406-410

Chapter 406: Germany’s Wild Bear Cub – Brute Force vs. Brute Force!  

"I never expected Germany to lose."  

Up in the stands, representatives from various countries wore expressions of shock.  

"Is this the strength of a nine-time world champion?" The South African delegate, a Black man named Nofe, raised an eyebrow dismissively. "Doesn’t seem much stronger than us."  

"Don’t get arrogant, Nofe." The towering South African captain, Gopel, spoke sternly. "Germany’s strength is beyond your imagination."  

"…Got it." The young Black man lowered his head, chastened.  

Yet, after reprimanding his teammate, Gopel himself narrowed his eyes, his gaze lingering on the German team—especially their strongest high school player.  

The reputation of a nine-time World Cup champion was enough to instill fear and despair in anyone.  

But…  

Once the "boss" revealed its health bar, that overwhelming sense of intimidation faded significantly.  

Yes, Germany was strong.  

Unbelievably strong.  

From the very beginning, they had been regarded as invincible—even in casual conversations.  

However…  

The result of this exhibition match, particularly Germany’s No. 4 (and vice-captain) Michael Bismarck and middle schooler No. 2 Elmer Seyfried losing 2-6, shattered the illusion of their invincibility.  

"Next up, the second exhibition match!"  

"Representing Germany: Rudolf Becker (12th grade) and Kevin Kraus (8th grade)."  

"Representing Japan: Shūji Tōjō (12th grade) and Kintarō Tōyama (7th grade)."  

"Players, please prepare."  

As the announcer’s voice faded, the crowd’s attention shifted to the players on both sides.  

After the first match, many had begun to realize that Japan’s team wasn’t as weak as they’d assumed.  

Of course, most spectators still rooted for Germany.  

The prestige of a nine-time World Cup champion was unparalleled—both in skill and legacy. Not even Japan, nor the other three teams in the "Big Four," could easily challenge that.  

"Rudolf Becker? Seriously?"  

In the stands, an American player named Dood gasped. "Rumor has it he’s already turning pro. If the World Cup had been delayed by just a month, Germany would’ve had four professional players!"  

"Four pros?!" His teammate, Valentin, gaped.  

Unlike Germany, the U.S. team didn’t have a single active pro player—though Reinhardt’s skills were undoubtedly at that level.  

Still, Reinhardt had chosen to keep a low profile. Otherwise, the number of pros in this tournament wouldn’t be limited to just Volk, Amadeus, and two doubles specialists.  

"Pro players vary in strength." Reinhardt shook his head. "I’ve seen Becker play in a challenger match. His technique is impressive, but he’s still far from Volk’s level."  

Valentin and Dood exchanged glances, both sighing in resignation.  

Players like Volk came once in a decade—maybe even two.  

"Guess top-tier players really are in a league of their own," Valentin muttered.  

"Let’s just watch the match." Reinhardt turned his attention to Japan’s side, focusing on a white-haired, dark-skinned player. "Isn’t he Japan’s No. 2?"  

"How’re you feeling, Kintarō?" Tōjō smiled as they stepped onto the court.  

"So pumped!" The red-haired boy bounced around, scanning the stands excitedly.  

Suddenly, his eyes landed on a group of middle schoolers in white T-shirts.  

"Hey! It’s Kei and Zaizen! And Shiraishi—I see them!!" He turned and waved energetically at Shiraishi outside the court.  

Shiraishi smiled and nodded.  

He wasn’t surprised Kintarō had secured a spot. In terms of raw ability, this super rookie from Shitenhōji was easily on par with Atobe, who had played earlier.  

And with Tōjō as his partner—a reliable player—Shiraishi was confident Kintarō would shock the world.  

"What’s with this kid? A country bumpkin?"  

Some spectators, even German players, frowned in disdain.  

The red-haired boy’s wild energy made him seem like some uncivilized jungle kid—an image that instinctively repelled them.  

"Is he really a first-year?"  

Rudolf Becker, Germany’s tall and composed representative, studied Kintarō curiously.  

"That guy… is strong."  

A deep, rumbling voice came from behind Becker.  

Turning, he saw Kevin Kraus—a muscular, 6-foot-tall middle schooler—staring warily at their opponents.  

Kraus, age 12, was ranked No. 3 among Germany’s U-17 middle schoolers.  

On paper, he was below Seyfried. But in reality? Seyfried might not stand a chance.  

The reason?  

Kraus wasn’t… all there mentally.  

Despite his imposing physique, doctors had diagnosed him with the cognitive level of a five or six-year-old—a case of innate intellectual disability.  

If not for his monstrous talent, he wouldn’t have made the team at all.  

That’s why he’d been kept hidden until now. But with middle schoolers allowed in this World Cup, Germany had no choice but to field him.  

"The high schooler?" Becker raised an eyebrow at Kraus’ warning.  

He’d seen Mōri’s skills—impressive, to say the least. And if Bismarck was to be believed, the Japanese player had even been holding back.  

What unsettled Becker more was that someone of Mōri’s caliber was only Japan’s No. 4.  

This Tōjō guy? No. 2.  

He needed to stay cautious.  

Kraus was a powerhouse in singles, but in doubles? He was basically just filling a slot.  

"You. Strong. Fight me!"  

Suddenly, Kraus raised his racket and pointed at Kintarō.  

The entire stadium froze.  

"Wait… Kraus is challenging a middle schooler?"  

"That red-haired kid must be something special!"  

"Kraus’ instincts are like a wild animal’s—if he senses a threat, it’s real."  

The German team’s eyes locked onto Kintarō with newfound interest.  

"This kid…?" Becker narrowed his eyes, reassessing the grinning boy.  

If Kraus felt threatened, then this kid was no joke.  

