446-450

Chapter 446: Wind’s Offensive Technique—[Scorching Wind]!  

BOOM!!!  

A deafening explosion of sound ripped through the air.  

Everyone felt their eardrums tremble, followed by a sharp pain that shot through their nervous systems and straight to their brains. Their expressions twisted in shock.  

"This kind of power?!"  

Outside the court, the Japanese team stared at the thick smoke engulfing Tanegashima, their hearts pounding with disbelief.  

"They’ve finally made their move!"  

On the Swiss side, smiles spread across their faces.  

Federer and Pugh, both now shirtless, were powerhouses—true super-strength players. Once they unleashed their full force, almost nothing could stop their shots.  

And now, Tanegashima had to face both of them at once.  

SWISH!  

But then—  

A tennis ball shot out from the smoke.  

"He returned it?!"  

Lambiel and Henry frowned. They hadn’t expected this Japanese high schooler to be so resilient, holding his ground against two overwhelming power players.  

"He’s reached his limit."  

Switzerland’s No. 2, Tasta, spoke up.  

"Hm?"  

Lambiel narrowed his eyes, focusing. Sure enough, he spotted several frayed strings on Tanegashima’s racket.  

"I see."  

A smirk curled on the Swiss tactician’s lips. "Even with his special ability, after taking Federer and Pugh’s relentless attacks, he’s finally breaking down."  

This was only natural.  

The sheer force of their Dual Super-Gravity Dimension was terrifying. Even Amadeus and Tasta wouldn’t claim to withstand it unscathed.  

Of course, tennis wasn’t just about brute strength.  

If raw power alone decided matches, Switzerland’s No. 1 and No. 2 wouldn’t be Amadeus and Tasta.  

BANG!  

Finally—  

After Federer unleashed his [Poseidon’s Strike], Tanegashima’s racket gave out. The strings snapped, leaving a gaping hole in the frame.  

"15-15!"  

The umpire’s call sent Swiss fans into a frenzy.  

"That’s more like it!" someone cheered. "See? This is Switzerland’s real strength! The No. 2 spot isn’t something just anyone can challenge!"  

Clearly, the first match’s loss had stung. Now, their pride was restored.  

Meanwhile, the Japanese team’s expressions darkened.  

This was the first time they’d seen Tanegashima’s racket shattered in an official match.  

"[Muga no Kyouchi]’s defense… has completely collapsed." Mitsuya’s voice was grim.  

The sheer terror of the Dual Super-Gravity Dimension was suffocating just to imagine. Only Tanegashima could’ve held out this long—anyone else’s racket would’ve been obliterated instantly.  

"Senpai… are you okay?"  

On the court, Fuji approached, concern flashing in his eyes.  

He was stunned. Tanegashima’s defense had withstood even Tezuka’s attacks. Yet now, in a direct clash, he was completely overpowered.  

The Swiss players were monsters.  

The pressure of world-class high schoolers tightened around Fuji’s nerves like a vise.  

"I’m fine."  

Tanegashima exhaled, forcing a relaxed grin. But Fuji didn’t miss the strain beneath it.  

"Don’t worry," Tanegashima said, clapping Fuji’s shoulder. "We’re not losing this match."  

"Senpai—"  

Fuji’s breath hitched.  

When he met Tanegashima’s calm, steady gaze, his unease melted away.  

"Right."  

He nodded, confidence reigniting.  

But then—  

Federer and Pugh launched another ruthless assault. Tanegashima fought back, but this time, he couldn’t hold on.  

"15-30!"  

The umpire’s voice was drowned out by the roaring crowd.  

"SWITZERLAND!"  

"SWITZERLAND!"  

"SWITZERLAND!"  

The support for the world’s No. 2 team rivaled even Australia’s home-court advantage. Fans waved flags, their frenzied energy electrifying the stadium.  

BANG!  

"15-40!"  

BANG!  

"GAME!"  

"Switzerland leads, 1-2! Change sides!"  

One game ended.  

The Swiss duo, now in full force, dominated completely. Even Tanegashima, with his [Muga no Kyouchi], was pushed to the brink.  

"Let’s finish this, partner."  

"Yeah, let’s crush them."  

Federer and Pugh clasped hands, their auras suffocating.  

Two minutes later, they seized another game.  

"GAME!"  

"Switzerland, 2-2!"  

The score was tied, but the momentum was all Switzerland’s.  

"This is bad…"  

Fuji’s face tightened.  

He glanced at Tanegashima, confused. The older player met his gaze and scratched his head sheepishly.  

"Sorry. I couldn’t stop them just now."  

"N-no, it’s fine!"  

Fuji blinked. He hadn’t expected an apology.  

"Senpai…" He lowered his voice. "Did you… not have a way to counter them?"  

"I had a chance. Just not a big one."  

Tanegashima adjusted his jacket, smiling. "But if I didn’t try, I’d never know for sure, right?"  

Fuji froze.  

Those words struck something deep inside him.  

Watching Tanegashima’s retreating figure, something clicked.  

"He’s right."  

"If I let their strength intimidate me, this match—no, tennis itself—loses its meaning."  

"Their power is overwhelming, but it’s not invincible!"  

Fuji’s eyes sharpened, resolve burning bright.  

Now, with the serve in his hands, he analyzed the Swiss players’ positioning—and struck.  

THWACK!  

His first shot targeted their backhands, aiming to disrupt their powerful swings.  

BANG!  

But Pugh’s return was a brutal counter, blasting Fuji’s racket out of his hands.  

The impact stung his palms.  

