516-520

Chapter 516: Cultivation and Reaping  

Akutsu left.  

As he walked away, he casually took Fernandez’s twisted racket with him.  

Left behind were a stunned Charlot and the Spanish team’s young player, pinned to the wire fence, his face twisted with frustration.  

"Romeo! Are you okay?"  

Only after Akutsu’s figure had completely disappeared did Charlot snap out of his daze. He hurried over to free his friend, then couldn’t help but mutter in awe, "That guy was insanely strong!"  

"Yeah."  

Fernandez exhaled sharply.  

Akutsu’s strength had completely surpassed his expectations. But then, remembering the other’s background, he chuckled bitterly. "Though I guess it makes sense… After all, he was part of that Ishikawa’s middle school team."  

"Ishikawa?!"  

Charlot’s eyes widened in shock.  

"Wait—"  

Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. His voice dropped to a whisper. "If I remember right… that Atobe guy also went to the same middle school as him, didn’t he?"  

A strange realization dawned on him.  

Meanwhile, at the Spanish team’s hotel...  

"Mr. Nanjirou."  

Vice-captain Flio Roman stepped into the makeshift office. "I’d like to confirm—have you finalized the lineup for tomorrow’s finals?"  

Though technically the vice-captain, Roman was the one who handled most of the team’s management. In truth, he had been the original captain—until he stepped aside to make room for Medanore’s return.  

But Medanore had no interest in administrative work, leaving Roman as the de facto leader under the head coach.  

"No rush."  

Slouched in his chair, legs propped up on the desk, the unkempt middle-aged man waved lazily. "Don’t worry, I’ll hand you the list when the time’s right."  

"…Understood."  

Roman suppressed a sigh.  

He was a pragmatist, used to planning ahead and executing with precision. But this disheveled man—despite his appearance—had a vision, coaching ability, and razor-sharp insight into matches that left Roman in awe.  

Against his better judgment, he had no choice but to trust the legend before him.  

BANG!  

Just then—  

The door burst open with violent force.  

"Who—?"  

Roman whirled around, ready to reprimand the intruder—only to freeze. "Akutsu?! What are you— Wait, whose racket is that?"  

"Here, old man. I’m out."  

Ignoring him, Akutsu tossed the racket onto the desk and strode away without another word.  

"This…"  

Even someone as adaptable as Roman could only shake his head at the boy’s attitude. He turned back to Nanjirou, quickly explaining, "You know how he is—"  

"That brat… Whatever, I’m used to it."  

Nanjirou shrugged, then glanced at the warped racket on the table, grinning. "Looks like we’ve got one of our finalists decided."  

"Finalist?"  

Roman’s gaze snapped to the racket—and his pupils shrank in recognition.  

This belonged to Romeo Fernandez, one of Spain’s most talented middle schoolers. A wealthy prodigy with terrifying skills, Fernandez had been nearly unbeatable in the original Spanish lineup—second only to the enigmatic Seda.  

Even after the additions of Ryoga and others, Fernandez remained a dominant force, crushing even high schoolers with ease.  

But now, his racket—twisted and broken—lay on Nanjirou’s desk.  

A player’s racket was an extension of themselves.  

And now, its presence here spoke volumes.  

"Tch."  

Roman exhaled sharply.  

He hated that the team’s final lineup was being decided through internal battles. But he understood—against a powerhouse like Japan, only the strongest could prevail.  

His gaze lingered on Nanjirou, a silent question forming in his mind.  

Akutsu and Fernandez’s fight is over… but what about the others?  

At the same time, near a street tennis court…  

A boy with slicked-back, purple hair—glossy with pomade—strode forward, the sunlight glinting off his styled locks. Behind him trailed several boys in white jackets.  

This was Kite and his team from Higa Middle School.  

Earlier, in the halls of the Spanish team’s hotel, Kite had successfully challenged Seda, the masked Spanish prodigy, to a match.  

Their agreement was simple:  

Whoever won here would secure a spot in the finals.  

"Seda… You’re strong."  

Gripping his racket, Kite’s mind flashed to the image of the aloof boy with his hands in his pockets. "But in the end, you’ll just be a stepping stone for me."  

For this World Cup, he had bided his time—training relentlessly while setting his sights on Spain’s top talent.  

If he could defeat Seda, he’d earn his place in the finals.  

Win or lose, Kite would catch the attention of tennis investors. With their backing, he’d rise as a superstar on the world stage.  

"My destiny starts here— Huh?!"  

But the moment Kite stepped onto the court, he froze.  

Because standing at the opposite baseline wasn’t Seda.  

It was Ryoga Echizen—the green-haired prodigy with professional-level skills, the one who had effortlessly crushed Switzerland’s vice-captain, Tasta, in the semifinals.  

"Damn it… I’ve been tricked."  

Kite’s stomach dropped.  

Seda had set him up.  

This was a trap.  

"Uh… Ryoga-senpai."  

Swallowing his unease, Kite forced a calm tone. "My apologies. I had a match scheduled here with Seda. I didn’t expect you to—"  

"Play me, Eishirou."  

Ryoga cut him off. "If you can take even one point from me, I’ll let you face Seda."  

"I—"  

Kite hesitated.  

He had no idea what Ryoga was planning, but he didn’t want this match. He’d seen what happened to Tasta.  

