belamy20

491-495

Added 2025-07-06 16:45:00 +0000 UTC

Chapter 491: The Semifinals Begin

Aside from Germany, both Spain and Switzerland were deep in rigorous training. Whether starters or substitutes, every player regarded their fellow Big 4 rivals with caution.

However—

Some remained unfazed.

For instance, on a secluded street near Spain’s training grounds, the sharp thwack of tennis balls echoed from behind a red-brick wall. This was a little-known street court, once a bustling hub—until local gangs claimed it as their turf after roughing up the casual players.

Normally, the place stood deserted.

But now, the rapid-fire boom of rallies rang out unmistakably.

Inside, a group of tank-top-clad delinquents lay sprawled across the ground, dazed. Meanwhile, on the court, two strikingly similar figures engaged in a fierce duel.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Their swings grew faster, the ball streaking like bullets over the net.

The thugs outside stared, slack-jawed.

Is this… tennis?

Those aren’t balls—they’re projectiles!

Remembering how they’d been effortlessly flattened earlier, they watched the two boys with a mix of awe and fear.

Boom!

On one side of the court, Ryoma—wearing a white cap—blocked a shot and looked up, eyes sharp.

"Hey, Onii-san. You really won’t take me seriously?"

With a twist of his wrist, he sliced the ball, sending it veering wide before it abruptly curved back.

"Seriously?"

Yet in a flash, Ryoga materialized in its path, his jacket flapping dramatically. His racket met the ball with a casual tap.

Boom!

The spinning shot rocketed past Ryoma’s backhand before he could react.

"Too slow, squirt."

Ryoga smirked, turning away.

"Tch."

Ryoma’s grip tightened on his racket. He’d known his brother was strong, but after his own recent growth, he’d expected to at least push him.

Yet even a basic drive shot had been unreturnable.

The gap between them was staggering.

"I will catch up… no matter what."

Memories surfaced—of Ryoga and their father speaking in hushed tones at the temple. After losing to Ishikawa, Ryoga had begged Nanjiro to unlock something within him, even at the cost of his life.

Whatever he’d gained, it had catapulted him into another realm.

But Ryoma refused to accept defeat.

"Ryoma…"

Walking away, Ryoga sighed inwardly.

It’s not that I won’t try. My tennis is just too dangerous now.

Already lethal, his play had evolved further after entering the Ultimate Zone. The risk wasn’t just to opponents—even teammates weren’t safe.

He’d been saving his fury for one purpose: revenge.

"Just wait, Ishikawa Shun."

Ryoga’s fist clenched.

"I’ll pay you back double for that humiliation."

Night Before the Semifinals

Most players had retired early, conserving energy. Without confirmed lineups, no one dared slack off.

In Japan’s hotel, a black-haired boy sat cross-legged on a yoga mat, his breathing steady.

For thirty minutes, he didn’t stir.

Finally, he exhaled, refreshed.

"A max-level skill really is something."

Ishikawa marveled. Despite an intense afternoon session, his fatigue had vanished. Even if he couldn’t match Volk’s inhuman stamina, he could now endure five full sets.

And stamina was hardly his strongest suit anymore.

Having breached the Ultimate Zone, he feared no professional.

Pulling up his stats, he reviewed his growth:

[Player: Ishikawa Shun]

Age: 12

Affiliations:

Ice Academy 1st Year, Tennis Club Vice-Captain

Street Tennis Legend

U-17 Japan’s "Demon King"

World Cup Team Captain (No.1)

Main Skill: Tennis Lv93 (132,135/180,000 EXP)

Secondary Skills:

Kendo, Go, Ancient Martial Arts, Yoga Lv9

Archery Lv7

Attributes:

Speed: 6.5 | Power: 7 | Stamina: 7

Technique: 9.5 | Mental: 10

Total: 40

Advanced Techniques:

Lv9: Black Hole

Lv8: Star Trace, Zero-Shiki Drop, Four Gods Formation, etc.

Special Abilities:

Five Senses Theft

Pinnacle of Perfection: Ultimate Radiance (Incomplete)

Ultimate Quality

Asura Path: Sword God • Omniscience • Extreme Path • Arrow God

Reputation:

"A top-tier pro in the making. The undiscovered supernova of tennis."

In under a month, he’d risen to stand among the world’s elite.

Only two posed a threat:

Antonio Medanore (Spain’s enigmatic captain)

Jürgen Borisovich Volk (World’s No.1 HS player)

Yet even against them, Ishikawa estimated a 90%+ win rate.

