401-405

Chapter 401: The Draw Begins – Ishikawa’s Target  

Night fell.  

Inside a large convention hall in Melbourne, burly cameramen scrambled to find the perfect shots. Behind the stage curtains, a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair rehearsed his script under his breath.  

Before long, a group of teenagers in suits filed into the venue in an orderly manner.  

Under the dim lighting, their faces were hard to make out. Yet, the seasoned reporters and photographers had no trouble spotting the well-known players among them.  

"Huh?"  

Soon, someone’s gaze locked onto a towering figure in the crowd—a young man whose height easily surpassed two meters.  

Instantly, multiple camera lenses swung toward the expressionless giant.  

"Ugh."  

Faced with the sudden attention, Mashiro, dressed in a light-blue suit, stiffened. He lowered his head and shot a displeased glance at the boy beside him. "I told you, I don’t do well in settings like this."  

"It’s fine," Ishikawa replied with a smile, adjusting his dark-gray suit. "With your skills, you’ll be attending events like this often in the future. Better to get used to it now, don’t you think?"  

"Spare me," Mashiro muttered, shaking his head. For the first time, he understood how Ōmago felt.  

"By the way," Ishikawa scanned the room, eyes glinting with interest, "can you spot the captains from the other teams?"  

Mashiro’s gaze sharpened. After a quick sweep of the room, he nodded. "Most of them are here."  

His eyes settled on a dark-skinned young man with neatly braided dreadlocks. "Alexander Amadeus, Switzerland’s captain. A pro player—extremely skilled."  

"And the boy next to him—"  

"Henry Nobel III," Ishikawa cut in with a grin. "A prodigy known as Switzerland’s 'Aristocratic Genius.' Looks like every team’s captain brought their rising stars for exposure."  

Mashiro’s face twitched.  

Great.  

While other teams had seniors mentoring juniors, he was the one being paraded around like a bodyguard by a first-year middle schooler. If not for Ishikawa’s position as team leader—and Coach Mikuni’s approval—Mashiro would’ve refused to attend this gathering.  

Calling it a "draw ceremony" was generous. This was more of a networking event.  

The venue was packed with elite players from around the world. Seated around them were sharp-eyed scouts representing top tennis clubs and agencies.  

In a way, this was a scouting event—a chance for clubs and agencies to cherry-pick future stars.  

If not for Mashiro’s absurd height, he and Ishikawa wouldn’t have drawn so much attention.  

But as Ishikawa had said, if Mashiro planned to pursue tennis professionally, this was good practice.  

Steeling himself, he began scanning the room for notable players.  

Meanwhile, other teams had taken notice of Mashiro and Ishikawa.  

"Are those… Japan’s players?" Amadeus frowned.  

"What’s wrong, Captain?" Henry asked. "Japan’s ranking isn’t even in the top 20, right?"  

"Rankings don’t matter," Amadeus waved him off, his eyes narrowing. "The fact that he isn’t here… means the rumors are true. Japan’s U-17 team has undergone major changes."  

The thought of that man sent a chill down Amadeus’ spine. If Japan had players capable of overthrowing someone of his caliber, they were a serious threat.  

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the draw ceremony for the preliminary matches! I’m your host, Martin."  

"And I’m Denise," the blonde model beside him chimed in.  

"Let’s begin the draw!" Martin announced. "First up—Germany!"  

A spotlight swept over the audience, reflecting off a gleaming bald head before settling on a lean young man in a black suit, his sharp eyes piercing the crowd.  

Jürgen Borisovich Volk!  

A current pro player among high schoolers—and unlike Amadeus, Volk boasted an undefeated record since turning professional.  

Even more staggering?  

At the recent German Open, he’d defeated Novak Brynner—the world’s top-ranked pro player.  

Widely regarded as the strongest high school player alive, Volk had already shattered records at his age.  

He was the cornerstone of Germany’s quest for a tenth consecutive championship.  

However, to everyone’s surprise, Volk didn’t step forward. Instead, he turned to the young man beside him.  

"Q.P., you go."  

"Understood."  

With an air of quiet confidence, Q.P. stood and walked toward the stage.  

Gasps rippled through the crowd.  

"It’s him!"  

"The one they call Quality of Perfect—the genius crafted by Germany’s elite training program!"  

Among the spectators, South Korea’s No. 2, Kim Taewoo, nudged his teammate. "Hey, Seongbu. Isn’t that the guy who crushed you last time? He does look impressive."  

Lee Seongbu’s expression darkened. "Words can’t describe how strong he is. In some ways, he’s even more dangerous than Volk."  

"That strong?!"  

Kim’s mind flashed to his own humiliating defeat yesterday. His eyes darted around before landing on the black-haired boy beside Mashiro.  

"Then… between him and Ishikawa, who’s stronger?"  

At the mention of Ishikawa, Lee’s pupils contracted, his back straightening like a cornered beast.  

"I don’t know," he admitted.  

Both Ishikawa and Q.P. existed on a level far beyond his comprehension.  

"Whatever. Just don’t let us draw either of their teams," Kim muttered.  

Whether it was Germany, chasing their tenth straight title, or Japan—this year’s potential dark horse—neither was an opponent South Korea could handle.  

Soon, the draw results were in.  

After pressing the button, Q.P. watched as the lottery machine spun, finally landing on the number 6.  

"Number 6? Perfect! As long as we avoid 5!"  

"Agreed. Any of the Big 4 except Germany would be fine!"  

One by one, team representatives took the stage, yet no one drew the dreaded 5.  

"Next up—Japan!"  

The spotlight swung to the corner, illuminating Mashiro’s towering frame.  

Murmurs erupted.  

"That’s Japan’s player? His height is insane!"  

"With that build, his serves must be monstrous. Wonder what number they’ll get."  

"Japan’s ranking isn’t high. Hope we draw them."  

Among the crowd, several pairs of eyes locked onto Mashiro.  

"Wow, I’ve never seen a high schooler taller than Dodo," the androgynous Valentin from the U.S. team remarked.  

"Ralph?"  

