526-530

Chapter 526: The Miraculous Resonance of Abilities!  

"This feeling…?"  

Yukimura frowned as he observed the strange shift in his opponent’s aura. Something about it unsettled him deeply.  

Beside him, Tezuka’s brow creased slightly. The oppressive pressure radiating from their adversaries triggered an instinctive revulsion within him.  

"Let me test this."  

Stepping back to the baseline, Yukimura took the serve. With a fluid motion, he tossed the ball high and struck it cleanly.  

Thud!  

The ball crossed the net in a blur, landing squarely at the opponent’s baseline before most could react.  

The sheer speed of the serve sent shockwaves through the crowd—especially the Spanish team. Just moments ago, Yukimura hadn’t shown this level of power.  

"He was holding back?!"  

Frio Román’s eyes widened. Even after recalibrating his expectations, he’d still underestimated the Japanese player.  

Thud!  

But as the audience reeled from Yukimura’s display, an inky darkness erupted beside him without warning.  

"What—?!"  

Yukimura barely had time to react before a swirling black tempest engulfed him. A suffocating wave of despair clawed at his mind, twisting his emotions violently.  

Yet Yukimura was no ordinary player.  

His formidable mental strength resisted the assault—but the delay cost him the return.  

"0-15!"  

"So it is that aura of despair," Coach Mikuni muttered gravely from the sidelines.  

"Under extreme emotional duress, some individuals undergo a mental metamorphosis. Most succumb to madness, but a rare few… harness despair itself as power."  

In tennis, the five dimensions—*"Heart," "Technique," "Body"*—were pivotal. While skill and physicality had limits, the mind’s influence was boundless. Some, like Germany’s Volk, could even warp reality with sheer willpower.  

And Seda… seemed to have drawn strength from his own abyss, gaining a force rivaling the "Perfect Harmony" state.  

Worse, its insidious nature had caught even Yukimura off guard.  

Thud! Thud! Thud!  

The second rally began, but despite his focus, Yukimura found himself relentlessly pressured.  

Thud!  

Just as Seda prepared another strike, Tezuka intercepted—shattering the kill shot with a flawless return.  

"Thanks."  

Yukimura nodded, then sharpened his gaze.  

Thud! Thud! Thud!  

Tezuka and Seda clashed fiercely.  

Even with "Self-Actualization," "Tezuka Zone," and "Phantom," Tezuka was being pushed to his limits.  

BOOM!  

Then—  

A radiant white light erupted from Tezuka, scorching through Seda’s dark miasma like sunlight melting snow.  

"Pinnacle of Hard Work!!!"  

The Spanish team stiffened.  

This was no ordinary glow—Tezuka’s brilliance burned hotter, purer, deadlier than Ryoma’s. In an instant, the momentum shifted.  

"Damn it!"  

Seda gritted his teeth. The pressure was suffocating. Each of Tezuka’s returns carried an imperious weight, crushing his rhythm.  

"I can’t fight him head-on."  

Quick-witted and adaptable, Seda pivoted instantly—redirecting his next shot toward Yukimura instead.  

Thud!  

The ball bulleted toward the "weaker" target.  

"Soft targets first."  

That was the ruthless logic Seda had learned in his years on the court. Pride meant nothing—only victory mattered.  

If he could break Yukimura, he and Ryoma could overwhelm Tezuka together.  

Swish!  

But then—  

Yukimura moved.  

His racket flickered, vanishing from sight before reappearing mid-swing.  

Crack!  

Seda’s attack was blasted back effortlessly.  

"What?!"  

The Spanish team froze.  

"This state… He’s serious now?"  

Frio’s eyes narrowed. Yukimura had become an enigma—an unfathomable void.  

"Zero-Senses Tennis!"  

On Japan’s side, the team nodded.  

By sealing his own five senses, Yukimura had sharpened his play to a razor’s edge. Seda’s despair had no hold here.  

"What is this guy?!"  

Seda’s confidence wavered.  

Against Zero-Senses Yukimura, his darkness was useless. Worse, the Japanese player was adapting too quickly.  

"I can’t lose this!"  

Gripping his racket tighter, Seda made his move.  

"Aramenoma… Aramenoma… Aramenoma…"  

The eerie chant spilled from his lips, warping the air. Spectators swayed, suddenly lightheaded.  

Then—  

Seda’s despair exploded, merging with the hypnotic syllables into a tsunami of mental force.  

CRASH!  

The black tidal wave swallowed Yukimura whole.  

But just as concern spiked—  

Pinpricks of white light pierced the darkness.  

Like dawn breaking through storm clouds, the radiance tore the abyss apart.  

HUM!  

Blinding brilliance flooded the court.  

Seda and Ryoma recoiled, vision seared white.  

Snap!  

A single, crisp impact echoed between them.  

As the light faded, they turned—just in time to see the ball’s imprint perfectly centered on the baseline.  

