belamy20

416-420

Added 2025-06-19 18:54:14 +0000 UTC

Chapter 416: Ishikawa’s Second Ability – Resonance

Boom!

A flash of silver light erupted behind Q·P.

Whoosh!

The air itself seemed to split as a blade-like whirlwind tore through, howling past him.

"Advantage, receiver!"

No one could remember how many times the score had been tied since the second game began. By the rules, if neither player could secure a two-point lead, the game would continue indefinitely.

Originally, everyone thought this was only a theoretical scenario. Yet now, they were witnessing it in a real match—and one of the players was Germany’s No. 2, Q·P, a pro-level talent known as [Perfect Quality]!

Even more shocking? He was the one being suppressed.

From the second game onward, in every direct clash between Q·P and Ishikawa, the former hadn’t scored a single point. To put it bluntly, Q·P had suffered a complete defeat.

"That last ball…"

On the German team’s side, Becker, Bismarck, and the other elites wore grave expressions.

"The Essence of Swordsmanship," Volk announced. "It’s said to be an ultimate technique he derived from kendo. At its peak, it can shatter solid walls."

"Swordsmanship?"

The German players pictured a towering figure wielding a knight’s greatsword—a stark contrast to the black-haired boy on the court.

"Hmm."

At the baseline, Q·P recalled the razor-sharp shot that had just whipped past him, his mood darkening.

[Radiant Fortitude]

[Essence of Swordsmanship]

This 12-year-old boy had already mastered two top-tier ultimate techniques. And according to Q·P’s intel, these were only a fraction of his abilities.

"Hey… senior."

Ishikawa suddenly looked up, a faint smile on his face as he addressed his opponent, drawing bewildered stares from the crowd.

"Isn’t it about time you used more than 60% of your strength?"

What?!

Only 60%?!

Marui, positioned at the net, snapped his head toward Q·P.

"Y-You’ve got to be kidding me!"

If what Q·P had just casually unleashed was already beyond his ability to handle, then what kind of monstrous level was he truly at?

"Q·P…"

Even Becker and Bismarck exchanged uneasy glances. They, too, had assumed Q·P was already going all-out.

"To think he saw through even that."

Volk, standing at the forefront of the German team, spoke with rare surprise. "Our intel was far too lacking. Our assessment of Japan’s team was completely off."

"What do you mean?" Becker pressed. "Are you saying Q·P really was only using 60% of his tennis ability?"

"Partially correct." Volk replied. "Q·P hasn’t shown his full strength yet. But whether it’s exactly 60% is uncertain—because he’s the type of player who has no limits."

No limits?!

The German team erupted in shock. Even those who knew Q·P’s strength were stunned by this evaluation.

Coming from Volk—the world’s top-ranked high school player, the reigning German Open champion who had even defeated Novak Brynner (the current world No. 1 pro)—this praise was monumental.

With his unbeaten pro record, Volk was already being hailed as the next tennis superstar. Many believed he would soon break into the world’s top 20, even top 10, at a terrifying pace.

And now, he was declaring that Q·P might even surpass the other Big 4 team captains.

"Aren’t you the same?"

On the court, Q·P’s cold demeanor returned as he responded to Ishikawa’s statement-like question.

"Still, you’re the first opponent to push me this far."

Q·P didn’t underestimate Ishikawa. From their exchanges so far, the boy’s speed, technique, and power were all exceptional. To win, Q·P couldn’t afford to hold back any longer.

Hum!

A faint golden light began to emanate from Q·P’s body, replacing the previous white aura. The glow wasn’t blinding, but the pressure it exuded was overwhelming.

"So this… is his true form?" Mitsuya murmured from Japan’s side.

"This feeling—!"

Among the spectators, Ryoma and Kintarō’s expressions shifted imperceptibly. While Ryoma remained composed, Kintarō reacted like a startled beast, his body instinctively tensing as he glared at Q·P.

"Kintarō?" Shiraishi placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hah? Oh, Shiraishi!" Kintarō blinked, his fierce gaze softening instantly. "Sorry, man! Thought you were that guy for a second."

"I see." Ryoma’s eyes darkened in understanding.

"So, Kintarō," Chitose asked curiously, "what exactly did you sense?"

"Dunno how to explain it," Kintarō scratched his head. "But that guy… he feels dangerous!"

"It must be related to the [Pinnacle of Perfection]," Ryoma interjected. "That golden aura carries an oppressive energy—one that directly counters it."

"The Pinnacle?" Byōdōin and Oni frowned, their gazes shifting to Inui.

"I’ve tried self-hypnosis before," Inui admitted with a wry smile, "but I’ve never actually mastered it. Still…" His tone turned serious. "Like Kintarō said, Q·P’s presence feels like a natural enemy to the Pinnacle."

His eyes flicked warily toward the court.

Boom!

Q·P’s serve morphed into a terrifying dimensional tennis phenomenon, instantly swallowing Marui whole.

CRASH!

Dust billowed as the sheer pressure pinned Marui in place. When the smoke cleared, he was on his knees, his face a mask of shock and terror.

"It’s here!" Mitsuya’s expression tightened. "The Dimensional Tennis Pressure!"

Marui Akaya—formerly Japan’s No. 8—had been mentally crushed in a single stroke, his fighting spirit completely shattered.

