belamy20

501-505

Added 2025-07-08 16:46:59 +0000 UTC

Chapter 501: The Terrifying Power of Professional-Level Doubles

"Th-They actually won?!"

On the German team’s side, Siegfried and Frankensteiner stared in shock.

Until the referee’s announcement, they had been worried about Q.P., who had collapsed from exhaustion, certain that their team had lost.

But in the end—

No one expected it.

The ball had landed on Japan’s side of the court, failing to clear the net.

"WOOOOOOH!!!"

Once the reality sank in, the German team erupted in cheers. Even the usually arrogant Becker clenched his fists in excitement.

It was hard to believe this was the reaction of the reigning World Cup champions, the team that had dominated for nine consecutive years and was now aiming for an unprecedented tenth title.

"Q.P.!"

Head coach Lendyll shot up from his seat, but vice-captain Bismarck was faster. He rushed onto the court, immediately massaging Q.P.’s muscles while checking his condition.

"I-I’m fine, senpai."

Q.P.’s pale face managed a weak smile.

Bismarck froze.

This was the first time he had ever seen the usually cold and composed Q.P. wear such an expression.

And it was genuine.

Q.P. was truly happy—elated, even—after pushing himself to the limit and overcoming a formidable opponent.

"Senpai, help me up."

Once the muscle pain eased, Q.P. leaned on Bismarck and stood. Then, limping, he made his way to the net, where Oni was already waiting. The two gripped each other’s hands firmly.

"That was an incredible match," Q.P. said solemnly. "Oni-senpai… if the opportunity arises, would you play against me again?"

"Huh? O-Of course!"

Snapping out of his daze from the loss, Oni instinctively nodded.

"Then it’s settled."

Q.P. smiled. "I’ll be waiting for you in the pro leagues."

"…What?"

Oni froze again.

Pro leagues?

Until now, he had never seriously considered that path. His mind had always been single-tracked—first, helping the director of the orphanage take care of the kids; then, leading his team to victory in the Nationals.

After winning the championship, he defeated Byoudouin and, despite being undefeated, voluntarily stepped down as captain to become the "Gatekeeper of Hell" in the second string.

Even when Tokugawa emerged, Oni remained in that role.

Then came Ishikawa’s crushing defeat, which awakened him. But his goal had only been self-improvement—to grow strong enough to help Japan advance further in the World Cup.

Beyond that?

He had never thought about it.

But now—

Q.P.’s words had given him direction.

"A professional player…"

"That doesn’t sound bad at all."

With his future now clear, the gloom in Oni’s heart lifted. Even his fierce expression softened into a rare smile.

"Germany’s chances are looking strong."

In the stands, Switzerland’s strategist, Pete LaBella, sighed. "With four matches left—including Volk and their professional-level doubles—this semifinal is as good as over."

"True."

Tasta, still recovering from his sealed abilities, frowned. "But that just gives Spain an even bigger advantage."

Despite his grudge against Spain, he had to admit that whichever team advanced—Germany or Japan—would be severely weakened for the finals.

"Their stamina is completely drained."

Captain Amadeus nodded in agreement. "Losing two top-tier players means even with a day’s rest, they won’t recover in time."

Oni and Q.P.’s battle had lasted nearly five hours.

Such an exhausting war of attrition left them physically and mentally drained. No coach in their right mind would risk fielding them in the finals—not without shortening their careers.

And against a team as strong as Spain? It would be a reckless gamble.

"Next up: Doubles 2!"

The announcer’s voice echoed through the stadium as Oni and Q.P. exited.

"Representing Germany—Dankmar Schneider (3rd year, high school) & Bertie Baryshnikov Volk (3rd year, middle school)!"

"Representing Japan—Eishi Moonlight (3rd year, high school) & Ryuuji Oomagari (3rd year, high school)!"

"Players, prepare yourselves!"

Despite the marathon match before, both teams had used the time wisely—resting, hydrating, and warming up.

Now, two players from each side stepped forward.

For Japan, it was Moonlight and Oomagari—a powerhouse duo. Both were versatile players, perfectly suited for doubles, and had maintained an undefeated record during their overseas expeditions.

This time, they were determined to secure a win for Japan.

But—

The analysts, led by Mitsuya, wore grim expressions.

"Schneider and Bertie?" Inui muttered. "I didn’t expect Germany to field their strongest pair this early!"

Indeed.

Dankmar Schneider and Bertie Baryshnikov Volk were the only professional-level doubles pair in this year’s U-17 World Cup.

"Germany’s going all-in for the championship," Reinhardt, Amadeus, and Camus thought simultaneously.

Against such opponents, Japan was likely headed for back-to-back losses.

The Match Begins

From the start, Japan was on the back foot. Their coordination, while strong, couldn’t match that of a professional duo.

But Oomagari wasn’t about to give in.

Within the rules, he unleashed his Two-Sword Style, wielding dual rackets like an impenetrable fortress. Combined with Moonlight’s relentless attacks, Japan clawed back, taking the first game: 1-0.

Second game—Moonlight’s serve.

