431-435

Chapter 431: Preparations from All Sides—The Second Match Approaches  

Melbourne Outskirts  

A quiet coastal neighborhood.  

A young man in a light gray jacket jogged along the shore. It was none other than Atobe.  

Unlike Shiraishi, Atobe wasn’t one to dwell on anxiety.  

But as someone who cherished freedom, he found the atmosphere of the hotel stifling. After getting permission from Mikogami, he decided to take a solitary walk by the sea.  

At first, he enjoyed the peace. But when images of Tezuka, Yukimura, and others flashed through his mind, his gaze sharpened.  

He had never been one to settle for second best. Monsters like Ishikawa were one thing, but Yukimura and Tezuka had always been rivals he aimed to surpass.  

With that thought, he broke into a steady run.  

Passing by the docks, he eventually found himself wandering into the heart of the residential area.  

"Oh? A guest?"  

A young voice, laced with surprise, came from a half-open gate.  

"Hm?"  

Atobe paused and turned toward the sound. His eyes met those of a blue-haired boy sitting inside.  

"This guy…"  

Something about the fair-skinned boy struck him. "His eyes… Is he visually impaired?"  

The boy’s gaze lacked any reflective gleam.  

"Wait… Is that chess? Is he playing against himself?"  

Atobe was intrigued.  

A gut feeling told him this boy wasn’t ordinary.  

As if reading his thoughts, the blue-haired boy—Noah Gorgias—spoke up.  

"Friend… are you interested in chess?"  

Noah smiled. "If you’d like, come in for a game. It’s been a while since I’ve played against someone else."  

"Fine."  

Atobe stepped into the yard and took a seat at the stone chess table across from him.  

"Best of three," Noah said politely, gesturing for Atobe to make the first move. "As the guest, you may start."  

"Then I won’t hold back."  

Atobe picked up a piece and placed it decisively, calling out its position.  

Noah responded in kind.  

The game deepened.  

Minutes ticked by, and what had begun as a casual match grew increasingly intense.  

"To think a place like this would have someone of this caliber…"  

After three matches, they stood at one win each, with the final game locked in a stalemate.  

"Let’s stop here," Noah finally said. "I’ve seen enough of your skill. I won’t take up any more of your time."  

"You’re strong," Atobe acknowledged. "We’ll play again sometime."  

With that, he stood and left.  

"Huh?"  

Just then, a young man with a spotted dog walked into the yard, his hair styled in the star pattern of the Australian flag.  

Their eyes met—brief but charged.  

Gorgias instinctively bristled, but then remembered Noah wouldn’t have let just anyone in.  

"A representative of Australia’s team?"  

Atobe noted the emblem on the other’s jacket. Gorgias, meanwhile, studied Atobe’s features. Both sensed something unusual about the other.  

A silent tension passed between them before they turned away, shoulders brushing as they parted.  

"Noah!"  

Once Atobe was gone, Gorgias hurried to his brother’s side. "Who was that? Did he bother you?"  

Protective as ever, he worried someone might take advantage of Noah’s blindness.  

"Him? A friend, I suppose."  

Noah smiled. "He’s quite skilled. Even when I played at 70%, he managed to win one game."  

"Oh?"  

Gorgias was surprised.  

He knew Noah’s talent well. His brother had always been a genius, effortlessly dissecting strategies and replicating techniques. After losing his sight, chess had become Noah’s sole pastime—and his skill had reached master level.  

For someone to win against him, even at partial strength, meant that stranger was no ordinary player.  

Gorgias relaxed.  

Noah had few friends. After his blindness, most of his old companions drifted away. Aside from Gorgias and his dog, Koala, Noah had no one.  

As his brother, Gorgias was glad to see him connect with someone new.  

"Brother," Noah said, resetting the chessboard, "you didn’t come back early just for this, did you?"  

"No."  

Gorgias nodded. "The match against Greece went exactly as you predicted—an easy win. But tomorrow’s match against Japan… I wanted to ask…"  

"Oh?"  

Noah raised an eyebrow. "That’s unlike you. By my calculations, you should be with Captain Fitzgerald and the others right now, gloating. Coming back this early means something else is on your mind."  

Gorgias’ face reddened.  

It was true—normally, he’d be rubbing their victory in the faces of those who’d doubted his tactics.  

"There’s… something I need to ask," he admitted. "About tomorrow’s match. What’s the plan?"  

"Our opponents are Japan and Switzerland," Noah said. "The strategy is simple: concede to Switzerland and focus everything on Japan. Two wins will secure our advancement."  

His plan mirrored Zeus’ approach.  

Against Switzerland—ranked second in the world, with a professional player as their ace—direct confrontation was unwise.  

It was like a game of shogi: top-tier pieces against mid-tier, mid against low, low against high. By defeating Japan, Australia would guarantee their spot in the next round.  

And Gorgias would become a national hero.  

"But Japan won’t be that easy, will they?" Gorgias frowned. "Their captain defeated Germany’s ‘Perfect Prodigy.’ And just today, Greece’s Zeus lost to one of their other leaders!"  

"Zeus lost?"  

Noah was taken aback.  

Zeus had been a prodigy, much like Noah himself—once even called "the next Zeus of Greece." By now, Zeus should have reached professional-level skill.  

Yet Japan had beaten Greece 3-0 without even fielding their captain?  

"They really are this year’s dark horse," Noah mused. "But if I’m right, their captain isn’t targeting us."  