Hum!

But then, a brilliant silver-white light burst from Ishikawa’s body.

"The Essence of Swordsmanship?"

Q·P’s eyes sharpened.

BOOM!

He smashed the ball back, the dimensional tennis force swallowing Ishikawa whole.

Yet amidst the swirling dust, Ishikawa remained calm. He raised his racket and—like a swordsman delivering a decisive strike—swung upward.

Slash!

A blinding silver light erupted.

The razor-sharp energy sliced through the dust storm, hurtling straight toward Q·P.

"What a sharp technique!"

Though Q·P had never practiced kendo, he could sense the overwhelming sword intent in that shot.

No wonder his earlier moves had been dismantled so easily.

Hum!

But now, with his power unleashed beyond 60%, Q·P’s golden aura intensified. Even his racket gleamed faintly as he swung—

BANG!

A deafening impact echoed.

Swish! Swish!

Blades of air whipped past Q·P’s face, but his swing never faltered. With a burst of speed, he smashed the ball back.

"70%," Volk noted silently. "The level he used a year and a half ago to defeat pro player Ors."

Gold symbolized Q·P’s [Perfect Quality].

Every time he defeated a player who had mastered [Pinnacle of Perfection], he absorbed their style and abilities, evolving further. As his strength grew, so did the depth of his golden aura.

Hum!

As Ishikawa amplified his sword intent for a fierce counter, Q·P’s golden glow deepened again.

"80%," Volk observed. "The level he used a year ago against pro player Venkatesh."

Both matches had ended in Q·P’s victory, and afterward, he had assimilated their techniques, growing even stronger.

"So that’s his plan."

Volk’s eyes narrowed. "He’s gradually increasing the pressure to force Ishikawa to reveal [Radiant Fortitude] again."

When Q·P chose the path of [Ultimate Perfection], he knew it would be nearly impossible to complete.

Even among pros, few could master [Pinnacle of Perfection], let alone all three variants—[Love], [Loneliness], and [Fortitude]. The odds were astronomically low.

Yet Q·P had been fortunate. Before this match, he had already defeated players wielding [Love] and [Loneliness].

And now, he had encountered Ishikawa—who possessed [Radiant Fortitude].

This was destiny’s favor.

If he could defeat Ishikawa, Q·P’s [Ultimate Perfection] would be complete. At that point, even Volk might not be able to stop him.

This was why Volk had said Q·P had "no limits."

Boom!

But to Volk’s surprise, Ishikawa returned Q·P’s attack without hesitation.

"Hmm."

Q·P’s expression shifted.

"He must know something.

He’s deliberately holding back [Radiant Fortitude] to counter me.

In that case—"

Hum!

His aura surged once more.

"90%?" Volk’s brow lifted.

At this rate, Q·P’s margin for error was shrinking. Worse, rival teams’ scouts might gather intel on him.

Boom!

The ball Q·P struck now carried a darker golden hue, almost metallic. In response, Ishikawa’s own aura shifted.

Hum!

A white light erupted—unyielding and indomitable. The signature glow of [Muga no Kyōchi] (The State of Self-Actualization) flared as Ishikawa blocked the attack.

"Now!"

Q·P’s focus sharpened to its peak. His aura exploded into a blazing golden flame, the pressure skyrocketing to terrifying levels.

"Tch!"

Even Japan’s players—aside from Byōdōin and Oni—flinched. Ryoma’s fists clenched unconsciously, while Kintarō bristled like a cornered animal.

"He’s finally broken through."

Volk’s eyes gleamed. With this, Q·P had filled his final gap.

BANG!

The ball Q·P launched now carried the force of a comet, streaking toward Ishikawa with devastating power.

"Guh—!"

Many paled, certain that if Ishikawa tried to return it, his arm would shatter.

"So this is the power of Trinity?"

Yet Ishikawa didn’t retreat. Instead, he adjusted his stance.

"Is he insane?!"

The crowd stared in disbelief. His racket was a full two meters away from the ball’s trajectory—unless he could teleport, there was no way to hit it.

Hum!

But then—

A vast, starry radiance burst from Ishikawa’s body, as if the cosmos itself had unfolded around him.

"Ordinary techniques won’t work against you. So I’ll add something new."

BOOM!

He swung.

From Q·P’s perspective, space itself seemed to warp—stars swirling, reality distorting—before an entire galaxy collapsed inward, swallowing him whole.

"What… is this?!"

A primal sense of danger flared in Q·P’s mind.

Thud!

In reality, the ball tore straight through Q·P’s racket strings.

Thump.

It landed.

Q·P stood frozen.

"Seems like it worked."

Ishikawa smiled. "Thanks to you, I’ve also succeeded in merging two different abilities."

"Wait—"

Volk’s eyes widened. His gaze dropped to the distinct circular mark at Ishikawa’s feet, and realization struck.

"Ability… Resonance?!"

Chapter 417: The Universe in His Palm – The True God of Tennis

"What?!"

"Ability Resonance?!"

Becker and Bismarck’s expressions twisted in shock at Bürgermeister’s words.

"That can’t be!" Becker frowned deeply. "From what I know, Ability Resonance usually only happens in doubles—when two players’ different abilities synchronize and merge into something new. But he’s alone!"