"15-15!"  

The umpire’s call hung in the air as the two boys exchanged stunned glances.  

"I… couldn’t move?"  

"Divine Aura."  

Off-court, Tokugawa’s brow lifted.  

This was the ability Yukimura had unveiled during the shuffle matches—transcending both "Five Senses Annihilation" and "Zero-Senses Tennis."  

"As expected of Yukimura," Inui praised. "His light burns even brighter now."  

Mitsuya sighed. "The 'Child of God' title fits him perfectly."  

Thud! Thud! Thud!  

The match raged on.  

Though their exchanges remained blisteringly fast, Yukimura’s dominance was undeniable.  

Where Seda wielded despair, Yukimura answered with divine radiance—crushing the darkness underfoot.  

Thud!  

"Game! First set goes to Japan, 6-0!"  

"Hah… hah…"  

Seda panted at the baseline, sweat-drenched and wide-eyed.  

He’d lost.  

Even with the power of despair, he’d been outmatched.  

The Spanish team’s morale plummeted.  

Yet neither 12-year-old surrendered. Despite the odds, they fought on—unyielding.  

But the tide didn’t turn.  

The second set began, and Japan’s dominance continued. Frustration simmered among the Spanish ranks.  

"If only Mars had been assigned to Doubles 2…" someone muttered.  

"Coach’s lineup is questionable…"  

"Enough."  

Frio cut them off sharply. "Mars was unwell. That’s all."  

Only the coaches and captains knew the truth—Mars had been injured by Equal the night before. This wasn’t favoritism toward Ryoma.  

Still, even if it had been a tactical choice by Coach Nanjirou, Frio wouldn’t question it. The man was a living legend—every move had purpose.  

"Hm?"  

His gaze flicked to the lean figure leaning against the wall.  

"Ryoga’s… smiling? Does that mean—?"  

BOOM!  

On-court, Seda unleashed another furious smash.  

Swish!  

But against Tezuka’s "Supreme Zone" spin, it was futile.  

"It’s over," remarked a languid voice.  

Silva de Banberry, Spain’s doubles specialist, shook his head. "Without breaking that Zone, they’re finished."  

"Looks like a split outcome," Frio agreed.  

Both had written off the match.  

Then—  

CRASH!  

Seda’s smash shattered the court, kicking up a dust storm.  

A streak of white light ripped through the debris—  

—and slammed into the wall behind Tezuka.  

"WHAT?!"  

Japan’s team jolted upright.  

"The Supreme Zone… was broken?!" Inui and Fuji gasped.  

"No…"  

Sanada and Shiraishi frowned.  

"That smash was abnormal," Thousand Strings noted. "And his despair… it’s turned white? Wait—what is that?!"  

HUM!  

A surreal spectacle unfolded.  

Ryoma and Seda’s auras—one blazing white, the other pitch-black—began weaving together. Their energies resonated, harmonizing in ways thought impossible.  

"This is…!"  

Tachibana’s breath caught. "Ability Resonance?!"  

"Impossible!"  

The crowd erupted.  

Even the world’s top analysts—Germany’s strategists, Spain’s tacticians—were floored.  

"Such a power fluctuation…!" Volk, the world’s No. 1 high schooler, stared in disbelief. "Pinnacle and Despair… resonating?!"  

QP and Bismarck exchanged stunned glances.  

Two diametrically opposed "Pinnacle" states—syncing?  

This defied all logic!  

"So this was the plan…"  

Frio’s gaze slid to Ryoga’s smirk, then to the composed figure on the coaching bench.  

The man’s presence was tangible—a silent force bending fate itself.  

"This… is the hand of a legendary pro."  

For the first time, Frio truly grasped the depth of Nanjirou Echizen’s genius.  

Chapter 527: Shattered Hope—A Dual Ability Resonance Awakening?  

Boom!  

"Game!"  

"Spain leads, 1-4! Change ends!"  

With the eruption of Ability Resonance, Ryoma and Ceda secured a game victory in under a minute.  

"W-what is this?!" Inui's voice trembled with shock.  

Chitose and Tachibana were equally stunned. Compared to their own Ability Resonance, the aura radiating from Ryoma and Ceda was on an entirely different level.  

"Can the resonance of two 'Perfect Harmony' abilities really reach such heights?" Byoudouin, arms crossed, stared intently at the duo enveloped in swirling black and white energy.  

"As expected of you, Nanjirou." Coach Mikuni shot a wary glance at the smirking middle-aged man nearby. "You paired these two in doubles for this exact moment. I have to admit—your scheme worked."  

This outcome had indeed caught Mikuni off guard. But he wasn’t so easily shaken. After all, Japan’s team wasn’t filled with pushovers either. Both Tezuka and Yukimura stood at the pinnacle of middle school tennis.  

Soon, the sixth game began.  

Ceda served for Spain.  

Whoosh!  

