belamy20

101-105

Added 2025-08-01 16:43:21 +0000 UTC

Chapter 101: The Strategist QP

(Sigh… Now there’s another rumor about the Ushijima brothers being at Seigaku. Might as well stick to my usual mischief.)

The semifinals had ended.

The finals would take place the following Saturday.

After watching the matches between Rikkai Dai and Hyotei, the team boarded the bus back to school.

The whole ride, QP felt something was off. His brow furrowed as he flipped through the data collected by the team members.

Yoru noticed his unease but didn’t ask—everyone else on the bus was asleep, and any noise would disturb them.

After about half an hour, they arrived back at Seigaku.

Yoru didn’t order any extra practice. Instead, he dismissed the team.

We’ve finally made it to the semifinals. A day off won’t hurt.

Besides, it was exam season—they needed time to study, too.

After saying goodbye to everyone at the train station, Yoru turned to QP.

"You’ve been distracted the whole ride. What’s on your mind?"

QP seemed to have expected the question. Without hesitation, he replied, "Rikkai Dai’s match was strange."

"What’s strange about it?"

Yoru thought back to the match—it had seemed perfectly normal.

QP didn’t give him time to dwell on it. "Remember Hyotei’s lineup against us?"

Yoru nodded.

The first three matches had featured characters straight from the original story, so they were fresh in his memory.

"That’s the issue."

QP’s expression remained calm. "I reviewed all of Hyotei’s matches this year. From the Kantō Tournament onward, their doubles lineup never changed—Doubles 2 was strong, Doubles 1 was weak. The only variation was Yūji Mōri, and that was because Hyotei’s singles lineup had too many gaps."

"But based on Rikkai Dai’s lineup today, their Doubles 1 was clearly stronger. Why not assign them to Doubles 2 to secure an early point? That way, they could’ve taken both doubles matches."

"Even if they had to concede one singles match, they could’ve minimized exposing their players’ abilities."

Yoru began to understand.

With Hyotei’s lineup completely transparent, Rikkai Dai could’ve won while keeping one more player’s skills hidden.

Yet they didn’t.

Even Seigaku’s intelligence network had picked up on this—there was no way Mitsuya Akuto, with his data tennis, wouldn’t have noticed.

Yoru thought for a moment. "Maybe it’s overconfidence from their 12-year winning streak?"

"If I were in their position," QP countered, "I’d do everything possible to maintain that streak. I wouldn’t make such careless decisions."

A winning streak wasn’t just a legacy—it was a burden the next generation had to carry.

As QP’s analysis sank in, Yoru suddenly remembered his role in the German team.

The master strategist.

His tactical instincts were among the sharpest in the Prince of Tennis world.

QP ignored Yoru’s silence and continued, "Seigaku has been dominant all season. You and I haven’t played much, but every match we have played was against top-tier opponents."

At this point, Yoru would’ve been an idiot not to catch on.

"You think Rikkai Dai is setting a trap for us?"

"Most likely targeting Kirihara. Aside from the Hyotei match, our lineup hasn’t changed since the Kantō Tournament."

"Our overwhelming strength and Rikkai Dai’s apparent arrogance would naturally make us assume they’d fight head-on."

QP’s eyes sharpened.

"You can gauge everyone’s strength. Tell me—does anyone on their team have a chance against Kirihara?"

"None—"

Yoru’s voice cut off.

The more he considered QP’s analysis, the more plausible it seemed.

If Mitsuya Akuto had full data access, he could give Kirihara a real fight—even with his "Rune Enhancement." Data tennis accounted for variables like that.

Yoru had assumed Kirihara’s "Super Speed State" would neutralize the threat, but…

What if?

According to the system’s stats, Kirihara didn’t have a 100% win rate.

If Mitsuya did capitalize on that slim chance, Seigaku would lose—even if Yoru and QP won their matches. The overall score would already be decided.

The system let Yoru see individual strengths, but QP was thinking on a macro level.

If QP was right, Mitsuya had been setting up this trap since before the Kantō Tournament—staking everything on the Singles 3 match.

Yoru took a deep breath.

For the first time, he felt the pressure of tactical warfare.

"What’s your suggestion?"

His tone was uncharacteristically humble.

The system had given him confidence, but in a team competition, that confidence was being tested.

The further we go, the more strategy matters.

QP tilted his head slightly. "Yamato and Kirihara… They know each other well, don’t they?"

