511-515

Chapter 511: Resonance vs. Resonance – Infinite Tornado vs. Palm of the Universe  

Whoosh—!!  

Three massive tornadoes roared to life, encircling Ishikawa in a swirling vortex of wind.  

Crack!  

Yet, just as the cyclones were about to swallow him whole, a crisp strike echoed across the court. The crowd watched in awe as the three tornadoes suddenly merged into one—  

"Huh?!"  

But sharp-eyed observers like Q·P and Bismarck noticed something even more startling: Ishikawa had vanished.  

Swish!  

A figure reappeared just outside the tornado’s radius.  

"He dodged it?!" 

"That reaction speed—he hit the ball and escaped in the split second before the tornadoes converged!"  

Frankensteiner gaped as Ishikawa calmly reset at the baseline, unfazed.  

"Not just that," Q·P said grimly. "His return was aimed dead at the baseline corner."  

Zip!  

Sure enough, the ball curved sharply mid-flight, streaking toward the intersection of the baseline and sideline.  

Whoosh—!!  

But as it neared Borg’s tornado-riddled zone, the shot was abruptly sucked into the whirlwind. Simultaneously, its spin visibly weakened.  

"Wait a second..." Shiraishi’s eyes widened. "Those tornadoes drain the ball’s power and rotation?!"  

The implications were terrifying. A passive ability that nerfed spin and force? It was like Perfect Harmony or Atobe’s Imperial Pressure—except this was just one of Borg’s techniques.  

"So this... is the world’s #1 high schooler?"  

The Japanese team collectively tensed. Even from the sidelines, the pressure was suffocating.  

"Hey..." Kintarou scratched his head. "Doesn’t this German guy’s move kinda look like Ishikawa and Tezuka’s Zone?"  

Zone?  

The team froze.  

"Kintarou’s intuition stems from his purity," Inoue mused. "But if this were a Zone variant..."  

He trailed off, shaking his head.  

"Impossible," Tokugawa said flatly. **"No Zone—not even Tezuka’s Phantom or the Supreme Zone—can weaken power and spin before contact."**  

That defied logic.  

"A basic Zone couldn’t," Byoudouin cut in, watching Borg’s whirlwinds sap yet another of Ishikawa’s shots. "But fuse two abilities? Different story."  

"Ability... Resonance?!" Mitsuya blurted.  

The team stiffened.  

"Wait," Inui countered. "A solo player can’t trigger Resonance—oh."  

His eyes widened mid-sentence.  

Realization dawned on the others—Shiraishi, Duke, even Atobe, who adjusted his glasses with a smirk.  

"It is Resonance," he declared. "The tornado’s core is a Zone hybrid. The other half? That Maelstrom Baptism spin."  

"Maelstrom... and Zone?!"  

Mitsuya’s breath hitched.  

"Ah."  

On the German side, Coach Lend and Q·P exchanged glances. Years ago, Borg had mentioned a "strange circular mark" he’d seen in Japan—a technique that stuck with him.  

Now it made sense.  

That "mark" was the Zone.  

And Borg had merged it with his signature Maelstrom to birth this monstrosity.  

"But..." Q·P eyed the colossal tornadoes shifting across the court. "If the Captain deemed this his ‘ultimate inspiration,’ it’s not just a power drain."  

Zip!  

As if on cue, Borg’s next return collided with a tornado—and the ball exploded forward like a bullet, velocity doubled.  

"What the—?!"  

Amadeus jolted in his seat. "It boosts his own shots too?!"  

"Insane," Lanbill and Federer muttered.  

The tornadoes weakened foes while amplifying Borg—a double-layered suppression. Even a pro would be dragged down to Borg’s level. And Borg? He was already peak human.  

Many spectators sighed. Japan’s Cinderella run ended here.  

Thud!  

Borg’s enhanced shot blew past Ishikawa.  

"15-15!"  

For the next two minutes, Ishikawa danced between tornadoes while Borg rained down hurricane-powered strikes.  

"Game!" 

"Germany’s Borg, 2-3! Change sides!"  

"DEUTSCHLAND! DEUTSCHLAND!"  

The crowd erupted. A solo Ability Resonance? Unheard of!  

"Captain’s unstoppable!"  

Siegfried and Frankensteiner cheered, but Bismarck’s smile faded as he noticed Q·P’s tense expression.  

"What’s wrong?"  

Q·P didn’t answer. His gaze was locked on Ishikawa, who stood unnervingly still.  

Boom!  

Ishikawa served—a Hyper-Speed Dimensional Shot that seemed to phase through reality.  

Borg returned it easily, but the ensuing tornadoes now blanketed the entire court.  

"This is..."  

Even Zeus and Reinhardt paled. How could anyone break this?  

"Two-stage debuff," Camus muttered. "Not even Ultimate Tennis would work."  

Yet those who’d faced Ishikawa before—Amadeus, Reinhardt—knew: He wasn’t done.  

Whoosh!  

As Borg’s next supercharged return rocketed toward him, Ishikawa... lowered his racket.  

"Did he give up?!"  

Siegfried grinned, but Frankensteiner frowned.  

"No way he’d fold this fast... but how—?"  

Crash!!  

Three tornadoes swallowed Ishikawa whole.  

"ISHIKAWA!"  

Japan’s bench lunged forward. Even Kirihara and Kabaji clenched their fists—Borg’s whirlwinds could shred clothing on contact.  

"He’s finished!" Siegfried crowed.  

Plink.  

A sound like a pebble dropping into water.  

Then—  

The tornadoes disintegrated into dust, vanishing as if erased from existence.  

Flash!  

A streak of blue light zipped past the net.  

"What was that?!"  

Schneider and Bertie recoiled, while Bismarck and Q·P braced.  

