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🕑 Added 2025-05-26 16:49:57 +0000 UTCChapter 311: Singles 1 – Ishikawa vs. Lee Seung-bok
2–2.
The match had reached the decisive fifth game—Singles 1.
Under normal circumstances, the atmosphere should have been electric, given how intense the competition had been. But instead, the entire tennis court was shrouded in an oppressive, uncomfortable tension.
Even the broadcast studio had fallen into an eerie silence.
"Uh… Mr. Kim, Kim Geon-yoon," the female host stammered, her voice slightly strained, "what are your thoughts on the upcoming match?"
She had no choice but to shift the topic, trying to ease the awkwardness in the air.
"Well…" Kim Geon-yoon snapped out of his daze and nodded. "From Japan’s perspective, they probably think they’ve already won."
But instead of brushing past the earlier incident, his expression darkened. "That was extremely disrespectful. Unfortunately for them, they’ve miscalculated."
"Huh?" The host froze for a second, worried the broadcast was about to take a disastrous turn. But then, curiosity got the better of her. "What do you mean?"
"It’s simple," Kim Geon-yoon said, a faint smirk breaking through his grim expression. "Our Singles 1 player is a graduate of Germany’s elite training camp—a world-class high school player!"
"Y-you mean… Lee Seung-bok?" The host turned to look at the screen, where the broadcast had shifted to focus on a striking young man with purple hair.
His features blended East Asian refinement with a wild, almost European boldness—a perfect fusion of two distinct temperaments.
"Oh?" The host’s heart fluttered as she asked, "Is Lee Seung-bok mixed-race?"
"Correct," Kim Geon-yoon confirmed. "From what I know, his father is Korean, and his mother is German. He grew up in Germany but chose to represent Korea as a naturalized player."
Germany?
The viewers at home immediately perked up.
Kim Geon-yoon continued, "In the U17 circuit, Germany is the undisputed king. They’ve won the Tennis World Cup nine times in a row—an unprecedented streak!"
"Nine?!" The host gasped.
Nine consecutive championships? That meant for nearly two decades, no team had been able to topple Germany. That level of dominance was terrifying!
"And from what I’ve heard," Kim Geon-yoon added with a smile, "when Lee Seung-bok had to choose his nationality at 18, he turned down Germany and returned to Korea. Even Coach Latreu of the German team tried to persuade him to stay, but he refused."
Whoosh!
The viewers’ eyes lit up.
As they watched the purple-haired player stride confidently onto the court, an indescribable surge of pride and excitement swelled within them.
This was a prodigy who had willingly chosen to represent Korea!
All the humiliation they’d suffered earlier now transformed into a burning desire for revenge. Many clenched their fists, already envisioning Japan’s crushing defeat.
"Now, beginning the Singles 1 match."
"Representing Korea—Lee Seung-bok (3rd year high school)."
"Representing Japan—Ishikawa Shin (1st year middle school)."
"Both players, prepare."
As the announcement echoed, most of the crowd’s attention fixed on the purple-haired player stepping onto the court.
Even Korea’s No. 2, Kim Tae-woo, and No. 3, Park Geon-soo, watched their captain with deep respect.
After all, Lee Seung-bok had fought his way to the top of Korea’s U17 rankings, defeating every challenger in his path.
Whoosh!
But Lee Seung-bok’s gaze locked onto the black-haired boy sitting calmly in the coach’s seat.
"Senior Munehiro," Ishikawa said, standing up with a smile, "would you mind taking over as match supervisor?"
"Mm." Munehiro nodded and took the coach’s seat, his towering frame immediately casting an intimidating shadow over Park Dong-gun beside him.
This kid… He’s really playing mind games.
Park Dong-gun suppressed his irritation. He hadn’t expected such a psychological tactic from the Japanese team.
But as an experienced coach, he wouldn’t be rattled so easily.
…Or so he told himself.
In reality, Ishikawa had simply chosen Munehiro over No. 3 Tokugawa out of sheer mischief.
To outsiders, the decision seemed ordinary. But to Munehiro and his teammate Marui watching from the sidelines, it felt strangely nostalgic—as if they’d been transported back to their middle school days at Hyotei Academy.
A faint smile tugged at Munehiro’s lips.
At the Net
The two players faced each other.
"As you wished," Lee Seung-bok said coldly, "I’ll defeat you in front of everyone."
Though he was a naturalized player, Japan’s two forfeits had been a blatant insult. And as Korea’s No. 1, he intended to erase that humiliation with absolute dominance.
"Impressive," Ishikawa remarked. "You actually have manners—unlike the others."
Lee Seung-bok remained silent.
Another Korean player might’ve lashed out, but his elite training had drilled restraint into him.
