486-490

Chapter 486: Perfect Harmony vs. Perfect Harmony  

The gaze of every national team captain followed the two players on the court.  

"Q·P, Amadeus, Reinhard… and now Camus."  

Spain’s vice-captain, the formidable Flio Roman, narrowed his eyes. "Is this kid planning to challenge every elite high school player?"  

Beside him, the androgynously beautiful Mars let out a sigh. "Who would’ve thought a 12-year-old could command this much attention?"  

Meanwhile, Medanore’s sharp eyes gleamed with intrigue.  

"Shiraishi Kazu…"  

According to his intel, this boy had even defeated him—Ryoga Echizen, a player whose depth was unfathomable.  

Before this, Medanore had sensed Ryoga’s terrifying potential. But now? He couldn’t even gauge the limits of his strength. Every time their eyes met, an instinctual dread crawled down his spine—as if standing not beside a human, but a beast poised to devour him.  

And yet…  

This boy had crushed Ryoga.  

Just how strong was he?  

Medanore had come here for one reason: to see Shiraishi with his own eyes. No reports or footage could compare to witnessing his power firsthand.  

"I’d bet the others are here for the same reason."  

His gaze swept across the court—Reinhard, Amadeus, Tasta, and finally…  

"Jürgen Borisovich Volk."  

Two years ago, Volk had been a mere footnote compared to him. But during Medanore’s injury hiatus, this German prodigy had risen to staggering heights.  

Even on home soil, defeating the world’s #1, Novak Brynner, was the stuff of legend.  

If there was anyone among high schoolers who could stop this Japanese phenom…  

Medanore’s lips curled.  

"Only Volk and I stand a chance."  

He didn’t believe for a second that France’s so-called "genius," Léopold Camus—often compared to him—could defeat this middle schooler.  

On the Court  

"Hello, Shiraishi."  

Camus smiled, his golden braid swaying as he adjusted his blue-white-red jacket.  

"Hello."  

Shiraishi nodded.  

He’d studied Camus extensively. If Volk embodied raw power and Amadeus technical mastery, Camus was the strategist—a visionary whose understanding of tennis bordered on prophetic.  

Dubbed "The Man Who Could Change Tennis," his philosophy was as revered as his skill.  

Even in the original timeline, Camus had earned Shiraishi’s respect. When France teetered on elimination, he’d stopped Dorglas from sacrificing his future—despite knowing he could’ve won and advanced them to the semifinals.  

That decision spoke volumes about his character.  

"You’re strong," Camus said, locking eyes with Shiraishi. "In many ways, you’re the opponent I’m least confident in defeating this tournament."  

"Oh?"  

Shiraishi raised a brow before realizing—  

Unlike Volk or Amadeus, whose professional careers provided ample data, he was an enigma. His record was absurd, his strength unfathomable.  

"But I’ll give it everything I have."  

Camus caressed his racket’s grip like a lover’s wrist, his eyes brimming with affection.  

"Uh…"  

Off-court, Shishido and the others exchanged uneasy glances.  

"Is it just me, or is he kinda… into his racket?"  

"Not surprising," Mitsuya said dryly. "Rumor has it, he once took that racket on a European tour."  

"A honeymoon?!" Shishido’s eye twitched.  

"Wouldn’t rule it out," Inui adjusted his glasses. "Western culture’s rather… progressive these days. Gender norms are fluid. Marriage options are… diverse."  

"Huh?" Kintarō blinked.  

Even Fuji and the others looked lost.  

"Ahem." Mitsuya coughed. "Translation: You can identify as anything now. Even, say… a Walmart bag or an attack helicopter."  

"WHAT?!"  

The team stared at Camus with newfound horror.  

"These Westerners…" Tezuka’s eyebrow spasmed. "Are too liberal."  

"You misunderstand."  

Duke stepped in, sighing. "Camus doesn’t identify as a racket. He just… has a unique emotional connection to it."  

"Channeling love into tennis?"  

Inoue and the others studied Camus with fascination. "Interesting. Wonder what his playstyle’s like."  

They weren’t the only ones curious. Volk, Medanore—every elite watching leaned in.  

Meanwhile, the French team’s eyes burned into Shiraishi.  

Two wins, two losses.  

This Singles 1 match would decide their quarterfinal fate. Though they trusted Camus, Shiraishi’s undefeated streak and bottomless strength loomed like a storm cloud.  

"The captain… can win, right?"  

Morrow—usually flippant—spoke with uncharacteristic gravity.  

Silence.  

Even the prideful Charltarou paled, recalling yesterday—how a single glance from Shiraishi had frozen him in terror. Had Duke not intervened, he’d have face-planted.  

"Watch closely," Barthe said calmly. "Léopold won’t disappoint us."  

On the Court  

"I’ve been looking forward to this," Shiraishi smiled. "I hope you’ll give me a match worth remembering."  

"Of course."  

Camus’ confidence never wavered.  

After the coin toss, they took their positions.  

"Game start! France’s Camus to serve!"  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

The stadium hushed as Camus bounced the ball, his movements deliberate.  

"Then… behold my serve."  

Whoosh!  

He tossed the ball high, his body arching elegantly as his racket flashed—striking at a precise, oblique angle.  

BANG!  

A crimson streak tore through the air.  

The moment it passed, spectators nearest the court felt an inexplicable heat—their hearts pounding erratically.  

"This serve—?!"  

Even Tezuka’s usually icy composure cracked, his pulse accelerating against his will.  

"Starting with that?"  

Duke’s eyes snapped open.  

" Cupid’s Kiss —a serve that manipulates emotions through spin and visual hypnosis!"  

CRACK!  

