81-85

Chapter 81: The Match You Couldn’t Win—I’ll Win It!  

(Note: I changed "Tetsuto Fuwa" to "Nakagauchi Gedou" based on a reader's feedback. While I couldn’t verify if Fuwa was the next captain of Mokushi Tai, I decided to prioritize accuracy to the original work.)  

---  

After announcing the team’s dismissal, Yoru quickly grabbed his tennis bag and left.  

He wanted to avoid too many questions that might expose his act.  

The team members were too hyped up to notice his abrupt departure—or the inconsistencies in his story.  

Even the self-proclaimed "descendant of a traditional Chinese medicine practitioner" was fully convinced, believing this was some advanced acupressure technique he’d never learned before.  

But Yoru forgot one thing.  

While he successfully dodged everyone else’s questions, he overlooked the one person whose curiosity never sleeps—QP.  

The entire way home, QP bombarded him with questions.  

"Stop asking. Daxia’s culture is vast and profound. Go visit someday if you’re so curious," Yoru said, exasperated.  

But even after they got home, QP wouldn’t let up.  

Fed up, Yoru used Ten’i Muhou to drag QP into a forced slumber, then unceremoniously dumped him in his room.  

---  

Yoru headed to the backyard, where he found Nanjiroh Echizen in his usual spot—leaning against the porch, flipping through a risqué magazine with that signature pervy grin.  

"Old man, we’re playing Yamabuki tomorrow. Wanna come watch? It’s the Metropolitan Finals."  

"Yamabuki? The Metropolitan Finals?"  

Nanjiroh raised an eyebrow.  

In his experience, Yoru hated having people watch his matches. The last time Nanjiroh showed up to one of his games—a junior tournament in America—he’d cheered like a madman, waving flags and blowing horns every time Yoru scored.  

The trauma from that incident ensured Yoru never invited him again.  

Nanjiroh squinted. "Why the sudden change of heart? You setting me up for something?"  

He even clutched his magazine protectively, scooting back a little.  

Yoru rolled his eyes. "Your old flame, Mikito Tōyama, is coaching Yamabuki now. Thought you might wanna see me wipe the floor with his team."  

"That old bastard’s still alive?!"  

Nanjiroh’s eye twitched.  

Years ago, when he was Seigaku’s ace, leading them toward a national championship, his team suffered a crushing defeat against an unknown school coached by Tōyama. Every single one of his teammates lost—badly.  

And Tōyama’s infuriatingly smug smile made it even worse.  

"Gah! He’s still kicking?! Yamabuki, you said?!"  

Nanjiroh shot to his feet. "Hold on, I’m gonna go cuss him out right now—I can’t wait till tomorrow!"  

He stormed to the backyard, digging out his rusty old bicycle.  

Yoru stopped him with a sigh. "Relax. The match is tomorrow. Just watch me destroy them."  

He adjusted his jacket with a smirk. "One way or another—I’ll win the matches you couldn’t."  

With that, he walked off, leaving Nanjiroh speechless.  

---  

Next Morning – Metropolitan Tournament Venue  

Since their driver caught a fever overnight, the team had to meet at the venue on their own.  

When Kiriharu showed up with dark circles under his eyes, Yoru raised an eyebrow.  

"Did you… reward yourself last night?"  

"N-no! I practiced that drill all night!" Kiriharu swayed on his feet but grinned deliriously. "Gotta outwork everyone… hehehe~"  

Despite his exhaustion, his eyes burned with determination. "Buchou, I feel unstoppable now! My swing speed’s like, a hundred times faster!"  

Yoru deadpanned. "That drill only works the first time. After that, it just builds endurance."  

"A hundred times faster" from one night?  

Might as well make you the protagonist, huh?  

"WHAT?!"  

Kiriharu’s screech echoed through the venue.  

---  

Match Start – Crowds Gather  

"Look, look! That’s Seigaku’s captain! So handsome!"  

"Handsome? He’s insanely strong too!"  

"Ahhh~ My king~!"  

A section of the stands was packed with high school girls in uniforms, their chatter filling the air. After yesterday’s match, Yoru’s reputation (and looks) had drawn quite the fanbase.  

"Damn, good-looking guys have it easy," muttered the male spectators, green with envy.  

---  

Seigaku’s Strategy Meeting  

Yoru finalized the lineup: "Doubles pairs stay the same. Singles 3: Kiriharu. Singles 2: QP. Singles 1: Me. Any objections?"  

