belamy20

441-445

Added 2025-06-24 16:15:41 +0000 UTC

Chapter 441: Complete Domination in the Junior Match

"The ball… got sucked in?!"

Shock rippled through the Swiss team—both high schoolers and middle schoolers alike.

"No wonder he left the right side open. He’s got a move like that up his sleeve!"

A scruffy-bearded teen muttered in disbelief.

"Dylan."

He turned to the burly guy in a baseball cap beside him. "What do you think?"

"Not bad at all."

Dylan Pugh—a 17-year-old power player ranked among the world’s elite—nodded slowly. "Rumors about Japan’s middle schoolers weren’t exaggerated."

His companion, Albert Federer, was another powerhouse on Switzerland’s roster. While Amadeus was the team’s core, players like Federer and Pugh formed its backbone.

And then there was Kurara Tasta, the golden-haired ace leading another Swiss squad. His skills rivaled even Amadeus’.

"Impressive," Tasta mused, arms crossed. "A middle schooler with that level of spin control is rare."

High praise indeed.

"Tch."

On the court, Randip smirked. "Hey, Henry. Pretty sure even you never got a compliment like that from Tasta, huh?"

"Urk—"

Henry’s expression soured.

As Switzerland’s top middle schooler, his skills were nearly on par with their U17 elites. Yet, as Randip pointed out, neither Tasta nor Amadeus had ever praised him like this.

"Hmph."

Henry’s gaze sharpened as he glared at Chitose. "If this is your so-called ‘Domain,’ I’ll break it head-on!"

BAM!

A fierce rally erupted.

When Chitose returned the ball, Henry sliced it with a sharp, angled stroke. The moment it passed Tachibana, the latter froze—sensing something off about the spin.

And he was right.

Mid-flight, the ball’s trajectory suddenly straightened, accelerating like it had been kicked—straight toward Chitose’s side.

A blatant challenge.

BAM!

Chitose’s response was simple—a one-handed return.

"Not using that spin technique?" Henry narrowed his eyes. "Fine. I’ll force you to use it!"

He fired the next shot toward Chitose’s blind spot—the right side. But before it could land, Tachibana intercepted.

"I told you, Chitose." Tachibana grinned. "I’ve got your blind spots covered!"

"Don’t get cocky!"

Randip appeared like a shadow, slashing the ball back toward Chitose—forcing a one-on-one duel between the two.

The crowd blinked.

This wasn’t doubles anymore. This was a showdown.

BAM!

Chitose struck again—a vicious topspin shot.

Henry smirked. "Perfect."

He swung—

—and the ball vanished.

"What?!"

Henry’s eyes widened, but he quickly steadied himself. "It can’t just disappear. It’s an illusion!"

His gaze darted left, locking onto a faint distortion in the air.

"There!"

He swung—

—but hit nothing.

Tap… tap… tap…

The ball materialized on the opposite side, rolling gently to a stop.

"0-30!"

"IT’S BACK!"

The Shitenhōji squad erupted. "Chitose’s Vanishing Ball!"

"Damn." Even Mukahi and Marui nodded in approval. "He’s leveled it up for the world stage."

Meanwhile, Sengoku and Akutagawa exchanged glances.

The gap between them and the selected players wasn’t just about experience anymore. The world stage was transforming these guys into monsters.

"Two variations?"

Henry’s jaw tightened.

That "obvious" distortion had been a decoy. He’d fallen for it—twice.

"Again!"

He served, refusing to back down.

Another long rally erupted, each shot hugging the baseline. The precision was insane—far beyond typical middle school level.

"Henry Nobel III is one thing, but who is this Japanese kid?!"

"Right?! This is pro-level consistency!"

"That’s not the scary part." A spectator grimaced. "The scary part is… Japan’s got more guys like him we’ve never even heard of."

"…!"

The crowd fell silent.

The real terror wasn’t Chitose—it was the depth of Japan’s roster.

Tap.

Then—Chitose’s shot nicked the net.

A collective exhale came from non-Japanese fans.

"Finally, Henry’s got the upper—WAIT?!"

Randip’s relief died as the ball trickled along the net tape—still in play.

"OH NO—!"

He lunged, barely saving it—

—only for Tachibana to smash it down.

BOOM!

"0-40!"

Silence.

Every eye locked onto Chitose.

"Was that… luck?"

Henry and Randip exchanged glances.