Ryoga’s tennis was dangerous.  

"Relax, I won’t take your ability."  

Ryoga smirked, waving a hand dismissively. "I just want to see how far you’ve come. Whether you’re worthy of being my ally."  

"Ally…?"  

Kite’s eyes narrowed.  

Ryoga’s words sparked something in him.  

True, his skills were formidable among middle schoolers—but against this monster? Meaningless.  

Even his strongest technique, Corrupted Radiance, was something Ryoga already possessed. There was nothing to steal.  

And if Kite refused now?  

He’d lose his shot at the finals.  

That was unacceptable.  

So in the end, despite the illusion of choice, there was only one answer.  

"Fine!"  

Kite agreed without hesitation.  

"Eishirou…"  

Hirakoba, Kai, and the others watched with concern.  

Ryoga was a pro-level player. Kite stood no chance. Worse, they’d all seen what happened to Tasta.  

Ryoga’s abilities were terrifying.  

But they could only watch as Kite stepped onto the court.  

The match began.  

Kite opened with Big Bang Serve, followed by Cobra, Pirate’s Horn, and Shukuchi—his movements sharp, his playstyle ruthless.  

He had grown strong.  

But Ryoga dismantled every technique with ease.  

Kite’s frustration mounted—though he was relieved his abilities remained intact. With nothing left to lose, he unleashed his ultimate move:  

Corrupted Radiance!  

Dark energy erupted around him, his already aggressive style turning feral.  

Even from the sidelines, Hirakoba and the others felt chills.  

Yet Ryoga remained unfazed, countering everything with effortless precision.  

As the match dragged on, Kite grew desperate.  

His attacks grew wilder, his form crumbling—until he was forced back into his base state.  

"Hah… Hah…"  

Panting, drenched in sweat, Kite’s purple hair clung to his face in disarray.  

He couldn’t believe it.  

Not one point.  

His eyes, when they met Ryoga’s, were filled with dread.  

"Is this all you’ve got?"  

Ryoga sighed, disappointed.  

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he served—a seemingly slow, ordinary shot.  

But to Kite, the ball expanded in his vision, morphing into a crushing mountain of pressure.  

"Wha—?!"  

Fear.  

Despair.  

For a split second, Kite’s instincts screamed at him to run.  

But his pride—his killer’s instinct—flared instead.  

"It’s not over!"  

"My tennis won’t end here!"  

**"I’m Kite Eishirou—the KILLER!"**  

His emotions surged, his mind teetering on the edge—until, under Ryoga’s mental pressure, something snapped.  

A crimson aura exploded around him.  

"Oh?"  

From the shadows, a silver-haired boy in a mask—Seda—watched with mild surprise.  

"I didn’t expect this level of potential."  

Kite’s body was like a vessel—perfectly designed to store and amplify negative emotions.  

"I see."  

Seda’s gaze shifted to Ryoga, who stood unfazed under the bloody glow.  

"So this was his goal all along."  

"The fruit… is finally ripe."  

On the court…  

Ryoga observed Kite’s crimson aura, the suffocating despair radiating from him.  

**"The legendary Radiance of Despair… I’ll be taking it."**  

"Hn."  

His eyes gleamed.  

With a single swing, Ryoga’s presence shifted—a monstrous shadow swallowing Kite whole.  

"Guh—!"  

Kite collapsed onto the court, gasping, his aura shattered.  

"Eishirou!"  

Hirakoba and the others rushed forward, relieved to see the dark energy gone.  

But Kite and Seda knew better.  

"You lost."  

Ryoga dusted himself off. "But I’ll give you one more chance. In two hours, face Seda here. The winner becomes my ally."  

With that, he turned—his gaze locking onto Seda’s hidden position.  

"Gulp."  

For the first time, Seda felt a chill.  

That single glance carried an overwhelming pressure—worse than when he’d tried to hypnotize that monster from Japan’s team on the beach.  

"…Understood."  

Seda nodded sharply.  

Ryoga had already stepped into that realm. In all of Spain, only Medanore could rival him now.  

But ambition burned in Seda’s chest.  

He wouldn’t mind being Ryoga’s ally.  

As for Kite?  

Seda spared him one last glance before walking away.  

He had never been a threat to begin with.  

Chapter 517: The World Cup Final – Japan vs. Spain*  

In corners unseen by others, players from both finalist teams were doing everything they could to secure their spot on the court.  

Night fell.  

The once-bustling beach was now eerily quiet.  

Under the moonlight,  

a lone figure stood on the embankment, gazing silently at the dark, endless sea.  

“We should go, Captain.”  

A tall, androgynous young man spoke up.  

To an outsider, they might have looked like a couple taking a romantic stroll by the shore.  

“Wait a little longer.”  

The young man—Spain’s captain, Antonio Medanore, known as the "Genius Maverick"—seemed to merge with the night. Though he stood right there, his presence felt elusive, almost intangible to his companion, Mars.  

Real?  

Illusion?  

“Has the Captain’s mental strength… already reached such a terrifying level?”  

Powerful enough to distort reality—that was the realm Germany’s captain, Volk, the world’s top high school player, had demonstrated in yesterday’s semifinals.  

But now,  

it seemed Medanore’s mastery, if not equal to Volk’s, was frighteningly close.  

