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🕑 Added 2025-06-02 16:31:06 +0000 UTCChapter 341: The Balance of Yin and Yang—The Realm of "Mu" (Nothingness)
"All the other matches have ended."
In the room on the second floor, the three of them turned their attention to the last remaining screen still broadcasting a match.
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
On the court, the two players were locked in a fierce battle.
Oshitari’s technique was solid—smooth, efficient, and free of unnecessary flair. His Cloud-Phoenix Return and Bear Crusher had completely stifled Fuwa’s offensive attempts.
At this moment, the U-17’s No. 11 was actually being pushed into a corner, visibly flustered.
Thud!
Suddenly, Oshitari delivered a return shot. The ball soared over the net, then sharply dipped and skidded low across the ground.
"This move again?"
Fuwa narrowed his eyes but immediately sprang into action.
This technique would be considered impressive even among high schoolers, but for a player like Fuwa, it wasn’t unbreakable. After seeing it a few times, he had already deciphered its mechanics. Without hesitation, he dashed forward, preparing to counter with a low, slicing stroke.
Whoosh!
But then—
The ball abruptly changed direction.
To Fuwa’s shock, it veered sharply away from him, shooting toward the opposite side of the court.
"Game."
Securing the point, Oshitari calmly announced, "Oshitari leads, 2-1."
"This brat…"
Repeated setbacks had finally disrupted Fuwa’s composure. He hadn’t expected his opponent’s understanding and execution of techniques to be at such a high level.
"I underestimated you."
A cold glint flashed in Fuwa’s eyes.
Up until now, he hadn’t taken this match seriously. Even when Oshitari countered his smashes with ease, he hadn’t been fazed.
But now—
He was finally treating this middle schooler as a real opponent.
"Getting serious now?" Oshitari smirked. "So, senpai, are you finally going to show me your true strength?"
"Don’t flatter yourself." Fuwa scoffed. "You think this is enough to make me go all out?"
It wasn’t arrogance—just absolute confidence.
After all, Fuwa had only been using about half his strength, treating the match as little more than a warm-up.
"Is that so?"
Oshitari chuckled.
He could sense the overwhelming pride and superiority radiating from his opponent. Once upon a time, Oshitari himself had harbored similar feelings—though not to this extent.
That was, until he met Ishikawa.
That seemingly ordinary boy had shattered Oshitari’s pride completely. From then on, he had abandoned flashy playstyles and focused solely on efficiency—winning became his only goal.
Thud!
Fuwa served again.
This time, he had raised his output to about 60%. His serve was noticeably faster, a clear step up from before.
Unfortunately—
For the current Oshitari, it still wasn’t enough.
Thud!
In an instant, the serve was returned.
Tap-tap!
Fuwa quickly closed in, redirecting the ball toward Oshitari’s backhand with a sharp, angled shot—clearly aiming to disrupt his rhythm.
Swish!
But just as the ball was about to bounce, Oshitari’s figure was already there, waiting.
"Huh?"
Fuwa’s eyes narrowed.
He hadn’t expected his shot placement to be read so easily.
"A fluke, or…?"
Without dwelling on it, Fuwa launched another attack.
Yet once again, his shot was anticipated.
"Tch."
Once could be luck. Twice was a pattern.
"His perception is this sharp?"
Fuwa had full confidence in his offensive skills. While his piercing power might not match Bullet Shot, and his raw strength couldn’t rival Four Seasons, his overall versatility was unmatched among the lower-ranked U-17 players.
But now—
A middle schooler was reading his every move?
"Wait…"
Then, Fuwa noticed it—the faint, moonlit aura shimmering around Oshitari’s body.
Shadow Moon Mode!
Oshitari had activated his ultimate technique.
In this state, his perception and judgment skyrocketed, allowing him to pinpoint his opponent’s weaknesses and strike with precision.
"Not bad, kid."
Realizing his plays were genuinely being deciphered, Fuwa took a deep breath and upped the intensity.
Instead of retreating, he decided to overwhelm Oshitari with sheer speed—ending this before it dragged on.
Hum!
But then—
A crimson aura flared around Oshitari.
Solar Flare Mode!
Now, his explosive power and strength surged. His movements became swift and aggressive, like a lion pouncing on prey.
Boom!
With a thunderous impact, Fuwa’s rapid attack was met with an even fiercer counter. The ball rocketed past him, landing squarely on the baseline before shooting out of bounds.
"0-15!"
Oshitari called the score, his aura fading as he returned to his normal state.
"Alright, kid… I admit it. I underestimated you." Fuwa exhaled sharply, his gaze hardening. "You’ve earned my full attention."
Hum!
As he spoke, an overwhelming pressure erupted from him.
This was the true might of U-17’s No. 11.
