521-525

Chapter 521: The Ice Emperor’s Resolve, The Awakening of Asura!  

The future is uncertain.  

This was something Keigo Atobe understood all too well.  

In this world, there was no true ability to foresee the future. Whether it was Senri’s "Genius Insight" or Tokugawa’s extraordinary intuition ("Premonition"), they were all the same—merely methods of prediction with varying degrees of accuracy.  

What Atobe could "see" of the future relied more on his keen perception and mental fortitude.  

The advantage was obvious—it allowed him to mentally simulate matches beforehand, like a dream training ground where he could analyze his opponent’s strengths and weaknesses with perfect clarity.  

But the drawback was the potential side effects.  

Take the final point of the first set, for example. Even though Atobe had won, he could feel the exhaustion creeping into his body.  

It was a double-edged sword.  

And even Atobe himself didn’t know where this path would ultimately lead.  

But right now…  

He had no other choice.  

Only the most refined vision—one sharp enough to pierce through the future—could help him defeat the wild beast standing before him.  

Game on.  

With Akutsu’s serve, the match resumed. Having lost the first set, Akutsu was seething with fury, launching into a frenzied assault.  

Boom! 

Boom! 

Boom!  

Every strike was ferocious, each impact sending painful tremors through Atobe’s wrist and numbing his grip.  

"This guy’s playing style is downright savage!"  

Even though he knew Akutsu was a beast, facing his relentless onslaught head-on still sent a chill down Atobe’s spine.  

"Fine then."  

A sharp glint flashed in his narrowed eyes.  

Without hesitation, he unleashed his vision once more, boldly confronting Akutsu’s attacks. His ability to glimpse the future activated again, allowing him to pinpoint Akutsu’s weaknesses and counter with precision shots.  

Bam! 

"15-15!"  

Boom! 

"30-15!"  

Bam! 

"30-30!"  

Bam! 

"30-40!"  

Bam! 

"Game!"  

"Japan’s Atobe leads, 1-0! Change sides!"  

In the blink of an eye, Atobe had taken the first game.  

The scales of victory seemed to tilt in his favor. The Spanish team’s players were visibly frustrated, while Japan’s representatives erupted in excitement.  

"Atobe!" 

"Atobe!" 

"Atobe!"  

The middle schoolers—especially the Hyotei members—cheered his name at the top of their lungs. Their voices, though drowned out by the roar of the crowd, rang crystal clear in Akutsu’s ears.  

"Tch."  

Akutsu’s cold gaze locked onto Atobe. Back at Hyotei, he’d never shown any interest in being second to Yukimura. But now, an inexplicable irritation churned inside him.  

He hated this feeling.  

Losing to Yukimura? Fine. That guy was a monster beyond reason—no shame in that.  

But Atobe?  

A spoiled rich kid born with a silver spoon, handed everything on a platter, yet failing to even reach the Nationals semifinals in his first two years at Hyotei.  

Losing to him? Unacceptable.  

"This match… I won’t lose. I CAN’T lose!"  

Gripping his racket tighter, Akutsu’s aura shifted subtly. The blood-red mantle of the "Tyrant" around him began to fade.  

"What’s happening?" 

"Did he give up?"  

The spectators murmured in confusion. Akutsu didn’t seem like the type to surrender so easily.  

"It’s not that simple."  

From the Greek team’s bench, their captain Zeus frowned, sensing something unsettling.  

"This guy… he feels dangerous."  

Dangerous?  

The Greek players exchanged startled glances.  

Zeus was on the cusp of turning pro—just a few months away from officially joining the ranks. For him to feel threatened by a middle schooler?  

Boom!  

Atobe’s next serve sliced through the air—a dazzling "Tannhäuser Serve" that made Hermes tense beside Zeus.  

That serve again.  

Hermes remembered the "Zero-Shiki" from their group match, an almost unreturnable shot. Atobe’s serve wasn’t quite at that level, but it was still top-tier.  

In Atobe’s current form, Hermes doubted he could return it either.  

Swish!  

But then—  

Akutsu appeared at the ball’s landing point in an instant.  

"His reflexes are insane!"  

The crowd gasped. Akutsu’s speed had visibly increased.  

"This guy’s a straight-up monster." 

"True, but Atobe’s already figured him out. Even if Akutsu keeps up, it won’t matter—" 

"Wait… what’s THAT?!"  

The commentator’s voice cut off as five identical Akutsu figures materialized on the court, all swinging simultaneously.  

"F-five Akutsu?!"  

Germany’s Bismarck stiffened. "Is this the same technique that Oni used in the semifinals? That multi-hit skill?"  

"No."  

QP’s expression darkened. "This isn’t an illusion. All five of them… are real."  

Whoosh!  

The five Akutsu moved in unison, striking from different angles at the skidding ball.  

"Tch."  

Atobe’s eyes narrowed.  

"Muga no Kyouchi—The State of Self-Actualization!"  

The Japanese team recognized it immediately. They’d seen this during the shuffle matches—Akutsu’s brutal showdown with Byoudouin.  