One Week Later – Preparation Period

Rikkai Dai had spent five days training with Yamabuki to maintain their competitive edge.

BAM!

"Game set! Rikkai Dai wins!"

With the final whistle, the last practice match ended—a 5-0 victory for Rikkai.

Mitsuya Akuto approached the net and extended his hand.

"Thank you for training with us all week. We appreciate it."

Yamabuki’s captain, Nakahachi Gaido, glanced at the 6-0 scoreline and didn’t return the handshake.

On the first day, he’d managed to take two games. But as Rikkai’s data tennis sharpened, he hadn’t won a single point since.

After a pause, Nakahachi spoke flatly, "Honestly? I wanted to see Rikkai’s 12-year streak end. But Coach Banji sent us, and Seigaku is annoying. No thanks needed."

He turned away.

"Let’s go."

Without another word, Yamabuki’s team packed their bags and left.

Five days of practice matches had broken their spirit.

No one could endure that kind of losing streak.

Like Nakahachi, they’d scored a few points on the first day.

But from the second day onward, Rikkai’s players seemed to know their every weakness, targeting their most uncomfortable spots relentlessly.

By the fifth day, Yamabuki’s players were numb.

They’d been reduced to stepping stones for Rikkai’s ambition—volunteering to be humiliated.

For the first time, they hated tennis.

"Captain… Maybe tennis isn’t that fun after all."

The words made Nakahachi stiffen.

Seeing the emptiness in his teammates’ eyes, he recalled Coach Banji’s words:

"When you start hating what you love but keep going anyway—that’s when true growth happens."

Nakahachi clenched his fists.

In the end, he chose to believe in Banji’s wisdom.

Their skills were thanks to him.

If they couldn’t improve further, the fault lay with their own perseverance.

Chapter 102: The Kanto Finals—Facing Rikkai Dai

Green Forest Tennis Park

The Kanto Tournament finals had arrived.

This was one of the best tennis venues in the region, capable of holding tens of thousands of spectators.

Yet, even so…

A full hour before the match began, the stands were already packed.

Aside from regular fans, reporters and eliminated school teams filled the seats.

"I wonder if Yoru and the others can stop Rikkai’s winning streak," mused Moonlight Atobe from Hyotei.

"Hard to predict," replied Taro Mizuki, shaking his head.

In the past, Mizuki would’ve flatly said "impossible."

After all, Rikkai Dai’s lineup was flawless—no glaring weaknesses, just solid, all-around strength.

But this year’s Seigaku was different.

Their top players were undeniably stronger, but their lower-tier members dragged the team’s overall level down.

The Nationals were a team competition. A single star couldn’t carry the entire match—it depended on the whole squad’s performance.

"Actually, there’s something I haven’t told you all," Chikao Matsudaira suddenly spoke up.

The others turned to him.

"My brother’s team—Yamabuki’s entire roster—acted as Rikkai’s practice partners for a week," he revealed.

A whole week of sparring?

Hyotei’s members froze.

"Was it Kaneya Banji’s idea?" Mizuki frowned. "Wouldn’t put it past him."

In Japan’s coaching circles, most aimed to prove themselves by stopping Rikkai’s dominance.

Helping them was practically unthinkable.

But Banji was an exception.

With decades of experience and countless accolades, he didn’t need to prove anything.

His unconventional training methods were infamous—high-risk, high-reward strategies that everyone in the industry knew about.

"I think Seigaku has a real shot at winning," Moonlight said calmly.

No complex reasoning.

He just believed Yoru and QP were unstoppable—two guaranteed wins for Seigaku.

They only needed one more point to clinch the match.

"Seigaku’s here!"

A chorus of high-pitched cheers erupted from the stands.

The girls’ screams had practically become Seigaku’s entrance theme.

Led by Yoru, the team strode through the player tunnel, their composed aura unfazed by the noise.

They lined up neatly at the net, waiting.

"Rikkai Dai’s arriving too!"

Another shout.

The stadium roared—the cheers dwarfing Seigaku’s by far.

Twelve consecutive Kanto titles had built Rikkai an enormous fanbase. No upstart team, no matter how talented or good-looking, could compete.

Like celebrities taking the stage, Mitsudaira Akuto and his team emerged, waving casually to the crowd.

Unlike Seigaku’s seriousness, Rikkai exuded effortless confidence—the aura of perennial champions.

The two teams met at center court.

Adjusting his glasses, Mitsudaira studied Yoru (who was nearly a head shorter) but showed no hint of underestimation.

