71-75
Added 2025-07-25 16:48:44 +0000 UTCChapter 71: How’s Your Team’s Strength? Their Mentality’s Pretty Good!
The next day, Yoru and QP arrived in Tokyo.
Stepping out of the airport, Yoru treated QP to the authentic Tokyo experience—riding the train.
No sane person takes taxis in Japan. Even if you’re loaded, you’ll cry when you see the fare.
"Want to stay at my place for these three months? I already cleared it with the old man. So—rest first, or head to Seigaku?"
"Let’s see your team."
"Was thinking the same. Been gone too long—time to whip things back into shape."
The moment they landed, he’d gotten a text from Kirihara: "Seigaku made it to the Top 8."
Expected.
But the next line? "Team’s not doing great."
He could already guess what that meant.
A week without him around—those slackers must’ve gotten complacent.
Let one slide, and the rest follow. Even if it didn’t show at first, the rot would spread.
Whip things into shape?
QP raised an eyebrow. "How’s your team?"
"Their mentality’s pretty good!"
"...Their skill level?"
"Personalities are decent too."
"Skill. Level."
"They handle pressure well."
"..."
Seishun Gakuen (Seigaku)
"Senpai Nishimura, you haven’t finished today’s drills."
Yamato scowled at Nishimura Komugi, lazing under a tree like a baked potato.
But Nishimura, a veteran slacker, just clutched his stomach dramatically. "Ugh… think I’ve got heatstroke, Yamato."
Yamato’s eye twitched. "How many times this week?"
"He’s not sick. He just decided he’s trash and gave up."
A cold voice cut in.
Nishimura bristled—until he saw who it was. Then he just yanked his cap over his face. Out of sight, out of mind.
"Kirihara-senpai." Yamato sighed.
Kirihara’s glare could’ve melted steel.
"Pathetic."
"The captain busted his ass to get us ready for Nationals. And you repay him by skipping drills?"
To Kirihara, Yoru’s dedication was sacred. Every extra hour the captain spent training them was a debt he owed.
And after just one week gone, the team’s discipline was crumbling?
Unforgivable.
"Chill. I’ll finish later," came Nishimura’s muffled yawn from under the cap.
Within seconds, snores followed.
Yamato and Kirihara exchanged a tired look before walking off.
Across the courts, one-fifth of the team had vanished—probably napping in some corner.
The worst part?
Coach Ryuzaki hadn’t lifted a finger. Just half-hearted scoldings, zero consequences.
"This is the real Seigaku. Just focus on yourself."
Kaedō, drenched in sweat from drills, joined them.
As a veteran, he knew some people never changed.
Yoru’s training had sparked motivation—for about five minutes.
At the end of the day, hard workers kept grinding (like him), while the lazy stayed lazy.
Some just didn’t care about tennis. They were here for the grading points.
"‘Drop the savior complex. Let people rot.’ That what you’re saying, Kaedō-senpai?"
A familiar, icy voice rang out.
All three froze—then whipped around.
Standing behind them was Seigaku’s heart and soul… and some blond foreigner.
"CAPTAIN!"
"You’re back!"
Kirihara looked ready to cry from relief.
Yoru’s gaze swept the courts.
"Let’s go. Time to take out the trash."
Court 1
The scene was worse than he’d imagined.
"Captain!" Kirihara scrambled to hand him a mic.
Yoru took it.
"ASSEMBLE."
Two words.
Every slacker in the club jolted like they’d been electrocuted.
Those napping fell out of trees.
The ones actually training arrived first. The slackers? Too busy dusting off their laziness to hurry.
Yoru ignored the punctual ones, eyes locked on the stragglers.
When regular player Nishimura Komugi shuffled in late, his disappointment solidified.
Ten minutes later, the entire team stood at attention.
Yoru let the silence stew.
Then:
"Everyone who skipped drills today—double sets. Nishimura Komugi, demoted from regulars. Add two extra rounds."
"Finish it all today—or hand me your resignation forms tomorrow."
Dead. Silence.
Not a single breath.
Yoru’s aura was heavier than before he’d left.
"I can’t expel you. But I can make your club grades zero. Slack off if you want—enjoy failing."
Gulp.
Not one slacker dared protest.
Yoru paused, daring someone to test him.
No takers.
Satisfied, he stepped aside and gestured to QP.
"Meet QP. From Germany. New Seigaku regular, effective now."
Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the team.
But no one dared object.
"I know some of you think you’re better."
Yoru’s smirk was razor-sharp.