Yet—  

Shiraishi returned it effortlessly.  

"He returned it?!"  

The French team stiffened.  

"That’s… Cupid’s Kiss!" Barthe’s voice trembled.  

No one knew its terror better than him. Six years—middle school to high school—and he’d never broken it.  

Camus had once said: "As long as you feel joy, anger, sorrow… this serve will own you."  

"Then… is he emotionless?"  

But Barthe dismissed the thought instantly. Shiraishi had smiled mid-return.  

"Not emotionless…"  

Camus’ eyes gleamed.  

"He controls his emotions perfectly."  

A 12-year-old with the serenity of a master. No arrogance, no recklessness—just ice-cold precision.  

BANG!  

Camus returned, but his brow furrowed.  

"He neutralized my spin completely."  

Shiraishi’s shot carried zero residual emotional distortion.  

"In that case…"  

Camus’ wrist flicked, driving the ball deep to the baseline.  

CRACK!  

But Shiraishi countered with a ruthless strike to the center junction.  

"Tch!"  

The French team tensed. Against their captain’s onslaught, this kid wasn’t just holding his own—he was pushing back.  

BANG! CRACK! BANG! CRACK!  

The rally escalated.  

Spin intensified. Speed blurred.  

What began as controlled exchanges morphed into a hurricane.  

Soon, even self-proclaimed elites struggled to track the ball. The thunderclap of each impact rattled their eardrums.  

"Guh…"  

Belgium’s captain, Bex, swallowed hard.  

"No way…"  

A second-tier powerhouse like him could barely keep up.  

"Are they going all-out already?!"  

But then—  

Camus’ return vanished mid-flight.  

"Ghk—!"  

Bex’s breath hitched.  

"Nice shot."  

Shiraishi materialized at the baseline, racket poised. "But,前辈… shouldn’t we end the warm-up now?"  

BOOM!  

His return streaked like a comet.  

"WARM-UP?!"  

Bex and others gaped.  

That was just a warm-up?!  

"True."  

Camus’ reply shattered their disbelief.  

"It’s time for the real match."  

HMMMMMMMM—!  

A blinding white aura erupted from Camus’ body.  

"That’s— Perfect Harmony ?!"  

Gasps rippled through the crowd.  

But before shock could settle—  

HMMMMMMMM—!  

Shiraishi’s own radiant glow answered.  

Twin suns blazed on the court.  

Chapter 487: The Ultimate Alternative – Tennis of Passion and Depth  

Thwack!  

The crisp sound of the racket striking the ball echoed across the court.  

Outside the playing field—whether in the players' rest areas or among the spectators in the stands—everyone’s vision was momentarily overtaken by a blinding white light.  

Boom!  

The next instant, a storm of dust erupted violently around Ishikawa’s position.  

"This power…?!"  

Tezuka, Tokugawa, and the others all stiffened.  

As users of the Pinnacle of Perfect Harmony themselves, they understood that this technique temporarily elevated a player’s abilities to an extraordinary level—particularly in speed and explosive force. Yet even in that state, none of them had ever seen a shot with such destructive impact.  

"In the Pinnacle state, control over technique is refined to perfection," Inui remarked, narrowing his eyes. "Even Tokugawa can precisely regulate his power. The fact that this shot carries such overwhelming force means it’s breaking past physical limits."  

In other words—  

Camus’ strike was terrifying.  

Even if he tried to restrain his strength, the sheer kinetic force generated enough pressure to instantly kick up a storm of dust from the court’s surface.  

The sheer brutality of it made even Oni and Duke narrow their eyes.  

Thwack!  

But then—another crisp impact.  

The dust screen in front of Ishikawa shattered as if torn apart by an invisible force. A streak of white light flashed, crossing the court in an instant and landing right before Camus.  

"Hm?"  

Camus’ expression shifted slightly.  

Unlike his own earth-shaking strikes, this return carried no dramatic shockwaves—yet that very fact unsettled him even more.  

"His technique… has reached this level?"  

Suppressing his unease, Camus swung his racket and sent the ball back with another powerful strike.  

Boom!  

Another violent dust storm erupted, this time on Ishikawa’s right.  

"Great shot!"  

The French team clenched their fists in excitement.  

"Let’s see you return this one—huh?!" Moreau’s taunt died in his throat.  

Because at that moment, Ishikawa’s figure at the baseline blurred—then vanished completely.  

"An… afterimage?!"  

George gasped.  

He hadn’t even seen the moment Ishikawa moved. That kind of speed was unnerving.  

Thwack!  

The ball was returned—landing dead-center on the baseline.  

"This guy… is insane."  

Even the usually stoic Draluc couldn’t hide his awe.  

Amid such a high-intensity rally, Ishikawa had the precision to nail the baseline every single time. His skill was monstrous—and his nerve, even more so.  

The contrast was stark.  

While Camus’ shots carried overwhelming force, their placement wasn’t as exact. It made one wonder—what was the reason for this discrepancy?  

The French team had noticed, of course. But none dared voice the obvious conclusion.  

Thwack! Boom! Thwack! Boom!  

The battle raged on.  

Neither player yielded. One minute passed, then three, then five—now ten.  

Boom!  

Camus’ latest return landed, kicking up an even larger dust storm than before.  

"Hm?"  

But the world’s top players watching from the stands frowned.  

"He’s reached his limit," Borg murmured, a note of surprise in his voice.  

"W-what do you mean?"  

Siegfried looked lost. To him, this seemed like Camus finally unleashing his full power.  

"You must observe the details," Q.P. said coolly. "While Camus’ shot strength has increased, it’s come at a cost."  

"A cost?"  