“Wait…?”  

Mars’ thoughts raced as a realization struck him. “Captain… are you waiting for someone?”  

He was genuinely surprised.  

In his memory, Medanore had always been aloof and reticent. Even when Friol Roman had pleaded for him to join the team, it took multiple attempts and unwavering sincerity to convince him.  

And yet,  

this same person was now waiting alone on a deserted beach the night before the finals—for someone?  

“He’s here.”  

Medanore spoke abruptly.  

Huh?  

Mars instinctively turned and saw a tall figure approaching slowly.  

“Who is—?”  

Mars was curious about who could warrant Medanore’s patience. But when he got a clear look at the man’s face, his eyes widened.  

“Him? Japan’s Byoudouin Houou?”  

“Oh?”  

Byoudouin, standing on higher ground, noticed Mars and smirked. “You invited me here but brought company? What, afraid I’ll finish you off?”  

“Arrogant!”  

Mars narrowed his eyes. “You’re overstepping. Our captain isn’t someone you can disrespect.”  

“Heh.”  

Byoudouin chuckled. “I’ve heard of you—Spain’s ‘Sniper.’ They say you can nail a headshot from 200 meters. Wonder if the rumors hold up.”  

“Care to test it?”  

A cold glint flashed in Mars’ eyes.  

Seeing Byoudouin shrug in response, Mars’ expression darkened. Without hesitation, he tossed a tennis ball into the air, drew his racket, and unleashed a bullet-like serve aimed straight at Byoudouin’s head.  

Whoosh!  

The ball shot forward like a projectile—a test of skill and a warning.  

Mars wanted to gauge the strength of Japan’s so-called "Big Three," the man standing beside Ryoma Echizen as one of the team’s strongest.  

But to his shock,  

Byoudouin didn’t flinch. His expression remained unchanged as the ball hurtled toward him.  

Is he insane?  

Mars wondered if the darkness had hidden the ball’s trajectory. But if so—why would Medanore wait for someone like this?  

Snap!  

Then—  

Byoudouin tilted his head slightly, his left hand casually snatching the ball mid-flight.  

Mars froze.  

“No… way.”  

Even his usual composure shattered.  

That was his Sniper Serve—blazing speed, enough force to numb an opponent’s arm on impact.  

Yet this man had caught it bare-handed.  

Is he a monster?  

The thought flashed through Mars’ mind before he dismissed it. No—his hand must be in agony. He’s just hiding it.  

That had to be the explanation.  

Crackle.  

Crackle.  

But then, Byoudouin opened his palm, revealing a tennis ball now glowing with golden light.  

“If you dare attack me, be prepared to face destruction.”  

With that,  

his eyes sharpened as he swung his racket, smashing the radiant ball forward like a cannon blast.  

BOOM!  

The golden streak tore through the air, hurtling toward Mars.  

“This is—Glow Shot?!”  

Mars recognized it instantly—a devastating technique showcased multiple times in this World Cup, capable of smashing through walls.  

In that moment,  

he felt an overwhelming pressure, as if attempting to return it would mean annihilation.  

Swish!  

Medanore moved.  

In a flash, he stepped forward, racket ready to intercept.  

“Captain!”  

But Mars called out, determination in his voice. “Let me try!”  

Huh?  

Medanore paused.  

Mars clenched his fists. “I need to know… how far I am from the pros.”  

“…Understood.”  

Medanore relented.  

He knew Mars wanted to measure his limits. If he couldn’t handle Byoudouin’s serve, competing in the finals would be meaningless.  

Swing!  

Mars braced himself and swung with all his might—  

CRASH!  

The moment racket met ball,  

an explosive force erupted, sending him flying backward like he’d been hit by a truck.  

Splash!  

He crashed into the sea.  

“Guh—!”  

When he resurfaced, his eyes were wide with disbelief.  

One shot.  

He couldn’t even handle one shot?!  

Had this been on solid ground, that impact would’ve sent him through a wall, leaving him bloodied and broken. Even now, his body felt like it had been dismantled.  

“Tch.”  

Seeing Mars unharmed, Medanore sighed. He’d wanted to warn him—this wasn’t just any pro they were dealing with.  

But it was too late.  

And Byoudouin’s power…  

It had surpassed Medanore’s expectations. Compared to two years ago, he’d grown even stronger.  

Terrifying.  

But—  

Medanore’s gaze hardened as he turned back to Byoudouin.  

“What?”  

Byoudouin smirked. “Spain’s mighty captain calls me out here just to watch me school your underling?”  

“Byoudouin.”  

Unfazed by the taunt, Medanore spoke coolly. “I brought you here to say this—tomorrow’s Singles 2 match will settle our unfinished business.”  

With that,  

he turned, motioning for Mars to follow, and left. Byoudouin watched them go before turning away as well.  

“Captain…”  

Once ashore, Mars finally voiced his burning question. “You’ve… played him before?”  

“Yes.”  

Medanore’s voice was calm. “The injury I carry—he’s the one who gave it to me.”  

“What?!”  

Mars was stunned.  

He never imagined such history between them. And from the sound of it… Medanore had lost.  

“Let’s go. You need medical attention.”  

Medanore glanced at him, but Mars shook his head. “It’s just a serve. I’ll be fi—agh!”  