"Strange. This year’s Japanese team is absurdly strong."  

As he pondered, Becker approached the net for the customary pre-match exchange.  

"Rudolf Becker."  

"Shūji Tōjō."  

The two nodded at each other, an unspoken understanding passing between them.  

Both could tell—the other was no ordinary player.  

"Weird." Becker frowned internally.  

Japan’s ranking was low—not even half of Germany’s points. Yet their players seemed inexplicably strong.  

"Did they stack all their best players in the exhibition matches?"  

That had to be it.  

If Japan could snag even one or two wins against the nine-time champions, it’d boost their reputation—even if they crashed out early in the main tournament.  

"Smart move… if I were their coach, I’d do the same."  

But then, Becker smirked.  

"Still, winning once was pure luck. I won’t hold back like Michael did."  

After the coin toss, Becker won the serve.  

"Good luck." He smiled politely.  

"Likewise." Tōjō replied, equally courteous.  

But beneath Becker’s gentlemanly demeanor was an unmistakable arrogance—one Tōjō noticed but chose to ignore.  

That said, he was curious about Becker’s strength.  

More interesting, though, was the silent battle of auras between Kintarō and Kraus—two beasts sizing each other up.  

"Game set, one-match decision!"  

"First game: Germany’s Kevin Kraus to serve!"  

As the umpire announced, all eyes turned to the hulking boy at the baseline.  

"Kevin," Becker said calmly. "Go all out."  

"Mm." Kraus grunted in response.  

The German middle schoolers paled.  

Even Seyfried’s eye twitched.  

"Volk," Vice-Captain Bismarck frowned. "If Kraus goes serious, someone might get hurt."  

"Wait and see." Captain Volk remained impassive.  

Bismarck sighed.  

An injury in an exhibition match would be bad PR for Germany.  

But more than that…  

"Volk wouldn’t… No. He’s not that kind of person."  

Unlike other captains who might sabotage rivals in warm-ups, Volk’s philosophy was to crush all opponents fairly—securing Germany’s tenth consecutive World Cup title with absolute dominance.  

That was his dream.  

And as someone who treated tennis like a philosophy, Volk would never tarnish his own ideals.  

"So… this is just a test?"  

Bismarck’s gaze shifted to the bear-like boy on the court.  

Kevin Kraus.  

Despite his mental limitations, his physical prowess was unmatched. His raw strength had earned him the nickname "Wild Bear Cub" among the German team.  

Once he got fired up, only the top five high schoolers could restrain him.  

"Huh—!"  

Kraus tossed the ball high—unreasonably high—then leaped after it, smashing it down with a thunderous spike serve.  

"That jump height?!"  

Japan’s middle schoolers gasped.  

"His athleticism is insane!"  

The ball rocketed toward Kintarō like a cannonball.  

The crowd collectively held their breath. Some women even covered their eyes, afraid to watch.  

In their minds, if that tiny red-haired kid tried to return it, he’d be sent flying.  

After all, that’s what always happened when Kraus first joined Germany’s U-17.  

But then—  

"Whoa, that’s some power!"  

Kintarō dashed forward, swung his racket one-handed, and—  

PING!  

The ball screamed back across the net.  

"WHAT?!"  

"He… returned it?!"  

"One-handed?! No way!"  

The stadium erupted.  

Germany’s players stared in disbelief.  

Kintarō just grinned.  

"This’ll be fun!"  

Chapter 407: Power Beyond the 108 Techniques  

THUD!  

The impact of Ryoma’s return shook the ground violently, kicking up a swirling storm of dust from the sheer force.  

"Bring it on!"  

Klaus responded with a deep, guttural shout, swinging his racket with brutal force as he smashed the ball back.  

CRACK!  

The collision between ball and racket sent a powerful shockwave through Klaus’ arm, electrifying his focus. His face lit up with childlike excitement, as if he’d just discovered the most thrilling game.  

WHOOSH!  

With a sharp exhale, he channeled all his strength into his right arm and launched the ball like a cannon shot.  

"Heh."  

Seeing the ball hurtling toward him, Ryoma grinned fiercely. Without hesitation, he dashed forward, meeting the shot head-on.  

BAM!  

Another explosive return.  

"No way…"  

A German middle-schooler gaped in disbelief. "This kid’s actually trading blows with Klaus?!"  

The rest of the German team wore equally stunned expressions.  

BAM! BAM! BAM!  

On the court, the two powerhouses engaged in a relentless slugfest—each shot aimed straight at the other, neither backing down.  

What shocked the spectators even more was that neither Ryoma nor Klaus showed any signs of fatigue. Instead, their strikes grew heavier, faster, more devastating with every exchange.  

"How is this possible?"  

Becker, observing from the sidelines, narrowed his eyes. "With that physique, he shouldn’t be able to match Klaus blow for blow. Are his bones made of steel?"  

Any other player—even Germany’s strongest middle-schoolers—would’ve had their wrists and palms numbed from the sheer impact by now. But this red-haired kid? He looked completely unfazed.  

BAM! BAM! BAM!  

The force behind their swings intensified, the pressure waves kicking up so much dust that the court was soon shrouded in a thick, swirling haze.  

"Hell yeah! This is AWESOME!"  

Ryoma’s exhilarated voice cut through the chaos.  

He’d never experienced a match this thrilling—every collision, every vibration through his racket sent adrenaline surging through him. Compared to the suffocating pressure of players like Ryoma or Oni, this was something entirely new.  

"You… strong."  

From within the dust cloud, Klaus’ voice rumbled, slow but deliberate. "Klaus… will get serious now."  

BOOM!  

The moment he spoke, an earth-shaking explosion erupted from his racket.  

WHOOSH!  