"A solo Ability Resonance?!" Bismarck turned to Bürgermeister in disbelief.

But the German team’s captain remained silent, lost in thought, offering no explanation.

"Ability Resonance… Like Tachibana and Chitose back then…"

On the other side of the court, among the Japanese team, Shiraishi suddenly spoke up.

"The ‘Wild Wisdom’ they awakened during the shuffle matches!"

A fusion of the calm of a sage and the ferocity of a beast.

With that power, they had even managed to suppress opponents far stronger than themselves—Kaji and Kuni. If not for their exhaustion, the match’s outcome might have been completely different.

"A solo resonance?"

Mitsuya adjusted his glasses, digging through his vast knowledge of tennis records, but ultimately shook his head. "At the very least, there’s no documented case of something like this."

Inoue sighed in amazement. "Well, I guess that just goes to show how extraordinary he is, huh?"

The others—including even the likes of Byoudouin and Oni—couldn’t help but look at Ishikawa with awe.

Ishikawa Shin.

This 12-year-old boy had, in many ways, surpassed their very definition of a genius. Even the strongest players on the team had to admit—he was already the demon king who ruled over them all.

And now, this frighteningly powerful existence was finally revealing his true strength to the world on the World Cup stage.

"Advantage, receiver!"

The umpire’s voice rang out, announcing the score.

By now, the crowd had grown numb. The match had dragged on for nearly half an hour, yet they were still stuck in the second game.

But strangely, no one felt bored.

On the contrary—everyone was mesmerized. The constant reversals, the relentless escalation of power… This was a battle where both players kept pushing beyond their limits.

"To think Japan had someone like this hiding in their ranks…"

In the stands, the world’s top players—*Amadeus (Switzerland), Camus (France), Reinhardt (USA)*—all wore grave expressions.

As for teams like South Africa and South Korea, their players—from the captains down to the reserves—could only stare in shock, fear, and disbelief.

"He’s actually reached this level?!"

Lee Seung-bok, South Korea’s captain, watched Ishikawa with absolute disbelief.

This was Q·P—the "Perfect Quality" of Germany!

Yet, he was being completely suppressed, unable to mount any real resistance. And now, even his tennis异次元 (Otherworldly Dimension) had been shattered by Ishikawa.

The scales of victory had tilted decisively. Japan’s third straight win in the warm-up matches was all but guaranteed.

"Ishikawa Shin!"

On the court, Q·P’s expression had turned deadly serious.

Gone was his usual icy composure—for the first time, his emotions were visible. After having his Trinity Power dismantled, the man known as "Perfect Quality" felt something unthinkable—doubt.

"Tch."

Becker and Bismarck exchanged uneasy glances.

"I’ve never seen Q·P like this before," Becker muttered, his voice tense.

It was like watching steel soften or a mountain crumble. For a top-tier player, losing confidence was catastrophic.

The professional tennis world was full of fallen geniuses—players who, once shaken, never recovered.

BOOM!

But then—

Q·P served, scoring a point off of Tohno. His power, far beyond that of a normal high schooler, instantly silenced any whispers of doubt.

Tohno’s face was blank, but inside, he had already accepted his role as a mere stepping stone in this match.

As for Frankenstein?

He had given up long ago.

Once Ishikawa and Q·P started their real battle, he couldn’t even touch the ball. At this point, he was practically invisible—if he walked off the court now, no one would even notice.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

At the baseline, Q·P bounced the ball slowly, his expression unusually solemn.

For the first time, he looked… serious.

At the same time, the golden aura around him flared up again—this time, unrestrained.

BOOM!

A blinding radiance engulfed the court. Spectators shielded their eyes, some even staggering from the sheer intensity.

"Love."

"Loneliness."

"Fortitude."

With each word, Q·P’s presence grew heavier, until it felt like a raging storm at sea.

"This match… I won’t lose. I CAN’T lose!"

A final self-affirmation.

His eyes sharpened.

Then—

CRACK!

A textbook-perfect serve, faster and heavier than anything before, rocketed toward Ishikawa.

But Ishikawa returned it effortlessly, as if swatting away a fly.

Step. Step.

Q·P moved, his playstyle shifting into hyper-aggressive mode.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

A barrage of attacks, relentless as tidal waves, crashed toward Ishikawa.

Yet Ishikawa stood firm—an unshakable boulder against the storm.

The two accelerated, their rallies growing faster and faster, until even the top players in the audience could barely follow.

"This is already pro-level tennis!" a spectator gasped.

"Already? This surpassed pro level a long time ago!" a more knowledgeable fan retorted.

Professional level.

In past World Cups, that term alone was enough to signify the strongest.

But these two had left it in the dust.

And the scariest part?

Neither was even a third-year.

One of them was a middle schooler.

A silent realization spread—the future of world tennis was about to change.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Q·P’s frenzied assault still couldn’t break Ishikawa.

Frustration creeping in, he forced his limits further, his golden aura exploding upward like a pillar of fire.

"Hiss—!"

Becker inhaled sharply. Even as a soon-to-be pro, he felt chilled to the bone. He couldn’t imagine lasting ten minutes against this version of Q·P.

"He’s overexerting himself," Bürgermeister muttered, watching the veins bulge on Q·P’s forehead. "At this rate, he won’t last thirty minutes."