The ball rocketed forward like a cannon shot.  

"Too fast!" Yukimura’s eyes narrowed.  

Yet, his sharp perception allowed him to track its trajectory instantly. He adjusted his stance, preparing to counter—  

BAM!  

A deafening impact echoed as the ball rebounded. The sheer force sent shockwaves rippling outward.  

"This power?!" Even Yukimura, who had braced himself, was taken aback. His return was rushed, lacking precision.  

Swish!  

In a flash, Ryoma lunged forward, his body glowing with the radiance of Perfect Harmony. With a fierce twist, he unleashed a devastating smash.  

CRACK!  

A gale-force wind erupted, blasting Yukimura’s jacket clean off his shoulders.  

"15-0!" The umpire’s voice rang out.  

Yukimura’s jacket fluttered into the stands, where Marui swiftly caught it.  

"Tch." Landing lightly, Ryoma clicked his tongue in disappointment.  

Ceda frowned. Their perfect combo had aimed to humiliate Yukimura by stripping him of his signature jacket—yet luck had saved him.  

"Whatever." Ryoma rolled his shoulders. "Forget the jacket. Crushing them on the court is what matters."  

"Right." Ceda nodded.  

Though their resonance hadn’t reached the telepathic level of Synchro, their synergy was more than enough for this match.  

And so, their onslaught continued.  

With overwhelming power and experience rivaling Tezuka and Yukimura’s, Ryoma and Ceda dominated.  

"Game! Spain leads, 2-4!"  

"Game! Spain, 3-4!"  

"Game! Spain, 4-4!"  

In what felt like an instant, Spain claimed four consecutive games. Their relentless momentum left the crowd breathless.  

"This Ability Resonance… is terrifying!"  

Players from Switzerland, France, and the U.S. watched in awe.  

"Not all resonances are equal," said Pete LaBelle, Switzerland’s strategist. "In pro matches, some resonances produce laughably weak effects—what we call 'Level 1.' Then there’s Level 2, where abilities merely coexist without amplifying. Level 3 creates a new, stronger ability. But this…"  

He took a deep breath. "This is Level 4—Super Resonance. A miracle among miracles."  

"Level 4?!" Henry Nobel III gasped.  

Now he understood why this phenomenon was so rare. Two different Perfect Harmony auras merging? The sheer mental fortitude required was beyond comprehension.  

BOOM!  

Ryoma’s smash tore through the court, aiming for Tezuka and Yukimura’s blind spot.  

Whoosh!  

A powerful vortex of wind erupted—Tezuka’s *"Supreme Dominion"*—attempting to redirect the ball.  

"Is that Tezuka Zone?" Inui wondered.  

"No," Mitsuya corrected. "It’s the perfected form—Supreme Dominion."  

The gravitational pull intensified, kicking up dust from the court.  

ZZZT—CRACK!  

Yet, Ryoma’s smash, empowered by their resonance, overpowered it. Sparks flew as the ball drilled into the ground.  

"Game! Spain, 5-4! Change ends!"  

"They… broke through Supreme Dominion?!" Inui and Fuji were speechless.  

Against such overwhelming force, Tezuka’s technique had been like a man trying to hold back a collapsing mountain.  

"¡Viva España!"  

The crowd erupted. Spain’s players and fans roared in triumph. The momentum had shifted—their victory seemed inevitable.  

"Finish this in one go!"  

Even Ryoma and Ceda felt the rush of impending victory.  

"Captain," Ryoma thought, his eyes blazing. "I did it."  

This match would prove he didn’t need anyone’s approval. Whether as Seigaku’s future or Spain’s pillar—his tennis belonged to him alone.  

"Ooooh!"  

The stadium buzzed with excitement as Spain’s comeback electrified the spectators.  

Meanwhile, Tezuka and Yukimura remained composed. Despite their techniques being dismantled, their focus never wavered.  

THUD!  

Yukimura’s racket was sent flying by another brutal smash.  

"15-0!"  

A collective gasp filled the air.  

"Yukimura (Captain)…" Rikkai’s members tensed.  

Yet, to everyone’s surprise, Yukimura simply picked up his racket—and smiled.  

"Just as predicted. They awakened their Ability Resonance."  

"Indeed." Tezuka nodded.  

Last night, their team’s leader had warned them: "Tomorrow’s doubles match will likely feature opponents with Synchro or Ability Resonance."  

At first, seeing Ryoma had made Tezuka doubt the prediction. But now, it was clear—their leader’s foresight was unmatched.  

"In that case," Yukimura said calmly, "there’s no need to hold back anymore."  

"Right. Let’s go all out." Tezuka’s gaze sharpened.  

The crowd murmured in confusion. Weren’t they at a disadvantage?  

Then—  

HUM!  

A new energy surged between Tezuka and Yukimura. Black and white intertwined, radiating an almost divine aura.  

"Ability Resonance?!"  