"Shake hands!" the referee called.

Yoru extended his hand first.

"Trying to stop Rikkai’s 13th straight title? I’m afraid you won’t succeed," Mitsudaira said as he shook it.

Yoru rolled his eyes. "Ugh, spare me the clichés. So cringe."

He let go and walked off, leaving Mitsudaira stunned.

…Since when do people break script like this?

Seigaku’s team followed without hesitation.

The referee frowned slightly but didn’t penalize them.

(He’d long been tired of hearing the same pre-match trash talk every finals.)

Both teams returned to their benches for final preparations.

Five minutes later, the lineups were submitted—the match was about to begin!

Rikkai Dai’s Bench

"Yuma, Yuho—this match is yours," Mitsudaira instructed.

"My analysis shows Seigaku’s Doubles 2 is stronger than their Doubles 1 now. Watch out for Yamato’s misdirection shots."

"I’ve explained their weaknesses. Once you understand the mechanics, returning those shots isn’t hard."

Truthfully, Seigaku’s doubles were their weak point. But to play it safe, he’d assigned the Ochi Brothers to face Yamato and Kawasaki’s stronger pair.

"Peeep!"

The referee’s whistle blew.

"Kanto Finals—Rikkai Dai vs. Seigaku! Players, prepare!"

The Ochi Brothers stood to warm up.

But when Mitsudaira saw Seigaku’s rising players, his brow furrowed.

Kaedou Itsuki and Konishi Sensui.

Not Yamato and Kawasaki?

A bad feeling settled in his gut.

This wasn’t just about the doubles switch—even if the other pair faced Yamato, Rikkai’s odds were high.

What worried him was whether Seigaku’s singles lineup would shift too.

If Kirihara didn’t face Fuji in Singles 3… Rikkai could be in trouble.

On the Court

"Huh. Not Yamato?"

"Seigaku changed their formation. Hope this doesn’t wreck Akuto’s strategy."

The Ochi Brothers shrugged.

Once the lineup was submitted, there was no turning back.

As players, their job was simple: win.

Ten minutes later, the match began.

After the coin toss, Rikkai won the serve.

Taking their positions, Konishi took a deep breath.

"No matter who we face, we play our own game!"

"Damn right," Kaedou agreed.

They knew their role.

Before the match, Yamato had told them: "If you get the chance to prove yourselves, give it everything—no matter the stage."

With their +0.6 buff active, they sharpened their focus.

Thwack!

Ochi Yuho served from the baseline.

Not the fastest, but heavily spun—deliberately limiting return quality.

They’d studied Kaedou and Konishi too.

Knowing Seigaku’s quick counters, spin was the best way to stifle their speed-based offense.

And it worked.

Konishi’s return was weak.

Ochi Yuma intercepted at the net, firing a body shot—Kaedou’s least comfortable angle.

With his shorter reach, body shots were always tricky for him.

Thud!

Kaedou barely got his racket on it, but Yuma smashed the weak return for the first point.

Ochi Yuma & Ochi Yuho lead, 15-0!

"Just like the captain said… They’ve analyzed us completely," Konishi muttered.

Kaedou smirked.

"Doesn’t matter. We’ve got our own tricks too."

Chapter 103: Synchronicity, a Dimensional Strike

Thud!

Ushijima Yūho served again—the same spin shot as before.

Rikkai Dai’s current strategy was simple: Exploit a weakness relentlessly.

If a tactic worked, they’d use it all match. Victory was all that mattered!

Crack!

Imazushi Sensui returned the ball, altering its trajectory slightly. But within the calculations of data tennis, Ushijima Yūma was already there, intercepting with ease.

…Hm?

Just as Yūma prepared to strike, he noticed something odd—Kaedō was gone from the front court.

By the time he completed his return, Kaedō and Imazushi had swapped positions.

Imazushi ignored the ball flying past him, leaving it for the backcourt.

"Much better!" Kaedō laughed, his long arms whipping a heavy topspin shot toward the outer edge of the court.

His mind flashed back to Yoru’s words from days prior:

"Every Rikkai player likely follows Mitsuya’s data tennis. No matter who you face, it’ll feel suffocating."

"To break free, you need unpredictability. Doubles has more options—figure it out yourselves!"

Limited by talent, Kaedō and Imazushi had gone for the simplest solution: switching front and back positions mid-rally.

Swish!