Muga no Kyouchi—a state transcending the five senses, pushing human limits to an extreme realm.  

Each of the five Akutsu was real. And right now, Atobe could only track four at most.  

Missing even one was fatal.  

"No choice."  

In that split second, Atobe made his decision. He pushed his vision to the limit, straining to glimpse even a fragment of the future—to find a crack in Akutsu’s Muga.  

Swish!  

But the moment he did, dark streaks of light shot past him. Atobe’s gaze locked onto their source, trying to force his way past the mental barrier—  

BANG!  

A metallic clang echoed in his mind.  

It felt like slamming into a sealed gate. A searing pain exploded in his skull, forcing Atobe to clutch his head mid-swing.  

Boom!  

Akutsu’s return shot smashed between Atobe’s feet.  

"0-15!"  

"Atobe!!"  

The Japanese team cried out in alarm. Coaches Kurobe and Saitou tensed.  

"Atobe! Are you okay?!" Saitou called.  

"I-I’m fine."  

Atobe waved them off, forcing himself to stand. But the concern in their eyes only deepened.  

"What just happened?" Kajii and Oomagari exchanged confused looks.  

"Mental backlash," Byoudouin said grimly. "Strong enough mental power can influence reality, but it takes a toll on the user."  

Not everyone had the iron will of a pro like Volk.  

Atobe’s condition was unusual. Byoudouin had suspected earlier how Atobe was reading Akutsu’s moves—now it was clear. He’d been pushing his mental limits to the extreme.  

And now, against Akutsu’s Muga, unable to predict his movements, Atobe was suffering the consequences.  

Sure enough—  

The rest of the set was a massacre.  

Akutsu, now in Muga, dominated Atobe completely. In just under 15 minutes—  

"Second set goes to Spain’s Akutsu, 6-1!"  

A crushing defeat.  

Compared to the first set, Atobe had been utterly outmatched. Aside from the first game, he’d barely put up a fight.  

"What’s wrong, brat?"  

Coach Mikage smirked as Atobe sat slumped under a towel. "That guy used to be your teammate, right? And he wrecked you?"  

Atobe stayed silent, his head still throbbing.  

Even during the match, despite the mental strain, he’d kept trying to force his vision—only to be met with searing pain each time.  

Now, barely catching his breath, his own coach was mocking him.  

"Scared? Can’t even talk back?" Mikage shook his head. "Guess he was wrong about you. As Hyotei’s captain… you’re not fit for the role."  

With that, he took a swig from his flask, ignoring the stunned looks around him.  

Atobe’s head snapped up.  

His gaze locked onto a pair of icy eyes from Japan’s bench.  

Chills.  

A freezing sensation shot down his spine—but it also cleared the fog in his mind.  

Munehiro Kabaji.  

The legendary former captain of Hyotei, the one who’d first led them to Nationals. Compared to him, Atobe’s own achievements paled.  

And now, Kabaji’s lips moved silently—  

"Keigo Atobe." 

"Is this the resolve of Hyotei’s captain?"  

The words struck like lightning.  

"Resolve… huh?"  

Atobe stood, his eyes sharp as he stared down Akutsu.  

Whoosh.  

Golden flames erupted around him once more as he stepped onto the court.  

"This is my last match. I won’t hold anything back."  

The final set began.  

Atobe was a different player now—no longer the elegant, refined shot-maker. Instead, he fought like a beast unleashed, attacking with raw fury.  

But every time Akutsu activated Muga, Atobe was frozen, forced into defense.  

Yet his gaze never wavered.  

He pushed his vision to the brink, enduring the stabbing pain each time he failed to see through Akutsu’s movements.  

By the third game, Akutsu led 3-0.  

Atobe’s stamina was draining fast, his shirt soaked through, his steps unsteady.  

But he refused to yield.  

"This is my tennis." 

"Keigo Atobe’s tennis." 

"Watch closely—this is my resolve!"  

Whoosh!  

The golden flames around him blazed brighter, engulfing him entirely.  

Akutsu scoffed. "Pathetic."  

His next serve rocketed toward Atobe—a shot no one believed he could return in his state.  

But then—  

The golden flames expanded, swallowing the ball whole.  

"Huh?"  

Akutsu’s eyes narrowed.  

The flames kept spreading, now covering his side of the court. A primal sense of danger flared in his chest—  

Boom.  

A massive tennis ball, like a falling mountain, materialized above him.  

Akutsu’s instincts screamed.  

His head jerked up—  

And there, in the darkened sky, loomed a pair of colossal, icy eyes.  

One glance.  

His soul froze.  

Bam!  

In reality, a golden streak flashed past Akutsu’s motionless form.  

"0-15!"  

The umpire’s call was hesitant.  

Akutsu’s head snapped toward Atobe—now standing with an aura so dense it felt like a physical force.  

"No way…" Oshitari and Mukahi whispered. "Is that… the Path of Asura ?!"*  

Chapter 522: Brutal—The Outcome of the First Battle**  

"Atobe has entered the Path of Asura?!"  

The members of Team Japan stared in shock.  

The Path of Asura!  