They’d seen this before.  

"Here it comes."  

On Borg’s side, the air warped—not with wind, but with swirling cosmic dust.  

"His other Resonance?"  

Borg steadied himself. He’d heard of Ishikawa’s match against Q·P, but witnessing this firsthand...  

"No matter the technique," he muttered, "if it exists, it can be returned."  

Rumble...  

The "dust" parted—  

Revealing not a tennis ball, but...  

Stars.  

A galaxy unfolded above Borg, its celestial bodies orbiting an invisible center.  

"An... astral projection?"  

Then Borg saw it.  

The "galaxy" wasn’t in space.  

It rested on a gigantic palm.  

"This is..."  

His gaze traveled upward—  

And met Ishikawa’s smirking eyes.  

Borg’s breath caught.  

He wasn’t observing the universe.  

He was standing inside it.  

Trapped in the Palm of the Universe.  

Chapter 512: The Idealist Tennis of the Victory Philosopher!  

Boom!  

In the real world...  

The crowd watched in stunned silence as a streak of pale blue light pierced through Bürgster’s defenses, landing precisely on the baseline before ricocheting away.  

"15-0!"  

"W-what just happened?!"  

Germany’s players—Seigfried, Frankensteiner, and the others—stood frozen in confusion.  

"Was that…?"  

Bismarck turned to Q·P, who gave a slow, grim nod.  

"That shot carried the force of a collapsing star—an overwhelming destructive power. To face it head-on, I’d have to tap into my Ultimate Quality. Otherwise…"  

He didn’t need to finish. Bismarck, Schneider, and the rest understood.  

Their gazes shifted to the black-haired boy emerging from the dust on the court, their eyes filled with awe.  

"I remember now!"  

Bertie suddenly spoke up, his voice tense. "I saw the exhibition match footage. When Ishikawa played against Q·P, he already triggered Ability Resonance!"  

Back then, Bertie and Schneider hadn’t rejoined the team yet. They’d only learned about the match through recordings. Now, it hit them—this boy had already unlocked his personal Ability Resonance back then.  

"This guy… he’s a monster."  

Bertie’s face darkened with wariness, but deeper than that was respect. He prided himself on his genius-level intellect and talent, placing him firmly among the elite of middle school players.  

But against Ishikawa?  

His confidence wavered.  

Because right now, that very same middle schooler was standing across from his older brother—dominating him.  

"A vision… of grasping the universe itself?"  

On the court, Bürgster reflected on the surreal scene he’d just witnessed. He knew it wasn’t real—just an illusion conjured by the sheer force of Ishikawa’s technique.  

Now, he was dissecting the mechanics behind it.  

"One component is a fusion of techniques, including a Domain. The other… carries devastating destructive power."  

His expression tightened. "This is bad."  

In his view, Ability Resonance had no absolute hierarchy. Its effectiveness depended on context, skill, and execution.  

In raw power?  

Bürgster was confident his Infinite Tornado could match Ishikawa’s Universe in the Palm.  

But the real issue was the score gap.  

Losing his serve had put him two games behind. If this continued, he’d lose the first set.  

Two solutions:  

• Push further, escalating the match into the Ultimate Zone. But that went against his strategy. He trusted his stamina and willpower to force Ishikawa to make the first move.  

In high-level matches, the one who struck first often lost the edge.  

Victory hinged on the tiniest details. 

Boom!  

"Game! Japan’s Ishikawa leads, 4-2!"  

Ishikawa widened the gap.  

But when Bürgster served again, his Infinite Tornado crushed Ishikawa’s defenses.  

Soon, the score narrowed to 3-4.  

"I see now."  

Mitsui’s eyes gleamed with realization. "Both Bürgster’s Infinite Tornado and Ishikawa’s Universe in the Palm are top-tier Ability Resonances—and both incorporate a Domain."  

"That’s why the server has the advantage. Whoever serves first establishes their Domain, dictating the flow."  

Dry and Yanagi nodded.  

"Exactly," Dry added. "Neither can easily break the other’s Domain-enhanced Ability Resonance. The first move decides the momentum."  

In other words—stalemate.  

Boom!  

As predicted, Ishikawa took the next game, 5-3. Bürgster fought back, closing in at 4-5.  

The German team, once brimming with confidence, now tensed up.  

Bürgster was strong—but Ishikawa showed no weaknesses. If this continued, Bürgster would lose the first set.  

"Captain…!"  

Q·P, Bismarck, and the others clenched their fists.  

Then—  

Hum!  

Bürgster’s aura surged.  

But Ishikawa responded instantly, his body radiating a silvery, razor-sharp light—True Sword Intent!  

Boom!  

His serve tore through the air like a blade, so fast that spectators instinctively shielded their eyes.  

Bürgster barely flinched—but as he processed the fusion of True Sword Intent and Hyperspeed Dimension, he hesitated.  

And let the ball fly past.  

"15-0!"  

The stadium fell dead silent.  

"No… way…"  

Seigfried and Frankensteiner gaped. Even Q·P and Bismarck were speechless.  

Their captain—the world’s #1 high schooler—had just been aced.  

"This isn’t good."  

Coach Lertral’s frown deepened. He realized something terrifying: Every time Bürgster escalated, Ishikawa matched him.  

The Japanese captain was playing him.  

Losing the first set wouldn’t cripple Bürgster—but for Germany’s pride, it was unacceptable.  

Boom! Boom!  

Ishikawa didn’t let up.  

With 90% serving power amplified by True Sword Intent, his serves were untouchable unless Bürgster entered the Ultimate Zone.  

And Bürgster?  

He could only watch as the points slipped away—until Ishikawa sealed the set with a Hyperspeed Dimension ace.  

Boom!  

"First set to Japan’s Ishikawa, 6-4!"  