"No." Henry’s eyes hardened. "No way someone at his level makes a ‘mistake’ like that mid-rally. He planned this."

A net-skimming trap, calculated to roll perfectly.

"This guy…"

Henry’s respect for his opponent skyrocketed.

No more holding back.

BAM!

His next serve carried a new intensity—his gaze laser-focused.

"Henry’s Focus Mode!"

The Swiss squad perked up.

In this state, his perception sharpened to near-superhuman levels—able to dissect 99% of techniques on the fly.

"‘Focus’ is total mental immersion," Coach Jean Onigashira explained. "His brain operates at biological limits—analyzing everything."

Henry, trained under Amadeus himself, had honed this weakness-exploiting style to perfection.

BAM!

Chitose fired another Vanishing Ball.

Henry ignored the right-side distortion and swung left—

CRACK!

He connected!

But the ball still curved toward Chitose’s side—where multicolored light engulfed it.

BAM!

The light burst on Henry’s backhand side.

He reacted—too late.

Chitose pressed the assault, his radiant shots herding Henry like a puppet. Despite his Focus Mode, Henry couldn’t break free—his movements predictably forced toward the left.

A gaping hole opened on his right.

"Damn it!"

Henry lunged center, trying to reset.

"If I’m fast enough, I can cover the angle—"

He braced for a shot to his exposed right.

BAM!

Instead—

—the ball streaked left.

Henry, already shifting right, could only watch as ball and body passed each other.

THUD.

"GAME! Japan leads 1-0!"

"He… didn’t aim for the open spot?!"

The crowd buzzed. Logically, targeting Henry’s right side had a 70% success rate. Yet Chitose had outplayed his instincts.

"Heh."

On Japan’s bench, Ukon Genichirō smirked.

"A true Domain isn’t just technique—it’s the will to believe your weak point can’t be breached."

These middle schoolers evolved frighteningly fast.

"Tch. So much for Switzerland’s hype," Matsudaira scoffed.

"Don’t celebrate yet," Tono warned. "Their real monsters haven’t even moved."

As if on cue—

"…!"

A heavy aura emanated from Randip, his glasses glinting ominously.

The Swiss counterattack was coming.

Chapter 442: The True Finishing Move – Securing Victory

"Finally making your move, huh?"

The Swiss team's expressions turned solemn.

Peter Randpic.

Dubbed "The Virtuoso", even among Switzerland's elite lineup, he stood at the pinnacle.

Often, he could shift the tide of a match effortlessly—without even seeming to try.

"Interesting."

Adjusting his glasses, Randpic smirked.

He hadn’t expected Henri to be completely outplayed by these middle schoolers.

"That prismatic glow… It’s like he can see the future?"

Randpic’s eyes gleamed with intrigue. "Similar to Zeus’s [Olympian Aurora] from Greece’s team?"

His grin widened. This ability fascinated him.

"Game continues."

After the changeover, the umpire announced: "Japan’s Chitose to serve. First game!"

Boom!

Chitose’s serve was sharp—blistering speed, precise angle, kissing the service line. His control was impeccable.

Whoosh!

Yet the moment the ball bounced, it vanished.

"Again?!"

Swiss fans paled.

How could a middle schooler master such an absurd technique?

"Just an optical illusion."

Randpic remained calm. His eyes scanned the court, ears filtering ambient noise—processing data in real time.

Flick!

His racket sliced the air, snapping the invisible ball into visibility.

"Tch."

Chitose’s brow furrowed.

Something felt off about that return.

Sure enough—the ball warped on impact, rebounding at a freakish angle. Chitose twisted mid-air, lashing a fierce topspin return—

Crack!

Randpic intercepted it effortlessly.

"He… broke [Zone] already?!"

On the sidelines, Shiraishi inhaled sharply.

For Chitose—who had unlocked [Muga no Kyōchi]—mastering [Zone] wasn’t difficult. But for Randpic to dismantle it mid-rally? That was monstrous.

"Expected."

Inui adjusted his glasses. "He’s likely simulated this scenario hundreds of times mentally."

"Correct." Yanagi nodded. "Peter Randpic—The Virtuoso. Beyond elite technique, his data processing is top-tier."

"He’s been analyzing Chitose since the first point," Inui added.

A data player?!

The Japanese team tensed.

At high levels, data specialists were terrifying. Once they decoded you, escape was nearly impossible.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

True to form—Chitose was crushed.