"You were curious about what happened to Byoudouin, weren’t you?" Ishikawa continued, amused by his opponent’s stoicism. "If you win, I’ll tell you everything."
"Deal."
Lee Seung-bok’s eyes sharpened, a fierce glint flashing within them.
A suited referee stepped forward, flipping a coin to determine serve.
"The winner of the toss is Ishikawa Shin."
"I’ll take this side," Ishikawa said casually. "Feels more comfortable."
"Uh… very well." The referee blinked before nodding. "Players, prepare for the match."
Once both were ready, he announced:
"Match start! Best of three sets. First set, Korea’s Lee Seung-bok to serve!"
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Lee Seung-bok bounced the ball, his gaze icy.
"I know you’re trying to provoke me," he said. "But it doesn’t matter. I won’t hold back."
Whoosh!
He tossed the ball high and unleashed a blistering serve—
Bang!
The shot landed perfectly on the service line.
"A super-fast serve!"
"That precision… As expected of our captain!"
"That’s the kind of control you develop competing against the world’s best!"
The Korean players swelled with pride.
Their team might’ve been outmatched overall, but Lee Seung-bok was different. He’d trained overseas, facing elite opponents daily. His experience was on another level.
Bang!
But just as they were marveling, an all-too-familiar sound cut through their admiration.
"He returned it?!"
Ishikawa’s counter shot streaked toward Lee Seung-bok’s backhand, landing just as precisely on the baseline.
The Korean team’s expressions stiffened.
Fortunately, Lee Seung-bok’s footwork was impeccable. He reached the ball in time and fired back a sharp crosscourt shot aimed at the far corner.
It was clear—he wasn’t just cold and composed anymore. He was attacking with full force.
"Not bad." Ishikawa nodded in approval before returning another flawless baseline shot.
"This level of control…"
Lee Seung-bok’s eyes narrowed.
In the middle of such a high-speed rally, Ishikawa’s precision was unreal. Just this skill alone made him a formidable opponent.
The intensity reminded Lee Seung-bok of his battles in Germany—where every shot was fast, ruthless, and efficient. No flashy techniques, just relentless pressure.
Gritting his teeth, he chased the ball down and twisted his wrist mid-swing—
Bang!
The ball rocketed forward, spinning violently as it crossed the net. The rotation warped the air around it, kicking up a swirling dust storm that barreled toward Ishikawa.
"That’s… advanced kinetic manipulation?!"
The Japanese players—Akutsu, Hirakoba, and Hakamada—exchanged glances.
Their opponent’s No. 1 was already pulling out high-level techniques in the opening game?
"Now we’re talking."
Ishikawa grinned as the dust storm swallowed him whole—
Bang!
A second later, the whirlwind split apart as his return shot exploded outward, carrying crushing momentum.
Boom!
The ball hadn’t even landed yet, but the sheer force of its trajectory sent another cloud of dust erupting from the court.
The Korean players paled.
Their captain’s powerful shot had been countered so effortlessly?
Lee Seung-bok’s brow furrowed.
Not only had Ishikawa matched his technique, but the return had also landed perfectly on the baseline.
"To maintain that level of precision while using advanced kinetics…?"
This wasn’t just skill—it was mastery.
No wonder he’d replaced Byoudouin.
"If that’s how it is…"
Lee Seung-bok adjusted his grip, pulling his racket back like a drawn bowstring.
At the last possible moment—
Crack!
A meteoric shot ripped through the air, leaving a blazing afterimage in its wake.
"It’s here!"
"Captain’s signature move—Meteor Drive!"
"Meteor?"
The Japanese side glanced at Mitsuya, who quickly explained, "Lee Seung-bok is also a top-tier archer. This technique amplifies shot speed to extreme levels—most people can’t even see it!"
Bang!
But then—
Another crisp impact echoed as the "meteor" reappeared, soaring back over the net.
"He returned it?!"
Even Lee Seung-bok was stunned. His signature move had been countered so casually?
"Fast," Ishikawa admitted, emerging from the dust. "But only by ordinary standards."
"Arrogant bastard!"
The Korean players who understood Japanese scowled. The rest didn’t need translation—the dismissive tone said it all.
Lee Seung-bok’s expression hardened.
"Oh?"
Ishikawa smirked. Then, in one fluid motion, he slashed his racket forward—
Bang!
The dust cloud split apart—but this time, no one saw the ball at all.
Not even Lee Seung-bok.
All he sensed was a sharp gust of wind—
Thud.
Before the ball materialized at his feet.
"When did it—?!"
He swung desperately, but it was too late.
On the other side, Ishikawa lowered his racket like a sheathed sword.
Iaido Slash: Mind Shift.
After his mental breakthrough, he no longer needed a formal stance. He could execute this technique anytime, anywhere—effortlessly.