Oshitari, however, remained unfazed.
He had expected this. Now that Fuwa was serious, the real match had finally begun.
Thud!
Fuwa served again.
This time, the ball was not only faster but also carried a fierce, spiraling force.
Tap!
Upon bouncing, it kicked up dust before abruptly changing trajectory.
"A curveball?"
Oshitari’s eyes flickered.
But he was no amateur. He had seen Ishikawa’s true Super Rising Shot before—compared to that, Fuwa’s twist serve was nothing special.
Swish!
Without hesitation, he sidestepped and swung, intercepting the ball just before it could escape.
"Nice."
Fuwa nodded in approval.
His eyes sharpened as he lunged forward, his speed increasing dramatically—like a leopard closing in for the kill.
Boom!
The ball was blasted back with terrifying force.
Hum!
Oshitari seamlessly switched from Shadow Moon to Solar Flare, using his enhanced strength to return the shot.
Boom! Thud! Boom! Thud!
In just ten seconds, they had exchanged nearly a dozen blows.
The ball streaked back and forth, the wind from their swings kicking up dust that obscured half the court.
"Incredible!"
Upstairs, Tōru gaped. "He’s actually holding his own against Fuwa?!"
This was Fuwa Tetsuhito they were talking about—a high school elite. At just 16, he still had room to grow. In another year, he’d likely break into the U-17’s top five.
And yet—
Here he was, trading blows with an unheralded middle schooler.
"So this…" Tōru muttered, shaking his head in disbelief, "is the caliber of a Hyōtei regular?"
"It’s not over yet." Kurobe cut in. "Fuwa’s only at about 80%, and Oshitari hasn’t used his strongest technique."
"What?!"
Saitō thought he’d misheard.
Boom!
On-screen, Fuwa’s return tore through the dust cloud, rocketing toward the baseline.
Oshitari, no longer holding back, activated both Shadow Moon and Solar Flare simultaneously.
Hum!
A fusion of black and white light enveloped him.
His speed, power, and perception all surged. In a flash, he caught up to the ball and smashed it down with a devastating spike.
Boom!
The impact sent the dust scattering, revealing Fuwa’s stunned expression.
"0-30!"
"This speed… this power…"
Fuwa was at a loss. He hadn’t expected a middle schooler to match him in a direct exchange—let alone score against him at near-full strength.
"Guess I have no choice."
He took a deep breath and locked eyes with Oshitari.
"Hm?"
The moment their gazes met, Oshitari felt an odd sensation—though he couldn’t quite place it.
Thud! Boom! Thud! Boom!
The match resumed, the two diving back into their fierce duel.
But as they fought, Oshitari grew increasingly uneasy. There was something familiar about Fuwa’s style—an eerie resemblance.
Thud!
Then, Fuwa struck.
The ball cleared the net, dipped sharply, and skidded low—just like before.
"This is—?!"
Oshitari’s eyes widened.
Cloud-Phoenix Return?!
No—
It was his Cloud-Phoenix Flash!
Because the ball changed direction twice mid-flight.
"How?!"
"How does he know this move?!"
"Is it Muga no Kyōchi?!"
Countless questions flooded Oshitari’s mind.
And worse—a creeping dread.
Earlier, when the match had reached its peak, he had considered using Cloud-Phoenix Flash to turn the tide.
Yet Fuwa had used it first.
As if he’d plucked the thought straight from Oshitari’s mind and executed it himself.
"Wait… those eyes—?!"
Suddenly, Oshitari noticed it—Fuwa’s silver-white eyes, mirror-like, reflecting his own unsettled expression back at him.
"There’s something wrong with them!"
Oshitari’s breath hitched. He wasn’t stupid—he realized he’d fallen into some kind of trap.
Fuwa’s ability seemed to mirror his techniques, throwing them back at him.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
As the match continued, Oshitari’s own moves kept being used against him. His suspicion solidified into certainty.
But now—
He was trapped.
Facing his own perfected techniques, he found himself at a loss. The very skills he’d honed were now his shackles.
Thud! Boom! Thud! Boom!
Fuwa dominated the exchanges.
His Mirror Eye didn’t just replicate Oshitari’s moves—it enhanced them.
If Oshitari held back, he was overwhelmed. If he used his techniques, they were turned against him.
He was stuck in a paradox, and time was running out.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
On the court, Oshitari’s earlier confidence had vanished.
His movements grew sloppy, his breathing heavier. The match was slipping away.
"What do I do?"
"Power—I need more power! Enough to shatter that mirror!"
"No… that’s not it."
"The mirror is just a medium. My real enemy is the one behind it. Unless I can break his racket, brute force won’t work!"
Gradually, Oshitari’s mind cleared.