Gazing at the night sky, he locked onto the brightest star.

"Don’t disappoint me… Philosopher of Tennis."

Match Day – 8:00 AM

Melbourne Park’s Court 2 buzzed with energy. The first semifinal—Spain vs. Switzerland—would decide Germany’s opponent.

"So, which team will we crush next?"

Germany’s Siegfried smirked, newly crowned as their top middle-schooler after dethroning Frankensteiner.

His teammates nodded, as if a 10th consecutive title were inevitable.

"Funny."

A mocking voice cut through. "Did you forget your 3-0 humiliation in the exhibition match?"

"Japan?!"

Siegfried whirled, spotting the speaker—Atobe Keigo, his violet-gray hair gleaming.

Rage flared. That loss had haunted him… but also forged him.

"Control yourself, Elmar."

QP’s hand clamped Siegfried’s shoulder, icy calm seeping in.

Yet even the ever-composed strategist couldn’t help glancing at Japan’s leader—Ishikawa.

Their eyes met. A faint smile.

Then Ishikawa’s gaze shifted to Germany’s center:

A lean, bald figure with piercing eyes.

Volk.

For the first time, the "Philosopher of Victory" gave a slight nod.

The Germans stiffened.

Recognition.

This wasn’t just an opponent—this was a threat.

"Attention." The announcer’s voice boomed.

"The first semifinal begins now: Spain vs. Switzerland!"

From opposite tunnels, two teams emerged:

Spain, cloaked in regal crimson.

Switzerland, adorned in white and red crosses.

Chapter 492: The World’s No. 2 Crushed (Part 1)

"It’s finally starting!"

The arena fell silent.

The tension between Team Japan and Team Germany had been thick, but now, both teams retreated to their respective areas.

"Tch."

Siegfried shot a sharp glare at Atobe’s retreating figure, muttering under his breath, "Just wait until this afternoon’s match—I’ll show you what I’m made of."

"Enough."

Q·P, the world’s No. 2, spoke in a low, commanding tone. "Focus. Observe this match carefully."

At his words, the German team’s expressions turned serious.

Both Switzerland and Spain were formidable opponents. And considering the potential exhaustion from their upcoming match against Japan, the finals would only get tougher.

Silently, they steadied their nerves and turned their attention to the two teams stepping onto the court.

"Wait, those guys?"

On Japan’s side, Kaji’s eyes widened in surprise. "So that’s where they disappeared to—they joined Spain?"

"Hmph."

Tohno sneered, his cold gaze locking onto a bespectacled, purple-haired boy draped in Spain’s jacket. "Nothing but strays."

The Ice Prince contingent focused on Akutsu, while Seigaku’s players zeroed in on the boy at the end of Spain’s lineup—a familiar figure in a white cap.

"Akutsu (senpai)..."

"Ryoma (shorty)..."

Unease flickered across their faces.

None of them had expected those players to become potential opponents in the finals.

"Ryoma Echizen!"

Coaches Kurobe and Saito’s eyes were fixed on the handsome, smirking boy draped in a jacket.

"His injuries... healed already?"

Tokugawa was stunned.

During the ranking matches, Ryoma had been severely injured by Ishikawa. An injury like that would’ve left him bedridden for months. Even if Ryoma had a stronger physique, recovery in such a short time seemed impossible.

"The human body holds limitless potential."

Coach Mikage studied Ryoma with a knowing look. "If I had to guess, someone must’ve helped him unlock his body’s hidden reserves."

"Hidden reserves?!"

Oni, Irie, and the others tensed.

Even Byodoin’s usually calm eyes darkened.

"Could it be...?"

His gaze instinctively shifted—only to meet Ryoma’s. Their spiritual pressures clashed, each instantly recognizing the other’s threat level.

But to Byodoin’s surprise, Ryoma didn’t linger. Instead, his eyes slid past him, settling on someone else.

There, a dark-haired, handsome boy smiled faintly and gave a slight nod.

"Ishikawa Shin, huh?"

On the court, a slender, long-haired young man spoke up.

"Yeah."

Ryoma nodded.

In Team Spain, aside from the coach—his so-called father—only a handful of players truly commanded his respect. Among them was the man before him, a player of unfathomable strength:

[The Genius Maverick] — Antonio Dátun Medanore!

If not for Ryoma’s arrival, Medanore would’ve been Spain’s undisputed strongest.