"Not us? Then—"  

Gorgias’ eyes widened. "You mean… he’s aiming to defeat Switzerland’s Amadeus?!"  

"But…"  

He hesitated. "We can’t just rely on their strategy. What if Japan’s plan is the same as ours?"  

"It won’t be."  

Noah’s voice was firm. "This is our only chance. Against stronger opponents, we must concentrate our best forces to stand a fighting chance."  

"Stronger…?"  

Gorgias stiffened.  

In his mind, Switzerland was undeniably top-tier—world No. 2, a Big Four team. But the second tier had always been Greece and Australia.  

After today’s victory, his confidence had soared. Zeus’ appearance had shaken him, but he still didn’t see Japan as equals—just a threat.  

Now, Noah was shattering that illusion.  

The truth was clear: Switzerland and Japan were the true powerhouses. Greece and Australia were the underdogs, fighting to survive.  

"Brother."  

Noah placed the last chess piece back in its starting position and smiled. "Go talk to Captain Fitzgerald. I know you can do this."  

"I…"  

Gorgias wanted to refuse.  

But the memory of Zeus’ overwhelming presence flashed in his mind, and his fists clenched.  

If even someone like Zeus could lose, what right did he have to stay arrogant?  

"…Understood."  

Gorgias took a deep breath. "I won’t let you down, Noah."  

He tied Koala’s leash to a post, grabbed his racket, and strode out.  

Watching the blurred outline of his brother’s retreating figure, Noah smiled.  

With this, their chances of victory tomorrow had risen to at least 40%.  

"Ishikawa Shu…"  

Noah exhaled, a mix of longing and melancholy in his voice. "How I wish I could face a player like you on the court."  

Meanwhile, at the Japanese Team’s Hotel  

BOOM!  

In a specially reserved indoor court, a red-haired boy was sent flying like a ragdoll, slamming hard into the wall.  

"Kintarou!!"  

From the sidelines, Shitenhouji’s Oshitari Yuushi, Koharu Konjiki, and the others cried out in alarm. Even Ishida Gin looked worried.  

"Cough… cough…"  

From the dust, Kintarou pushed himself up, kneeling on one knee, his racket propping him up.  

"S-So strong…"  

He gasped for breath, his eyes locking onto the black-haired boy across the net with awe.  

On the other side, Ishikawa—using only his base strength—had effortlessly dismantled Kintarou’s "Pinnacle of Perfect Harmony" and even nullified his "Super-Gravity Dimension."  

"He’s on another level," Duke Watanabe muttered, his pale skin glistening with sweat. "Just basic tennis, yet it’s overwhelmingly powerful. Is this the ultimate form of fundamentals?"  

"It’s more than that."  

Byoudouin narrowed his eyes. "He’s using some kind of ability to amplify his basic techniques. It’s almost like…"  

He trailed off, realization dawning.  

"Perfect Prodigy."  

A gruff voice cut in. The two turned to see Mikogami, clad in a rough-spun vest, approaching.  

"Perfect Prodigy?!"  

Byoudouin and Duke exchanged glances.  

That was the signature style of Germany’s No. 2—something honed through years of elite training. For Ishikawa to replicate it after just one match was terrifying.  

"Don’t be surprised."  

Mikogami shook his head. "He already had the foundation to reach ‘Perfect’—or even beyond. His only limit is his imagination."  

"…"  

The two fell silent, absorbing the weight of those words.  

"But I didn’t come here to lecture you."  

Mikogami glanced at Kintarou, who was already rallying for another attack. "The lineup for tomorrow’s match is set."  

He turned to Duke.  

"Big guy. If you’ve got time, give the kid some pointers."  

With that, he left.  

"HAAAAH!!"  

Kintarou’s body erupted with an oppressive aura—the Super-Gravity Dimension at full power.  

"BOOM!"  

Yet no matter how fiercely he fought, Ishikawa’s defense was impenetrable. Another brutal exchange ended with Kintarou crashing to the ground again.  

But just as Byoudouin and Duke thought the match was over, Kintarou forced himself back up, his eyes blazing with determination as he charged forward once more.  

"This kid…"  

Duke chuckled. "Oni’s eye for talent really is something."  

Byoudouin glanced at the lineup sheet Mikogami had left behind, a knowing glint in his eyes.  

Chapter 432: The Second Match Begins—The Hyperspeed Serve Tactic  

Morning, Melbourne Tennis Center  

The second day of the group stage was underway.  

With 32 teams divided into 8 groups of four, each squad would play six matches in total. Today, Japan’s opponent was the host nation, Australia. Compared to yesterday, the atmosphere in the stadium was entirely different.  

Despite Australia’s modest world ranking of 18th, the home-court advantage was undeniable.  

"AUSTRALIA!" 

"AUSTRALIA!" 

"AUSTRALIA!"  

Even before the players took the court, the stands erupted in deafening chants. Fans clad in flag-themed T-shirts—or some shirtless, waving banners—filled the venue with raw energy.  

"Tch…"  

Momoshiro sucked in a sharp breath from the spectator seats.  

"This is the power of a home crowd?"  

Hiyoshi, Ootori, and the others were equally stunned.  

Back in middle school, Hyotei’s 200-strong cheering squad had been formidable, turning any court into their home turf. But compared to this sea of roaring fans? It wasn’t even close.  

The pressure of standing on that court, facing such an overwhelming wave of support, was unimaginable.  