Among the middle schoolers, only Ishikawa had ever reached such a fearsome realm—a state of complete transformation that came from shattering one’s limits and awakening one’s deepest consciousness.  

If Atobe had truly comprehended the Path of Asura, then with his current physical prowess and skills, he had undeniably stepped into the professional tier.  

A 14-year-old professional!  

After Ishikawa, Atobe was now the second middle schooler in Team Japan to reach that level.  

"He broke through before Tezuka?"  

Fuji’s eyes snapped open, disbelief flashing in his usually calm gaze.  

Professional tier.  

That was the path Tezuka had been relentlessly pursuing, a concept that carried immense weight in everyone’s minds.  

When Ishikawa had first displayed his overwhelming power, it had been nothing short of awe-inspiring. But as his strength grew even further, people had gradually become numb to it—they had come to see Ishikawa as existing in a completely different dimension.  

But now, Atobe—someone they considered to be on the same level as themselves—had broken through, shocking them all over again.  

Especially Tezuka, Yukimura, and the others.  

Among the middle schoolers, they were the closest to the professional tier.  

"So this is it."  

Feeling the qualitative shift in Atobe’s aura, Yukimura murmured, "Only the pressure of a truly formidable opponent can unleash one’s full potential."  

For a moment, he even felt a pang of envy.  

Facing an opponent like Akutsu was, in a way, a stroke of luck. And Atobe had seized that opportunity to transcend his limits.  

"The Path of Asura, huh?"  

Akutsu’s eyes darkened as he sensed the pressure radiating from Atobe. Though he masked it quickly, Byoudouin, Medanore, and the others caught the flicker of tension.  

"He’s starting to feel the pressure," Byoudouin remarked with a faint smirk.  

"Akutsu?" Duke raised an eyebrow.  

It made sense. If his opponent suddenly broke through mid-match, even he would struggle to keep his composure.  

"But he’s still holding back," Byoudouin added, as if reading Akutsu’s thoughts. "He’s clinging to the hope that he can turn things around. That guy… he’s still afraid of that ability."  

Afraid?  

Duke’s mind flashed back to the image of a bloodstained court. He shuddered and shook his head violently.  

No kidding.  

Unless you had the mental fortitude of Volk, Ishikawa, or Byoudouin, there was no resisting the terrifying psychological assault of Muga no Kyouchi (Zone of Absolute Awareness).  

That was exactly why Akutsu had hesitated earlier—he feared losing himself to its overwhelming force.  

But now, Atobe’s breakthrough had pushed him into a corner.  

Thud! 

Bang! 

Thud! 

Bang!  

Yet, just as Byoudouin predicted, Akutsu stubbornly clung to the belief that he could still suppress Atobe with his Fivefold Muga no Kyouchi.  

But as the match wore on, Atobe fought back fiercely, winning three consecutive games and tying the score at 3-3.  

"Hah… hah…"  

Even Akutsu’s stamina was wearing thin from maintaining Muga no Kyouchi. Worse, his attacks were no longer effective.  

Cornered, he finally abandoned restraint and unleashed an even stronger form.  

Hummm!  

As Akutsu released his full power, his aura grew darker, more oppressive. A vein pulsed visibly on his forehead.  

Swish! 

Swish! Swish! Swish!  

Suddenly—six afterimages materialized on the court.  

"It’s here—Sixfold Muga no Kyouchi!"  

Mukahi and Shishido’s eyes widened.  

When Akutsu had challenged Byoudouin, he had barely managed Sevenfold Muga no Kyouchi before reaching his limit, his feet drenched in blood. Now, even at sixfold, his presence was far heavier than before.  

His strength had clearly grown.  

Rustle…  

On the other side, Atobe—bathed in golden flames—wore a grave expression.  

With each additional afterimage, the difficulty of returning Akutsu’s shots increased exponentially. But even now, Atobe could still track every minute shift in Akutsu’s movements.  

This was the power of his Path of Asura—Emperor’s Eye.  

It pierced through all deception, seeing the truth behind every feint, every motion.  

Atobe had indeed reached the professional tier.  

Yet despite that, a shadow loomed over him. The metallic scent of blood was slowly spreading across the court.  

Bang! 

Thud! 

Bang! 

Thud!  

The rallies grew faster, more brutal.  

Sweat flew with every swing. The scoreboard flickered relentlessly.  

4-3! 

4-4! 

5-4! 

5-5! 

6-5! 

6-6!  

Finally—tiebreak.  

A grueling war of attrition.  

As the match dragged on, Akutsu’s feet left bloody prints on the court. The skin had torn from the sheer force of his movements. The sight sent chills down everyone’s spines.  

Atobe wasn’t faring much better.  

His vision blurred from overusing his Emperor’s Eye. His brain flickered with disjointed images, his focus slipping.  

Drip. 

Drip.  

Blood and sweat pooled on the court, painting a grim tableau.  

"Ugh…"  

Both teams watched in tense silence.  

Even the international players in the stands wore solemn expressions.  

Heavy. 

Suffocating.  

The atmosphere weighed on them like a boulder. As the match grew more brutal, awe settled over the crowd.  