"OOOOOH!!"  

The crowd erupted.  

German supporters sat in stunned silence, struggling to process Bürgster’s defeat.  

"This guy… is unreal."  

Switzerland’s Federer, France’s Barte, and America’s Hopkins once again felt the overwhelming presence of Japan’s captain.  

As for the other team leaders? They’d never doubted Ishikawa’s strength.  

"Hard to believe he’s just a middle schooler."  

Spain’s effeminate Mars sighed. "And he’s facing Bürgster—the 'Philosopher of Victory'!"  

"Yeah."  

Medanore nodded grimly.  

Despite his own prodigious talent, two years of injuries had set him back. Against Bürgster now? He wasn’t sure he could win.  

Yet here was Ishikawa, taking the first set by a narrow but decisive margin.  

"This proves it," Medanore muttered. "At the highest level, even the smallest gap can be fatal."  

Still, no one believed Bürgster would lose.  

Tennis was unpredictable. Bürgster had once come back from three sets down against Novak Brynner to win the German Championship.  

The real match was just beginning.  

"Second set begins! Germany’s Bürgster to serve!"  

Boom!  

A furious serve kicked off the set.  

Whoosh!  

The tornado roared back, swallowing the court in Bürgster’s absolute domain.  

Ishikawa, conceding the first-move advantage, let the game go.  

1-0, Germany.  

But in the next game, Ishikawa unleashed his Universe in the Palm, reclaiming control.  

1-1.  

The battle raged on, neither yielding.  

After 20 grueling minutes, the score stood at 5-4, Bürgster leading.  

"Here it comes!"  

The crowd braced themselves.  

This was Bürgster’s chance to close the set.  

Boom!  

Ishikawa fired off another Hyperspeed Dimension serve.  

Bürgster moved—fast.  

As the ball landed, he swung—  

Hum!  

The Universe in the Palm illusion materialized again, celestial bodies dwarfing Bürgster like a speck of dust.  

But his eyes burned with defiance.  

CRACK!  

A shockwave blasted outward as Bürgster’s racket connected.  

The ball, wrapped in blue energy, thrashed like a caged beast—but Bürgster’s grip didn’t waver.  

"Unbelievable stability!"  

Other captains stared in awe.  

Against that serve, they’d have needed both hands just to survive.  

Yet Bürgster stood firm—one-handed.  

"This… is the gap between ordinary pros and the elite," Amadeus murmured.  

Then—  

BOOM!  

The wall behind Bürgster imploded, rubble cascading from a crater lined with cracks.  

The crowd gasped.  

"If that hit directly…"  

Seigfried and the others shuddered, their fear of Ishikawa deepening.  

Q·P and Bismarck paled.  

Even after being blocked, the shot’s residual force was this destructive?  

Then—  

Hum!  

The air around Bürgster compressed, coating him in a golden glow.  

"Ishikawa… catch this!"  

WHOOSH!  

The ball streaked across the net—a golden arc deceptively simple.  

But Ishikawa’s instincts screamed danger.  

"This ball—?!"  

Darkness swallowed his vision.  

Then—a meteor-sized tennis ball came crashing down.  

Too fast.  

Even with Second-Stage Sword Intent, Ishikawa couldn’t react in time.  

Thud.  

The ball landed.  

His racket hadn’t even moved.  

"0-15!"  

"He’s finally serious."  

Ishikawa exhaled, lifting his gaze.  

Bürgster now radiated a golden aura, particles of light swirling around him.  

Despite his lean frame, the power emanating from him was tangible—not brute strength, but something deeper.  

"What… is this mental energy?"  

Coach Mikuni’s expression turned grave.  

"He’s finally using it."  

Lertral relaxed, smirking at Ishikawa.  

"Japan’s captain… just how far do you think human willpower can go? Witness the pinnacle of our Philosopher’s tennis—idealist to the core."  

Chapter 513: The Ultimate Battle – Beyond the Path of Asura  

Boom!  

A tennis ball, fierce as a storm, slammed into the baseline behind Ishikawa. The gust of wind that followed whipped at his clothes, making them flutter wildly.  

"0-30!"  

"Woohoo!!!"  

Börke scored consecutively, sending the German team into a frenzy of cheers.  

"That’s Ultimate Tennis!"  

Reinhardt, Amadeus, and the others wore expressions of deep apprehension.  

"Ultimate" referred to the final realm of tennis—a level only the most elite players in the world could reach. Only those who stepped onto this path could qualify as legendary players.  

And Börke? He was undoubtedly one of them.  

Not long ago, he had proven himself by decisively defeating the world’s top-ranked professional player in the German Open in Berlin. Now, in the Singles 1 match of the Australian World Cup semifinals, he was unleashing that same awe-inspiring power once again.  

The scales of victory seemed to tilt in Börke’s favor at this very moment.  

"He really is incredible."  

Even Camus of the French team couldn’t hide his reverence.  

But then—his gaze shifted to the black-haired boy standing at the center of the storm on the Japanese team’s side, completely unfazed.  

"But this guy… he’s also stepped into that realm."  

During the quarterfinals, Camus had clashed with Ishikawa head-on. Despite using every technique in his arsenal—even briefly tapping into Ultimate Tennis—he had still lost.  

Recalling their match, Camus knew one thing for certain: Ishikawa had also truly entered the ultimate domain.  

"This service game is crucial. There’s no way he’ll just let Börke keep scoring… Huh?!"  

But the moment that thought crossed his mind—  

Thwack!  

Ishikawa’s serve was brutally returned by Börke, landing squarely before rocketing past him for a clean winner.  

"0-40!"  

"Börke!"  

"Börke!"  

"Börke!"  

The crowd erupted, chanting Börke’s name.  

