’s a mistake!" one stammered. "Review the footage! There’s no way he returned those!"
Kiran sighed.
Only a fool would think cheating was possible under that barrage.
"You’re strong," Sharma admitted, his voice low. "I misjudged you. You’ve earned my full attention."
Full attention?
The Japanese team froze.
Was that just a warm-up?!
Hummm…
Black energy—dense, oppressive—coiled around Sharma.
"That’s… not Brahma’s Aura," Johan whispered.
"It’s Shiva’s," Kiran said grimly.
Shiva.
The Destroyer. One of Hinduism’s three supreme deities.
"You should be honored," Sharma intoned, his voice icy. "To face a god is a privilege."
A god?
The Japanese team exchanged glances.
"Is he serious?" Hakamada scoffed. "All this ‘god’ and ‘mortal’ nonsense—does he really think he’s winning?"
But before anyone could reply, Sharma served.
Splash.
The ball vanished mid-air, as if swallowed by an invisible tide.
Then—
Ripples.
The court’s surface warped, waves churning as something monstrous stirred beneath.
"GRRROOOAAARR!"
A demonic face lunged from the depths, and Munehiro flinched.
CRASH!
To Tokugawa, it was a ghost ship—a skeletal captain in a crimson coat at the helm.
"E-Equal—?!"
His breath hitched.
Others saw their own nightmares—each hallucination tailor-made to their deepest fears.
Swoosh!
Within the dust, a black streak shot toward Ishikawa.
"Yes," Sharma murmured. "Drown in your fears. Break like glass."
His Dark Strike: Illusion—a mental assault that forced opponents to confront their worst terrors.
"I wonder…" His lips curled. "What do you fear the most?"
Crack.
The answer?
A clean return.
"What?!"
Sharma’s eyes widened.
Snap.
The illusion shattered for everyone—like broken glass.
"Sorry to disappoint," Ishikawa said, his racket steady. "But I don’t have any fears."
BANG!
A golden light exploded past Sharma’s stunned face.
Chapter 328: The Special Application of Mental Power – The Dark Strike Ball "Karma" (2)
"0-30!"
The umpire's voice echoed through the stadium.
The entire arena fell into abrupt silence.
Spectators and the Indian team players outside the court stared in disbelief at the two figures on the court.
"He scored again?!"
Kiran’s jaw dropped. Just moments ago, the terrifying image of Tokugawa’s "Asura" had flashed through his mind.
But in an instant—
The illusion shattered without warning.
When he refocused, he realized that Sharma had lost yet another point to his opponent.
"W-what just happened?!"
The other players exchanged bewildered glances.
If they weren’t mistaken, their captain had just unleashed a fearsome technique. Shouldn’t they have scored instead?
"Ishikawa Shin…"
On the bench, India’s head coach, Viyas, wore a grave expression. "Is he immune to illusions, or does he truly have nothing to fear?"
If it was the latter, the match could still go either way.
After all, even if Ishikawa had no innate fears, Sharma could still force him to develop them through sheer pressure during the match.
But if it was the former—
Then Sharma was in serious trouble.
Because that would mean Ishikawa was his natural counter. For his disciple to encounter an opponent completely immune to illusions… what abysmal luck.
"Hmph!"
After a stiff pause, Sharma scoffed, masking his embarrassment. Deep down, he now recognized Ishikawa as the strongest adversary he had ever faced.
Thud!
Soon, he served again.
Hummm…
The dark aura resurfaced.
Channeling "Shiva’s Breath," Sharma relentlessly fired shots toward Ishikawa’s left and right corners.
In this state, his precision reached new heights—every ball landed exactly on the sideline.
"I refuse to believe you’re completely unaffected!"
Sharma accelerated his attacks, trying to overwhelm Ishikawa with a frenzied, nonstop barrage.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Yet, against this onslaught, Ishikawa remained calm and unshaken.
Early in his tennis career, he had specialized in defensive counterattacks.
No one understood impenetrable defense better than he did.