When their captain didn’t respond, Valentin turned—only to find Reinhardt staring not at Mashiro, but at the black-haired boy beside him.  

"Who’s that?"  

Others noticed it too.  

The towering high schooler seemed to defer to the younger boy, as if he were the true leader.  

"You’re mistaken," Reinhardt said quietly. "That boy is Japan’s strongest player now."  

"Strongest?" Volk raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Japan has a top-tier prodigy this year?"  

He didn’t doubt Q.P.’s judgment. As Germany’s strategist, Q.P. had never been wrong.  

"Based on available data," Q.P. mused, "his strength likely approaches professional level."  

Volk’s eyes flashed.  

Professional level.  

Even among high schoolers, that was rare. Beyond himself and Amadeus, the Big 4 might have three others at most. Add Q.P. and a handful of captains, and the total wouldn’t exceed eight.  

And Ishikawa was just a middle schooler.  

Volk exhaled. "That kind of talent… even Greece’s captain pales in comparison."  

Back on stage, Mashiro finally stepped forward. Under the weight of countless stares, he pressed the button with steady hands.  

The machine whirred, the last few balls tumbling inside.  

Click.  

A single ball rolled out.  

The host picked it up, blinked at the number, then glanced at Mashiro with something like pity.  

"And Japan’s number is—!"  

He paused for dramatic effect, milking the tension.  

"5!"  

The room exploded.  

Even Mashiro’s composure cracked for a split second.  

"Germany…?"  

His stomach dropped.  

No matter how strong his mental fortitude was, facing the nine-time defending champions—now gunning for a tenth—made him feel small.  

Taking a deep breath, he returned to his seat under a mix of mocking and sympathetic stares.  

"Sorry," Mashiro said stiffly. "I drew the worst possible matchup."  

Germany was a nightmare even for the other Big 4 teams. A warm-up match against them could shatter their weaker players’ confidence.  

"You’re wrong, Mashiro."  

Ishikawa’s lips curled into a faint smile.  

"This isn’t the worst draw."  

His voice was calm.  

"It’s the best."  

Mashiro froze.  

If not for his respect for Ishikawa’s skill, he’d have thought the boy had lost his mind.  

Germany.  

The undisputed kings of U-17 tennis. The untouchable dynasty.  

What was there to be happy about?  

"Mashiro," Ishikawa said, eyes gleaming, "do you know why I asked you to draw for us?"  

Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "Because you’re confirmed to play in tomorrow’s match."  

Mashiro’s breath hitched.  

So he would be the one facing Germany’s juggernaut?  

How was that a good thing?!  

Unless—  

A terrifying realization struck him.  

His eyes widened as he stared at Ishikawa.  

"Wait…"  

"His target from the beginning… was Germany?!"  

Chapter 402: The Warm-Up Match Begins – Japan vs. Germany  

The draw concluded.  

Representatives from each country reacted differently—some remained calm, others were excited, while a few wore expressions of sheer disappointment.  

"Terrible luck," Kim Taewoo sighed heavily. "Out of all teams, we had to draw Switzerland. Now we’re just going to be someone else’s stepping stone in the warm-up matches."  

However…  

After a pause, his gaze shifted to the towering figure of a young man walking away calmly after the draw. His mood lightened slightly.  

"No matter how bad it is, we’re still better off than them."  

Switzerland was strong, but their pressure wasn’t overwhelming. Only Germany—the team that had already secured nine consecutive World Cup victories and was now aiming for a tenth—was truly suffocating.  

Kim Taewoo was certain that even the other three teams in the Big 4 would feel the same if they faced Germany.  

"Not necessarily."  

To his surprise, Lee Seungbu shook his head. "Germany is undoubtedly powerful, but if Japan plays their cards right, they might still pull off a win."  

"You mean…?" Kim Taewoo blinked before suddenly realizing. "That duo from earlier?"  

Lee Seungbu shook his head again. "Echizen is strong, but he’s not on the same level as Ishikawa."  

"Not on the same level? But he’s mastered high-speed dimensional tennis— Wait, are you saying…?"  

As if struck by a realization, Kim Taewoo’s eyes widened. "Byodoin?!"  

"Mm."  

Lee Seungbu nodded.  

"If those two pair up, Germany might not have an answer. Without their two professional doubles players present, even Bürgmeister might struggle."  

"True."  

Kim Taewoo nodded emphatically.  

The rules required one high schooler and one middle schooler per match. In that case, Ishikawa and Byodoin’s combination would be unstoppable.  

But would Japan really field such an overpowered duo just for a warm-up match victory?  

Lee Seungbu wasn’t so sure.  

"Germany, huh?"  

Back at the hotel, Kurobe and the other coaches wore uneasy expressions upon learning the draw results.  

Facing the No. 1 seed right off the bat wasn’t just bad luck—it was downright disastrous.  

Yet, Kurobe noticed something odd.  

Ishikawa, Byodoin, and Oni—none of them seemed fazed.  

"So, what do you all think?"  

Coach Mikoshiba, observing their reactions, smiled and turned to them. "Ishikawa, you first."  

"Germany is strong. On paper, they’re the best team in the tournament."  

Ishikawa paused, then grinned. "But facing them in a warm-up match is the perfect way to test our strength."  

"Oh?"  

Mikoshiba raised an eyebrow theatrically before glancing at the other two. "And you two?"  

"I agree."  

Byodoin, arms crossed, spoke calmly. "If it were any other team, this warm-up match would be pointless."  

"Exactly."  

Oni nodded firmly. "If we’re going to fight, we fight the best!"  

Seeing their three strongest players so resolute, Kurobe and Saito exchanged stunned looks.  

"So, all three of you want to play?"  

Mikoshiba studied them with interest. The lineup had already been tentatively decided, but these three had the influence to change it.  

"No need."  

Ishikawa shook his head. "It’s just a warm-up. I’ll handle it. Byodoin and Oni should save their strength for the group stage—let’s surprise them then."  

"And you two?"  

Mikoshiba turned to the others.  

"Fine by me."  