"Ten matches. Pick any ten players. If one of you beats him, I’ll step down as captain."
He tossed the mic to Kirihara.
"Referee."
"Yes, sir!"
With that, Yoru headed to the coach’s office, paperwork in hand.
The moment he disappeared, chaos erupted.
Nishimura and his cronies lunged forward, itching to take their frustration out on QP.
QP just cracked his neck.
This’ll be fun.
Chapter 72: Seigaku with Championship Potential
Coach’s Office.
Knock, knock—
Yoru rapped on the door.
A voice floated from inside: "Come in."
Entering, he found Ryūzaki standing by the window, watching the ongoing matches below.
Clearly, she had just witnessed everything that happened.
"Removing Nishimura as a regular and giving his spot to a newcomer outright might stir discontent in the club," Ryūzaki said, turning to sit back down.
Yoru replied calmly, "Coach Ryūzaki, are you suggesting newcomers should spend a year picking up balls first? Or are you questioning my decision to discipline Nishimura?"
"......"
The words tore off Ryūzaki’s facade, leaving her momentarily speechless.
After Seigaku’s reforms, the old rule of forcing first-years to spend a year as ball boys had been widely criticized.
It was framed as "tempering arrogance and building character," but in reality, it wasted talent and bred resentment between upper and lowerclassmen.
She had seen the changes in Seigaku lately—rising strength, revitalized energy.
Yoru handed her a file. "QP’s enrollment and club registration paperwork. Handle it, please."
"If you’re about to lecture me about ‘team harmony,’ save your breath. I’m not interested."
Ryūzaki’s face darkened. "Is winning all you care about? Nishimura contributed a lot! He played a big role in getting Seigaku to the semifinals!"
"Which is why I only stripped his regular spot instead of kicking him out!"
Yoru’s gaze pinned her in place, sharp enough to make her skin crawl.
"Coach Ryūzaki, your idea of ‘harmony’ is letting the club slack off? Letting Seigaku slide back into being a dump? What were YOU doing while they slacked?"
"They’ve been training hard! It’s natural to want a break—they’re human, not machines!"
"If they can’t compete on talent, they’d better outwork the competition. Players stronger than them are still grinding—what’s their excuse? Are you joking?"
"Not everyone’s dream is tennis! Some might just be here for fun or other reasons. You can’t expect them all to train like Kirihara or Yamato!"
"If they joined Seigaku’s tennis club, they follow the rules. You don’t get rewards without effort. I don’t care why they’re here—if they stay, they train MY way!"
Yoru almost laughed at her logic.
Truly, "Argue with those who share your goals, not fools who don’t."
"If you think I’m wrong, remove me as captain. But as long as I’m in charge, this club runs MY way."
With that, he walked out, cutting off any further debate.
SLAM!
The door shut.
Ryūzaki slumped into her chair, deflated.
Deep down, she knew Yoru was right.
But her pride refused to bend—especially as Seigaku became his domain, leaving her increasingly irrelevant.
She had wanted reform, yes. She’d given him the stage, let him act as her proxy.
But the changes had spiraled beyond her control.
Could she remove him as captain?
Technically, yes.
In reality? She didn’t dare.
Forget explaining it to Nanjirō.
The club revered Yoru now. Only he could command Seigaku’s current roster.
His one-week absence had thrown everything into chaos—not just due to her inaction, but because their backbone was gone.
"Sigh..."
A weary exhale. New wrinkles seemed to etch into her face.
Her eyes fell on QP’s file.
"QP, second year. Member of Germany’s... Elite Club?!"
Her eyes widened.
She wasn’t ignorant. The Elite Club was a gathering of the world’s top junior talents—its members were all prodigies.
Yoru had gone to Germany and brought back a monster.
"Yoru..."
She’d assumed he’d skipped matches for a vacation. Instead, he’d been strengthening Seigaku.
Compared to her own passivity...
Shame burned in her chest.
Courtside.
The challenge matches against QP had stopped.
After Nishimura’s 6-0 humiliation, the eager challengers quickly lost their nerve.
If a regular couldn’t take a single game, QP was clearly on the "Big Three’s" level—far beyond them.
"Captain!"
The crowd quieted instantly as Yoru arrived.
"How many?" he asked QP.
"One. Him." QP pointed at the shell-shocked Nishimura.
Yoru smirked. "At least you had the guts to challenge him first."
"Everyone—back to training!"
"And no ‘extra practice’ shortcuts. I remember every slacker. MOVE!"
"YES, CAPTAIN!"