Now, he truly understood what Tanegashima had been up against.  

"Hah…"  

Fuji exhaled, forcing calm. His mind raced.  

"A direct clash is suicide. I need another angle."  

His next shot was precise, landing just ten centimeters in front of Federer, forcing an awkward return.  

BANG!  

Even so, the power was staggering.  

But Fuji adjusted, tilting his racket to deflect the force, redirecting the ball.  

Again, he aimed for an uncomfortable spot.  

"Trying to disrupt our rhythm?"  

Federer smirked.  

A veteran of countless world-class matches, he saw right through Fuji’s plan. His response was swift.  

BANG!  

The ball rocketed back.  

Fuji’s brow furrowed.  

He realized now—normal shots wouldn’t score. One misstep, and their overwhelming power would obliterate his racket.  

In other words, Federer and Pugh could afford endless mistakes. Fuji couldn’t afford one.  

Lambiel, Switzerland’s strategist, saw it too.  

"This match is already over."  

No matter how skilled Fuji’s techniques were, without the raw power to back them up, he stood no chance.  

Yet—  

For the next two minutes, Fuji held his own against Federer.  

"No way…"  

Henry gaped. "He hasn’t made a single mistake?!"  

Federer was a seasoned pro. Fuji had zero World Cup experience.  

The difference should’ve been obvious.  

Yet here Fuji was, matching Federer blow for blow. His tenacity left the crowd speechless.  

But Fuji’s stamina was fading fast. Against a powerhouse like Federer, his smaller frame was a liability.  

"I need to change tactics."  

Frustration bubbled up.  

"If only I had Tezuka’s insight, or Atobe’s ability to see weaknesses…"  

Then—  

A spark flashed in his mind.  

"Wait. What if…?"  

His aura shifted, sharpening like a drawn blade.  

"He’s still got this much fight left?"  

Federer was impressed—but confident. "Keep this up, and I’ll wear him down eventually."  

BANG!  

His next shot was even stronger than before.  

"He was holding back?!"  

Mitsuya, Inui, and Yanagi paled.  

The ball streaked toward Fuji like a black comet.  

"FUJI, LOOK OUT!"  

Eiji and Momoshiro screamed.  

If Fuji tried to return this, his racket—or worse, his arm—might break.  

But Fuji’s mind accelerated.  

Time seemed to slow.  

"Wind’s Offensive Technique—[Shining Wind]!"  

His racket flashed.  

"He returned it?!"  

Federer’s eyes widened.  

The ball soared high—too high.  

"Is this another [White Dragon]?"  

Federer sprinted to intercept it.  

"No! They saw through it!"  

The Japanese team tensed.  

But then—  

WHOOSH!!!  

A scorching gust of wind erupted from above.  

"What—?!"  

Federer looked up just as the ball smashed through his racket, leaving a smoldering hole.  

The crowd gasped.  

Fuji lowered his racket, his voice calm but fierce.  

"Wind’s Offensive Technique—[Scorching Wind]."  

Chapter 447: Deathmatch – The Final Outcome  

"No way…"  

Inside the Swiss team camp, the middle schoolers, led by Henri, stared in disbelief.  

This was Albert Federer they were talking about—one of the top five, maybe even top three, strongest high school players in the world in terms of pure power.  

And yet, his opponent—a player who clearly relied on technique—had just shattered Federer’s racket in a direct clash?  

This was insane!  

"It really is unbelievable," Lennart muttered, his expression wary. "Based on their raw strength, there’s no way that Japanese middle schooler’s shot should’ve broken Albert’s racket."  

"If not power… then technique?" Henri quickly realized, his pupils trembling violently. The shock hit him even harder. "His skill… has reached that level?"  

He was a technical player himself.  

But the gap between them was wider than the usual difference between middle and high schoolers. The realization struck Henri like a thunderbolt.  

"You’re mistaken. He’s using unconventional power," Lennart corrected, shaking his head. Then, slowly, he raised his hand and mimed a scooping motion. "To be precise, he’s borrowing it."  

Borrowing power?!  

Henri froze for a second before his eyes widened in realization. "You mean… the wind?!"  

"Exactly," Lennart nodded. "He used some kind of special technique to launch the ball high into the air. At that altitude, the temperature difference created intense pressure."  

As he spoke, he glanced upward.  

Henri followed his gaze, frowning. "But if that’s the case, wouldn’t any well-placed lob have the same effect?"  

"That’s the catch," Lennart sighed, shaking his head in admiration. "What everyone knows in theory, no one can execute. Yet he seized that fleeting moment of inspiration mid-match. That’s what you call a true genius."  

A genius?  

Henri stiffened.  

Then, a bitter smile crept onto his face. If that guy was a genius, then what did that make him—the so-called strongest middle schooler in Switzerland, the prodigy of Europe?  

"Fuji Syusuke… of Team Japan."  

Henri’s gaze at his opponent was complicated. Even as rivals, he couldn’t help but feel respect. Though, mixed in was a tinge of frustration—why did Fuji have to exist in the same era as him?  

Thud! 

Bang! 

Thud! 

Bang!  

The match resumed.  

Fuji, now armed with his new technique, reversed his earlier disadvantage and launched a counterattack in his own service game.  

"Fuji… he’s incredible!"  

Outside the court, Shishido, Chitose, and the others couldn’t help but marvel.  

"But…" Tachibana frowned. "How did he turn the match around so quickly?"  

"He targeted their weakness," Tokugawa cut in. "Against power players, direct clashes are the worst strategy. The key is to avoid letting them unleash full-force strikes, which limits their impact."  