"That guy’s tough. He’s definitely reached the pinnacle."

Ryoma’s gaze then shifted to their opponents—the team clad in red-and-white cross-emblazoned jackets. "But first, we’ve got to deal with them."

"A nuisance, huh?"

Medanore chuckled. "Fair enough. They are this year’s No. 2 seed. They might actually put up a fight."

The rest of Team Spain smirked in agreement.

"These guys..."

On Switzerland’s side, Henri Nobel III frowned. "They’re really looking down on us?"

"Not necessarily."

Pete LaBelle, Switzerland’s strategist and the so-called [Embodiment of Talent], adjusted his glasses. "Appearances can be deceiving. This could all be a tactic to lull us into complacency."

"A tactic?"

The team stiffened.

"The singles No. 3 match will now begin."

The announcement echoed through the stadium. "Representing Spain: Ryoma Echizen (3rd year, middle school). Representing Switzerland: Pete LaBelle (3rd year, high school). Players, prepare."

"Huh?"

LaBelle’s expression twisted.

"Him?"

His eyes locked onto the white-capped boy stepping onto the court. "Spain sent a middle schooler for singles No. 3?!"

"Senpai..."

Henri whispered, "Is this part of their strategy too?"

"Hmph!"

LaBelle’s face darkened.

Because it was a strategy—just not the kind he wanted. Spain was treating this as a throwaway match, sacrificing a pawn. Normally, he’d find it amusing—proof of Switzerland’s dominance.

But today, he was the one stuck playing the pawn.

"Don’t worry."

Adjusting his glasses, he muttered through gritted teeth, "I’ll finish this in under 30 minutes."

Since semifinals were best-of-three sets, that meant he planned to end each set in 15 minutes. And against a middle schooler? Easy.

But as the match began...

LaBelle’s confidence wavered.

"This kid... is really a middle schooler?"

Within two minutes, he was already under pressure. His carefully planned strategies crumbled.

And it only got worse.

Ryoma unleashed a barrage of dazzling techniques, his court sense razor-sharp. Soon, he was the one dominating.

BAM!

"Game! Spain leads 2-1! Change sides!"

Ten minutes in, Switzerland’s brilliant strategist was losing. The crowd—and rival teams—stared in shock.

"Heh."

From the stands, Fuji of Team Japan smirked. "He’s lost his cool."

"Yeah."

Tachibana nodded grimly. "That overconfidence is gone. Now he’s playing rigid, by the book."

Like a chess player shifting from casual to deadly serious—LaBelle was adapting, but the shift betrayed his growing doubt.

"Same as always."

Atobe’s fingers rested on his nose bridge, eyes sharp. "Even as a first-year, this kid reads people better than most adults."

Some players relied on talent, others on intellect. But Ryoma? He had both—along with an almost unnatural court IQ for a 12-year-old.

BAM!

Another point. 3-1.

But LaBelle wasn’t helpless. Slowly, he adapted, dissecting Ryoma’s patterns. The match’s tempo shifted, Ryoma’s attacks losing their edge.

Like a spider weaving its web, LaBelle waited for the perfect moment to strike.

WHOOSH!

Then—Ryoma struck.

A milky-white aura flared around him, boosting his speed and spin. The ball shot past LaBelle’s stunned form before he could react.

"Game! Spain leads 4-1! Change sides!"

"That’s—"

"Pinnacle of Perfection?!"

Switzerland’s team paled. No one expected this.

"No, just the beginner stage!"

LaBelle’s eyes narrowed. "The aura’s too thin. This isn’t the real thing—just a cheap imitation!"

He recalled how Germany’s middle school No. 2 had awakened this power—only to get crushed by Japan’s rep.

"This move just copies techniques. It doesn’t elevate his actual skill."

Steeling himself, LaBelle dug deeper, analyzing Ryoma’s data. By the time Ryoma took the set 6-1, LaBelle was smiling.

"Kid, it’s over."

Adjusting his glasses, he radiated confidence. Once he cracked an opponent’s style, the match was his.

"Oh?"

But as Ryoma prepared to serve, his lips curled.

"You really think you’ve figured me out?"

BAM!

A vicious serve—twisting outward.

"Twist Serve?"

LaBelle scoffed. "Pathetic. I’ve already—"

Then—the ball changed direction mid-flight.

"WHAT?!"

LaBelle froze.

The ball whizzed past him before he could move.