Chapter 312: Korea’s Strongest – A Restricted-Level Technique
"What a fast return!"
Outside the court, Kim Taewoo and Park Geon-soo watched with grim expressions. They hadn’t even seen Ishikawa swing—just the aftermath of the shot.
The smoke screen played a role, but it also meant his swing speed was terrifyingly fast.
"Nice shot."
Lee Seung-bu, ever the sportsman, acknowledged it openly. He wasn’t one for excuses—strength was strength, weakness was weakness.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He bounced the ball a few times, finding his rhythm before serving again—a sharp angle toward Ishikawa’s backhand corner.
"Yes!"
The Korean spectators erupted as the ball landed perfectly at the intersection of the service line and sideline.
But Ishikawa had already anticipated it.
With a half-step adjustment, he intercepted the ball effortlessly and returned it without even looking.
"His perception is sharp."
Lee’s eyes narrowed.
He had a habit of studying his opponents mid-match—a habit honed in Germany’s elite training camp. He played strategically, analyzing his rival’s patterns before striking decisively.
Know your enemy, win without fail.
Lee wasn’t a data tennis player, but he had the discipline of one. And until now, that approach had brought him nothing but victories.
But this time…
"His footwork is flawless—he reaches every ball."
"His power and technique are both top-tier."
"His anticipation? He reads my shots before I hit them."
Lee’s confidence wavered.
No matter how he probed, the black-haired boy in front of him seemed to have no weaknesses.
"Enough."
Lee’s patience snapped.
If he couldn’t find a flaw, he’d force one open.
Seizing an opening, he dashed forward, eyes locked onto Ishikawa’s return.
"Try returning this, Ishikawa!"
Swish—!
His racket blurred, the motion so fast it left afterimages in the smoke.
Crack!
One swing—but two balls launched in opposite directions.
"It’s here!"
The Korean team tensed.
Kim Taewoo and Park Geon-soo exchanged uneasy glances.
"Captain’s signature move—[Twin Shot]!"
"How can one swing produce two balls?!"
The commentator gasped.
"This is Lee Seung-bu’s [Twin Arrow]," expert Kim Gun-yun explained. "Inspired by archery—one real, one fake. The trajectories are unpredictable. A top-tier technique!"
But before the audience could marvel—
Ping!
A crisp return cut through the air.
Kim Gun-yun’s smile froze.
"He… blocked it?!"
"Just like that?!"
Lee’s expression darkened.
[Twin Shot] was his second-strongest move—a feint-and-kill technique that left opponents guessing.
Yet Ishikawa had dismantled it instantly.
"This feeling…"
A memory surfaced—his time in Germany, facing that monster known as [Perfect Quality]. The gap between them had been insurmountable.
And now…
"No."
Lee shook his head.
"He can’t be on that level."
Steeling himself, he charged forward, pressuring the net with his height advantage.
"He took the bait!"
Coach Park Dong-geon smirked.
"Letting a near-professional dominate the net? A fatal mistake."
In his eyes, Lee—though not quite at Byoudouin’s level—was still a cut above this unknown Japanese player.
This match would be Korea’s redemption.
But then—
Whoosh!
Ishikawa casually lofted a high-arcing lob.
"Huh?"
The Koreans blinked.
"Too high—it’s going out!"
"The pressure got to him!"
Even spectators leaned back, ready to catch the "foul" ball.
But then—
"Screech—!"
A phantom phoenix’s cry split the air as the ball merged with the sun’s glare.
"Wha—?!"
Lee’s vision whited out.
He spun blindly, sprinting toward the baseline—
Fwoom!
The ball plummeted like a meteor, heat waves rippling outward.
Thud.
It kissed the baseline—and didn’t bounce.
Lee lunged, swiping at empty air as the ball spun dead on the court.
Silence.
"0-30."
The crowd stared, dumbstruck.
Coach Park’s smirk vanished.
"What is this kid?!"
No records, no data—just overwhelming skill.
"Cough…"
Lee staggered up, vision clearing.
"You let me approach the net."
His voice was low, dangerous.
Ishikawa just smiled.
"Now you understand."
Lee exhaled sharply—then shifted.
His aura turned razor-sharp, eyes locking onto Ishikawa like a predator’s.
"You’re only the second person to force this move."
Swish—!
His racket blurred—faster than before.
A purple streak tore through the air, warping perception itself.
"This is—?!"
Kim Taewoo’s pupils shrank.
"The hyperspeed dimension?!"
The same sensory overload he’d felt against Ochi.
"Captain… can use it too?!"
This was Lee’s ultimate technique—*[Piercing Arrow]*, born from archery.
A restricted-level move.
100% accuracy.
0% return rate.
Until now.
Ping!
The sound was almost mocking.
Lee’s face paled.
"Impossible—!"