He had never been a power player. When faced with a problem, his instinct was to analyze, to think.
Calm.
Logic.
That was the core of his tennis.
In this critical moment, the adrenaline faded, allowing his rationality to take over.
"Do I really need more strength?"
"No."
"No amount of force will break his defense. Instead of trying to overpower him… I need to find the balance."
"Movement and stillness aren’t opposites."
"I need… a deeper understanding."
Thoughts swirled in his mind, chaotic yet pointing toward a single truth.
So—
He closed his eyes.
Shutting out the world, he sought the path to a higher realm.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Point after point slipped away, but Oshitari didn’t waver. To Fuwa, it looked like surrender.
"Is this all you’ve got?"
As the match neared its end, Fuwa sighed. "You’ve got talent, kid, but your mental game is weak. Needs work."
As a second-year, he knew his spot would eventually go to a middle schooler. But if Oshitari couldn’t earn his respect, Fuwa had no intention of handing over his badge.
That was his pride.
Besides—
He still had his own ambitions.
The upcoming World Cup would have limited slots for high schoolers, but nothing was set in stone. Until then, he’d keep fighting for his chance.
Even if the odds were slim.
"But I won’t just give my spot away."
With that thought, Fuwa’s gaze turned icy. He raised his racket, aimed at Oshitari’s weakest angle, and fired.
"Game over, kid."
As the ball shot forward, Fuwa started to turn away—
Swish!
—only to freeze when Oshitari appeared at the landing spot, seemingly out of nowhere.
"When did he—?!"
Fuwa’s eyes widened.
He hadn’t even seen him move.
"Doesn’t matter. Tricks won’t work on me."
Fuwa prepared to intercept, activating Mirror Eye to reflect whatever technique came next.
But then—
He stiffened.
Boom!
The ball shot past him, landing cleanly before bouncing out.
Fuwa could only stare in disbelief.
"No… that’s impossible!"
For the first time, his Mirror Eye had seen nothing—just empty void.
And he had only ever experienced that once before.
Back when he’d first joined U-17, he’d arrogantly challenged the entire top team.
And then—
He met him.
The one who had crushed him so thoroughly that even his Mirror Eye showed only emptiness.
"Don’t tell me…"
Fuwa’s voice trembled as he stared at Oshitari.
"He’s touched the realm of Mu—Nothingness?!"
Chapter 342: The Showdown Ends—The Top 10 Make Their Entrance!
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
One ball after another blasted past Fūra’s defenses. His once-unbeatable Mirror Eye technique had completely failed him.
"Nothingness..."
At the baseline, Fūra stared grimly at his opponent.
He was certain now—this move bore an eerie resemblance to that technique he’d encountered before. His opponent had somehow rendered the tennis ball utterly void, as if it didn’t exist at all.
In other words…
Unless Fūra could forcibly break through this technique, none of his signature moves would work.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
On the other side of the court, Yūshi lightly bounced the ball.
He had entered an extraordinary state—the perfect balance of yin and yang, culminating in his mastery of [Nothingness], a power that dissolved spin and force, reducing everything to its most basic form.
However…
Since he’d only just grasped it, the technique was still rough. His control over the ball was far from refined, and a few times, he’d barely managed to neutralize Fūra’s power.
But with each swing, Yūshi’s wrist and racket grew noticeably sharper.
Swish!
The ball arced just over the net, landing softly before rolling away. Fūra twitched, as if to move—then sighed and let it go.
He knew.
There was no way he could reach it.
The [Nothingness] had erased all spin and power from his shots. Worse, Yūshi had placed the ball precisely where he couldn’t return it.
Of course, it wasn’t impossible to counter.
If Fūra went all out—burning stamina, disregarding everything—he could break through.
But he wouldn’t.
For someone as prideful as Fūra, being forced to unleash his full strength against an opponent two years his junior… that alone would mean defeat.
"Enough."
With that, Fūra looked up, his gaze piercing. "You win."
Flick.
Before Yūshi could react, Fūra unpinned the badge from his collar and tossed it over.
"Don’t waste that ability," he said as he turned away. "And never let your guard down. The U-17 is far more complicated than you think."
Then, without another word, he walked off the court.
"Huh?"
Yūshi blinked at the retreating figure.
That’s it?
He’d braced for a desperate, all-out battle—yet the No. 11 badge had fallen into his hands this easily.
Shouldn’t he have at least asked for my name?
"Right."
Shaking off his thoughts, Yūshi exhaled. "From his warning… the waters here run deeper than I thought."
He could tell—Fūra hadn’t fought seriously.
Even with his newfound power, Yūshi doubted he could’ve won a full-strength match.
Among middle schoolers, Yūshi was easily top ten. But high schoolers as a whole still outclassed them.