Without hesitation, he unleashed his signature Mach Serve, blasting four aces in a row.

2-0.

Japan extended their lead.

Third game—Oomagari’s turn.

Using his Two-Sword Style, he forced high returns, setting up Moonlight for devastating Mach Smashes that left Schneider and Bertie helpless.

BOOM!

Another smash landed.

Even Schneider’s massive reach and Bertie’s agility couldn’t stop it.

"Game!"

"Japan leads, 3-0! Change sides!"

Contrary to expectations, Japan dominated early, sweeping the first three games.

"Their teamwork is top-class," Fitzgerald (Australia) and Barte (France), both doubles specialists, admitted.

Oomagari’s Two-Sword Style provided an unbreakable defense, while Moonlight’s Mach serves and smashes were unstoppable offenses.

At this rate, Japan might actually defeat the pros.

But—

Schneider and Bertie weren’t about to let that happen.

Fourth game.

Bertie targeted Oomagari’s weaknesses, placing every shot just where he couldn’t comfortably swing. Like a misaligned gear, Oomagari hesitated—and that was all Schneider needed.

"GIGANTISCH!"

Schneider’s body swelled with power, his strikes now monstrous.

CRACK!

Oomagari’s racket flew from his grip.

Even when he crossed both rackets to block the next shot—

BAM!

Both rackets were sent spinning away.

"Game!"

"Germany, 1-3!"

The pros had finally awakened.

Schneider’s raw strength was terrifying, but the true mastermind was the boy with the star-shaped necklace.

Bertie Baryshnikov Volk.

"The younger brother of Germany’s captain, Volk," Mitsuya said grimly. "A super-genius with AI-level analytical skills."

Inui and Yanagi nodded.

Aside from Ishikawa, they had never seen someone so terrifyingly precise with data tennis. Only one other person could rival him—Noah Gorgias, Australia’s blind tactician.

Without a data expert to counter him, Bertie controlled the match effortlessly. By the sixth game, he had even predicted Moonlight’s Mach serves—though he lacked the speed to return them.

Still, even with Moonlight holding serve, Japan’s lead was slim: 4-3.

Bertie had dissected Oomagari and Moonlight’s playstyles completely.

Moonlight’s Resolve

"Enough holding back."

Moonlight’s bangs lifted, revealing cold, piercing eyes.

"Tonight…"

A silvery glow enveloped him.

"The moon is full."

"Finally going all out?" Bertie smirked, unfazed.

Moonlight’s Hyperspeed Dimension overwhelmed them. His smashes became unstoppable streaks of light, blasting past the Germans.

"First set: Japan wins, 6-3!"

Japan’s morale soared.

But players like Inui and Tokugawa sensed danger.

And they were right.

Second set—Bertie struck back.

He had already analyzed Moonlight’s Hyperspeed Dimension, countering with precise shots that forced Moonlight into uncomfortable positions.

"Second set: Germany wins, 6-2!"

Japan’s only wins came from Moonlight’s two service games.

"How is he this strong?" Tachibana and Chitose were stunned.

A middle schooler, yet he had dismantled Moonlight’s ultimate technique in minutes. Even Oomagari was struggling.

"As expected of Volk’s brother," Ishikawa said. "With skills like this, he’d be a top-tier doubles player with anyone."

The Final Set

Facing potential back-to-back losses, Moonlight and Oomagari fought desperately. Through sheer willpower, they held off Bertie’s assaults, dragging the match into a grueling hour-long battle.

"That’s enough."

Coach Lendyll’s voice cut through the tension.

"Save your strength for the finals."

Japan’s team paled.

Then—

A surge of energy erupted from Schneider and Bertie.

"This is—?!"

Tachibana and Chitose gasped.

"Synchro…?!"

Germany had been hiding this trump card all along.

With their Satellite Vision now active, Japan’s resistance crumbled.

"Final set: Germany wins, 7-5!"

"Match concluded!"

"Germany’s Dankmar Schneider & Bertie Baryshnikov Volk win, 3-6, 6-2, 7-5!"

Japan had suffered their first consecutive losses of the tournament.

A shadow of defeat loomed over them.

Chapter 502: Becker’s Arrogance, Japan’s Last Stand

Two straight losses!

The Japanese team—especially players like Hiyoshi and Kirihara watching from the stands—was in disbelief.

Oni, so incredibly strong, had lost.

Even the powerhouse doubles pair of Mouri and Otori, with their unstoppable "Mach Serve," had fallen.

For the first time, Japan faced back-to-back defeats. A shadow of frustration loomed over the team, and morale plummeted.

"How… did this happen?"

Even rival players from teams Japan had crushed in earlier rounds stared in shock.

That dominant Japanese squad… lost twice in a row?

"Guess even the strong have their limits, huh?"

The American team’s Valentin muttered under his breath.

"Maybe."

Lendill remained noncommittal, but his sharp senses picked up the whispers around him—some sympathetic, most dripping with schadenfreude.