Frankel squinted—then his eyes widened. "Ah. I see now."  

"See what?!"  

Siegfried, unwilling to be left behind, scrutinized the court—  

Thwack!  

Ishikawa’s return slammed onto the baseline again.  

"Tch!"  

Siegfried sucked in a sharp breath at the pinpoint accuracy—then froze.  

"Wait…!"  

His gaze snapped to Camus’ landing spots.  

When the dust cleared, the marks showed his shots consistently missed the baseline by nearly 5 centimeters.  

For most players, that would still be impressive.  

But this was the World Cup.  

And the man hitting these shots was Leopold Camus—captain of France, one of the Big 4!  

Compared to Ishikawa’s surgical precision, the difference was undeniable.  

"It’s not that Camus’ technique is lacking," Amadeus of Switzerland said grimly. "It’s that his opponent is just… on another level."  

As the tournament’s most technically skilled player, he still remembered the pressure Ishikawa had exerted in their match. It had felt like facing a top-tier pro.  

"Then why…?"  

His teammate, Tasta, frowned. "If Ishikawa’s this strong, why isn’t he crushing Camus outright?"  

"He’s evaluating him," Reinhardt of the U.S. said darkly. "Like a hunter sizing up prey."  

"H-hunter… prey…?"  

Hopkins and the others paled.  

Who would’ve thought the mighty French captain would ever be reduced to prey?  

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!  

On the court, the two players—both bathed in the shimmering aura of Pinnacle of Perfect Harmony—continued their relentless rally.  

But as time passed, Camus grew increasingly uneasy.  

15 minutes into this single point—and he still hadn’t gained an edge.  

Worse, maintaining this level of play was draining. Yet Ishikawa showed no signs of fatigue, his returns as precise as ever.  

"Is this guy even human?!"  

For the first time, Camus wondered if he was facing a machine.  

"Senpai."  

Ishikawa’s voice snapped him back.  

"You’re losing focus."  

Thwack!  

A golden streak blazed past Camus before he could react.  

"0-15!"  

"Wha—?!"  

Camus’ breath hitched.  

"How?!"  

A split-second of distraction—and Ishikawa had capitalized. What kind of monstrous perception did that take?!  

Not only that, but the shot had been faster than before—yet still landed perfectly on the line.  

"So…"  

Camus’ gaze turned sharp.  

"He’s still holding back."  

Of course.  

Ishikawa hadn’t even used his Lightning Strike or Sword’s Intent yet.  

"Right. Wishful thinking won’t work against him."  

Steeling himself, Camus pulled out a new ball and bounced it deliberately.  

The world’s top players watched intently. What would France’s captain do now?  

Hummm…  

Then—Camus’ body flared with light again.  

"Pinnacle of Perfect Harmony?!"  

Q.P. frowned. "That won’t work. His aura can’t suppress someone whose will is already unshakable."  

Unless…  

"Look closer," Borg said. "This isn’t the ordinary Pinnacle."  

"That glow…"  

Q.P.’s eyes narrowed.  

"The Radiance of Love."  

Beyond the basic Pinnacle, there existed three ultimate states:  

• Radiance of Love – The joy of tennis, pure and boundless.  

• Radiance of Loneliness – The understanding of strength’s limits.  

• Radiance of Fortitude – The acceptance of one’s power and flaws. 

Mastering even one of these put a player on the threshold of the pro level.  

And Camus—had reached it.  

Thwack!  

The serve was unleashed.  

But—  

"Wait… where’s the ball?!"  

The crowd blinked. They’d heard the impact, but no ball was visible.  

Had Camus even hit it?  

Thwack!  

Then—Ishikawa’s racket connected with empty air, sending a white streak screaming toward Camus.  

"He returned it?!"  

The stadium erupted.  

Camus’ lips tightened.  

"As expected. Nothing gets past him."  

He’d done his research. From exhibition matches to the quarterfinals, no technique had ever stumped Ishikawa for long.  

"Haaah…"  

Drawing a deep breath, Camus poured everything into focus.  

Against an opponent like this, even a moment’s lapse meant death.  

Thwack! Thud! Thwack! Thud!  

The second point unfolded.  

With the Radiance of Love active, Camus’ attacks grew sharper, his shots more unpredictable. Against anyone else, he’d have dominated.  

But the longer the rally went, the more he felt like he was sinking into quicksand.  

"Senpai."  

Ishikawa’s voice cut through again—his own Pinnacle aura flaring violently.  

"I told you—don’t lose focus."  

Boom!  

His return slammed into the court like a meteor, the impact cratering the surface before rocketing between Camus’ legs.  

"0-30!"  

Silence.  

The stadium froze.  

"Captain?!"  

"Léopold!"  

The French team lunged forward in panic.  

The dust cloud from the impact had swallowed Camus whole. For a heart-stopping moment, they feared the worst.  

Then—the haze cleared.  

Camus stood unharmed, but his posture was rigid.  

"Hah…"  

Relief washed over the French team—followed immediately by dread.  

"H-how…?"  

George, their strategist, was pale. No matter how grim his pre-match predictions had been, this was beyond his worst nightmares.  

Even with the Radiance of Love, Camus hadn’t taken a single point.  

"The Radiance of Fortitude…?"  

Barte and Moreau exchanged grim looks.  

Ishikawa had countered Camus’ ultimate technique with another pinnacle state.  

The message was clear: his base abilities were superior.  

Some clung to hope—maybe Camus had been careless. If he fought seriously, he could still turn things around.  

But reality shattered those delusions.  

Thwack! 

"Game! Japan leads, 1-0!"  

Thwack! 

"Game! Japan leads, 2-0!"  

Thwack! 