Akutsu’s ferocity, his relentless will—clashing against Atobe’s regal, unyielding resolve.  

Their battle wasn’t just physical. It was a clash of spirits, reverberating through every spectator.  

Some even found themselves sweating, their own nerves fraying from the intensity.  

"What… what kind of match is this?!"  

Germany’s Siegfried, Switzerland’s Henri, France’s Jaludo—all the middle schoolers felt their hearts pound.  

They had known the professional tier was beyond their reach. But this? This was a slaughter.  

Atobe and Akutsu fought like warriors on a battlefield, holding nothing back.  

Five minutes. 

Ten. 

Thirty. 

Forty-five.  

Gradually, Akutsu’s shots weakened. His Muga no Kyouchi dwindled—from sixfold to five, then four, then three… until he could no longer sustain it.  

Atobe, too, was spent.  

His legs trembled. His drenched body looked like he’d been pulled from water. His overworked eyes streamed with tears, mixing with sweat.  

"At this point, it’s not about skill or stamina anymore," Mitsuya observed quietly. "It’s a battle of wills."  

"A-Akutsu…!"  

Atobe stood at the baseline, his throat burning with every breath. His body screamed in protest, barely holding itself upright.  

Yet when Akutsu returned his serve, he forced himself forward.  

"Freeze…!"  

With a silent command, Atobe unleashed his Emperor’s Eye one last time. The air shimmered with icy spears, raining down on Akutsu.  

Crack. 

Crack.  

But his vision flickered—black and white static eating at the edges.  

He had long since pushed past his limits. Continuing like this risked permanent blindness.  

"Haaah—!"  

Yet Atobe gritted his teeth, his eyes snapping wide open.  

"Freeze… COMPLETELY!!"  

BOOM!  

The ice around Akutsu turned crimson. The blood-stained spears reflected his every flaw, exposing his weak points.  

"Got it!"  

Atobe swung with everything he had.  

Thud!  

The ball launched forward—  

"Huh?!"  

But the moment it left his racket, Atobe’s face twisted in dismay.  

His arm, numb and aching, had betrayed him. The shot felt wrong.  

A bitter laugh escaped him.  

He’d forgotten—his precision was long gone. Even if he saw the opening, what good was it if he couldn’t hit it?  

"RAAH!"  

On the other side, Akutsu—veins bulging, feet leaving bloody prints—roared as he lunged for the ball.  

His reflexes were still sharp.  

Tap!  

But the moment his foot hit the ground, agony lanced through him. His body, pushed far beyond its limits, finally rebelled.  

Yet he refused to fall.  

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself forward—  

Sliiiide—!  

Then, in a moment no one saw coming—  

His foot slipped.  

"NO—!"  

As he stumbled, Akutsu’s mind blanked. But in the next instant, his eyes burned with raw fury.  

"DAMN IT—!"  

With a final, desperate lunge, he stretched his racket forward—  

Tap.  

A soft sound echoed.  

The crowd froze.  

Plop.  

The ball hit the net tape—  

Bounced once.  

Twice.  

"Gulp."  

Team Japan and Team Spain held their breaths, fists clenched.  

Then—  

The ball rolled over.  

Landing on Atobe’s side.  

Silence.  

Absolute, deafening silence.  

Chapter 523: Seigaku’s Future, Spain’s Pillar  

"Game. Set."  

"Spain’s Akutsu wins!"  

"6-7, 6-1, 7-6!"  

The umpire’s voice shattered the silence that had gripped the stadium.  

"Finally… it’s over."  

Both teams—even the defeated Japanese squad—felt a weight lift.  

This match had been brutal.  

Neither Atobe nor Akutzu resembled their usual dominant selves. Atobe, though exhausted, remained upright. Akutsu lay sprawled on the court like a beached fish, utterly drained.  

Everyone understood:  

This wasn’t just a battle of skill, stamina, or willpower.  

It came down to luck.  

Akutsu’s victory was pyrrhic—a hairsbreadth win that left Spain’s bench eerily subdued. The World Cup finals’ merciless intensity had just announced itself.  

"A remarkable match."  

Germany’s Volk, rarely one to comment, spoke quietly. Though both players were barely pro-level, their tenacity had moved him.  

Compared to them?  

Germany’s middle-schoolers seemed… lacking.  

"Spain has the momentum." Bismarck analyzed. "The next doubles match is critical."  

Japan had clawed back from 0-2 in the semifinals, but another loss here would cripple them. If Spain gambled—say, fielding Medanore in doubles—Japan’s strategy could collapse entirely.  

"Not so simple."  

Q.P. shook his head. "Remember this year’s rule: Each round requires at least three middle-schoolers."  

This restriction neutered the Big 4’s usual dominance. Japan’s rise to Tier 1 (arguably Tier 0) owed much to their middle-school depth.  

"Ah." Bismarck’s eyes narrowed. "So their lineup choices will be… interesting."  

"Next up: Doubles 2!"  

"Japan’s Tezuka Kunimitsu (3rd year) & Yukimura Seiichi (3rd year) vs. Spain’s Echizen Ryoma (1st year) & Seda (1st year)!"  