"Australia beat Greece yesterday," Mukui noted grimly. "3-1. That means their overall strength surpasses Greece’s."  

"Not necessarily."  

Yagyu adjusted his glasses. "Greece’s main players were exhausted from facing us. Hermes lost to Tezuka, Zeus fell to Oni-san. Australia doesn’t have a standout ace like Zeus."  

"That’s expected."  

Ryuuzaki Sakunosuke, his long brown hair tied back, chimed in. "From what I’ve gathered, Australia’s real strength lies in doubles."  

"Doubles… the Australian Formation?" Oishi blurted out.  

"Exactly." Ryuuzaki nodded. "Their doubles teams are elite—they’ve even taken down Big Four squads before. In a way, they’re like Yamabuki when Sengoku was there."  

"A doubles powerhouse, huh?" Sengoku himself smirked. Behind him, Minami and Higashikata exchanged thoughtful glances.  

"Hmm."  

Mukui’s fingers curled around a strand of his hair. "Their strategy must be to secure both doubles matches and one singles."  

"Meaning…" Yagyu’s lenses flashed. "They have a hidden singles ace?"  

"Most likely." Mukui and Ryuuzaki agreed.  

Just then, a group of players in blue-and-white jackets emerged from the tunnel, led by a sharp-eyed young man with an air of quiet authority.  

Instantly, the stadium’s energy skyrocketed.  

Chants, cheers, even the national anthem—the sheer volume made the Japanese middle-schoolers’ chests tighten.  

Then—  

A golden-haired, stubble-lined figure stepped into view.  

The suffocating pressure vanished as if sliced apart.  

"He’s here!!"  

Hiyoshi, Momoshiro, and even the usually brash Choutarou lit up.  

"It’s Byoudouin-senpai!"  

Byoudouin Houou.  

Former No.1 of Japan’s U-17, a player whose skill rivaled the pros. Had Ishikawa not emerged, he would still be the undisputed pinnacle of Japanese tennis.  

His mere presence dispelled the crushing weight of the crowd’s hostility. And behind him, the rest of Japan’s high-schoolers—each radiating quiet confidence—made their supporters exhale in relief.  

"Relax," Mukui said, eyeing Byoudouin and the others now leaning against the court barriers. "If even we can see through Australia’s tactics, you can bet the seniors have countermeasures ready."  

The others nodded.  

"Now beginning Group B’s second match." 

"Australia vs. Japan." 

"Players, take your positions."  

The two captains led their seven-player squads onto the court.  

"This man…"  

Fitzgerald, Australia’s brown-haired captain, stiffened as his gaze locked onto the golden-haired figure across the net.  

The aura radiating from him was monstrous.  

"Byoudouin… Houou?"  

Fitzgerald’s stomach dropped.  

He’d never heard of this player before. Australia, like most Western teams, focused on European and American tennis circles. Even if Byoudouin had dominated Asia, that hardly registered on their radar.  

But seeing him now—  

Fitzgerald’s instincts screamed. This pressure… he’d only felt it from Big Four captains, or top players from Britain and the U.S.  

And after yesterday, when Japan’s other unknown player (Oni) had crushed Greece’s Zeus—  

The weight of the match settled heavily on his shoulders.  

"Gorgias was right. They’re strong."  

Fitzgerald’s grip on his racket tightened. "To win, we must take both doubles matches. And above all… we can’t let this reach the No.1 singles!"  

He was suddenly grateful he’d listened to Gorgias’ advice, stacking their strongest lineup in the first three matches.  

After the brief standoff, the teams retreated to their benches. Fitzgerald finally exhaled.  

"Mark. Miroku."  

He turned to two blond, baby-faced teenagers. "The first match is yours."  

"Leave it to us."  

The duo nodded firmly.  

Individually, neither was strong enough to carry a singles match. And in doubles, Australia’s depth meant they rarely got playing time.  

But this time, Fitzgerald had shocked everyone by fielding them against Japan.  

That trust alone had forged their resolve: Win at all costs.  

"Now beginning the No.2 Doubles match." 

"Australia: Mark McGregor (3rd yr middle school), Miroku Millman (2nd yr middle school)." 

"Japan: Ochi Tsukimitsu (3rd yr high school), Shiraishi Kuranosuke (3rd yr middle school)." 

"Players, prepare."  

"Two middle-schoolers?"  

Mouri’s eyebrow arched as the Australian pair stepped forward.  

"Bold move," Duke mused. "Either they’re supremely confident… or they’re throwing this match."  

Strategic sacrifices weren’t uncommon. Sometimes, conceding one battle won the war. Top coaches often shuffled lineups like chess pieces.  

"Hey, Glasses."  

Byoudouin’s voice cut in. He was looking at Inui, the team’s data analyst. "Thoughts?"  

"Ah—"  

Inui blinked, surprised by the attention. After a beat, he adjusted his glasses.  

"Two possibilities. First, as Duke-senpai said, they’re sacrificing this match."  

"Since three middle-schoolers must play per match, they might be conserving their stronger ones for later."  

His analysis was methodical, backed by data. Even Duke and Mouri found themselves nodding along. Among high-schoolers, only Midorikawa rivaled Inui’s analytical prowess.  

"However," Inui added, "if they were sacrificing a match, they’d prioritize No.1 Doubles over No.2."  

"True." Duke agreed.  

Basic strategy: deploy your best where it matters most. Australia’s coach wouldn’t overlook that.  