A shocking assessment.

In the German team, Q·P’s stamina was second only to Bürgermeister himself—far above the third-strongest player.

But now?

Pushed into a corner, he was burning himself out, tapping into power that bordered on forbidden.

Meanwhile, Ishikawa remained completely unfazed.

Swordplay essence.

Indomitable Will.

And other pro-level techniques flowed seamlessly from him, as if he still had countless cards left to play.

"This guy… is too strong!"

Q·P’s frustration grew. No matter how hard he pressed, nothing worked.

Then—

"Wait… What’s that?!"

His eyes locked onto something at Ishikawa’s feet—a faint white circle.

A sudden realization struck him.

From the very beginning… Ishikawa hadn’t moved an inch from that spot.

"No… That’s impossible!"

He rejected the thought immediately. If true, it would shatter him completely.

Instead, he channeled everything into his next shot, aiming for Ishikawa’s backhand with brute force and spin.

"I refuse to believe you can control my ball!"

But then—

SWOOSH!

The ball curved unnaturally, as if pulled by an invisible force, landing right in Ishikawa’s strike zone.

BOOM!

In that instant, Q·P’s consciousness was dragged back into that star-filled void—the galactic vortex, the celestial bodies orbiting in perfect harmony.

"This is… the universe?!"

Even Q·P, the epitome of calm and logic, was stunned.

What kind of tennis could create something like this?!

Then—

He looked up.

And what he saw froze his blood.

Those massive celestial bodies…

They were all resting on a gigantic palm.

And above it, a colossal, godlike figure loomed, watching him with unfathomable eyes.

"Gulp."

For the first time in his life, Q·P felt fear.

He was standing in the palm of a god.

THUD.

Back on the court, the ball rolled between Q·P’s legs—a humiliating shot that made the German team clench their fists in anger.

But that was all they could do.

Against this monstrous black-haired boy who had overwhelmed Q·P, their fury quickly turned into sheer terror.

"Advantage, server…"

Even the umpire sounded numb.

The stadium fell dead silent, all eyes fixed on Q·P—now frozen, his head lowered.

"Q·P…"

"Senior!"

The German team gripped the fence, still hoping for a miracle.

But then—

"Umpire."

Q·P raised his hand, his voice calm and clear.

"I… forfeit this match."

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

People rubbed their ears, wondering if they’d misheard.

"Q-Q·P," the umpire stammered. "Are you… serious?"

"I know exactly what I’m saying." Q·P’s expression had returned to its usual cold detachment.

"I, Quark Puppe, forfeit this match."

"Quark… Puppe?"

The crowd blinked in confusion. That wasn’t his full name, was it?

"Puppe?" Inui frowned. "Is that even an English word?"

"Maybe… it’s German," Mitsuya mused. "In German, ‘Puppe’ means ‘doll’ or ‘puppet.’"

"A meaningless puppet?"

Byoudouin, Tanegashima, Inoue, and the others narrowed their eyes.

Why would the so-called "Perfect Quality" describe himself like that?

But only a select few understood.

"Ishikawa Shin."

After announcing his forfeit, Q·P finally looked up, meeting Ishikawa’s gaze.

"In a way… you’re the real ‘God of Tennis.’"

The memory of that cosmic palm, of feeling like an insignificant speck in the face of divinity, still haunted him.

But then, his eyes hardened.

"But mark my words."

"One day, I’ll tear off this ‘puppet’ label… and take back what’s mine!"

With that, he turned and walked away, not another word spoken.

[Ding!]

At the same time, a notification echoed in Ishikawa’s mind.

[Player has defeated boss-level opponent: Quality of Perfect. Reward: 23,500 EXP.]

[Player has acquired special ability dropped by Quality of Perfect: Ultimate Perfection.]

Chapter 418: The Super Dark Horse – Ishikawa and the Others' Ambition

"It's over..."

In the stands, Camus of the French team let out a quiet sigh, his expression complex as he watched the black-haired boy on the court.

"Incredible."

"This year, Japan has produced a truly terrifying player."

Bart and Morel, standing beside him, snapped out of their daze and nodded solemnly in agreement.

Ishikawa Shin.

At just 12 years old, this boy was undoubtedly the most outstanding rookie of the year—bar none.

"Let’s go."

Over in the American team’s section, Captain Reinhardt cast one last deep glance at Ishikawa before speaking in a low voice. "It’s about time we headed back for training."

"Yeah."

Dudu and Valentine exchanged glances and nodded.

The match had been nothing short of intense. Before the game, they had assumed Q·P, no matter how strong, couldn’t possibly surpass the average pro level.

But what they had just witnessed was beyond anything they expected.

Q·P’s performance had been suffocatingly dominant—yet he had still suffered a crushing defeat. And the most terrifying part? His opponent was frighteningly young.

"By the way," Valentine suddenly spoke up, "if I remember correctly, didn’t that guy end up in Japan?"

That guy?

Dudu froze for a second before realizing—he was talking about Ryōga Echizen, who had vanished after leaving the U.S. U17 team.

The incident had even caused a rift between Reinhardt and their coach, forcing Reinhardt to make a decisive break to maintain team unity.