"No objections."  

With their agreement, the lineup for tomorrow’s match was set.  

"Good."  

Mikoshiba smiled. "Then you’re dismissed. Keep the others in check—after the warm-up, the group stage begins. I don’t want to be chasing them down elsewhere."  

"Understood."  

The three nodded and left.  

"Coach…"  

Once they were gone, Saito hesitated. "Is it really wise to field Ishikawa in a warm-up? He’s our strongest player. The more his skills are exposed, the bigger the disadvantage."  

"You still don’t get it, do you?"  

Mikoshiba shook his head. "The final lineup, even sending Echizen to the draw—it was all his idea. Our captain must be itching for a fight."  

"Huh?"  

Saito was taken aback.  

"True."  

Kurobe nodded. "After this World Cup, he could easily turn pro. Tomorrow’s match is his best opportunity."  

"Ishikawa…?"  

Saito’s eyes widened.  

"Maybe, maybe not."  

Mikoshiba shrugged. "His ambitions are bigger than that. Tomorrow could be about attracting sponsors, testing himself against Germany’s best, or both. At his level, few opponents can challenge him anymore."  

That was why Mikoshiba had agreed.  

He wanted to see the gap between Ishikawa and Germany’s elite. If there was one, Ishikawa’s talent would let him adapt mid-match.  

And if not…  

Even Mikoshiba, steady as he was, felt a flicker of anticipation.  

The Next Morning – 8:00 AM  

The salty sea breeze swept through Melbourne Park as crowds gathered beneath giant posters of tennis players, waiting to enter the indoor stadium.  

Some spectators headed to the outdoor courts for other warm-up matches, but the numbers there paled in comparison.  

The reason?  

Today’s indoor match featured Germany—the nine-time World Cup champions, now aiming for a historic tenth title.  

As time passed, the stadium filled.  

Among the spectators were not just fans but also players from other national teams.  

On the left side, U.S. captain Reinhardt, along with Dood and Valentin, stood in the third-floor aisle.  

"Lendhard," Dood asked curiously, "why bother watching this match?"  

Before Reinhardt could answer, Valentin grinned. "It’s Germany. Of course we’re watching."  

"Exactly."  

Reinhardt nodded—but deep down, he had another reason.  

He wanted to see if that Japanese player from the video Yōji had watched would appear today. Just how strong was he?  

Something told Reinhardt that his former friend’s sudden departure might have been because of this very person.  

Lights on. The match was about to begin.  

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Court 1 of Melbourne Park!"  

A suited announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium.  

"First, representing Asia—Team Japan!"  

The eastern entrance lit up as a group of players in red-and-black jackets emerged, led by a tall, striking black-haired boy.  

"Just as I thought."  

Amadeus, standing in the northern aisle, narrowed his eyes. "Byodoin’s been replaced as captain."  

After last night, he’d looked into the new leader.  

A 12-year-old middle schooler?  

He almost didn’t believe it.  

"Is this some kind of trick?"  

Hiding Byodoin, a player he’d faced as a pro, and putting an unknown kid in the spotlight to mislead future opponents?  

A 12-year-old at pro level?  

Absurd.  

"Look! They’re here!"  

"Japan! Japan! Japan!"  

On the southern stands, a group in white T-shirts erupted in cheers.  

"Is that…?"  

Fuji’s eyes lit up. "Kikumaru and Kawamura!"  

"And Hiyoshi and Otori!"  

Shishido grinned.  

Players from Seigaku, Rikkai, Hyotei, and Shitenhoji spotted their friends in the crowd.  

"Everyone came…"  

Shiraishi glanced at the energetic Ryoma behind him. "This’ll fire you up even more, huh, Kintarō?"  

"Of course!"  

Atobe flipped his hair back with a smirk. "I was worried about a lack of support. Now we won’t have to worry about a dull atmosphere."  

Yukimura, Sanada, and the others radiated confidence.  

From the Nationals to U-17, they’d grown tremendously. Now, they were ready to face the world’s best.  

"Next, the nine-time World Cup champions—Team Germany!"  

The western entrance illuminated as a group in black jackets strode in, led by a sharp-eyed, bald young man.  

Their presence alone was suffocating.  

"Finally."  

On the eastern stands, a blond French player gently stroked his racket. "The biggest obstacle in our revolution."  

"Yeah."  

His two companions nodded grimly.  

This was France’s Big 4 team. The speaker—Léopold Camus—was their captain, a top-tier player rumored to be at pro level.  

"This year’s Germany is on another level," said Tristan Barthe, the muscular player beside him.  

"True."  

Dimitri Morel, the melancholic third member, agreed. "If only they’d drawn Switzerland or Britain first. Then we’d see Germany’s true strength."  

Camou shook his head.  

"Not necessarily. Don’t forget—he’s on Japan’s team now."  

Barthe and Morel stiffened, their eyes locking onto the massive figure in Japan’s lineup.  

"Duke… It really is him."  

Their expressions turned complicated.  

Originally, France had boasted the "European Twin Stars"—Camou and Duke.  

But Duke had left to follow someone to Japan.  

And now, that someone wasn’t even Japan’s leader anymore.  

"Does that mean… Japan has a third player on Duke’s level?"  

Chapter 403: Atobe’s Dominance Stuns the Crowd  

Soon, both teams’ players entered their designated rest areas.  

The spotlight shifted to the suited-up announcer, who declared in a booming voice:  

"This warm-up match consists of three rounds."  

"The rules require each team to field one high schooler and one middle schooler for a doubles match."  

"Now, let the first match begin!"  

"Representing Germany: Michael Bismarck (12th grade) and Elmar Seiffert (9th grade)."  

"Representing Japan: Gakuto Oshitari (12th grade) and Keigo Atobe (9th grade)."  

"Players, please prepare!"  

"It’s Captain Atobe!"  

When the announcer’s voice rang out and the names flashed on the north-side electronic display, Hiyoshi and Otori couldn’t contain their excitement.  

"And Oshitari-senpai too!"  