"Ryoma’s got some tricks up his sleeve!"

Momoshiro grinned.

"Yeah."

Oishi and Kikumaru laughed.

Fuji smirked. "Well, when you’re always around a data player, you learn how to hide your data."

Inui sighed but nodded. Ryoma had grown stronger since the ranking matches.

Sure enough, Ryoma closed the first set 6-1.

After a brief break, the second set began.

Ryoma dominated, but LaBelle stayed composed, silently gathering data. A true strategist knew—the match wasn’t over until the last point.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The gap widened. 5-0.

Yet LaBelle’s eyes only grew brighter.

"Game! Spain leads 5-0! Change sides!"

"Enough playing around."

As they switched sides, LaBelle finally smirked. "I’ve seen through everything."

Two sets of analysis—now, he’d counterattack.

"He made it!"

Switzerland’s bench exhaled in relief.

LaBelle’s matches were always nerve-wracking. Until the very end, no one knew his plan.

But now—the tide would turn.

BAM!

An ace. 15-0.

BAM! BAM!

30-0. 40-0.

"Like I said."

LaBelle adjusted his glasses, triumphant. "I’ve deciphered your tennis."

"Have you?"

Ryoma grinned.

WHOOSH!

The milky aura flared again.

"Tch. That weak Pinnacle won’t—"

Then—

BOOM!

A light so blinding it hurt erupted across the court.

Chapter 493: The World’s Second Best, Crushed (Part 2)

"Game over."

"Spain's Ryoma Echizen wins, 6-1, 6-0!"

A moment later, as the referee’s voice echoed through the stadium, the crowd fell into complete silence.

Thud.

Peter Landville collapsed to his knees, as if all the strength had been drained from his body.

"H-He actually lost…?"

Outside the court, the Swiss team stared in disbelief.

True, Landville wasn’t among the absolute top-tier players, but he was still solidly upper-mid tier among high schoolers. And yet, he had been utterly demolished—by a middle schooler, no less.

"Ryoma… Echizen?"

Amadeus, standing at the center of the Swiss representatives, narrowed his eyes with a sharp glint.

"Wait a second!"

Beside him, Henri suddenly gasped. "Don’t tell me this kid is Japanese?"

It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption.

With his East Asian features and an unusual name like "Echizen," it was hard not to think of the terrifyingly strong opponents Henri had faced before.

"Tch!"

Charles Arno, the second-ranked middle schooler on the Swiss team, widened his eyes. "You mean to say this guy was originally part of Japan’s team?"

"Highly likely."

Amadeus’ expression darkened. Even the usually cold and confident second-in-command of the Swiss team, Tasta, wore an uncharacteristically serious look.

"If that’s the case… then a fully-powered Japanese team would be…"

Many couldn’t help but feel relieved.

If this "Echizen" had stayed with Japan, their chances of winning this year’s World Cup would’ve plummeted even further.

"What a shame."

Amadeus sighed, regret coloring his voice.

Had he known Japan’s middle school lineup was this monstrous, he would’ve visited before the World Cup. Maybe he could’ve even recruited a few promising players to shore up Switzerland’s weak middle school roster.

If they’d fixed that gap, they wouldn’t be struggling so badly now.

"This… isn’t good."

One of the Swiss players muttered under his breath.

Against a Big 4 team like Spain, every match was crucial. Losing the first one put Switzerland at an immediate disadvantage—and for some, it uncomfortably echoed their humiliating defeat against Japan in the group stage.

The mood was tense.

Tap.

Then, a tall figure stepped forward.

It was none other than Albert Federer, Switzerland’s foremost power player.

"Federer?!"

The Swiss team blinked in surprise. "Wait, where’s Randy?!"

They turned, but Randy Pugh, the usual doubles partner, was nowhere to be seen.

"What’s going on?"

"Isn’t the next match Doubles 2? Why—?"

Tap.

A boy with three teardrop-shaped marks under his left eye calmly walked up beside Federer.

"Henri?!"

"So this is their actual lineup?!"

"This is… unexpected!"

Whispers spread through the Swiss team. No one had anticipated this kind of strategy.

"This is the coach’s tactic."

Amadeus watched silently. "Because of our weak middle school lineup, he devised an unconventional roster to compensate."

But even so, they’d lost.

The crushing defeat in Singles 3 made some question if the plan had failed.

Amadeus, however, disagreed.

"The tactic itself wasn’t wrong. The only mistake was underestimating the opponent’s strength."