"Game! Japan leads, 3-0!"  

Three games—gone in a flash.  

Camus’ aura, once radiant, now flickered weakly.  

"Too strong."  

During the changeover, Camus studied his opponent with grave intensity.  

Power, speed, technique—no weaknesses. And that suffocating perception meant even a fractional lapse would be punished.  

The score might not reflect it yet, but Camus knew—this was the turning point.  

"Sigh…"  

Gently, he caressed his racket, fingers gliding over the strings as if memorizing their tension.  

"To think it would come to this."  

Then—under the bewildered stares of the crowd—he spoke to it.  

"My love… let us become one again."  

"…Huh?!"  

Spectators blinked.  

Did he just… talk to his racket?  

BOOM!  

An explosion of aura erupted from Camus—dwarfing even the Pinnacle and Radiance states.  

"Now, Ishikawa!"  

His voice shook the stadium.  

"Witness the ultimate expression of my tennis—!"  

"The Tennis of Passion and Depth!"  

In that moment, France’s captain transcended the realm of ordinary pros.  

He had arrived at a plane beyond.  

Chapter 488: Ultimate Tennis – The Legendary Forbidden Realm  

As the light faded, everyone’s gaze returned to Camus.  

But now, he seemed… different.  

The overwhelming aura from before had completely withdrawn, condensed into his body without the slightest leakage. If not for the earlier surge of power, they might have thought they’d imagined it.  

Yet, all the top players present knew—Camus was no longer the same.  

"He’s internalized his power?" Byodoin raised an eyebrow.  

"Yes," Duke confirmed. "This is Camus’ tennis—pure passion, pure love. Every thought, every emotion is channeled into his racket, with not a single ounce of energy wasted."  

"That’s the opposite of the 'Zone of Perfect Synergy'!" Kamio said in surprise. "The Zone releases the full power of 'Selfless State' without restraint, ensuring no energy is wasted."  

Mitsunari and Yanagi exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued. As data-driven players, they were fascinated—what level had Camus reached on this alternate path?  

Whoosh!  

Ishikawa moved.  

This was his serve game, and he didn’t give them time to ponder. He tossed the ball high and struck it with precision.  

Thwack!  

The crisp sound of impact echoed.  

Even a casual serve from Ishikawa—a master of the craft—carried terrifying speed, accuracy, and force. Some couldn’t even track the ball’s trajectory. Others were stunned by its pinpoint placement. And those who did follow it were shocked by its vicious spin upon bouncing.  

"Hyper topspin?!"  

Bard and Moreau, French high schoolers, stiffened in alarm.  

But then—  

Swish!  

Camus moved.  

His steps were unhurried, almost leisurely, as he glided toward the ball.  

"He’s fast?!"  

Yet to the spectators, his movements were blindingly quick. In the blink of an eye, his golden-haired figure was already in position.  

"A decent serve."  

Camus’ voice was calm, his expression unreadable. His swing seemed ordinary—but in reality, it was so fast it blurred into afterimages before vanishing entirely.  

Crack!  

The ball rocketed back.  

The Japanese team collectively inhaled.  

This was nothing like the Camus from the first three games.  

"Is this the power of 'Passionate Tennis'?"  

At the baseline, Ishikawa narrowed his eyes.  

While others couldn’t perceive it clearly, he saw every detail. Just as Kamio had said, Camus was releasing his full power—but unlike the Zone of Perfect Synergy, his speed was on another level.  

Tap! Tap!  

Adjusting his stance, Ishikawa intercepted the return with ease.  

"As expected of you." Camus nodded. "Unmatched footwork, explosive technique, keen perception, and a brilliant mind. Hard to believe you’re just a middle schooler."  

It was true. In every aspect except age, Ishikawa played like a seasoned high schooler.  

"In that case… I won’t hold back either."  

The moment he spoke, Camus’ movements accelerated.  

In an instant, he reached the ball and swung—  

"It’s useless!"  

The Japanese middle schoolers shook their heads. No matter what Camus tried, they were certain Ishikawa wouldn’t lose a point.  

Not to QP. Not to Amadeus. Not to Reinhardt. And definitely not to Camus.  

Boom!  

But then—  

A flash of starlight.  

A streak of crimson too fast for the naked eye.  

The ball exploded past Ishikawa, landing squarely on the baseline before ricocheting out.  

"0-15!"  

"What?!"  

Disbelief rippled through the crowd.  

"He scored?!"  

Even the French team was stunned. Their hopes of victory had nearly vanished—yet now, Camus had reignited them.  

"What kind of shot was that?"  

Byodoin and Oni exchanged shocked glances.  

Had Camus actually broken through Ishikawa’s defense?  

"So it’s true…"  

On the stands, the world’s top players—Spain, Switzerland, Germany—watched intently. Camus wasn’t a pro, but as one of the Big Four’s leaders, he had to have a trump card.  

And now, he’d finally revealed it.  

"Hmm."  

QP, Germany’s strategist, narrowed his eyes.  

He’d come hoping to find a weakness in Ishikawa. He’d assumed Camus would suffer Reinhardt’s fate—but now, it seemed the French captain had secrets of his own.  

"That shot… it’s similar."  

A memory flickered in QP’s mind. His gaze turned wary as he studied Camus, then shifted to Ishikawa—how would he respond?  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

Ishikawa bounced the ball calmly, unfazed by losing the point.  

Thwack!  

Another lightning serve.  

But Camus reacted instantly, returning with surgical precision. Compared to his earlier Zone state, he seemed even more composed.  

"Even pros wouldn’t have that level of confidence," Reinhardt murmured.  