"Players, prepare!"  

"Echizen?!"  

On the Japanese side, Seigaku’s Oishi and Kaidou stiffened. Their expressions twisted as they watched their former teammate stride onto the court in Spanish colors.  

Seigaku’s future… their pillar… now standing with the enemy.  

"Tch." Observing their reaction, St. Rudolph’s Mizuki smirked. "How poetic—Seigaku’s hope became Spain’s weapon."  

"You—!" Momoshiro and Kaidou lunged, only for Oishi and Kikumaru to yank them back.  

"Enough." Oishi’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp. "Watch. The match is starting."  

Grudgingly, the two subsided, though their eyes burned as they tracked Ryoma’s movements.  

"Ryoma."  

Beside Ryoma, Seda—his face half-hidden behind a metallic mask—glanced at Tezuka. "That glasses-wearing guy… he was your captain in Japan, right?"  

"…Yeah."  

Ryoma’s grip tightened on his racket.  

Seigaku… Tezuka…  

He couldn’t sever those bonds. After the World Cup, he’d return. But today? Today, he stood against them.  

Steeling himself, he stepped onto the court.  

"Interesting."  

Seda studied Tezuka with newfound respect. "To unsettle Echizen Ryoma… This ‘Tezuka’ must be exceptional."  

Japan’s middle-school hierarchy placed Tezuka just below Ishikawa—a fact Seda had verified through match footage.  

But Seda wasn’t intimidated.  

Among Spain’s middle-schoolers, only Ryoga intimidated him. Even Fernandez was beatable. Akutsu’s feral style unnerved him slightly, and Ryoma? Ryoma’s pedigree (being the Echizen Nanjiroh’s son) hinted at untapped potential.  

This match might be more thrilling than he’d anticipated.  

"Tezuka."  

On Japan’s side, Yukimura smiled as they walked onto the court. "Who’d have thought we’d face Echizen in the finals?"  

"Mm."  

Tezuka’s response was curt, but Yukimura sensed no hostility.  

"Honestly?" Yukimura adjusted his jacket. "I’m more surprised to be paired with you."  

Tezuka glanced at him.  

Three years ago, as elementary students, their paths had crossed briefly. Yukimura had just won a tournament; Tezuka arrived late but effortlessly crushed Yukimura’s runner-up, Sanada, before overwhelming Yukimura himself.  

Their unfinished match lingered.  

Then Ishikawa emerged, reshaping Japan’s tennis hierarchy. The "Child of God" who’d led Rikkai to back-to-back national titles now stood beside Tezuka—the current de facto #2 among middle-schoolers.  

"A shame," Yukimura mused. "I’d have preferred singles."  

He longed to settle their unfinished business.  

"Singles, huh—"  

"Long time no see, Buchou."  

Ryoma’s voice cut through Tezuka’s thoughts. The younger boy stood at the net, grinning.  

"Echizen."  

Tezuka’s chest tightened, but duty overrode sentiment.  

"I never imagined we’d meet like this," he said sternly. "But no matter the circumstances, never hold back. Give this match everything you have, Echizen Ryoma!"  

"Wouldn’t dream of slacking."  

Ryoma’s smirk sharpened. "This time… I’ll be the one winning."  

For a moment, it felt like their clash under the train tracks half a year ago—a duel between mentor and protégé.  

"Well then."  

Seda yawned, tucking his racket under his arm. "Shall we give these two their reunion? You don’t mind, do you?"  

His gaze locked onto Yukimura.  

"Hm?"  

A psychic pulse lashed out—subtle but potent. Seda’s signature move: implanting a mental "seed" to manipulate opponents later.  

"By all means."  

Yukimura’s smile didn’t waver as he crushed the intrusion effortlessly. "I’ve no objections."  

Thus, an unspoken agreement formed.  

Despite being a doubles match, Yukimura and Seda retreated, leaving Tezuka and Ryoma center stage.  

"Game set! Best of three!"  

"First set, Spain’s Echizen to serve!"  

The crowd’s focus zeroed in on Ryoma.  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

The ball bounced thrice before Ryoma tossed it high—  

—And unleashed a serve that drew gasps.  

"That form…!"  

Germany’s Frankensteiner’s brow furrowed. "Clean technique. Impressive spin."  

"Professional-grade execution," Bismarck noted approvingly.  

Even by Germany’s exacting standards, Ryoma’s mechanics were flawless.  

"Please." Siegfried scoffed. "It’s decent for middle-schoolers, but this is the World Cu—WHAT?!"  

His derision died as the ball, after bouncing, jerked sideways at a 90-degree angle, evading Tezuka’s swing entirely.  

"That serve—?!"  

Switzerland’s Lampard and Henry bolted upright.  

"Ryoga’s Super Twist Serve?!"  

The very move that had troubled pro player Tanishi!  

And this first-year… had replicated it perfectly.  

"Just who is this kid?!"  

A stunned murmur rippled through the stadium.  

Chapter 524: The Unbreakable Barrier Shatters—The Mental Suggestion Crumbles in an Instant  

"Super Twist!!!"  