With him and Tasta—both pro-level players—handling singles, Switzerland should’ve had the advantage. The real misstep was not placing one of them in Singles 3 to secure an easy win.

"Still…"

His gaze shifted to the mismatched pair in front of him—one towering and muscular, the other lean and composed.

"A combination of raw power and refined skill… If they synergize well, they might just pull off a miracle."

Henri’s presence alleviated some of Switzerland’s structural weaknesses. The real challenge was utilizing him effectively.

In Amadeus’ eyes, pairing him with Federer in doubles could be a masterstroke.

"Next up: Doubles 2!"

"Spain’s representatives: Mars de Colón (3rd year high school) and Akutsu Jin (3rd year middle school)!"

"Switzerland’s representatives: Albert Federer (3rd year high school) and Henri Nobel III (3rd year middle school)!"

"Players, prepare yourselves!"

The announcement rang out, and all eyes turned to the two teams.

The Swiss duo—one a hulking powerhouse, the other a slender tactician—raised eyebrows. The absence of their usual twin-power doubles pair sparked speculation.

"In the end, fielding two high schoolers in doubles would’ve been too taxing for Switzerland, given their singles advantage."

In the stands, Inui adjusted his glasses.

"Right."

Yanagi nodded. "With a maximum of four high schoolers allowed per match, using three in singles forces compromises in doubles."

Not that it was impossible, but Spain’s doubles specialists were on another level. Take their former captain, Friedo Román—the one who’d voluntarily passed the leadership to Medanorei—who was a world-class doubles player.

Rumor had it that even before the World Cup, multiple pro scouts had approached him with offers. Román had declined them all, saying he’d decide after the tournament.

From that perspective, Switzerland’s strategy made sense.

"Too bad they miscalculated."

Mitsui shook his head, then glanced at Spain’s side—specifically at the androgynous, elegant figure standing there.

"Mars de Colón, the 'Sniper of the Court'… and…"

His gaze slid to the silver-haired, feral-eyed boy beside him.

"Akutsu Jin!"

The Ice Prince contingent stiffened in shock.

Of all people, they never expected the fiercely independent Akutsu to appear in a doubles match.

"Did Spain actually find someone who can keep him in check?!"

Others, however, recalled a certain figure who’d appeared during the U17 training camp—back when Ryoma Echizen had been brutally defeated.

"If it’s that person… then it makes sense."

Mars was famous, but in terms of sheer danger, Akutsu was on another level.

During the ranking matches, he’d gone toe-to-toe with Byoudouin. Given his monstrous growth rate, who knew how much stronger he’d gotten since then?

But the Swiss team, oblivious to the threat, focused entirely on Mars.

"The 'Sniper of the Court,' huh?"

Federer’s eyes narrowed. "Henri, don’t try to return his shots head-on. According to Landville’s data, his sniper balls can break bones."

Henri nodded firmly.

He knew better than to challenge a Big 4 high schooler directly. His role was clear—support Federer and help secure the win.

The match began.

Spain, serving first, sent Mars to open. With a single, fluid motion, he fired an ace straight past Henri.

"Too fast!"

The ball had already rolled to a stop by the time Henri registered its trajectory. Cold sweat formed on his brow.

No warm-up. No tells. Just an instantaneous, lethal serve.

One shot was all it took to hammer home the gap between them.

Henri swallowed his pride and fully committed to a support role.

Thwack!

The second serve was intercepted by Federer.

"Not bad."

Mars flicked his hair back with a serene smile. "As expected of Switzerland’s pillar of strength. But…"

Bam!

The return shot landed at Federer’s feet—and the giant didn’t even twitch.

"I-I can’t move?!"

Federer’s wrist had locked up, completely unresponsive.

"The 'Sniper of the Court'…"

His expression darkened.

Now he understood the nickname. To win, he’d either have to counter Mars’ technique—or switch targets.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Mars dominated the next few points with ruthless precision.

"Game! Spain leads 1-0! Change sides!"

By the end of the first game, the Swiss pair looked shell-shocked.

Even Federer’s raw power couldn’t withstand Mars’ sniping shots. Their only hope was to bypass him entirely.

Boom!

Second game—Henri’s serve.

He unleashed a vicious topspin serve, the ball kicking up sharply toward Akutsu’s face.

"Echizen’s Twist Serve?!"

The Japanese team stiffened. The near-perfect replication was unnerving.