Mukahi was just as thrilled. "I never expected the first match to feature both captains from Hyotei!"  

Oshitari and Atobe—each represented a different era of Hyotei tennis, embodying distinct styles of play. No one had anticipated that the opening match would pit these two together.  

"DEUTSCHLAND!"  

"DEUTSCHLAND!"  

"DEUTSCHLAND!"  

However, compared to the Japanese team’s discussion, the crowd’s cheers for Germany were overwhelmingly loud.  

Some fervent fans even rolled up their sleeves, stood on their seats, and waved German flags with wild enthusiasm.  

"BISMARCK!"  

"SEIFFERT!"  

"GO GET 'EM!"  

"WOOOOO!!!"  

The roars of the crowd echoed like thunder across the stadium. Compared to this, the national tournaments the middle schoolers had experienced before were nothing in terms of sheer intensity.  

"T-This is the world stage?!"  

Momoshiro and Kirihara were stunned.  

Putting themselves in the players’ shoes, imagining stepping onto the court under such pressure, their bodies trembled uncontrollably.  

"Yeah," Oishi said with a sigh. "Most players wouldn’t be able to handle this kind of pressure."  

In an atmosphere like this, anyone with a fragile mentality would crumble at the first sign of adversity.  

"However," Yanagi from Rikkai interjected, "these two won’t have any issues with their mental game."  

Everyone nodded in agreement.  

The pair Japan had sent might not have been their absolute strongest, but they were undoubtedly reliable.  

Meanwhile, at the net...  

With no shared language between them, the players exchanged little conversation. After a coin toss, Germany won the right to choose.  

"Elmar," Bismarck said, turning to the boy beside him. "You pick."  

"Me?"  

Seiffert raised an eyebrow, glancing at the composed, handsome boy across the net before smirking. "I like this side of the court. What about you, senpai?"  

"Then we’ll take this side."  

Bismarck smiled and relayed their choice to the umpire in English.  

"Understood."  

The umpire nodded, then turned to Oshitari and Atobe. "Now, you two decide who serves first."  

"First serve?"  

Oshitari glanced at Atobe. "You take it."  

"Hn."  

Atobe accepted without hesitation.  

Soon, both teams took their positions.  

"Game set, one-match decider!"  

The umpire’s gaze settled on Japan’s side. "Japan’s Atobe to serve. Game start!"  

Tap… Tap… Tap…  

Atobe bounced the ball lightly, in no rush to begin. Instead, he studied his opponents carefully.  

While Oshitari didn’t understand German, Atobe—as the heir to a corporate empire—was fluent in multiple languages. He had caught every word of their exchange.  

More importantly, he had sensed the arrogance radiating from Seiffert, the German middle schooler.  

"Q.P.," Germany’s captain, Volk, said to the young man beside him. "How’s Elmar holding up?"  

"Should be fine," Q.P. replied calmly. "He spent all yesterday in intensive training. He’s likely moved past the beach court incident."  

"Good."  

Volk nodded.  

From Seiffert’s demeanor, he had indeed regained his usual confidence—arrogant, something Volk disliked, but at least it meant his player had grown.  

"Don’t let us down this time," Volk thought silently.  

Meanwhile, another tall, imposing player chuckled. "Elmar’s got potential. After the other day’s lesson, he should perform well today."  

Rudolf Becker—17 years old, Germany’s No. 3 player. In terms of technique, even Volk and Q.P. acknowledged his skill, placing him just behind Switzerland’s Amadeus in raw talent.  

"True," Q.P. agreed. "We’ll see how he does."  

On the court, Seiffert locked eyes with Atobe.  

"You’re pissed, aren’t you?" he taunted. "Then come at me!"  

In truth, his arrogance was a deliberate act. By conceding the serve, he had hoped to provoke Atobe into making reckless moves.  

His loss two days ago had taught him that middle schoolers could be formidable. So while he remained cautious inside, he put on a bold front—ready to strike the moment his opponent slipped up.  

Whoosh!  

Atobe moved.  

He tossed the ball high, arching his back until he was nearly parallel to the ground.  

Flicker… flicker… flicker…  

In Atobe’s eyes, the spinning ball shimmered with shifting colors.  

Then—flash!  

His gaze sharpened.  

With a powerful snap of his wrist, his racket—held perpendicular to the ground—lashed upward, striking the ball with precision.  

"Tannhäuser… Serve!"  

CRACK!  

The ball shot forward like a bullet.  

Whoosh—!  

It zigzagged unpredictably midair.  

"Oh?"  

Seiffert’s eyes narrowed. "Such variation… As expected, no one at this level is simple."  

"Too bad."  

"I’ve already seen through your trajectory!"  

Swish!  

He lunged, intercepting the ball at its landing point.  

As Germany’s No. 2 middle schooler, his reflexes were top-tier. With his preemptive move, he was certain he had it—  

Skrrrt—!  

But then… his body froze.  

The ball skidded beneath his racket, slipping past untouched. He barely avoided losing his balance.  

"Impossible!"  

Regaining his footing, Seiffert whirled around, staring in shock at the faint skid mark left by the ball.  

"15–0!"  

The umpire’s call rang out.  

The crowd fell silent, gaping at the composed, gray-haired boy on the court.  

"W-What kind of serve was that?!"  

"Wait, isn’t this a doubles match with one high schooler and one middle schooler?"  

"Is the tall one actually the middle schooler?!"  

Atobe’s serve was so overwhelming that some spectators mistakenly assumed Oshitari was the younger player. Absurd as it was, it seemed more plausible than a middle schooler pulling off such a move.  

"An impressive serve," Bismarck mused, analyzing quietly. "Extreme spin embedded in the ball, causing erratic bounce upon impact."  

"This kid’s no ordinary player."  

His gaze sharpened as he reassessed Atobe.  

The match resumed.  

Atobe served again—another Tannhäuser Serve. The ball landed, skidded, and left Seiffert rooted in place.  

"30–0!"  

"No way!"  

"Even Bismarck couldn’t return it?!"  

"Just how strong is this Japanese middle schooler?!"  