If he were facing Ishikawa’s overwhelming strength, he wouldn’t remain so calm. Yet Camus showed no emotion—just relentless focus.  

Boom! Boom! Boom!  

The next few rallies were evenly matched. Even Ishikawa struggled to break through.  

"What’s going on?" Byodoin frowned. "Is he testing Ishikawa? Or can he only use that shot once?"  

It was a fair question.  

Like Tokugawa’s "Black Hole," some techniques had severe physical limits. Overuse could cripple a player.  

But then—  

Hum!  

Camus struck again.  

His racket became a blur, the air around it distorting as if warping reality itself.  

Boom!  

Another crimson streak.  

Ishikawa’s defense was pierced once more.  

"0-30!"  

"Ooooh!!"  

After a stunned silence, the French team erupted in cheers. Their captain was fighting back!  

Was the match about to turn?  

"That speed…" Oni’s eyes widened.  

Even he couldn’t track the shot. At his level, that was unheard of.  

In fact, aside from Byodoin, none of Japan’s elites—Duke, Tanegashima—could follow it.  

"So this is the 'Ultimate Realm'!"  

QP’s eyes gleamed.  

The Ultimate Realm—the final stage before becoming a "God of Tennis." Germany’s coach, Kan Reinhardt, had spoken of legends who’d reached this pinnacle.  

"When mind, technique, and body merge into one, the Ultimate Realm is unlocked."  

A forbidden domain.  

A realm only the greatest in history had touched.  

QP, despite his genius and relentless training, had only glimpsed its threshold—after losing to Ishikawa.  

Yet now, he was seeing it in Camus—the most unassuming of the Big Four captains.  

"Leopold Camus!"  

Borg and Medanore tensed. This Camus was dangerous—a threat they hadn’t anticipated. Medanore had expected his rival to be Germany’s Borg.  

Now, he had to add Camus to the list.  

"Well… at least this is good for us."  

Becker and Bismarck exchanged relieved glances.  

No matter how strong Camus was, France’s overall strength was lacking. If he somehow defeated Ishikawa, they’d much rather face Japan in the semifinals.  

Boom!  

Another crimson flash.  

Another point.  

"0-40!"  

"France! France! France!"  

The crowd roared. Three straight points—Ishikawa hadn’t even reacted.  

"Ishikawa."  

Yet Camus didn’t celebrate. Instead, he frowned. "Why aren’t you fighting seriously?"  

His Ultimate technique was powerful.  

But this was Ishikawa. The monster who’d crushed QP, Amadeus, and Reinhardt. There was no way he’d lose three points in a row without a plan.  

"I am fighting," Ishikawa smiled. "I’ve just been observing. And now… I think I understand your tennis."  

"Oh?"  

Camus raised an eyebrow.  

He doubted Ishikawa had truly unraveled his secret.  

"Then enlighten me."  

"You’ve found the path to the Ultimate Realm," Ishikawa said. "But you’ve only found it—not mastered it."  

Camus’ gaze sharpened.  

"You’re using your racket as a medium—channeling your emotions into it to momentarily enter that realm."  

"But because it’s a shortcut… your 'Ultimate' state lasts only an instant."  

"What?!"  

The crowd buzzed in confusion.  

But Camus’ mind reeled.  

"Impossible! He actually saw through it?!"  

"Wait—is that true?"  

The French team exchanged glances.  

"So what?" Moreau sneered. "Even if it’s just for an instant, that’s enough to win!"  

The Ultimate Realm was the domain of legends. One unstoppable shot per rally was all it took.  

"But that leads to two weaknesses."  

Ishikawa smiled, spinning his racket.  

"First—since you’re relying on your racket, your 'Ultimate' state only lasts during the moment of impact."  

With that, he served.  

Boom!  

A trail of starlight arced through the air—beautiful, mesmerizing.  

But to Camus, it was too fast. The ball seemed to warp space itself, stretching time as it flew toward him.  

Thud.  

It landed.  

Camus stood frozen.  

"15-40!"  

"Gulp."  

The audience swallowed hard.  

"There it is!" Mars of Spain muttered. "Ishikawa’s signature serve—'Starlight Trace'!"  

A serve so fast it guaranteed an unbreakable game.  

"Just as I thought."  

Medanore’s eyes locked onto Camus. "His 'Ultimate' state does last only an instant."  

Now, all eyes turned to Ishikawa.  

If the first weakness was confirmed…  

What was the second?  

"Wait—!"  

QP’s breath hitched.  

A horrifying realization struck him.  

"No… It can’t be!"  

Chapter 489: The Divine Realm Beyond the Ultimate, Advancing to the Top 4!  

Boom!  

Under the gaze of countless eyes, Ishikawa sent the tennis ball flying once more.  

In an instant—  

Tiny glimmers of starlight scattered across the air, leaving behind a faint, shimmering trail.  

"It's happening again!"  

"That terrifying serve!"  

The French team tensed up as if facing a crisis.  

Even Camus, standing at the baseline, wore a grave expression. He knew all too well—his opponent’s serve had transcended the professional level, entering a realm beyond.  

That devastatingly fast tennis existed in a dimension where it could sever the connection between mind and body, locking him out of reality.  

"Right."  

As the ball shot toward him, Camus—who should have been powerless—flashed a sharp glint in his eyes.  

"My Ultimate Zone lasts only an instant. But that’s enough!"  

Hummm!  

In that split second—  

A surge of energy erupted from him, distorting the air around him like scorching heat waves.  

"The Ultimate Zone?!"  

Players from every nation stiffened.  

This was the legendary domain only the greatest tennis players could enter. None could remain indifferent.  

Swish!  