Objectively, Japan had fought well. Their doubles match had pushed Germany’s pro-level pair to their limits, forcing them to reveal hidden tactics. And in singles? Oni had only lost due to sheer bad luck. A rematch against Q.P. wouldn’t guarantee victory for the German.

Oni’s Asura Demon God was every bit as terrifying as Q.P.’s Ultimate Quality. Even Lendill had felt a chill seeing that three-faced, six-armed monstrosity.

But reality was cruel.

In competition, results trumped process.

Especially when Japan had been hyped as the tournament’s dark horse—even touted as potential giant-slayers against Germany.

The higher the pedestal, the harder the fall.

Now, most spectators reveled in Japan’s misfortune.

"But… is Japan really finished?"

Lendill narrowed his eyes.

Switzerland’s Amadeus, France’s Camus, even Greece’s Zeus and Australia’s strategist Noah—all wore cryptic expressions.

"Looks like Japan’s miracle run ends here."

Australia’s captain, the golden-haired Fitzgerald, sighed. His teammates shared the sentiment. A German loss would’ve softened the blow of their own defeat by Japan.

"Is that so?"

Noah, the blue-haired prodigy, smirked. "I’d say Germany’s the one who’s played all their cards… and now they’re exposed."

"What?!"

Even his brother, Golgi, stared in disbelief.

"Noah, be serious," Golgi growled. "Japan’s down two matches! And Germany still has Volk waiting in singles!"

Jürgen Borisovich Volk.

The world’s #1 high school tennis player.

Against him, even Japan’s so-called "genius" Ishikawa would struggle. With Germany already up 2-0, victory was all but guaranteed.

But Noah saw differently.

Blind yet perceptive, he read the game’s flow like no one else. His words, though outrageous, sent a ripple of unease through the Australians.

"Next up: Singles 2!"

"Germany’s representative—Rudolf Becker (12th grade)!"

"Japan’s representative—Byoudouin Houou (12th grade)!"

"Players, prepare!"

The crowd’s attention snapped to the court.

Becker’s name carried far more weight than Byoudouin’s. The German had already secured a pro contract, while Byoudouin hadn’t played a single match this tournament.

In terms of reputation? Becker won by a landslide.

"Hmph."

Sensing the crowd’s gaze, Becker smirked. With practiced elegance, he shrugged off his jacket, twirled his racket, and strode onto the court.

The exhibition match loss to Japan still burned.

Back then, complacency had cost him. But now? He’d trained relentlessly to erase that humiliation.

Since then, he’d crushed every opponent—including England’s captain, whose team ranked just below America’s.

In Volk and Q.P.’s absence, Becker was Germany’s ace.

And after yesterday’s training match, where he’d defeated Bismarck? His confidence was unshakable.

"This match will bury Japan’s hopes for good."

His eyes locked onto his opponent.

"Germany sweeps the semifinals 3-0. And I, Rudolf Becker, will be the one to send Japan crashing down!"

The moment the announcer hadn’t called Ishikawa’s name, Becker knew—this was already over.

All that remained was the formality of breaking Japan’s spirit.

"Good afternoon."

At the net, Becker extended a hand, oozing aristocratic charm. "Rudolf Becker. I look forward to a… civilized match."

"Skip the act."

Byoudouin didn’t even uncross his arms. His sidelong glance was pure disdain. "Hurry up. I’ve got better things to do."

"…Excuse me?"

Becker’s smile froze.

This… this was how Japan’s representative behaved?

Rage simmered in his chest, but years of elite upbringing kept it in check.

"Very well."

He retracted his hand, voice icy. "If you’re in a rush, I’ll oblige."

"Good."

Byoudouin turned away, tossing over his shoulder: "You pick serve or side. Don’t care."

"YOU—!"

Becker’s composure cracked.

No one—no one—dismissed him like this. Not even Switzerland’s Amadeus.

"Byoudouin Houou…"

He glared at the retreating figure, fists clenched. "You’ll regret this. I swear it."

The tense pre-match exchange left the stadium uneasy. Even rival players exchanged puzzled glances.

"That Japanese guy’s got no manners!"

Germany’s Siegfried scoffed. "Becker tried being polite, and he just spat on it. Disgraceful."

"Strange behavior," Bismarck mused. "For a semifinalist, you’d expect some decorum."

"Wait…" Frankensteiner’s eyes widened. "You think he’s trying to piss Becker off?"

"Pathetic." Siegfried rolled his eyes. "Only weaklings resort to mind games."

But Q.P. and Bismarck exchanged glances.

"A psychological ploy?"

Q.P. studied Byoudouin’s bored stance. "If so, it’s a crude one."

Germany, as nine-time champions, disdained such tactics. Their pride demanded victory through sheer skill—anything less tarnished their legacy.

"But…" Bismarck frowned. "Becker’s not the type to fall for this. Not after the exhibition match."

That loss had humbled Becker. Ten hours of solitary reflection had hardened his resolve.

No way he’d lose focus now.

"Trying to rattle me?"

On the baseline, Becker bounced the ball, cold clarity replacing his anger.

Byoudouin’s arrogance had to be a facade.

And facades existed for one reason—to hide weakness.