Silence.  

Well, except for Kiriharu, who was already snoring.  

Kawasaki nudged him. "Kiriharu, wake up. The match is starting."  

Yamato hesitated. "Let him sleep a bit longer. Singles 3 won’t be for a while. He needs the rest."  

Yoru nodded in agreement.  

---  

Yamabuki’s Side – Tōyama’s Adjustment  

Tōyama Mikito observed Seigaku’s lineup and smirked.  

"Change of plans. Taniguchi and Banjo will play Doubles 2. Natsuki and Ichiyo in Doubles 1."  

He glanced at Nakagauchi Gedou. "Miyako, you’re on Singles 3. Nakagauchi, Singles 2. Matsudaira, you’re Singles 1."  

He suspected Yoru would take Singles 1 this time, given yesterday’s tactical play against Hyotei.  

Nakagauchi opened his mouth to protest but stopped.  

Team victory came first.  

---  

Announcement  

"Metropolitan Finals: Seigaku vs. Yamabuki. Doubles 2 players, please prepare. Match begins in 10 minutes!"  

---  

Seigaku’s Reaction  

"They changed their lineup," Yamato noted, scanning the opponents.  

Taniguchi and Banjo usually played Doubles 1. This was clearly a move to secure a doubles win.  

Kawasaki smirked. "Heh. They underestimate us."  

Thanks to Yoru’s speed drills, he felt unstoppable.  

"Let’s go, Kawasaki-senpai!" Yamato said, eyes gleaming.  

Power Level: +0.5!  

"They’d never expect how much we’ve improved. We’re winning this, senpai!"  

Power Level: +0.7!  

With newfound confidence, they strode onto the court.  

---  

Yamabuki’s Confidence  

Taniguchi exchanged a glance with Banjo. "They seem awfully sure of themselves."  

According to Tōyama’s intel, Yamato was strong individually, but his partnership with Kawasaki was still new—weaker than Kaidou’s pair.  

If they secured this doubles point, the momentum would be theirs.  

Plus, one of Seigaku’s players looked half-dead.  

Advantage: Yamabuki.  

Snap.  

Tōyama closed his notebook, smirking at Yoru.  

"Youth these days… too arrogant."  

---  

Meanwhile, in the Stands…  

A man in a black kimono, sunglasses, and a face mask shuffled through the crowd, shouting:  

"Beer! Soda! Snacks! Peanuts! Move your legs, folks!" 

Chapter 82: The Chain Reaction of the Swift Strike Rune  

(Note: I changed Takeshi Fuwa to Gaichūchi Gedō. A reader pointed out that Fuwa is actually the next captain of Mokushi Tai, and while I couldn’t verify the info, I adjusted it for accuracy.)  

"The finals of the Metropolitan Tournament—Seigaku vs. Yamabuki! Doubles 2 match begins, Seigaku to serve first!"  

After a ten-minute warm-up, the referee’s whistle signaled the start of the match.  

"Kawasaki-senpai, we’re counting on you!"  

Yamato and Kawasaki exchanged a glance before taking their positions.  

Thud—! Thud—! Thud—!  

Kawasaki bounced the ball a few times, steadying himself.  

With a quick glance at the positioning of Kaneda and Kaho, he tossed the ball high into the air, bent his knees, and leaped—  

At the peak of its ascent, his arm muscles tensed before he smashed the ball downward with full force.  

Swish—!  

The ball slammed into the ground, but instead of rebounding immediately, it seemed to stick to the court for a brief moment.  

"Huh?!" Kaidō blinked in surprise. "Isn’t that the Gravity Ball effect? Kawasaki can use it in his serves now?"  

"Heh." Kawasaki smirked but didn’t explain.  

Originally, it had just been an experiment—but as his swing speed improved, applying the Gravity Ball to his serves had become second nature.  

"This serve…"  

Kaho, the receiver, frowned.  

The delayed rebound messed with his timing. By the time his racket connected, most of the ball’s force had dissipated.  

The return flew high, giving Yamato the perfect chance for a sharp net intercept.  

His swing was blindingly fast—Kaneda and Kaho barely had time to react before the ball was already past them.  

"Yamato Yūda, Kawasaki Junsa score! 15–0!"  

The umpire’s voice rang out.  

"Strange…"  

Coach Banji’s brow furrowed.  

Their performance was way beyond the data he’d collected.  