Spain’s bench froze.  

"Oh?" Medanore raised an eyebrow. "They were hiding this?"  

"Interesting." Nanjirou smirked, glancing at his rival coach—only to find him equally surprised.  

"If not him, then who…?"  

His eyes flicked to Japan’s bench, landing on a composed black-haired boy.  

Their gazes locked.  

For a split second, two monstrous spiritual pressures clashed—before vanishing just as quickly.  

Medanore, Byoudouin, and others sensed it immediately.  

"So it’s him." Nanjirou’s lips curled.  

In just half a year, this boy had grown to a level even he found daunting. That overwhelming, tangible spiritual force…  

Compared to Mikuni, this boy was Japan’s true strategist.  

"Hmph." Ceda scoffed. "A pointless struggle."  

With their dual Perfect Harmony resonance, their strength rivaled pro doubles players. Only their slightly lacking synergy held them back.  

And with Tezuka and Yukimura’s techniques already countered, what could they possibly do now?  

"Right." Ryoma nodded firmly.  

There was no turning back—only relentless offense.  

WHOOSH!  

His serve blurred forward, spinning at an inhuman rate.  

But Yukimura’s racket flashed—a streak of black light swallowing the ball whole.  

"The ball… vanished?!"  

This wasn’t an optical illusion like "Twist Serve" or "Divine Hidden Move." The ball had genuinely disappeared.  

"Magic?!" LaBelle and George gaped.  

Ryoma and Ceda tensed, scanning the court.  

"It has to reappear," Ceda muttered. "Otherwise, it’s a fault."  

Then—  

FZZT!  

A black gleam flickered before them.  

The ball shot out like a bullet, spinning violently.  

Ceda swung—  

SNAP!  

His racket shattered on impact.  

"15-15!"  

"W-what kind of power is this?!"  

Spain’s players paled.  

"But Ceda and Ryoma have resonance too! Shouldn’t theirs be stronger?!"  

"Unless…" Bangle’s eyes narrowed. "Their resonance cancels others’?"  

"No." Frio shook his head. "Look—Ryoma and Ceda still have their resonance aura."  

If anything, the dual Perfect Harmony fusion was even more intimidating now.  

"Then how…?"  

"What if," Frio murmured, watching Tezuka’s next vanishing return, "these two awakened more than one Ability Resonance?"  

Chapter 528: One Win, One Loss – The Tyrant vs. The Genius Heretic  

BANG!  

The crisp sound of shattering echoed across the court.  

Echizen’s iconic red racket snapped in half, the strings flailing wildly.  

"15–30!"  

"This power…"  

Staring at his trembling hand, still numb from the impact, Echizen’s heart pounded violently.  

That was terrifying!  

For a split second, it felt like he had smashed his racket against solid steel.  

"That destructive force… His base strength must be over 10 points!"  

In the stands, representatives from various countries wore expressions of shock.  

"As expected."  

Among the German team, Bertie, Volk’s younger brother, spoke in a low voice. "These two have awakened a dual Resonance ability."  

"Dual?!"  

Siegfried and Frankensteiner whipped their heads toward him, stunned.  

"The black light is the first ability—let’s call it 'Vanishing.'"  

Bertie, a top-tier strategist with deep expertise in doubles and an encyclopedic knowledge of tennis, continued, "It’s a fusion of the gravitational field from the Supreme Zone and the unique properties of Zero-Sense Tennis, creating an entirely new technique."  

"Hmm."  

Beside him, Volk—the bald powerhouse—crossed his arms and nodded. "Zero-Sense negates the ball’s presence, while the Supreme Zone pulls it into a special dimensional space. To the naked eye, it’s as if the ball disappears into a sub-realm."  

"Gulp."  

Siegfried and the others swallowed hard.  

"Then the second Resonance must be that terrifying shot power, right?" Bismarck chimed in.  

He didn’t question why Echizen and Seda could still track the "Vanishing" shot. After all, those two were monsters who had also awakened dual Glow of Limits abilities.  

"Correct." Bertie nodded. "The second Resonance can be called 'Supremacy.' My guess is that it’s born from Tezuka’s Glow of Limits and Yukimura’s Divine Aura merging together."  

"Unbreakable fortitude fused with a presence like a deity—two overwhelming traits combining to create something even more ferocious!"  

"That power…"  

Bertie’s gaze shifted toward the Japanese team’s bench, locking onto a fierce red-haired player with a brutal aura.  

"…is probably on par with that monster’s raw strength."  

Oni Jūzaburō?!  

The German team stiffened.  

Oni was the player who had gone toe-to-toe with Q·P in a grueling battle. His sheer power was already recognized as the strongest in this World Cup.  

And yet, Tezuka and Yukimura—just two middle schoolers—had reached that level through Resonance?  

How terrifying!  

SWOOSH!  

Another one of Tezuka’s returns rocketed across the court.  