Dudu knew all too well how strong Ryōga was. The team had speculated endlessly about where he might have gone and what could have happened to him.

Now, it seemed obvious—it had to be connected to that black-haired boy on the court.

"No wonder..."

Dudu glanced sideways at Reinhardt, a thought forming in his mind.

Was this why he was so insistent on watching this exhibition match? To confirm that possibility?

He just wondered what the American team’s strongest player was really thinking after witnessing that match.

"Ishikawa Shin, Shūji Tanegashima, Yūshi Ochi, Kintarō Tōyama..."

Elsewhere in the stands, a dark-skinned young man with neatly braided dreadlocks and a red-and-white headband narrowed his eyes.

Japan’s lineup for this World Cup warm-up match had been nothing short of spectacular. Against all expectations, they had achieved a stunning three consecutive victories over the reigning champions, Germany.

To most, it looked like Japan had thrown everything they had into this match.

But Amadeus knew better.

Just like Germany, this super dark horse of the tournament was holding back.

For starters, two of their strongest singles players—Byōdōin and Duke—hadn’t even taken the court.

"They’re hiding their strength too."

Amadeus’ gaze sharpened as he watched the victorious Japanese team exit the stadium. "I’m certain their true power goes far beyond just being a dark horse."

With that thought, he turned abruptly and hurried toward the exit, vanishing into the crowd.

"Huh?"

Nearby, Kim Tae-woo of the Korean team blinked in surprise as he caught sight of Amadeus’ retreating figure.

"Wasn’t that… Alexander Amadeus, Switzerland’s captain? Why’s he leaving in such a hurry?"

"Simple," Lee Seung-pil replied grimly. "According to the World Cup group stage draw, Switzerland is in Group B—along with Australia, Greece, and Japan."

"Ah…"

Kim nodded in understanding.

A month ago, he had already experienced firsthand just how strong Ishikawa and Japan were. Now, that same boy and his team had grown powerful enough to unsettle even the captain of world No. 2 Switzerland.

"We should get going too."

Lee glanced once more at Q·P, then at Ishikawa, before shaking his head.

"After today’s matches, I doubt many people will be sleeping well tonight."

The warm-up matches consisted of 32 teams facing off in pairs. Japan vs. Germany was just one of the 16 matches held today.

The reason their match had taken place in the central Court 1 was largely due to Germany’s prestige.

But no one could have predicted that the nine-time consecutive world champions, who had been marching toward an unprecedented tenth title with overwhelming dominance, would suffer three straight losses here.

"Volk!"

As soon as the German team stepped off the court, an elderly man in a light-gray suit and a top hat hurried toward them, leaning heavily on his cane.

Sigmund Pück.

78 years old.

CEO of the renowned Sigmund Pharmaceuticals and head of talent scouting for Germany’s U17 team.

A man known for his impatience and no-nonsense attitude, Sigmund held considerable authority within the German U17 organization.

His agitated demeanor could only mean one thing—trouble.

"The sponsors are furious," Sigmund said sharply. "If we don’t dominate the group stage and prove ourselves, this year’s funding could be cut in half."

Three consecutive losses were a humiliation for Germany, and the sponsors’ disappointment was understandable.

But Becker, Bismarck, and the others couldn’t help but shoot the old man a pointed look.

After all, Sigmund Pharmaceuticals was one of the German U17’s biggest sponsors.

This wasn’t just a report—it was a warning directed at Volk.

"Don’t worry, Mr. Sigmund."

Before Volk could respond, a calm, deep voice cut in.

The German players turned to see a brown-haired man in a dark-gray suit approaching, followed by two players radiating an imposing aura.

"Head Coach!"

The team immediately straightened up in respect.

Kan Reichardt.

36 years old.

Head coach of Germany’s U17 team.

And behind him stood the team’s two other pro-level players—Volk’s younger brother, Bertie Baryshnikov Volk, and his doubles partner, Dankmar Schneider.

"I saw the match," Reichardt said smoothly. "I’ll analyze our shortcomings and ensure the sponsors have nothing to worry about."

"Good."

Sigmund adjusted his hat with a practiced smile before turning and walking away.

"That old bastard..."

Several players scowled at his retreating back. The thinly veiled threat disguised as concern was infuriating.

"Listen up."

Reichardt’s voice snapped them back to attention.

"Today’s match proved one thing—the so-called ‘King of Teams’ is fragile. The World Cup is merciless. The moment we let our guard down, the wolves will tear us apart."

His gaze swept over them like a blade.

"The finals are in three days."

"I expect no mistakes in the group stage—and none in the finals. Understood?"

The sheer pressure in his voice made Becker, Bismarck, and even the usually defiant Siegfried and Frankensteiner nod hastily.

"Good."

Reichardt’s expression softened slightly before he turned to Volk.

"Jürgen, take the team back. Q·P, stay. I need to speak with you."

Once the others had left, Q·P stood stiffly in front of his coach, his usual composure frayed.

"I’m sorry, Coach… I’ve disappointed you."

He bowed deeply.

But Reichardt only sighed.

"If that’s all you’ve learned from this, then yes—you have disappointed me."

Q·P’s breath hitched.

"Listen carefully. No player is invincible. Even the greatest legends in tennis history have tasted defeat. It’s through those losses that they grew stronger."