"Exactly," added Mouri. "Raw strength alone isn’t everything. Otherwise, Switzerland’s strongest player wouldn’t be Amadeus, who’s known for his finesse."  

The others nodded in agreement.  

"Speaking of which… Fuji’s perception has improved drastically," Chitose remarked, narrowing his eyes.  

Among Japan’s middle schoolers, Ishikawa was undeniably in the top tier (T0). The next tier (T1) included players like Tezuka, Yukimura, and Atobe.  

But beyond that, rankings were less clear. Players like Kyushu’s "Two Heroes," Rikkai’s captain, Fuji from Seigaku, and even Jyousei Shounen’s Jirou and Shishido, were all contenders for the T2 spot.  

So Chitose paid close attention to those on his level.  

As far as he remembered, Fuji’s greatest strength was his technique. In terms of perception, even he—without using the power of Muga no Kyouchi to enhance his mind—couldn’t dissect a high schooler like Federer so thoroughly.  

"It’s Hikaze (Light Wind)," Ishikawa explained. "Fuji’s unique ability. It accelerates his brain’s processing speed, analyzing all visual information instantly—making everything appear frozen from his perspective."  

"Frozen?!"  

The group digested the words, their expressions shifting to shock.  

It sounded exaggerated.  

But watching Fuji move like a dancer on a knife’s edge, they couldn’t deny it. He was like a cunning hunter facing a monstrous bear—outmatched in strength, yet always in control, striking with surgical precision.  

"Is this guy even human?!"  

The Swiss team was stunned by Fuji’s flawless shots.  

"This kid… is something else," Amadeus muttered, exchanging a glance with Tasta.  

It was hard to believe a middle schooler could push Federer this far.  

Tap! Tap!  

Then, Randy Pugh—wearing a baseball cap—moved.  

He tried to intervene in the duel, which visibly annoyed Federer. It meant he was being pressured by a middle schooler.  

But Federer quickly steadied himself. This wasn’t about pride—it was about national honor.  

"Trying to interfere?"  

At that moment, Tanegashima stepped in.  

He intercepted Pugh’s powerful return, his entire demeanor shifting as he swung his racket.  

Crack!  

A crisp impact echoed as the ball shot forward, trailing a faint black aura.  

"What?!"  

Pugh’s instincts screamed danger. When he saw the dark energy swirling around the ball, his face paled.  

"Dark Horse Strike?!"  

Thwack!  

The ball shot between his legs.  

"30-0!"  

"Tch—"  

The Swiss team tensed. They hadn’t expected Tanegashima to be hiding such power.  

"This guy’s been holding back!" Pugh scowled.  

In other words, Tanegashima had been targeting him from the start. With this level of skill, the Swiss pair had never truly controlled the match.  

"This is bad…"  

Federer and Pugh exchanged uneasy glances.  

Tanegashima’s hidden strength was a nightmare. To win, they’d have to break at least one of their opponents’ service games.  

But Fuji was relentless. Even Federer, with all his experience, felt cornered.  

Thud! 

Bang! 

Thud! 

Bang!  

Yet Fuji held firm, securing his service game.  

"Game!" 

"Japan leads, 3-2!"  

"Nice!!" 

"Fuji-senpai, you’re amazing!" 

"He hasn’t missed a single shot since that last play! Is this the genius of Seigaku?!"  

The Japanese middle schoolers clenched their fists in excitement. Mizuki and Marui watched Fuji with awe.  

Mizuki remembered the Tokyo tournament, where Fuji had reversed a 0-5 deficit against him. Back then, he’d been bitter.  

Now? He was genuinely impressed.  

Marui, too, had once carried the title of "genius" at Rikkai—the two-time national champions. Back then, he hadn’t seen Fuji as a threat.  

Now, he realized true genius belonged to that brown-haired boy.  

Thud! 

Bang! 

Thud! 

Bang!  

The match continued.  

With the serve back on Switzerland’s side, Federer and Pugh reasserted control, quickly taking their game.  

But when Japan regained serve, Tanegashima held firm, securing another game after a fierce rally.  

Thud! 

Bang! 

Thud! 

Bang!  

The battle raged on, both sides holding their serves.  

Thirty minutes later, Federer unleashed a Poseidon’s Wrath, and the umpire’s voice rang out:  

"Game!" 

"Switzerland, 6-6!" 

"Tiebreak!"  

"To think…"  

The crowd—players and spectators alike—was stunned. The Swiss team and fans had expected an easy win, yet here they were, pushed to a tiebreak.  

Still, they trusted Federer and Pugh. As high schoolers, their stamina far surpassed Fuji’s.  

And Fuji was already exhausted. Controlling a player like Federer took immense mental energy.  

Sweat drenched Fuji’s body, his brown hair dripping.  

"This match will be decided by willpower now," Switzerland’s coach, Jean Onigashima, said calmly.  

Amadeus and Tasta nodded.  

When skill and physicality were evenly matched, the final factor was mental endurance.  

And they were confident Federer and Pugh would outlast Fuji.  

"Japan’s mistake was fielding a middle schooler," Tasta thought, shaking his head.  

Sure, playing Switzerland might’ve honed Fuji’s skills. But in terms of endurance? A middle schooler stood no chance.  

He could already picture Fuji collapsing from exhaustion.  

Yet—  

To everyone’s surprise, Fuji didn’t fall.  

Instead, he clung on, matching the Swiss pair point for point, his brilliant plays drawing cheers.  

"This kid’s a damn cockroach!"  