The sudden change in the tennis ball’s trajectory left the crowd stunned. While they were impressed by Ryoma’s skill, they couldn’t help but assume the Japanese team’s player was about to be outplayed.  

Thud!  

Yet, against all expectations, Tezuka merely adjusted his racket with a slight twist, altering his stance effortlessly before striking the ball with precision.  

"As expected of our captain."  

Ryoma wasn’t surprised in the least.  

No one understood Tezuka’s strength better than he did. The memory of their battle under the overpass was still vivid in his mind.  

Snap!  

Sure enough, as Ryoma lunged forward, the ball landed perfectly on the sideline.  

Such control couldn’t have been a fluke—but for Tezuka, this was just normal.  

Thud!  

Ryoma swung his racket swiftly, returning the ball the moment it bounced.  

But Tezuka was faster.  

In a flash, he intercepted the ball’s path and slammed it down on the opposite sideline.  

Tap! Tap!  

The cap-wearing boy sprinted after it.  

Yet, Seda, watching from the sidelines, furrowed his brows. "How is this possible? In just three exchanges, Ryoma’s serve advantage is already gone?"  

He knew Ryoma’s abilities well.  

Though the boy’s physical stats weren’t top-tier, his tactical brilliance and match experience made him a formidable opponent. Even Seda, who had never faced him directly, had assumed Ryoma would dominate the first game effortlessly.  

But in barely twenty seconds, he was already on the back foot.  

"Tezuka Kunimitsu."  

Seda’s gaze sharpened as he studied the bespectacled player across the court.  

Rumors said he was nearing professional-level skill—and now, it seemed undeniable.  

Tap! Tap! Tap!  

Ryoma accelerated.  

Tezuka’s eyes glinted coldly. "What’s wrong, Ryoma? Can’t keep up?"  

"Tch."  

Ryoma’s brow twitched before he burst forward, intercepting the ball mid-air and swinging without hesitation.  

"Half-volley!!!"  

Seda inwardly praised the move—it was executed flawlessly. A well-timed surprise attack like this could easily turn the tide.  

Thud!  

But in the next instant, a streak of pale yellow light flashed right past him.  

"0-15!"  

The umpire’s call left Seda and the rest of the Spanish team frozen.  

"You’ve regressed, Ryoma."  

Tezuka’s voice was calm, as if he’d done nothing noteworthy. He strode toward the net, while Yukimura stepped to the baseline, smiling faintly.  

"Warm-up’s over. Don’t disappoint him."  

Ryoma didn’t respond.  

Unlike someone like Kintarou, he wasn’t the type to lose his cool over a taunt. He knew Tezuka was just provoking him to take the match seriously.  

"I know."  

Still, he nodded politely at Yukimura.  

Thud!  

His next serve was powerful.  

Yukimura returned it smoothly, placing the ball dead center before retreating, leaving the stage to the two rivals.  

Thud! Thud! Thud!  

Ryoma darted forward with nimble footwork, countering aggressively.  

Tezuka met each shot with flawless precision, his control so refined it was almost inhuman—every ball landed at the corners like threaded needles.  

Ryoma defended fiercely, searching for openings.  

Then, Tezuka struck first—activating his signature "Tezuka Zone."  

"Heh."  

Ryoma smirked, recognizing the spin. "Captain, I’ve seen this move too many times!"  

Whoosh!  

His return shot veered sharply away from Tezuka’s intended pull—had he broken the Zone?  

Snap!  

But as the ball landed, the umpire frowned.  

"Out! 0-30!"  

"What?"  

Ryoma’s expression darkened.  

"Tezka Phantom?"  

He’d been fooled—mistaking Tezuka’s feint for the real Zone.  

"The pinnacle of control?"  

Inui adjusted his glasses, stunned. "I didn’t expect Tezuka to unveil this move so soon."  

By all accounts, this was his strongest technique—second only to the "Perfect Harmony" state.  

"No."  

Fuji shook his head. "That wasn’t the perfected version. Just a basic Phantom. Ryoma misread it."  

His eyes gleamed with intrigue.  

Ryoma was sharp—bold, calculating, and always willing to take risks that somehow paid off.  

Yet this time, Tezuka had outmaneuvered him.  

"Clearly," Fuji thought, "Tezuka’s skills have reached another level."  

"Mada mada dane."  

On the court, Ryoma adjusted his cap, muttering the phrase almost self-deprecatingly.  

Hum!  

A milky-white aura erupted around him.  

"The State of Self-Actualization?!"  

The crowd gasped.  

Even players from other countries turned their heads in surprise.  

"Tch."  

Germany’s Siegfried scoffed. "Just the basic level—not even 'Pinnacle of Hard Work.'"  

Having mastered the state himself, he had the authority to judge.  

Whoosh!  

But then, Ryoma moved.  

His serve arced high before he smashed it down with blistering speed.  

Snap!  

The ball hit the court—but instead of bouncing, its fibers twisted inward, spinning back toward the net.  

"Zero-Shiki Serve?!"  