A Gravity Ball serve? That rapid-fire net kill? None of this had appeared in Seigaku’s match against Hyōtei.  

A bad feeling settled in his gut.  

Thud—!  

Kawasaki served again.  

This time, Kaho waited for the ball to fully rebound before swinging—  

CRACK!  

The moment his racket connected, his eyes widened. "What the—?!"  

The sheer force behind the ball was unreal.  

Last time, he’d missed the optimal timing, so he hadn’t felt the full impact. But now, with a direct hit, the difference was staggering.  

The return was weak, but at least it stayed low.  

Yet before Kaho or Kaneda could react—  

BAM!  

Yamato’s interception blazed past them, landing cleanly in the corner.  

"30–0!"  

"Huh. The Swift Strike Rune and Counter Rune have better synergy than I thought."  

Yoru mused to himself.  

The Counter Rune boosted the regulars’ return accuracy by 10%, while the Swift Strike Rune increased swing speed by another 10%—indirectly improving shot quality.  

He wasn’t sure what had happened after practice yesterday, but judging by Yamato and Kawasaki’s performance, they’d clearly developed new techniques to capitalize on the runes’ effects.  

Thud—!  

"40–0!"  

The new strategy worked flawlessly—Kawasaki’s Gravity Ball serves pinned the opponents down, while Yamato’s lightning-fast net play secured easy points.  

**"So this is the chain reaction from the Swift Strike Rune…"**  

Seigaku’s biggest weakness had always been doubles.  

At first, Yoru assumed Yamato and Kawasaki would need months to gel as a proper pair. But the increased swing speed drastically improved their adaptability.  

It was a simple tactic, but with Yamato’s skill covering the gaps, this duo was now on par with Kaidō’s pair.  

Yoru glanced at QP. "What do you think of their doubles now?"  

QP replied calmly, "Significant improvement. My guess? They’re using this tactic to force their opponents into predictable patterns—setting up Yamato’s Misalignment Shot later."  

Thud—!  

The next few games proved QP right.  

Just as Kaneda and Kaho started adapting to their strategy—  

WHOOSH!  

Yamato’s Misalignment Shot sent them swinging at air, completely thrown off.  

With Kawasaki’s Gravity Ball keeping the pressure on, the score climbed rapidly.  

"2–0!"  

"...4–2!"  

"5–3!"  

By the ninth game, it was Yamato’s turn to serve.  

(In doubles, serving rotates—Player A serves first, then the opponent’s Player A, then your Player B, and so on.)  

Standing at the baseline, Yamato fired off a serve with ridiculous speed.  

Kaneda braced for a flat shot—only for the ball to skid sideways upon bouncing, spinning wildly out of reach.  

"A spin serve that fast?!"  

He lunged, but—  

FWOOM!  

The ball sailed wide.  

"15–0!"  

QP observed quietly, "With faster swings, they’ve brought previously impractical techniques to life. As the last remaining ancient civilization, Daxia truly holds mysteries beyond ordinary comprehension."  

Yoru coughed, cheeks reddening as he looked away.  

Thud—!  

Yamato’s next serve rocketed toward the backline.  

Kaneda and Kaho were too far apart—  

Just as the ball seemed destined to fly out, Kaho roared and hurled himself after it. "NOT HAPPENING!"  

He dove, fully aware he’d crash hard—but he refused to let their mission (winning Doubles 2) end here.  

His racket just grazed the ball—  

But there was no impact.  

The ball vanished mid-air.  

Misalignment Shot.  

"Game! Seigaku wins, 6–3!"  

Kaho hit the ground hard.  

"Kaho!"  

Yamabuki’s team rushed onto the court in concern.  

Kawasaki didn’t even glance back as he walked off. Even Yamato—usually the embodiment of kindness—left without a word.  

Yesterday’s clash wasn’t something he’d forget.  

He was compassionate—not naive.  

"Who knew Yamato and Kawasaki would improve this much?"  

"Right? If we had to face them in doubles now, we’d be in trouble. That was insane."  

Kaidō and Momoshiro exchanged impressed looks.  

"Remarkable progress."  

QP’s assessment was brief but firm.  

Compared to yesterday, this was like watching a completely different team.  

But everyone knew—this advantage came from their techniques, not raw teamwork. Their doubles synergy still had room to grow.  

As the pair stepped off the court, before anyone could praise them—  

"HELL YEAH! THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT! SEND THAT CRAFTY OLD MAN BANJI PACKING!"  