Reichardt’s voice was firm.

"The path from ‘Perfect’ to ‘Ultimate’ is paved with thorns. Failure isn’t a flaw—it’s a necessary step toward true transcendence."

Q·P’s eyes widened.

Memories flashed through his mind—of Reichardt’s relentless efforts to train him, enduring humiliation just to stay by his side.

The man who had once been dismissed as a nobody was now the head coach of the world’s strongest team.

His mentor’s journey reignited Q·P’s fighting spirit.

"I understand."

Q·P straightened, his resolve hardening.

"My ‘Ultimate Quality’—I won’t let you down."

Reichardt finally smiled.

"I know you won’t."

In truth, Reichardt was almost grateful that Q·P had faced Ishikawa after breaking through to the ‘Ultimate’ level.

This loss might have been exactly what he needed.

But Reichardt’s relief was short-lived.

Japan’s strength had reached a level that could no longer be ignored. After today, every team’s coaches would be scrambling to gather intel on them.

And that meant Japan—now the center of attention—would face relentless scrutiny.

"This isn’t good."

On the bus back to the hotel, Saitō’s expression was grim.

"What’s wrong?" Tōzaburō, still riding the high of their three consecutive wins, frowned.

"We’ve been tailed since we left," Saitō muttered, glancing out the window. "At least four cars following us."

"And over ten teams were observing us at the stadium," Kurobe added darkly.

"Wait—so we’re being targeted?"

The realization hit Tōzaburō like a bucket of ice water.

The saying "The nail that sticks out gets hammered down" had never felt more relevant.

Their stunning victory had put them under a microscope. Every move, every playstyle, every weakness would be dissected.

Even if Ishikawa and the others were strong, being in the spotlight was a different kind of pressure altogether.

"This is bad..."

Mitsuya, Inui, and Yanagi—the team’s strategists—exchanged uneasy glances.

"Zzzzz..."

A loud, rumbling snore cut through the tension.

Everyone turned to see Coach Mikuni slumped in his seat, fast asleep.

"Seriously?" Shishido muttered. "How can he just nap at a time like this?"

Compared to the dignified Coach Tōnobe from Hyōtei, Mikuni’s lack of presence was almost comical.

"Thwack!"

A sharp flick to the forehead shut him up.

"Bad-mouthing your elders, kid?" Mikuni cracked one eye open, his grin sharp. "Not a good habit."

Shishido gulped and nodded frantically.

"You’re all overthinking it."

Mikuni turned to Kurobe and the others before his gaze settled on three specific players—Ishikawa, Byōdōin, and Oni.

"Well? What’s your take on this?"

Byōdōin and Oni remained silent, both looking at Ishikawa.

The black-haired boy merely smiled.

"I don’t see a problem."

His voice was calm.

"If you want to wear the crown, you must bear its weight. The fact that we’re being watched this closely just means we’re finally being treated as equals to the Big 4."

Big 4?!

The words sent a jolt through the team.

Kurobe, Saitō, and Tōzaburō stared at him in shock—then at Byōdōin and Oni, who showed no signs of disagreement.

If anything, their expressions said: Obviously.

"..."

The three coaches exchanged glances, a startling realization dawning on them.

Somehow, without them even noticing, these players had already surpassed their expectations.

Their ambitions were no longer just about competing—they were aiming for the very top.

Chapter 419: The Swiss Coach’s Resolve – The Birth of the Demon King, Conqueror, and Oni Squads

Switzerland’s Camp – A Storm Brews

When Amadeus returned to the Swiss team’s area, whispers about Japan’s three consecutive wins against Germany in the warm-up matches had already spread like wildfire.

"Is this for real?"

"No way. That’s Germany we’re talking about. Did Japan pull some dirty tricks?"

"Don’t be ridiculous. Even if Japan did something underhanded, Germany wouldn’t just roll over. This has to be fake news!"

On the sidelines, Swiss players—both high schoolers and middle schoolers—buzzed with disbelief.

The news was too explosive to ignore.

By rankings alone, Germany’s total points were almost equal to Switzerland (2nd) and France (3rd) combined. Even as the world’s second-best team, Switzerland couldn’t guarantee more than two wins in a warm-up against Germany.

Yet Japan had swept all three matches.

To most, this sounded like pure fiction.

The Truth Revealed

"Captain’s back!"

A bespectacled, brown-haired teen—Pete LaBelle, 17, known as the *"Embodiment of Talent"*—looked up at Amadeus with a serious expression.

"So? Was the rumor true?"

LaBelle was Switzerland’s strategist, a genius whose insights often shaped the team’s tactics. Unlike others, he never dismissed rumors outright.

If Japan had truly beaten Germany, there had to be a reason.

"It’s true." Amadeus’s voice was heavy. "Japan won all three matches."

"What?!"

A muscular teen with a ruddy complexion—Albert Federer, 17, Switzerland’s strongest power player—blurted out, "Japan’s that strong this year?!"

"Or maybe," a smooth voice interjected, "Germany just didn’t take the warm-ups seriously and fielded weak players?"

The speaker was Henri Nobel III, 14, Switzerland’s top middle schooler and a European junior semifinalist.

"You’re mistaken, Henri."

A deep, aged voice cut through the chatter.

"Head Coach!"