"Which leaves option two."  

Inui’s gaze sharpened as he watched the Australian duo warm up. "They possess some… unique weapon."  

"Interesting."  

Byoudouin smirked. He hadn’t expected such sharp insight from a middle-schooler—one who hadn’t even cracked Japan’s top 14.  

This year’s team truly was stacked.  

"Ochi."  

Byoudouin turned to the towering figure beside him.  

"This match is yours."  

"Mm."  

Ochi’s reply was calm, his face unreadable. Behind him, Shiraishi—making his World Cup debut—was far less composed.  

His analytical mind raced, considering every possible scenario. Even against fellow middle-schoolers, he refused to underestimate them.  

Taking a steadying breath, he followed Ochi onto the court.  

"Game set, one match per side." 

"Australia’s McGregor to serve."  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

Mark bounced the ball lightly, then tossed it high.  

His body arched—  

And with a whip-crack motion, his racket slammed downward.  

BANG!  

The ball vanished.  

By the time Shiraishi registered the sound, the ball was already rebounding off the court behind him.  

"15-0!"  

"Too fast?!"  

Shiraishi’s eyes widened.  

Thud-thud-thud…  

The ball rolled to a stop. He hadn’t even moved.  

"That’s Mark’s Tachyon Serve!"  

The Australian bench erupted.  

"30-0!"  

Another serve. Another ace.  

Ochi, too, stood frozen.  

"Mark! Mark! Mark!"  

The crowd chanted as the blond phenom fired two more unreturnable serves, sealing the game in under two minutes.  

"Game!" 

"Australia leads, 1-0!" 

"Change sides!"  

The hosts had drawn first blood, sending the stadium into a frenzy.  

But Shiraishi wasn’t so easily rattled.  

In the second game, his precise shot placement forced the Australians into a grueling rally. Six minutes later, Japan equalized.  

"Not bad."  

Miroku, the headband-wearing half of the duo, smirked. "But this match belongs to Australia."  

He tossed the ball skyward—  

And replicated Mark’s motion with terrifying precision.  

BANG!  

"15-0!"  

"Faster?!"  

On the sidelines, Ootori nearly shot to his feet. "His serve’s even quicker than the other guy’s?!"  

Miroku grinned and switched sides.  

"So…"  

Inui’s voice was low, analytical. "Their strategy is a dual hyperspeed serve assault."  

Chapter 433: The True Ultra-Fast Serve – The Reverse Sanctuary  

THWACK!  

"30–0!"  

As Miruku’s serve slammed into the wall, the umpire’s voice rang out.  

"No way…"  

In the stands, Chitose and the others were stunned.  

"This guy’s serve is even faster than that third-year’s?!"  

"Hmm…"  

Ootori’s expression darkened with unease.  

Miruku Mirman, like him, was only a second-year in middle school. Yet his serve far surpassed anything Ootori could produce.  

"So this is world-level tennis…"  

A shiver ran down Ootori’s spine.  

Even though he hadn’t been selected for the World Cup team, the pressure he felt was overwhelming.  

"So," Mitsui mused, twirling a strand of hair around his finger, "Australia’s strategy is to field two elite servers?"  

"A double-serve tactic…" Marui nodded. "With serves rotating every four games, they can dominate if they hold their service games."  

"More than that," Yanagi adjusted his glasses. "Finding two middle schoolers with serves this powerful is rare. They’ve solved the mandatory middle-schooler rule while maximizing their chances."  

Australia’s depth was truly impressive.  

THWACK!  

Miruku’s next serve landed.  

Yagyu, positioned to receive, stood frozen—completely unable to react.  

"40–0!"  

"Heh heh!"  

An Australian player grinned. "Even high schoolers struggle to return Mark and Miruku’s serves. This match is ours."  

THUD. THUD. THUD.  

All eyes turned to Miruku as he bounced the ball at the baseline.  

"Time to end this."  

The golden-haired boy smirked, his gaze sharpening as he locked onto his silver-haired opponent.  

WHOOSH!  

He tossed the ball high, then twisted his body, swinging his racket from behind his head in a whip-like motion.  

"Game over."  

Most spectators had already written off the point. Even Miruku didn’t bother watching, his face relaxed in confidence.  

THWACK!  

But then—  

A flash of yellow exploded between Miruku’s feet.  

The ball had returned—so fast that Miruku, still mid-air, couldn’t react.  

"40–15!"  

"H-How?!"  

Miruku’s eyes widened. "He returned my [Tachyon Bullet]?!"  

"Hey, stay calm!" Mark rushed over. "It was a fluke. We’re still in control. Just one more point!"  

Miruku took a deep breath and steadied himself.  

As a U-17 representative, he wasn’t so easily shaken.  

THWACK!  

He served again, unleashing another [Tachyon Bullet].  

The ball blurred past, its speed leaving even skilled high schoolers breathless.  

SWISH!  

But this time—  

Yagyu moved.  

His racket intercepted the ball the instant it bounced, redirecting it with a crisp CRACK!  

"40–30!"  

"A HALF-VOLLEY?!"  

The Australian team paled.  

Not only had he broken Miruku’s [Tachyon Bullet]—he’d done it with a half-volley?!  

"This is bad."  

Captain Fitzgerald’s expression darkened. One return could be luck, but two meant the serve had been cracked.  

"If their high schooler can do this, their middle schooler won’t be far behind."  