A certain hothead’s voice boomed from the sidelines.  

Chapter 83: "I Changed My Name Yesterday—"  

A wild, obnoxious shout echoed through the stadium.  

Every spectator—including reporters—turned to look at the masked man flailing his arms in the stands.  

"Who the hell is this disrespectful bastard?!"  

Gedō Gaichūchi shot to his feet, yanking a baseball bat from his bag, ready to teach the guy a lesson.  

"Sit down."  

A calm, aged voice stopped him cold.  

Despite being a delinquent, Gedō obeyed Banji’s words without question.  

Hearing that familiar tone, Coach Banji’s eyes crinkled into their usual—"narrow-eyed smile" as he studied the figure. Then, he chuckled. "Still holding a grudge after all these years, huh?"  

Memories surfaced—decades ago, a certain bratty teen had lost a match, then pedaled straight to Banji’s house on his bike just to yell insults at his doorstep.  

"Escort that spectator out!"  

The head referee’s voice boomed.  

(Let’s be real—Prince of Tennis refs might seem useless, but when shit goes down, they act.)  

Two assistant refs stormed the stands, hoisting the masked man up to drag him out.  

"NO! YAMEROOOO—DON’T DO THIS! I HAVEN’T SEEN YAMABUKI LOSE YET!"  

"LET ME WATCH, YOU BASTARDS!!"  

Seigaku’s Bench  

"Who is that guy? Does he have some vendetta against Yamabuki?"  

"Dunno..."  

Kawasaki and Yamato exchanged confused glances.  

"Maybe a Seigaku fan? Or someone’s relative?"  

Cough—!  

Yoru cleared his throat, abruptly turning away. "Focus on the match. Kaidō, you two—"  

"YO RUUUUUU!"  

A fresh wail cut through the air.  

"HELP ME, YORU! YAMETE KUDASAIII—!"  

Clatter.  

Yoru’s strategy board hit the ground.  

After a beat, Kaidō muttered, "...Captain. He’s calling your name."  

"I changed my name yesterday."  

Yamabuki’s Bench  

Kaho and Kaneda stepped off the court, shoulders slumped.  

Before they could speak, Banji smiled warmly. "No need for regret. We’ve already secured our spot in the Kantō Tournament. Turn this loss into fuel—let it pave the way for future victories."  

The duo’s eyes shimmered with—"moved emotion".  

Banji had always been this way—his words carried a nurturing wisdom.  

"Go rest." He patted their backs before turning to the next pair. "Natsuo, Ichiro—give it your all in doubles. Win or lose, extract every lesson you can."  

"YES, SIR!"  

The second doubles team snapped to attention.  

"Good. Gedō, take the coach’s seat. I’ll go greet an old friend."  

"Old friend?"  

Banji pointed at the masked heckler.  

Gedō blinked. If they’re friends, why’d he trash-talk us in public?  

Without explaining, Banji shuffled toward the stands—then, with a sudden burst of agility, launched himself up the steps like a man half his age.  

(For a guy who usually moved like a fragile elder, those thigh muscles worked scary well.)  

By the time the refs were about to eject the masked man, Banji coughed weakly, reverting to his frail act. "My apologies—this is my dear friend. Just... joking around."  

The assistants hesitated, but recognizing Yamabuki’s coach, they released "Nanjiro" after a warning.  

Banji sat beside him, sighing. "Most men your age have matured. Yet here you are, still acting like a child."  

"Most men your age are dead. Why aren’t you?"  

The masked man fired back without mercy.  

Banji’s eye twitched. Why does that insult feel so familiar...?  

After a pause, he asked, "Nanjiro, what’s your relation to Seigaku’s captain, Yoru?"  

"My foster son. Pretty close to my level of handsome, right?"  

(The "masked man" was, of course, Echizen Nanjiro—sneaking in to see if Yoru could crush Yamabuki for him.  

But admitting he cared? Never. Hence the "brilliant disguise.")  

"Foster son? No wonder he talks like you." Banji mumbled, then smirked. "Couldn’t beat me yourself, so you raised a kid to do it?"  

Nanjiro scoffed. "Don’t insult my expectations. Beating your team’s just a side quest. That kid’s stronger than I was at his age."  

"What?!"  

Banji’s slit eye snapped wide open.  

Like Walter, he knew how monstrous young Nanjiro had been. In all his years coaching, he’d never seen another talent on that level.  