The next moment—  

Space twisted, and Camus vanished. When he reappeared, his racket was already drawn back, poised to strike Ishikawa’s bouncing serve with full force.  

Boom!  

Racket met ball.  

Against all odds, Camus had returned Ishikawa’s top-tier serve.  

"Impossible!"  

The Japanese team’s players paled in shock.  

Even Yagyu, who specialized in ultra-fast serves, stared at Camus with deep wariness.  

The Ultimate Zone could shatter the hyper-speed dimension. The two techniques weren’t even in the same league.  

"He did it!"  

The French team erupted in cheers.  

The moment Camus returned the serve, their worries vanished. Even if his Ultimate Zone lasted only a fraction of a second, it still placed him above all high school players.  

After all, those who hadn’t opened the forbidden door could never touch this level of play.  

A tiny gap meant an insurmountable divide.  

Right now, the difference between Camus and Ishikawa was like heaven and earth.  

Hummm!  

But just as the French team thought their captain had secured the point—  

The space around Ishikawa twisted and warped, morphing into something eerily familiar yet utterly terrifying.  

"N-no way!!!"  

Not just them—  

Even Camus, mid-swing, couldn’t stop his pupils from contracting in shock.  

"Hmph."  

A faint smirk crossed Ishikawa’s lips.  

Then, his figure blurred as space distorted around him. In the next instant, he reappeared in perfect striking position, his racket already raised.  

BAM!  

A deafening impact echoed.  

To the crowd’s astonishment, Ishikawa’s racket caught Camus’ ultimate return with ease, neutralizing its force before launching it back at blinding speed.  

Thud!  

The ball landed right between Camus’ legs.  

"30-40!"  

Silence.  

The entire stadium froze in eerie stillness.  

The French players, who had just been celebrating Camus’ return, now stood rigid, their triumphant poses suddenly looking awkward and foolish.  

"T-this has to be a joke…"  

Dolon muttered, his voice trembling with disbelief.  

"That was the Ultimate Zone! The legendary, forbidden realm of tennis!!!"  

In an instant—  

The French team’s morale crumbled.  

"There’s nothing we can do. He’s just too strong."  

Balt sighed in resignation.  

"But…"  

George’s face twisted in confusion. "That was the Ultimate Zone! Even if just for one shot, no professional player should’ve been able to counter it!"  

"Unless…"  

Sharudo, who had been silent until now, spoke gravely. "For that brief moment, he also stepped into the same realm."  

"Wha—"  

The French team stiffened.  

Moroh, Delacroix, and the others sighed inwardly. The rest felt a wave of despair, as if all strength had been drained from their bodies.  

Deep down, they’d already realized the truth—they just didn’t want to accept it. They clung to the hope that it had been a fluke.  

But Sharudo’s words shattered that delusion.  

"As I thought."  

From the stands, Q.P.’s gaze darkened as he watched Ishikawa. He was certain now—the boy had entered that fearsome realm.  

But unlike Camus, who had barely scraped the surface, Ishikawa had fully mastered it, unifying mind, body, and skill.  

And something told Q.P. that Ishikawa had stepped into the very domain he himself sought—the Ultimate Quality.  

"Then…"  

A strange light flickered in Q.P.’s eyes. "Has this boy reached the realm of the 'God of Tennis'?"  

His mentor, Germany’s head coach Kan Reinhardt, once said that entering the Ultimate Zone meant one could become a legend.  

But in tennis history, while many had achieved legendary status, only a select few were recognized as the absolute strongest.  

Because beyond the Ultimate Zone lay an even higher plane—the realm of the Gods.  

[Ultimate Zone] was the beginning. [God of Tennis] was the end.  

And now—  

The black-haired boy on the court seemed to be marching straight toward that pinnacle.  

"It’s over."  

Meanwhile, the captains of Spain, Switzerland, and the U.S. shook their heads silently.  

Camus was strong—his toe already touching the threshold of the Ultimate Zone. At just 17, his talent was undeniable.  

But touching the door and stepping through it were two entirely different things.  

Amadeus and Reinhardt sighed, finally understanding why they had lost to that boy.  

Medanore’s gaze, however, only grew more profound.  

The Ultimate Zone.  

Even now, he had only just begun to scratch its surface—and that was after the life-or-death battle that had changed him.  

It had taken him two years to reach this point.  

Yet this middle schooler had not only entered it but had already reached terrifying heights within it.  

"Even among professionals, he’s a top-tier player now."  

A rare flicker of unease stirred in Medanore’s usually calm heart.  

Japan had crushed Germany in the exhibition match. Now, with an all-middle-school lineup, they had defeated France’s elite squad.  

Germany still had Volk, their ace, but in terms of middle school talent, they were at a disadvantage.  

If Japan became their opponent in the semifinals, Medanore would likely face this very boy.  

The thought sent an uncharacteristic ripple of frustration through him.  

Boom! Boom! Boom!  

On the court—  

With Ishikawa unleashing his [Ultimate Quality], Camus’ advantage vanished. The scales of victory tipped decisively in Ishikawa’s favor.  

Boom!  

Finally—  

At the 30-minute mark, Ishikawa sealed the first set with a ruthless smash.  

"First set, game!"  

"Japan’s Ishikawa wins, 6-0!"  

The merciless scoreline sent shockwaves through the crowd. The French team could barely breathe under the suffocating pressure.  

Camus didn’t give up.  

In the following games, he tried communicating with his racket, forcing himself back into the Ultimate Zone for fleeting moments. But even extending those instances by a few seconds couldn’t change the outcome.  

Boom!  

At the 40-minute mark—  

Ishikawa delivered an untraceable passing shot, ending the match.  

"Game, set, match!"  