The sheer force behind the shot tore through the haze, sending a shockwave that cleared the dust in an instant. The spectators gasped as a dark brown streak rocketed toward Ryoma.  

"It’s here!"  

A German player shouted. "Klaus’ [Bear Crusher]!"  

"Tch."  

Siegfried and the red-haired prodigy beside him—Germany’s top-ranked middle-schooler, A. Frankensteiner—both grimaced. As speed and technique-based players, they knew better than to challenge such raw power head-on.  

"Bring it!"  

But Ryoma? He charged straight toward the incoming shot, eyes blazing.  

"Is he insane?!" Siegfried’s face paled.  

Anyone who tried to return this shot without elite high-school-level strength would end up with a shattered racket—or worse, a broken arm.  

"He’s done for." Frankensteiner muttered, already picturing the red-haired kid being blasted off his feet.  

THUD!  

Yet in the next instant—  

Ryoma swung.  

SHIIING!  

A golden streak tore through the air like a fired cannonball, hurtling back toward Klaus with even greater force.  

"Wait—that’s—?!"  

On the Japanese team’s side, Zaizen and the others from Rikkai gaped in recognition.  

"A few days ago, Ryoma came to me," Ishida Gin, the burly bald player, said with a knowing smile. "He asked me to teach him the secrets of power-based techniques. I never expected him to master it so quickly—let alone surpass the 108 Styles."  

BOOM!  

The golden flash exploded at Klaus’ feet. The towering German, still processing the fact that his ultimate move had been returned, barely reacted in time.  

"0-15!"  

"What…?"  

Becker’s eyes locked onto the small crater left by the ball, his brow furrowing. "That power… How does a kid possess strength like that?"  

Not only had Ryoma blocked the [Bear Crusher]—he’d countered with even greater force.  

A freak of nature.  

If Klaus was the "Wild Bear," then this Japanese middle-schooler was something else entirely.  

"Hah…"  

On the other side of the court, Ryoma exhaled slowly. After his crushing defeat against Oni, he’d sought out Ishida to learn the [Hadoukyuu] techniques.  

Now, he’d finally found the perfect moment to unleash them.  

"As expected of someone Oni took notice of."  

From the shadows, Tanegashima watched with quiet admiration. "That’s another player’s signature move—the [Hadoukyuu]. And yet, Ryoma’s compatibility with it is frighteningly high."  

There was something special about this kid.  

Unlike other middle-schoolers, Ryoma played with pure, unfiltered joy—no ulterior motives, no overthinking. Just raw passion for the game.  

In many ways, he was tennis incarnate.  

Tanegashima’s gaze flicked toward Becker, only to find the German captain already staring back. Their eyes met—an unspoken agreement passing between them.  

Neither would interfere.  

This was a battle between two monsters.  

"Again."  

Klaus’ voice was slow but determined. "Klaus… will win."  

Then—  

BUZZ!  

A dark, oppressive aura erupted from Klaus’ body, sending a ripple of unease through the crowd.  

"The Bear’s Aura?!"  

A German player’s face twisted in shock.  

"No way…"  

Siegfried and Frankensteiner exchanged stunned glances.  

This was a terrifying ability Klaus had recently awakened. Medical scans had revealed something even more alarming: Klaus’ strength increased daily—without training.  

Because of this, the German coaches had deemed him too dangerous to deploy unless absolutely necessary.  

Yet here he was, using it in a mere exhibition match.  

A quick glance toward Germany’s bench revealed no reaction from Volk, Q.P., or Bismarck.  

"So even they see Klaus as threatened…" Siegfried muttered.  

"Japan, huh…" Frankensteiner’s gaze swept over the Japanese team’s bench, a newfound pressure settling on his shoulders.  

As the player slated for the third match, he suddenly felt the weight of expectation—and doubt.  

"Klaus… GO!"  

With a roar, Klaus leaped into the air, his wild hair whipping as he brought his racket down like an executioner’s axe.  

BOOM!  

The shot was even more devastating than before—a missile aimed straight at Tanegashima.  

The German team tensed.  

Klaus was serious now, but against a high-schooler, even this might not be enough.  

Tap.  

Yet Tanegashima merely flicked his wrist, effortlessly returning the ball.  

"You’ve gotta be kidding me!"  

The Germans’ jaws dropped.  

They’d known Klaus’ attacks might not work on high-schoolers—but this was ridiculous.  

Meanwhile, Volk, Q.P., and Bismarck—especially Becker on the court—all wore grave expressions.  

This was bad.  

If even a casual return held such precision, Japan’s depth was far beyond what they’d anticipated.  

But Becker could only watch, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.  

BAM!  

Klaus attacked again.  

With the [Bear’s Aura] amplifying his strikes, his power had more than doubled. Within minutes, Ryoma was visibly struggling under the onslaught.  

"This brat…"  

Siegfried’s eyes widened. By all logic, Ryoma should’ve been overwhelmed by now.  

Yet he held on.  

Ten more exchanges.  

Twenty.  

Klaus’ frustration grew, his movements becoming more erratic, his eyes bloodshot.  

"He’s losing control!"  

A German player panicked.  

"Volk," Bismarck said urgently. "If this continues, we won’t be able to stop him. Once Klaus fully ‘beasts out,’ he’ll go berserk!"  

Klaus’ condition, diagnosed by German medical experts as a genetic anomaly, caused sporadic episodes of uncontrollable rage—dubbed [Beastification].  

It had happened twice before.  

Once, Volk had subdued him.  

The second time, Q.P. intervened.  

Now, it was happening again.  

But Volk remained silent, while Q.P. shook his head.  

"This is Klaus’ chance," Q.P. said calmly. "To conquer his instincts—or master them."  

Bismarck hesitated, then sighed.  

He understood.  