Nanjiro grinned at his shock. "Face it, old man. From the moment you lost Doubles 2, this match was over."  

"Oh?" Banji remained unshaken. "Explain."  

"Aside from Yoru, there’s that European kid—a ‘masterpiece’ from Germany’s elite club. You know what that means."  

Banji’s stomach dropped.  

If Nanjiro wasn’t bluffing, Yamabuki’s chances were grim.  

THUD—!  

While they talked, Doubles 1 had begun.  

The boosted swing speed didn’t just elevate Yamato’s pair—it also transformed Kaidō and Inui’s game.  

Inui’s serves now packed brutal force, while Kaidō’s Boomerang Snake had become even faster and harder to intercept.  

"1–0!"  

"...3–1!"  

"5–2!"  

In just 30 minutes, Seigaku closed the match at 6–2.  

"Hah... hah... We never stood a chance."  

Yamabuki’s pair wiped their sweat,—"wry smiles" on their faces.  

They’d known they were sacrificial pawns—but this was embarrassing. Their two points felt like charity.  

After the handshake, they trudged back.  

"Sorry, Coach. We lost."  

"Their doubles were strong. You did well." Gedō reassured them, then glanced at Banji—still deep in conversation—and decided not to interrupt.  

He turned to the next player. "Dōmon, you’re up against Kirihara. Data says he’s fast. Stay sharp."  

Chapter 84: An Unexpected Forfeit—QP’s First Match  

(Note: After the Metropolitan Tournament concludes, the "Oni Juujirou" arc begins!)  

---  

Metropolitan Tournament Finals  

Current score: 2–0, Seigaku in the lead.  

Seigaku’s Bench  

Kaidou and his doubles partner walked off the court.  

"Good job."  

Honestly, the Kaidou duo had become Seigaku’s unexpected MVPs of the Metropolitan Tournament—they hadn’t lost a single match yet.  

Even before Yoru’s return, they’d pulled off crucial wins.  

Are they secretly hidden masters?  

Yoru squinted at them.  

One looked like he was on death’s door, the other like a thug who’d get killed off in three chapters.  

"Kiriharu, you’re up. Finish this quickly—I hate overtime."  

Yoru crossed his arms, sitting in the coach’s seat with his back to the team.  

"Um… Buchou."  

A hesitant voice came from behind.  

"What?"  

"Kiriharu-senpai… won’t wake up."  

Huh?  

Yoru nearly fell off his chair.  

Turning around, he saw Kiriharu dead asleep, with Kaidou slapping his face to no avail.  

Why does this always happen when I’m trying to look cool?!  

Yoru sighed and glanced at QP. "Wanna go instead? Let Sleeping Beauty rest."  

"Fine."  

QP didn’t refuse.  

At the end of the day, he was still a "hired gun"—he had to earn his keep.  

Grabbing his racket, he headed to the court to warm up.  

Miyako, Yamabuki’s Singles 3 player, paused mid-warmup, confused.  

He didn’t know Kiriharu, but he did know that wasn’t a foreign name.  

Meanwhile, Yoru finalized the substitution with the referee.  

"BEEP BEEP—Due to Seigaku’s Kiriharu being unable to compete, Singles 3 is forfeited."  

"Yamabuki wins by default. Current score: 1–2. Singles 2 players, please prepare for the next match!"  

Yamabuki’s team didn’t know whether to celebrate or sigh.  

Their first point came from… a forfeit.  

"Nakagauchi, it’s your turn now."  

Miyako, who’d just warmed up, trudged back to the bench.  

Nakagauchi Gedou frowned. "So my opponent is that foreigner?"  

Their intel on QP was practically nonexistent—no background, no playstyle, nothing.  

Even Seigaku’s team was clueless.  

Watching QP warm up, Yamato asked, "Buchou, QP’s this strong… Is he famous in Germany?"  

The others leaned in, curious.  

QP’s presence alone was intimidating—almost rivaling Yoru’s.  

"QP, huh…"  

Yoru didn’t explain his origins but summarized his status in Germany:  

QP wasn’t just famous—he was legendary.  

Second only to Volk, QP had forged a new path in tennis, using the Three Radiant Principles to crush all obstacles with pure, flawless play.  

Though Germany dominated the world stage, their pro circuit struggled.  

The entire country was waiting for Volk and QP to rise.  

And expectations for QP? Even higher.  