"You’re in for a rude awakening."

He tossed the ball skyward.

"Let me show you what professional tennis looks like."

CRACK!

The serve ripped across the court—aimed at the intersection of the center line and sideline, a blind spot for most players.

Fast. Precise. Brutal.

"That speed…!"

Even Australia’s serving specialists, Millman and McGregor, gasped.

This was pro-level power.

Germany’s bench erupted in cheers. Siegfried and Frankensteiner were already celebrating—

THUD.

A yellow blur exploded at Becker’s feet.

"0-15."

Silence.

Deafening, suffocating silence.

Germany’s players turned to statues.

"No… way…"

Siegfried’s voice trembled. The ball had landed exactly on the line’s intersection—Becker hadn’t even moved.

"A… counter-ace?"

Bismarck’s throat went dry.

Q.P. closed his notebook slowly. "I see. Japan’s singles 2 was never a weak link."

On the court, Becker stared at Byoudouin, blood draining from his face.

The Japanese player met his gaze, eyes still dripping with contempt.

But now, that disdain carried weight.

"This guy…"

Becker’s hands shook.

"He’s pro-level too?!"

Chapter 503: The Phoenix’s Lament

"Do these guys… really think Byoudouin is weak?"

On Japan’s side, Mouri and Tōjō exchanged amused smirks.

It made sense.

During Japan’s overseas expedition under Byoudouin’s leadership, they had never ventured into the Western world. But given the monstrous strength of Japan’s current roster, there was no way their former captain could be weaker than Tanegashima or Duke.

And during the exhibition match—

Even Tanegashima, who hadn’t yet reached pro-level at the time, had straight-up defeated Becker with Ryoma’s help.

Yet, Germany still underestimated Byoudouin.

Were they arrogant? Or just naive?

"Hah…"

On the court, Becker took a deep breath, steadying himself. His sharp gaze locked onto his opponent, burning with intensity.

"I underestimated you. But even if you’re at pro level, you’re no match for me!"

There were tiers even among professionals.

Becker was a top-tier genius. His match against Tanegashima had already proven his pro-level skills. And after that crushing defeat, he had clawed his way back stronger.

So even as Byoudouin displayed formidable power, Becker remained confident.

THWACK!

He served.

BANG!

Byoudouin’s return was brutally simple—a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shot straight to Becker’s backhand.

This time, Becker was ready. He tracked the ball’s trajectory and smoothly returned it.

"He got it back!!"

The German team exhaled in relief.

"See? That first point was just a fluke."

"Exactly. If Becker-senpai’s serious, this guy won’t score again."

"At this rate, we’ll wrap up the semifinals in three matches!"

Their chatter lifted Becker’s spirits. At least his elegant image hadn’t been tarnished.

But as the rallies continued, Becker’s confidence wavered.

"Impossible…"

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he barely returned another shot. "He’s keeping up with me? No—I need to end this fast."

He dialed up the spin, sending the ball whirling through the air like a phantom.

BANG!

Yet Byoudouin casually swatted it back.

"So," he said flatly, "this is your ‘serious’ level?"

No mockery. No taunt. Just indifference.

But that indifference cut deeper than any insult.

"Tch!"

Becker’s grip tightened. "Fine. You want to see pro-level skills? I’ll show you!"

TWANG!

The ball rocketed over the net—then suddenly accelerated mid-air, zigzagging wildly like a blade dancing on a tightrope.

"It’s here!" Siegfried cheered. "Becker-senpai’s [Dance on the Razor’s Edge]!"

A pro-level technique.

A super-spin shot designed to break even the sharpest minds.

And Byoudouin wasn’t Tanegashima—he had no innate counter.

CRACK!

Yet Byoudouin just… flicked it back.

The ball slammed into Becker’s side before he could react. His body felt stiff, sluggish—like rusted gears.

Byoudouin didn’t even glance at him as he walked to the next position.

"Damn it… DAMN IT!"

Becker’s fists trembled. But just as his rage peaked, he met Volk’s calm gaze from the sidelines.

"…Right. Stay cool."

He inhaled deeply.

"This guy’s strong. Stronger than Tanegashima. Maybe even top-tier pro level."

Losing two straight points had humbled him. Now, he’d treat Byoudouin as the threat he was.

The Match Intensifies

Becker served again, laser-focused.

Byoudouin returned with the same effortless precision.

But as the rallies dragged on, Becker noticed something terrifying—

Each return felt heavier.

One shot.

Two shots.

Three shots.

By the third exchange, his wrist screamed in protest.

"Is this… some kind of power technique?"

SNAP!

On the next return, his strings burst like paper.

THUD.

The ball rolled harmlessly on his side.

"0-40!"

Silence.

The German team gaped at the hole in Becker’s racket.

"He… broke through with a basic return?" Q.P. narrowed his eyes.

"Every shot landed in the exact same spot," Volk stated.

"What?!" Bismarck balked. "No way Becker wouldn’t notice that!"

"Unless," Q.P. mused, "Byoudouin forced him to hit the same spot every time."