"Japan’s Ishikawa Shun wins, 6-0, 6-0!"  

"OOOOOH!!!"  

The stadium erupted.  

Even French fans and neutral spectators rose to their feet, applauding the middle schooler who had just carved his name into legend.  

"Congratulations on reaching the semifinals."  

At the net, during their post-match exchange, Camus tapped his racket against Ishikawa’s with a wry smile. "I hope you go all the way, Ishikawa."  

Unlike his devastated teammates, Camus wasn’t disheartened. If anything, this match had honed his skills, granting him invaluable insights.  

"Yeah."  

Ishikawa nodded. "Our goal hasn’t changed. And I look forward to our next match."  

With that, they parted ways.  

As Ishikawa walked off, a system notification chimed in his mind.  

[Player has defeated Boss-level opponent Leopold Camus. 22,500 EXP gained.]  

[Player has acquired dropped skill: Pinnacle of Perfection · Love’s Radiance.]  

"A second Pinnacle of Perfection, huh?"  

Ishikawa remained calm.  

He never expected to inherit Camus’ deep emotional bond with his racket—that wasn’t his path.  

After all, he already had two forms of synchronization and three abilities that reached the Ultimate Zone.  

His next goal? To refine one—or all three—to their absolute limits.  

[Ding.]  

Another notification sounded.  

[Player’s abilities, Pinnacle of Perfection · Tenacity and Pinnacle of Perfection · Love’s Radiance, can be fused. Proceed?]  

"Oh?"  

This was unexpected.  

Since obtaining the Pinnacle of Perfection from Ryoma, he’d barely used it. But now, a new possibility had emerged.  

"Fuse."  

Without hesitation, Ishikawa confirmed.  

[Ding.]  

[Fusion successful.]  

[New ability acquired: Pinnacle of Perfection · Ultimate Radiance (Incomplete).]  

"Incomplete?"  

Ishikawa’s eyes narrowed at the system’s note. "It’s missing the third radiance—Loneliness."  

Meaning—  

If he obtained the third Pinnacle of Perfection, he could unlock the Ultimate Radiance, granting him a fourth Ultimate Zone ability.  

At the same time, he thought of the legendary Samurai—Echizen Nanjiro. Was his legendary status due to mastering the Pinnacle of Perfection and entering the Ultimate Zone?  

But Loneliness’ Radiance was exceedingly rare.  

In the original story, no character had awakened it. Even in this world, Ishikawa had never heard of anyone who had.  

"Maybe a pro has it?"  

After all, Loneliness’ Radiance required one to experience the peak of strength and the fleeting nature of limits.  

"In that case…"  

Back in the rest area, Ishikawa glanced at Camus. "After this match, he might awaken it."  

If so, Ishikawa could challenge him again to obtain the skill. But he quickly dismissed the thought.  

He wanted to try something else—  

With his current foundation and two Pinnacle abilities, could he awaken the third on his own?  

"But… is three really the limit?"  

He thought of Kite.  

During the U-17 shuffle matches before the World Cup, Kite had awakened a new Pinnacle of Perfection in the depths of pain and despair.  

And then there was Ryoma’s brother, Ryoga.  

His understanding of the Pinnacle was profound. Combined with his ability to "devour," perhaps he, too, was forging his own path to the Ultimate.  

Soon after—  

As both teams gathered at the net, the referee announced:  

"This quarterfinal concludes with Japan’s victory, 3-2! They advance to the semifinals!"  

Instantly—  

The section where Hiyoshi, Otori, and the others sat exploded in cheers.  

"Big 4!"  

"We’re in the semifinals now!"  

"Semis? Don’t kid yourselves—this is just the beginning. Our goal isn’t just the top 4!"  

Excitement buzzed among them.  

The other spectators, including representatives from various nations, were equally stunned by the shake-up in this year’s World Cup.  

"Let’s go."  

Meanwhile, the captains of Germany, Spain, and Switzerland called their teams to leave.  

But before they did—  

All three cast one last glance at the black-haired boy on the court.  

This match had taught them one thing:  

To defeat him, they’d need someone who had truly stepped into the Ultimate Zone.  

Among them—  

The sharpest gaze belonged to a lanky, bald young man.  

Chapter 490: The German Team’s Evolution  

That day, all four quarterfinal matches concluded.  

Aside from France’s defeat by Japan, the other advancing teams were the original Big Four—proving once again the legitimacy of their historical rankings. In truth, had France not faced Japan, their powerhouse lineup—combined with Camus’ terrifying half-step into the Ultimate Realm—would’ve made them nearly unstoppable.  

But this year’s World Cup was destined to be anything but ordinary.  

With Germany, the reigning champions aiming for an unprecedented 10th consecutive title; Spain, rumored to have secured the legendary Samurai Nanjirou; and Japan, the tournament’s dark horse—the final rounds promised to be the most intense and spectacular yet!  

"Mm… let’s go."  

After the match, Coach Mifune yawned, leading the team away from the court.  

While the others buzzed with excitement, Japan’s head coach remained eerily calm—as if he’d expected this outcome all along.  

On the way back, the team’s enthusiasm was palpable.  

But the top players—Ishikawa, Byodoin, and Oni—were just as composed. To them, defeating France wasn’t a cause for celebration. At best, it was an appetizer before the main course.  

Reaching the semifinals meant the real challenge was about to begin.  

Their next opponent?  

Germany.  

The undisputed No. 1 seed, the reigning kings of tennis.  

Though Japan had triumphed in the exhibition match, Germany’s strongest high school pro hadn’t played. For Japan, they remained the most formidable threat.  

Still, with Ishikawa’s dominance and Byodoin/Oni rested for this match, the team wasn’t overly worried.  