"Relax," Amon Crawford, a third-year with curled brown bangs, chuckled. "Even I can’t guarantee returning that serve. A middle schooler won’t consistently counter it."  

Most agreed.  

Middle schoolers were middle schoolers—there was a gap they couldn’t bridge.  

"Miruku’s serve is one in ten thousand," Crawford added. "To return it, you’d need a week of nonstop training against serves of the same speed."  

An impossible demand.  

Only a true tennis ascetic would endure such grueling practice.  

WHOOSH!  

Miruku served again—this time, even faster.  

"[Tachyon Bullet]!!"  

A yellow streak flashed.  

By the time the crowd registered it, the ball had already struck the service line.  

"This point is MINE!"  

Miruku’s eyes blazed with confidence.  

SWISH!  

Then—  

A figure materialized where none should have been.  

"WHAT?!"  

Miruku’s pupils contracted.  

Shiraishi swung.  

THWACK!  

The ball rocketed back, exploding once more between Miruku’s feet.  

"Deuce (40–40)!"  

Silence gripped the Australian team.  

Once was luck.  

Twice was skill.  

"He… actually did it."  

Mark and Miruku exchanged stunned glances.  

"Hah…"  

Shiraishi exhaled, lowering his racket. His eyes gleamed with quiet intensity.  

"Shiraishi’s reflexes are insane!"  

Kintarou gaped from the sidelines.  

"He wasn’t this sharp during the shuffle matches," Akira muttered. "Was he holding back?"  

"Unlikely."  

Inui adjusted his glasses. "But yesterday, he trained with Yagyu all day. He must’ve been practicing against ultra-fast serves."  

"Wait…"  

Atobe’s eyes narrowed. "You mean he faced Yagyu’s [Mach Serve] repeatedly?"  

Just imagining it made their scalps tingle.  

"That explains it."  

Duke grinned. "After facing [Mach], any other serve would feel slow."  

"Hn."  

Byoudouin smirked. Even he couldn’t return Yagyu’s full-power serves 100% of the time.  

But for Shiraishi, even a diluted version was enough.  

THWACK!  

Yagyu shattered Miruku’s serve again.  

The so-called [Tachyon Bullet] was fast—but nowhere near [Mach].  

"Game! Japan leads 2–1! Change ends!"  

Japan had broken serve, taking the lead.  

The Australians tensed.  

Their double-serve strategy had been neutralized.  

THUD. THUD. THUD.  

Now, it was Yagyu’s turn to serve.  

The towering high schooler bounced the ball methodically.  

Mark crouched, muscles coiled.  

WHOOSH!  

The ball left Yagyu’s racket—  

And vanished.  

"15–0!"  

Mark stood frozen, sweat dripping down his temple.  

"Gulp."  

He swallowed hard, staring at Yagyu like a rabbit facing a wolf.  

That serve… was terrifying.  

"Snap out of it!"  

Miruku slapped his back. "I’ll return the next one."  

Mark wanted to argue—but Miruku’s confidence silenced him.  

If anyone could do it, it was him.  

WHOOSH!  

Yagyu’s second serve struck.  

Miruku didn’t move.  

"30–0!"  

"I… I couldn’t even react?!"  

His hands trembled.  

What kind of monster was this?!  

Two more aces followed, widening Japan’s lead.  

"Time!"  

Fitzgerald called a huddle.  

"Change tactics," he ordered. "Target the middle schooler first."  

They switched to a 2-vs-1 assault, pressuring Shiraishi with relentless attacks.  

At first, it worked.  

But then—  

"Hmm?"  

A white aura flickered around Shiraishi.  

"[Perfect Harmony]?!"  

Gasps erupted.  

"No."  

Byoudouin smirked. "He’s borrowing strength from his partner."  

"Borrowing…?"  

"Think about it," Inui realized. "Shiraishi’s ability enhances his teammates’ mental focus. What if he reversed it—drawing power from Yagyu instead?"  

A reverse [Sanctuary].  

THWACK!  

Shiraishi struck, the ball blazing past the Australians.  

The counterattack had begun.  

"Game, set, match! Japan’s Yagyu Kouji & Shiraishi Kuranosuke win, 6–1!"  

Chapter 434: One Against Two, The Mighty Tōyama  

"L-lost?!"  

The Australian spectators stared in stunned silence at the two disheartened middle schoolers on the court.  

No one had expected this. After their recent victory over Greece, they had suffered a crushing 1-6 defeat in their very first match.  

"Their middle schooler is too strong!"  

Amun Crawford, a high schooler on the Australian team, frowned deeply. "His reaction speed—how did it improve to that level?"  

Even he wouldn’t dare claim he could return every one of Miruku and Mark’s ultra-fast serves with perfect accuracy. Yet, their opponent—a middle schooler—had done it effortlessly.  

"Is it because of that unique aura?"  

Team captain Fitzgerald raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on Shiraishi, who was bathed in a white glow, exuding an almost transcendent presence. He could vaguely sense a peculiar connection between Shiraishi and the high school representatives.  

"Did he draw strength from his teammates’ trust?"  

In the stands, a blue-haired boy in a white shirt—Noah—turned his attention toward Shiraishi’s direction.  

Though his vision was too blurry to make out details, his extraordinary intellect and keen perception allowed him to deduce the reason behind Shiraishi’s sudden surge in power just from the crowd’s reactions.  

"Japan’s middle schoolers… none of them are ordinary, huh?"  

Team leader Ishikawa Shin.  