The crowd’s shock grew with each point.  

Seiffert was one thing, but Bismarck was a top-five high school player in Germany.  

"Tannhäuser… Serve!"  

Skrrrt—!  

The third serve.  

Another flawless execution. The ball slipped past Seiffert’s desperate attempt to intercept.  

"40–0!"  

"Hiss—"  

The spectators inhaled sharply.  

Atobe had taken three straight points with ease.  

"This middle schooler is exceptional," Volk admitted. "His technique rivals many high schoolers."  

"Indeed," Q.P. agreed. "His timing is impeccable. Even Bismarck couldn’t react in time."  

With this serve alone, Atobe could dominate most middle schoolers.  

"However," Q.P. added, "Bismarck won’t let him score again."  

CRACK!  

Sure enough, on the fourth serve—  

Bismarck seized the split-second opening. His racket grazed the ground, just barely returning the ball.  

"He returned it!"  

The crowd erupted.  

"See? No way Germany’s players would just stand there!"  

"That’s Bismarck for you—brilliant and composed. There’s no technique he can’t break down."  

"Now that the serve’s cracked, show Japan what real tennis looks like!"  

The audience roared, some even waving tattooed arms in excitement.  

"Good!"  

Atobe, however, only grinned.  

As the ball flew back, he dashed forward, meeting it with perfect timing.  

Whoosh!  

His return shot streaked past Seiffert’s backhand, landing squarely on the baseline.  

Thud-thud!  

But Bismarck was already there.  

"Nice return."  

He adjusted his grip and fired back—a heavy topspin shot aimed at the opposite corner.  

Whoosh!  

Yet before the ball even landed, Atobe was already in position.  

"So fast!"  

Some spectators blinked, barely processing his movement.  

CRACK!  

Atobe struck again, targeting Seiffert’s weak spot.  

"Damn it!"  

Seiffert gritted his teeth as the ball whizzed past his cheek.  

He felt humiliated.  

But there was nothing he could do.  

Atobe wasn’t even focusing on him—his real target was Bismarck. Seiffert was just a stepping stone, and the realization filled him with frustration.  

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!  

The rally intensified.  

Atobe and Bismarck traded blows, neither yielding.  

"No way…"  

"A middle schooler is keeping up with Bismarck?!"  

"His reflexes are insane—is he really just a kid?!"  

Bismarck, too, felt the pressure.  

Atobe’s reflexes and court vision were beyond ordinary. Most opponents would’ve buckled under his assault by now.  

"No wonder they put him in the first match."  

Bismarck’s eyes gleamed.  

"Then try keeping up with this!"  

CRACK!  

Suddenly, he accelerated.  

The ball tore through the air, distorting it slightly from sheer speed.  

BOOM!  

Before it even landed, the force of the shot kicked up dust around Atobe’s feet.  

Even Seiffert looked stunned—this was Bismarck shifting into high gear.  

"About time."  

Yet Atobe’s lips curled into a faint smirk.  

"You’ve left an opening, Germany’s elite."  

CRACK!  

In the midst of the dust, his racket flashed.  

The ball bulleted straight toward—  

Seiffert.  

"What?!"  

The German barely had time to react before—  

SLAP!  

The ball smashed into his racket handle.  

The impact sent a jolt of pain through his fingers, forcing him to drop it.  

Whoosh!  

At the same time, Atobe had already leaped into the air, racket raised high.  

"Behold—the pinnacle of beauty!"  

SMASH!  

The ball rocketed down, blasting past Seiffert before he could even move.  

"Game!"  

"Japan leads, 1–0! Change sides!"  

As the umpire announced the score, Atobe landed gracefully.  

The crowd could only stare in stunned silence.  

Chapter 404: The Realm of Selflessness is Strong? Don’t Make Me Laugh  

Silence.  

The vast stadium fell into an eerie, suffocating quiet.  

Even those who had held the highest regard for Japan’s team before the match never expected this—a single middle schooler was suppressing both of Germany’s players.  

"So…"  

On the German side, Q.P.’s brow twitched slightly. "His target was Siegfried from the very beginning?"  

This level of calculation didn’t seem like something a middle schooler could devise. Yet, from the start of the match until now, Keigo Atobe had been the sole executor of this strategy.  

"Keigo Atobe…"  

A glint flashed in Volk’s eyes. "I never imagined Japan would have such an outstanding middle schooler."  

"Indeed," Rudolph Becker agreed with a sigh.  

At their words, the high schoolers on the German team wore strange expressions. The middle schoolers, meanwhile, hung their heads low, unable to bear watching the match—only a handful could face the unfolding battle head-on.  

And for good reason.  

While Germany’s high schoolers were strong, their middle schoolers’ overall strength had been declining. The rule change in the World Cup—requiring at least three middle schoolers per official match—had only added to the pressure.  

That was why Volk couldn’t help but feel a tinge of melancholy and envy when he saw Atobe’s performance.  

"Damn it!"  

The second game began.  

With the serve now in his hands, Siegfried stood at the baseline, glaring at the smirking middle schooler across the net. "Using me as a stepping stone? Unforgivable!"  

Thwack!  

He hurled the ball forward in anger.  

Boom!  

But in the next instant—  

A flash of pale yellow light exploded at his feet. As the ball rocketed past him, Siegfried’s pupils shrank to pinpricks.  

"I—I can’t move?!"  

"0-15!"  

The umpire’s call echoed through the stadium. The crowd froze, staring in disbelief at Siegfried’s rigid form before shifting their awed gazes to the towering figure beside him.  

Tap.  

A hand landed on Siegfried’s shoulder. He looked up to see Bismarck’s stern eyes.  

"Calm down. Don’t let your emotions control the match."  

"I… I understand."  

Siegfried nodded, shame creeping into his voice. He had been too fixated on the middle schooler, completely overlooking the high schooler’s presence—a fatal mistake in a world-class match.  

"You’re right, Senior. I need to stay composed."  

Taking a deep breath, Siegfried steadied himself. Once he’d regained his focus, he glanced at his opponent and served again.  