The moment he tried to move his arm, a sharp pain shot through him.  

“Not good.”  

Medanore’s frown deepened. “You might not be fit for tomorrow’s match.”  

“No… way.”  

Mars, usually unshakable, paled.  

Back at Spain’s quarters, their team doctor confirmed it—Mars wouldn’t be holding a racket for at least a week.  

“How…?”  

The usually composed player looked utterly lost.  

“It’s to be expected.”  

Medanore shook his head. “That man isn’t just any pro. If I’m right… he’s already stepped into that ultimate realm.”  

Ultimate?  

Mars’ breath hitched.  

Did that mean Japan now had three players capable of reaching that pinnacle?  

This is… insane.  

The Next Morning  

By dawn, the line outside Melbourne Park stretched over two kilometers, fans and players alike eager to witness history—the first non-German champion in nearly 20 years.  

At 8 AM sharp,  

the two teams entered from opposite sides of the stadium.  

“Finally.”  

In the stands, Reinhard of the U.S. team murmured, “It begins.”  

Chapter 518: Ice Civil War? Atobe vs. Akutsu  

"Exactly."  

Beside Reinhardt, Hopkins nodded in agreement. "The only ones who can stop them now… are these guys."  

As he spoke, his gaze locked onto the Spanish team’s side.  

Or more accurately—onto Japan.  

Because in Hopkins’ eyes, Japan was the true final boss.  

And he wasn’t alone.  

Most spectators, even Spanish fans and players, shared the sentiment.  

Sure, Spain had defeated Switzerland, the former No. 2 team—a feat impressive in its own right. But Japan had done the same.  

More than that, Ishikawa had crushed Amadeus—the undisputed second-best player under Volk—with terrifying ease. Compared to Spain’s hard-fought victories, Japan’s dominance felt absolute.  

"This match…!"  

Nearby, the German team clenched their fists.  

Especially Siegfried and the others, who still seethed with frustration. In their minds, luck had betrayed them. Had Germany faced Spain or Switzerland first, then Japan in the finals… the outcome might’ve been different.  

"But Japan might not win either."  

Franklin Steiner, recalling the previous matches, suddenly spoke up. "That match between Oni and Q·P drained them. Even if Oni plays today, he won’t be at 60%. And their captain—"  

"Wrong."  

Bismarck cut him off. "Oni’s stamina took a hit, but Ishikawa’s different. Jürgen confirmed it—he likely has a method to recover instantly."  

"Tch."  

The middle schoolers scowled in disappointment.  

Meanwhile, Volk—arms crossed—watched as Ishikawa stepped onto the court to greet his opponent.  

"His stamina… might be limitless."  

Volk had absolute confidence in his endurance. He’d even outlasted the world’s top pro. But Ishikawa?  

He was the first to make Volk doubt himself.  

"However…"  

His gaze shifted to the long-haired Spaniard now facing Ishikawa.  

"If he unlocks his full potential, their battle could go either way."  

Volk was strong—perhaps the strongest high schooler. But in raw talent?  

He paled compared to Medanore.  

The Spaniard’s genius was monstrous, almost inhuman. His unorthodox style had alienated the tennis elite, and when news of his injury spread, many had secretly relieved.  

To Volk, if anyone in Spain—no, in the world—could defeat Ishikawa now, it was this so-called "Heretical Prodigy."  

Antonio Medanore vs. Ishikawa Shin 

At the net, the two captains shook hands.  

No taunts, no mind games.  

Both knew the other’s strength.  

"By the way."  

Just as they turned to leave, Medanore paused. "I’m curious… just how far you’ll go."  

His gaze held a hidden challenge.  

"Likewise."  

Ishikawa smiled—then added, "A word of advice: our former captain is stronger than you think."  

"…!"  

Medanore stiffened.  

He knows?  

Of course. As captain, any lineup changes would require Ishikawa’s approval.  

Which meant—  

His eyes snapped toward Japan’s bench, where a golden-haired figure stood.  

That match from two years ago…  

We’ll finish it now.  

As for Ishikawa?  

Medanore wasn’t worried.  

Not because he underestimated him, but because someone else would handle the problem.  

Someone even he found terrifying.  

The Match Begins 

"The first match of the World Cup finals—Single’s 3!"  

"Representing Japan: Atobe Keigo (3rd Year)!"  

"Representing Spain: Akutsu Jin (3rd Year)!"  

"Players, prepare!"  

The crowd erupted.  

"Atobe and Akutsu?!"  

On Japan’s side, the middle schoolers gaped in disbelief.  

"Seriously?!"  

Mukahi’s voice cracked. "The first match of the finals is an Ice Civil War?!"  

"Pfft—"  

Yagyu adjusted his glasses, smirking. "Did they schedule a practice match by accident?"  

"Oi oi…"  

Kikumaru and Momoshiro exchanged glances.  

This was the World Cup finals—and the opening act was two-thirds of Ice’s legendary trio?  

"Hey,"  

Akutagawa scratched his head. "Have these two ever even played before?"  

"Huh?"  

The Ice regulars froze.  

"Now that you mention it…"  

Hiyoshi frowned. "Atobe-senpai and Ishikawa-senpai had that secret match. But Atobe vs. Akutsu? Not even in practice."  