"Speed, power, technique… He’s outmatched in every category."

Yanagi’s voice tightened. "With his data exposed… This’ll be brutal."

Hum—!

Suddenly, Chitose’s prismatic aura flared.

His eyes sharpened—[Saiki Kanpatsu no Kiwami] (Ultimate Insight) activated, allowing instant future prediction without draining his Muga.

But then—

Static.

The court fractured into a grid-like lattice in his vision. He stood on one square, while a shadowy figure holding a book loomed above.

**"Welcome to Peter Randpic’s [Database]."**

The voice echoed as a yellow streak flashed in Chitose’s blind spot—his right-eye’s dead angle.

"0–15!"

The grid vanished, but Chitose’s expression darkened.

He’d been fully deciphered.

Yet he refused to yield—switching tactics, cycling through Fuurin Kazan, Tezuka’s techniques, even Atobe’s and Ishikawa’s moves.

All were dismantled.

Thud!

Another ball landed in his blind spot.

"Game! Switzerland leads 1–1!"

"Like I said."

Randpic adjusted his glasses, smug. "Your tennis is solved. No matter what variables you add, the equation remains unchanged."

"That’s mathematics’ beauty." His smirk widened. "Once the formula is derived, plugging in numbers is trivial."

"…"

The Japanese team’s mood soured.

"This is world No.2’s high schoolers?"

Even off-court, Ōshitari and Mukahi felt suffocated.

They couldn’t imagine the pressure Chitose endured.

Then—Tachibana stepped up.

With explosive power, he bulldozed through Randpic’s defenses, snatching a game back—2–1.

But from the fourth game onward…

He too was decoded.

Bam!

"Game! 2–2!"

Bam!

"Game! 3–2!"

Bam!

"Game! 4–2!"

Randpic’s dominance was absolute. The match seemed decided.

"They’re just middle schoolers, after all."

Switzerland’s power hitter, Albert Federer, shrugged. "Even high schoolers struggle against Peter’s data play."

"True." Dylan Pogu nodded.

Individually, they only won 30% of matches against Randpic. His analytics neutralized raw strength.

Now, these two middle schoolers were fully exposed. As Randpic said—just "plugging in numbers" now.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Game seven began.

Randpic still controlled the tempo, but his smirk faded.

Something was off.

Though he kept scoring, each point took longer. The opponents’ movements…

"Their synchronization…"

His eyes narrowed.

Tachibana and Chitose’s footwork was merging—steps perfectly mirrored.

Bam!

Randpic fired a shot at Chitose’s blind spot—

Flash!

Tachibana blurred into position, smashing a return—

Clang!

It netted out.

"Game! Switzerland leads 5–2! Change sides!"

"WOOOO!"

Swiss fans erupted. One more game sealed their victory.

Henri exhaled in relief.

For a moment, Tachibana’s aggression had terrified him—like being swallowed by a storm.

Luckily, victory was assured.

But when he turned—

Randpic’s face was stone-cold.

"Wait…"

Henri whirled around.

Then he saw it.

Pale white auras swirled around Tachibana and Chitose, their energies intertwining.

"[Synchro]?!"

Even Switzerland’s captain, Amadeus, and No.2, Tasta, stiffened.

Their elderly coach’s eyes gleamed. "To trigger doubles’ miracle at their age… Remarkable."

In pro circuits, Synchro was rare. For non-specialists, it often decided matches.

"Hah."

Randpic chuckled.

He’d studied Synchro extensively. This was his chance to test his data tennis against it.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

He fought solo against the synced duo.

But Synchro altered their data—

First, individual stats amplified.

Second, their coordination became telepathic. No hints needed—just instinctual understanding.

Randpic’s interference failed.

Henri tried assisting, only to become a liability—

Bam!

"Game! 3–5!"

Bam!

"Game! 4–5!"

Bam!

"Game! 5–5!"

Bam!

"Game! 6–5!"

Twenty minutes later, Japan led.

"Huff…"

Exhausted, Randpic smiled.

"As I thought… Synchro isn’t flawless."

His gaze sharpened—

"Wait… He cracked Synchro?!"

Gasps spread.

"World No.2’s monsters…"

Spectators shuddered.

Swiss players grinned—this was expected.

But Federer frowned. "Why isn’t Japan panicking?"