"Hiss—"  

The team collectively sucked in a breath.  

Yamato hesitated. "Then… between Schneider and QP, who’s stronger?"  

"Schneider?"  

Yoru shook his head. "Different roles. Schneider’s a doubles specialist. QP’s a singles player. In raw skill? QP annihilates him."  

Gulp.  

Yamato swallowed hard.  

The others, though lost on names, now looked at QP with newfound awe.  

Yoru’s gaze shifted to Nakagauchi.  

In the original story, Nakagauchi had plenty of screen time.  

A self-proclaimed "fearsome tennis robot," he later became Japan’s U-17 No. 14.  

He fancied himself Oni Juujirou’s rival.  

His specialty? Pinpoint control—especially net-skimming shots.  

But in reality? He mostly just got stomped.  

---  

"BEEP BEEP—Singles 2 begins! Players, take your positions!"  

"First serve: Nakagauchi Gedou!"  

The referee’s whistle echoed.  

QP stood at the baseline, racket held steady, posture immovable—like a statue.  

"Strange guy…"  

"Very strange."  

"Extremely strange."  

Nakagauchi dribbled the ball, muttering the same phrase over and over.  

Yoru facepalmed.  

Ah, right—Nakagauchi’s verbal tic.  

As the ball’s rhythmic thud filled the court, the crowd quieted.  

SWISH—  

The toss.  

No jump. Just pure, mechanical precision.  

Nakagauchi’s bulky frame loomed as he scanned the corner of the service box—then crushed the serve.  

BANG!  

BANG!  

BANG!  

Three sounds—almost simultaneous.  

The hit. The impact. And… another hit?  

A gust of wind brushed Nakagauchi’s cheek.  

The entire court froze.  

Even Nakagauchi stood rigid, stunned.  

"15–0, QP!"  

Only the referee’s call snapped everyone back to reality.  

"Wha—WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!"  

"Did he—did he return that?!"  

"That was Nakagauchi’s power serve! How did he—"  

"I didn’t even see him move!"  

"Monster!"  

The crowd erupted.  

Their eyes were still processing the serve when QP had already returned it—at impossible speed.  

Nakagauchi remained frozen, like a statue.  

Even the referee, who’d been watching QP closely, barely caught the movement.  

Without slow-mo replay, I’d need Hawkeye just to confirm that point.  

Seigaku’s team gaped.  

"Relax. Don’t look like country bumpkins," Yoru said lazily—though inwardly, he was impressed.  

Since arriving in Japan, QP had thrived under 3x training efficiency.  

The system’s logs showed daily improvements.  

With Counter Runes and Swift Strike Runes amplifying his natural precision, plus QP’s no-mercy policy in official matches?  

No wonder that return looked unreal.  

(Too bad Yoru couldn’t "steal" QP’s rune feedback—he only got the direct stat boosts.)  

---  

QP examined his racket.  

…I’ve gotten stronger.  

---  

In the Stands  

Tōyama, mid-bicker with Nanjiroh, snapped his attention to the court—his ever-present smile vanishing.  

Even Nanjiroh, who’d only been half-watching, raised an eyebrow.  

"This kid improved that much?"  

One casual return.  

And the entire stadium was shook. 

Chapter 85: Minimalist Tennis, Perfect QP  

The atmosphere on the court was tense.  

Gedō Gaichūchi tightened his grip on his racket.  

He’d expected QP to be strong—but not this overwhelming right from the first point.  

He needed to focus harder.  

QP paid no attention to the reactions around him. He simply walked to the opposite baseline, waiting for the serve.  

"You bastard..."  

A vein throbbed on Gedō’s forehead.  

As a delinquent, anger was second nature—and QP’s indifference after scoring pissed him off. It was as if victory was a foregone conclusion for him.  

"No more power serves."  

Gedō took a deep breath.  

Angry didn’t mean stupid. His heavy serves had too much recovery lag, and QP’s returns were too fast—it’d just hand him free points.  

If brute force didn’t work, there was no point forcing it.  

Thud—!  

This time, Gedō went for a standard flat serve, aiming precisely for the corner.  

Yet—  

BAM!  

The moment the ball bounced, a figure blurred into position—  

A sharp, ruthless return streaked across the court, landing at the farthest possible point from Gedō.  

With heavy topspin, the ball kicked off the ground even faster—leaving zero room for a counter.  