"Is this all you’ve got?"
After over twenty exchanges, Ishikawa sensed Sharma’s momentum waning. Disappointment flickered in his eyes.
"If your turn is over, then it’s time for me to get serious."
Swish!
Suddenly—
He intercepted the ball, spun 360 degrees, and whipped his racket in a full arc.
The ball, retaining its original spin and force, accelerated back along the same trajectory.
This was Ishikawa’s ultimate defensive technique—Four Divine Arts: Black Tortoise!
"Huh?!"
When Sharma saw the ball speeding toward him, his pupils contracted.
Because he sensed something horrifyingly familiar in that shot.
Poof!
The next instant—
The tennis ball vanished.
In its place loomed an enormous, indescribable pirate ship. At the helm stood a red-coated skeleton captain.
"Byodoin?!"
Sharma’s heart lurched.
"No… no!"
"This is an illusion—my own technique!"
Snapping back to reality, Sharma immediately visualized Brahma and Shiva, anchoring his mind in divine faith to break free from the mental assault.
Whoosh!
The vision dissipated.
Sharma finally saw the real ball hurtling toward him.
Steeling himself, he charged forward to meet it.
Bang!
But the moment his racket made contact—
A monstrous force sent him stumbling backward.
"This power?!"
His eyes widened in shock.
How could a return shot carry this much destructive energy?!
Thud!
Before he could recover, Ishikawa delivered a lightning-fast strike, threading the ball straight to the baseline.
"0-40!"
"W-what?!"
The Indian team froze.
This time, panic flashed across their faces.
Even the slowest among them now realized—
Their strongest player was being completely dominated.
Thud!
"Game!"
"Japan leads, 2-0!"
Ishikawa broke Sharma’s serve, widening the gap.
He then won three more consecutive games, not allowing Sharma a single point and pushing him to the brink.
"H-how is this possible?!"
The Indian team was stunned.
5-0.
Five full games, and their captain hadn’t scored once. Some even wondered if they were still trapped in Sharma’s illusions.
"Pant… pant…"
Losing five straight games without a single point took a severe mental toll on Sharma.
During the break, he sat on the bench, his expression dark with frustration.
If this continued, defeat was inevitable.
"I have to do something."
"After finally gaining control of this body, I can’t lose to him."
"Right… if that coward won’t take risks, then I will!"
A decision solidified in his mind.
As Sharma stood to return to the court, Coach Viyas sighed inwardly.
"Talen… trust yourself. Do what you must."
He felt a pang of guilt.
As a coach, he had failed utterly. Not only had he found no weakness in Ishikawa, but he couldn’t even tell if the boy was using his full strength.
Meanwhile, on the court…
As the two players took their positions, the umpire announced:
"Game 6! India’s Sharma to serve!"
Thud!
Sharma launched the ball.
Hummm…
The dark aura flared around him once more.
"It’s Shiva’s Breath again…"
"But it’s useless!"
"This Japanese player is a monster—illusions don’t work on him!"
The Indian team had already given up hope.
To them, victory was impossible. Not that they blamed Sharma—like Coach Viyas, they simply thought their captain had terrible luck, running into the one opponent who hard-countered his abilities.
Thud!
Sharma struck again.
The eerie glow of his Dark Strike Ball [Illusion] surged forth, weaving another layer of mental interference.
"This guy just doesn’t give up, does he?"
On Japan’s side, Hakamada and Akiya shook their heads. Wasting stamina on useless tricks? How stubborn—no, how stupid could he be?
"Hmm."
But others—like Mouri, Tokugawa, and Kiyosumi—sensed something off about this shot.
"His mental interference… it’s weaker?" Mitsuya narrowed his eyes.
Was Sharma running low on stamina? Or was there another reason?
Thud!
Ishikawa returned the ball effortlessly.
The spin and power were noticeably diminished. Had Sharma exhausted himself already?
"No…"
Then, in a flash, Ishikawa detected the anomaly.