"Arrogance," someone scoffed. "They don’t grasp Peter’s genius."

"No."

Amadeus’s voice silenced them. "Look closer—their aura’s changing."

Huh?

Then they saw it—

A deep blue radiance—distinct from Synchro—engulfed Tachibana and Chitose.

"Don’t tell me…"

Switzerland’s No.2, Tasta, inhaled sharply. "[Ability Resonance]?!"

"Oh no."

Randpic’s confidence shattered.

Chapter 443: The Magician on the Court?

BAM!

"Game, set, and match!"

"Japan wins, 7–5!"

As Tachibana’s ferocious smash landed, a hurricane-like shockwave erupted—swallowing Randip and Henry whole.

Tap… tap… tap…

The ball rolled to a stop at the baseline.

The Swiss duo could only stare, their eyes wide with disbelief.

This was insane.

They never imagined their opponents wouldn’t just master the doubles miracle—Synchro—but also achieve Ability Resonance, a technique even pro doubles teams rarely unlocked.

Under this dual onslaught, Randip and Henry had been utterly powerless in the final game.

"Japan’s team…"

From the sidelines, Kurara Tasta—Switzerland’s second-unit captain and a pro-level player—narrowed his eyes.

Something was wrong.

While the opening doubles match was always a tactical gamble, he never expected Randip and Henry to lose to middle schoolers.

And not just any middle schoolers—ones who’d mastered both Synchro and Resonance.

These weren’t kids. They were freaks.

Even worse? According to intel, these two weren’t even top-five among Japan’s middle school roster.

That meant Japan’s overall strength was… terrifying.

Under tournament rules, each match required at least three middle schoolers. That limited high school slots to four.

In a knockout scenario, Switzerland would exhaust their elite lineup—Amadeus, Tasta, Federer, and Pugh—leaving specialists like Randip benched.

Japan, meanwhile, could field hybrids excelling in both singles and doubles.

A brutal advantage.

"So the rumors were true." Tasta’s gaze sharpened. "Japan is this year’s dark horse."

But then his eyes shifted to two hulking figures stepping onto the court.

"Still… with these two, Switzerland’s doubles foundation is unshakable."

Doubles 1: Switzerland vs. Japan

"Next up: Doubles 1!"

"Switzerland’s Albert Federer (3rd year) & Randy Pugh (3rd year) vs. Japan’s Shuuji Tanegashima (3rd year) & Syuusuke Fuji!"

The crowd’s attention snapped to Japan’s mismatched pair—one tall, one slight.

"A height-disparity duo?" Randip, still catching his breath, frowned.

By rules, Japan only needed one more middle schooler to fulfill requirements. With their captain—a proven pro—waiting, they’d have the upper hand in later matches.

"Are they… conceding this one?" Henry muttered.

A smart sacrifice. Losing here would keep the score tied while forcing Switzerland to burn three high schoolers early.

"Is that it?"

Randip’s eyes locked onto Tanegashima—the man who’d crushed Germany’s Rudolf Becker in the exhibition match.

If Japan planned to throw the game, why field him? Why not two middle schoolers?

And then there was Fuji…

Syuusuke Fuji.

Another unknown name.

After Japan’s earlier upsets, no one dared underestimate their "no-name" players. But Fuji’s slender frame seemed ill-suited to withstand Federer or Pugh’s raw power.

"Hey, Randy." Federer smirked as they took their positions. "Recognize the tall one?"

"Who?"

"The guy who beat Rudolf Becker."

Pugh’s expression darkened.

Becker was Europe’s second-best junior after Amadeus. And this man had destroyed him.

Instantly, Pugh’s guard shot up.

"This won’t be easy."

Across the net, Tanegashima and Fuji stood unnervingly calm.

"Not bad, Fuji." Tanegashima grinned. "Heard you’re called the ‘Genius’ among middle schoolers. Learned a thing or two from Ochi and Hanzou’s match, huh?"

He’d observed all the middle schoolers—Tezuka, Yukimura, even the "weaker" ones like Shishido and Yanagi.

But Fuji was different.

After the shuffle matches, he’d vanished—odd for a so-called genius.

What had he been brewing?

"A little." Fuji smiled. "Though I’ll need your guidance today, senpai."

"Sure thing."

Tanegashima preferred Fuji’s relaxed vibe over rigid perfectionists.

Fuji’s Sorcery

"Game 1! Fuji to serve!"