Federer and Pugh shared a frustrated look. Fuji’s tenacity was beyond anything they’d expected.  

"F-Fuji-senpai…"  

Kikumaru and Momoshiro watched with concern.  

Fuji looked dead on his feet.  

Controlling a top-tier player’s shots was mentally draining. That he’d lasted this long was a miracle.  

But it was obvious—his body would give out before Federer and Pugh’s.  

And once Fuji fell, Tanegashima would be alone.  

Thud!  

Sure enough, Fuji stumbled after a return.  

"Now!"  

Federer seized the chance, smashing the ball with Poseidon’s Wrath.  

"Here it comes!" 

"Federer’s (senpai’s) ultimate technique!" 

"It’s over! Victory for Switzerland!"  

The Swiss side erupted.  

"I… won’t… give up!"  

Fuji gritted his teeth and lunged for the ball.  

"Fuji, NO!!"  

Kikumaru and Momoshiro screamed.  

But it was too late—Fuji’s racket met the ball.  

Crack!  

The sound echoed.  

Many shut their eyes, unable to watch.  

Whoosh!  

But—  

Instead of Fuji being sent flying, the ball skimmed the ground, sliding unnaturally after the bounce.  

"Japan, 48-47!"  

"H-How?!"  

Federer froze. Pugh’s jaw dropped.  

That was Poseidon’s Wrath—how had a half-dead middle schooler returned it?!  

And Federer was using Super Gravity Dimension!  

…Wait.  

A horrifying realization struck them.  

"Don’t tell me—"  

They both activated Super Gravity Dimension again.  

But the crushing pressure they expected… never came.  

"As expected, our side is superior," Ishikawa said, smirking.  

"What do you—?!"  

The others blinked, then turned to Tanegashima.  

"Dark Horse Strike: Void…" Mitsuya whispered.  

"So that means…" Tachibana and Chitose gasped. "Tanegashima-senpai nullified their Super Gravity Dimension?!"  

The team’s spirits soared.  

With their greatest weapon gone, Federer and Pugh were stripped of their overwhelming power.  

Tanegashima, who’d been conserving energy, finally smiled.  

Swoosh!  

Finally, Fuji landed one last Phoenix Return.  

The umpire’s voice boomed:  

"Game, set, match!" 

"Japan wins—Tanegashima Shuuji & Fuji Syusuke, 7-6!"  

Chapter 448: Singles 3 – Ishikawa vs. Amadeus  

7-6!  

No one had expected Japan to emerge victorious in this Doubles 1 showdown.  

"That guy’s tennis… it’s dangerous!"  

Defeated, Federer and Pugh stared at the silver-haired player with wary eyes.  

No one had anticipated that he’d been hiding such a lethal technique—one he’d saved until the tiebreaker, delivering a crushing blow.  

"That guy…"  

Henry shot Tanegashima a grim look. "How could he take that risk? If that middle schooler hadn’t held on, they’d have had no chance at all!"  

"Call it trust in his partner."  

Lambiel shook his head, then added meaningfully, "Or maybe… it was only by the tiebreaker that he’d fully grasped how to negate Albert and Randy’s tennis."  

Even water dripping through stone takes time. Tanegashima wasn’t so overpowering that he could suppress two elite players alone.  

Japan’s victory had been narrow.  

Yet, they’d won fair and square against two world-class opponents—a feat that couldn’t be dismissed.  

"So… that’s two losses in a row?"  

Some Swiss team members wore expressions of disbelief.  

Switzerland.  

Ranked second in the world.  

A team brimming with elite players, including Amadeus—a pro-level talent among the Big Four. Yet they’d lost two matches straight, defying all pre-tournament predictions.  

"They’ve been backed into a corner."  

Spectators from other nations watched with keen interest. Switzerland had fielded their best, yet this was the result.  

Now, they had zero margin for error.  

They had to win the next three singles matches.  

Under normal circumstances, no one would doubt Switzerland’s strength—not with Amadeus anchoring the singles lineup.  

But Japan was different.  

They’d swept their group stage undefeated and even toppled Germany, the world’s top-ranked team, in the exhibition match.  

And everyone knew—the boy who’d defeated Germany’s Q·P was leading Japan’s charge this time.  

He would play in one of the singles matches.  

The question was: Had Switzerland’s coach predicted Japan’s lineup correctly? Only by pitting Amadeus against Ishikawa did they stand a chance.  

All eyes now turned to the next match.  

"Next up: Singles 3!"  

The announcer’s voice boomed. "Representing Switzerland—Charles Arnaud (9th grade)! Facing Japan’s Ishikawa Shin (7th grade)! Players, prepare!"  

Silence.  

Then—  

A blond-haired Swiss player froze, his confident smirk stiffening.  

"M-me? Against… Ishikawa?!"  

Arnaud’s face paled.  

A rising star in Switzerland’s U17, the 14-year-old had quickly earned his spot as a regular. Many predicted he’d be a key player in the next World Cup.  

But now?  

He looked like he’d been petrified.  

"We’re done."  

"This is a guaranteed loss."  

"Damn it, Japan’s not playing fair!"  

"A pro-level player in Singles 3? This is just…"  

He wanted to call it underhanded, but as a Swiss representative, he bit his tongue.  

The mood in Switzerland’s camp turned grim.  

"Referee!"  

Just as Arnaud resigned himself to his fate, a cold voice cut through the tension.  

"Switzerland requests a substitution!"  

Every head turned toward the speaker—a young man with neatly braided dreadlocks beneath a white headband.  

Alexander Amadeus.  