Echizen and Seda exchanged a glance and moved in perfect sync. Both were geniuses with sky-high tennis IQs, and in this critical moment, they stacked their rackets together, attempting to counter the shot.  

THUD.  

But against Tezuka’s Supremacy—a blinding white streak of destruction—their rackets might as well have been made of paper.  

The ball tore through effortlessly.  

BOOM!  

The deafening impact silenced the entire stadium.  

"Game!"  

"Japan leads, 5–5!"  

This game went to Tezuka and Yukimura—a devastating blow for Spain.  

Echizen and Seda’s momentum crumbled, never to recover.  

From then on, under the relentless assault of dual Resonances, the Spanish duo had no answer.  

SMASH!  

Yukimura’s final spike sealed the match.  

"Second set concluded! Japan wins, 7–5!"  

"Doubles Match 2 officially ends!"  

"Japan takes the victory, 6–0, 7–5!"  

"OOOOOH!!!"  

The Japanese team erupted in cheers.  

"One win, one loss."  

Q·P, watching from the stands, crossed his arms. "Now both teams are back to square one. The next match—Singles 2—will be decisive."  

"Hmm."  

Not far away, Switzerland’s Amadeus suddenly narrowed his eyes, then snapped them wide open as he spotted a certain figure on the court.  

"Just as I thought… They’ve placed him in Singles 2!"  

**"That’s… Byōdōin Hōō!!!"**  

Instantly, players from every nation—including Spain—locked onto the golden-haired, stubble-faced high schooler.  

"Byōdōin Hōō!"  

Spain’s vice-captain, Friol, frowned. "Japan’s former strongest player. Even after losing to that monster Ishikawa, his power only grew!"  

Their intel hadn’t uncovered footage of Ishikawa and Byōdōin’s match, but rumors about its details had spread.  

Besides, Byōdōin’s original strength surpassed even Oni’s. In the semifinals against Germany’s Becker, he hadn’t even fought seriously.  

Unlike Oni—who had been drained after his brutal clash with Q·P—Byōdōin was still in peak condition.  

"However…"  

Friol’s gaze slid toward a tall, cold-eyed figure wrapped in Spain’s team jacket.  

"If it’s him, then there’s no problem."  

Antonio Dá Medanore.  

Spain’s captain.  

A prodigy with top-tier talent, he had once rivaled Germany’s Volk before injuries sidelined him.  

Now, after months of recovery and training, he had broken through to a new level—officially stepping into the realm of professional players.  

"Spain’s captain is playing Singles 2?!"  

The realization sent shockwaves through the crowd. "They’re planning to end this before it reaches Singles 1!"  

It made sense.  

Japan’s Singles 1 player—despite the marathon semifinal—had an insane recovery rate. By now, he was undoubtedly back at full strength.  

And after defeating Volk, that monster was the last opponent Spain wanted to face.  

"Too bad Japan’s coach didn’t anticipate this."  

Many spectators sighed.  

With Spain’s tactical setup, Japan likely wouldn’t even make it to Singles 1.  

Which meant…  

They wouldn’t get to see him play.  

The player who had taken the World Cup by storm—the one already being hailed as the future dominator of professional tennis for the next 15 to 20 years.  

"What are you talking about?"  

The U.S. team’s vice-captain, Hopkins, scoffed. "That’s Byōdōin Hōō we’re talking about. You really think he has no chance? More importantly…"  

His voice dropped.  

"Have you noticed Spain’s Mars is missing today?"  

Mars?  

The Americans perked up, even Reinhardt glancing over in interest.  

"My father’s college friend runs a clinic in Melbourne. Yesterday, when I visited, I saw Medanore dropping Mars off."  

Hopkins’ expression turned grave. "Mars was badly injured. And from their conversation… It sounded like Byōdōin was the one who did it."  

Byōdōin? Medanore and Mars?  

Reinhardt’s brow furrowed.  

A theory formed in his mind.  

"So… During Byōdōin and Medanore’s clash, Mars got caught in the crossfire?"  

His stomach dropped.  

Mars’ skills were infamous—his Sniper Shot could kill from long range.  

Yet even he had been severely wounded just by being near their battle.  

"In that case…"  

Reinhardt’s eyes darkened as he studied the two figures stepping onto the court.  

"These two aren’t just 'professional-level.' They’re something far beyond."  

"The Singles 2 match will now begin!"  

After a brief intermission, the announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium.  

"Representing Japan—Byōdōin Hōō (3rd Year)!"  

"Representing Spain—Antonio Dá Medanore (3rd Year)!"  

"Players, prepare yourselves!"  

WHOOSH.  

All eyes split between the two titans walking onto opposite sides of the court.  

THUD.  

THUD.  

Their footsteps echoed like war drums.  

Then—  

Byōdōin lifted his head.  

His icy glare met Medanore’s emotionless eyes.  