Japan’s middle-schoolers were alarmingly strong. In contrast, Germany’s younger players lacked the same overwhelming presence.  

If they wanted to secure their reign as champions, they needed a pillar—someone who could stand against monsters like Ryoma.  

Frankensteiner and Siegfried weren’t that.  

But Klaus?  

If he could control his power, he might just be the key.  

BAM! BAM! BAM!  

On the court, Klaus’ attacks grew wilder, his movements more animalistic.  

Then—  

"ROAR!"  

With a bestial cry, his aura erupted into the form of a massive, snarling bear. His eyes glowed crimson as he unleashed a shot so violent, the air itself seemed to tremble.  

"He’s going to kill him!"  

The crowd recoiled in horror.  

Only the Japanese team remained unfazed.  

Becker’s attention snapped to Tanegashima—surely now he’d step in.  

But the Japanese player just smiled.  

"Is he really going to let his own teammate die?!"  

Then—  

FLASH!  

A blinding white light erupted from Ryoma’s side of the court.  

Chapter 408: Speculations on the Three Radiant Lights, Tanegashima Steps In  

BOOM!  

A deafening explosion echoed across the court.  

At the epicenter of the blast, where Kintarō Toyama had stood, the swirling dust was violently torn apart. The sheer power of Klaus’s technique left representatives from other national teams visibly shaken.  

South Africa’s representative, Nofi, widened his eyes. "Is this really the kind of force a middle schooler can produce?"  

"It’s not over yet," Captain Golpe said grimly.  

"What?"  

Nofi instinctively turned back to the court—only to see Toyama intercept the tennis ball mid-flight. What was more shocking? The red-haired middle schooler didn’t even flinch under the devastating impact.  

BOOM!  

The next instant, a blinding white light erupted right in front of Klaus. The overwhelming sense of danger made the blood drain from his face, his pupils shrinking in alarm.  

"Hah!"  

Yet he didn’t retreat.  

Instead, he swung his racket forward, meeting the ball head-on. When it came to raw power and destructive force, Klaus feared no one.  

THUD.  

But the moment the ball connected with his racket—  

CRACK!  

A fist-sized hole tore straight through the strings, leaving frayed ends dangling limply.  

"Ghh—!"  

A pained groan escaped Klaus’s lips as he instinctively clutched his wrist, his face contorted in agony.  

"Kevin!!!"  

The German team’s expressions darkened instantly.  

Becker rushed forward to check on him. The moment he touched Klaus’s wrist, the boy’s face twisted further in pain.  

"Not good."  

Becker’s heart sank. "It’s fractured."  

"How…?"  

The rest of the German team paled.  

A fracture—no one had expected that word to describe Klaus’s condition. Just how terrifying was the power behind that last shot?  

With no other choice, Germany called for a medical timeout.  

The medics rushed in, applying ice and wrapping Klaus’s wrist tightly in bandages. Their verdict? No more intense movement for him.  

A heavy silence fell over the German team, their faces shadowed with tension.  

During the timeout, Volk turned to Q.P. "You saw it too, didn’t you?"  

"Yes," Q.P. nodded, his expression unreadable. "That was the 'Pinnacle of Perfection.'"  

He let out a quiet sigh. "I never expected to see it here."  

Volk gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on Q.P. with a hint of meaning. He knew—Q.P.’s evolution was just one step away.  

And the key to that final step?  

The next stage of the Pinnacle.  

But what Q.P. needed wasn’t just any form of the Pinnacle. The transformation he sought was far more demanding.  

Neither Volk nor Q.P., nor even Germany’s head coach, believed he could achieve it before turning pro. The road ahead was simply too steep.  

The situation had turned dire for Germany.  

Who could’ve predicted that their most physically gifted player, the "Wild Bear Cub," would have his wrist shattered mid-match?  

While the final outcome still hinged on the high schoolers’ performance, this unexpected blow had undeniably shaken the team’s morale.  

On the sidelines, Becker knelt beside Klaus, his voice firm. "Listen. From now on, don’t return any balls. Leave the match to me."  

"O-okay… Klaus understands."  

The boy nodded weakly, his usual bravado gone.  

For the first time, fear flickered in his eyes.  

It made sense—Klaus had always relied on his monstrous strength, bulldozing through opponents without resistance. This injury wasn’t just physical; it struck at his confidence.  

When play resumed, Klaus—now forced to serve left-handed—struggled badly.  

THUD!  

His first serve sailed wide.  

"Fault!"  

"He’s lost control," a German player muttered. "Without precision, his power is useless."  

TAP.  

The second serve?  

It hit the net.  

"Double fault!"  

"0-40!"  

Silence.  

The stadium fell into stunned quiet.  

Even the most die-hard German supporters wore expressions of disbelief.  

"This is… unexpected," France’s Barthélémy murmured.  

"To think Japan would push them this far," added Moreau.  

Camille, twirling a strand of golden hair, observed calmly, "But the real decider will be the high schoolers."  

Unlike Bismarck, Becker was already transitioning into the pro league. His skills were undeniable.  

And Camille noticed something else—the fire in Becker’s eyes.  

Germany’s No. 3 wouldn’t let this slide.  

After four consecutive double faults, Klaus lost the game.  

"Game! Japan leads 1-0. Change sides."  

As the players switched courts, the German team’s mood was suffocatingly tense.  

"Second game. Japan’s Toyama to serve."  

"Heh."  

Toyama grinned, locking eyes with Becker. "Watch out, old man—here it comes!"  

WHOOSH!  

He tossed the ball high, his body erupting in a radiant glow. The sheer intensity of his aura flooded into the shot.  

BLUR!  

The spectators blinked—only to realize they’d completely lost sight of the ball.  

"Not bad," Becker smirked, already moving.  

POCK!  

His racket connected effortlessly.  