They were witnessing the most thrilling comeback of the semifinals. If the German team won this, they would advance to the finals against Spain in the most dominant fashion.  

"W-what’s going on?"  

Other players stared in confusion.  

Like Camus, they couldn’t understand why Ishikawa would let this game slip away. Losing here meant conceding the second set to Börke.  

And if the match went to a deciding set? Börke’s chances would only grow. His stamina was on another level—even Novak Brynner would admit defeat in that regard.  

If this match dragged on past two hours, the sheer physical gap between a high schooler like Börke and a middle schooler like Ishikawa would leave the latter completely outmatched.  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

Yet, under the weight of shocked, mocking, and worried gazes, Ishikawa simply pulled out another ball and began bouncing it calmly.  

"Hmm."  

Those who had doubted Ishikawa’s true strength now watched with solemn expressions.  

They could feel it—a gathering force, like a volcano on the verge of eruption.  

"Starting to get serious now? Too late."  

Bismarck shook his head.  

He had never underestimated Ishikawa, but in tennis, timing was everything. Just like Börke earlier—losing what seemed like an insignificant service game had cost him the first set.  

Now, Ishikawa had made the same mistake. Instead of going all out the moment Börke unleashed Ultimate Tennis, he had hesitated, observing his opponent.  

And those few seconds of hesitation had put him at a crushing disadvantage.  

Börke needed just one more point to take the second set, 6-4.  

"But…"  

Unlike the others, Q.P.—who had lost to Ishikawa before—frowned.  

"Would he really make such a basic mistake?"  

A deep unease settled in his chest.  

Whoosh!  

At that moment, Ishikawa tossed the ball into the air.  

As everyone watched, he bent his knees slightly, then pushed off his toes, leaping upward. His racket whipped down with terrifying speed.  

Swiish!  

For an instant—  

Those focusing on him saw their vision distort. While Ishikawa’s body remained unchanged, his racket blurred, leaving behind dizzying afterimages.  

"Wh-what kind of serve is that?!"  

Elite players from every country stiffened in shock.  

Boom!  

The next second—  

Racket met ball.  

The tennis ball streaked across the court like a comet, a pale-yellow blur so fast that even Keigo Atobe, with his sharp eyes, could barely track it.  

"This serve…"  

Byoudouin and Oni instinctively tensed.  

It was too fast!  

The speed surpassed their ability to process it. If they were on the court, they wouldn’t even have time to react.  

"So…"  

A single thought flashed through their minds:  

"This is his true ultimate serve?!"  

Thud!  

The ball landed precisely on the service line.  

Börke, now in the Ultimate realm, managed to track its trajectory with his superhuman focus.  

But—  

It was just too fast.  

Even he had never imagined a serve could reach such an insane level.  

He tried to swing, but despite entering the Ultimate domain, he couldn’t move a single muscle.  

Swish!  

The ball shot past him, bouncing violently before disappearing into the back of the court.  

"15-40!"  

The umpire’s call plunged the stadium into stunned silence.  

"An… ace?!"  

Bismarck gaped, arms frozen mid-cross.  

He glanced at Börke’s expressionless face, then sucked in a sharp breath.  

"Even Jürgen… couldn’t return it?"  

The sheer impossibility of it left him reeling.  

"Just as I thought."  

Q.P., however, stared intently at Ishikawa.  

He had been right—Ishikawa hadn’t been careless. He had deliberately let Börke take three points in this crucial game… only to crush his hopes step by step.  

This was psychological warfare.  

And Ishikawa had the skill to control the match’s flow at will.  

"The true [Stardust] serve—even a top pro couldn’t return it!"  

Boom! Boom! Boom!  

Sure enough, Ishikawa fired off serve after serve, reversing the score under the disbelieving eyes of the crowd.  

"Game!"  

"Japan’s Ishikawa, 5-5!"  

The score was tied again.  

The fans who had been chanting for Germany and Börke fell silent. Ishikawa’s strategy had worked flawlessly—many now felt a creeping sense of helplessness.  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

But none of this seemed to faze the young man at the baseline, casually bouncing another ball.  

"I’ll admit, their captain hiding this trump card caught Jürgen off guard. But unfortunately…"  

Coach Lendl, sitting calmly in the German team’s box, looked at Börke with steady eyes.  

"Our captain’s will is far too strong."  

BOOM!  

As Börke served again—  

The same terrifying storm erupted. The wind howled, turning the court into a primordial wasteland, as if the very atmosphere was still forming amidst destructive gales.  

Now, it was Ishikawa’s turn to stand where Börke had been earlier—under the crushing weight of a cosmic force.  

Above him, a pair of razor-sharp eyes gleamed in the sky.  

This was Börke’s will.  

He had become the absolute ruler of the court, his overwhelming mental pressure bearing down on Ishikawa without mercy.  

Thud!  

In an instant—  

That pressure condensed into a single tennis ball, landing perfectly on the baseline before rocketing away.  

"15-0!"  

"That pressure… is terrifying."  

Ishikawa’s eyes narrowed in caution.  

Börke’s tennis carried the heaviest, most oppressive aura he had ever felt. He hadn’t even tried to return the ball, but something told him that if he had, that unbearable pressure would have transferred entirely onto him.  

"Is this the Philosopher of Victory?"  

Ishikawa mused silently.  

Philosophy was a formidable weapon, and Börke’s was undoubtedly of the idealist kind. Who knew how much grueling training it had taken for him to develop this level of mental power—enough to warp reality itself?  

But this also explained how Börke could use the "Vortex Baptism" to execute something as fearsome as [Time Loop].  

BOOM!  

Börke’s next serve landed.  

Though not as fast as Ishikawa’s [Stardust], it still vanished from ordinary sight. Those who could track it felt an oppressive weight pressing on their minds.  