The players immediately straightened, turning to see an elderly man with silver hair—Jean Oniguiha, 82, Switzerland’s legendary coach—approaching slowly.

Henri paled but bowed respectfully. "My apologies, Coach. Was I wrong?"

"You underestimated Japan."

Amadeus’s voice was grim. "Germany sent their best—Bismarck, Becker, and Q·P. Only Bürgermeister didn’t play. They went all out."

"Impossible!"

LaBelle, Federer, and even Henri froze in shock.

The Swiss Strategy – Fight or Fold?

"Amadeus," Coach Oniguiha said calmly, "what’s your assessment?"

"Two options."

Amadeus’s gaze hardened.

"First—we concede the group stage’s top spot, conserve strength, and focus on beating Greece and Australia."

A pause.

"Or second—we throw everything at Japan and crush them in the group stage."

"Full strength?!" LaBelle and Federer exchanged glances. "We’d only do that against Germany!"

But Amadeus’s expression told them everything.

This was serious.

"Any objections?" Oniguiha scanned the team.

Silence.

"Then it’s settled." The old man nodded. "Focus on the next warm-up. I’ll handle the group stage arrangements."

As the team dispersed, Amadeus lingered.

"Coach…"

His voice was uncharacteristically uncertain.

"Do true geniuses… really exist beyond age?"

Oniguiha’s eyes sharpened. "Did Japan have such a player?"

"A 12-year-old." Amadeus’s jaw tightened. "He’s already at a pro level. If we fought… I might lose."

For a moment, even the unshakable old coach was stunned.

"Japan, huh?"

A flicker of nostalgia crossed his face before he sighed.

"Come with me, boy."

He led Amadeus to a secluded court.

"I’ll teach you… a little trick."

Amadeus’s eyes widened.

This man wasn’t just a coach—he was a former tennis legend.

Japan’s Three Squads – Demon King, Conqueror, Oni

Meanwhile, at Japan’s hotel…

After their historic victory, the team was restricted to the hotel. Only Ishikawa, Byoudouin, and Oni were summoned to Coach Mifune’s room.

Around a large oval table, the three coaches and three players faced each other. At the head sat Mifune, clad in his usual ragged vest, reeking of sake.

"You know the group stage rules," Kurobe began. "32 teams, four per group, round-robin format. But—each player can only compete in one match per tie."

"So," he continued, "Coach has decided to split the team into three squads—led by you three. You’ll draft your own players."

This year’s World Cup emphasized middle schooler participation, forcing teams to dig deeper into their rosters.

But Japan?

They were overflowing with talent.

"One rule," Mifune grunted. "Each squad must have at least three middle schoolers. Draft order rotates. Once picked, no changes."

The Draft Begins

"I’ll start."

Ishikawa spoke first. "For middle schoolers… I’ll take Tachibana."

"Tachibana?" Oni raised an eyebrow.

A strong player, but not even top five among middle schoolers. Only Ishikawa, with his absolute strength, could afford such a pick.

"Yukimura Seiichi." Byoudouin’s lips curled. "His abilities intrigue me."

"Tezuka Kunimitsu." Oni chose Japan’s second-strongest middle schooler after Ishikawa.

"Chitose Senri." Ishikawa picked Tachibana’s former resonance partner.

"Echizen Ryoga!" Byoudouin smirked, snatching Oni’s disciple.

"Sanada Genichirou." Oni remained unfazed.

The draft continued without hesitation.

Soon, all 25 players (excluding the three captains) were divided.

"Good."

Mifune grinned. "For clarity, your squads will be named—

Ishikawa’s: Demon King Squad

Byoudouin’s: Conqueror Squad

Oni’s: Oni Squad

"Now," he tossed three crumpled papers onto the table, "draw your opponents."

"What?!"

The three assistant coaches stiffened in horror.

This wasn’t a warm-up—this was the World Cup!

But Ishikawa, Byoudouin, and Oni calmly picked their lots.

"Done."

Mifune yawned, already lying down. "Don’t disturb me until the matches start."

Within seconds, snoring filled the room.

The Coaches’ Realization

"I think… I understand now."

As they left, Kurobe suddenly spoke.

"From the warm-up lineup to the results… Coach has already calculated everything."

He smiled.

"We don’t need to worry about the next three matches."

"Why?"

"Because," Kurobe’s eyes gleamed, "the ones who should be worried… aren’t us."

Chapter 420: First Match – Japan vs. Greece

That afternoon.

All 32 teams completed their warm-up matches.

Players from every nation quickly shifted focus to training for the group stage starting the next day.

Japan was no exception.

After dividing into three squads under Ishikawa, Byōdōin, and Oni, the team headed to the hotel’s specialized training rooms.

Ishikawa, in particular, carried a detailed training plan that impressed even Kurobe, Saitō, and Tōzaburō. Byōdōin and Oni were no less prepared.

Their ambition was undeniable—but it wasn’t reckless. It was built on unshakable strength.

What reassured the coaches most was that these three leaders were self-sufficient. They didn’t need hand-holding.

That night.

The three squads emerged from their separate training sessions.

Mitsuya, tasked with data analysis, noted that while the players looked exhausted, their eyes burned with sharpened focus.

Clearly, they were more than ready for the World Cup.