"He returned it?!"  

The Japanese middle schoolers gasped.  

This wasn’t just any technique—this was the Pinnacle of Perfection!  

"Of course he did," Yagyū said coolly. "He’s Germany’s elite. Breaking through the Pinnacle is child’s play for him."  

"More than that," Sengoku added, eyes sharp. "His return has no trajectory either."  

"Wait—does that mean he’s also using the Pinnacle?" Zaizen asked.  

"Not exactly," Yagyū adjusted his glasses. "His base level is simply high enough to counter it."  

"A pro-level player," Marui and Ōishi muttered.  

The realization hit hard.  

This wasn’t just a match anymore—it was a battle of monsters.  

But Toyama wasn’t done.  

With a feral grin, he crouched low—then shot forward like a coiled spring, intercepting Becker’s invisible return.  

BANG!  

The ball rocketed back, faster than before.  

Even Becker’s eyebrows rose. "Not just brute force… There’s technique woven into it."  

He’d underestimated the red-haired brat.  

"Fine then."  

Becker’s eyes narrowed. His racket twisted mid-swing, sending the ball on a wicked, arcing trajectory.  

"What kind of spin is that?!"  

"It’s Becker’s signature—[Fox’s Smile]!"  

"A sharp, unpredictable curve with a second acceleration mid-air!"  

The crowd buzzed.  

No one had expected Becker to pull out his trump card against a middle schooler.  

But if he was resorting to this, the match was effectively out of Toyama’s hands.  

All eyes turned to Tanegashima—yet the white-haired player remained motionless, almost bored.  

Meanwhile, Q.P. and Volk exchanged glances.  

"That’s not the Pinnacle," Q.P. said slowly.  

"Agreed," Volk nodded. "The duration, intensity… It’s different."  

A realization dawned.  

"Then… is this one of the Three Radiant Lights?"  

Q.P.’s breath hitched.  

If this was the one he hadn’t yet mastered—  

His path to evolution might be right in front of him.  

Just as Becker’s shot seemed unstoppable—  

FWOOM.  

A shadow flickered at the net.  

PLINK.  

The ball, carrying enough spin to shred defenses, landed softly on the German side.  

Silence.  

Absolute, stunned silence.  

Chapter 409: Ultimate Skill – Shirasu Cornered  

"15–0!"  

After a long pause, the umpire finally announced the score.  

The crowd slowly snapped out of their daze, but their gazes remained fixed on the white-haired player in disbelief.  

"Becker’s special move… was countered just like that?"  

Dudu was stunned.  

Since Reinhardt’s goal was to defeat the German team, their players had been thoroughly analyzing the Germans’ skills. Among them, Dudu had specifically studied Becker.  

As Germany’s No. 3, Becker possessed extraordinary technique—second only to Switzerland’s captain, Alexander Amadeus, among European high school players.  

In Dudu’s opinion, even if he were on the court, he wouldn’t have been able to decipher Becker’s [Fox’s Smile] on the first try, let alone counter it outright.  

"This guy’s skills… are no joke," Reinhardt muttered, his sharp eyes locked onto Shirasu. Even from dozens of meters away, he had caught the faint glimmer on the surface of Shirasu’s racket at the moment of impact.  

"Huh."  

Next to him, Valentin’s expression shifted. "The Japanese team’s lineup… is way stronger than expected, isn’t it?"  

As a first-year with no World Cup experience, his impression of Japan had always been that of a lower-ranked team—consistently outside the top 20.  

But right now? If he didn’t know better, he’d think the white-haired and red-haired players were the ones representing Germany!  

"This guy…"  

On the court, Becker shot a wary glance at Shirasu. To the untrained eye, it might have just looked like a cleverly placed drop shot. But Becker could feel it—Shirasu had completely neutralized his spin and technique.  

His instincts screamed that the white-haired player was dangerous.  

Taking a deep breath, Becker’s eyes sharpened.  

Whoosh!  

At that moment, Tohno tossed the ball high into the air. With an explosive leap, he soared upward—then, under the crowd’s stunned gazes, swung his racket down with full force.  

"SUPER MEGA FANTASY VOLCANIC ERUPTION BALL!!!"  

BOOM!  

The ball crashed down like a falling meteor, smashing into the court with terrifying force.  

"Gh—!"  

Klaus flinched, his body locking up mid-swing. His racket froze in place as pure instinct took over.  

THUD!  

The ball struck the ground, leaving a fist-sized crater in its wake.  

"30–0!"  

"That serve… is insane!"  

"Klaus didn’t even dare swing?!"  

"Damn… that red-haired kid is a monster!"  

The German players and spectators alternated glances between Klaus and Tohno, their expressions a mix of shock and awe.  

On the court, strength spoke louder than rankings.  

And right now, Tohno—who had broken Klaus’s arm and now unleashed this monstrous serve—had earned their respect.  

"Klaus, he…"  

Bismarck’s face darkened with concern.  

With the mental age of a 5- or 6-year-old, Klaus was already shaken after his injury. If this continued, the psychological damage could become irreversible.  

"Let it play out."  

But Captain Volk merely shook his head. "Sometimes, setbacks and pressure aren’t entirely bad."  

The others exchanged confused looks.  

Only Q.P. seemed to grasp the hidden meaning behind Volk’s words.  

BOOM!  

The match resumed.  

Tohno fired off another devastating serve—  

SMACK!  

—only for Becker to casually return it as if it were nothing.  

"No way…"  

Shiraishi, Zaizen, and the rest of the Shitenhouji team stared in disbelief. Even Ishida, who had personally trained Tohno in the Hadoukyuu, was stunned. He knew how terrifying that serve was at full power.  

Yet Becker had dismantled it effortlessly.  