"This guy…"

Momoshiro gaped. "He copied it just from watching?!"

Given Henri’s title—"Genius Noble"—it was a terrifying display of adaptability.

"But why that serve specifically?"

Fuji frowned. If Henri could mimic techniques, why not something more advanced, like his own Super Rising or Tezuka’s Zero-Shiki?

Was it a limitation—or intentional?

"Simple."

Inui adjusted his glasses. "He’s trying to provoke Akutsu."

A psychological tactic, tailored to the opponent.

"Too bad for him."

Inui’s lips curled. "He overestimated his own skill—and underestimated Akutsu’s temper."

Wham!

Sure enough, Akutsu smashed the return without hesitation, sending it rocketing straight at Henri’s chest.

Whoosh!

The sheer force made Henri’s blood run cold.

"What kind of power—?!"

He barely got his racket up in time.

CRACK!

The impact sent him stumbling back, arms numb.

But Akutsu wasn’t done.

He lunged forward, slamming another brutal shot directly at Henri.

"Enough!"

Federer intercepted, muscles straining as he deflected the ball.

Henri exhaled in relief.

"This guy’s strong… but against Federer, he’s outmatched."

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The two powerhouses traded blows, neither backing down.

To everyone’s shock, Akutsu held his own.

"Impossible!"

Henri’s eyes bulged.

Federer—Switzerland’s strongest—was being matched by some no-name middle schooler?!

And Akutsu wasn’t even straining!

"Not bad, kid!"

Federer grinned, impressed. "But let’s see how you handle this!"

Rip!

His shirt tore apart as his muscles bulged, veins popping.

BOOM!

The next shot blasted through Akutsu’s guard.

"15-0!"

The Swiss team cheered.

If Federer was going all out, the tide would turn.

And sure enough, they took the second game.

But just as their celebration peaked—

Clink. Clank.

Akutsu nonchalantly removed his wrist, waist, and ankle weights.

The entire stadium gasped.

Even Federer’s confidence wavered.

"He was holding back this whole time?!"

Chapter 494: The World’s No. 2 Crushed (Part 2)

"No way...!"

Team Switzerland’s players looked like they’d seen a ghost.

This was Federer—one of the most dominant power players in the entire World Cup! And yet, he’d just been crushed head-on by a middle schooler?

"Tch."

Among the crowd, Pooja sighed.

Unlike the others, he saw the truth clearly. As the person most familiar with Federer’s game, he knew the loss wasn’t a fluke.

Power-based tennis—especially at the Super Gravity Dimension level—wasn’t just about raw strength. It relied on momentum, a force woven from sheer willpower.

But Federer had hesitated.

That split-second doubt had fractured his momentum, and the glowing ball had shattered what remained. If it had been a pure contest of strength, Federer wouldn’t have lost.

But tennis was never just about power.

"A-Albert, are you okay?!"

Henri rushed onto the court, panic in his eyes.

"S-Sorry..."

Federer, usually so composed, forced a bitter smile. "Henri... I don’t think I can keep playing."

He tried lifting his right arm, but a sharp pain shot through him, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

"It’s over."

That was the only thought left in Henri’s mind.

With Federer out of commission, there was no way he could stand against Spain’s duo alone.

"Ref!"

But before he could forfeit, Switzerland’s captain, Amadeus, raised his hand first. "We concede this match."

A collective groan rose from Switzerland’s bench.

"That’s... it?"

Spectators from other nations stared in disbelief. Some looked outright horrified.

"That was Albert Federer!"

"A power player of that caliber, taken out before the second set even started?!"

Among the crowd, power-focused players—including Germany’s [Beast’s Son], Kevin Kraus—couldn’t believe their eyes.

"To think..."

The boy’s face paled.

"Kevin."

Bismarck leaned in, curious. "Could you have blocked that shot?"

"No."

Kevin shook his head.

After his loss to Tokugawa, he’d broken through his limits, regaining his rationality. His skills had sharpened since then.

But that Glowing Shot?

"If even Federer couldn’t stop it, there’s no way I could."

His admission sent a ripple through Germany’s ranks.

Siegfried and Frankensteiner exchanged glances. The former, despite his own breakthroughs, wasn’t confident against Kraus. Yet here Kraus was, openly admitting inferiority to a Spanish middle schooler.

"Akutsu Jin."

Captain Volkner’s voice cut through the tension. "That name... sounds familiar."

"Yes."