Tap… tap… tap…

Fuji bounced the ball, then pinched it between his thumb and forefinger—rolling it with deliberate pressure.

"That motion—?!"

Momoshiro and Kaidou stiffened. They knew that grip.

BAM!

The serve was a slice—but with a wrist flick adding unnatural topspin.

Yet the ball floated lazily, devoid of speed or power.

"You kidding me?!" Federer scowled. "A slice serve at the World Cup?!"

He lunged, swinging hard—

—only for the ball to shudder side-to-side mid-air before vanishing.

"Gone?!"

Federer’s eyes darted, locking onto a phantom trajectory. "There!"

He swung—

—and the ball reappeared behind him, curving toward his face.

"Wha—?!"

FWOOSH!

It grazed his temple.

"15–0!"

"YES!"

"FUJI SENPAI!"

"THE VANISHING SERVE!"

Kikumaru and Momoshiro erupted.

"Wait." Mukahi and Yagyuu frowned. "That wasn’t his usual Vanishing Serve."

"Right." Oishi nodded. "The original would’ve been returned the moment Federer reacted."

"Look at his setup." Marui’s voice dropped. "Totally different."

Fuji’s next serve confirmed it—he crushed the ball between his fingers before tossing it.

"That’s—!"

Jackal’s jaw dropped. "Akaya’s Knuckleball Serve?!"

Even Akaya froze.

He knew that move—his signature when bloodlust took over.

"So Fuji’s playing violent tennis now?"

"Wrong." Marui’s eyes gleamed. "Watch the follow-through. That spin…"

"Sanada’s Black Dragon Slash," Yagyuu concluded.

SWISH!

The ball warped mid-flight, dodging Pugh’s racket by millimeters.

"30–0!"

"What the hell?!" Pugh growled. "Is he putting magic on the ball?!"

Same swing. Different result.

Like a wizard conjuring illusions.

"A variation of Sanada’s Black Dragon?" Randip mused.

But Sanada’s technique required kendo mastery. Fuji had zero sword training.

BAM!

Another ace.

"40–0!"

Randip’s brow furrowed. "How?!"

Then—a gust of wind swept past.

BAM!

Fuji’s next serve twisted even faster, leaving Pugh swinging at air.

"Game! Japan leads 1–0!"

"WHAT’S THE TRICK?!" Randip’s mind raced.

Identical form. Yet the ball’s movement was unpredictable.

"Is he… the Magician of the court?"

Then—the same breeze brushed Randip’s face.

Lightning struck.

"The wind." His pupils shrank. "This guy’s a genius! An absolute madman!"

Chapter 444: The Demon King's Influence – Fuji's Metamorphosis

"Utilizing the air pressure gaps created by the opponent's swing to manipulate wind currents?"

Randpic's eyes gleamed with realization.

Brilliant!

This was nothing short of genius!

To wield wind as a medium in tennis—transforming the match into a breathtaking magic show—was beyond anything he'd witnessed.

"Fuji Syusuke..."

The name etched itself into Randpic's mind. When his gaze returned to the chestnut-haired prodigy, it carried newfound respect... and trepidation.

Another middle schooler.

Japan's roster was a nightmare—each player a unique force of nature, their skills honed to a level rivaling seasoned high schoolers.

"But..."

Randpic's focus shifted to Switzerland's towering duo—Albert Federer and Randy Pogu—looming like titans on their baseline.

"Those two won't lose."

His data book confirmed it: Perfect doubles record. Undefeated against all Big4 pairs except Germany's pros.

In Randpic's assessment, only Germany's elite could suppress Federer-Pogu's raw dominance.

"Their power isn't so easily overcome."

"Well?"

Federer smirked at his partner during the changeover. "That kid's got flair, eh?"

"Mhm."

Pogu nodded, apple-red cheeks dimpling. Yet neither wore concern. The lost game was mere entertainment—a magic show intermission.

"Should we get serious?"

Pogu's question drew a chuckle from Federer. "Let's not traumatize the talent scouts. I'd hate to be known as 'The Dream Crusher'."

"Fair."

Pogu's grin faded. Their unleashed power was catastrophic—a force that had once reduced cocky newcomers to trembling wrecks.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Pogu bounced the ball thrice, then—

BOOM!

A scarlet streak blistered across the court—heatwaves licking spectators' faces.

"[Missile Serve]!!"