Tezuka and Sanada, who had defeated Greece’s No. 2 player. Atobe and Tōyama, who shone brilliantly in the exhibition matches. Nioh, who could mimic other players.  

Japan fielded different middle schoolers in almost every match, and each one possessed extraordinary talent.  

An outsider might mistake them not for Team Japan, but for Germany—the nine-time consecutive World Cup champions.  

"No."  

Noah shook his head slightly, his expression growing serious. "Even the reigning champions, Germany, might not have a lineup this strong."  

Originally, he had assumed that Germany hadn’t gone all out in the exhibition matches, while Japan had already deployed most of their elites.  

But now, it seemed that wasn’t the case.  

Germany had held back their strongest players—but so had Japan. And what’s more, Noah had a growing, almost absurd suspicion: the depth of Japan’s hidden strength might even surpass that of Germany, the leader of the Big 4.  

"Hah…"  

Noah exhaled softly, clenching and then unclenching his fist in frustration. He lifted his head, staring at the blurred figures on the court with a pang of longing.  

How he wished he could step onto that court himself—to compete against these prodigies as part of Team Australia.  

Post-Match Reactions 

"Captain… we’re sorry."  

After the match, Mark and Miruku returned to the rest area, their faces etched with bitterness.  

"It’s fine."  

Fitzgerald, ever composed, didn’t scold them. Instead, he stepped forward and patted their shoulders reassuringly.  

"Winning and losing are part of the game. What matters is learning from your mistakes and improving."  

He smiled. "You two have incredible potential. Don’t lose heart—I believe you’ll become the pillars of Australia’s team in the future."  

"Captain!"  

The two looked up, moved by his words. The frustration of their loss faded, replaced by renewed determination.  

"We won’t let you down!"  

Their resolve spread through the rest of the team, lifting the previously somber mood.  

Even the usually brash and sharp-tongued Golgia found himself glancing at Fitzgerald with newfound respect.  

In the past, he might have dismissed such encouragement as pointless. But now, he understood why their coach had chosen Fitzgerald—a doubles specialist with a gentle demeanor—as captain.  

It wasn’t just because Australia prioritized doubles.  

It was because Fitzgerald had an undeniable ability to unite the team—a leader’s most crucial trait.  

Doubles 1: The Host Nation’s Might 

"Next up, Doubles 1!"  

The announcer’s voice boomed across the stadium.  

"Representing Australia—John Fitzgerald (3rd Year) & Kuris Hophman (3rd Year)!"  

"Representing Japan—Duke Watanabe (3rd Year) & Tōyama Kintarō (1st Year)!"  

As the players stepped onto the court, murmurs rippled through the crowd.  

"A middle schooler? And a first-year at that?"  

"What’s Japan thinking? Are they trying to throw this match?"  

Many Australian fans couldn’t comprehend Japan’s strategy. Some even sighed in regret.  

"If only we’d placed John and Kuris in Doubles 2 instead…"  

"We could’ve secured two straight wins!"  

But soon, the crowd’s confusion turned into roaring cheers.  

"AUSTRALIA! VICTORY!"  

"AUSTRALIA! VICTORY!"  

The stadium erupted in deafening chants, the sheer volume of support creating an overwhelming wave of pressure aimed at Duke and Tōyama.  

This was the home-court advantage at its peak.  

Yet, neither the towering high schooler nor the small, red-haired boy seemed fazed.  

"Hehe, this is awesome, Duke-san!" Tōyama grinned, bouncing on his feet. "So this is the World Cup’s real deal?"  

"Sure is." Duke chuckled. "Only the host nation’s matches feel like this."  

As he observed Tōyama’s bright, unfazed eyes, Duke couldn’t help but marvel.  

This kid’s mentality is unbelievable.  

Even he hadn’t been this unshakable as a first-year high schooler, let alone a middle schooler.  

"No wonder Oni took him as his disciple."  

For the first time in his usually indifferent life, Duke felt a flicker of envy. But remembering Mifune’s instructions, he quickly steadied himself.  

The Match Begins 

"Game set, one match! Australia’s Fitzgerald to serve!"  

The crowd’s focus snapped to the baseline, where Fitzgerald stood, his gaze sharp.  

"He’s completely unaffected?"  

Fitzgerald studied Tōyama, baffled. Even Greece’s world No. 10 team had buckled under Australia’s home-court pressure, their performance dropping to 60% at best.  

Yet this kid—this middle schooler—wasn’t even flinching.  

"Fine. Then I’ll show you the true terror of Australian tennis!"  

With a smooth motion, Fitzgerald tossed the ball high and unleashed a precision serve, aiming straight for Tōyama’s backhand.  

Thwack!  

The ball landed perfectly on the line—a serve that would’ve overwhelmed most players.  

But Tōyama was already there, grinning as he swung.  

Bang!  

"What?!"  

The crowd gasped. Even Greece’s high schoolers had faltered under this pressure. Yet Fitzgerald’s serve had been returned like it was nothing?  

"Tch."  

Kuris Hophman intercepted the return, but the moment his racket connected—  

"This power?!"  

His eyes widened. The sheer force behind the shot sent vibrations up his arm.  

How is a kid this strong?!  

If not for his own considerable strength, the impact alone would’ve knocked the racket from his grip.  

Gritting his teeth, Kuris forced the ball back—only for Tōyama to already be in position, his grin widening.  

Wham!  

Another brutal return.  