The strange fluctuation wasn’t coming from the ball—
It was radiating from Sharma himself.
Hummm—!
Without warning, Sharma’s aura exploded in intensity.
This time, it wasn’t just the dark hue of Shiva’s power—streaks of golden heat shimmered within it, chaotic and unstable.
"Wait… is that—?!"
Kiran’s eyes widened. "Shiva and Brahma’s energies… merging?!"
"Combining techniques?!"
Even Coach Viyas stiffened.
He knew better than anyone—these two powers were incompatible.
At least…
Sharma shouldn’t have been capable of fusing them yet.
BOOM!
Yet the aura around Sharma grew more violent, its pressure crushing.
Swish!
At the same time, Ishikawa’s return shot sliced toward the far corner.
Fwoosh!
A blur of black and green—
Sharma blinked across the court, appearing at the ball’s landing point before anyone could react.
"He’s faster?!"
Kaji’s face paled.
Sharma’s speed had jumped another tier.
Bang!
The return shot cannoned toward Ishikawa.
"The ball’s speed and power increased too?!"
Mouri and Tokugawa exchanged grim looks.
Had Sharma been holding back all along? Was this his true strength?
"No."
Mitsuya’s voice was sharp. "Something’s wrong. He’s doing something we can’t see."
Thud!
Ishikawa intercepted the ball again.
Even as it grinded against his racket, trying to tear through, his grip didn’t waver.
"Interesting."
Feeling the escalating force, Ishikawa smirked.
"I never expected to meet another player like Inui here."
Inui?!
Mouri, Kiyosumi, and the others frowned.
They’d heard Ishikawa had played against Inui before—a match that ended with Inui’s defeat and subsequent training in the mountains.
But none of them knew what really happened in that game.
"I see now."
Tokugawa’s eyes lit up. "He’s using illusions… on himself."
"What?!"
The revelation sent shockwaves through both teams.
Even Kiran gasped.
"He’s… hypnotizing himself into believing he can fuse the two techniques?!"
"Exactly."
Kiran’s hands trembled.
"Illusions manipulate mental energy to distort perception. Bat and Johan learned their mental interference from Talen—using chants to break opponents’ focus and suppress their Synchro."
"But self-hypnosis… this is insane!"
Yet as he watched Sharma’s aura surge to unprecedented levels, Kiran clenched his fists.
No matter which consciousness was in control now—
Sharma was risking everything for victory.
"Gods…"
Kiran prayed silently. "Please… let Talen win!"
Swish!
Another ball flew past.
Sharma lunged, striking another Dark Strike Ball [Illusion], layering more self-hypnosis onto his mind.
Hummm!
His aura intensified further.
"This is madness!"
Mitsuya was awestruck.
Theoretically, if Sharma kept reinforcing his delusion…
He could temporarily reach pro-level strength!
Thud!
But Ishikawa still returned the ball with ease.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Sharma’s attacks grew more ferocious, his aura expanding like a storm.
If before, his power had been a stream—
Now, it was a raging river.
"Tch."
Yet despite Sharma’s meteoric rise, Coach Viyas frowned.
Because no matter how strong Sharma became…
Ishikawa hadn’t conceded a single point.
BOOM!
Sharma unleashed another devastating strike, its force dwarfing even his earlier [Illusion] technique.
"So this is what mental amplification can do."
Ishikawa’s clothes whipped violently in the wind, yet his smile never faded.
"I wonder… what happens when I apply it?"
Swish!
His racket lifted slowly—
So slow that it left afterimages.
"Snake Charmer?"
Kiran squinted.
At this level, that move should be useless.
"No… not Snake Charmer!"
Then he saw it—
A familiar dark glow swirling around Ishikawa’s racket.
"That’s…!"
The Japanese team recognized it too.
Thud.
The racket connected.
The sound was deceptively soft—like a whisper that pierced straight into their souls.
"This… this feeling?!"
Someone clutched their chest, as if something inside was trying to claw its way out.
Swish.
The ball vanished, leaving only a faint dark streak in its wake.