QP nodded grimly. "Formerly a representative of Japan’s U-17 team. For unknown reasons, he withdrew and joined Spain alongside Echizen Ryoma."

"What?!"

Even Becker stiffened.

Bismarck muttered, "With those two added in, Japan’s middle school lineup would’ve been insane."

"More importantly," Becker added, "why would Japan’s coaches let them leave? Unless they’re complete idiots—"

"That part’s unclear."

QP adjusted his glasses. "But I did uncover something about Akutsu."

The team leaned in.

"During Japan’s middle school tournaments, Akutsu Jin was a regular for Hyotei Academy."

"Hyotei?"

Siegfried frowned. "What’s that?"

Bismarck’s eyes flickered. "If I recall, that’s the school he attended—"

"Ishikawa Shin."

Becker’s voice was heavy.

A hush fell over the Germans.

That name carried weight now.

The player who’d crushed QP and others, standing toe-to-toe with Volkner himself. Any detail about him mattered.

"With him involved, it’s no surprise."

A calm voice spoke up—Berti, Volkner’s younger brother and one of the tournament’s only pro-level doubles specialists.

"Honestly, we should be grateful. Facing Japan plus these two would’ve been a nightmare."

For Germany’s prideful team, such an admission was unheard of. But Japan had humbled them in the exhibition match.

And truthfully?

Even at full strength, Germany had no guarantees against them.

Japan’s middle schoolers alone could’ve formed two or three top-tier teams.

"Speaking of which."

Bismarck watched as medics carried Federer off. "This semifinal’s basically over, right?"

The team nodded.

Two straight losses would cripple any team—even Germany.

"Not necessarily."

QP’s gaze shifted to a tall figure stepping onto Switzerland’s court.

"Kuragara Tasta. His skill rivals Amadeus’."

Two pro-level players.

That was Switzerland’s trump card—their lifeline in desperate times.

"It won’t be that easy."

Volkner, however, frowned. Something felt off.

"The singles No. 2 match will now begin."

The announcer’s voice boomed.

"Representing Spain: Echizen Ryoga (3rd year, middle school). Representing Switzerland: Kuragara Tasta (3rd year, high school). Players, prepare."

A hush fell as a composed, handsome teen walked onto Spain’s side.

Sharp-eyed observers noted his resemblance to the boy from the previous match.

"A middle schooler?!"

Tasta’s eyes flashed coldly. "Medanore’s arrogance knows no bounds!"

Who did Spain think they were?

Japan?

Even Japan wouldn’t dare throw a middle schooler at him!

"Whatever game you’re playing," he sneered, "this ends now."

As a pro, he feared no one—not even Medanore. The moment Spain announced this lineup, the match was already over.

"Hm."

But on Switzerland’s bench, Amadeus felt uneasy.

He knew Tasta’s pride. Questioning him now would only backfire.

And realistically?

Against a middle schooler, Tasta’s victory was inevitable.

"He’s finally here!"

Japan’s team tensed as Ryoga took the court.

Yes, he’d been humiliated by Ishikawa in the ranking matches. But that didn’t make him weak.

Even Byodoin had "died" once against Ishikawa.

And Ryoga?

He’d already shown pro-level skills back then. Now, after months of growth?

That Swiss player’s in for a rude awakening.

Chapter 495: A Finals-Worthy Semifinal – Japan vs. Germany

Defeat.

Switzerland’s second-strongest player—Tasta, a professional-level powerhouse—had fallen.

And not just any loss.

A crushing, humiliating defeat no one saw coming.

Now, Tasta stood slumped, his eyes hollow with lingering terror.

"Game and first set to Spain!"

"Ryoga Echizen wins, 6-2!"

Ten minutes.

That was all it took to dismantle a world-class player. The crowd’s gaze toward the green-haired boy brimmed with awe—Switzerland’s team included.

Before the match, they’d predicted a swift victory… for Tasta.

Silence thickened among the Swiss players.

Theoretically, Tasta could still turn things around. But the odds had dwindled to near zero.

"Referee."

Finally, Amadeus stepped forward, jaw tight. "We forfeit."

Gasps erupted across the stadium.

Amadeus’ face twisted with bitterness. No captain wanted to surrender twice in a row—least of all him, the leader meant to carry his team to glory. Yet here he was, extinguishing Switzerland’s championship hopes with his own words.

"Ahem."