The ball curved around the net and referee’s chair, landing sharply at Yūho’s side before kicking out of bounds.

"Kaedō Kaoru, Imazushi Sensui score! 15–15!"

The crowd erupted in applause—the Boomerang Snake Shot was always a spectacle.

"Annoying to pull off, but damn, it feels good!" Kaedō grinned at his opponents.

With their positional swaps, the duo began mounting their offense.

"Kaedō, Imazushi score! 30–15!"

…

"Kaedō, Imazushi score! 40–15!"

…

Thwack!

This time, Yūho’s serve wasn’t a spinner—just a flat, blistering strike.

Fast, but not beyond Imazushi’s reflexes. He returned it cleanly.

Even Yūma’s counter lacked bite—a mediocre shot drifting wide, perfect for another Boomerang Snake.

"Kaedō, NOW!" Imazushi shouted.

"Got it!"

Kaedō, already surging with adrenaline, unleashed his signature shot: "Score!"

Crack!

—Only for a golden streak to blur past them before the ball could curve back in.

Yūma, suddenly outside the court, had intercepted and fired a return faster than thought.

"Wha—?!"

Kaedō’s eyes widened, his body still locked in follow-through.

At the net, Imazushi’s grin froze, sweat beading as he stared at the Ushijima brothers.

"So noisy."

Their voices overlapped.

A pale mist now linked the twins—Synchronicity.

QP’s brow furrowed.

Two as one, one as two.

100% trust. No communication needed. A perfect doubles union that boosted their base stats.

"They activated it this early?"

Yoru wasn’t surprised. In the original story, the Ushijima brothers had deep Synchro upon debut.

But for Kaedō and Imazushi? It was a dimensional strike.

The scoreboard began ticking like a death clock.

Thud! "Ushijima Yūma, Ushijima Yūho score! 1–0!"

…

Thud! "3–0!"

…

Thud! "5–0!"

A brutal gap.

Synchro placed the pairs in different leagues—tactics, skill, everything.

"What is this…?"

**"We can’t even fight back—this is a joke!"**

Kaedō and Imazushi panted, faces ashen.

Never in their Nationals run had they been so thoroughly crushed. Even in losing battles, their grit had carried them.

But the Ushijima brothers redefined doubles before their eyes.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

Four final points. Four flawless tactic shifts—no communication needed.

"Game set! Ushijima brothers win, 6–0!"

The scoreboard’s crimson numbers stabbed into Kaedō and Imazushi like daggers.

Worse?

The match clock hadn’t even hit 15 minutes.

They barely registered leaving the court, numb to the twins’ outstretched hands.

If not for the referee’s pity, their dazed state might’ve earned Seigaku a penalty.

"Still just kids," Yoru sighed.

Despite the Prince of Tennis world’s maturity, mental resilience had limits.

From prefecturals to Kantō, they’d barely lost. Now, a 6–0 finals humiliation?

He wouldn’t coddle them—just mused aloud:

"Wonder how things’d go if you hit Synchro."

Their hollow eyes flickered.

Unlike Pinnacle of Hard Work, Synchro didn’t demand raw power. In the original, Golden Pair achieved it at ~5–7★.

With their chemistry? Maybe.

"We won."

"Pity it wasn’t Yamato’s pair."

The Ushijima twins walked off, victory tasting hollow.

They knew Mitsuya’s plans—disruptions risked everything.

Luckily, Seigaku’s lineup shuffle was anticipated. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have memorized Kaedō/Imazushi’s data.

Mitsuya turned to his second doubles team:

"Next is Yamato and Kawasaki. Their Kantō磨合 (磨合:磨合 means "breaking-in period," implying post-adjustment synergy) made them stronger. Stay sharp."

"But you’ve memorized their weak points. Stick to the data, and it’s an easy win. No pressure."

"Yes, Captain!"

Mitsuya exhaled.

Everything hinged on this. If Doubles 1 won, Rikkai’s victory was 80% secured.

He was confident Kirihara couldn’t escape his data web.

Then—a voice carried from Seigaku’s side:

"Kaedō-senpai, lend us your rackets. Me and Kirihara-senpai will use them!"

Chapter 104: Mitsudaira — "My Hopes Are Officially Dead."

"Senpai, lend us your rackets!"

The moment those words left Kaedou's mouth, Mitsudaira Akuto felt his skin prickle with dread.

He whipped his head around—

And froze.

Standing up from Seigaku's bench were Yamato and Kirihara.