And then there were the anomalies—Oni and Byōdōin, who weren’t even ranked among the top players.
"Is that the complication he meant?"
A storm was coming. Yūshi could feel it.
Coaches’ Room – Second Floor
"Finally… it’s over."
Takuzō leaned back as the last match between the second-string and the top players concluded. "I never expected all the middle schoolers to walk away with badges."
"True," Kurobe nodded. "Their growth in such a short time is remarkable. To earn the top players’ recognition… they’ve truly transformed."
Sure, some matches—like Yūshi vs. Fūra or Yanagi vs. Mitsuya—had been concessions by the high schoolers.
But that didn’t change the fact: the middle schoolers had evolved.
"That said," Saitō interjected, "the high schoolers forfeited to avoid the upcoming Shuffle Matches."
Under standard rules, once the Shuffle began, the top players would face challenges in reverse order—from lowest to highest rank.
By surrendering their badges, they dodged the storm. The middle schoolers still had to prove themselves in the real battles ahead.
"Let’s go."
Kurobe checked the monitor. "It’s time to greet the others."
"Right."
Saitō and Takuzō nodded.
The top players, led by Ishikawa, had just returned from an overseas tour—three straight wins, plus flawless exhibition matches. The coaches had to welcome them properly.
Parking Area
Screech—
The bus rolled to a stop.
Ishikawa, Tokugawa, Ōchi, and others stepped out. After a month of travel—plus last night’s impromptu match—they were exhausted but in good spirits. Jet lag would take time to shake off.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Among them, one figure stood out—a hooded young man in a red-and-black jacket. The others kept a cautious distance.
Creak.
The gate swung open.
The three coaches stood waiting.
"Welcome back," Kurobe said warmly, nodding especially to Ishikawa.
"Hm?" Saitō’s eyes landed on the stranger. "A new face?"
"Yeah," Ishikawa replied. "Met him in Macau. Said he was interested in Japanese tennis, so I brought him along."
"I see."
The coaches exchanged glances.
An unofficial player joining like this was unprecedented. But Ishikawa wasn’t someone they could easily refuse—not when he had six more years of potential dominance.
"Chief Coach’s idea," Ishikawa added, sensing their hesitation. "But he’s strong. Hope you’ll let him stay."
With that, he led the group inside.
"Strong?" Saitō and Takuzō perked up.
If Ishikawa called him strong…
"Hmm."
But Kurobe caught the subtext.
"This guy…"
His gaze shifted to the hooded figure just as the young man glanced back—and smirked.
"Looking forward to working with you, Coaches."
A tangerine sailed through the air. Kurobe caught it on reflex.
For a split second, he swore he saw—
"Wait… If the Chief sent him—?!"
His eyes widened.
Central Courts – 9:00 AM
After a lively discussion, the middle schoolers resumed training under Byōdōin and Oni’s watchful eyes. The high schoolers, meanwhile, trained even harder—no one wanted to become an example.
Bam!
Bam!
Bam!
At Court No. 2, red-haired Kintarō faced Inui in a five-ball rally.
"Too easy!" Kintarō grinned. Defeating Udon had proven he could handle ten balls—five was nothing.
"Oh?" Inui smiled. "Don’t get cocky. Five-ball rallies aren’t as simple as they seem."
"Prove it!"
"Gladly."
Inui’s racket blurred—five different shots at once.
Topspin. Slice. Drop shot—
Kintarō’s grin faltered.
This wasn’t just five balls in a row—each one had different trajectories and speeds.
But Kintarō didn’t overthink it.
"Raaah!"
He lunged, returning four in rapid succession—
"One left—!"
His instincts locked onto the final ball.
"Haaah!"
With a furious swing, he smashed it back.
"Tch."
Oni shook his head from the sidelines.
"You’re still far from mastering this."
Inui didn’t even move as all five balls sailed past him—landing just outside the lines.
"Five-ball rallies aren’t about just hitting them," Oni growled. "If you can’t control placement, you’ve barely scratched the surface."
"…Got it."
Kintarō hung his head.
The other middle schoolers watched intently. This wasn’t just a lesson for Kintarō—it was for all of them.
"He’s the real deal," Atobe, Yukimura, and Tezuka noted silently.
Oni’s insight confirmed it—he was far beyond the average top player.
If anyone could rival Byōdōin, it was him.
Or…
"That guy who still hasn’t shown up."
Just then—
Footsteps.
Everyone turned.
The missing middle schoolers had arrived—some bruised, some supporting each other—but all wearing golden badges.
"They won?!"
"No way…"
Shock rippled through the crowd.
Yet Byōdōin, Oni, Inui, Duke, and Shirato remained unfazed.
"They knew," Atobe realized.