Before he could react, the smoke ripped apart.
A gigantic tennis ball loomed before him, filling his vision like an oncoming train.
Gulp.
Lee swallowed hard.
Chapter 313: The Crushing Gap
Whoosh!
The tennis ball spun violently, emitting a eerie blue-green glow that cast strange shadows across Lee Seung-bok’s face.
"This pressure…"
He hadn’t expected his surefire technique to be dismantled so easily—let alone countered with something far more terrifying.
But as Korea’s captain, Lee refused to just surrender. He had to fight back.
Yet the moment he tried to move—
"What?!"
His body froze.
BOOM!
A deafening impact echoed as a figure was sent flying through the dust cloud.
"CAPTAIN!!!"
The Korean team lunged forward, some even attempting to rush onto the court.
"Don’t… come closer."
A hand emerged from the smoke, followed by Lee Seung-bok staggering to his feet. "This is an official match. No one interferes."
His sharp glare silenced them.
"Y-yes…"
They backed off, but their eyes remained glued to him as he trudged back onto the court, his jacket now caked in dirt.
"You’re stronger than I imagined," Lee admitted, his voice gravelly. "Now I believe it—you really did defeat Byoudouin Phoenix."
"WHAT?!"
The Korean team’s jaws dropped. Even Coach Park Dong-gun paled.
"No way…"
His mind rejected it instantly. If true, this match was already over.
But Lee’s deadly serious expression sent a chill down his spine.
Was it really possible?
Lee exhaled sharply, steadying himself. "I thought missing Byoudouin was a shame. But I’m lucky—Japan’s leader is someone like you."
His gaze hardened. "You’re the second player who’s ever pressured me this much. This move was meant for him… but you’ll do."
HUM!
A surge of energy erupted from Lee—dense, razor-sharp, and magnitudes beyond Kim Tae-woo’s Mach Breaker.
"He was hiding this?!"
Coach Park’s confidence surged. With Lee’s elite training and this trump card, victory wasn’t impossible.
BANG!
Lee served.
[Meteor Drive]—enhanced by his newfound power—blurred past at inhuman speed.
"I can’t see it?!"
Kiyosumi’s pupils shrank. Ochi and Mashiro were equally stunned. Only Munehiro, from the coach’s seat, caught a faint trace.
"Impressive," he mused. "80% of my Mach Serve’s speed. Against anyone else, this would be a guaranteed point."
Then his lips curled slightly.
"Too bad you’re facing the 1%."
POCK!
The ball rebounded—and Ishikawa’s racket met it effortlessly.
"How?!"
The Korean team gaped. Even Kim Tae-woo and Park Geon-soo were floored. Lee’s enhanced serve was faster, deadlier—yet this kid had countered it without looking?
"Is he a monster?!"
Lee, however, remained calm. "Just like him," he muttered, recalling the [Perfect Quality] prodigy he’d faced in Germany.
His fighting spirit burned brighter.
This wasn’t just a match anymore—it was revenge.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Lee attacked relentlessly, each strike carrying the force of a finishing move. Yet Ishikawa returned everything—speed, spin, power—without faltering.
Then—
SWOOSH!
Lee’s figure split into two.
"What?!"
"An illusion?!"
"Does he have a twin?!"
The crowd erupted.
"Incredible!" Commentator Kim Geon-yoon leaned forward. "This isn’t a trick—it’s a high-level technique merging footwork and swing paths. Two real possibilities coexisting!"
He grinned. "My guess? An evolution of his [Chain Shot]!"
The implications were terrifying. In elite matches, split-second decisions decided points. But if both choices were real—how could anyone react?
CRACK!
Lee’s dual forms swung—collapsing into one devastating strike.
"Too strong!" a Korean player cheered.
Even Kim and Park felt awe. This skill was beyond them—maybe even beyond Ishikawa.
"Two-form domain?" Mitsuya chuckled. "For him, that’s child’s play."
The Japanese team smirked. After witnessing 14-form domains at U-17, this was barely noteworthy.
THUD!
Ishikawa returned it casually.
Lee’s brow furrowed. Facing Ishikawa felt like hitting an indestructible wall—worse than [Perfect Quality] ever had.
"That can’t be all," Ishikawa said, spinning his racket. "Show me your best."
SWISH!
His next return vanished mid-air.
Lee’s blood ran cold.
How did he know?
He did have one final card—a match-ending move saved for the climax. Yet Ishikawa had sniffed it out like it was obvious.
"Is he bluffing?!"
Lee’s eyes darted up—meeting Ishikawa’s amused gaze.
No.
This was real.
Gritting his teeth, Lee embraced his resolve. Regardless of tactics, he had to win—for Korea.
WHOOSH!