Hell, Gedō barely twitched his shoulder before the ball was already out of bounds.  

"QP scores! 30–0!"  

The umpire’s call was swift.  

"This kid..."  

Banji’s usual slit eye sharpened.  

"Minimalist, hyper-efficient scoring—definitely German style. But he’s perfected it."  

No flashy techniques.  

Just pure, clinical point-taking. A playstyle that suffocated opponents with pressure.  

"Gedō’s in trouble."  

"Trouble?"  

Nanjiro snorted. "You’re getting senile, old man. Your player has zero chance of winning."  

Banji stayed silent.  

Normally, he’d retort with some sly remark—but this time, he knew Nanjiro was right. The gap between Gedō and QP wasn’t just wide—it was insurmountable.  

Gulp.  

Yamabuki’s team swallowed hard.  

The stadium was eerily quiet. Spectators stared, wanting to comment—but what could they say?  

QP’s dominance was effortless.  

Move. Return. Score.  

No theatrics. No wasted motion.  

The second point had been as brutally simple as the first—leaving everyone speechless.  

"...He’s terrifying."  

Yamato’s pupils trembled.  

Facing QP felt like facing Yoru—an abyss of skill with no visible bottom.  

During QP’s match with Kirihara, he hadn’t gone all out. But now?  

Every shot radiated cold, calculated perfection.  

Thud—!  

"40–0!"  

Thud—!  

"Game! 1–0!"  

Same pattern. Same ruthless efficiency. Every return forced Gedō to scramble to the farthest corner.  

Each strike carried just enough topspin to accelerate off the bounce—leaving no time to react.  

QP was a machine.  

A perfect, point-scoring machine.  

"Tch. He’s even stronger than when I played him."  

A lazy voice drawled.  

Yamato turned—Kirihara was awake, scratching his crotch.  

"Kirihara-senpai! You’re up!"  

"Just woke up. Can’t believe you guys let me sleep through the finals."  

Kirihara stretched, then eyed the court. "QP wasn’t serious against me—but I could feel his level. Right now? He’s on captain’s tier."  

That statement sent chills down Seigaku’s spines.  

Their captain was a monster—someone who could crush semi-pros.  

Thud! Thud! Thud!  

Three consecutive strikes.  

QP’s serve blitzed past Gedō—who didn’t even twitch before the ball hit the back fence.  

"Wha—... How?!"  

Gedō’s hands shook.  

He’d been laser-focused—yet from swing to impact, the ball was invisible.  

"That’s on par with my full-speed serves."  

Kirihara’s comment drew sharp inhales from the team.  

Swallowing hard, Yamato whispered, "C-Captain... could you beat QP right now?"  

Yoru didn’t turn. "If I felt like it? Ten minutes."  

"WHAT?!"  

Even Kirihara jolted, goosebumps rising.  

They’d all thought they were catching up to Yoru—only to realize they hadn’t even reached where he’d pissed years ago.  

The gap was suffocating.  

On the court, QP dismantled Gedō point by point.  

Thud—!  

"2–0!"  

...  

Thud—!  

"3–0!"  

...  

Thud—!  

"5–0!"  

By the sixth game, QP served three aces in a row—40–0.  

Total match time? Under 10 minutes—including ball retrieval and breaks.  

Gedō stood frozen.  

Aside from his own serves, he hadn’t touched the ball once.  

Every shot from QP was a death sentence—the moment the thud echoed, the point was already over.  

QP tapped his racket against his shoe, mind drifting.  

"Under Japanese rules, one more point ends it."  

Thud—!  

A golden streak blazed across the court.  

"Game! Set! 6–0!"  

Just like that—QP’s victory was sealed.  

Final score: 3–1.  

Seigaku had won the Metropolitan Championship.  

To the crowd, it almost looked like Gedō had thrown the match—if not for QP’s inhuman speed.  

"...Lost. Just like that."  

Gedō stared blankly at the scoreboard.  

"Handshake."  

QP approached the net, extending his hand.  

The cold tone snapped Gedō back to reality—  

"SCREW YOUR HANDSHAKE!"  

He smacked QP’s arm away.  

QP didn’t react. After a confirming glance from the umpire, he walked off.  

With the overall score at 3–1, Yoru didn’t even need to play.  

"Seigaku wins the Metropolitan Tournament!"  

The announcement echoed—  

And in that exact moment, a new chime rang in Yoru’s mind.  

(Rune Reward Acquired!)