The next morning, 8:00 AM.

Teams assembled under their coaches and headed to their assigned courts.

Court 9, East Zone.

Compared to the central Court 1 from yesterday, this was smaller—an open-air stadium with tiered seating marked by differently colored chairs.

Despite being outdoors, it was immaculate. Only faint water stains under the seats hinted at past rain.

Clang!

The gate swung open.

A group of teenagers in blue-and-white jackets filed in, led by a boy with curly, sunlit hair and a radiant smile.

"They’re here!"

Greek fans erupted in cheers. Some even waved national flags, chanting in unison:

"HELLAS! HELLAS! HELLAS!"

"Are those our fans?"

A tall Greek player shielded his eyes from the sun, smirking. "Not bad. They deserve a proper show from me—Apollo Stephanopoulos."

With a theatrical flourish, he bowed.

"Enough, Apollo."

His twin, Orion, scowled. "Stay focused. They’re here."

Apollo glanced toward the opposite gate—where a flame-haired, fierce-faced player led a group in red-and-black jackets onto the court.

"Tch." Apollo waved dismissively. "A team ranked outside the top 20? Nothing worth worrying about."

"Wrong."

The Greek captain turned, his sunny demeanor unwavering. "Yesterday, Japan defeated Germany three times straight. They’re no underdogs anymore."

Zeus Iliopoulos.

15 years old (1st year high school).

Captain of Greece’s U17 team and leader of their World Cup squad.

"What?!" Apollo’s jaw dropped. "Japan beat Germany three times?!"

Each word made sense, but together, they sounded like a joke.

"It’s true," Orion confirmed grimly. "The entire U17 circuit is talking about it."

Apollo’s smirk vanished, replaced by palpable tension.

"Good news, though," a gentle-faced player, Hephaestus Larcher, interjected. "None of the players who fought Germany are here today."

"A small mercy," Zeus chuckled. "But no matter who we face, we give it our all. Understood?"

"Yes!"

The team’s response was instant.

To them, Zeus wasn’t just a captain—he was inspiration personified. They’d fight to the death for him.

"So, Greece, huh? Pfft."

On Japan’s side, Yanagi Renji adjusted his headband, eyes glinting.

"They’ve fielded their best," noted Inui Sadaharu, one of the 14 selected middle schoolers. "They’re clearly saving strength for Switzerland."

"Smart move," Mukahi Gakuto admitted.

If he were Greece’s coach, he’d also prioritize the world No. 2 over a dark horse.

With only two teams advancing from the group, Greece’s strategy was obvious:

Sacrifice the Switzerland match, crush Japan and Australia.

"Didn’t expect their captain to lead, though," Yanagi mused, eyeing Zeus. "A first-year already rivaling the Big 4’s leaders in reputation."

"Next year, he’ll turn pro," Kikumaru Eiji added. "Greece will be the hottest non-Big 4 team by then."

"He’s only a first-year?" Tōyama Kintarō blinked. "Europe’s talent pool is insane."

"It was," Oni suddenly rumbled.

The team turned, surprised. The usually stoic Oni rarely spoke unprompted.

"They’re treating us as easy prey," Irie Kanata adjusted his glasses, smirking. "I wonder how strong the world’s 10th-ranked team really is."

The squad’s collective gaze turned predatory.

"The group stage match between Greece and Japan will now begin."

Oni and Zeus stepped forward as captains, shaking hands.

Though they didn’t share a language, their aura clash spoke volumes.

"Interesting."

Zeus’s eyes flickered with surprise.

Aside from Ishikawa Shin, Japan has another player I can’t read.

In Europe, Zeus was famed not just for strength but for his *"Omniscience"*—an ability to dissect opponents’ minds with a glance.

Yet Oni’s presence felt like a bottomless abyss.

"Oni Jūzaburō… Japan’s depth is far beyond their ranking."

Oni, too, felt pressure.

Zeus’s gaze was deceptively warm—but beneath it lurked a razor’s edge. Only Oni’s iron will kept him steady.

After a silent nod, both captains retreated.

"Well?"

Hephaestus leaned in. "Could you read their captain?"

"No," Zeus admitted. "But my instincts say this Japan team is dangerous. Don’t underestimate them."

The Greeks stiffened.

"Don’t worry, Zeus!"

A curly-haired boy, Evangelos Papadopoulos, grinned. "We won’t disappoint you!"

Beside him, a bearded giant, Heracles Taranta, loomed, his faint silver aura pulsing.

"Leave it to us!"

"Doubles 2: Greece’s Heracles Taranta (3rd year high school) & Evangelos Papadopoulos (3rd year middle school) vs. Japan’s Kikumaru Eiji (3rd year high school) & Marui Bunta (3rd year middle school)."

"Players, take your positions."

"Wait, that’s a high schooler?!"

From the stands, Hiyoshi Wakashi gaped at Heracles’ mountainous frame and full beard.

Even Byōdōin and Oni looked youthful next to him.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Unfazed by the stares, Heracles calmly bounced the ball.

Then—

Crack!

A serve blurred across the court.

Kikumaru reacted instantly, reaching the landing spot—only for the ball to hook sideways like a cat’s tail, evading his racket.

"15-0!"

"Heracles’ Innocent Tail!" Evangelos cheered.