These players weren’t just top-ranked—they were beyond the usual hierarchy.
Then—
More footsteps.
The middle schoolers froze.
"The real Top 10…?"
But what they saw next made their blood run cold.
"That guy—?!"
"Impossible!!"
Chapter 343: Identity Revealed—The Crowd Stunned
"V-Vice Captain?!"
On the court, Hiyoshi and Ōtori gaped at the black-haired boy leading the group.
They never expected their missing vice captain—absent for a full month—to reappear as a top-ranked U-17 representative.
And worse…
He seemed to be the leader of the entire elite squad.
This was insane.
"…"
Tezuka, Yukimura, and the others stared in silent shock at Ishikawa, who walked ahead of the group, a tennis bag slung over his shoulder.
For a moment, they tried to rationalize it—maybe he just happened to arrive with the U-17 team?
But then they saw it.
The black-and-red jacket.
The gleaming No. 1 badge pinned to his collar.
Reality crashed down.
"This guy…"
Among the crowd, Akutsu’s jaw clenched as he glared at Ishikawa. He’d assumed Ishikawa, like him, had received a separate invitation.
But no.
Ishikawa hadn’t just arrived—he’d conquered the place.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
The mysterious player who’d defeated Byōdōin and Oni?
It was Ishikawa all along.
He’d stormed the U-17, dominated, then led the overseas expedition.
The middle schoolers’ expressions turned dazed.
The U-17—a place they’d thought was an impenetrable fortress—had already been cleared by one of their own.
Byōdōin. Oni.
The monsters they’d idolized?
Just stepping stones for him.
A strange distance settled between them and Ishikawa.
Physically, he was mere meters away.
Yet now, he felt untouchable.
"…So this is the height you’ve reached." Atobe’s voice was quiet, his gaze unreadable.
Upper Platform
"Long time no see."
Ishikawa smiled down at them, standing even ahead of the three coaches.
Stranger still?
The usually strict coaches didn’t bat an eye.
"V-Vice Captain," Hiyoshi stammered. "Are you… really you? Not an older brother or something?"
This was too absurd. Maybe it was a lookalike?
"Congratulations, Hiyoshi-senpai," Ishikawa replied, ignoring the question. "On earning a top-player badge."
"Huh?"
Behind him, the U-17 elites stiffened.
No. 19 badge?!
"Gōki lost… to a middle schooler?" Mōrai’s eye twitched.
"That’s not the issue!" Inui cut in, voice sharp. "Did you hear how the captain addressed him?!"
A beat of silence.
Then—
"N-No way…"
Mōrai’s face paled.
Even the usually unflappable Duke and Ōchi looked like they’d seen a ghost.
"Y-You’re joking, right, Captain?" Mōrai’s voice cracked.
Only Yūushi and Mōri remained calm—they’d known all along.
Nearby, Tōno—now healed—clenched his fists so hard his knuckles whitened.
Losing to a new high schooler was one thing.
But a middle schooler?
Who’d one-shot him?!
His pride, freshly stitched back together, threatened to shatter again.
"Relax."
A hand clapped his shoulder. Shirato smirked. "You’re not the only one. Look."
He nodded toward Courts 5 and 2—where Byōdōin and Oni stood, utterly unfazed.
"…Tch."
Tōno exhaled.
Right.
If even those two had fallen, his loss was nothing.
But the revelation still sent shockwaves through the high schoolers.
A middle schooler—barely twelve—had crushed the U-17’s best?!
It defied all logic.
Even Tokugawa and Inui, usually unshakable, felt their minds reel.
Court No. 2
"Welcome back."
Oni and Inui nodded at Ishikawa. They’d trained together at the Cliff of Resolution—their bond ran deeper.
"Not bad."
Byōdōin’s voice was calm. "But now that everyone’s here… it’s time for the main event."
A ripple of tension.
The Shuffle Matches.
"Not today."
Ishikawa glanced at the battered middle schoolers. "Rest up. We start tomorrow at 8 AM."
Relief flashed across Yūshi and Hiyoshi’s faces—followed by wariness.
According to Mitsuya, the Shuffle began the moment the elites returned.
They were vulnerable now.
Yet…
No one protested.
Not even Byōdōin or Oni.
The high schoolers hesitated—then yielded.
Yūshi and Yanagi exchanged stunned glances.
Ishikawa’s authority was absolute.
Courtside – Later
"This is insane!"
Mukahi nearly vibrated with excitement as Ishikawa approached. "Since when are you the boss here?!"
"Since my last leave from Hyōtei."
Ishikawa set his bag down. "It was a personal invitation, so I came alone."
"A month ago…"
Ōshitari’s eyes widened.
While they had struggled to adapt, Ishikawa had rewritten the U-17’s hierarchy.