CRACKLE.  

The air between them seemed to ignite, an oppressive aura spreading like wildfire.  

Chapter 529: Professional-Level Duel – A Dangerous Court  

The net.  

Under the watchful eyes of countless spectators, Byoudouin and Medanore exchanged a brief nod.  

After a quick discussion and coin toss to determine serve, both retreated to their respective baselines.  

"The second singles match – this one's crucial!"  

In the stands, Switzerland's Henry Nobel III watched intently.  

"Indeed," agreed his teammate, strategist Pete LaBelle. "Though not Japan's captain, Byoudouin was once their strongest player. In terms of presence, he doesn’t lose to Medanore at all."  

Others nodded in agreement. At the very least, during their initial face-off, Byoudouin hadn’t been the slightest bit overwhelmed.  

"By the way," Henry whispered, leaning closer to LaBelle, "I heard our captain once played against Byoudouin?"  

LaBelle gave a small nod. "It was after a training session. Most of the team had already left when Byoudouin suddenly showed up and challenged Alexander."  

"And the result?"  

"No one knows," LaBelle admitted. "Only Alexander and the coaches saw the full match. But... something strange happened during it."  

"Strange? What do you—"  

Before Henry could press further, Amadeus turned and shot them a sharp look. "Focus. If you blink, you’ll miss something crucial."  

The entire Swiss team stiffened.  

Amadeus had never been this serious during previous matches. That alone told them—this battle would be far more intense than they imagined.  

Meanwhile, players from other teams watched with anticipation as Byoudouin pulled a tennis ball from his pocket.  

"First set, Japan’s Byoudouin to serve!"  

Whoosh!  

The ball soared into the air—  

BANG!  

A sharp crack echoed as the serve rocketed forward. Fast, but nothing extraordinary.  

Medanore returned it with precision, aiming for Byoudouin’s backhand corner. Mid-flight, the ball’s spin intensified, curving sharply like a boomerang.  

"Medanore’s technique is terrifying," murmured one of France’s players.  

"Naturally," their captain, Camus, replied. "Back in the European training camps, he made a name for himself with his skill—even defeated Germany’s Volk in a practice match."  

The others paled at the revelation.  

Tap-tap-tap!  

Byoudouin chased the ball down effortlessly and returned it without even looking.  

"Too easy," Japan’s Mouri scoffed. "This level won’t even make him break a sweat."  

"Exactly," Tohno added, arms crossed. "Beating Volk was ages ago. I doubt Medanore’s rebuilt body can last 15 minutes at this pace."  

"Bastards!"  

Spain’s players glared, but their vice-captain, Frio, raised a hand. "Calm down. For them, this is just a warm-up. The real match won’t start until after a hundred shots."  

A hundred?!  

The others gaped. If anyone else had said that, they’d have laughed. But coming from Frio…  

BANG! BANG! BANG!  

As the rally continued, the speed and power of their exchanges escalated at an alarming rate.  

"Hey, hey!" Bangle’s eye twitched.  

At this pace, could they really sustain a hundred-shot rally?  

Yet Frio remained unfazed. To Byoudouin and Medanore, this wasn’t even a warm-up—just baseline probing.  

CRACK!  

Byoudouin’s next shot tore through the air, kicking up a dust storm that obscured Medanore’s vision.  

"This power?!" Spectators gasped.  

But Medanore remained unshaken. With a flick of his wrist, he returned the ball—  

SHIIING!  

The shot whistled like a blade, so fast even seasoned players lost sight of it.  

"T-this is only the 28th shot?!" a Spanish player stammered.  

"Yes," Frio said coolly.  

Bangle’s fists clenched. This intensity already surpassed his full-strength play. And they weren’t even halfway there.  

"Their duel is fiercer than Japan vs. Germany’s semifinal!"  

By the 56th exchange, most spectators could no longer follow the ball. A thick haze of dust now shrouded the court.  

60 shots.  

Twin cyclones of swirling debris formed around the players as their clash escalated.  

BOOM!  

Byoudouin fired a cannon-like shot into Medanore’s dust cloud. The impact compressed the air—  

WHOOSH!  

A violent gust erupted, scattering debris.  

"Not bad," Medanore remarked calmly.  

Then—BANG!—he returned it in a blur.  

"Huh? That’s it?"  

Some Spanish players frowned. After all the hype, the 100th shot seemed… underwhelming.  

But then—  

SHINK!  

A Spanish player near the court suddenly froze, sensing something invisible hurtling toward him. His instincts screamed—DANGER!  

Before he could react, Frio yanked him aside.  

RIIP!  

The player’s jacket sleeve split clean open as if slashed by a blade.  

"W-what just—?!"  

"Everyone, MOVE BACK!" Frio barked, his usual calm replaced by steel.  

The team scrambled just as—  

SHOOOOM!  