Volk nodded. "Controlling an opponent isn’t hard—spin, placement, power. At this level, the ‘impossible’ is just another tactic."

Siegfried blinked. "But… Becker-senpai’s a pro!"

Volk didn’t respond.

But Q.P. and Bismarck’s expressions darkened as they watched Byoudouin dismantle Becker with ease.

"Game! Japan’s Byoudouin leads, 1-0!"

"No way…"

"Becker-senpai lost his serve?!"

"He’ll bounce back!"

Their optimism rang hollow.

The Phoenix Rises

Becker stayed calm, adjusting his spin and angles to regain control.

Yet the scoreboard read 0-40—match point.

His eyes hardened.

"Fine. If this is what it takes—"

WHOOSH!

Flames erupted from his racket.

The air shimmered with heat as a fiery phoenix soared into the sky, its wings casting a crimson glow over the court.

"[Phoenix Wings]!"

Gasps filled the stands.

England’s captain paled. "He never used this against me…"

The blazing bird dove toward Byoudouin—

Who didn’t even flinch.

"Is he insane?!"

"He’s done for!"

But as the flames engulfed him…

The phoenix crumbled.

Its fiery feathers dissolved into ash, vanishing like smoke in the wind.

"What… just happened?!"

Even the referee stared, baffled.

Becker’s breath hitched as a faint roll… roll… sound reached his ears.

A charred tennis ball settled at his feet.

"He… returned it?"

No one had seen it happen.

"G-Game! Japan’s Byoudouin leads, 2-0!"

Germany’s morale plummeted.

Becker wasn’t just losing—he was being outclassed in ways they couldn’t comprehend.

The Fall

Twenty minutes later.

"First set: Japan’s Byoudouin wins, 6-0!"

"WOOOOOH!!"

Hiyoshi and Kintarō cheered wildly.

But Japan’s veterans—Tanegashima, Duke, even Mouri and Tōjō—remained unfazed.

"Tch. And here I thought he’d push the boss a little," Tōjō scoffed. "Some ‘pro’ he turned out to be."

(Though they all knew—Becker wasn’t weak. Byoudouin was just that strong.)

CRACK.

A sound like snapping bone cut through the noise.

Becker’s fists clenched, veins bulging.

"Byoudouin… Phoenix."

He lifted his head, eyes burning with fury.

"You forced this. Once I unleash that—you’re FINISHED!"

BOOM.

A dark, blood-red aura erupted from his body. The scent of scorched metal and decay choked the air.

Byoudouin finally smirked.

"Now we’re talking."

Chapter 504: Crushing the Spirit—The Terrifying King

At this moment, Becker’s aura surged to unprecedented heights.

"You forced me into this!"

His eyes burned with hatred as he glared at Byoudouin, all traces of his former gentlemanly demeanor gone. The scorching heat radiating from him seemed to breathe life into a true phoenix reborn from ashes.

"The Abyss of Tennis?"

Bismarck of the German team tensed.

"To think he was still holding back when he played against me!"

"This is his trump card," Coach Latreu interjected. "After losing the exhibition match, he resolved to push beyond his limits. That’s why he sought out Horus for hellish training."

"Horus? Wait… You don’t mean Danny Horus?!"

The German team’s eyes widened in shock at the name.

"That’s right," Latreu confirmed. "The pro player known as [God’s Right Hand]."

Danny Horus.

Age 29.

Ranked 4th in the world.

One of the absolute pinnacles of professional tennis. His skills were second only to the world’s current No. 1, Novak Brenner. Compared to him, even Amadeus—hailed as the most technically gifted high school player—was merely a rookie in the pro scene.

"I see…"

QP’s eyes gleamed with realization.

If he recalled correctly, Becker’s tennis club was the same as Horus’. And when Becker first applied to turn pro, rumors swirled that a top player had taken an interest in him. Now, it was clear who that had been.

"In other words…"

QP’s gaze shifted back to the court, where Becker’s blazing aura seemed to scorch the very air.

"After the exhibition match, Becker’s been training privately with Horus?"

That would explain his staggering improvement.

But then QP noticed something odd.

Unlike the rest of the team, their captain, Volk, wasn’t focused on Becker. Instead, his eyes were fixed on a particular spot in the stands.

"Who is that?"

Following Volk’s line of sight, QP spotted a young man in a light-blue casual jacket and sunglasses.

"Danny Horus?!"

QP was stunned.

For a player of Horus’ caliber to personally attend Becker’s match spoke volumes about his expectations for the young German.

In the stands…

The sunglasses-wearing man’s brow lifted slightly.

As one of the world’s top players, Danny Horus had exceedingly high standards. Few in this World Cup had caught his eye—Becker was one of them.

Compared to Amadeus, whose technique was already refined and who had carved his own path, Horus preferred Becker’s raw potential.

More malleable. More room to grow.

Since they belonged to the same club, they’d known each other for years. Horus had even backed Becker’s transition to the pro scene.