Thump! Thump!
One by one, players collapsed to their knees, faces twisted in agony.
"Guh… what is this?!"
Kiran gritted his teeth, his mind battling an unseen force.
Beside him, Rohan—untouched—stared in confusion.
"This sensation…"
Even Coach Viyas sweated profusely, his past regrets flooding his mind.
"This ball… it awakens the darkness in people’s hearts?!"
Thud!
Kiran finally buckled, his expression contorted with rage and fear.
Meanwhile, Sharma—
His temples pounded.
His heartbeat spiked.
His face flushed crimson.
"D-damn it!"
Feeling his body slipping from his control, Sharma roared and lunged at the ball like a cornered beast.
"I won’t lose!"
His racket swung with all his might—
Crack.
The strings shattered on contact.
BOOM!
Sharma hurtled backward, crashing into the wall like a ragdoll.
Tap… tap…
The ball—now harmless—bounced lightly and rolled to a stop.
Silence.
The stadium, packed with 15,000 spectators, was eerily still.
Chapter 329: The Flames of Karma – The Collapse of a False God (1)
"W-why...?"
Struggling to free himself from the wall, Sharva staggered, his body swaying unsteadily. Sweat dripped from his disheveled hair as he glared at Ishikawa, his voice hoarse. "How... did you do that?"
In that last moment, he had sensed something—an eerie pulse of spiritual energy radiating from Ishikawa’s shot.
But what shocked him even more was the sheer force behind it. The ball had ripped through his racket like paper, yet when it struck the ground, it left no mark. No impact. Nothing.
"Cough... cough..."
Nearby, Kiran, still on his knees, choked as he forced himself up, his face flushed. "His control... is this monstrous?"
His eyes darted toward Ishikawa, fear flickering in his gaze. None of the players wanted to relive the agony they had just endured—a searing pain that had crawled through their veins like fire, as if thousands of ants were gnawing at their flesh. The mere memory of it sent shivers down their spines.
"His shots are like karma itself," muttered Coach Vyas, his face pale with sweat as he sat on the sidelines. "They ignite the darkness within a person’s heart, burning them from the inside out. There’s no defense against it."
Karma.
A concept deeply rooted in Hinduism and Buddhism—the inescapable force of cause and effect.
What Ishikawa had done was similar to Sharva’s own mental interference techniques, but with one crucial difference: while Sharva preyed on fear, Ishikawa targeted the malice hidden within a person’s soul.
Fear could be overcome with sheer willpower.
But malice?
That was far more insidious. No matter how strong a player was physically, if their spirit faltered, they would crumble under the weight of their own sins.
"K-Karma?!"
The Indian players shuddered as realization dawned. Their eyes locked onto Ishikawa, dread seeping deeper into their bones.
How could anyone resist such a technique?
Even the world’s top players—did they not harbor even a shred of darkness in their hearts?
If so, then did that mean... no one was safe from this?
"As expected of someone who once faced that samurai," Ishikawa mused, glancing at Vyas. Though age had weakened the coach’s body, his insight remained razor-sharp.
"Again..."
Sharva forced himself upright, his voice trembling but determined.
Still fighting?
The Japanese team exchanged surprised glances. They had assumed he would forfeit.
Yet despite his battered state, Sharva’s eyes burned with defiance. Say what you would about his skills, but his spirit as a captain was undeniable.
Thud!
"0-40!"
Thud!
"Game and first set: Japan’s Ishikawa wins, 6-0!"
By the end of the first set, Sharva could barely stand. But he refused to surrender.
As the second set began, he mustered every ounce of strength he had left and swung.
"Good," Vyas murmured, nodding approvingly. "The flames of karma aren’t purely destructive. Endure this, Tarun, and you’ll emerge stronger."
He knew India had already lost.
But as the saying went—when one door closes, another opens. The flames weren’t just burning Sharva’s body; they were purifying him. If he could withstand this trial, his mental fortitude would reach new heights.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The match was a massacre.