"Oh-ho~"  

Marui’s grin widened. "This just got interesting."  

The non-Ice players leaned forward, eager for the showdown.  

Both were monsters among middle schoolers.  

But who was stronger?  

At the Net 

The two locked eyes, tension crackling between them.  

"Never thought our first match would be here."  

Atobe smirked.  

"Doesn’t matter."  

Akutsu’s voice was ice. "It’ll be over fast. You’ll lose. That’s all."  

Without another word, he turned and walked away.  

"That bastard—!"  

Shishido’s fist clenched. His straightforward nature despised traitors like Akutsu.  

"He’s earned the right."  

Oshitari sighed. "Talent-wise, he’s top-tier—even without Ishikawa. And honestly? Atobe probably wasn’t his first choice either."  

A ripple of understanding passed through the group.  

Everyone knew Akutsu’s obsession: defeating Ishikawa.  

But the gap was insurmountable—in U-17, and now here. Even defecting to Spain hadn’t earned him the right to face Ishikawa.  

Yet no one underestimated him.  

The problem wasn’t Akutsu.  

It was that Ishikawa was just too strong.  

His brilliance dwarfed even Tezuka—the consensus No. 2 among middle schoolers.  

Atobe, too, stood in that shadow.  

But today?  

Today, they’d finally see which of Ice’s twin titans reigned supreme.  

Game Start 

"Best of three sets! First set, Atobe to serve!"  

Tap… Tap… Tap…  

The stadium hushed as Atobe bounced the ball, his aura sharpening.  

Then—  

"Don…  

"Ha…  

"Ze…  

"Serve!"  

His body uncoiled like a spring, racket flashing in a silver arc.  

BOOM!  

The ball streaked across the court like a bullet—  

Skiiiiiid!  

—and skidded along the ground after the bounce, refusing to rise.  

"15-0!"  

"Wha—?!"  

Gasps exploded through the crowd.  

"That serve didn’t bounce?!"  

"Is this guy really a middle schooler?!"  

Even the Spanish team stiffened. This wasn’t just skill—this was artistry.  

BOOM!  

BOOM!  

Two more serves.  

Two more aces.  

"40-0!"  

"He’s unstoppable!"  

Fans cheered as Atobe wound up for his fourth serve.  

One more point, and he’d claim the game without Akutsu even touching the ball.  

BOOM!  

Another Don Ha Ze Serve ripped through the air—  

"I’m bored of this."  

—and Akutsu moved.  

"Impossible!"  

Spectators recoiled as he lunged forward, racket already swinging.  

He’s too fast!  

But even if he reaches it, returning that spin is—  

CRACK!  

The ball rocketed back, a golden blur streaking past Atobe’s stunned form.  

"15-15!"  

Silence.  

Then—chaos.  

The unbreakable serve…  

Had just been shattered.  

Chapter 519: The Emperor vs. The Tyrant – Are These Two Really Middle Schoolers?  

"As expected of Akutsu!"  

Unlike the shocked spectators, the Japanese team remained composed.  

"A once-in-a-decade tennis prodigy," Tanegashima remarked with a smile. "His athleticism is terrifying. Training with Spain has only made him stronger."  

The others nodded in agreement.  

They still remembered Akutsu’s fierce battle against Byoudouin in the U-17 shuffle matches. Though he had lost decisively, the raw talent he displayed had been staggering.  

"Rumor has it," Inui adjusted his glasses, "Akutsu received an invitation to join Spain even before entering U-17."  

"Wait, really?" Shishido frowned. "Back then, he hadn’t even met Ryoma’s brother. How could he have been scouted?"  

The others shared his skepticism.  

Akutsu’s talent was undeniable, but talent wasn’t something visible to the naked eye. How could he have been noticed without any exposure?  

"Actually, he was recognized early."  

Ishida Ryoma, sitting nearby, glanced at the black-robed, cross-legged man on the coaching bench. "During the Tokyo Metropolitan finals, I ran into him at the courts."  

"The Samurai, Nanjiroh Echizen?!" Fuji’s eyes widened.  

Now he remembered—the Tokyo finals had been between Hyotei and Seigaku, with the deciding match being his own showdown against Ishida.  

Afterward, Ryoma had left with a stranger—his father, as it turned out. If the legendary Samurai had already been scouting Akutsu back then… just how deep did his plans run?  

"That explains it."  

Mukahi and Shishido nodded.  

Akutsu’s pride was infamous. In all of Hyotei, only Ishida had ever earned his respect—not even Atobe could fully rein him in.  

But if the legendary Samurai himself had extended an invitation? That was a different story. Anyone would be tempted.  

"I think," Mukahi mused, "Spain’s coach must have promised him something."  

"A promise?"  

"Yeah. Akutsu doesn’t care about winning or losing. The only thing that could interest him is—"  

Here, Mukahi glanced meaningfully at Ishida.  

"A shame," Irie sighed. "Even after joining Spain, he never got the chance to face their captain."  

"No loss," Byoudouin cut in coldly. "Even if he’d gone to Germany, he wouldn’t have won. But at least abroad, he broadened his horizons. Not bad."  

He held no grudge against Akutsu—if anything, he admired the kid’s ferocity.  