Nearby, Atobe sighed—then smiled.
If this was Hyōtei’s future captain?
Good.
But Akutsu’s expression darkened.
He’d pushed himself to the limit… yet still couldn’t even see Ishikawa’s back.
The frustration burned.
"Ishikawa… Satoru."
Minami’s gaze sharpened.
He’d never expected their reunion like this.
The man who’d spoken of the "world stage" now stood as Japan’s No. 1.
Staying here… I’ll never catch up.
The resolve solidified.
Tezuka, Yukimura, and Shiraishi watched silently.
With Ishikawa’s return, the U-17 finally felt complete.
Tomorrow’s Shuffle?
They couldn’t wait.
Noon – Dormitory Area
"…He’s that strong already?"
Ryōma kicked a pebble, mind racing.
Ishikawa—his same age—had toppled Byōdōin and Oni.
The gap was staggering.
Swish!
Something whistled toward him.
Instinct took over—his racket snapped up, intercepting the object with a thud.
Not a tennis ball.
A tangerine.
"What the—?"
He looked up—just as a figure vanished around the corner.
Frowning, he followed.
Secluded Court
Bam!
Bam!
Bam!
Ten balls ricocheted off the wall simultaneously, each met with flawless precision.
The player—hooded—moved like a ghost, never once touched by the rebounds.
"Hey."
Ryōma stepped forward. "You wanted something?"
The figure turned—
—and removed his hood.
"Long time no see, shrimpy."
Ryōma froze.
The grinning face before him—older, but unmistakable—triggered a flood of memories.
"…Nii-chan?!"
"Nah." Ryōga chuckled. "Just passing through. Heard you were here."
"Oh."
Disappointment flickered. So he doesn’t know Ishikawa…
"This ‘Ishikawa’…" Ryōga’s eyes gleamed. "Tell me about him."
"He’s first-year, like me. Vice captain of Hyōtei—"
"Wait."
Ryōga’s smile vanished.
"Did you say… first-year?"
Chapter 344: Ryoga Echizen’s Apprehension—The Shuffle Battle Begins
"Big bro."
Noticing the shift in his brother’s expression, Ryoma frowned. "What’s wrong?"
"N-Nothing."
Ryoga waved it off, forcing his usual easygoing smile.
After suppressing the shock still lingering in his chest, he turned to Ryoma and asked, "So, what’s your plan for the future?"
In the original timeline, Ryoma had lost his memory during the Nationals, and their conversations had revolved solely around tennis.
But now—
Ryoga was more interested in his little brother’s long-term goals.
After all, his reasons for coming to Japan’s U-17 weren’t just to crush Ishikawa and Byoudouin. He also wanted to take Ryoma with him.
Frankly, Japan was too small.
The overall level of U-17 here paled in comparison to top-tier teams abroad—let alone the monstrous Big Four.
For someone like Ryoma, staying in Japan would only waste his potential. With the blood of the Samurai running through his veins, he belonged on a far grander stage.
"My future?"
Ryoma blinked, caught off guard by the question. After a pause, he nodded. "I want to go pro."
If his original goal had been surpassing his old man, then later, it became defeating Tezuka and Ishikawa. Now, with a more mature mindset, he knew one thing for certain—he could never walk away from tennis.
Going pro, facing the world’s best—that was the path he truly wanted.
"Pro, huh?"
Ryoga smirked. "Not a bad dream. But at your current level, you’ve still got a long way to go."
Before Ryoma could respond, Ryoga added, "By the way, the old man mentioned you’ve mastered Samurai’s Aura?"
"Yeah… something like that."
Ryoma nodded.
Normally, he wouldn’t answer this kind of question—not even for his Seigaku teammates. But Ryoga was different. Plus, he could tell his brother didn’t seem too impressed by Samurai’s Aura.
"Not bad."
Ryoga grinned. "Mastering it at 12? You’re way ahead of the old man. But the world’s a big place. Samurai’s Aura alone won’t cut it."
"I know."
Ryoma’s grip on his racket tightened.
He’d learned that lesson the hard way during the Nationals, against Ishikawa. That guy wasn’t just strong in one area—he was overwhelming in every aspect.
At times, Ryoma had even wondered if Ishikawa could crush him using just footwork or just swing technique.
"Which is why," Ryoga said, his tone turning sly, "it’s about time I taught you something new. Ever heard of the Sweet Spot?"
"Obviously."
Ryoma rolled his eyes.
The Sweet Spot—the optimal contact point on a racket’s strings. Any decent coach drilled that into their players early on.
And Ryoma? He was a natural at it.
After mastering Samurai’s Aura, he’d even realized that Ishikawa’s so-called "Deep Impact" theory relied heavily on perfect Sweet Spot strikes.