Switzerland’s ace.  

"Captain…!"  

Arnaud exhaled in relief as Amadeus stepped forward, racket in hand.  

"Thank god."  

For the first time, he felt overwhelming gratitude for the World Cup’s substitution rule (one per match).  

"Don’t let your guard down," Amadeus said calmly. "Warm up. Be ready for the final match."  

"Understood!"  

Arnaud nodded firmly before hurrying off the court.  

"They can just… do that?!"  

Japan’s team was stunned.  

No one had expected Switzerland to pull such a move.  

"It’s legal," Mizuki explained. "Each team gets one substitution per match. Though, if one side uses theirs, the other can immediately counter with theirs."  

"So…"  

Hiyoshi and Kintarō grinned, glancing at Ishikawa. "If the vice-captain swapped out now, that’d be hilarious."  

"Heh."  

Kintarō smirked.  

Switzerland would be finished.  

But neither believed Ishikawa would do it.  

First, he wasn’t the type to dodge a challenge.  

Second, he’d already crushed multiple pro-level players. Why play mind games when he could dominate Switzerland’s ace outright?  

To utterly dismantle the world’s second-ranked team—that was Ishikawa’s way.  

"Hmm."  

The crowd buzzed as attention locked onto the two figures now standing on opposite baselines.  

"Their showdown’s coming sooner than expected!"  

"Blame Switzerland’s doubles for underperforming. Otherwise, Amadeus wouldn’t be forced into Singles 3."  

"But why’s Ishikawa in Singles 3? Shouldn’t he be in Singles 1 for a king vs. king clash?"  

Silence.  

Then—  

"What if…"  

One spectator whispered, "Japan knew they’d win the first two matches? That they planned this to force Amadeus out early?"  

"Planned?!"  

"Why?!"  

Others stared, baffled.  

"Isn’t it obvious?"  

A sharp-eyed observer smirked. "To drag Switzerland’s ace into the open!"  

The crowd tensed.  

"A coincidence, surely?"  

Someone muttered, "No way Japan’s coach or captain could guarantee two doubles wins in advance."  

Nods all around.  

That explanation made sense.  

Yet, some spectators narrowed their eyes, studying Ishikawa with newfound intrigue.  

"Just a coincidence… really?"  

Court Showdown 

As the players stepped onto the court, the atmosphere grew taut.  

At the net, the two aces locked eyes.  

"First time meeting."  

Amadeus spoke first. "I’ve seen your matches. You’re strong—no wonder you beat that guy. But today, I won’t lose."  

"That guy?"  

Ishikawa smiled.  

Most would assume Amadeus meant Germany’s Q·P, but Ishikawa knew better.  

"I’ve heard that line too many times," he replied. "Yet no one’s ever made good on it."  

Arrogant.  

Blatantly so.  

Amadeus’ first impression? This kid was cocky.  

But then he reconsidered. At Ishikawa’s age, with his achievements, he’d have been even worse.  

And—  

Something felt off.  

That arrogance… almost seemed calculated. Like Ishikawa was trying to provoke him.  

"No way."  

Amadeus dismissed the thought.  

Ishikawa didn’t strike him as the mind-game type.  

Yet—  

A split-second later, he froze.  

"An illusion?"  

For a fleeting moment, he’d caught a knowing smirk on Ishikawa’s face.  

As if…  

The kid had read his thoughts.  

"Ishikawa… Shin."  

Amadeus’ gaze sharpened.  

Maybe he’d underestimated him.  

This was the player who’d defeated his rival. Underestimating him would be a fatal mistake.  

"Words are meaningless," Amadeus said coldly. "We’ll let our tennis do the talking."  

"Agreed."  

Ishikawa nodded.  

After the coin toss, both retreated to their baselines.  

"Game set, one-match decider!"  

The umpire’s voice rang out. "Amadeus to serve!"  

First Strike 

Amadeus bounced the ball, testing its weight.  

"Let’s see just how good you are."  

THWACK!  

A blur of spin and speed.  

The ball shot toward Ishikawa, its surface fibers twisting violently—some clockwise, others counterclockwise.  

Layered rotation.  

Most players wouldn’t even notice. Those who did would hesitate, wary of the hidden trap.  

But Ishikawa?  

He swung without hesitation, as if the spin didn’t exist.  

"He took the bait?!"  

Amadeus frowned.  

Surely Ishikawa had seen through it.  

Unless…  

"No. He couldn’t have deciphered it that fast."  

Even as a pro, Amadeus needed time to analyze new techniques.  

Yet—  

WHOOSH!  

The ball streaked back, faster than expected.  

Amadeus adjusted, pivoting to intercept—  

Then stiffened.  

"Where’s the spin?!"  

The rotations he’d embedded were gone.  

"Did he just—?!"  

His eyes snapped up, meeting Ishikawa’s calm gaze.  

The kid had not only seen through it—he’d reversed it.  

When his racket connected, the same layered spin surged back at him.  

"This guy…!"  

Amadeus’ pulse spiked.  

To dismantle his serve’s mechanics on first contact…  

Just how monstrous was his perception?!  

Chapter 449: A Clash of Supreme Technique  

"What's happening?"  

Outside the court, Federer, Pugh, and the others exchanged puzzled glances. They knew Amadeus well—his reactions were telling them something was off.  

"I'm not sure," Lennart admitted with a shake of his head.  

As a data player, he was sharp—but the gap between his level and a true professional was vast. In a match like this, he could only watch and learn.  

"That kid is impressive."  

The comment came from Tasta, the blond-haired Swiss pro. All eyes turned to him.  