"This is the gap between high schoolers and middle schoolers," Yanagi said with a sigh. "At this rate, Tohno will be nothing more than a spectator."  

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!  

His prediction proved correct.  

Becker’s shots were unpredictable, layered with deceptive spins and angles. Even with the Pinnacle of Perfection activated, Tohno couldn’t keep up.  

The match had effectively become a one-on-one between the two high schoolers.  

Becker’s technique was overwhelming—his shots twisted through the air like spiraling drills, the spin so violent it could warp a racket on impact.  

Against anyone else, it would’ve been a disaster.  

But Shirasu wasn’t just anyone.  

POP.  

The moment the ball touched his racket, the furious spin died instantly—as if swallowed by an abyss.  

"You’ve gotta be kidding me!"  

A German player’s jaw dropped. "He just erased Becker’s spin?!"  

"So it wasn’t a fluke earlier," Q.P. murmured, his gaze intense. "This man has an innate ability to nullify spin and power. A perfect counter to Becker’s style."  

"An innate talent, huh?" Volk’s brow lifted slightly. "How… interesting."  

STOMP! STOMP!  

Becker charged forward. Having fallen for Shirasu’s drop shot once, he wasn’t about to let it happen again.  

What most players would consider an unreachable return was child’s play for him.  

SMACK!  

With a sharp flick, he lobbed the ball high into the air.  

"A mistake?"  

"That’s going out, right?"  

**"Idiots! That’s Becker’s [Phoenix Wing]!!!"  

SWOOSH!  

Mid-flight, the ball suddenly curved—streaking back down like a flaming arrow, trailing sparks from the sheer friction of its turn.  

"The mythical phoenix, huh?"  

Shirasu closed his eyes.  

WHOOSH!  

A wave of heat bore down on him, his white hair and jacket fluttering wildly. Yet his expression remained eerily calm.  

"Moron, no one can return Becker’s Phoenix Wing!"  

"The phoenix’s true form is invisible!"  

"Oh?" Shirasu’s lips curled. "You mean this hidden shadow?"  

SWISH!  

In one fluid motion, he pivoted backward—swinging his racket toward what looked like empty air to everyone else.  

BANG!  

A burst of flames erupted as the ball connected, its violent spin instantly snuffed out.  

THWIP!  

Shirasu whipped the ball back with a sharp flick.  

"Confirmed."  

Becker’s eyes narrowed. "He does have a skill that neutralizes power and spin."  

A natural enemy for a technique-based player like him.  

But instead of panicking, Becker’s competitive spirit burned brighter.  

SMACK!  

This time, Becker sliced the ball at an angle, adding a vicious sidespin with a sharp upward tug of his wrist.  

SWOOSH!  

A streak of white light arced through the air.  

"Here it comes!"  

**"Becker’s [Dance on the Blade’s Edge]!"  

The ball zigzagged erratically, its trajectory impossible to track—up, down, left, right—all at blinding speed.  

"This shot…!"  

Shirasu’s expression tightened. The ball wasn’t just fast—it was shifting mid-flight, its spin creating an optical illusion of multiple trajectories.  

"Ugh…"  

In the stands, Kikumaru, Sengoku, and Saeki rubbed their eyes. The ball’s movement was so erratic it was giving them vertigo.  

SWISH!  

Shirasu moved.  

He shut his eyes, relying purely on sound to gauge the ball’s position—then struck at the split-second opening.  

TAP!  

He made contact—but the awkward angle threw off his form. His usual fluidity was gone.  

WHOOSH!  

Seizing the chance, Becker lunged forward and smashed a brutal counter straight past him.  

THUD!  

"30–15!"  

"OOOOOH!!!"  

The German team erupted in cheers at the spectacular rally.  

"So… he planned this from the start?"  

Shirasu’s eyes opened, his gaze wary. "That erratic spin disrupted my form, preventing me from using [Muga no Kyouchi] properly."  

"Tch."  

"So this is the level of Germany’s elite…"  

For the first time, his Muga no Kyouchi—his trump card—had been countered. The pressure was immense, but it only fueled his determination.  

BANG!  

Tohno fired another unreturnable serve straight through Klaus.  

"40–15!"  

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!  

Becker and Shirasu clashed again—and once more, Becker took the point.  

"40–30!"  

But with Klaus effectively out of commission, Becker’s efforts alone weren’t enough.  

BANG!  

Tohno’s next serve sealed the game.  

"Game! Japan leads, 2–0!"  

"B-Becker…"  

Klaus hung his head like a scolded child, unable to meet his partner’s eyes.  

"Don’t worry." Becker patted the towering boy’s shoulder. "Leave the rest to me."  

Then, his sharp gaze locked onto Shirasu.  

"You’re holding back too. But against me… that won’t save you."  

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!  

The third game—Becker’s serve.  

One after another, he unleashed his arsenal of advanced techniques, overwhelming Shirasu and snatching the game.  

1–2. Germany was back in it.  

The fourth game was Shirasu’s serve. He fought hard, but Becker’s relentless pressure kept Muga no Kyouchi in check.  

The match became a grueling back-and-forth.  

Still, thanks to Klaus’s inability to handle high-level serves, Japan narrowly took the game.  

3–1. Japan ahead.  

The fifth game saw Becker dominate again, exploiting Klaus’s weak serves to claim another game.  

The sixth was Tohno’s serve—Japan barely held on.  

By the ninth game, Germany clawed back yet again.  

4–5. Japan still led, but the serve was back in Tohno’s hands.  

"Germany’s in trouble," France’s Bard murmured. "No matter how strong Becker is, fighting two alone is impossible. Japan might actually pull off a second straight win."  

"Unbelievable," Moreau muttered. "This is Germany we’re talking about."  

But Camus frowned.  