Hum.
Suddenly, Ryoga loosened his grip—and a glowing golden ball materialized in his palm.
"This is—?!"
Ryoma’s eyes widened.
Boom!
With a casual swing, Ryoga sent the ball flying. A violent gust of wind erupted as the spinning orb—shaped almost like an elongated egg—streaked across the court.
CRASH!
The next second, the chain-link fence shattered on impact. The ball didn’t stop there—it tore through the ground, leaving a crater in the concrete walkway.
"Gulp."
Ryoma’s throat went dry.
The last time he’d seen a shot like this was in the indoor match against Byoudouin. That glowing ball had crushed his spirit mid-game. Seeing it again now made his pulse spike.
"No way…"
But then he shook his head. "A Sweet Spot strike can’t be this powerful!"
He’d mastered the technique himself—even refined it into Deep Impact. Yet even with Samurai’s Aura active, he couldn’t produce a shot half as destructive.
And Ryoga?
He wasn’t some hulking power player like Oni or Duke. There was no way pure Sweet Spot mechanics could explain this.
"Of course not."
Ryoga smirked. "Regular Sweet Spot won’t do this. To create a Glowing Ball, you need the next level—Super Sweet Spot."
"Super… Sweet Spot?"
Ryoma’s eyes narrowed.
Then, without hesitation, he bowed slightly. "Teach me."
He needed to get stronger.
Oni and Byoudouin had refused to train him further. With Ishikawa pulling further ahead, Ryoma couldn’t afford to pass up this chance.
Ryoga nodded.
This was part of his mission anyway.
But for the first time in his life, the ever-confident Ryoga felt a shadow of doubt.
After learning Ishikawa’s true age, his usual swagger had dimmed—replaced by something darker.
Later That Afternoon
Explosive booms echoed from a secluded court, drawing curious stares.
Inside Court 5, Byoudouin glanced up, eyes sharp.
"That new guy’s got some power."
"Yeah."
Duke, who’d wandered over from Court 3, nodded. "Word is, he took down Fuwa—No. 11—in one shot back in Macau."
"One shot?"
Byoudouin’s brow lifted slightly.
Impressive, sure. But compared to Ishikawa—who’d annihilated Enjou with a single serve—it wasn’t that shocking.
"What’s his take on this guy?"
"Ishikawa?" Duke chuckled. "They had a one-shot duel. Ishikawa won."
"Hmph."
Expected. With Ishikawa’s insane serves, few high schoolers worldwide could return them.
"But," Duke added, his tone dropping, "Ishikawa called him a ‘dangerous person.’"
"Oh?"
Now that got Byoudouin’s attention.
He knew Ishikawa’s personality well. For him to label someone dangerous? This Ryoga Echizen wasn’t just some random talent.
And yet—
Byoudouin had never heard of him in the international scene.
"Tch."
His instincts flared. Something about Ryoga’s sudden appearance felt… off.
Court 2 – Oni vs. Kintarou
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Oni, wielding his regular racket (not the crossed-strings practice one), traded blows with Kintarou.
They’d sparred at the Back Mountain, but never like this—full power, no holds barred.
And Kintarou?
He fought like a wild beast, unfazed by Oni’s reputation. The watching high schoolers gaped.
"Are all these middle schoolers monsters?!"
First, the Losers’ Squad had steamrolled Court 2. Now this red-haired kid was going toe-to-toe with Oni—the former No. 1 of U-17!
"W-Well…"
One senior sighed. "Don’t forget, he’s also a middle schooler."
"…Oh. Right."
The others winced, suddenly remembering Ishikawa.
Defeated, they scattered back to their drills.
Elsewhere in the Camp
Inoue and Shiraishi observed from the sidelines, the latter whistling. "Oni’s disciple? Lucky bastard."
Irie sighed. "I envy him." Finding someone who matched his eccentric tastes was impossible.
Tokugawa trained relentlessly—three-finger handstand push-ups—his pride stung after learning Ishikawa’s true status.
Mouri and Hara dueled fiercely, refining their techniques for the coming battle.
As night fell, the camp grew eerily quiet—a calm before the storm.
Next Morning – The Shuffle Battle
At dawn, players from both sides gathered at the central court.
A plane buzzed overhead, dropping a package of red-and-black jackets—the official uniform of Japan’s representatives.
After changing, the middle schoolers took their places in the stands.
Opposite them stood the U-17 Elite Ten, clad in their black-and-red uniforms. Even Byoudouin and Oni were present—but neither stood at the center.
That spot belonged to a raven-haired boy with a No. 1 badge pinned to his collar.
Seated atop the highest platform like a king, he gazed down at the challengers below.
"…"
Tezuka, Atobe, and the others tensed.