"Yes."  

Lendl clenched his fist.  

"This is the man leading Germany toward an unprecedented tenth consecutive World Cup. His spirit, his will—they’ve become the most dangerous weapons on this court."  

He was certain: if anyone other than Ishikawa faced Börke right now, the sheer mental pressure would reduce them to a babbling wreck.  

This wasn’t an exaggeration.  

Germany’s previous captain—Börke’s senior—had once collapsed mid-match during a private practice game, his mind blank from the sheer force of Börke’s Ultimate Tennis. When he came to, he couldn’t remember a thing.  

That was why Börke had never revealed this ability publicly. Partly to keep it hidden, but mostly because he feared turning his opponents into vegetables.  

BOOM!  

Another serve.  

A whirlwind erupted and dissipated in an instant. All eyes locked onto the white mark left on the service line in front of Ishikawa.  

"40-0!"  

The umpire’s voice silenced the stadium.  

The air grew thick with tension.  

Every spectator felt as if a mountain were pressing down on their chests just from looking at Börke.  

He was too strong.  

The world’s top high school player was playing tennis on an entirely different level.  

Compared to him, Ishikawa’s serves—while terrifying—lacked the same overwhelming presence.  

Many wondered how this match would end. Even if Ishikawa’s serves were nearly unreturnable, Börke, now in the Ultimate realm, might still decipher them.  

After all, it had only taken him one game to break Ishikawa’s last serve.  

And if Börke adapted?  

There would only be one outcome.  

"Germany’s going to win."  

Zeus’ voice cut through the silence.  

Every head turned—not just from Greece, but from every team.  

Zeus was known for his [Omniscience and Omnipotence]—an ability to read minds and even glimpse possible futures.  

"Captain," Hermes whispered. "Did you see something?"  

"How could I?"  

Zeus chuckled wryly.  

"This match is beyond even my comprehension. Börke’s mental pressure is too much—just watching it makes me dizzy."  

Hermes and the others nodded grimly.  

They felt it too. Börke’s psychological dominance was overwhelming—likely the reason Ishikawa hadn’t counterattacked yet.  

But now, with no room left to retreat, defeat seemed inevitable.  

Whoosh!  

Börke tossed the ball again.  

Golden particles shimmered in the air as his aura exploded. The moment he struck the ball, his crushing willpower surged forth.  

All eyes locked onto Ishikawa.  

Would he fight back… or crumble?  

Swish!  

Then—  

Ishikawa moved.  

His actions spoke louder than words: he would never surrender.  

"It’s over."  

A faint smile touched Lendl’s lips.  

"If he had waited, adapting to Jürgen’s pressure, he might have stood a chance. But he’s too impulsive. That concentrated mental force will shatter his mind in an instant."  

He could already see it—the ball landing, Ishikawa collapsing to his knees.  

No one could withstand Börke’s will.  

Clang!  

But then—  

A metallic ringing echoed through the court.  

"Huh?!"  

Lendl’s head snapped up.  

Börke’s eyes widened in shock.  

Boom!  

A silver-white arc flashed at the far end of the baseline—completely out of nowhere.  

"Out!"  

"Game!"  

"Germany’s Börke, 6-5!"  

The umpire’s voice rang out. The ball had clearly landed two fingers’ width beyond the line.  

But while the crowd erupted in relief or complaints about the call—  

Lendl, Q.P., and Börke himself were all staring at the black-haired boy on the other side.  

"That was…"  

Lendl’s breath caught.  

For a split second, he had seen it—a shadowy figure wielding a gleaming sword behind Ishikawa.  

A chilling aura swept through the air.  

"The Path of Asura?"  

Q.P.’s expression darkened.  

"No."  

Börke’s gaze sharpened as he studied Ishikawa.  

"This presence… it’s beyond the Path of Asura. This is his Ultimate Tennis—something even greater."  

Chapter 514: The Final Showdown – Decisive Victory  

Bürgster secured a crucial game, retaking the lead.  

Yet, the atmosphere on the court felt… off.  

Even Seigfried and the other German players stared at Ishikawa with uneasy expressions.  

"He… returned it?"  

Frankensteiner muttered in disbelief.  

Sure, the ball had gone out—but Ishikawa had just deflected Bürgster’s Ultimate Tennis head-on.  

Even with the lead, the German team couldn’t celebrate.  

"A power beyond the Asura Path…?"  

Coach Lertral and Q·P watched Japan’s captain with grim focus.  

Just as Bürgster had hidden his Ultimate Tennis, Ishikawa had also kept his transcendent Asura Path under wraps.  

"Is he really only 12?"  

Spain’s vice-captain, Frio Roman, looked shaken.  

"No chance it’s fake."  

Medanore shook his head. "Japan’s team has no reason to falsify records—especially with their middle school lineup."  

Even without Ishikawa, Japan’s middle schoolers were among the world’s strongest this year. Only Spain’s prodigies could compete—and even then, most of them were former Japanese players who’d defected.  

"Ultimate versus Ultimate."  

Mars, his golden hair cascading over his shoulders, exhaled. "Even Bürgster can’t guarantee victory now, can he?"  

"No."  

Medanore agreed.  

Crossing into the Ultimate Zone was like stepping into another dimension—the gap between amateurs and pros.  

Frankly, he felt relieved Spain hadn’t faced Japan or Germany in the semifinals. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had this chance to study their techniques up close.  

Boom!  

Ishikawa served.  

The ball tore through the air like a bullet—so fast Bürgster didn’t even react.  

"15-0!"  

"That’s practically an Ultimate Serve!"  

Frio Roman gasped. "With this, he’s untouchable!"  

Boom! Boom!  

Two more aces followed in rapid succession.  