The club scattered.
Kirihara gave a nod before resuming drills. Yamato left to prep for the tournament.
Once alone with QP, Yoru handed him a German-written training regimen.
"From today, you’re part of Seigaku. This is our standard program."
QP scanned it, hesitating. "The intensity is manageable, but I have a personalized regimen. This one..."
"Try ours first, then yours. Trust me—you’ll see results."
"......"
QP gave him a skeptical look but headed to the courts, willing to humor him.
Once he was out of earshot, Yoru added QP to the "Elite Training" slot in his system—granting him 300% efficiency.
It wasn’t that Nanjirō’s regimen was better than a custom one.
But QP’s body awareness was too sharp. He’d notice the unnatural gains. Blaming the regimen was simpler than explaining "magic system buffs."
With Yoru back, Seigaku’s gears realigned.
Now, they had the firepower to aim for nationals.
"Captain, the tournament bracket."
Yamato returned, handing him the schedule.
"Thanks. Good work."
"It’s nothing. Everything’s back to normal now that you’re here."
Yamato smiled, watching the club train with renewed vigor.
Yoru’s eyes locked onto the next opponent.
*"Semifinals... Hyōtei."*
Chapter 73: Are You Always This Brave?
(Author's note: Borrowing a plot point—the last chapter mentioned the opponent as Hyotei, but my brain glitched and wrote Yamabuki instead.)
Night fell.
Yoru and QP took the train home.
Just as Yoru had predicted, QP—having noticed the boosted training effects—spent the entire ride pestering him for an explanation. But Yoru kept deflecting with vague excuses about the "unique training environment."
"So you're saying this training regimen only maximizes its effects under specific conditions?"
"Yeah, yeah, exactly~"
Yoru rubbed his temples. He hadn’t expected QP to be this relentless.
Eventually, he managed to shut down the interrogation with some half-baked reasoning.
Echizen Residence
Rinko, having been informed of QP’s stay in advance, had already prepared a guest room.
After settling in, Yoru and QP headed to the main hall.
Nanjiro was there, sipping tea. "Heard a lot about you from Retter. Finally meeting in person."
"Mr. Echizen."
QP sat formally, his posture stiff, eyes subtly scanning the legendary player before him.
Echizen Nanjiro.
After graduating high school, he’d gone to the U.S. and defeated the then-world No. 1 in a practice match, kickstarting his own mythic career.
By the time he retired, he was on a 37-match winning streak in world opens—one win away from breaking the record and securing his first Grand Slam.
Then, out of nowhere, he quit.
When asked why, Nanjiro had said: "There’s no one left in tennis worth beating. I’ve got a new goal now."
Arrogant? Absolutely.
Yet, not a single pro player disputed it.
That statement cemented his legacy as the only player inducted into the "Legend" category without a Grand Slam.
Rumors claimed he’d reached the realm of Tennis Gods before retiring—and was still improving.
Nanjiro set down his cup. "Retter mentioned you’re here to find someone with the Light of Love and Light of Fortitude?"
QP nodded. "My playstyle requires absorbing match experience from those radiances."
Yoru, suddenly curious, cut in: "Old man, is Perfect Harmony a type of Pinnacle of Hard Work, or are they the same thing?"
Honestly, he’d never fully grasped the relationship between the two.
In the original series, Nanjiro had been the only one to achieve Perfect Harmony for 20 years—until Ryoma and Kintarō’s generation revived it.
Before meeting QP, Yoru had assumed Pinnacle of Hard Work was just another name for Perfect Harmony.
But after discussing it with QP, he now suspected Perfect Harmony was merely one manifestation—specifically, the Light of Love.
After all, the Light of Love activated when a player "truly embraced the joy of tennis."
If Perfect Harmony equaled Pinnacle of Hard Work, how did the Light of Fortitude and Light of Loneliness fit in?
Nanjiro’s answer surprised him.
"Perfect Harmony is another term for Pinnacle of Hard Work. Joy is Love, pushing limits is Loneliness, surpassing them is Fortitude. All are expressions of the same radiance."
Yoru frowned. "Wait, really?"
That didn’t align with Nanjiro’s explanation in the original series’ Nationals finale.
Had Nanjiro only commented on Ryoma’s Perfect Harmony (the Light of Love) because that’s what he’d witnessed?
Before he could dwell further, QP suddenly spoke up.
"Mr. Echizen… do you possess the Light of Love and Light of Fortitude? Could I experience them?"
PFFT—
Yoru spat out his tea, staring at QP in disbelief.