France’s Georges, Switzerland’s Lambert, and others gasped.  

In an instant, the way they viewed Ryoma shifted entirely.  

Even Siegfried’s expression turned serious. Despite mastering the Self-Actualization state, he couldn’t execute a Zero-Shiki Serve at this level.  

Ryoma wasn’t just a beginner—his technique was terrifyingly advanced.  

Thud!  

But just as everyone assumed Ryoma had secured the point—  

Snap!  

A crisp impact echoed.  

Tezuka had returned it.  

"Well…" Seda sighed. "Trying that against its creator was a mistake."  

No one understood the Zero-Shiki Serve better than Tezuka himself.  

Whoosh!  

Yet, the ball curved unnaturally, landing at Ryoma’s backhand side.  

"The Zone?!" Seda’s eyes widened. "So he predicted his own serve would be countered… Truly, the genius of that man’s bloodline."  

Hum!  

A radiant glow enveloped Ryoma as his racket flashed with crimson embers.  

"Invading Fire?"  

"No—"  

"Not just fire. There’s wind too. This is—!"  

Sanada’s gaze sharpened. "That man’s 'Raging Storm'!!!"  

A devastating strike combining wind and fire—the same technique that had overwhelmed Sanada back in the Kantō Tournament.  

Boom!  

The ball shot like a cannonball.  

Crash!  

But Tezuka’s return smashed into the court beside Ryoma before he could react.  

The ground cracked slightly under the impact.  

"Hiss—"  

The crowd inhaled sharply.  

"Hundred Strikes of Discipline?!"  

Thousand Strings’ voice wavered.  

But Tezuka showed no aura—no sign of the Self-Actualization state.  

"Which means…" Shiraishi mused. "He can now unleash double-powered returns in his normal state?"  

"Hundred Strikes… as his baseline?"  

The realization sent chills down spines.  

"To refine that technique to such a degree… Tezuka." Sanada’s gaze burned with intensity.  

Yet Tezuka’s face remained impassive, as if this were nothing remarkable.  

"Captain Tezuka…"  

Ryoma stared, shaken.  

He’d always known Tezuka was strong—but not this strong.  

Tezuka merely glanced at him before turning away, leaving Ryoma’s chest tight with frustration.  

"I get it now."  

Clenching his fist, Ryoma retreated to the baseline and unleashed another fierce serve.  

Thud!  

Yukimura returned it neutrally before stepping aside again.  

Ryoma’s focus was entirely on Tezuka—he needed to prove himself.  

But he’d underestimated his opponent.  

Even with the Self-Actualization state, he couldn’t breach Tezuka’s defenses.  

Watching the match spiral, Seda finally stood.  

"This guy’s being way too stubborn."  

He sighed.  

The usually adaptable Ryoma was now locked in a futile clash. This was the World Cup finals—his stubbornness was reckless.  

Thud!  

Tezuka struck again—a viciously spinning shot that drilled into the far corner.  

"The Zone… failed?!"  

Ryoma paled as the ball refused to curve toward him.  

Tezuka’s spin control was unparalleled—even with the Self-Actualization state, replicating it was near impossible. Only someone like Ryoma, trained relentlessly by Nanjirou, could come close.  

And yet, the gap was still immense.  

For the first time, Ryoma felt helpless—like facing an insurmountable wall.  

Swish!  

But then—  

A figure suddenly cut between them, intercepting the ball’s path.  

"Seda?!"  

The Spanish team stiffened.  

"No choice," Seda muttered, already in position. "This is the finals. I can’t just stand by."  

His eyes flicked to the blue-haired boy in the外套.  

"If I target him instead, it’s not breaking the duel, right?"  

Smirking, he swung.  

Thud!  

As the ball launched, Seda’s potent mental waves surged outward.  

"Eliminate one first, then gang up on the other."  

Tezuka unnerved him—whether it was his supreme Zone, Zero-Shiki, or Pinnacle of Hard Work, Seda couldn’t ignore the threat.  

His plan was simple: take out Yukimura, then team up with Ryoma to crush Tezuka.  

As for the other Japanese player? Collateral damage.  

And a test subject for his hypnosis.  

"Aramenoma… Aramenoma…"  

The eerie chant wrapped around Yukimura like a spell.  

"Now… become my puppet."  

Crack!  

A sound like shattering glass echoed in Seda’s mind.  

In his mental world, the layers of hypnotic suggestion around Yukimura splintered apart instantly.  

Thud!  

A yellow streak exploded at Seda’s feet.  

"Game!"  

"Japan leads, 1-0! Change sides!"  

Silence.  

The stadium was dead quiet.  

No one understood what had just happened—why Seda had intervened, or why he now stood frozen.  

"Not even a second of resistance…?"  

Seda looked up, his gaze heavy as it locked onto coat-clad boy.  

"Yukimura Seiichi… So Japan has someone like you too?"  

Chapter 525: The Stripped Halo, Rebirth of Despair!  

Seda was stunned.  

His psychic hypnosis—which had failed only against Ishikawa in the entire World Cup—had just been neutralized again. By this Japanese player.  