Doubles 1… is Yamato and Kirihara?!

His mind blanked.

This was beyond anything he'd anticipated.

No matter how strong Rikkai's doubles synergy was, it meant nothing against a pair where one player's raw skill eclipsed the other's entirely.

Had the Ochi Brothers been assigned here, they might've stood a chance.

But he'd sent them to Doubles 2.

We're finished.

Mitsudaira's stomach dropped.

He couldn't fathom being the captain who ended Rikkai's 12-year reign.

The one who destroyed the legacy.

This was his first year as captain.

The previous leader had bypassed veterans like Gentarou, Kurenai, and even the Ochi Brothers to hand him the position.

And this was how he repaid that trust?

His breath turned ragged.

Seigaku's Bench

"Looks like you called it," Yoru remarked, watching Mitsudaira's face pale.

QP shrugged. "It was just probability. A basic tactical assessment."

"Basic."

Yoru's eye twitched.

In all his time in this world, this was his first taste of being flexed on.

The entire match strategy was a masterclass in high-level mind games between QP and Mitsudaira.

Every variable accounted for. No room for error.

Why don’t I have this skill?!

Yoru grumbled internally: "Hey, System. How come I don’t get this big-brain tactical stuff?"

[Master, strategic thinking is a baseline function. Statistically, your planning ability surpasses QP’s. You just… don’t use it.]

"Meaning?"

"Spit it out. I won’t get mad."

[To put it simply: Master prefers not to think.]

"Uninstall. Thanks."

[You said you wouldn’t get angry.]

"I’m not. I just want to uninstall. Appreciate it."

[Uninstallation requires reciting pi (3.14...) to 320,000 decimal places within one minute.]

"Wow."*

Yoru deadpanned and refocused on the match.

"Peeep!"

"Doubles 1—Seigaku’s Kirihara to serve!"

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Kirihara bounced the ball, his expression stormy.

Kaedou and Konishi were his friends. Seeing them crushed earlier had lit a fuse.

"Who the hell do you think you are, hurting my teammates?!"

SWOOSH—

The serve blurred.

No holding back. His racket arm became a streak as the ball vanished mid-air.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three impacts—nearly simultaneous—echoed.

The referee squinted at the fresh ball mark.

"Kirihara/Yamato lead, 15-0!"

Thankfully, Kirihara’s "Sonic Serve" had appeared enough in Kanto matches for officials to track it.

Rikkai’s Side

"This is bad."

Mitsudaira’s face whitened further.

Only he knew how to predict the serve’s trajectory.

His current doubles pair? They stood zero chance.

"Kirihara/Yamato lead, 30-0!"

"40-0!"

"Game, Seigaku! 1-0!"

Kirihara snarled after every point.

"Take that!"

"How’s it feel?!"

The referee finally warned, "Kirihara, control your demeanor!"

"Tch. Whatever."

Match Flow

Rikkai’s turn to serve.

No mercy.

Kirihara returned with another Sonic Strike, the ball flickering past before they could twitch.

"2-0!"

His sheer speed alone decided the match.

Rikkai’s pair exchanged helpless looks.

Their teamwork was elite—hence their Doubles 2 ranking.

But if they couldn’t touch the ball, tactics were pointless.

Yamato’s Serve

At last, they could react.

But Kirihara wasn’t done.

As they returned Yamato’s serve—

ZZZT!

Electricity crackled around Kirihara. He vanished, reappearing beside Yamato to obliterate the return.

"3-0!"

Observers’ Shock

"So… fast," Sanada muttered, eyes wide.

Yoru smirked.

(Wait… did Sanada’s "Rai" evolve from watching Kirihara’s speed?)

(If so… poor Ryoma when he hits junior high.)

Yamato’s Side-Eye

"Senpai, I had that one," Yamato sighed.

Kirihara ignored him.

His "Overdrive" state sealed the match—especially with Yamato’s "Misdirection Shot" as backup.

The score skyrocketed:

4-0!

5-0!

6-0!

Total match time: Under 10 minutes.

A brutal mirror of Rikkai’s earlier doubles win—but faster.

Aftermath

Rikkai’s team sat in stunned silence.

Their 13th straight title was slipping away.

Mitsudaira closed his eyes.

Even if Kawasaki Junzai played Singles 3 (an easy win), Seigaku’s Yoru and QP in Singles 1/2 were unstoppable.

"Sorry…" Rikkai’s doubles pair bowed.