At 28, Horus was in his prime—but he’d yet to break into the highest echelon of tennis. Once his peak passed, his decline would be swift. And with rising stars like that bald German kid—who’d recently defeated Novak Brenner himself in the German Open—Horus knew the pro scene was on the verge of upheaval.

Investing in Becker now was a calculated move.

But even Horus hadn’t expected the Japanese player to be this strong. Not only had he crushed Becker 6-0 in the first set, but he’d also forced out Becker’s newly awakened Abyss of Tennis.

"Too bad. Provoking Rudolf will be your worst mistake."

A smirk curled Horus’ lips as he stared at the golden-haired player across the net.

"Now, feel the agony of hellfire."

"Second set begins!"

"Germany’s Becker to serve!"

Whoosh!

As the umpire’s voice faded, Becker tossed the ball high—his eyes burning with fury—and smashed it down with a thunderous CRACK!

The ball streaked across the court like a blazing comet, landing squarely in Byoudouin’s service box with terrifying speed.

"Fast! Too fast!"

Spectators gasped. Even seasoned players were stunned by the sheer velocity.

"Combining flawless technique with explosive power… This is monstrous!" Mitsuya’s voice trembled.

Becker’s serve had ascended to a whole new level—rivaling even the likes of "Perfect Harmony" players.

THUD!

Yet, despite the blistering heat, Byoudouin returned it effortlessly.

"What?!"

The German team stiffened in shock.

But Becker only grinned, his eyes glinting with malice.

"Good. I was afraid you’d be too scared to even touch it."

His voice dripped with venom.

"Now, the real nightmare begins."

HUM—

The moment Byoudouin’s racket made contact, the ball erupted with a searing, hellish aura. Scorching heat engulfed the court, as though the air itself were boiling.

BOOM!

A monstrous firestorm detonated.

"SCREECH—!"

A piercing, avian cry tore through the air, leaving nearby staff dizzy and disoriented.

If even the spectators felt this, what must Byoudouin—standing at the epicenter—be enduring?

The Abyss: A Battle of Wills

In Byoudouin’s mind, the explosion transported him to a charred battlefield littered with severed limbs.

The blackened earth wasn’t soil—it was stained with the blood of countless fallen warriors. Tattered banners bearing the words "Slay the Phoenix" flapped in the ashen wind.

"SCREECH—!"

A deafening cry split the sky.

A colossal, flame-wreathed silhouette blazed across the horizon—a monstrous phoenix, born from Becker’s rage, hatred, and bloodlust.

This was Becker’s soul incarnate.

And now, in this mental realm, the phoenix’s power had reached its zenith.

With a beat of its wings, it dove toward Byoudouin, its twin eyes burning with murderous intent.

"Suffer—!"

The phoenix’s beak morphed into Becker’s snarling face as it lunged, jaws wide, ready to devour Byoudouin whole.

SHINK!

But then—

A blade flashed.

The phoenix’s body split cleanly down the middle, its two halves crashing to the ground in a heap of dying embers.

Behind it stood a skeletal figure clad in a pirate captain’s coat, its cutlass gleaming as it sheathed the weapon.

The howling winds couldn’t budge it—this specter stood unwavering against the storm.

Reality: A Single Strike

Back on the court, Byoudouin’s racket had already sent the ball hurtling back.

But in the blink of an eye, it split midair—streaking past Becker on both sides before he could react.

THUD! THUD!

The impact kicked up a dust storm, obscuring Becker’s frozen form.

When the haze cleared, the shattered remains of the tennis ball rolled to a stop at his feet.

The crowd erupted.

"0-15!"

The umpire’s call sent shockwaves through the stadium.

"The ball… split in half?!"

Siegfried and Frankensteiner gaped in disbelief. Even QP and Bismarck wore expressions of stunned horror.

"Impossible…"

Danny Horus’ fingers tightened around his sunglasses.

"Rudolf, in his Phoenix form, lost in a single stroke?"

This wasn’t just shocking—it was unthinkable. Even among top-tier pros, few could dismantle Becker’s Abyss so effortlessly.

"Byoudouin… Phoenix?"

Horus’ lips thinned.

In Eastern mythology, "Phoenix" and "Byoudouin" shared the same meaning.

Was this fate? Or Becker’s destined trial?

Either way, the match was over. The pro circuit allowed losers redemption—but Horus had already lost interest in grooming Becker.

THWACK!

Byoudouin’s next return struck Becker square in the gut.

"Guh—!"

The German doubled over, retching.

"Rudolf!"

The team surged forward, but Becker waved them off, forcing himself upright. His eyes, now feral with desperation, locked onto Byoudouin.

THWACK!

Another serve—this time aimed straight at Byoudouin’s face.

But Byoudouin calmly deflected it… and once again, the ball ricocheted into Becker’s abdomen.

"GAAH—!"

Becker’s vision whited out from the pain.

"Are you awake now?" Byoudouin’s voice was ice.

"You bastard—!"

The Germans seethed, but there was nothing they could do. Byoudouin’s shots weren’t direct attacks—they could be written off as unlucky bounces. And only Coach Latreu or Captain Volk could forfeit… yet both remained silent.

They’d seen worse.