Staying in Japan would’ve limited his opportunities, but Byoudouin had intended to mentor him. Unfortunately, Akutsu left before he could.  

As for strengthening Spain?  

Byoudouin scoffed. After defeating Germany, Spain was hardly a concern.  

The Battle Begins 

Boom! 

Bang! 

Boom! 

Bang!  

The rally between the two intensified.  

Atobe’s precision was immaculate, his shots landing at impossible angles. Yet Akutsu’s reflexes and speed allowed him to reach every ball, countering with brutal force.  

Tap!  

Just as the rhythm peaked, Atobe abruptly sliced a drop shot, disrupting the tempo. Akutsu, caught off guard, barely reached it in time, flicking it back with a desperate lob.  

Whoosh!  

Atobe leapt into the air, a regal smirk playing on his lips.  

"Behold—the pinnacle of my artistry!"  

CRASH!  

His racket descended like a guillotine.  

Skid!  

The ball shot forward, skimming the ground in a blur—*"Lost in the Labyrinth!"*  

"Game! Japan’s Atobe leads, 1-0!"  

The crowd erupted.  

"Incredible! To place a middle schooler in Singles 3… Japan’s depth is frightening."  

Rival players watched warily, memorizing the name Atobe Keigo.  

Yet Akutsu remained unfazed.  

As he stepped up to serve, his expression was unreadable.  

BANG!  

A bullet-like serve rocketed across the court.  

Thud! Thud!  

Akutsu charged the net like a predator closing in on prey.  

"Same old Akutsu."  

Atobe had never played him before, but Akutsu’s savage style was infamous. Facing him now felt like staring down a wild beast.  

Boom! 

Bang! 

Boom! 

Bang!  

True to form, Akutsu’s aggression was overwhelming. Atobe managed only one point before losing the game.  

1-1.  

"What a monster!"  

Switzerland, the U.S., France—all watched Akutsu with newfound wariness.  

"He transferred from Japan to Spain, right?" Kiko Valentine of the U.S. muttered. "Japan’s middle schoolers are just… unreal."  

"He’s strong," Reinhard admitted. "I’ve played him. Without techniques or abilities, just raw physicality? Outside of me, no one on our team could match him."  

"Not even Dodo or Alan?"  

"No." Reinhard shook his head. "His agility, reflexes, explosive power—all top-tier. His muscle flexibility and balance are abnormal."  

Silence fell over the Americans.  

The Tyrant Awakens 

Back on court, Akutsu’s relentless assault clashed with Atobe’s razor-sharp insight.  

Atobe’s skill and vision were unmatched, but Akutsu’s instincts and physique kept him in the fight. Every point came down to split-second decisions.  

BANG!  

"Game! Spain’s Akutsu, 3-3!"  

Fifteen minutes in, the match was deadlocked.  

"Tch. Looks like I’ll have to get serious."  

Atobe raised two fingers to his temple. His violet-gray eyes gleamed gold.  

"Warm-ups… are over."  

HUM!  

A golden aura erupted around him, waves of pressure rolling outward. Spectators nearby shuddered, as if standing before a king.  

"W-warm-ups?!"  

"That was just the warm-up?!"  

ROAR!  

Akutsu answered with his own surge of power—a dark crimson aura, like a blood-stained cloak. His eyes burned red, radiating the presence of a tyrant.  

"The Tyrant Akutsu!"  

Japan’s middle schoolers tensed.  

"The Emperor vs. The Tyrant," Irie mused. "Now this is interesting."  

Atobe’s golden dominance clashed against Akutsu’s unyielding fury, the air between them crackling with tension.  

Though not as overwhelming as Ishida and Volk’s battle, their power was undeniable—elite-level, capable of rivaling most high school aces.  

Yet here they were, just two middle schoolers in the Singles 3 slot.  

BANG!  

Atobe struck, his eyes piercing through Akutsu’s body—muscles, bones, even blood flow laid bare.  

"Game! Japan’s Atobe, 4-3!"  

But Akutsu wasn’t done.  

In the eighth game, his aura thickened like a storm, obscuring his weaknesses like Sanada’s "Unconscious State."  

BANG!  

"Game! Spain’s Akutsu, 4-4!"  

Boom! 

Bang! 

Boom! 

Bang!  

Games nine, ten, eleven—  

Both unleashed their full potential, the match escalating to a blistering pace. Spectators forgot to breathe, faces reddening before gasping for air.  

When they looked back, they could barely track the players’ movements.  

A single thought echoed in their minds:  

"Are these two… really middle schoolers?!"  

The Final Push 

After forty grueling minutes, Spain trailed slightly.  

But now—it was Akutsu’s serve.  

WHOOSH!  

Seizing his chance, Akutsu leapt like a beast pouncing, smashing the ball down with terrifying force.  

CRACK!  

Dust exploded as the court fractured beneath the impact. Atobe didn’t even move, simply watching as Akutsu landed gracefully.  

The referee’s voice rang out:  

"Game! Spain’s Akutsu, 6-6!" 

"Tiebreaker!"  

"OOOOOHHH!!!"  

The stadium erupted in thunderous cheers.  

Chapter 520: A Glimpse of the Future, The Price of Success and Failure 

45 minutes into the match. 

Tiebreaker! 

"Wow, the finals are really something else!" 