Are you always this brave?!
Do you have any idea how monstrous this guy is?!
Nanjiro’s raw stats alone would send you flying—why are you asking for radiance mode?! Planning your funeral?!
Even Nanjiro’s eye twitched. "…Maybe find someone else. What I’ve got might be too much for you right now."
QP, realizing his blunder, flushed. "Ah—my apologies. That was presumptuous."
Over the next week, QP—obsessed with the training boost—threw himself into drills with fanatical intensity.
Yoru had considered adding little Ryoma to the roster, but the system blocked it—Ryoma wasn’t officially part of Seigaku’s team yet.
One notable incident: Kirihara, itching for a challenge, confronted QP.
The entire club expected an epic showdown.
Instead, Seigaku’s second-strongest got stomped—6-0 in under 15 minutes.
QP didn’t even use flashy techniques. Just pure, fundamentals-based tennis.
Kirihara couldn’t land a single return.
The humiliation lit a fire under him. He began overhauling his Speed Shot series, training like a man possessed.
Before, he’d assumed his techniques were flawless—only failing against freaks like Yoru.
Now? He knew better.
When the gap in raw ability was this vast, technique was his only lifeline.
And as someone who loved tennis, he refused to fall behind.
Yoru, watching the team’s progress through the system, was pleased.
The Next Day: Tokyo Metropolitan Semifinals
Yoru studied the bracket.
Match 1: Hyotei vs. Seigaku
Match 2: Kamakura Chuu vs. Yamabuki
Right now, Hyotei’s biggest threat was Mochizuki Yūdai.
As for the rest of their roster? Yoru wasn’t sure. But in the original series, Mochizuki had led Hyotei’s middle school team to their first Nationals Top 8—laying the groundwork for Atobe’s eventual dynasty.
If Seigaku only had Yoru, Kirihara, and Yamato holding the line, they’d be in trouble.
But with QP here?
Yoru smirked.
This’ll be fun.
He was especially eager to face Mochizuki—one of the few mental-specialist prodigies in the series, and a dark horse who’d shine brightest on the world stage.
Most underestimated him due to his U17 ranking.
Big mistake.
Chapter 74: Metropolitan Semifinals – Facing Hyōtei
The next morning.
Seigaku’s team bus pulled up to the Metropolitan Tournament venue.
Led by Yoru, the players stepped off in a wave of quiet confidence.
"Who’s that guy at the front? Never seen him before."
"That’s Seigaku’s captain."
"Captain? No way—we got wrecked by Seigaku last week, and he wasn’t there!"
"He is their captain. Our school was in their group during the prelims—he was in the coach’s seat."
"I’ve watched most of Seigaku’s matches this tournament. Never saw him."
"Wait… so their captain skipped all the earlier rounds?"
"That’s… insane."
Yoru’s appearance drew attention—partly due to his looks, but mostly because Seigaku’s sudden rise had put them on everyone’s radar.
Ignoring the murmurs, Yoru led the team inside.
After submitting an updated roster to the officials, a staff member frowned. "Last-minute changes are risky. You’re swapping two players. Sure about this?"
Yoru nodded.
The exchange didn’t go unnoticed. Two players from Kamakura Middle School, their uniforms emblazoned with "Kamakura Chū", watched from a distance.
"Seigaku’s swapping players? And one’s a foreigner?"
"Who knows? Maybe they hired a ringer. This year’s Seigaku has been impressive."
"Wonder if they’ll face us or Hyōtei in the finals."
"You’re way too confident. Yamabuki’s no pushover, and we’re trash. Our whole team’s carried by just the two of us."
"Relax. I scouted Yamabuki—they’re weaker than us this year."
The duo’s absurd hairstyles made their conversation oddly comical.
Courtside.
With the roster updated, Seigaku arrived first.
As they waited for the referees and Hyōtei, Yoru addressed the team.
"Doubles 1: Kawasaki and Yamato. Doubles 2: Sensui and Kaidō."
"Singles will adjust based on match flow. Any questions?"
"NO, CAPTAIN!"
The shift to doubles was Yamato’s request. After seeing QP and Kirihara’s level, he knew QP was better suited for singles.
His Displacement Shot relied on reading opponents’ habits. With a partner like Kawasaki—whose Power Shots could pressure foes—they’d complement each other perfectly.
Minutes later.
The referees arrived. Spectators trickled in. But Hyōtei was nowhere in sight.
Only when the officials were fully prepped did Hyōtei finally appear—led by their coach, Sakaki Tōru.