"30-0!"  

"40-0!"  

In under a minute, Ishikawa had game point. The ruthless efficiency left the crowd stunned.  

Crack!  

But on the fourth serve, Bürgster connected.  

"As expected."  

Medanore nodded. "For him, there’s no such thing as an ‘unreturnable’ serve."  

As he’d said—the gap between those inside and outside the Ultimate Zone was vast. Even Frio, Spain’s vice-captain, couldn’t grasp Bürgster’s true level.  

Hum!  

Then—Ishikawa’s aura sharpened.  

A razor-edged light erupted from him, ten times more oppressive than his usual Sword Intent.  

Whoosh!  

The serve blurred—even Bürgster only caught a flicker of its trajectory.  

Slash!  

A blade of dust split the court.  

Bürgster twisted aside—but not fast enough.  

Rip!  

His jacket sleeve tore open.  

Thud!  

In reality, the ball had already shot past him.  

"Wait—his jacket?!"  

Seigfried’s voice cracked.  

The crowd sucked in a collective breath.  

"Game! Japan’s Ishikawa, 6-6! Tiebreaker!"  

"So this is your Ultimate Tennis…"  

Bürgster’s eyes narrowed.  

That last shot had triggered his instincts—the same primal alarm he’d felt only once before: against Novak Brynner.  

This boy was his equal.  

Against such lethal precision, even a millisecond of hesitation meant defeat.  

"Tiebreak!"  

Bismarck’s fists clenched.  

He’d never imagined Ishikawa would push Bürgster this far. With one set already lost, Germany teetered on the edge.  

As vice-captain, he’d never felt this tense.  

Not just him—Q·P, Lertral, the entire German team held their breath.  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

Bürgster bounced the ball calmly.  

He knew the stakes.  

But pressure?  

To his iron will, it was nothing.  

In a tiebreak, the first server only got one serve. After that, players alternated every two.  

"If both hold serve, Ishikawa reaches set point first."  

Dry adjusted his glasses.  

"At this level, the mental strain alone would crush us."  

Yanagi nodded grimly.  

Two hours in, fatigue should’ve been setting in—yet both players stood unwavering.  

The winner would be whoever’s will outlasted the other.  

Boom!  

Bürgster served.  

A hurricane engulfed the court.  

Slash!  

Silver light split the storm as Ishikawa returned.  

Bürgster moved—flawless footwork, no wasted motion.  

Boom! Crack!  

The rallies escalated.  

With each strike, their auras clashed—not canceling out, but merging into a swirling vortex at the court’s center.  

Whoosh!  

A stray pebble got sucked in.  

Crunch.  

It disintegrated mid-air.  

"W-what?!"  

The crowd recoiled.  

Even seasoned players like Zeus and Gorgias felt their blood run cold.  

"They’ve both mastered Domain techniques."  

Reinhardt’s voice was tight. "Their skills are so refined, every shot naturally incorporates their signature moves."  

"That’s why… this ‘Dead Zone’ formed?"  

Hopkins, usually unshakable, felt a chill.  

That vortex wasn’t just power—it was perfection clashing against perfection.  

"G-gulp."  

France’s Prince Charudaru swallowed hard.  

"He’s… really a first-year like me?"  

Ishikawa loomed over him like an insurmountable peak. Even after their last encounter (where one serve nearly killed his horse), Charudaru had never felt this level of awe—and terror.  

Boom! Crack!  

The match raged on, the crowd too tense to speak.  

Even Medanore watched grimly.  

From hundreds of meters away, the pressure was palpable.  

"Bürgster, 1-0!"  

"Ishikawa, 1-1!"  

The tiebreak seesawed—neither yielding an inch.  

"Ishikawa, 6-5! Set point!"  

But just as victory seemed within Ishikawa’s grasp, Bürgster struck back—three minutes flat.  

"Huh?!"  

Dry and Yanagi blinked.  

"This tiebreak… might take a while."  

Mitsui’s jaw set.  

He wasn’t wrong.  

Both players were fully immersed, leaving no room for error.  

Two hours became three.  

Afternoon faded into evening.  

Yet neither showed fatigue—Bürgster’s breathing steady, Ishikawa’s focus unbroken.  

"Are they even human?!"  

Bürgster’s stamina was legendary (he’d outlasted Novak Brynner in a five-hour marathon).  

But a 12-year-old matching him?  

Unthinkable.  

"Jürgen."  

During a break, Lertral studied Bürgster. "Any issues?"  

"None."  

Bürgster wiped sweat, then glanced at Ishikawa—and smiled.  

"He’s dangerous. That’s what makes this worthwhile."  

Lertral froze.  

Bürgster… smiling?  

The man known for his ice-cold demeanor was enjoying this.  

"His latent potential… is awakening!"  

Lertral’s pulse raced.  

No opponent had ever pushed Bürgster this far.  

Now, under Ishikawa’s pressure, his will grew sharper, his play more ruthless.  

"It’s over."  

Medanore’s gaze darkened.  

Bürgster’s golden aura burned brighter—his spirit refined through battle.  

Meanwhile, Ishikawa’s sword-wielding phantom flickered weakly.  

The tide had turned.  

"He’s reached… a higher plane of the Ultimate Zone?"  

Even Byoudouin and Oni exchanged stunned looks.  

Was Bürgster touching the legendary threshold?  

BOOM!  

Bürgster’s next strike annihilated the vortex between them.  

"This shot—?!"  

The ball carried his unbreakable will—a force that could reshape the match.  

Ishikawa’s fading avatar seemed powerless to stop it.  

Most spectators had already written him off.  

But then—  

"Finally… this is the pressure I needed."  

Ishikawa’s eyes gleamed.  

Hum!  

A new phantom emerged behind him—a cross-legged sage.  