On the Australian team's side, Noah, who had previously served as an off-court advisor, remarked with deep emotion. 

"Yeah." 

His older brother, the extremely proud Gorgia, also nodded heavily. 

He had faced Atobe before and knew his strength well. What truly surprised him was that this middle schooler from the Spanish team could actually hold his own against Atobe. 

"All sorts of shots, Atobe's Kingdom, and his Emperor's Aura." 

After calculating mentally, Noah raised an eyebrow slightly. "Looking at it this way, Atobe's pretty much shown all his cards." 

"Akutsu's probably in the same boat," added Fitzgerald, the Australian captain. "I heard they were teammates at the same school, so they know each other very well. If the match continues like this, it'll likely come down to a battle of willpower and stamina." 

Hearing this, everyone's expression turned serious. 

Willpower! 

Stamina! 

Just the day before yesterday, the semi-finals had concluded with two memorably long endurance battles. Nobody expected the finals to potentially head in the same direction right from the start. 

Thinking about this, quite a few people looked worried. 

"Mark," Millman, with his trendy, cutting-edge style, nudged his partner beside him. "Did you bring any food?" 

"..." 

"Alright then," Millman sighed, seeing his partner's reaction. "Looks like another day of going hungry." 

Thwack! 

Thump! 

Thwack! 

Thump! 

As it turned out, the Australian team's guess was right. 

Once the tiebreaker started, Atobe and Akutsu engaged in an incredibly long seesaw battle. Neither gave an inch, the score remained tight, and neither player could manage to gain more than a one-point advantage. 

Thump! 

"Atobe leads, 12-11!" 

Thwack! 

"Akutsu leads, 21-20!" 

Thump! 

"Atobe leads, 38-37!" 

Time kept ticking away. 

The two, now deep into the tiebreaker, had been locked in this struggle for nearly another 40 minutes. Despite the comfortable indoor temperature, the high intensity and white-hot nature of the duel meant both players were starting to sweat noticeably. 

"Now that's more like it!" 

Seeing Atobe and Akutsu panting, many spectators breathed a sigh of relief. After all, if everyone could fight intensely for hours while remaining full of energy like Ishikawa and Polk, that would be just plain terrifying! 

"He's so persistent," Atobe thought. 

Nearly an hour and a half into the match, even Atobe, whose stamina was considered impressive even among high schoolers, was beginning to feel tired. 

Looking across at Akutsu, although he too was showing signs of fatigue, Atobe knew very well that back at Hyotei Academy, Akutsu had always completed the team's stamina training with ease; his endurance was also remarkable. More importantly, Akutsu's natural physical gifts were extraordinary, and his recovery speed was fast. If this really dragged into a war of attrition, Atobe wasn't confident he could outlast him. 

"This guy's really got something," Akutsu mused, squinting as he observed Atobe. 

At this point, he was already debating whether to unleash his hidden trump card and finish his opponent off decisively. 

However, he ultimately held back. 

After all, he still hadn't completely mastered that ability. Once activated, he would totally lose control of his body. Akutsu strongly disliked that feeling of losing his sanity, of being invaded by another consciousness. 

Unless absolutely necessary, he wouldn't use that move! 

"Technique, stamina, mental willpower..." 

Watching Akutsu, who had just gained the right to serve, Atobe fell into deep thought. He knew very well that with the abilities he currently possessed, he couldn't defeat his opponent. 

But Akutsu still had another ace up his sleeve. 

That was the 'Mumushiki' (State of Selflessness?) he had used in his two matches against Ishikawa and Byodoin. If Akutsu unleashed that technique, Atobe had absolutely no confidence he could counter it. 

He pondered how he could possibly beat him. 

Technique... Akutsu's reaction speed was too fast. Although Atobe's skills were excellent, they paled in comparison to Ishikawa's and Byodoin's. If Akutsu could adapt to their moves to some degree, Atobe wasn't confident on this front. 

Stamina... Atobe wasn't sure he could wear down Akutsu, famously known as 'The Beast'. 

And mental willpower... This might be an avenue, but reaching a level where mental strength could influence reality—even if not to Polk's extent—was definitely beyond what the current Atobe could achieve. 

"So..." 

Thinking this, he couldn't help but shake his head with a wry smile. "In the end, all I can really rely on are these eyes, huh?" 

Insight! 

This was Atobe's most powerful ability, the one that set him apart from other middle schoolers. Both his Ice World and Atobe Kingdom were manifestations of his unparalleled insight! 

To defeat Akutsu, his only chance likely lay in leveraging that insight! 

Thwack! 

Just then, Akutsu hit the ball back over. 

"Damn it!" Atobe's heart skipped a beat. 

He had actually lost focus during such a crucial match – a truly elementary mistake. Seeing the point about to be lost, the usually calm Atobe felt a surge of panic and nervousness, like his eyebrows were on fire. 

Every single point in this match was vital. 

He might lose this set, and consequently the entire Singles 3 match, all because of this one lapse. Atobe suddenly envisioned himself being ridiculed by countless people after losing. 

He saw Head Coach Mifune looking at him coldly, Byodoin and Oni's eyes filled with disdain, and players from other schools sneering with contempt. 

It seemed that in their eyes, Atobe was just someone whose reputation was inflated, hyped up only to become the embarrassing reason for Team Japan's defeat. 