Against Ishikawa’s relentless onslaught, Sharva stood no chance. Within five minutes, he had lost five straight games.
Now, in the sixth game—Ishikawa’s serve—the outcome was inevitable.
Three aces.
"40-0!"
The crowd fell silent.
This was match point.
"I can’t watch..." One Indian player turned away, unable to bear the humiliation of seeing their captain utterly dismantled.
The others wore expressions of despair.
Who could’ve imagined that their strongest player, on home soil, wouldn’t even score a single point?
Sharva felt their pity like knives stabbing into his chest.
"No!"
His fists clenched.
"I can’t end like this!"
"Just one point... I have to take one point from him!"
"Tarun Sharva—you’re better than this!"
Desperately, he called upon his faith, visualizing the gods Brahma and Shiva. And miraculously, his fading spirit began to stabilize.
"Yes!"
A spark of hope ignited in his chest.
He was recovering!
"Ishikawa...!"
Sharva widened his stance, gripping his racket tightly.
"Come at me!"
"I will return this!"
His focus sharpened, his senses returning to their peak.
On the other side of the court, Ishikawa lightly bounced the ball, studying his opponent.
"Oh? Recovered already?"
A faint smirk played on his lips.
"Let’s see if your ‘gods’ can save you now."
Swish—!
With a casual flick of his wrist, he served.
A straight shot—simple, direct.
"Huh?!"
The spectators blinked in confusion. Hadn’t Ishikawa only used this basic serve in the very first game?
"He’s mocking us!" An Indian player snarled.
Kiran and Roha remained silent.
In tennis, strength dictated everything. Without power, pride was meaningless.
And Ishikawa’s "simple" serve wasn’t so simple after all.
Sharva’s eyes narrowed as he tracked the ball’s trajectory.
"No spin... no tricks..."
He scanned the court for loose pebbles—nothing.
Confident, he adjusted his stance and swung—
"Huh?!"
The ball curved mid-air, veering sharply away from his racket.
Tap... tap...
It rolled to a stop at his feet.
Sharva’s face went pale.
"An... irregular bounce?!"
Frantically, he checked the spot where the ball had landed.
No pebbles. No irregularities.
Just smooth, unmarked clay.
"S-So..."
His throat went dry as he stared at Ishikawa in horror.
"His skill... is that advanced?!"
At that moment, something inside him shattered.
The divine figures he had clung to—Brahma, Shiva—their images fractured like glass in his mind.
Thud.
His legs gave out.
He collapsed to his knees, his faith crumbling.
"This boy..."
Coach Vyas’s hands trembled as he watched.
For a fleeting second, he saw him—the shadow of a man who had once crushed him decades ago.
"The... the Samurai?!"
"Game, set, and match!"
The umpire’s voice boomed across the stadium.
"Japan’s Ishikawa wins, 6-0, 6-0!"
Boooo—!
The crowd erupted in jeers, their faces twisted in disbelief. They had come expecting a triumphant victory, only to witness their champion reduced to nothing.
Yet when their furious gazes landed on Ishikawa—calmly walking away—their voices died in their throats.
"The U17 exhibition match between India and Japan concludes with Japan’s victory, three wins to one!"
The announcement sealed their defeat.
[Ding!]
A chime echoed in Ishikawa’s mind.
[Player has defeated boss-level opponent Tarun Sharva. Reward: 14,000 EXP.]
[Player has acquired dropped skill: "Phantom Strike – Illusion."]
"Oh?"
Ishikawa’s brow arched slightly.
He had expected one of Sharva’s aura-based techniques, but luck had granted him something even better—his opponent’s ultimate move.
Phantom Strike: Illusion.
Unlike his own Karma Flames, which only affected those burdened by guilt, Illusion preyed on fear—universal and inescapable.
At higher levels, its potency would be terrifying.
Combined with Karma Flames, the two techniques would cover each other’s weaknesses.
A smirk tugged at his lips as he wondered who would be the first to experience this deadly duo.