Yoru’s gaze locked onto their spiky-haired ace.
[Status]
Name: Etchū Mizuki
Age: 15
Techniques:
Personal Five Stats (Lv. 7)
Tennis Fundamentals (Lv. 6)
Supersonic Vertical Serve (Lv. 6)
High Volley (Lv. 6)
Talent: Mental Suppression
Combat Rating: 6 Stars
[Mental Suppression]
"Overwhelms opponents with oppressive mental pressure. Effects intensify over time."
"Only 6 stars?"
Yoru mused. By the data, Mizuki was near the top of the 6-star tier—likely a threat to Kirihara before his training.
But the Mach Serve (原著的「馬赫發球」) wasn’t developed yet. The Supersonic Vertical Serve was its precursor.
Scanning Hyōtei’s roster, Yoru spotted a few vaguely familiar names:
Matsudaira Chikao
Sasabe Jun’ichi
Takei Toshio
Kishimoto Masa
All 5-star cannon fodder from the original series—named but unseen. The remaining two were 4-star.
This lineup could reach Nationals.
Far stronger than Seigaku’s original squad.
"Huh? Seigaku has two new faces… and one’s foreign?"
Matsudaira—Hyōtei’s strategist and vice-captain—frowned. His intel hadn’t mentioned Yoru or QP.
"This complicates things." Sasabe grimaced.
Old Seigaku wouldn’t warrant concern. But this year’s team had strong singles players.
"Coach…" Mizuki glanced at Sakaki.
"Stick to the plan," Sakaki said coolly. "Take both doubles. Mizuki ends it at Singles 3."
"Whether it’s Kirihara or Yamato, Mizuki can handle them. Singles 3 is our anchor."
Hyōtei’s Achilles’ heel was their lack of singles depth. With their seniors graduated, Mizuki had to clinch Singles 3 early.
The longer matches dragged, the riskier it got.
Seigaku’s bench.
"I’ll take Singles 3, then."
Yoru’s decision was instant. Hyōtei’s rigid tactics left no room for adjustment.
No one objected.
Yoru had been absent for most of the tournament. It was time to remind everyone why he was captain.
QP, not understanding Japanese, simply nodded.
Spectator stands.
The crowd grew steadily—nowhere near packed, but far busier than the prelims.
"Peeeeep! Metropolitan Semifinals—Seigaku vs. Hyōtei! Matches begin shortly!"
At the referee’s whistle, both teams lined up for the pre-match handshake.
Mizuki blinked, surprised to find Yoru—a head shorter—standing before him.
"So this is Seigaku’s new captain?"
No words were exchanged. Both sides returned to their benches.
"Doubles 2 will begin in ten minutes! Players, prepare!"
Kaidō grinned. "Yamato, Kawasaki—make your debut count!"
"Leave it to us." Yamato turned to Kawasaki, fist raised. "First doubles match together. Let’s do this."
Kawasaki paused—then bumped fists with a smirk.
Watching from behind, Yoru nearly facepalmed as Kawasaki’s combat rating ticked up to 5.5 stars.
"That’s all it took to hype him up?!"
As the two strode onto the court, Hyōtei’s Matsudaira and Sasabe met them at the net.
The battle was on.
*Chapter 75: Yamato, Buff Them Up *
(Let me explain why I’m not labeling characters as "Kanto-level," "National-level," or "World-level." The original power scaling system is already broken, so I’ll use a more logical combat rating system instead. The highest benchmark is Nanjiroh’s 20-star rating.)
(For example, simply categorizing everyone into Kanto, National, World, or Pro tiers would just muddy their actual strength. Since this timeline follows the high schoolers’ middle school days from the original story, rigid tier labels wouldn’t fit. With later arcs introducing stat growth and new techniques, how would I even differentiate them properly?)
(So, star-based combat ratings it is. I’ll make sure power levels are presented in a way that makes sense.)
The two teams shook hands without much conversation before returning to their positions.
It had been nearly three years since Seigaku last faced Hyotei.
With no prior interactions, there was little to say.
"Yamato in doubles…?"
Coach Sakaki frowned slightly as he watched Seigaku’s pair step onto the court, a flicker of unease in his chest.
Hyotei’s tactical playbook accounted for opponents deviating from expected lineups.
What unsettled him was this:
The player originally slated to partner Kawasaki in Doubles 2 was absent.
Instead, Seigaku’s unfamiliar captain, Yamato, stood alongside a complete wildcard—QP.
No data. No intel.