Invisible wind blades shredded the concrete, sending shrapnel flying. The nearby walls were pockmarked with craters.  

"Holy—!"  

The crowd recoiled in shock.  

The Spanish players who’d been near the court were drenched in cold sweat. The "saved" player trembled, realizing how close he’d come to being impaled.  

"So," Bangle muttered, "this match has crossed into professional territory?"  

And this was only the first game.  

THUD!  

On the 137th shot, Medanore’s return veered wide, landing outside the sideline.  

"15-0!"  

Medanore flexed his wrist, his gaze sharpening. "You’ve indeed stepped into a higher realm, Byoudouin."  

Their rally had been a test of speed, power, reflexes, and mental fortitude—yet Medanore, famed for his insight, had found no openings.  

This aligned with his predictions.  

Byoudouin’s tennis had evolved.  

"You’re not so bad yourself," Byoudouin said, picking at his ear. "That rebuilt body’s holding up. Let’s see how long it lasts."  

"Arrogant!" a Spanish player snapped.  

Then—ZZZT!  

A ball crackling with electric light rolled from Byoudouin’s palm.  

"That’s—!"  

Spain’s team, including Frio, stiffened.  

"The Shot of Light?!"  

Chapter 530: Deceiving the Senses – The Unshakable Terror of Mental Power  

BANG!  

As Byōdōin swung his racket, the ball shot forward like a cannonball, tearing through the thick smoke and appearing before Medanore in an instant.  

"Light Strike: Destruction!"  

This was Byōdōin’s signature move—one Medanore had seen two years ago. But now, its aura was far more overwhelming.  

"Is he trying to seize control by destroying the court outright?"  

Medanore’s guard shot up.  

THUD.  

Yet, despite its terrifying force, the ball didn’t crater the ground. Instead, it kicked up a violent dust storm upon impact, leaving the surface intact.  

At the same time, Medanore felt the deadly currents swirling around the rebounding ball.  

"This guy…"  

He shot Byōdōin a sharp glance before swiftly countering.  

CRACK!  

The moment his racket connected, Medanore’s brow twitched.  

"The power hasn’t weakened at all?"  

That shouldn’t be possible.  

It meant Byōdōin’s control had reached a monstrous level.  

"As expected of you, Byōdōin Hōō."  

The thought flashed through his mind as he channeled strength from his wrist, arm, and core to return the serve.  

THUD-THUD!  

But Byōdōin was already charging forward, intercepting the ball with a brutal smash.  

BOOM!  

The shot tore through the smoke, scattering the haze before rocketing into the wall behind Medanore.  

"30–0!"  

The crowd fell silent.  

Unlike the drawn-out rallies earlier, this point had ended in seconds.  

"One serve, one kill."  

Spain’s vice-captain, Friol, narrowed his eyes. "The warm-up’s over. Now, the real probing begins."  

ZZZT—CRACK!  

Byōdōin unleashed another Light Strike, using its sheer destructive force to pin Medanore down before launching relentless assaults—smashing, slicing, and driving shots to the farthest corners.  

"Game!"  

"Byōdōin (Japan) leads, 1–0!"  

A flawless shutout.  

Not a single point for Medanore.  

The aura radiating from Byōdōin was like a tiger descending the mountain, sending chills down the spines of Spain’s players.  

"Japan has someone this strong?!"  

Those who hadn’t seen the semifinals grew uneasy.  

But most spectators quickly steadied themselves. After all, they had absolute faith in Medanore.  

TAP. TAP. TAP.  

Medanore bounced a ball lightly, his expression unreadable.  

"The 'Genius Heretic,' huh?"  

Germany’s Bismarck rubbed his chin. "His tennis can’t be this straightforward, right?"  

His gaze flicked toward Volk. Years ago, Medanore had defeated an almost-flawless Volk in a European junior training match.  

"Mm."  

Volk nodded. "Medanore’s skills are extraordinary. He’s even touched upon… certain possibilities."  

WHOOSH.  

Medanore moved.  

His fingers spread, the ball rolling off them in a motion eerily similar to Byōdōin’s serve—except instead of a blinding white light, a dark, mind-distorting glow seeped from the ball.  

"That’s—!"  

"A Dark Strike?!"  

Someone in the crowd gasped.  

Only those who had shattered their limits could master this technique.  

BAM!  

Medanore blasted the ball forward.  

"Dark, huh?"  

Byōdōin’s brow lifted.  

Two years ago, Medanore hadn’t used this move. Their match had been cut short by injury—back then, he never got the chance to show something that would make Byōdōin wary.  

"So this is what you were hiding?"  

Tracking the ball’s trajectory, Byōdōin positioned himself perfectly and swung—  

SWISH.  

The racket passed through empty air.  

"An illusion?!"  

Byōdōin barely caught his balance, staring as the "ball" vanished.  

THUD.  

A shadow flickered beside him, and the real ball slammed into the ground.  