Fitzgerald caught it this time, slicing to mitigate the power. He exchanged a glance with Kuris, and the two nodded.  

They couldn’t let this momentum slip.  

Immediately, they launched a coordinated assault, using their experience and teamwork to seize control.  

But no matter how they attacked—  

Bam! Whack! Crack!  

Tōyama matched them blow for blow, his energy only growing fiercer with each exchange.  

Then—  

BOOM!  

A final, devastating strike sent Kuris stumbling back, his grip nearly failing.  

"No way…"  

The crowd fell silent as Australia’s top doubles pair shifted into defense—forced back by a middle schooler.  

"This isn’t just ‘impressive.’"  

Noah’s voice was quiet but firm as he watched the match unfold.  

"That boy… he’s the one who stood his ground against Rudolf Becker."  

He had known Tōyama was strong.  

That’s why he had assigned Fitzgerald and Kuris—Australia’s best defenders—to Doubles 1.  

Only they could withstand the monstrous power of Super Rookie Tōyama Kintarō.  

Chapter 435: The Right Way to Use Strength  

Boom! 

Thud! 

Boom! 

Thud!  

On the court, three figures clashed in a fierce battle.  

On the left were Fitzgerald and Hopman, the Australian doubles pair known for their flawless teamwork. Once they switched to defense, their formation became impenetrable—like a wall of steel.  

On the right was an aggressively attacking Ryoma.  

Unlike his defensive opponents, he only grew more fired up as the match progressed. His relentless assault made it seem like he was single-handedly taking on two players at once.  

But as the match wore on, exhaustion slowed Ryoma’s movements. Seizing the opportunity, the experienced Fitzgerald delivered a sharp slice shot.  

"Tch—!"  

Ryoma’s expression darkened as he realized his stamina was failing him. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself forward, barely managing to return the ball with a desperate flick.  

Swish!  

But Hopman, the black-skinned Australian vice-captain, was already waiting. He leapt into the air and smashed the ball down with a thunderous spike.  

Boom!  

The ball struck the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.  

"15-0!"  

The first point went to Australia—and it had taken nearly three minutes to secure.  

"As expected of the captain and vice-captain," Bill Hewitt, a blond-haired player, grinned from the sidelines. "Their defense is practically unbreakable among high schoolers."  

"The 'Iron Wall Guardians,'" Mitsuya, Japan’s team strategist, muttered under his breath near the court’s advertisement boards. "Their defensive play is terrifying. Even Ryoma can’t break through."  

"Naturally," Saitou nodded beside him. "Their doubles might not be pro-level yet, but they’re definitely top-tier."  

And sure enough, as the match continued, Fitzgerald and Hopman maintained their ironclad defense, repelling Ryoma’s attacks one after another.  

Then, capitalizing on Ryoma’s faltering footwork, they scored another point.  

Boom! 

"Game!" 

"Australia leads, 1-0! Change sides!"  

Just like that, Australia effortlessly held their serve.  

"These guys don’t leave any openings!" Ryoma grumbled as they switched sides, frustration creeping into his expression.  

This was the first time he’d faced opponents with such an unshakable defense. In terms of offense, neither of them could match him one-on-one. But when it came to defense? They were like an impenetrable fortress.  

"The 'Iron Wall Guardians,'" Duke spoke up. "In recent years, top pro players with elite defensive skills—paired with sharp counterattacks—have dominated the rankings."  

He paused before adding, "Take Germany’s Volk, for example. To score quickly, the attacking side has to push for riskier shots. But that drains stamina and leads to mistakes."  

"Hmm..." Ryoma frowned.  

He understood Duke’s point. But if he didn’t attack, how could he score? And without points, how could he win?  

For the first time, the naturally gifted but straightforward boy found himself tangled in doubt.  

"Hah!"  

But Ryoma was still Ryoma.  

If he couldn’t figure it out, he wouldn’t waste time overthinking it. With a fierce shout, he tossed the ball high and leapt into the air, roaring—  

"SUPER MEGA FANTASTIC VOLCANIC ERUPTION SERVE!!!"  

BOOM!  

The moment Ryoma’s serve connected, the crowd’s eardrums throbbed from the sheer force. A dark streak of light rocketed toward the Australian side like a cannonball.  

"This serve—?!"  

Hopman, the receiver, tensed. He knew this kid had monstrous strength, but this serve was on another level.  

Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and swung.  

Thud!  

The impact nearly wrenched the racket from his grip, but Hopman—being the vice-captain of Australia—dug deep and forced the ball back.  

"They returned it?!"  

The Japanese middle schoolers, especially those from Ryoma’s school, were stunned.  

"Not surprising," Ishida Gin, eyes closed in meditation, said calmly. "This is the world stage, and our opponents are top-tier high schoolers. Ryoma’s power serves won’t work as easily here."  

Thud! 

Boom! 

Thud! 

Boom!  

Sure enough, Ryoma struggled to gain an advantage. Australia’s relentless pressure forced him into errors, and soon, they broke his serve.  

"Game!" 

"Australia leads, 2-0!"  

"WOOOOO!!"  

Winning two straight games sent Australia’s morale soaring. The home crowd erupted in cheers, their overwhelming support amplifying the pressure on Japan.  

"Damn it!" Ryoma’s expression twisted in frustration. "These guys are seriously tough!"  

As he took his position, he noticed something strange.  

Fitzgerald, positioned at the front, and Hopman, preparing to serve, were aligned in a straight line. From the front, their figures overlapped perfectly.  

