331-335

Chapter 331: The Final Stop of the Expedition – A Mysterious Figure Appears (Part 1)  

Time flew by.  

Three days had passed.  

While the atmosphere at the U-17 training camp remained unchanged, the expedition team led by Ishikawa had already left the Maldives after a short break and headed to their final destination—Macau, China.  

Unlike most U-17 teams, China’s setup was unique. In addition to the main national team, there were three other registered squads: Macau, Hong Kong, and Taipei.  

However, apart from the main team and Taipei, the other two teams were relatively weak.  

This final match against Macau was more of a friendly exhibition than a serious competition.  

After discussing with Mitsuya, Ishikawa decided to field the bottom ten players from Japan’s first-string lineup. After three days of rest, they were fully recovered—especially the Marui brothers, who hadn’t gotten a chance to play in the Maldives. The moment they stepped off the plane, they were already itching for action.  

Normally, the expedition team would take a day to rest before a match.  

But this time, the venue and timing were… unusual.  

That night, when the team followed the staff to the top of a skyscraper, they were stunned.  

"We’re playing… up here?" Genjiro gaped.  

They stood atop the tallest building in the city, surrounded by flashing neon lights. Above them, helicopters circled noisily.  

Whoosh—!  

The fierce winds at this height made everyone tense.  

"This environment will truly test a player’s skills," Mitsuya, the team’s strategist, remarked solemnly. "Wind speed, visibility, and overcoming the fear of heights—this won’t be easy for outsiders."  

The top ten players remained unfazed, but the lower-ranked members—especially Akitsuki—flinched slightly.  

"Don’t worry," Ishikawa reassured them. "Just treat this as a normal match and play freely."  

"That’s right," even the usually silent Mouri chimed in. "Focus on the game. Ignore everything else."  

Hearing this, Hakamada and Hirazen took deep breaths, steadying themselves.  

Soon, a group of players in white-and-green jackets (emblazoned with lotus designs) approached.  

Fully aware of Japan’s dominant winning streak, they looked tense.  

The match began.  

The Macau team fought hard, but they were outmatched from the start.  

• Singles 3: Mitsuya won 6-3, 2-6, 3-6 with ease.  

• Doubles 2: The powerhouse duo of Date and Ban overwhelmed their opponents—one even had to retire mid-match due to a wrist injury.  

• Singles 2: The Macau player went all out, launching desperate, high-risk attacks. 

Whoosh—!  

The howling winds at this height made every shot unpredictable.  

His bold playstyle earned him the first set: 6-4 against Furuhata Iron.  

But in the second set, Furuhata got serious.  

Lifting his self-imposed 60% power limit, he matched his opponent’s aggression with his own relentless offense.  

The two clashed in a fierce exchange, but Furuhata’s superior fundamentals prevailed. He took the second set 6-3.  

Defeat was inevitable.  

The Macau player’s fighting spirit wavered, replaced by despair. Though the crowd’s cheers briefly reignited his resolve, it wasn’t enough.  

BAM!  

In a last-ditch effort, he unleashed his strongest technique.  

"Bold move, attacking against the wind," Furuhata smirked. Then, his eyes snapped open.  

BAM!  

With a sharp counter, he returned the shot with identical trajectory—but now, aided by the wind, the ball blasted past his opponent.  

THUD!  

The Macau player collapsed, struck by his own move.  

Chaos erupted.  

Medical staff rushed in, and after a quick examination, the player was carried off on a stretcher.  

The referee exchanged glances with Macau’s head coach, ready to call the match—  

"Hm?"  

But then, a black-jacketed young man casually strolled onto Macau’s side of the court.  

"Who…?"  

Even the head coach was baffled.  

Was this guy one of theirs?  

But he had no memory of such a player.  

Was he from Japan?  

But the match was already over!  

Both teams assumed the stranger belonged to the other side.  

"Oh?"  

Hearing no announcement, Furuhata smirked. "What’s this? A last-minute substitution?"  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

The stranger stood at the baseline, casually tossing a ball—  

Wait.  

Not a ball.  

An orange.  

"Switch out. You’re no match for me."  

His words, spoken in flawless Japanese, stunned Furuhata.  

"This guy…"  

Squinting past the glare, Furuhata noticed the stranger’s jacket wasn’t Macau’s green—it was black.  

"A gatecrasher?"  

Furuhata’s expression darkened.  

Whoever this was, he was clearly here to challenge Japan.  

As the strongest of the bottom ten, Furuhata wasn’t about to back down.  

And that condescending tone?  

It pissed him off.  

"Now I get why Enjou’s always so irritable," he muttered, grinning. "Fine. I’ll ‘interrogate’ you with my racket."  

"Heh."  

The stranger smirked.  

Then—  

He tossed the orange and smashed it toward Furuhata.  

"Bring it!"  

Furuhata dashed forward, ready to return it with full force—  

"Huh?!"  

But at the last second, he realized—  

That wasn’t a tennis ball.  

It was just an orange.  

"You’ve got to be kidding me!"  

Furious, Furuhata swung harder, determined to teach this arrogant fool a lesson—  

CRACK!  