Swiss players roared.

The bullet-shaped spin minimized air resistance, velocity rivaling actual artillery.

CRASH!

Impact tremors shook the stands.

"That serve...!"

Rival players blanched. Mental simulations confirmed: No return possible.

Yet at Japan's baseline—

"Not bad."

Shiraishi's obsidian fingers flexed around his racket, lips curling.

PING!

The "missile" rebounded—no shattered racket, no flying frame. Just clean contact.

"Impossible!"

Henri Nobel III's jaw dropped. "He... caught it?!"

Memories flooded back—his own humiliating "initiation" against these monsters. Even now, their serves haunted his nightmares.

"[Muga Dansei: Kaien]."

Randpic adjusted his glasses. "The 'Annihilation' technique—nullifying all force and spin upon visual contact."

"Nullify... anything?!"

"Precisely." Randpic's gaze darkened. "How else do you think he defeated Germany's Becker?"

Henri's throat went dry.

Japan's high schoolers were monsters too.

SWISH!

Fuji's racket sheared through air, carving a razor-edged return that exploited Federer's shifted positioning.

"0–15!"

Silence.

Switzerland's giants had been outmaneuvered on their own serve.

"[Kaien] plus perfect drop shots..."

Federer's grin stiffened. Power types hated abrupt transitions.

"Troublesome."

Pogu's cheeks flushed darker.

BOOM!

Pogu's second serve targeted Fuji—

SCREECH!

The racket groaned as the "missile" deformed its strings. Yet Fuji's grip held firm—both hands anchoring the frame.

"His... wrist strength?!"

Federer's eyes narrowed.

The "frail" middle schooler's grip was steel-wrapped-in-silk—technique compensating for mass.

"You did it, Fuji..."

Inui's glasses flashed off-court.

Rewind: Post-selection matches. Fuji had approached him privately—

"Teach me grip conditioning."

"Your playstyle relies on finesse. Bulk could ruin your touch."

"If he can do it, so can I."

He.

No name was needed. The shadow of Ishikawa Shin—Japan's "Demon King"—loomed over every middle schooler. A nightmare... and an obsession.

WHOOSH!

Azure aura erupted around Fuji as his racket flicked—

[Hakuryū (White Dragon)]!

The ball skimmed the baseline without bouncing, serpentining past stunned defenders.

"0–30!"

"How many more tricks?!"

Henri's nails dug into his palms.

Pogu's third serve—

SOAR!

Fuji's lob arced like a phoenix...

DIVE!

...then plummeted diagonally.

"0–40!"

"[Tsubame Gaeshi (Swallow Return)]!"

"GAME! Japan leads 2–0!"

The crowd drowned in silence.

Fuji stood wreathed in cerulean gusts—a storm given human form.

"Since when... did Japan's middle schoolers become this terrifying?!"

Chapter 445: The Shirtless Duo – The Terror of Dual Super-Gravity Tennis Dimensions

Dazzling techniques.

Unshakable composure.

Japan’s middle schooler wasn’t just holding his own against two world-class high schoolers—he was dominating.

"Is that… a Wind Domain?"

Federer and Pugh exchanged glances, shock flashing in their eyes.

Advanced techniques could be mastered through years of training. But abilities like this? They required genius-level insight and sheer luck.

This boy was no ordinary middle schooler.

"Tch." Federer scratched his head. "Guess 60% power won’t cut it."

"Mm." Pugh nodded, his face eerily blank.

Their pre-match worries had been misplaced. Not only was Japan unfazed—they were stealing points at will.

Had they been hot-headed players, they’d have cracked by now.

"So…" Federer cracked his neck as Tanegashima prepared to serve. "Time to drop the act. Randy—as Switzerland’s last doubles line of defense, shouldn’t we get serious?"

"Mm."

Pugh’s expression remained wooden, but those who knew him understood—when this man turned serious, hell followed.

Tanegashima and Fuji knew it too.

Despite their two-game lead, they had no illusions. These opponents wouldn’t fall easily—even at full power, surviving their onslaught would be a miracle.

BAM!

Tanegashima served anyway—a lightning strike aimed at exploiting their lingering hesitation.

"Nice try."

Federer’s reflexes—honed through Switzerland’s brutal training—let him intercept. He wasn’t just power; his footwork was pro-level.

BOOM!

The return was a black blur aimed straight at—

Fuji.