As he swung, a colossal phantom materialized behind him—a warrior clad in furs, mounted on a warhorse, bow drawn.
"T-Tennis Phantom?!" Kim Geon-yoon gasped. "He’s reached that level?!"
The broadcast zoomed in. Coach Park’s voice trembled.
"Dongmyeong… the Sacred King?!"
The legend—a ruler, strategist, and peerless archer—was Lee’s manifestation.
Korea’s morale skyrocketed.
TWANG!
Lee’s shot became an arrow, screaming toward Ishikawa.
In the phantom realm, the scene shifted—a desert battlefield, war cries echoing. Ishikawa stood alone as the mounted archer charged.
"HYAH!"
The arrow loosed—a kill shot aimed between Ishikawa’s eyes.
Yet he simply raised his sword.
SHINK!
The arrow split cleanly, harmlessly flying past.
The rider reared back—
SLASH!
—only for horse and warrior to be bisected mid-stride, collapsing into golden dust.
REALITY
A silver flash lit the court.
CRUNCH!
Half of Lee’s racket embedded itself into the wall, sliced with surgical precision.
The ball rolled to his feet.
Silence.
Lee stared at the remains of his racket, then at Ishikawa—finally understanding the insurmountable gap between them.
Chapter 314: A Gaze from Beyond the Screen
Silence.
A deathly stillness enveloped the entire stadium.
Neither the Korean team representatives nor the spectators had expected their ace player to be so thoroughly dominated.
It was terrifying.
In their eyes, Lee Seung-bu had already broken through to a whole new level—yet against that black-haired boy, he couldn’t even fight back.
"It's over..."
Park Dong-gun slumped on the bench, his legs weak, his spine drained of strength. He felt like a limp rag, barely holding himself together.
He knew.
After this humiliating live broadcast defeat, his coaching career was finished.
"Again!"
But then—
Lee Seung-bu suddenly growled, switching rackets before erupting into action once more. This time, he abandoned his usual composure, his explosive power and strength surging even higher.
Yet, despite his ferocity, he still posed no threat to Ishikawa.
Still, the Japanese player couldn’t help but feel a flicker of surprise. The Korean team’s ace really is different from the rest.
Boom!
Twenty minutes later—
With a sharp crosscourt shot from Ishikawa, the ball landed perfectly on the sideline. The umpire’s voice rang out:
"Game and set, Japan’s Ishikawa wins—6-0!"
Then, without pause:
"Match concluded. Japan’s Ishikawa Kazunari defeats his opponent, 6-0, 6-0!"
[Ding!]
At the same time, a system notification echoed in Ishikawa’s mind:
[Player has defeated boss-level opponent Lee Seung-bu. Reward: 12,000 EXP.]
[Player has acquired Lee Seung-bu’s secondary skill: Archery.]
"Hah… hah…"
On the other side of the court, Lee Seung-bu gasped for air. He had pushed himself to the absolute limit, desperate to take even a single point from his opponent.
Yet he had failed.
"He’s too strong."
Staring at the black-haired boy, Lee Seung-bu felt nothing but awe. One thing was clear—Ishikawa hadn’t even used his full strength.
"Maybe…"
His eyes locked onto Ishikawa, a shocking thought struck him.
"Has he really reached that level?"
The realization washed over him like a cold wave. If that were true, then losing like this… was only natural.
Taking a deep breath, he approached the net for the customary post-match handshake.
"Ishikawa, you’re incredible," Lee Seung-bu said, forcing a smile. "Even in Germany’s elite training camp, you’d rank near the top."
As he spoke, he studied Ishikawa’s expression.
Most players—especially those confident in their abilities—would react to such praise. Some might scoff, others might take it to heart. After all, he was comparing Ishikawa to Germany’s finest.
But Ishikawa didn’t react at all.
His expression remained unreadable.
"Maybe," Ishikawa replied casually. "I’m looking forward to facing those German players at the Melbourne World Cup."
"Hm?"
Lee Seung-bu’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
He could tell—Ishikawa meant every word. And more importantly, the Japanese player’s confidence wasn’t a reaction to his comment.
This calm, unshakable resolve…
It reminded him of that person.
"Tell me," Lee Seung-bu asked suddenly, "do you know QP? Quality of Perfect?"
"The so-called 'Perfect Quality' player?" Ishikawa nodded. "I’ve heard of him. He’s said to be the most talented high school player in the world right now."
"Eh?"
Lee Seung-bu blinked in surprise.
Most talented?
Did that mean Ishikawa acknowledged QP’s superiority?
For some reason, the thought disappointed him. Though Lee Seung-bu was of mixed German-Korean heritage, he identified as Asian—East Asian.
During his training in Germany, he’d faced discrimination because of his skin color. He’d tried to rationalize it as a cultural difference—until QP appeared, shattering his confidence.