Though he hadn’t played in this tournament, his skill was undeniable—even Amadeus might struggle against him. If anyone here could analyze this match, it was him.  

"He read the spin on Amadeus’ serve," Tasta continued, his eyes narrowing. "And unless I’m mistaken, he returned it with the exact same rotation."  

The others stiffened.  

He’d deciphered Amadeus’ technique in an instant?  

Was that even possible?!  

Thud! 

Thud! 

Thud!  

While they spoke, the rally continued. When they turned back to the match, some froze in shock.  

"W-What the—?!"  

Charles Arno, Switzerland’s No. 2 middle schooler, gaped.  

He could see the two players moving, hear the impact of their shots—but the ball itself had vanished from his sight.  

"Gulp."  

He swallowed hard, then glanced at the boy beside him—Henri Nobel III, the so-called "Noble Genius."  

Henri’s eyes were locked on the match, his pupils trembling with focus. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead.  

Just watching was straining him this much?!  

If this was the level of the match already, how much further would it escalate?  

Thud!  

Another return.  

Amadeus felt the violent spin resonating through his racket and narrowed his eyes.  

"As expected of the one who defeated Byoudouin."  

The longer this rally went, the more he sensed the terrifying depth of his opponent’s fundamentals. To the audience, this exchange might seem intense—but Amadeus knew: this wasn’t even close to Ishikawa’s true strength.  

Swish!  

With a flick of his wrist, Amadeus adjusted his grip and sliced the ball at a sharp angle.  

Whoosh!  

A streak of light flashed across the court. For a split second, the very air seemed to dim around it.  

Then—  

Whoosh! 

Whoosh! 

Whoosh!  

A flurry of afterimages burst forth, arcing toward Ishikawa from all directions.  

"There it is!"  

The Swiss team instantly recognized it.  

"Amadeus’ [Dance of the Spirits]!"  

A professional-level technique—elusive, unpredictable, and layered with feints. Most players would need multiple encounters to counter it.  

And this was Ishikawa’s first time facing it.  

A guaranteed point—or so they thought.  

"Heh."  

But Ishikawa smirked. "Finally getting serious? Then I should respond in kind."  

Swish!  

In one fluid motion, he adjusted his grip, holding the racket like a drawn sword.  

As the swarm of afterimages closed in, he struck—a single, upward slash.  

Clang!  

A metallic clash rang out as the racket’s frame connected, sending sparks flying.  

"What?!"  

The Swiss team stiffened.  

Not only had Ishikawa dismantled Amadeus’ technique in an instant—his return was already at Amadeus’ feet before the sound of impact faded.  

"[Shingan: Battoujutsu], huh?"  

Amadeus’ lips curled.  

He’d studied Ishikawa. He knew this move—a lightning-fast draw strike.  

Now that both were fully engaged, Amadeus lunged for the return.  

"That’s a pro-level technique," Tasta murmured. "Japan’s captain is a technical master in his own right."  

The others nodded.  

Few could trade blows with Amadeus like this.  

Swish!  

Then—Amadeus’ swing shifted mid-motion, alternating between fast and slow with eerie precision.  

"A feint?!"  

Some of the Japanese players tensed. The rhythm was so fluid it seemed cinematic.  

"Wrong."  

Duke, the burly power player, shook his head. "That’s no feint. It’s his [Arrow of Fate]."  

Thwack!  

A crisp impact echoed as the ball shot forward, trailing a pale-gray aura. The air itself seemed to split around it, like an arrowhead piercing the wind.  

"That’s the fastest drive I’ve ever seen," Byoudouin remarked.  

[Arrow of Fate]—a shot so swift it seemed to rewrite destiny itself.  

Amadeus was done holding back.  

Boom!  

Before the ball even landed, a shockwave of dust erupted at Ishikawa’s feet. The projectile blurred toward him—  

"This speed…!"  

Yanagi, Japan’s data specialist, paled. "It’s over three times faster than Yuushi’s [Laser Beam]—no, even more!"  

[Laser Beam] was among the fastest middle school techniques, surpassed only by Ishikawa’s own [Battoujutsu]. Even Sanada’s [Wind] couldn’t match it.  

But this?  

This was another dimension entirely.  

"Impressive."  

Ishikawa’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, his grin deepened.  

Swish!  

He dropped into a stance, racket drawn back like a bowstring. As the ball arrived—  

"ROAR!"  

A thunderous crack split the air.  

A shockwave erupted from his racket, sending a visible ripple through the court. The ball blazed forward, a white-hot streak that pierced the atmosphere like a bullet.  

"[Four Gods Martial Arts: White Tiger]?!"  

Amadeus’ eyes widened.  

He’d read about this—a devastating, unstoppable strike.  

Swish!  

Instinct took over. His racket angled, meeting the ball with a feather-light touch.  

Tap.  

A soft sound—  

And just like that, the ball’s ferocious spin and power vanished, floating harmlessly over the net.  

"[Soul’s Sigh]!"  

Someone gasped.  

A masterpiece of a drop shot—one that seemed to drain the very will to fight from those who witnessed it. Spectators clenched their fists, then let them drop, overcome by an inexplicable melancholy.  

This wasn’t just technique—it was art.  

Some would argue it surpassed even Tanegashima’s [Muga no Kyouchi: Yami].  

Tap.  

The ball landed.  

Ishikawa, still at the baseline, didn’t move—as if stunned by its beauty.  

"Point!"  

A Swiss player pumped his fist.  

To them, Ishikawa was already on Amadeus’ level. Seeing him struggle was a thrill.  