Boom!  

Atobe returned it effortlessly.  

This time, his target wasn’t Bismarck—it was Siegfried at the baseline. In truth, the high schooler had never been his primary focus. His strategy was simple: dismantle the arrogant middle schooler first, then join forces with Mares to take down the high schooler.  

After just a few minutes of play, Atobe had already deciphered Siegfried’s temperament and playstyle.  

"He’s not weak… but that’s all."  

By pre-nationals standards (before Ryoma joined Rikkai), Siegfried might have been exceptional. But after the Nationals and U-17 training, the level of Japan’s middle schoolers had skyrocketed.  

In Atobe’s eyes, Siegfried was no better than Hiyoshi.  

Boom! 

Boom! 

Boom!  

The two traded blows across the court.  

To Atobe’s surprise, Siegfried’s endurance was better than expected—Hiyoshi would’ve crumbled by now. What he didn’t know was that Siegfried’s humiliating loss to Mutsu had forced him to train relentlessly, patching his weaknesses.  

Otherwise, he would have been crushed already.  

But even so, exhaustion soon began to weigh on him.  

"How…? How is he this strong?"  

Siegfried stared at his opponent in disbelief. Watching Atobe and Bismarck duel earlier, their movements hadn’t seemed that fast—he’d assumed he could keep up.  

Now, facing Atobe himself, he realized just how wrong he’d been. The blistering pace, the suffocating rhythm—it was overwhelming.  

Boom!  

Another flash of yellow at his feet.  

"0-30!"  

"He’s completely outmatched!"  

In the stands, Valentin raised an eyebrow. "Isn’t this guy Germany’s No. 2 middle schooler? This is all he’s got?"  

"He’s actually not bad," Dood replied, shaking his head. "How many of our middle schoolers could hold their own at this level?"  

"True. Real talent is rare," Reinhard agreed, his gaze lingering on Atobe with a flicker of envy before cooling. "It’s not that Germany’s player is weak—it’s that Japan’s middle schooler is just that strong."  

The gap was undeniable. In every aspect, Siegfried was a full tier below Atobe.  

"Again!"  

On the court, Siegfried gritted his teeth and served once more.  

His stamina was lacking, his resilience insufficient—but one thing burned brighter in him than anyone else: his will to win.  

Losing to Mares? He could blame the age difference.  

But being crushed by Atobe? That ignited something primal in him.  

And when a player’s fighting spirit surged, their abilities often rose to match.  

Boom! 

Boom! 

Boom!  

The rallies grew fiercer, Siegfried’s attacks sharper. He was finding his rhythm, his confidence swelling with each strike.  

"Interesting."  

Atobe’s eyes narrowed. Siegfried’s tempo had surpassed normal national-level play, and that piqued his interest.  

Boom!  

A shot aimed at Siegfried’s backhand. The German adjusted swiftly, returning it—  

But it was a trap. Atobe’s real strike came the moment Siegfried’s footing faltered.  

Crack!  

Another point stolen.  

"0-40!"  

"N-no way!"  

"Elmar’s… completely outclassed!" 

"This skill… Is he really a middle schooler?"  

The German team’s expressions darkened, their middle schoolers especially feeling the weight of Siegfried’s struggle.  

Yet, unlike the others, Becker—Germany’s No. 3—smiled.  

"He’s finally waking up."  

"Mhm." Q.P. nodded.  

To everyone else, Siegfried was being dominated. But to them, he’d finally entered the match. At this stage, individual points mattered little.  

In fact, Bismarck had likely realized this too—why else would he stay out of Siegfried’s way despite the lost points?  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

Siegfried bounced the ball at the baseline.  

His body was warmed up now, his senses honed. And deep inside, something was stirring—something powerful.  

"I have to get stronger!"  

"For Germany’s ten consecutive titles—and for my future as a tennis player!"  

Hum.  

Without warning, a milky-white aura erupted around him.  

"What’s that?!"  

"That glow… Did Siegfried break through to a new level?!"  

"It must be! His opponent’s strength forced his potential out!"  

The crowd roared to life, excitement electrifying the air.  

Whoosh!  

Siegfried tossed the ball high, then bent low—his body parallel to the ground.  

"This stance…"  

The German middle schoolers’ eyes widened.  

SNAP!  

Like a coiled spring released, Siegfried shot upright—  

Boom!  

—and fired a serve with a flawless, soaring arc.  

"So fast!"  

"That trajectory… Is this that Japanese middle schooler’s technique?!"  

Skid!  

Instead of bouncing, the ball skimmed the court’s surface, shooting forward like a bullet.  

"It is!"  

"Wait, does Siegfried know that move too?!"  

"No—it’s his new state! It’s altering his play!"  

The spectators buzzed with theories, many turning to Atobe, expecting panic at seeing his signature move copied.  

But Atobe’s face remained impassive.  

"The Realm of Selflessness, huh?"  

He eyed the white aura swirling around Siegfried, then sighed.  

"I overestimated you."  

Boom!  

In a blur, he intercepted the ball—  

—and slammed it straight at Siegfried’s feet.  

"H-huh?!"  

Siegfried stood frozen, unable to move a muscle. He could only watch helplessly as the ball shot past him.  

"Game!"  

"Japan leads, 2-0!"  

Boooo!  

The stadium erupted in jeers—directed squarely at Siegfried. The crowd’s disappointment was palpable.  

"W-what… just happened…?"  

Siegfried stared at his hands, numb. His mind was blank—he couldn’t even process how he’d lost the point.  

Tap.  

Bismarck’s hand landed on his shoulder again.  

"Senior, I—"  

"It’s fine," Bismarck cut in, voice icy. "Just get used to your new state. From now on, follow my lead."  

"…Yes."  

Siegfried swallowed his excuses. He’d wasted Bismarck’s patience. Even with this new power, he’d been useless.  

"That guy… He’s too strong."  

A shiver ran down his spine as he stared at Atobe. The pressure radiating off him reminded Siegfried of that glasses-wearing player from the beach courts—no, this was worse.  

Boom!  