But Ishikawa’s rise had given him hope—proof that talent and skill had nothing to do with race.
Now, though…
If even Ishikawa bowed to QP’s reputation, then maybe he wasn’t so different after all.
"By the way," Ishikawa added just as Lee Seung-bu turned to leave, "that last burst of yours was impressive. Sometimes, abandoning perfect control is the right move."
"Wha—?"
Lee Seung-bu froze.
His eyes widened as Ishikawa walked away.
That advice—it was nothing like what QP would say. Instead, it echoed the words of another player who had once tried to mentor him.
A sharp-faced, deep-eyed, bald player.
"So…"
Lee Seung-bu narrowed his gaze at Ishikawa’s retreating figure.
"His insight is already on par with that guy’s?"
Even QP hadn’t noticed this about him.
Meanwhile, Far Across the Ocean…
New York, USA – Queens Street Training Facility
Night had fallen, and most players had moved indoors for intense practice matches.
Bam!
Wham!
Bam!
Wham!
The sound of tennis balls echoed through the courts as a towering white player and a lanky black player clashed with everything they had.
Yet, in a dimly lit corner, a lone figure sat hunched in front of a TV, his hood pulled up as if isolating himself from the world.
"That concludes today’s broadcast. Thank you for watching~!"
The cheerful Korean host waved before the screen cut to commercials.
Crunch.
The hooded boy—Echizen Ryoga—bit into a bright orange, skin and all, juice dribbling down his chin.
"Interesting," he murmured, savoring the mix of sweet, sour, and bitter. "Didn’t expect to find someone from the old man’s list here."
"Ryoga."
A tall, handsome blond approached—Ralph Reinhardt, the 17-year-old captain of the U.S. U-17 team.
"Watching TV?" Reinhardt grinned. "Find any strong players?"
Ryoga smirked.
"Just saw a fun one in the Japan vs. Korea match."
"Oh?" Reinhardt raised an eyebrow. "That 'Eastern Pirate' from Japan?"
"Nah." Ryoga shook his head. "He wasn’t even playing. Captain, I’m heading to Asia for a bit."
"Sure." Reinhardt nodded easily. "You’re free to do as you please. Just show up for the World Cup."
"Got it."
With a lazy salute, Ryoga took another bite of his orange and strolled off.
"Ryoga…"
Reinhardt watched him go, a hint of unease in his eyes.
For some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this prodigy—this wildcard he’d found a year ago—would one day vanish for good.
Back in Japan – U-17 Training Camp
With the first away match concluded, the coaching staff finalized their plans:
One day of rest in Korea.
Flight to Bangkok for a friendly against Thailand.
Three days later, another friendly in Sri Lanka.
One week later, the second official match—against India in Mumbai.
For the lower-ranked players, these friendlies were crucial—chances to face other national aces and grow stronger before the World Cup.
"The away team’s in good hands," Coach Kurobe mused. "Ishikawa’s leadership is solid. No need to worry."
The other coaches agreed.
Truthfully, Ishikawa’s presence wasn’t even necessary. The real purpose of this trip was to familiarize him with international play.
After all, he was only a first-year.
With two more World Cups ahead of him, he was Japan’s undisputed future.
"The real headache," Coach Takizawa groaned, rubbing his temples, "is dealing with these middle schoolers. Their growth is insane."
In just two days, the lowest-ranked among them had already climbed to Court 8.
At this rate, they’d surpass even the former Gatekeeper, Oni Juujiro—now training the fallen players at the back mountains.
"We need a new Gatekeeper," Coach Aito said slyly.
Kurobe and Takizawa exchanged glances.
A slow grin spread across their faces.
They knew exactly who to call.
Chapter 315: The Phoenix Returns—The Reappearance of the Gates of Hell
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Somewhere in Japan’s U-17 training facility, inside an indoor tennis court, two figures were locked in a fierce battle. Their movements were lightning-fast, and the force behind their swings was terrifying. If not for the soundproofing, the noise would’ve been audible hundreds of meters away.
"Boss, your physical recovery is insane."
On one side of the court, a fair-skinned, heavyset man—Duke Watanabe—grinned. "You’ve already regained about 80% of your original strength, haven’t you?"
Initially, Duke had estimated it would take Phoenix a full month of rehab to return to form. But now, it seemed his captain’s body was far more monstrous than he’d imagined.
"More or less."
Phoenix replied calmly, though inwardly, he was just as surprised. His body had undergone another transformation after his brush with death.
Last time, after being struck by lightning, he had awakened the power of Alaya-vijnana—the eighth consciousness—in that liminal space between life and death.
This time, however, the change was different. His recovery speed had skyrocketed.
Phoenix had a theory.