But then—  

Whoosh!  

The ball levitated, defying physics, and arced back toward Ishikawa.  

"[Zone]?!"  

Someone recognized it—the ability to control the ball’s trajectory. They’d just seen it from the frizzy-haired Japanese player.  

"He countered [Soul’s Sigh] that easily?!"  

The Swiss team scowled.  

But Amadeus knew the truth: Ishikawa’s [Zone] was pro-tier. To break it, he’d need to either reverse the spin or—  

"Defense isn’t in my vocabulary."  

Amadeus’ gaze sharpened as he attacked, layering his own spin into each shot.  

Thud! 

Thud! 

Thud!  

The exchanges grew fiercer, neither yielding.  

Ishikawa’s [Daybreak], [Storm Gale], [Awakening], [Four Gods: Vermilion Bird, White Tiger].  

Amadeus’ [Arrow of Fate], [Phoenix Soaring], [Soul’s Sigh], [Dance of the Spirits].  

A breathtaking duel of supreme skill.  

"No way…"  

"He’s actually matching Amadeus?!"  

"Relax. For players at their level, this is just the appetizer."  

Thud! 

Thud! 

Thud!  

As if to prove the point, the pace spiked again.  

Now, even the high schoolers were struggling to keep up.  

"This opponent… is this tough?!"  

Federer and Pugh exchanged uneasy glances.  

Even Tasta, usually brimming with confidence, looked wary. He wasn’t sure he could last this long against Amadeus.  

But—  

Amadeus’ expression darkened.  

The reality was the opposite of what others thought.  

It wasn’t an even match.  

The pressure was mounting—on him.  

"Don’t tell me… he’s been holding back this whole time?!"  

The thought flashed through his mind, but he shoved it aside.  

Him? The world No. 2 U-17 player?  

Pushed by a middle schooler?!  

"Don’t mock me—"  

Boom!  

A streak of white light exploded at his feet.  

Silence.  

The entire court froze.  

Chapter 450: The Otherworldly Tennis Clash of Light and Dark  

Swish—!  

On the court, a sharp, silver-white aura swirled around Ishikawa, its edges gleaming like blades. The sheer intensity of it was almost blinding.  

"This feeling…"  

Outside the court, the representatives from various countries tensed. The energy radiating from Ishikawa carried an unsettling, almost palpable danger—like countless needles pressing against their skin.  

"The Essence of Swordsmanship!"  

Lambiel of the Swiss team spoke gravely. This was Ishikawa’s signature technique, one he had used against QP with terrifying effect. Witnessing it firsthand, the pressure was even more overwhelming.  

"He’s only twelve!"  

The towering Albert Federer couldn’t help but sigh. "At his age, I was still struggling to build my strength. Sigh…"  

Comparisons were cruel. Ishikawa’s talent couldn’t even be called "genius" anymore—it was something else entirely. None of them had ever seen a middle schooler who could stand toe-to-toe with Amadeus.  

"He’s extraordinary."  

Even the usually arrogant Tasta nodded in reluctant agreement.  

"That aura is razor-sharp. It’s as if he’s channeling some special technique into his shots, amplifying their lethality."  

"Without a doubt," the Swiss team’s second-in-command said grimly, "he’s an extremely dangerous opponent."  

"Ishikawa Shin!"  

Amadeus’ expression darkened.  

He was hailed as the most technically skilled player in this World Cup, yet in their earlier exchanges, he hadn’t gained even the slightest advantage. Worse, Ishikawa had caught him off guard with a sudden attack—something that never happened to him.  

For a professional like Amadeus, losing points was unacceptable. His status alone should have placed him above the rest.  

But now?  

He was being suppressed.  

"The Essence of Swordsmanship… is it?"  

Studying the sharp energy radiating from Ishikawa, Amadeus narrowed his eyes. "It’s threatening, sure. But against me? This level of pressure won’t work."  

Hum—!  

As he spoke, his own aura surged. An invisible whirlwind of energy erupted around him, instantly elevating his presence to match Ishikawa’s.  

"Heightened focus and mental fortitude naturally alter one’s presence," Mitsuya of Team Japan observed. "It’s clear the Swiss captain has been holding back his true power."  

The others nodded in agreement.  

A professional player’s arsenal was beyond what amateurs could fathom. Often, they deliberately suppressed their abilities to maintain precision.  

But now?  

Ishikawa had forced Amadeus’ hand. If he kept testing the waters, he might lose his service game entirely.  

Whoosh!  

Amadeus tossed the ball high, then swung his racket down with brutal force.  

Boom!  

The impact was deafening. The ball transformed into a rolling shockwave, gaining momentum as it hurtled toward Ishikawa like an avalanche.  

"What kind of serve is that?!"  

Even from the sidelines, players like Atobe and Sanada felt an oppressive shadow looming over them—a sensation of inescapable doom.  

"Amadeus’ signature move," Mitsuya said gravely, "the 'Avalanche of the Alps'!"  

Avalanche?!  

The sheer force behind the shot sent chills down their spines.  

"Heh."  

On the Swiss side, strategist Lambiel smirked. "Normally, a serve loses power over time. But the captain’s technique is different—its true strength lies in its delayed release."  

"Exactly," Tasta agreed. "Like an avalanche, its momentum builds. The sheer scale of it crushes the opponent’s spirit."  

A flicker of unease passed through his eyes—clearly, he had suffered under this move before.  

CRASH!  

The avalanche-like serve crashed down where Ishikawa stood, its full force erupting in an all-encompassing assault.  