For some reason, this scene felt like something out of a fantasy game—where they were the heroes, and the figure before them…
Was the final boss.
"Attention."
Kurobe’s voice crackled over the speakers.
"By the head coach’s orders, this year’s Shuffle Battle will be a free-for-all—no fixed brackets. Middle schoolers or high schoolers may challenge."
A pause.
"Only the top 14 will earn the right to represent Japan."
Chapter 345: The First Shuffle Match—Kite vs. Tōno (Part 1)
"Fourteen spots?!"
The announcement sent shockwaves through the crowd.
This meant six fewer positions in the elite roster—competition would be brutal.
And with Byōdōin, Oni, and Duke excluded from the initial lineup…
"So," Inui adjusted his glasses, "this isn’t just a ranking challenge anymore. It’s a battle for qualification?"
"Correct."
Kurobe nodded. "No fixed rankings. Fourteen spots—first come, first served."
First come, first served?
The players exchanged glances.
This wasn’t a distribution—it was a free-for-all. Hesitate, and the spots would vanish.
Even Ishikawa, the current No. 1, had to fight if he wanted to stay.
"Tch."
The atmosphere grew tense.
No more waiting for weaker opponents—this rule forced everyone to go all out from the start.
But under the pressure radiating from the top players, few dared to move.
"Heh."
A voice cut through the silence.
"If no one’s stepping up, I’ll take the first match."
All eyes turned to a slick-haired boy in a violet-black tank top—Kite Eishirō of Higa Chūō.
"Kite?!"
The middle schoolers tensed.
This was the same Kite who’d clawed his way into Byōdōin’s Court 5—a top-tier player among them.
"What?"
Kite smirked, spinning his racket. "No takers?"
Then—
His racket pointed directly at Ishikawa.
"Come on, Ishikawa. Let’s settle this."
Silence.
The high schoolers gaped.
Was this kid insane?!
But the challenge wasn’t empty—Kite’s tone suggested history between them.
Before Ishikawa could respond—
"Cheeky brat."
A languid voice dripped with disdain.
A purple-haired man descended the stairs, his No. 8 badge glinting.
"Tōno… Atsukyo?!"
The middle schoolers stiffened.
This wasn’t just any elite—this was a top-ten representative.
"Match set!"
The referee’s voice boomed.
"U-17 Elite No. 8, Tōno Atsukyo (3rd Year HS), vs. Second String, Kite Eishirō (3rd Year MS)."
"Begin preparations!"
Courtside – Strategy Session
"Kite’s changed."
Inui’s notes flipped rapidly. "After his loss to Ishikawa, he vanished—until now."
Yanagi nodded.
That match had been brutal—Kite literally nailed to a wall by Ishikawa’s shots.
Most would’ve quit.
But Kite had not only returned—he’d earned Byōdōin’s respect.
"This’ll show us the gap," Yanagi murmured, "between the top ten and the rest."
First Game – Kite’s Serve
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Kite bounced the ball, eyes locked on Tōno.
No. 8… Lower than expected, but it’ll do.
This match wasn’t about pride—it was a mission.
After his crushing defeat, a mysterious man had approached him in the hospital.
"Recover. Then meet me at the street courts."
At first, Kite had scoffed.
The man—middle-aged, unkempt, in a black robe and wooden sandals—looked like a joke.
Then they’d played.
Three minutes.
That’s how long it took for Kite to lose worse than he had to Ishikawa.
The man had rewritten his understanding of tennis.
Now, under his guidance, Kite had one goal:
Infiltrate. Observe. Report.
Crack!
"Big Bang!!"
The serve exploded off Kite’s racket like a cannon shot.
"Pathetic."
Tōno yawned, returning it effortlessly.
"What?!"
The Higa team froze.
Their captain’s signature move—neutralized so easily?!
"Again."
Kite lunged, his form identical—
BAM!
Another Big Bang—this time as a groundstroke.
"15–0!"
"Impossible!"
The crowd erupted.
Kite had just outmaneuvered a top-ten player in three exchanges.
"He’s altering the power."
Ōshi’s eyes narrowed.
Each shot looked identical—but the impact varied wildly.
Tōno, expecting consistency, misjudged—
Whoosh!
"OUT! 30–0!"
"Again?!"
The high schoolers were stunned.
By the fourth point, Tōno’s racket flew from his grip.
Clatter.
Silence.
"GAME! Kite leads, 1–0!"
"No way…"
Even the elites were speechless.
Kite had swept the first game against a top-ten opponent.
"Clever brat."
Tōno picked up his racket, his smirk gone.
"You’ve been masking the power differential."
Kite said nothing.
"But," Tōno’s voice dropped to a whisper, "I was only at 50%."
(End of Chapter.)