Third game.  

Mares’ serve.  

Since this was an exhibition match and Japan held the advantage, he held back his full power.  

Yet even this was enough to put Bismarck on edge.  

"This high schooler… He’s no ordinary player."  

Tracking the ball’s trajectory, Bismarck’s mind raced. With Germany at a disadvantage, his gaze locked onto Atobe.  

"Then you’re the weak link."  

Boom!  

He fired a brutal shot straight at Atobe.  

His plan was simple: eliminate the middle schooler first, turn this into a singles match, then focus on Mares.  

Crack!  

But in the next instant—  

A yellow streak exploded at Bismarck’s feet.  

"15-0!"  

Silence.  

Even Bismarck stood stunned, staring at the composed boy across the net.  

"He… saw through my blind spot?!"  

Chapter 405: The Two Captains Join Forces, Defeating a Powerful Opponent  

"How is this possible? Senior Bismarck didn’t even react?"  

Outside the court, the crowd stared in shock at the clear white mark left by the ball near Bismarck’s feet.  

"Weakness perception?" Q.P narrowed his eyes, studying Atobe closely. "I didn’t expect this boy to have such an ability hidden up his sleeve."  

"Indeed."  

Borg nodded in agreement.  

With his keen insight, he could tell that beneath Atobe’s flashy playstyle lay a solid foundation of fundamentals. Otherwise, the boy wouldn’t have been able to suppress Schäfer so effortlessly.  

"However," the German team’s captain added after a pause, shaking his head, "with Bismarck’s skill, he’ll quickly adapt to prevent his blind spots from being exploited."  

Weaknesses were always relative.  

No matter how sharp the opponent’s perception might be, it meant nothing in the face of an overwhelming gap in strength.  

Thud!  

But the next moment, Mōri’s serve scored a direct point against Schäfer.  

"30-0!"  

"This isn’t looking good."  

Up in the stands, France’s handsome high schooler, Barte, frowned. "Bismarck is strong, no doubt, but dragging around dead weight like this only makes things harder."  

"This is the problem with pairing high schoolers and middle schoolers," their captain, Camus, mused, thinking on a deeper level. "Team composition must be carefully considered. Even if the overall strength is superior, a flawed lineup can be fatal."  

"Right."  

The two nodded solemnly.  

This was a common issue for the Big Four. Their overwhelming dominance in the high school division had begun to shift with the introduction of middle schoolers.  

Of course, given their legacy, the Big Four’s middle schoolers were still among the strongest.  

But after watching Japan’s performance today, Camus felt a growing sense of unease.  

Thanks to Duke, he had studied Japan’s team closely. And recently, a shocking rumor had been circulating—Japan’s captain was a middle schooler!  

If true, it meant Japan’s overall strength this year would be terrifying.  

"Watch closely," Camus said, his gaze fixed on the court. "This match might take an unexpected turn."  

Thud!  

Mōri served again.  

Bismarck steeled himself and returned the ball with full force. Given the current situation, he could no longer afford to play casually.  

Whoosh!  

As the ball flew back, the German ace narrowed his eyes.  

At this point, he had three tactical options:  

• Crush the opposing high schooler outright.  

• Target the middle schooler as the weak link.  

• Take on both opponents alone. 

The third option was instantly dismissed. Despite his confidence, Bismarck wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he could overpower both at once.  

Normally, he’d challenge the high schooler directly—but his instincts warned him that Mōri was dangerous.  

During the match, the tall Japanese player exuded a faint but unmistakable pressure.  

Bismarck feared that a drawn-out duel with Mōri would leave him vulnerable to the middle schooler’s interference.  

He couldn’t guarantee that, while distracted, his blind spots would remain hidden.  

So, his original plan stood.  

If he had to defeat one of them first, he’d choose the middle schooler.  

Not only was the boy weaker, but his skill was unnaturally advanced for his age. If possible, Bismarck wouldn’t mind planting a seed of doubt in his mind before the tournament even began.  

Shink!  

With that thought, a sharp glint flashed in Bismarck’s eyes.  

The moment Mōri returned the ball, he accelerated instantly, closing the distance in a blink.  

"He’s so fast!"  

Japan’s middle schoolers gasped from the stands. None had expected the German player to suddenly unleash such speed.  

"Is he getting serious?"  

In the rest area, Inui’s expression tightened. "Who is his target? Mōri-senpai?"  

That was everyone’s first assumption.  

Swoosh!  

Bismarck swung his racket. At first, the motion seemed slow, but as the swing progressed, the speed increased exponentially—until the racket became a blur.  

"What kind of swing is that?!"  

The crowd was stunned.  

Then—  

BANG!  

The ball transformed into a streak of pale blue light, tearing across the court and appearing right in front of—  

Atobe!  

"No! His target is Atobe (the captain)?!"  

Many on Japan’s team paled.  

Thud!  

But just as the German players and spectators were convinced Bismarck’s ambush would score—  

A crisp ping echoed as the ball was intercepted.  

"I say," Atobe smirked, holding his racket steady with one hand, "you’re underestimating me a bit too much, aren’t you?"  

Hummm!  

A golden aura erupted around him.  

BOOM!  

The ball shot back like a beam of light, exploding at Bismarck’s feet.  

"What?!"  

"He returned that?!"  

"Wait… this form… Was he hiding his strength all along?!"  

Shock rippled through the crowd.  

Even Borg and Q.P’s expressions shifted slightly.  

"This brat!"  

Bismarck was equally stunned.  

He hadn’t expected Atobe to have such a trump card. But there was no turning back now—he intensified his assault, aiming to crush the meddlesome middle schooler before Mōri could intervene.  

Thud! Thud! Thud!  

Yet despite the relentless barrage, Atobe held his ground. Though visibly strained, he matched Bismarck blow for blow.  

"Impossible!"  

Several German players gaped in disbelief.  

Bismarck himself was taken aback. He was already using 60% of his power—and according to Borg’s pre-match instructions, 80% was the upper limit for this warm-up.  