Most players would have been paralyzed with fear.  

But Ishikawa?  

He remained calm, a faint smile still on his lips.  

"Using sheer momentum to mask the ball’s trajectory—clever."  

As he spoke, his racket gleamed with a silvery light. His sharp eyes locked onto the ball’s hidden path within the chaos.  

In an instant, he saw through the illusion.  

Swish—!  

His racket moved like a master swordsman’s blade, slicing through the weakest point of the avalanche. With lightning speed, he struck the ball.  

Clang—!  

A metallic shing rang out as silver light erupted from the point of impact, piercing through the court.  

Rustle…  

The roaring avalanche around Ishikawa dissipated like melting snow, leaving only faint wisps of energy drifting in the air.  

"Wha—?!"  

The Swiss team stiffened. Their weaker members gulped, eyes wide with disbelief.  

"The Avalanche of the Alps… was broken just like that?!"  

Even Team Japan’s "Destroyer" Duke was stunned. He remembered how even their former captain, Byoudouin, had been outplayed by Amadeus in a battle of technique.  

Back then, Amadeus’ skills were already refined to perfection. Two years later, they should have been even more formidable.  

Yet Ishikawa had dismantled them effortlessly.  

"His growth rate… is absurd."  

Duke couldn’t hold back his thoughts.  

"Indeed," Byoudouin said grimly. "During his exhibition match against QP, he seemed to grasp something new. His perception has sharpened even further."  

Duke nodded heavily. "So you noticed it too, Boss."  

He had seen prodigies before, but none like Ishikawa. The boy improved at a terrifying pace, as if breaking through barriers effortlessly.  

At this level, progress should have been painstakingly slow.  

But for Ishikawa?  

The rules didn’t apply.  

It was as if he possessed an innate ability to absorb his opponents’ strengths mid-match.  

"Boss," Duke asked suddenly, "how do you think this match will end?"  

He didn’t question the outcome—only the score.  

Byoudouin studied Amadeus carefully before answering. "That depends on whether the Swiss captain has any more cards to play."  

"Cards, huh?"  

Duke’s gaze shifted back to Amadeus. "True. A top-tier genius like him wouldn’t have stayed stagnant these past two years."  

Bam!  

Amadeus returned the ball, his expression growing more serious. His aura intensified, the overwhelming pressure of a professional now fully unleashed.  

Bam! Bam! Bam!  

He launched a relentless assault, his racket moving in a blur—drives, slices, drops—each shot more dazzling than the last.  

"That lob—the 'Soaring Phoenix'!"  

"Such precision! Is that Amadeus’ infamous 'Soul’s Sigh' drop shot?"  

"Incredible… I can’t even follow his movements!"  

"And that Japanese captain—he’s keeping up! What is that razor-sharp tennis? It’s terrifying!"  

As the rally escalated, the spectators’ shock grew. Even the Swiss team, who had seen Amadeus play countless times, were awed.  

"Is this… professional-level tennis?"  

"Professional? Don’t make me laugh!"  

A gruff voice cut through the murmurs. Albert Federer scoffed. "Open your eyes. This is just elite-level play. Alexander hasn’t even shown his true strength yet!"  

"What?!"  

Many of the Swiss players were stunned.  

Amadeus rarely trained with the team, spending most of his time in pro circuits. Few knew the full extent of his abilities.  

Hum—!  

Finally, Amadeus made his move.  

After failing to break through, he adjusted his grip and sliced the ball with a dark, swirling energy.  

Crack!  

The ball vanished.  

Not a trace remained—not even for vision specialists like Tezuka or Atobe. Worse, an eerie, oppressive force lingered in the air.  

"He’s done it!"  

"The captain’s ultimate technique—'The Whale'!"  

"An unfathomable, untraceable Dark Strike. Most players can’t even see the ball!"  

The Swiss team erupted in excitement.  

This was Amadeus’ true power—a realm beyond ordinary tennis.  

"The Whale is formidable," Lambiel admitted, though his expression remained tense. "But that Japanese captain… he must have a trump card too."  

QP’s reputation was second only to Amadeus’. Even without turning pro, he was a公认 (recognized) elite.  

Yet Ishikawa had crushed him.  

That spoke volumes.  

Swish—!  

Sure enough, Ishikawa raised his racket toward the empty court.  

"He saw through it?!"  

The Swiss team froze.  

"His perception is unreal!"  

"So what if he did?" Federer sneered. "Alexander’s 'Whale' isn’t just about invisibility. Its power—even our gravity-warping techniques might not stop it!"  

But before his words fully settled—  

Hum!  

Ishikawa’s left hand opened, releasing a golden-glowing ball. It fell perfectly onto his racket.  

BOOM!  

A brilliant flash erupted, illuminating the vanished ball mid-flight. With a fierce swing, Ishikawa struck.  

KABOOM—!  

Light and dark collided.  

The shockwave blasted away the lingering haze, revealing Ishikawa standing firm, racket steady, the ball spinning violently against the strings—yet his body didn’t budge an inch.  

"H-How?!"  

The Swiss team was speechless.  

Those who had expected Amadeus to dominate now wore expressions of sheer disbelief.  

Even Amadeus himself tensed. His premonition had been right—the Dark Strike alone couldn’t defeat Ishikawa.  

Not even close.  

"My teacher was correct."  

Amadeus took a deep breath. When he looked up again, his eyes burned with resolve.  

"To defeat you… I’ll need to risk everything."  

The situation was dire.  

But Amadeus had made his decision.  

He was ready to play his final card.