Both Alaya-vijnana and rapid regeneration were latent human abilities—deep-seated potentials that remained dormant in most people. Yet, through experiences few could ever claim, he had awakened two of these profound powers.
"Then let me test it out."
Duke’s half-lidded eyes suddenly snapped open, a sharp glint flashing within them. His aura surged, an oppressive force radiating from him like an invisible weight.
Whoosh—!
A dark, abyssal energy coiled around him, warping the very space in his vicinity.
This was one of tennis’s otherworldly dimensions—the Hypergravity Dimension!
"Duke Homerun!"
With a roar, Duke swung his racket in a devastating arc.
BOOM!
The collision between ball and racket created a vacuum, compressing the air until it erupted in chaotic turbulence.
Sssshink—!
A streak of black light shot toward Phoenix, carrying with it an eerie, whispering echo—like the murmurs of some ancient deity.
"Good!"
The former king of the U-17’s eyes gleamed coldly. Without hesitation, he raised his racket and smashed the ball back with brutal precision.
Hummm—!
As his focus sharpened, his own aura exploded outward. The sound of thunder, crashing waves, and howling winds filled the indoor court.
BANG!
Duke’s homerun was sent rocketing back like a meteor.
KABOOM!
The ball struck the wall behind Duke, blasting a crater into it. Cracks spiderwebbed outward before the entire section collapsed in a cascade of rubble and dust.
"Impressive."
Duke whistled as he watched his signature move get effortlessly returned. "Boss, you’ve recovered even faster than I thought."
He had expected Phoenix to need both hands to counter his Duke Homerun.
"Still far from enough."
Phoenix shook his head, expression unreadable. "My control’s still off. The ball shouldn’t have veered that far."
"True."
Duke nodded.
At his peak, Phoenix could neutralize even the Duke Homerun’s force with refined technique, minimizing collateral damage.
In fact, that was why pro matches on TV never reduced stadiums to rubble.
"Let’s keep going."
Phoenix turned to walk back to the baseline.
"That’s enough."
A voice cut through the settling dust. Three figures emerged from the haze—one of them a towering middle-aged man who sighed. "Gentlemen, I think this venue is no longer suitable for your... rehab training."
"Hm?"
Duke glanced over just as the last fragments of the shattered wall crumbled away, revealing a gaping hole to the outside.
"Uh…"
His cheek twitched.
So much for a casual spar. Now they’d have to find another place to train.
"You three."
Unlike the easygoing Duke, Phoenix immediately saw through their presence. He turned toward the newcomers, his gaze sharp. "Get to the point. What do you want?"
"Straight to business, as expected of you, Phoenix."
The tall man—Saito—smiled. "It’s simple. We want you to take over as the 5th Court’s supervisor."
"Oh?"
Both Phoenix and Duke raised their brows.
"Hold on."
Phoenix scoffed, scratching his ear with a lazy smirk. "Did you mistake me for someone like Oni? I’m not the ‘nurturing’ type."
"Besides," Duke added, puzzled, "isn’t the 5th Court supervisor supposed to be Kishimoto?"
Kishimoto Masahiro—former No. 10 of the U-17’s elite squad.
With his skills, he should’ve had no trouble keeping even the 1st Court in line.
"Ah…"
Takizawa, one of the coaches, sighed. "Kishimoto’s probably at his wit’s end by now."
"Meaning?" Phoenix frowned.
"It’s the middle schoolers."
Kurobe explained. "More and more of them are advancing to the 5th Court. Their skills are… exceptional. Kishimoto can’t handle them."
He paused, then added, "Remember those two middle schoolers you met yesterday? The ones who revealed Ryoma’s true identity? These kids are all products of his influence. They’re a handful."
"Ryoma, huh?"
Phoenix’s eyes narrowed.
The image of that calm, composed prodigy flashed in his mind. When he’d learned the boy was just a first-year, even he had been stunned.
If these middle schoolers—now flooding the 5th Court—were the same ones who had faced Ryoma in the national tournament…
"Fine."
Phoenix gave a slight nod. "I’ll take a look at the 5th Court."
The three coaches visibly relaxed.
Then, Saito turned to Duke. "Also, Duke, we’d like you to oversee the 3rd Court."
"The 3rd?"
Duke smirked. "Suits me just fine."
"Then it’s settled."
Kurobe nodded. "We’ll take our leave."
With that, the three departed.
"Boss," Duke said once they were gone, his grin fading. "Why the sudden interest in the 5th Court?"
"No reason."
Phoenix shrugged. "Just curious about the kind of monsters that kid’s generation has produced."
"That kid…"
Duke’s lips curled.
Yeah. That made sense.
Honestly, even he was intrigued by the middle schoolers who stood in Ryoma’s shadow.
U-17 Training Camp – 5th Court
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
The daily training regimen was in full swing.