Smart. Federer knew better than to challenge Tanegashima head-on. The "Genius" was the softer target.

"Hn—!"

Fuji’s breath hitched as the ball screamed toward him. This wasn’t just power—it was murderous intent.

WHOOSH!

Azure wind erupted around him—his Wind Domain activating. Simultaneously, his mind plunged into [Heart’s Eye]—a state of hyper-focused clarity.

Two abilities stacked. Peak performance achieved.

SWISH!

His racket met the ball—

—and unleashed a tornado.

"What the—?!"

Federer’s eye twitched.

Another hidden technique? How many did this kid have?! Worse—this one was a hard counter to power players.

No way he’d reach it in time.

THUD!

But then—

Pugh appeared like a specter, intercepting the storm head-on.

CRACK!

The whirlwind shattered, revealing the ball grinding violently against his strings.

"…?!"

Pugh’s brows furrowed. Something was wrong.

RRRIP!

The ball’s spin tore through his racket, then his shirt—exposing sculpted abs as fabric exploded into ribbons.

"15–0!"

"NO WAY?!"

Swiss fans gasped.

"That middle schooler’s got that much power?!"

"Is Randy okay?!"

"How are Albert and Randy struggling against kids?!"

"IT’S HERE!" Momoshiro and Kikumaru fist-pumped. "Fuji-senpai’s Fifth Counter—Vector Vortex!"

The name Syuusuke Fuji would echo across the tennis world after today.

"But…" Yagyuu adjusted his glasses. "That move should’ve sent Pugh flying. Yet he barely flinched."

"Look at those muscles," Mukahi muttered. "They’re like steel plates."

The crowd’s gaze locked onto Pugh’s exposed torso—eight-pack abs, barrel chest, a frame like a grizzly bear.

"That physique…"

Aoi (Rikkai), Kawamura (Seigaku), even Kabaji (Hyotei)—all stiffened.

For power specialists like Date and Ban, their grim expressions hadn’t eased since the match began.

"Fuji just… unleashed the beast." Ban’s voice was gravel.

"Mm." Date nodded. "Without his shirt’s restraint, nothing’s holding back that monster’s full strength now."

"Shirt… restraint?"

The middle schoolers blinked.

RRRIP!

Then—

Federer tore his own shirt off, muscles rippling.

"SHIRTLESS?!"

Inui and Yanagi’s pens snapped.

This wasn’t normal. Even elite power players couldn’t internally rupture clothing like this. Just how much raw force did these two harbor?!

"Trouble," Tanegashima murmured.

His [Muga no Kyouchi – Disappearance] could neutralize technique and power—but like Germany’s Becker had proven, there was a limit.

And these two? They exceeded it.

He already dreaded the coming barrage.

WHOOSH!

Pugh’s next return was a black hole—sucking all light into its trajectory. The air itself seemed to burn as it passed.

"This ball…"

Fuji’s throat went dry. The most dangerous shot he’d ever faced.

Yet—

He stepped forward.

When paths cross, the bold win.

And Fuji would be the victor.

SWISH!

But Tanegashima intercepted.

"Stand down, Fuji. You can’t return this yet."

BAM!

[Disappearance] activated—the ball’s force dissolving into void.

Fuji frowned. If Tanegashima could nullify it, surely he could at least—

BOOOOM!

The residual shockwave slammed into Fuji, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Im… possible?!"

His pupils shook.

This was their true power?!

BAM! BOOM! CRASH!

The court became a warzone.

Federer and Pugh fired cannonball strikes, each capable of shattering concrete. Yet Tanegashima stood firm, [Disappearance] erasing their force like a black hole.

"No… way?!"

"He’s holding off both of them?!"

"Tanegashima Shuuji… He could rank among the world’s elite alone!"

Even Date and Ban stared, slack-jawed.

"Wait—!" Date’s eyes widened. "He’s being pushed back!"

Indeed—Tanegashima’s sneakers left inch-deep grooves in the clay.

"Even him…" Yagyuu grimaced.

BOOOOOM!

Pugh’s next strike was molten meteor—the impact kicking up a dust storm. Through the haze, Tanegashima glimpsed it:

A flame-wreathed titan looming over the ball.

"A Super-Gravity Tennis Dimension…?"

Pugh’s power was monstrous—enough to wreck any normal player. Only [Disappearance] let Tanegashima endure.