The referee studied Tasta’s broken demeanor, then nodded. "By forfeit of Switzerland’s Kuralaga Tasta, Spain’s Ryoga Echizen wins Singles 2!"

"VIVA ESPAÑA!!"

Spain’s players and fans erupted in euphoria.

They’d done it—toppled higher-ranked Switzerland, securing the first finals berth of the tournament!

Even more staggering? Their top aces—Medanorei and former captain Friedo Román—hadn’t even played. Spain’s true strength ran deeper than anyone imagined.

"Move out."

In the stands, Germany’s captain Volk turned, hoisting his bag. "All listed players, prepare for this afternoon’s match."

His team stiffened.

Even the usually arrogant Tezuka wore a grim expression. Switzerland’s collapse had sent shockwaves through them. Rankings guaranteed nothing—a lesson Japan had already hammered home.

"Let’s go."

On the opposite side, Japan’s captain Ishikawa met Ryoga’s victorious gaze before addressing his team. "Our next opponent? The nine-time reigning champions. Stay sharp."

Nods all around.

Germany respected Japan’s rise, but Japan knew better than to underestimate the tournament’s top seed. Their own strength was historic, but so was the mountain ahead.

As they exited, a figure blocked their path.

"Akutsu?!"

Japan’s players tensed. The silver-haired wildcard—now clad in Spain’s colors—had just bulldozed Switzerland’s power hitter, Federer. Among their middle schoolers, only Ishikawa could confidently face him.

"What’s he—?"

WHAM!

Without warning, Akutsu fired a serve straight at them—a missile that would’ve shattered most players’ rackets.

All eyes snapped to Ishikawa.

Catch it? Dodge it?

Snap.

Ishikawa’s left hand shot up, plucking the ball from the air like plucking an apple from a tree.

"…!!"

Bystanders froze. They knew Japan’s ace was strong, but this?

"Well?" Ishikawa smiled, spinning the ball on his fingertips. "Looking for a rematch now, senpai?"

Spain’s nearby players paled.

Akutsu was infamous for his brutality—even their No.7 and No.9 had been hospitalized after provoking him. Yet here was Ishikawa, taunting him outright.

But then—

Akutsu’s eye twitched.

He’d expected growth, but not this. Catching his full-powered serve one-handed? That casual strength sent primal alarms screaming through his instincts.

Facing Medanorei or Ryoga was one thing.

This?

This felt like staring down Spain’s coach.

"Tch."

With a last glare, Akutsu spun on his heel and stalked off.

Regret flickered in his chest. Leaving Japan might’ve cost him his only shot at ever beating Ishikawa.

"Was that Spain testing us?" Shishido scowled.

"Unlikely." Oshitari adjusted his glasses. "No one commands Akutsu. But Spain got their intel either way."

Unseen by Japan, two figures emerged from the shadows—Spain’s captain Medanorei and vice-captain Friedo Román.

"Didn’t expect Akutsu to challenge him," Friedo mused.

"Childish antics." Medanorei’s voice was ice. "Akutsu’s not even pro-level yet. That boy? He’s entered the ultimate realm."

They’d come to clean up if Akutsu caused chaos. Instead, Japan’s captain had shut him down with one sentence.

"That grip strength…" Friedo whistled. "He’s training for Volk, isn’t he?"

Medanorei nodded grimly. "This afternoon will be historic."

Afternoon – Rod Laver Arena

30°C heat. Oppressive humidity. The air clung like a wet blanket.

But inside Melbourne Park’s center court—host of the Australian Open finals—conditions were pristine.

Both teams operated with military precision. Meals triple-checked. Transport secured. Japan, scarred by past tragedies (like Byoudouin’s injury saving Duke’s sister), left nothing to chance. Even their usually drunken coach, Sanada, stayed sober.

By 2 PM, the 15,000-seat stadium was 80% full. Rival teams—USA, Greece, Australia—packed the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The announcer’s voice boomed. "Our second semifinal: the reigning nine-time champions, TEAM GERMANY!"

HISS!

White smoke erupted as Volk led his black-clad squad onto the court.

"DEUTSCHLAND! DEUTSCHLAND!"

The roar shook the stadium.

"And their opponents—the tournament’s darkest horse, making their FIRST semifinals appearance… TEAM JAPAN!"

HISS!

Ishikawa strode forward, his team radiating quiet intensity.

"NIPPON! NIPPON!"

Cheers erupted—smaller than Germany’s, but deafening for a debutant.

"This is the final," Greece’s Hermes murmured.