"Another Asura Path?!"  

Q·P’s throat went dry.  

And not just any—this one radiated Ultimate-level energy.  

"He was still hiding power?!"  

Before the shock faded, a third figure appeared—a martial artist, fists crackling with power.  

Then a fourth—a scholar holding a book, eyes piercing through all deception.  

"Omniscience?!"  

Zeus flinched.  

As someone who’d mastered "All-Knowing", he felt exposed under that gaze.  

"But… why?!"  

Four Ultimate Asura Paths? Was Ishikawa trying to overwhelm Bürgster with sheer volume?  

Hummm!  

The answer came instantly.  

The sage ("Flawless") became a torso.  

The martial artist ("Extreme Path") formed limbs.  

The scholar ("Omniscience") shaped the head.  

And the swordsman ("Sword God")—  

Morphed into a blade.  

"F-Fourfold Unity?!"  

Q·P’s voice failed him.  

He’d barely managed Triple Unity by fusing three矜持之光 (Purities).  

Yet Ishikawa had merged four Ultimate-level Asura Paths into one.  

Insane.  

WHOOSH!  

Time seemed to freeze as Ishikawa swung.  

The ball became a white streak—vanishing mid-flight.  

Bürgster, for the first time, looked deadly serious.  

His spirit flared, his instincts screaming—  

"There!"  

He swung at the blur—  

CRACK.  

His racket shattered.  

The ball, unimpeded, cratered the court behind him—five meters of devastation.  

Dust billowed. Screams erupted.  

When silence returned, all eyes locked on Bürgster’s broken racket.  

"G-game… set."  

The umpire’s voice shook.  

"Japan’s Ishikawa Kazuya wins, 6-4, 7-6!"  

Chapter 515: Before the Finals – Hunter and Prey  

[Ding!]  

[Player has defeated Boss-level character: Jürgen Borisovich Börke. Obtained 36,000 EXP.]  

[Player has acquired Jürgen Borisovich Börke’s dropped skill: [Baptism of the Vortex].]  

The system’s notifications echoed in Ishikawa’s mind the moment he defeated Börke.  

"[Baptism of the Vortex], huh?"  

A flicker of interest passed through Ishikawa’s thoughts.  

This technique was even more powerful than the [Glow Shot]. And if he could integrate it into his own domain, he might even achieve the same resonance of abilities as Börke had.  

With that in mind, he stepped toward the net.  

"An incredible match."  

Shaking Börke’s hand, Ishikawa smiled. "You truly live up to your title as the world’s strongest high schooler. This was the toughest fight I’ve had in the World Cup."  

"Hm."  

Börke’s brow twitched slightly.  

He was usually a master at masking his emotions, but Ishikawa’s words struck a nerve. Still, he couldn’t deny the truth—for Ishikawa, every match before this had probably just been a warm-up.  

"His growth is terrifying."  

Börke recalled the exhibition match where Ishikawa had faced Q.P. Back then, his mastery of the [Path of Asura] hadn’t been nearly this refined.  

Yet in just half a month, Ishikawa had somehow fused four abilities—each surpassing the Path of Asura—into one cohesive force.  

It wasn’t perfect yet, but at this point, there was no one left in the tournament who could stand against him.  

"Congratulations."  

Börke gave a curt nod. "I hope you defeat Spain and take the championship this year."  

With that, he turned and walked off the court.  

His背影 (figure) carried a hint of loneliness, but his stride quickly steadied into its usual composed rhythm. If not for the scoreboard and the visible wear on his racket, no one would’ve guessed he’d just lost a grueling match.  

"Germany fought honorably."  

Reinhardt sighed in admiration.  

After witnessing that battle, no one could claim Börke or the German team were weak. They’d simply run into an opponent with no flaws—spanning middle school and high school levels alike.  

"This semifinal match is now concluded."  

"Japan defeats Germany, 3-2, and advances to the finals!"  

The umpire’s announcement sent a ripple through the crowd.  

Almost instinctively, every spectator’s gaze shifted toward a group of players draped in elegant, coat-like uniforms sitting in the stands.  

"Let’s go."  

Medanore, their leader, stood.  

"Our opponents aren’t pushovers. Everyone, prepare accordingly."  

With that, he led the Spanish team out of the stadium.  

The sight of their disciplined exit—still radiating competitive fire—stirred excitement in the crowd. The lingering awe from Ishikawa and Börke’s clash now mingled with anticipation for the next battle.  

Spain, one of the Big 4, had swept world No. 2 Switzerland 3-0 in the quarterfinals—effortlessly.  

A showdown between them and Japan promised to be just as explosive as the semifinal they’d just witnessed.  

Post-Match 

As the Japanese team exited through a private tunnel, they were greeted by a night sky studded with stars.  

The match had started at dawn. Now, stepping outside, the players blinked in mild disorientation—had they really been inside all day?  

Under the watchful eyes of Coach Mikuni and Kurobe, they returned to their hotel.  

Despite their victory over Germany, no one relaxed. Until the finals were decided, discipline remained strict.  

Some even snuck in extra training after dinner.  

Among them was Oni, who stood alone on the practice court, his silhouette tinged with exhaustion. His Singles 3 match against Q.P. had lasted four hours—even longer than Ishikawa and Börke’s duel.  

Unlike those two monsters, Oni’s stamina had its limits. His body was drained; full recovery would take days.  

But with only one day between semifinals and finals, time wasn’t on his side.  

Still, Oni quickly shook off his frustration. Instead of dwelling on whether he’d play, he focused on coaching Irie and Tokugawa. As someone who’d stepped into the Ultimate realm, his insights were invaluable to them now.  

Others trained just as diligently—high schoolers like Tanegashima and Duke, middle schoolers like Tezuka and Atobe.  