Meanwhile, the other three semifinalists returned to their hotels.  

At the Morphil Hotel in Melbourne’s east—Germany’s base—the third floor had been converted into a state-of-the-art training facility, complete with professional-grade courts, equipment, and even referees.  

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!  

As evening fell, the courts buzzed with activity.  

Most spectators were there to catch a glimpse of Germany’s training, usually kept behind closed doors. But with the semifinals against Japan tomorrow, their coach had finally allowed a public session to keep the players sharp.  

1. Bismarck vs. Becker – A Clash of Ambition 

At one crowded court, a tall figure unleashed a ruthless crosscourt shot.  

"Too fast!"  

"Bismarck aimed straight for the死角 (dead angle)!"  

"They say he’s near pro-level… and it shows!"  

The spectators erupted in awe.  

"A fine shot."  

But on the opposite side, another tall player smirked. "You’ve hidden your ambition well, Michael. But now… it’s showing."  

Then, in a move that stunned everyone, he swung his racket in the opposite direction of the ball’s trajectory.  

"What?!"  

Bismarck’s pupils contracted. "He saw through it?!"  

Swish!  

The ball abruptly changed direction, colliding perfectly with Becker’s racket before rocketing past Bismarck.  

"Game. Set won by Rudolf Becker, 6-4!"  

"Incredible!"  

"That’s Becker for you!"  

"The gap between a true pro and a near-pro is real."  

As the crowd murmured, Becker approached Bismarck with a smile. "Guess luck was on my side."  

"Luck?" Bismarck shook his head. "You spent the first eight games analyzing me. Only the last two were serious."  

He narrowed his eyes. "But one thing puzzles me. I haven’t used a single trick shot all year. How did you predict my spin on the final point?"  

It was a newly developed technique—one he’d kept hidden. Yet Becker had read it instantly.  

"Sharpened instincts," Becker said lightly. "Losing to Japan’s high schooler pushed me to another level."  

Bismarck exhaled. "Then tomorrow’s match rests on you."  

Unspoken was the real purpose of this match: Germany’s coach was evaluating players for the semifinal lineup. Bismarck’s loss likely meant he wouldn’t play.  

As they walked off, Becker gave him a knowing look. "You’ve improved, Michael. But we’re not in the same league anymore. After that loss, I unlocked something… extraordinary."  

This match hadn’t even required his full effort.  

He almost regretted not testing himself against QP instead.  

2. Frankensteiner vs. Siegfried – The Machine vs. The Maverick 

At another court, a golden-haired teen clashed with his ruthless opponent.  

"Elmar," the buzz-cut boy grinned, eyes glinting with a dangerous red hue. "Still reckless, I see. And you still haven’t fixed that weakness."  

Bam!  

Frankensteiner—dubbed the *"Tennis Machine"*—fired a shot straight at Siegfried’s backhand blind spot.  

"Oh?" Siegfried smirked. "What if I wanted you to see that weakness?"  

Crack!  

His racket flashed, and a streak of white light exploded behind Frankensteiner.  

"Game! Siegfried leads 6-5!"  

Seizing the momentum, Siegfried closed out the match.  

"Match to Elmar Siegfried, 7-5!"  

Thud.  

Frankensteiner collapsed to his knees, trembling.  

Not from frustration—but terror.  

In that final moment, he’d sensed something monstrous in Siegfried.  

"He… he’s awakened that power too?!"  

3. The Main Event: Volk vs. QP – A One-Sided Domination 

The most anticipated match, however, was between Germany’s No. 1 and No. 2—Volk and QP.  

But the reality was brutal.  

QP, hailed as Germany’s masterpiece, hadn’t scored a single point in 30 minutes. He gasped for breath, drenched in sweat under Volk’s oppressive aura.  

"This… this is the world’s No. 1 high schooler?"  

The spectators shuddered.  

"It’s over."  

Volk’s voice was ice.  

To him, no one in Germany—perhaps even the world—was worth his full power anymore.  

Boom!  

A deceptively simple forehand streaked across the court—like a comet tearing through the night sky.  

Drip. Drip.  

Sweat rolled off QP’s face, his usual composure shattered.  

But as the ball’s shadow reflected in his eyes, his fear vanished.  

"My tennis… won’t end here!"  

ROAR!  

With a primal scream, QP swung with every ounce of strength.  

Flash!  

A silver arc lit up the court, blinding everyone—even Volk hesitated.  

Thud!  

The ball landed deep…  

"15-40!"  

But the line judge raised his hand. "Out!"  

"Correction! Game and match to Jurgen Borisovich Volk, 6-0!"  

The crowd gasped.  

"He knew it was out before it landed?!"  

"Volk’s perception is inhuman!"  

"No wonder he crushed Novak Brynne in the pros!"  

Volk ignored the praise. Instead, he studied QP—who, despite the loss, wore a faint smile.  

"Success?" Volk nodded.  

This match had been QP’s request. Under their coach’s guidance, Volk had pushed him to the brink—and QP had broken through.  

Germany’s "Perfect Quality" had evolved.  

"Rest now," Coach Reinhardt said, approaching. "You’ll need full stamina for tomorrow."  

QP nodded. Though he’d taken that crucial step, his energy was drained. Tomorrow’s matches would be grueling.  

But the gamble had paid off.  

With QP’s evolution, Germany’s odds of victory had soared to over 80%.  

As for Volk?  

The coach didn’t worry. Even a five-set marathon wouldn’t faze the indestructible world No. 1.  

Watching them leave, Volk’s stoic gaze flickered with rare intrigue.  

"So… another path to the Ultimate Realm?"