"15–0!"  

"A mirage?"  

"A phantom ball?"  

The crowd buzzed in confusion.  

On Japan’s bench, Inui adjusted his glasses. "Like Tōyama’s 'Mirage' or Kamio’s 'Mist Illusion'?"  

"No." Mitsuya shook his head. "That level of trick wouldn’t fool Byōdōin."  

The others nodded.  

Byōdōin had traveled the world, battling all kinds of players. Basic illusions wouldn’t work on him.  

"Not bad."  

Byōdōin studied Medanore, replaying the point in his mind—yet he still couldn’t spot the flaw.  

Smirking, Medanore served again.  

WHOOSH!  

The dark glow spread, the ball diving like a shadow into deep water. Most couldn’t even see it; only a handful caught glimpses of its erratic path.  

"Here it comes."  

Byōdōin tracked the ball’s movement—fast, angled, lethal. Hesitate for a second, and he’d miss it.  

But after being fooled once, doubt crept in.  

Was this another fake?  

THUD.  

The ball landed.  

"Too slow!"  

Duke and the others winced. Byōdōin, the king of decisiveness, had hesitated.  

Even Byōdōin himself regretted it.  

WHOOSH.  

Then—without warning—a second "ball" materialized beside him.  

SMACK!  

Instinct took over. Byōdōin’s racket lashed out, intercepting it at the last second.  

"There was a second one?!"  

"He saw through it!"  

Japan’s players erupted in cheers.  

WHOOSH!  

But Medanore was already airborne, smirking as he lined up a smash.  

"You’re still falling for it, Byōdōin."  

BOOM!  

The ball cratered the court, the shockwave ripping apart the smoke around Byōdōin—revealing his grim expression.  

"30–0!"  

"He didn’t even try to return it?"  

Spain’s Bámbara frowned. As a parkour expert, he knew he could’ve reached that smash. Byōdōin probably could too.  

So why hadn’t he?  

"Did it shake him that badly?"  

"No."  

Friol shook his head. "It was the smart move. Even among pros, losing the initiative is hard to recover from. Retreating was the right call."  

What he didn’t say was that Byōdōin still hadn’t deciphered Medanore’s Dark Strike. Blindly attacking without intel was suicide.  

"Still… this 'Dark' technique…"  

Friol glanced at Medanore. Even he was seeing it for the first time.  

Medanore served again.  

The dark energy pulsed, the ball’s path hidden. Most saw nothing; even the elite caught only fragments of the truth.  

"40–0!"  

Byōdōin was completely locked down, unable to crack the code.  

Yet his face stayed calm.  

He’d caught a glimpse of something—a tiny crack in Medanore’s illusion.  

BAM.  

Another serve.  

This time, Byōdōin closed his eyes.  

"What?!"  

A Spanish player scoffed. "Does he think that’ll work? Ridiculous!"  

This was Medanore’s Dark Strike—a move few could even perceive, let alone counter.  

THUD.  

The ball landed.  

The sound was so convincing that Japan’s bench tensed, certain it was real.  

But Byōdōin didn’t move.  

"Byōdōin…?"  

Inui and the others held their breath.  

Then—  

His eyes snapped open.  

"Found it."  

SWISH!  

His racket flashed, striking at empty air—  

SMACK!  

—and a ball appeared out of nowhere, ricocheting back.  

"HE RETURNED IT?!"  

Japan exploded in cheers.  

Spain’s players paled.  

"H-How?!"  

"The 'Dark' technique is deeply tied to mental power."  

Coach Nanjirō spoke up. "Sometimes, you can’t trust your eyes. You have to see beyond."  

"Beyond…?"  

The players turned back to the match.  

"Impressive, Japan’s coach."  

Medanore’s voice was icy. "But that was just the surface. You haven’t seen the true depths of my 'Dark.'"  

WHOOSH!  

He lunged, his racket glowing black as he swung.  

"Try this on for size, Byōdōin!"  

BOOM!  

A dark aura erupted from him as he struck.  

The ball vanished.  

Not just from sight—from perception.  

Even the sharpest players barely caught flickers of movement. Was it real? An illusion? No one could tell.  

"I see."  

Amadeus, Reinhardt, and Camus understood now.  

"Medanore’s 'Dark' doesn’t just deceive the five senses—it fools the deeper layers of consciousness."  

The sixth sense. The seventh. The eighth.  

Earlier, he’d only tricked their eyes. Now, he was erasing the ball from their minds.  

"Your mental strength is formidable."  

Medanore watched Byōdōin coldly. "But even heightened awareness can’t pierce my 'Dark' at this lev—"  

SMACK!  

A crisp impact cut him off.  

Medanore’s eyes widened.  

"This mental resilience… Wait, what is that?!"  

For a split second, he saw it—a flash of red fabric, an arm adorned with what looked like…  

A pirate’s skull emblem.  

(End of Chapter)