Only Ishikawa and Byoudouin seemed exempt from the tension. Until the official lineup was announced, no one dared slack off.  

The Next Day 

Under Mikuni’s direction, the team underwent final assessments.  

Unlike the chaotic internal matches of the past, this was a structured evaluation. Mikuni already had a tentative lineup in mind—this was just the final check.  

Meanwhile, other teams had a more relaxed atmosphere.  

Take France, dethroned from the Big 4 this year. True to their "Parisian romance" reputation, they were the epitome of casual—evident even in Camus’s freeform Ultimate Tennis style.  

Eliminated in the quarterfinals, they should’ve flown home. But with the finals too enticing to miss—and Melbourne’s attractions calling—they’d stayed.  

After breakfast, Camus gathered the team for a beach trip.  

"Huh?"  

Glasses-wearing Jonathon "George" Saint-Georges frowned. "Where’s the Prince?"  

"Charludeau?"  

Bard, posing dramatically in the doorway, replied, "Saw him get picked up by some rich kid in a Rolls-Royce."  

"What?"  

"Charludeau and a trust-fund brat?"  

"Has the French monarchy fallen so low?"  

Dimitri Moreau’s exaggerated gasp carried a teasing lilt.  

"Don’t be ridiculous."  

Camus rolled his eyes. "It was Romeo Fernández from Spain. Probably discussing tactics."  

"Ah, that makes sense."  

George nodded. "They’ve known each other forever—both prodigies in European tennis. If Fernández sought him out… hmm, must be about that Japanese tycoon’s kid?"  

Atobe’s family wealth rivaled European aristocracy. But what truly stood out was his performance against France and Germany.  

Odds were high Japan would field him in the finals.  

"Spain’s taking this seriously."  

Bard grinned. "Tomorrow’s match is gonna be even wilder than we thought!"  

With Ishikawa and Byoudouin on Japan’s side, and Medanore and Ryoma Echizen leading Spain, the collision promised fireworks.  

Spain’s Training Grounds 

Charludeau, now in training gear, glared at his friend across the court.  

"Romeo, you bastard. You seriously just dragged me here to be your sparring partner?"  

"Heh."  

Fernández scratched his head sheepishly. "Of course! You’re my greatest rival!"  

"Tch."  

Charludeau wasn’t fooled.  

Fernández had personally fetched him to gather intel on Atobe. And the mere thought of that match made his blood boil.  

He’d won—technically—but only because Atobe forfeited after dominating him. In Charludeau’s mind, it was the most humiliating "victory" of his life.  

Still, out of respect (and mild curiosity), he’d agreed.  

Not to spill secrets, though.  

"Let’s just start."  

With a flick of his racket, Charludeau prepared to serve.  

Whoosh!  

But before he could swing—  

A yellow blur streaked past him, rocketing toward Fernández.  

"Huh?!"  

Fernández’s playful demeanor vanished. His eyes sharpened as he sidestepped and swung—  

THUD!  

The impact made his grip tremble.  

"This weight…!"  

He’d never felt such a heavy return. But with practiced finesse, he redirected the ball—  

Snap!  

Only for it to be caught mid-air by a pale hand.  

Charludeau whirled around—  

And froze.  

The intruder wore Spain’s signature coat, but his features were distinctly Asian. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost ghostly.  

"…Akutsu?"  

Fernández’s expression darkened.  

Akutsu Jirou—formerly of Japan, now a Spanish representative. A wildcard with a reputation for brutality.  

"I’m in the middle of something," Fernández said carefully. "Mind waiting?"  

"Won’t take long."  

Akutsu’s cold gaze locked onto him. "I’ll finish you fast."  

"F-finish?!"  

Charludeau gaped. Had he heard that right?  

"What’s your problem?"  

Fernández’s guard went up.  

"The old man said finals slots are limited."  

Akutsu’s voice was flat. "So to guarantee my spot, I’m eliminating you now."  

"…What?"  

Charludeau’s brain short-circuited.  

Since when did Spain decide lineups via gladiator combat?!  

Fernández, however, didn’t laugh. His stance shifted into something deadly serious.  

Charludeau’s breath hitched.  

He’d rarely seen his friend like this.  

"Romeo…"  

Swallowing hard, Charludeau whispered, "Is this guy that strong?"  

"Yeah."  

Fernández didn’t take his eyes off Akutsu. "He took down our No. 9-ranked high schooler. And he blocked Ralph Reinhardt’s attacks."  

"Reinhardt?!"  

Charludeau’s pulse spiked.  

The American captain was practically pro-level. If Akutsu could hold his own…  

"Also."  

Fernández’s voice dropped. "Before joining Spain, he was on Japan’s team."  

"J-Japan?!"  

A cold sweat broke out on Charludeau’s neck.  

Suddenly, memories of that match—the one that haunted his dreams—flooded back.  

"This guy’s ex-Japan?!"  

Fernández, meanwhile, braced himself.  

He knew Spain’s coach might’ve orchestrated this—a Darwinian trial by fire to decide the finals roster.  

Fine.  

If this was the test, he’d crush Akutsu and claim his spot.  

And since Akutsu had faced Japan’s players before, this was perfect prep for the finals.  

Charludeau caught on quickly.  

Privately, he rooted for Fernández. His friend had near-limitless stamina—and another, far deadlier talent.  

He almost wanted to see Akutsu humbled.  

30 Minutes Later 

Charludeau stood paralyzed.  

Fernández was embedded in the chain-link fence, the metal warped around his body from the force of Akutsu’s last shot.  

"Gulp."  

As Akutsu walked away without a backward glance, Charludeau shakily wiped his brow.  

"What… what kind of monster is that guy?!"  

(End of Chapter)