Mitsudaira shook his head. "Not your fault."

No platitudes. He grabbed his racket, walking to the court like a man headed to the gallows.

The crowd buzzed—few grasped that one doubles loss had doomed Rikkai’s dynasty.

Then—

A figure stood in the stands.

And Mitsudaira’s last shred of hope died.

Chapter 105: Yoru vs. Mitsuya Akuto

"Guess it's my turn~"

Yoru pulled out his racket and stepped onto the court.

The summer heat was brutal, but he kept his jacket on—suffering was temporary, but style was forever.

Hearing the commotion, Mitsuya Akuto’s heart sank.

When compiling Seigaku’s data, Yoru and QP had the least usable information. Even with what little he had, exploiting it was near impossible.

Yūji Mōri—one of Japan’s top players—hadn’t lasted ten minutes against him.

In theory, with enough data, Mitsuya could defeat anyone. But that required two things:

The skill gap couldn’t be too wide.

He needed comprehensive data.

"Ahhh! Yoru-kun is already playing? So handsome!"

"My prince! Kiss me!"

"Look over here~!"

The moment Yoru reached the center court, the female spectators erupted.

But his only thought?

...So. Damn. Hot.

"Rikkai Dai is finished."

Yūji Mōri’s voice was flat as he watched Mitsuya warm up. He knew Yoru’s strength firsthand—this wasn’t a contest.

And after him? That European (QP) was waiting.

Given how easily he’d crushed Nakahachi Gaido, neither Akutsu Jirō nor Udon Bunta stood a chance.

Mitsuya finished his warm-up and approached the net for the handshake.

Yoru’s grip was firm, his tone casual.

"You’ve schemed so hard for this. How about I give you a chance?"

Mitsuya’s pulse spiked.

...He saw through everything.

For the first time in his strategic career, he’d been outplayed before the match even started.

Yoru continued, voice just loud enough for the crowd to catch:

"If you take even one point off me, I’ll forfeit. Sound fair?"

Silence.

Then—outrage.

"One point and he quits?!"

"Who the hell does he think he is?!"

**"Rikkai’s a 12-time champion—this is insulting!"**

"At least pretend to be humble!"

The fans roared, but Rikkai’s players stayed eerily calm.

Mitsuya had warned them: "Yoru and QP are beyond my calculations."

This? It might be their only opening.

In war, there was no "dishonorable victory." For Rikkai, winning was everything—losers vanished into obscurity.

After a long pause, Mitsuya forced out the most humiliating words of his life:

"...I’ll hold you to that."

"Naturally."

Yoru turned, walking to the baseline with his racket loose in his grip.

"Game set! Kantō Finals, Singles 3—Rikkai Dai to serve!"

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Mitsuya bounced the ball, mind racing.

He scoured his data for anything exploitable—but the gaps were too vast.

"Mitsuya Akuto, serve clock is expiring."

The referee’s voice snapped him back.

No choice. Adapt on the fly.

Toss—high!

Using his height, he aimed for a smash-style serve, maximizing the rebound angle.

CRACK!

The ball shot like a bullet, slamming the court and kicking sharply upward—a trajectory designed to force errors.

"Will it work...?"

Mitsuya’s grip tightened as Yoru still hadn’t moved from the baseline.

Then—

"Clever."

Yoru blurred, appearing at the impact point in an instant. His arm whipped forward—

BANG-BANG-BANG!

Three sounds merged into one. Point over.

In the stands, Sanada gaped.

"...My Fūrin Kazan (Wind Forest Fire Mountain)."

Even off-court, he recognized it—Yoru’s version was faster, sharper.

Yamato adjusted his glasses. "Looks like Kirihara-senpai’s Super Speed Counter."

"Not even close." Kirihara shook his head. "Captain’s copy is slower but precise. My technique’s raw speed makes control shaky—even now, I can’t guarantee perfect placement."

Mitsuya stood frozen.

No data. No counter.

"Yoru leads, 15–0!"

Akutsu Jirō’s eyes widened. "...Too fast."

That single strike had outclassed even Kirihara’s best.

QP murmured, "No holding back, then."

That shot would’ve pressured him. Fūrin Kazan’s swing speed masked its trajectory—unreadable without precognition.

Yoru was playing seriously.

"Obviously~"

Yoru smirked internally.

You don’t make a boast like that and half-ass it.

A "lose-on-one-point" game was thrilling—but Mitsuya was too weak for real stakes.