This was just pain.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

The match devolved into a one-sided slaughter.

Every shot Byoudouin fired found its mark—Becker’s ribs, his arms, his legs—each impact punctuated by a choked scream.

Just as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, another blow would jolt him back to agony.

Fear crept in.

Regret.

He never should’ve provoked this monster.

But pride kept his mouth shut. No surrender. No forfeit.

His body moved on autopilot, a broken puppet dangling between torment and oblivion.

"Gulp."

Players from other nations swallowed hard.

This wasn’t a match—it was an execution.

"He’s gotten stronger."

Amadeus of Switzerland watched grimly.

Once, he’d overpowered Byoudouin. Now, the man before him was unrecognizable.

"After that incident… Did he truly rise from death itself?"

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Death. Rebirth. Transcendence.

If anyone embodied the legend of the phoenix… it was Byoudouin.

THWACK!

One last strike sent Becker stumbling back, his eyes rolling into his skull.

He was done.

"Match point."

Volk’s voice cut through the tension.

"Coach Latreu. He can’t take anymore."

Latreu nodded. "We’ll forfeit."

But before the words left his mouth—

ZZZT!

A golden orb materialized in Byoudouin’s palm.

"Umpire—!" Volk barked.

"Too late."

Byoudouin swung.

SHIIING!

The ball streaked toward Becker like a guillotine’s blade.

For the first time, Becker’s mind snapped back to clarity.

"W-Wait—!"

His pupils shrank to pinpricks.

But it was over.

CRASH!

The impact launched him into the stadium wall—embedding him into the concrete.

Silence.

"G-Game, set, match!" The umpire’s voice shook. "Byoudouin wins! 6-0, 6-0!"

Not a soul dared to breathe.

Every eye on the court trembled with terror and awe.

"That brat went too far."

Horus’ grip cracked his sunglasses.

"Byoudouin Phoenix… A menace like him in the pros would be a disaster— Huh?!"

His blood ran cold.

Across the court, Byoudouin’s gaze locked onto him—calm, yet brimming with something predatory.

For the first time in years, Danny Horus, the 4th-ranked player in the world, felt genuine fear.

"Was that… my imagination?"

He couldn’t shake the thought:

If they ever faced off on the court… this man might just kill him.

Chapter 505: The Dream Team – Absolute Dominance in Doubles

"We won!"

The Japanese team’s players in the stands pumped their fists in exhilaration.

After two consecutive losses, the tide had finally turned. Hope for victory flared in their hearts once more.

"Hmph, it’s just one win. Germany still has the upper hand!"

Henry Nobel III, the aristocratic Swiss team representative, scoffed as he watched the Japanese reserves celebrate.

"It’s not that simple."

Beside him, Peter Lanbier, the bespectacled tactician of the Swiss team, shook his head. "On paper, Japan is still at a disadvantage with two losses and one win. But according to the rules, both teams must field at least three middle school representatives."

"Ah."

Henry paused, then understood. "You mean…"

"Exactly." Lanbier nodded. "Japan used four high schoolers in the first three matches, while Germany only used three. That means Germany has more flexibility in their lineup."

"However," he continued, his tone turning serious as his gaze shifted to the black-haired boy on Japan’s side, "his presence alone guarantees Japan an inherent advantage in the middle schooler slots. Meanwhile, Germany must ensure their final singles match is played by a high schooler."

Whoosh!

The moment he said it, the crowd’s attention snapped to the two central figures on opposite sides of the court—Ryoma and Volk.

They were the strongest players on their respective teams, and the two most formidable competitors in this World Cup.

Without a doubt, both were slated for Singles 1.

"But…"

A Swiss middle schooler spoke up hesitantly. "Couldn’t Germany switch Volk to Doubles 1 and surprise Japan by pairing him with another middle schooler?"

"Impossible."

Surprisingly, it was Henry who dismissed the idea. "First, there’s no guarantee Germany would’ve won the first two matches. Second, as the nine-time defending champions aiming for an unprecedented tenth consecutive title, Germany would never relegate their captain to doubles."

Soldiers fought soldiers, generals battled generals—and kings faced kings.

Unless physically incapacitated, Volk would only play Singles 1. That position was his honor, his duty, and his pride.

"Which means…" Albert mused, "the fourth match, Doubles 1, will be a showdown between middle schoolers."

"A battle of middle schoolers, huh?"

Swiss captain Amadeus let out a thoughtful hum. "In that case, Japan really might pull off back-to-back comebacks!"

The court was being cleaned up.

Medical staff carefully extracted Becker from the wall where he’d been embedded. After a quick examination, they confirmed his injuries were severe but not life-threatening, and he was rushed to a nearby hospital.

Soon, the umpire’s voice echoed through the stadium:

"Next up: Doubles 1!"

"Germany’s representatives: Elmar Seigfried (3rd year middle school), Kevin Kraus (2nd year middle school)."

"Japan’s representatives: Kunimitsu Tezuka (3rd year middle school), Keigo Atobe (3rd year middle school)."

"Players, prepare yourselves."