Becker hadn’t gone all out yet. There was one move he was still holding back.  

BANG!  

Tohno’s serve scored instantly.  

"15–0!"  

"It’s over…"  

Many German fans shut their eyes in despair.  

Klaus wasn’t just dead weight—he was a liability. No matter how strong Becker was, he couldn’t carry a doubles match alone.  

Unless something changed, Germany’s defeat was inevitable.  

SMACK!  

But then—Becker moved.  

Instead of targeting Shirasu, he turned his full attention to Tohno, hammering him with relentless attacks.  

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!  

Caught off guard, Tohno was pushed to his limits, his stamina draining rapidly.  

Yet Becker didn’t go for the kill. Instead, he dragged the rally out, wearing Tohno down bit by bit.  

"Oh no!"  

Mitsudomoe’s eyes widened. "He’s exhausting Tohno—trying to level the playing field!"  

"Exactly," Yanagi said grimly. "If Tohno collapses, their disadvantage disappears."  

"But why wait until now?" Mukahi frowned.  

"Pride, most likely," Inui mused. "A pro like Becker wouldn’t resort to this unless absolutely necessary."  

Just then—Tohno stumbled, his legs giving out.  

SWISH!  

A figure blurred into position at the baseline.  

Shirasu.  

He had to step in now. If Tohno was completely drained, their best-case scenario would be a draw.  

HUM.  

As he swung, a dark aura flared around him.  

"W-Wait—!"  

The crowd gasped.  

"He was still hiding power?!"  

"Heh."  

Becker smirked, his eyes gleaming.  

"Finally… you’re serious."  

Chapter 410: The Terror of the Phoenix – The Final Deciding Move  

Swish!  

A streak of black light flashed.  

To the spectators, it was impossible to tell what had just happened.  

Tap… tap… tap…  

The next moment, a tennis ball rolled gently to a stop in front of the German team’s side of the court.  

"H-how… is this possible?"  

The crowd’s expressions shifted dramatically.  

They hadn’t even seen the ball move—yet Becker’s ultimate technique had already been dismantled?  

"Instantly countered? And that strange energy fluctuation…"  

Q.P.’s brow furrowed slightly as he turned to Volk. "Captain… did you see it?"  

"Mhm."  

Volk nodded. "Faint, but unmistakable. It carries the signature of a truly unique technique."  

Their exchange made Bismarck’s expression darken. As someone standing on the threshold of the pro level, he was still searching for his own path in tennis.  

Only by crossing that barrier and grasping the pinnacle of mastery could he reach the same level as Volk, Q.P., and Becker.  

And now…  

In this young man, Tanegashima Shuuji, he was witnessing the very power he had been striving for. Even if Tanegashima hadn’t fully crossed into the pro realm yet, he was undoubtedly far ahead.  

"Japan’s Tanegashima Shuuji…"  

Unlike Volk and Q.P.’s calm demeanor, the German vice-captain’s heart was anything but steady.  

"Tanegashima Shuuji."  

On the court, Becker studied his opponent. "Just as I thought… you’ve already reached a level close to the pros. To think a small team like Japan could produce someone like you."  

A smirk played at the corner of his lips, as if exposing Tanegashima’s hidden strength was an amusing game.  

After all, even teams ranked in the world’s top ten didn’t always have pro-level players. Japan, ranked outside the top 20? Unthinkable.  

In Becker’s eyes, Tanegashima had clearly been concealing his true ability—a wolf in sheep’s clothing.  

And Becker’s goal was simple:  

Force that hidden power out into the open… and then crush it in front of everyone, extinguishing Japan’s momentum for good.  

"This guy…"  

Several members of Team Japan tensed.  

Reputation spoke volumes.  

Becker, already transitioning into the pro league, was a force that demanded absolute respect.  

"15-0."  

Tap… tap… tap…  

At the baseline, Kintarou—having regained some energy—bounced the ball lightly.  

Even his usual optimism couldn’t mask the overwhelming pressure and exhaustion. If not for Tanegashima stepping in earlier, he might have collapsed right there.  

Of course, they could exploit the rules, dragging the match out indefinitely. But neither Kintarou nor Tanegashima would ever choose that path.  

They would win—fair and square.  

Boom!  

With that resolve, Kintarou unleashed a ferocious serve, the ball rocketing past a visibly shaken Klaus.  

"30-0!"  

The umpire’s call sent a ripple of tension through the German fans. Yet the German players remained unfazed.  

Once Becker got serious, the tide would turn.  

Boom!  

Another serve, even more powerful than the last.  

"Is this kid a monster?"  

American team’s Barret gaped from the stands. "How is he recovering stamina so fast?"  

"Terrifying," even the usually composed Dodo admitted. And this "Kintarou" was only twelve years old.  

"It won’t matter."  

Lendhardt shook his head. "To a true pro, he’s irrelevant."  

Thud!  

Sure enough, Becker effortlessly returned the serve—the ball landing beside Kintarou before kicking up with a vicious, unnatural spin.  

Kintarou’s focus sharpened, his "Pinnacle of Perfection" aura flaring as he swung—  

Only for the ball to dodge his racket like a living thing.  

"Wha—?!"  

Kintarou’s eyes widened in shock.  

"A pro-level technique!"  

The crowd stiffened.  

This was the difference—a realm beyond ordinary players. And this was only Germany’s No. 3. The nine-time World Cup champions’ depth was unmatched.  

Crack!  

Yet in the next instant—  

A pulse of dark energy erupted as the ball reversed course, streaking back.  

"He returned it?!"  

"How?!"  

Becker, already sprinting toward the ball, showed no surprise. He expected Tanegashima to counter.  

Hummm—  

Then, Becker’s body ignited with a crimson aura, his presence turning suffocating.  