Interesting.  

A competitive fire ignited in his chest.  

But the match marched on.  

Second game. Japan’s serve.  

Thwack!  

Tezuka’s Zero-Shiki Serve exploded onto the court. Before Seda could react, the ball spun violently backward, rolling harmlessly against the net.  

"15-0!"  

"Zero-Shiki…"  

Seda’s throat tightened.  

Even having seen it before, the sheer perfection of the technique chilled him.  

This level… is terrifying.  

When Ryoma faced it next, the gap became painfully clear. Compared to Tezuka’s flawless execution, Ryoma’s imitation earlier had been child’s play.  

"30-0!"  

"40-0!"  

"Game! Japan leads 2-0!"  

A flawless hold.  

"Is he really a middle-schooler?!"  

"That serve’s pro-level!"  

The crowd buzzed. Even Japan’s bench celebrated—though Oishi wore a frown.  

"Tezuka’s wrist… Zero-Shiki’s strain—"  

"Resolved."  

Yagyuu adjusted his glasses. "According to Yanagi’s data, Tezuka’s Supreme Zone redistributes rotational stress. Zero-Shiki and Zone no longer damage him."  

Oishi exhaled in relief. That old injury had shackled Tezuka’s potential for years. Without it?  

He could’ve gone pro already.  

"Echizen’s screwed now!" Momoshiro grinned.  

On court, Seda’s smirk had vanished.  

Two games down. This can’t continue.  

"Time to act."  

As he stepped up to serve, Japanese players tensed.  

This masked Spaniard wouldn’t go quietly.  

Hummm!  

Without warning, prismatic light erupted from Seda’s body, coalescing into a radiant halo above him. His aura shifted—ethereal, untouchable, like a god observing mortals.  

"That’s—?!"  

Mitsuya’s voice cracked. "Zeus’s Olympus Halo?!"  

"Impossible!"  

Greece’s team jerked upright. Olympus Halo—Zeus’s signature move, rivaling the Pinnacle Auras in potency.  

Yet here it was, wielded by a Spaniard.  

Zeus himself smiled faintly.  

So this is where you went, Seda.  

He remembered the gentle boy from their training camp, who’d left after witnessing cruelty. To see that talent bloom—even for another nation—warmed his heart.  

"But your opponents…" Zeus’s gaze sharpened. "…are monsters."  

Boom!  

Seda’s serve tore through the air, its afterimage painting the court in light. Most spectators lost track entirely—  

—Only for Yukimura to casually return it.  

"His reflexes…!"  

Spain’s bench stiffened. Against Olympus Halo-enhanced shots, Yukimura looked… bored.  

"Nice return."  

Seda lunged forward, retaliating with a vicious angle. Yukimura chased it down, his jacket still draped effortlessly over his shoulders.  

"How?!"  

Spain’s players paled.  

Seda was fighting at peak elite level, bordering on pro-tier. Yet Yukimura matched him without breaking stride.  

Frustration boiled in Seda’s chest.  

That jacket… it’s mocking me!  

"Enough!"  

A sudden drop shot lured Yukimura forward. As he scrambled, Seda leapt—  

"This ends now!"  

His smash aimed squarely at Yukimura’s defiant jacket.  

"Out!"  

"0-15!"  

"WHAT?!"  

Spain’s celebration died mid-cheer. The ball had landed inches wide.  

"Tezuka’s Phantom?!"  

Ryoma’s eyes darted to Tezuka—but the captain hadn’t moved.  

Then…  

A darker possibility surfaced:  

Yips.  

Yukimura’s infamous "Five Senses Theft."  

But that shouldn’t work—Olympus Halo should purge mental interference like Pinnacle Aura did.  

Unless…  

Ryoma’s stomach dropped.  

It’s something worse.  

"Why…?"  

Seda stared at his shaking hands. That smash had been perfect. Yet…  

"0-30!"  

Another "miss."  

Then—  

"0-40!"  

"Game! Japan leads 3-0!"  

Horror dawned on Spain’s bench.  

Seda’s pupils had vanished—his eyes blank, unseeing.  

"He’s lost his vision!" Medanore hissed.  

"Not just vision."  

Ryoga’s voice cut through the panic. "Yukimura didn’t just steal his senses. Look closer."  

A collective gasp followed.  

The luminous Olympus Halo around Seda…  

…was disintegrating.  

"He’s stripping the Halo itself?!"  

Zeus’s cup clattered to the ground.  

"Game! Japan leads 4-0!"  

"Game! Japan leads 5-0!"  

Seda moved like a puppet with cut strings. Spain’s morale cratered.  

Yet—  

"Wait."  

Tezuka and Yukimura exchanged glances.  

A pressure was building—  

—Dark, suffocating, like storm clouds before the deluge.  

"Ah."  

Ryoga’s grin returned.  

"When pressure exceeds limits…"  

BOOM!  

Black energy erupted from Seda, engulfing the court.  

"Despair’s Radiance."  

Coach Mikuni sat forward, suddenly alert.  

"The forbidden Dark Pinnacle Aura!"  

(Chapter End)