"That’s—!"  

On the Japanese side, Oishi and Kikumaru—the famed "Golden Pair"—instantly recognized the formation.  

"The Australian Formation?!"  

Yagyuu, Mizuki, and Sengoku were equally shocked.  

"Australia’s team using the 'Australian Formation'... Well, that makes sense."  

But the more they realized it, the heavier the pressure became. Oishi and Kikumaru knew better than anyone how devastating this strategy could be when executed perfectly.  

Boom!  

As Hopman served, Fitzgerald moved in perfect sync, splitting the court between them like a well-oiled machine.  

Thud!  

But Duke responded effortlessly, returning the ball with such precision that Australia’s duo had to scramble to defend.  

Still, they quickly adjusted—targeting the red-haired middle schooler as the weaker link.  

Boom! 

Thud! 

Boom! 

Thud!  

Their coordinated assault pushed Ryoma to his limits.  

"Damn it!"  

Feeling cornered, Ryoma’s eyes narrowed—then flashed open.  

Hummm!  

A brilliant white aura erupted around him.  

"That’s—!" 

"The Pinnacle of Perfection?!"  

Both teams froze.  

"The 'Flame of Resolve'?" Noah murmured, sensing Ryoma’s sudden surge in power. With his innate physical prowess, Ryoma could now overpower both opponents in a singles match.  

"But this is doubles," Noah smirked.  

And sure enough, even with his newfound strength, Ryoma couldn’t break through the "Iron Wall Guardians."  

Still, Fitzgerald and Hopman had to tread carefully. The match ground into a stalemate, neither side yielding.  

"This kid’s holding his own against our captains?!" An Australian player gaped.  

"It won’t last," high schooler Amon Crawford shook his head. "At this rate, his loss is only a matter of time."  

Ryoma might have incredible stamina, but compared to Fitzgerald and Hopman—known as the "Indestructible" and "Iron Man" of Australia—he was outmatched. These two had trained specifically to endure marathon matches, even best-of-five showdowns.  

And sure enough, despite his Pinnacle of Perfection, Ryoma’s attacks gradually lost their edge.  

"Are these guys even human?!"  

No matter how hard he pushed, their defense held firm. For the first time, Ryoma doubted himself.  

Was it impossible to defeat them alone?  

Boom!  

Then—Fitzgerald spotted an opening and fired a lightning-fast slice shot straight past Ryoma.  

The ball shot toward the back of the court.  

Ryoma could only watch, his confidence crumbling.  

Maybe he really couldn’t win this way.  

"Watch closely, Ryoma."  

A relaxed voice cut through his thoughts.  

"This is what real power tennis looks like."  

CRACK!  

A deafening explosion echoed as a black blur tore through the air—so fast most spectators couldn’t even track it.  

Fitzgerald reacted instantly, lunging to intercept—  

RIP!  

His racket strings snapped like paper.  

BOOM!  

The ball cratered the court, sending spiderweb cracks across the surface. Fitzgerald and Hopman could only stare as it rocketed past them.  

"0-15!"  

"That was—?!"  

All eyes turned to the baseline, where a burly, smiling man stood with his eyes barely open.  

"Duke Watanabe...?"  

Noah’s head snapped up, his blind eyes locking onto the figure.  

"If I recall, he was France’s most promising rookie—the 'Destroyer' Duke?"  

"Him?!"  

The Australian team paled.  

Two years ago, Duke had already been near pro-level. Now, facing him in doubles was like bringing a nuke to a knife fight.  

Fitzgerald and Hopman’s expressions darkened. The former had just felt firsthand how terrifying Duke’s power was.  

From then on, they played cautiously, constantly wary of another devastating strike.  

And that hesitation gave Ryoma his chance.  

With their defense no longer flawless, Ryoma seized every opening, chipping away at their lead.  

Boom! 

"Game!" 

"Japan, 1-2!"  

The momentum shifted.  

Australia’s iron wall had cracked under Duke’s pressure, and Ryoma exploited every weakness.  

Boom! 

"Game!" 

"Japan, 3-2!"  

Boom! 

"Game!" 

"Japan, 4-2!"  

Boom! 

"Game!" 

"Japan, 5-2!"  

Japan stormed ahead, winning four straight games.  

Two minutes later, they reached match point.  

Thud!  

Duke served smoothly, adjusting his stance. As Ryoma engaged the Australians in a fierce rally, Duke struck again.  

Swish!  

He stepped forward, winding up for another explosive shot—  

"Look out!!"  

Fitzgerald and Hopman instinctively retreated.  

They’d been dreading this moment.  

Tap.  

But instead of a blast, Duke delivered a delicate drop shot.  

"A feint?!"  

The Australians were stunned.  

Who knew this powerhouse could play so subtly?  

"Not happening!!"  

Hopman lunged forward at the last second, barely returning the ball high into the air.  

"Remember this, Ryoma," Duke said with a smile. "A clenched fist is most threatening when you don’t throw the punch."  

A clenched fist...?  

Ryoma’s eyes lit up.  

Something clicked.  

With a fierce yell, he leapt up, winding back his racket—  

BOOM!  

His swing connected with terrifying force.  

CRACK! 

SNAP!  

In an instant, the impact ripped the rackets straight out of Fitzgerald and Hopman’s hands.  

"Game, set, match!"  

The referee’s voice rang out.  

"Japan wins, 6-2!"