"Here it is—Becker, the Phoenix!"  

The German team erupted.  

From this point on, the match would unfold on Becker’s terms.  

Bang!  

A scorching topspin shot ripped through the air, trailing waves of blistering heat.  

"This feeling—!"  

On Japan’s bench, Sanada’s fists clenched. Unlike his "Raging Fire," this heat wasn’t just visual—it was physical, radiating like an open furnace.  

What kind of spin could generate such an effect?  

Hummm…  

The dark energy reappeared, swallowing the fiery ball. The flames dimmed instantly, the ball freezing mid-air before Tanegashima flicked his wrist—sending it back.  

"What is this ability?!"  

"Can he really neutralize any technique?!"  

"This guy’s a nightmare!"  

Amid the chaos, Amadeus smirked from the stands. "Not everything can be erased."  

"Watch closely," France’s Camus murmured, eyes locked on Tanegashima’s racket. "Sometimes, matches are decided by the smallest details."  

"Huh?"  

Battles and Morel followed his gaze—  

And spotted the charred strings on Tanegashima’s racket.  

"He didn’t fully negate it?!"  

Team Japan stiffened.  

"Becker, the Phoenix."  

Mitsuya, Japan’s strategist, exhaled sharply. "As Germany’s No. 3, his technique is second only to Switzerland’s Amadeus. In pure skill, even Volk might… ugh!"  

Boom!  

A flaming arc tore through the air—  

A fiery bird’s wing, slicing the court with searing precision. The heat was so intense Kintarou, still scrambling to intercept, felt his scalp burn.  

"Hah…"  

He sucked in a breath, recalling a lesson from Oni during training:  

"Mindless attacks waste energy. True victory comes from timing—striking when it matters most."  

With that, Kintarou’s expression settled.  

This was no longer his battle to fight.  

Boom!  

Behind him, Tanegashima lashed out—returning the shot, but not without a flicker of unease.  

The burn marks on his racket had spread.  

"So this is a pro’s strength…"  

His stance tightened, his focus absolute.  

Boom! Boom! Boom!  

The rallies escalated—  

Two elite players, moving at blinding speeds, their exchanges leaving afterimages. Soon, the court was shrouded in dust, the ball itself vanishing from sight.  

"This is a friendly?!"  

Players from South Africa, Argentina, Belgium—all ranked higher than Japan—could only watch in awe.  

"He’s holding his own against Becker?!"  

Bismarck’s eyes narrowed. Despite Becker’s relentless assault, Tanegashima was holding firm.  

"Relax, time’s on our side," a German upperclassman grinned.  

"Is it?"  

Q.P.’s gaze darkened.  

"Becker’s spin… is weakening."  

Volk’s voice cut through the chatter.  

"What?!"  

The Germans froze.  

"Exactly as he said."  

Q.P.’s tone was grave. "Becker’s technical precision is dropping."  

"Dropping?! Impossible!"  

This was Becker the Phoenix! Even Amadeus wouldn’t dare claim such a thing!  

"That energy… So it is that move."  

Q.P.’s eyes locked onto Tanegashima. "To think Japan’s player has mastered ‘Darkness’!"  

"Darkness?!"  

"The Dark Shot?!"  

Realization struck like lightning.  

"You’ve pushed me further than I expected."  

Becker wiped sweat from his brow, studying Tanegashima. "Your ability—it erodes your opponent’s skills, doesn’t it?"  

Similar to his "Void" technique, this shrouded "Darkness" was steadily nullifying Becker’s shots—even his very technique.  

"But…"  

Becker’s smirk returned. "You’re still a step away from the pro level. And I? I’ve already surpassed it."  

WHOOSH!  

A phoenix of flame erupted around him—  

In Tanegashima’s mind, a colossal firebird materialized, its shriek piercing the air before it dived straight for him.  

"Tch—!"  

The scorching heat, like molten lava, bore down on him.  

Yet Tanegashima didn’t retreat.  

He raised his half-melted racket—and charged forward.  

BOOM!  

The shockwave tore through the dust cloud, revealing Tanegashima’s racket flying from his grip—  

A gaping, smoldering hole burned through its center.  

"We’ve won!"  

"That’s Becker for you!"  

"This is pro-level dominance!"  

Germany’s bench roared. Their player had overwhelmed his opponent in a direct clash.  

"No. Not yet."  

Q.P.’s voice silenced them. His gaze was fixed on the ball—still in play, floating lazily mid-air.  

"Your tenacity is impressive."  

Becker tracked the ball, smiling. "But without a racket, even your talent is meaningless. This match is—"  

"Over."  

CRACK!  

A transcendent strike—a shot that breached the realm of Ten’i Muhō.  

The ball hurtled toward Tanegashima.  

The German fans erupted. Japan’s first-years slumped. The match was lost—  

Swish!  

Then—  

A streak of red intercepted it.  

Kintarou, stance set, racket drawn back.  

"Futile."  

Becker shook his head. This was a Ten’i Muhō-level shot. Without Tanegashima’s skill, returning it was impossible.  

This kid’s bravery was meaningless.  

Hummm—  

But then—  

Kintarou’s body blazed white, Pinnacle of Perfection at full power.  

"HAAAAAAAAH!"  

His swing warped the air—  

The ball slowed, as if caught in an invisible field.  

Then—  

BOOOOOOM!  

A black shockwave erupted—  

The ball blasted back at speeds even Becker couldn’t follow.  

"Wha—?!"  

His eyes bulged.  

CRASH!  

The impact cratered the court, sending debris flying.  

And when the dust cleared—  

Becker stood frozen, staring at the red-haired boy in disbelief.  

"This…"  

Volk and Q.P. spoke as one:  

"The Hypergravity dimension?!"  

(End of Chapter.)