"I wonder if Yamato and the others can pull this off."
Yoru had his own reservations about the duo.
Doubles and singles were entirely different beasts.
Raw skill alone wasn’t enough—tactical synergy and chemistry were just as crucial.
These two had only just started practicing together, relying on basic strategies and zero默契 (rapport).
Against an average pair, they might scrape by.
But against seasoned doubles specialists? Their lack of coordination would be ruthlessly exploited.
Unless their individual strength was outright overwhelming.
Game start.
Hyotei served first.
Perhaps spurred by Tsukimitsu’s presence, Matsudaira’s serves were blisteringly fast, their rebound angles sharper than usual.
Kawasaki flailed helplessly against the sudden barrage of high-speed, wide shots.
Swish—! Swish—!
Four serves. Four whiffs. Hyotei cruised to an effortless first game.
1-0!
"……"
QP looked thoroughly unimpressed.
To him, losing consecutive points to such a basic trick was incomprehensible.
Even after a week of exposure to Seigaku’s… modest overall skill level (outside Yoru’s trio), this degree of incompetence was staggering.
Yoru shared the sentiment.
Stat-wise, Kawasaki was on the cusp of 5 stars. The gap shouldn’t have been this glaring.
But Kawasaki was the type who couldn’t adapt on the fly. If he hadn’t prepped for a specific technique, his reaction time plummeted.
A rigid, by-the-book player.
"Sorry, Yamato…"
Kawasaki grimaced after the four-point shutout.
Yamato turned with his trademark smile: "No worries. The match just started. We’ll win."
And just like that—
Under Yoru’s watchful eyes, Kawasaki’s combat rating ticked up from +0.5 to +0.7.
"You’ve gotta be kidding me… Is this stacking?!"
Yoru stared at Yamato like he’d grown a second head.
He’d always dismissed Yamato’s talent as underwhelming. Now? Maybe not so much.
Boom—!
With Kawasaki serving, the match reignited.
Now able to retaliate, Yamato anchored the defense while creating openings for Kawasaki’s power shots.
The added pressure bought Yamato time to analyze.
Soon, they mounted a counterattack.
Boom—!
Yamato Yuudai & Kawasaki Sumire score! 1-1!
...
Boom—!
Matsudaira Chikao & Sasabe Junichi score! 2-3!
...
Boom—!
Yamato Yuudai & Kawasaki Sumire score! 4-4!
Doubles expanded Yamato’s observation targets from one to two, while reducing misdirection opportunities.
The real headache was Hyotei’s seamless teamwork—alternating formations, crisscrossing returns—until the set finally ended at 7-5.
"Game. Hyotei wins!"
The umpire’s call echoed.
Kawasaki hung his head. "…Sorry, Yamato."
As the primary attacker, his failures to create openings and unforced errors had cost them.
"We did our best. Our默契 (chemistry) and tactics need work. Let’s add daily doubles drills after regular practice."
"Right!"
After a brief rest, the teams exchanged handshakes and left the court.
"Sorry. We lost."
Yamato and Kawasaki bowed before Yoru.
"Ugh, cut the funeral vibes. If you suck, train harder. Save the formalities." He shooed them off.
The two exchanged wry glances—until:
"Don’t lose next time."
Yoru’s voice carried no softness, but the words were acknowledgment enough.
For a first-time duo against veterans, they’d held their own. With more磨合 (polishing), they could become a solid pair by Nationals.
Their styles complemented each other. Growth would come fast with effort.
"Second match. Win this, or it’s extra drills for everyone."
Yoru’s gaze shifted to the next pair:
Kaedechi Hajime – 5 stars.
Konishi Izumi – 4 stars.
On paper, their total was lower than Yamato/Kawasaki’s.
But Kaedechi and Konishi were longtime partners, their默契 (synergy) and tactics honed.
Plus, Kaedechi had been refining the techniques Yoru suggested. Against another 5-star duo? They had a shot.
"Don’t worry, Captain. We’ve got this!"
The two shared a confident nod and moved to warm up—
"Wait."
Yoru stopped them, then turned. "Yamato. Come buff them."
"Huh?"
"Just say something encouraging."
Yamato blinked, then obliged: "Do your best, Kaedechi-senpai, Konishi-senpai! Win for us too!"
"Yeah!"
Instantly, their stats flickered—*+0.5*.
For the first time, Yoru saw Yamato’s true value. If tennis didn’t work out, he could always study art in Germany.
But for now—
"Not enough. Say it again."
Yamato: "……"