The moment his racket connected—  

His face twisted in shock.  

"This… power…? IMPOSSIBLE—!"  

BOOM!  

A deafening explosion of force erupted.  

Furuhata was blown backward, crashing into the skyscraper’s glass wall—which shattered into spiderweb cracks on impact.  

"FURUHATA!!"  

The Japanese team panicked.  

Date and Ban rushed to check on him, while Hakamada—originally slated for Singles 1—raised his racket in fury.  

"You bastard! What did you do?!"  

But unlike his usual hotheadedness, Hakamada hesitated.  

He knew Furuhata was stronger than him.  

If this guy one-shotted Furuhata…  

Would he even stand a chance?  

"Step back, Hakamada."  

A calm voice cut through the tension.  

"You’re no match for him."  

Hakamada exhaled in relief.  

Footsteps.  

A tall, black-and-red-jacketed figure walked onto the court—Ishikawa.  

"Finally," the stranger grinned. "I had zero interest in those small fries. But you? The one who replaced Byoudouin? Now you’ve got my attention."  

"Sir," the referee interrupted sternly. "This area is restricted. If you want to play, find another venue."  

Ishikawa turned to Macau’s head coach.  

"May we borrow the court for a quick… private matter?"  

After a pause, the coach nodded. "Make it fast."  

"Thanks."  

Ishikawa then faced the stranger.  

"We’re short on time. If you want a match, we either reschedule—or settle this in one point."  

"One point it is."  

The stranger—Ryoga Echizen, the rogue American player who had wreaked havoc in the Philippines—smirked.  

His original target had been Byoudouin.  

But with Ishikawa taking the lead, his curiosity was piqued.  

He’d traveled all this way to test this new prodigy—and eliminate any potential threats.  

"Since we’re in a hurry," Ryoga said, "serve whenever you’re ready."  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

Ishikawa bounced the ball calmly.  

The Japanese team tensed.  

The Macau squad watched in awe.  

Even the head coach leaned forward, sensing something extraordinary.  

"This match…"  

Might just redefine their understanding of tennis.  

Whoosh—  

Ishikawa tossed the ball—  

And swung.  

THWACK!  

The serve blurred, trailing a faint ghostly glow.  

"This technique…?"  

The Japanese team recognized it instantly.  

"No, wait!" Mouri realized. "This isn’t ‘Phantom’ or ‘Karma’—it doesn’t affect us!"  

But Mouri’s sharp eyes caught something else—  

A subtle pulse of mental energy, reminiscent of India’s "Phantom Strike".  

"Could it be…?"  

His gaze locked onto Ishikawa.  

"Here it comes."  

Ryoga tracked the ball’s trajectory—  

Then froze.  

The glowing tennis ball rippled like water—  

And vanished.  

"Hmph. Nothing truly disappears."  

Ryoga had seen countless "invisible" techniques before.  

All were mere illusions.  

But then—  

SPLASH!  

The "water" erupted.  

A tall, black-clad figure emerged—  

Long hair tied back, wielding a racket like a samurai sword.  

Ryoga’s blood ran cold.  

"F-Father?!"  

Chapter 332: One Point to Decide It All – Three Ships’ Decision  

At this moment, Ryoga Echizen was utterly stunned.  

He never expected to see him here—the father he revered more than anyone. And not just any version of him, but the man in his prime.  

No… That’s not right.  

A second later, Ryoga snapped back to reality.  

This is an illusion.  

His father couldn’t possibly be here. Time couldn’t have reversed. That left only one explanation: he had fallen into an illusion created by his opponent.  

Instinctively, he bit his tongue, jolting himself awake.  

Whoosh!  

At the same time, the tennis ball bounced past him. Without hesitation, Ryoga narrowed his eyes and swung his racket.  

"What?!"  

The Japanese team was shocked.  

"He broke out of it?!" 

"Seriously?!" 

"His mental strength is insane!"  

This was the [Illusion] that Ryoma had unleashed—far more potent than the version Sharma had used. Yet, this mysterious player had shaken it off in an instant.  

Swish!  

But when Ryoga’s racket connected with the ball, he felt no impact.  

"Damn it!"  

His heart pounded as his pupils contracted.  

"Still an illusion?!" 

"No… This ball was a decoy. I’ve been tricked—"  

The realization hit him just as he caught a glimpse of movement to his left. There, materializing out of thin air, was the real tennis ball.  

A phantom.  

Like a reflection on water—an afterimage so flawless it had completely fooled him.  

Tap… tap… tap…  

The ball landed softly and rolled away.  

"It’s… over?!"  

The spectators were speechless. No one had expected this one-point duel to end so abruptly. The intense battle they’d imagined—a high-stakes showdown atop a skyscraper—had concluded in the blink of an eye.  

"My win."  

Ryoma gave Ryoga a calm glance before turning and walking back to the Japanese team.  

Silence hung in the air.  

The players from both teams, along with the spotlight from the hovering helicopter, fixed their gazes on Ryoga. His emotions were a tangled mess—shock, disbelief, and an undeniable hint of humiliation.  