Though only a day had passed since the middle schoolers’ arrival, the second round of ranking matches had already pushed five or six of them into the 5th Court—including Tezuka, Yukimura, and Atobe.
As the cream of the crop (excluding Ryoma), their talent and skill were undeniable.
And unlike some of their peers, these three were disciplined. They followed the coaches’ instructions without complaint.
After all, they still had that guy to catch up to. Slacking wasn’t an option.
But not everyone shared their mindset.
Leaning against the wall in a corner, a silver-haired boy with wild, upturned locks kept his eyes shut, ignoring the drills entirely.
"Hey. Akutsu."
A cold voice slithered into his ear.
"Hn?"
Akutsu Jirou cracked one eye open to see a tanned, bespectacled boy with purple-black hair smirking at him.
"Higa’s Kite."
Akutsu’s brow twitched. "What do you want?"
Their teams had clashed fiercely in the nationals. While Akutsu had no particular loyalty to Rikkai, he despised Higa’s underhanded tactics. Even he thought they crossed the line.
Still, due to certain… history between them, he held back his irritation.
"Where’s Echizen Ryoma?" Kite adjusted his glasses, the lenses glinting. "He’s the camp’s golden boy, right? No way they didn’t invite him."
Even schools like St. Rudolph and St. Icarus had gotten spots. It’d be absurd if the best middle schooler in Japan was left out.
"Tch."
Akutsu’s gaze turned dangerous. "You giving me orders now?"
He might’ve had reasons not to punch Kite on sight, but that didn’t mean he’d tolerate being messed with.
"You—!"
Kite’s smirk faltered as he felt the bloodlust rolling off Akutsu.
He knew better than to test him. If it came to blows, his Okinawan martial arts might not be enough.
"Hey, you two!"
A sharp voice cut in.
They turned to see a tall, stern-faced high schooler with brown hair striding toward them—Kishimoto Masahiro, the 5th Court’s current supervisor.
As a former top-ten elite, he looked down on most high schoolers, let alone middle schoolers. If not for the coaches’ orders, he’d never have babysat these brats.
His management style was simple: brutal discipline.
Before the middle schoolers arrived, he’d earned the nickname "The Iron Judge."
"Four-Eyes," he snapped at Kite. "You’re not a 5th Court member. Get back to your own court."
"Oh?"
Kite pushed his glasses up, smirking. "And if I don’t?"
For a split second, Kishimoto felt an icy pressure—like a venomous snake coiling around him.
What the hell?
Since when did a middle schooler intimidate him?
"You—Akutsu, was it?"
Deciding to avoid unnecessary trouble, Kishimoto switched targets. "Start training. Now. Or else—"
"Or else what?"
Akutsu laughed.
He cracked his neck, tendons popping like firecrackers.
"Idiot."
Kite snorted.
This moron had no idea what he was provoking.
"Fine."
Kishimoto’s face darkened.
He hadn’t backed down from Kite out of fear—just pragmatism. But if these brats thought they could walk all over him—
"You asked for it."
The aura of a top-ten elite erupted from him, making Kite stiffen.
"This guy’s strong."
Instinctively, Kite took a step back, distancing himself from Akutsu.
His philosophy was simple: strike when victory was certain, retreat when it wasn’t.
Seeing this, Kishimoto smirked.
But when he turned to Akutsu—
"…!"
His blood ran cold.
Those golden-brown eyes weren’t human. They belonged to a predator.
"Shit."
Kishimoto realized his mistake.
Now he understood why the former No. 1 had voluntarily demoted himself to oversee the 5th Court.
Dealing with these monsters was hell.
But as supervisor, he couldn’t back down. His pride was on the line.
"Very well."
Gritting his teeth, Kishimoto growled, "Let me teach you the rules of the 5th Court—"
"Kishimoto Masahiro."
A voice boomed from the speakers—Kurobe’s. "As of now, you are relieved of your duties as 5th Court supervisor."
"What?!"
Kishimoto’s head snapped up. "Why?!"
Was this brat connected to the coaches?!
Furious, he roared, "You can’t do this!"
"Yes, we can."
A deep voice rumbled from behind.
"From today onward, I will oversee the 5th Court."
Every high schooler in the vicinity froze.
Kishimoto slowly turned—
And his blood turned to ice.
Standing there, with his unshaven jaw and white headband, was a man who shouldn’t even be alive.
"Y-You’re…!"
Kishimoto’s voice trembled.
"Problem?"
Phoenix’s gaze was glacial.
"N-No, sir!"
In front of the stunned middle schoolers—including Akutsu and Kite—the once-stern supervisor now looked like a scolded child.
"Huh."
All eyes locked onto the scruffy, sandal-wearing legend before them.
Just who was this guy?!
End of Chapter