The German fans erupted in cheers, rallying behind their team. But players from other nations quickly realized something.

"Looks like Japan really is about to turn things around."

Hermes, Greece’s vice-captain, narrowed his eyes. During the group stage, he had lost to Japan’s bespectacled prodigy.

"Japan’s been hiding their ace!"

Australia’s volatile Golga smirked. "Putting him in Doubles 1? Germany’s in for a rough time."

"Indeed."

Noah, the blind but sharp-witted blue-haired strategist, nodded. "Tezuka and Atobe—as a doubles pair, they might even rival Japan’s high schoolers."

Individually, both were near-professional level. And with Japan’s coach and Ryoma’s tactical brilliance, there was no way they’d pair two players who couldn’t synergize.

By all logic, Germany stood no chance.

"Tch."

On Germany’s side, Seigfried bristled under the pitying stares from the crowd.

"What, these guys think we can’t win?"

Sure, he’d lost to Atobe in the exhibition match. But that crushing defeat had sparked his awakening. Training relentlessly—even against high schoolers—had sharpened his skills to new heights.

He wasn’t the same helpless kid who’d watched Bismarck carry the team alone.

"Don’t underestimate them."

Kraus, now calmer and more mature after overcoming his mental block, shook his head. "They’re both elite middle schoolers. Strong opponents."

Germany’s three straight losses in the exhibition had humbled them. High schoolers like Q.P. and Becker, middle schoolers like Seigfried and Kraus—all had grown from the experience.

Especially Kraus.

After his breakdown against Ryoma, therapy had restored his 13-year-old mindset—erasing his arrogance and instilling steadiness.

Now, he was the anchor to Seigfried’s fire.

"I know."

Seigfried nodded. He wasn’t reckless enough to underestimate them—not after facing Atobe’s strength firsthand. And Tezuka’s reputation? Even more intimidating.

But he hated the condescension in the crowd’s eyes.

"Don’t worry."

As they stepped onto the court, Seigfried smirked. "I’ll make them regret underestimating me. Who knows? Maybe we’ll end this semifinal right here in Doubles 1!"

"Tezuka and Atobe, huh? What a combo."

On Japan’s side, Tachibana and the others relaxed.

This duo was arguably Japan’s strongest middle school pair outside of Ryoma. A win here would lead to the fifth match—the ultimate showdown in Singles 1.

Yet, oddly, neither Ryoma nor Volk had moved to warm up.

"Best of three sets!"

The umpire’s voice rang out. "Japan’s Tezuka to serve. First game!"

The crowd tensed in anticipation.

"Tezuka."

Atobe grinned from the net. "Let’s make this quick. Compared to doubles, I’m more interested in the next match."

Next match?

Singles 1?

Tezuka’s brow lifted slightly. True, Ryoma vs. Volk was far more compelling.

Whoosh!

With a sharp exhale, Tezuka tossed the ball and unleashed a blistering serve.

Thwack!

The ball shot down, its speed startling Kraus. He hadn’t expected such intensity from the first serve.

Still, he adjusted, twisting his body to make an awkward return—

"Huh?!"

His eyes widened.

The ball, after bouncing, spun backward along the ground.

"15–0!"

The umpire announced, admiration flashing in his eyes. That serve was flawless.

"ZERO SHIKI!!!"

The Japanese team erupted.

Especially Seigaku’s members—Momoshiro and Kikumaru leaped to their feet, roaring.

"Zero-Shiki Serve!"

Players from Switzerland, France, and the U.S. tensed.

"That serve… is unreturnable."

Hermes grimaced. During the group stage, he’d been helpless against it.

"Starting with that move?"

Even Zeus looked surprised. But seeing Tezuka’s icy focus, he nodded. "Japan intends to end this fast."

"You—!"

Seigfried glared at the ball rolling near his feet. That opening salvo had shaken him—but also ignited his fighting spirit.

"Let’s see how you handle this!"

He crouched low, ready to strike back.

Thwack!

Yet when the serve landed and reversed course, Seigfried froze.

"30–0!"

His mouth opened, but no words came out. His brain was still processing the sheer impossibility of the shot.

Two more aces followed.

"Game! Japan leads 1–0!"

The crowd blinked.

Too fast.

Even knowing Japan’s middle schoolers were strong, no one expected the first game to end in under a minute.

"Japan’s middle schoolers are monsters!"

Even some German players looked uneasy.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Japan pressed the attack.

Tezuka and Atobe dismantled Seigfried and Kraus with ease. Kraus—the "Wild Bear’s Son"—finally retaliated with a brutal strike, carving a small crater into the court.

Whoosh!

But just as the crowd thought Germany might rally, the ball curved upward, hovering perfectly for Atobe.

"Hmph."

He didn’t hesitate.

SMASH!

"Game! Japan leads 2–0!"

Germany had yet to score.

"That was…"

Bismarck frowned. "The glasses kid applied spin to set up the purple-haired one’s smash?"

The synergy was terrifying.

"The ‘Zone’?"

Q.P. murmured. "With that ability, Tezuka can synergize with anyone."