Although he would still be the heir to a massive conglomerate after this match, the loss would extinguish his fighting spirit. Years later, after inheriting the position of chairman, his indecisiveness would cause him to miss one opportunity after another to expand the group. 

Worse, it would be gradually consumed by rival conglomerates until the Atobe Corporation finally crumbled. He would lose his privileged lifestyle, perhaps even ending up destitute on the streets, a mere walking corpse. 

One day, wandering aimlessly, he stumbled into a street tennis court. There, he saw a tall young man with long, greyish-white hair cascading over his shoulders, wearing a white tank top, playing against others. 

Thwack! 

Suddenly, the opponent served. 

The ball's speed was astounding, utterly terrifying for Atobe, who hadn't touched a racket in years. 

Swish! 

He looked up in terror, clearly seeing the opponent's face. 

Greyish-white hair fluttered around a fair face with sharp, well-defined features that seemed vaguely familiar. 

"You're... Akutsu?" 

Recognizing the face, Atobe froze in shock. "The Akutsu Jin who defeated me back then?!" 

"Why did I say 'back then'..." 

"Wait!!" 

Swish! 

Suddenly, Atobe snapped his eyes open again, seeing a tennis ball landing right in front of him. His body reacted instinctively, and the physique that had felt slack and decayed in his vision now moved with unbelievable agility. 

Thwack! 

Feeling young and sharp again, he swiftly returned the ball. 

"Phew!!!" 

After hitting the return, he exhaled a long, shaky breath. 

A hallucination! 

As reality flooded back, Atobe felt a chill run down his spine. He had just experienced a hallucination – and a powerful one, like seeing a glimpse of the future! 

Although he couldn't fully recall everything he'd seen in that glimpse, many vivid details remained etched in his memory. 

"Can I see the future?" 

Thwack! 

Right then, Akutsu returned the ball again. 

His speed was incredible; almost the instant Atobe hit his return, Akutsu was already near the landing spot. Unleashing his shot now, the ball zipped like a bullet towards Atobe's side. 

"Should I try it?" 

Watching the ball about to bounce, Atobe narrowed his eyes, pushing his insight to its absolute limit. 

Hum! 

In that instant, his thoughts seemed to ripple and shift. 

Two conflicting emotions surged within him: one was fear, intimidated by Akutsu's powerful display, urging him to retreat. The other was the desire to face the challenge head-on, to hit the ball back with everything he had. 

The two possibilities felt like branching paths in his mind. 

And Atobe sensed that, thanks to his stronger willpower, the second path, the one labelled [See Through], had a higher chance of success. 

Instantly, without hesitation, he raised his racket and swung towards the ball. 

Whoosh! Whoosh whoosh whoosh!!! 

In that moment, his vision seemed to dim. Specks of starlight flew towards him, brushing past him like intangible whispers. Atobe felt as if his own spirit and consciousness were briefly traveling through time and space. 

And then, he saw it. He saw the rally that unfolded after he swung his racket, the fierce exchange between himself and Akutsu. Every single move they made played out clearly in his mind's eye. As the intense battle continued in his vision, Atobe's understanding of Akutsu deepened. 

"I see... so his weakness is there!" 

Thwack! 

Finally, in the vision, Atobe struck Akutsu's weak spot. Akutsu couldn't react in time, and the ball flew past his left side for the point. 

Phew! 

Back in reality, the images in Atobe's mind vanished like fading starlight. The racket in his hand was already perfectly positioned, ready to strike. 

"I've seen right through your weakness!" 

Atobe immediately looked up, his gaze locking onto the open space on Akutsu's backhand side. He swung his racket without a trace of doubt. 

Thwack! 

A crisp, clean sound echoed. The tennis ball shot forward like a bullet. 

"This ball?!" 

Watching the ball's trajectory, Akutsu's pupils contracted sharply. He hadn't even considered that Atobe would aim there. It caught him completely off guard. He tried to raise his racket, but his body felt impossibly heavy, refusing to move. 

Am I frozen? Is it Ice World or Atobe Kingdom? No! Impossible! 

Gritting his teeth, Akutsu forced his arm to move, contorting his body with immense difficulty, just barely managing to get his racket on the ball and send it back. 

Thwap! 

However, his desperate return slammed directly into the net. Under the shocked and bewildered stares of everyone watching, the ball dropped onto Akutsu's side of the court. 

"First set concluded," the umpire's voice announced clearly. "Winner, Atobe, Team Japan. Score: 7-6!" 

"Has Atobe Kingdom gotten stronger?" 

Seeing Atobe actually overpower the incredibly agile Akutsu, the members of Team Japan were visibly astonished. 

"Just as I thought." 

Winning the first set, Atobe clenched his fist, feeling an equal measure of shock ripple through him. "I can see a glimpse of the future... the possibilities of success and failure... Ugh!" 

But just as he was about to turn and walk off the court for the break, his brow furrowed involuntarily. 

"It's happening again!" 

Atobe's expression grew serious. 

At that moment, he once again felt that intense, burning muscle soreness, exactly as if his body had just endured an incredibly grueling physical ordeal. 

"Is this some kind of mental yips from experiencing that failed future," Atobe wondered, his heart growing heavy, "or... is this the price I have to pay for seeing the future?"