With their victory secured, Ishikawa and his team boarded a flight to their next destination—the Maldives, a tropical paradise 600 kilometers south of India.
This was part of the coaches’ plan: three days of relaxation, with friendly matches against the local U17 team to give the reserve players some action.
After that, they would head to their final stop—the highest-ranked nation in East Asia.
As the plane soared through the clouds, Ishikawa leaned back, strategizing how to maximize Illusion and Karma Flames.
Meanwhile, on a training court in Southeast Asia, a green-haired teen scoffed as he surveyed the unconscious bodies of an entire national team.
"Pathetic."
He checked his phone, scrolling through his target’s itinerary.
A grin spread across his face.
"Finally... someone worth my time."
Chapter 330: Tezuka’s Decision (Part 2)
Japan.
Tokyo.
U-17 Tennis Training Camp.
While the expedition team was away, the training at the base entered a new phase.
By now, the roster of Court 5 had changed multiple times. Yet, despite their efforts, players like Tezuka, Yukimura, and Atobe remained stuck there—none had managed to advance to the top four courts.
The reason?
Byakuya’s decree.
Unless they earned his approval, no player from Court 5 could participate in the shuffle matches against the top four courts.
This rule took immense pressure off the high schoolers in the top courts. But for the middle schoolers in Court 5? The competition had reached brutal levels.
As for the high schoolers?
They’d been completely wiped out by the middle schoolers the day after Byakuya’s return. Now, Courts 5, 6, and 7 had zero high schoolers left.
But this situation was like a pressure cooker—heat rising, pressure building. If the steam wasn’t released soon, it would explode.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
At the center court, a shuffle match between Courts 5 and 6 was underway.
The players?
Seigaku’s legendary duo—Tezuka and Fuji.
Thanks to the intense competition among the middle schoolers, even someone as skilled as Fuji had been pushed down to Court 6.
Of course, luck hadn’t been on his side.
During the group draws, he kept getting matched against Tezuka, Atobe, Yukimura, and Akutsu. After days of losses against all four, he now found himself facing Tezuka again in the shuffle matches.
This time, Fuji was fully focused, his usual graceful play now sharpened with a newfound intensity.
"Not bad."
In the monitoring room on the second floor, Saito nodded as he watched the match.
"Fuji’s improved significantly. Last time he played Tezuka, he only won two games."
"True," Tōzō agreed. "His physical conditioning has also gotten better. It’s clear those losses affected him."
"Byakuya’s strategy is working," Kurobe added from his computer. "Instead of pitting middle schoolers against high schoolers, forcing them to compete among themselves was the right call. Their talent is undeniable."
Saito and Tōzō chuckled.
They knew Byakuya would’ve never cared about middle schoolers before. But after losing to Ishikawa, even someone as proud and composed as him couldn’t stay indifferent.
"Still," Saito frowned, "if we follow Byakuya’s rules, these middle schoolers won’t even get a chance at the shuffle matches unless he approves."
Byakuya’s word carried weight—enough to make even the coaches hesitate.
"Doesn’t matter," Kurobe shook his head. "The shuffle match qualifications aren’t his call. Officially, they’re supposed to come from the top four courts, but rules like that aren’t set in stone. In the end, it’s up to the head coach."
He glanced at the report in front of him—today’s results from the expedition team’s match against India—and smirked.
"Besides… times have changed."
Saito and Tōzō nodded.
Kurobe was right. The U-17’s old rules no longer applied. Ishikawa’s rise had shattered tradition, and no one could predict what would happen when the expedition team returned.
Bam!
On the court, the match neared its end.
Fuji’s Phoenix Return—a high-speed slice—dipped sharply after clearing the net.
But before it could land, the ball curved unnaturally, drawn toward Tezuka’s side.
"Tezuka Zone!"
The spectators—Thousand from Shitenhōji, Tachibana from Fudomine, and Jirō and Akutagawa from Hyōtei—all tensed.
"No," Atobe corrected, smirking. "That’s the Perfect Zone."