Yes, he was confident he could win at 80%. But he was Germany’s vice-captain, a player preparing to turn pro after the World Cup.  

And now, a middle schooler was holding him off?  

Worse, if the high schooler joined in, even 80% might not be enough.  

A cold sweat formed on Bismarck’s brow as he glanced toward Mōri.  

Tap!  

Just then, Atobe dropped a delicate short shot.  

"Tch!"  

Schäfer cursed inwardly and rushed forward.  

"Elmar, hold the baseline. I’ll take this one."  

But Bismarck was faster. Darting to the net, he barely managed to lob the ball back before it bounced twice.  

Now at a disadvantage, he braced himself—Atobe was already airborne, poised for a smash.  

The situation was dire.  

Yet Bismarck remained ice-cold.  

He knew the only way out was a high-risk play. If he could survive this smash, his net position would let him dictate the next phase.  

Besides, he’d given Schäfer enough time to prepare.  

"Don’t worry, Bismarck-senpai!"  

At the baseline, Schäfer’s resolve hardened.  

Watching Atobe’s smash stance, he thought, This time, I won’t fall for your tricks. I will return this smash!  

Hummm!  

As his focus peaked, a fierce aura radiated from Schäfer.  

"As expected of Germany’s No. 2!"  

The spectators nodded in approval.  

Schäfer wasn’t untalented—and under Atobe’s pressure, his latent abilities were awakening.  

Even Borg and Q.P looked pleased.  

BANG!  

Atobe’s smash descended.  

Schäfer’s eyes gleamed as his reflexes sharpened. The ball’s trajectory burned into his vision with crystal clarity.  

"I’ve seen through your smash!"  

His racket swung—  

Skid…  

But instead of rebounding, the ball skidded along the ground.  

"40-0!"  

Silence.  

The stadium froze.  

"And there it is."  

Hiyoshi from Hyōtei smirked. "Atobe-buchō’s [Lost in the Darkness of the Depths]!"  

"As expected of our captain."  

Mukahi grinned proudly.  

Watching their leader shine on the world stage against Germany, the Hyōtei members couldn’t help but swell with pride.  

"Speaking of which…"  

Mizuki from St. Rudolph twirled a lock of hair, puzzled. "Is Germany’s middle schooler really this weak?"  

"Well… yeah."  

Kawamura scratched his head.  

Schäfer’s performance made him feel like even he could’ve taken the guy.  

"Or perhaps," Yanagi from Rikkai adjusted his glasses, "Atobe, Yukimura, and Tezuka have simply grown at an accelerated rate?"  

"…Huh."  

The group blinked, then glanced toward the rest area—where a certain black-haired boy stood at the center, smiling faintly.  

Right.  

This was the same player who had risen from Hyōtei, pushing everyone in his wake. Under his influence, even previously average players like Kawamura and Mizuki had reached national-level strength.  

And for prodigies like Atobe? Their growth was even more staggering.  

"Maybe…"  

Mizuki hesitated, then fell silent.  

Others, like Yanagi and Kawamura, exchanged glances, excitement flickering in their eyes.  

Thud!  

Soon after, Mōri scored another ace, sealing the third game.  

"Game!"  

"Japan leads, 3-0. Change sides."  

Winning three straight games boosted Japan’s morale—while leaving the German camp and their fans in disbelief.  

Was the scoreboard malfunctioning?  

The nine-time World Cup champions hadn’t taken a single game yet?!  

The pressure mounted on Bismarck.  

Germany’s vice-captain finally abandoned restraint. By the fourth game, he was fighting at 80% strength.  

BANG!  

But then—Mōri struck back.  

He engaged Bismarck head-on, and after a fierce exchange, both sides claimed a game each.  

Still, Japan maintained a 4-1 lead.  

However, once Bismarck adapted to Mōri’s style, his superior technique began to show. He steadily gained the upper hand.  

BANG! BANG! BANG!  

Yet just as Bismarck seemed to take control—  

Atobe moved.  

The two captains synced, turning the tables and pinning Bismarck down.  

CRACK!  

An invisible pillar of ice beside Bismarck shattered, dissolving into mist.  

"Game!"  

"Japan leads, 5-1!"  

"No way…"  

"Japan’s this strong?!"  

Newcomers to the match rubbed their eyes, doubting the scoreboard.  

Hummm!  

In the decisive game, Bismarck unleashed his full aura, finally breaking past the 80% limit.  

But Mōri responded in kind—sweeping his bangs aside, revealing his other eye, gleaming with lethal intensity.  

"…?!"  

Bismarck stiffened under the sudden pressure.  

Despite the fierce battle, Germany’s vice-captain clawed back one game with sheer skill.  

2-5.  

"Freeze."  

Atobe struck again.  

Empowered by his Emperor’s Aura, his [World of Ice] now shimmered with gold—exposing Bismarck’s weaknesses with even greater clarity.  

BANG!  

A brilliant yellow light erupted between Bismarck’s legs.  

"Match over."  

"Japan’s Mōri Tsukimitsu and Atobe Keigo win, 6-2!"  

"OOOOOH!!!"  

Japan’s middle schoolers erupted in cheers.  

Smack!  

On the court, Mōri and Atobe shared a firm high-five, nodding in mutual respect.  

"We… lost?"  

Schäfer stood frozen, his spirit shattered, until a grim-faced Bismarck dragged him off.  

"So," a tall, blond player approached Bismarck with a smirk, "you weren’t going all out, were you, Michael?"  

No way a semi-pro like Bismarck would lose while carrying dead weight.  

"Doesn’t matter."  

Bismarck shook his head. "Those two weren’t at full strength either. And if we’d kept going… something dangerous might’ve awakened."  

"Oh?"  

Becker raised an eyebrow.  

But Bismarck didn’t elaborate.  

Instead, he glanced back at Japan’s rest area, where Mōri and Atobe had disappeared.  

He wasn’t lying.  

When Atobe had shattered his weaknesses, Bismarck had felt it—a terrifying premonition, as if the duo’s abilities were on the verge of mutating into something monstrous.  

(End of Chapter.)