Bam!
The ball, now under Tezuka’s complete control, shot toward the far sideline—
"Out!"
"Game over!"
"Tezuka Kunimitsu of Court 5 wins, 6-3!"
Fuji stood panting, drenched in sweat.
Tezuka, on the other hand, remained as composed as ever.
"The gap’s too big," Kikumaru muttered from the sidelines.
As much as he wanted to stay neutral, seeing Fuji so outmatched hurt. Before Ryoma joined Seigaku, Fuji’s reputation had rivaled Tezuka’s. Now? They weren’t even in the same league.
"Tezuka’s too strong," Jirō said grimly. "At this point, no other middle schooler in U-17 can challenge him. He doesn’t even need to stay here anymore."
The others—Yagyū, Marui—exchanged uneasy glances.
A few days ago, a letter had arrived for Tezuka, but a high schooler with the same surname had accidentally signed for it. Upon opening it, he’d panicked—the contents mentioned a professional tennis offer.
When the mistake was realized, everyone was stunned that the offer was for a middle schooler.
Word spread quickly.
Soon, the entire camp knew—Tezuka had been scouted by a Japanese pro for a training program in Germany.
Most assumed he’d leave for Europe immediately.
But days passed, and Tezuka stayed.
"Tezuka," Fuji said after catching his breath. "Go to Germany."
Japan was too small. Germany was one of the world’s tennis powerhouses. If Tezuka wanted to grow, that was where he needed to be.
"I’ll consider it," Tezuka replied calmly—as if the opportunity meant nothing.
"This kid…"
Byakuya, watching from the sidelines with Duke, noticed the flicker of hesitation in Tezuka’s eyes.
"He’s conflicted?" Duke raised an eyebrow. "What could possibly matter more than a pro career?"
"That guy," Byakuya said flatly. "He’s with the expedition team. Most of these kids still think he’s just busy with something else."
Duke’s lips twitched.
The image of Ishikawa—terrifying, unstoppable—clashed sharply with the middle schoolers’ perception of him as harmless.
"Boss," Duke asked, "aren’t you going to try keeping him here?"
Tezuka’s talent was undeniable. Even at his age, Duke hadn’t been that strong. If not for Ishikawa’s overwhelming presence, Tezuka could’ve easily led the middle schoolers.
"…We’ll see," Byakuya muttered.
He wanted Tezuka to stay. With him, Japan’s team would be stronger—especially under the new World Cup rules requiring at least three middle schoolers per match.
But he also knew better than to stand in the way of a dream.
Later, near the mailroom, Tezuka received a call.
"Hello? Yes, this is Tezuka Kunimitsu… Sensei? What is it?"
His expression darkened as he listened.
"Today’s the deadline?"
A pro career had been his goal since he first picked up a racket. But now, faced with the chance, he hesitated.
Not because he doubted his dream—but because leaving now felt wrong.
If he left without facing him, the regret would linger.
And deep down, Tezuka knew—if he couldn’t even defeat Japan’s best middle schooler, calling himself a pro was delusional.
Besides, the U-17’s training had sharpened him like nothing else. Byakuya’s ruthless critiques had exposed flaws he never noticed.
Would Germany really offer more?
"Sensei…" He took a deep breath. "Please apologize to the scout for me. I’m turning down the offer."
He hung up and walked away, resolve hardening.
Byakuya stepped out from the shadows, watching Tezuka’s retreating figure.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Tezuka Kunimitsu, huh? Aside from that guy, there’s actually someone like this among the middle schoolers."
He adjusted his racket and headed to the training courts.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
At Court 1, the high schoolers—the camp’s official strongest—were locked in practice matches.
The middle schoolers’ rise had lit a fire under them. None dared slack off now.
BANG!
The court doors slammed open.
The high schoolers turned, furious—until they saw who it was.
"B-Byakuya…?!"
"Hey, Shūji," Byakuya called out, ignoring them. "We need to talk."
(End of Chapter.)