He had lost.  

Right in front of everyone. If not for his ironclad composure, he might’ve wanted to vanish on the spot.  

"Let’s go."  

Ryoma didn’t spare Ryoga another glance. Knowing the other’s history, he understood that this drifter—who’d bounced between the U.S. and Spanish teams—wasn’t someone who could be recruited.  

Like Byoudouin, Ryoga was a wanderer, bound only to Ryoma Echizen and Nanjiro Echizen. But unlike Byoudouin, who carried a dream and unshakable resolve, Ryoga was a wildcard.  

Given the chaos he’d caused in the U.S. U-17 in the original timeline, Ryoga’s presence would only destabilize the team. No matter how strong he was, Ryoma had no interest in him.  

"He’s… just leaving?!"  

Ryoga was stunned.  

His plan had been simple: appear during Japan’s final远征 (expedition) match, defeat one of their representatives, and earn the captain’s attention. Alternatively, he could’ve stolen Ryoma’s abilities mid-match.  

But neither had worked.  

Watching the Japanese team walk away, the self-proclaimed "assassin" who’d traveled thousands of miles found himself standing alone in crushing awkwardness.  

Meanwhile, in the elevator…  

"Captain," Mitsuya finally spoke up. "Did you consider recruiting him?"  

That mysterious player was undeniably strong. Despite losing to Ryoma, he’d taken down Fuwa Tetsuhito in a single point—a feat few in the top 10 could match. As the team’s strategist, Mitsuya saw potential in bringing him aboard, especially since he likely held Japanese citizenship.  

"No need." Ryoma’s voice was firm. "He’s not that simple. Also, everyone—"  

He paused, scanning the group with a serious expression.  

"I advise you not to play against him. His tennis… is terrifying."  

Terrifying?!  

The team tensed.  

They knew Ryoma’s strength—he’d even defeated Byoudouin. That deceptive, illusionary serve he’d just used was proof of his skill. Yet, he still gave Ryoga such a grave warning. Even the usually flippant Kaji grew solemn.  

"I have a feeling," Ryoma added, glancing back toward the rooftop, "we’ll see him again soon."  

A heavy silence settled over the group, an unspoken pressure weighing on them.  

Back on the rooftop…  

Ryoga stared at the distant neon lights, his mind replaying the match.  

He had lost.  

It was just one point, but he’d been completely outplayed by that serve. And if not for his mental fortitude, the psychological blow might’ve taken him a week to recover from.  

"Shin Ryoma."  

After crossing oceans to meet him, Ryoga had finally faced the enigmatic player who’d replaced Byoudouin as Japan’s远征 (expedition) leader.  

This encounter shattered his assumptions.  

This wasn’t just a substitute—Ryoma had taken Byoudouin’s place. During their exchange, Ryoga had clearly seen the golden [No.1] badge gleaming on his collar.  

"Just who is he?"  

Ryoga pondered deeply, comparing himself to Ryoma. Despite his confidence in his own talent, he had to admit—Ryoma’s potential matched his own.  

"Among high schoolers, only Medanore’s天赋 (genius) rivals his."  

Records suggested Ryoma was a first-year, around Ryoga’s age. And in all his travels, Ryoga had only met one other person on that level—Spain’s "Genius Heretic," Medanore.  

But someone like Ryoma, if left unchecked, would become unstoppable.  

"Hah…"  

The cold wind bit at his skin as Ryoga pulled out his phone and dialed.  

"Hey, old man. I need a favor." 

"I’m heading to Japan’s U-17." 

"Yeah." 

"It’s about my status." 

"Thanks."  

Meanwhile, at U-17’s Cliff of Conviction…  

The middle schoolers had finished their daytime training, but after dinner, they weren’t allowed to rest. Instead, Oni forced them to the cliff’s edge for post-meal drills.  

"Oni."  

A gruff voice called out.  

Oni immediately turned and approached.  

"Coach Nyudo." He nodded respectfully. "What do you need?"  

"Time’s up." Three Ships’ voice was firm. "Take these brats back tomorrow morning."  

Oni’s brow lifted. "They’re returning?"  

"Mhm." Three Ships clapped his shoulder. "You and Inui should head back too. And this time—go all out in the ranking matches."  

All out?!  

Oni’s eyes sharpened, but before he could ask more, Three Ships walked away.  

"Gulp… gulp…"  

The head coach took a long swig of sake, a faint smirk playing on his lips.  

"Never thought he’d come to me for help." 

"Ryoga Echizen, huh?" 

"Let’s see if you can stir the pot enough."  

Chapter 333: The Return of the Black Jackets (Part 1)  

The next day. 

5:30 AM.  

The sky was still dark, and thick fog enveloped the cliffs of Heart’s Peak. Inside the cave, the defeated high schoolers slept soundly, completely unaware of the movement outside.  

"Yaaawn~"  

Amidst the mist stood a group of boys in white T-shirts. One of them rubbed his bleary eyes and grumbled, "What’s the big idea, Oni-san? Why’d you wake us up so early?"  

Lately, they’d been waking up at 6 AM sharp, their bodies locked into a strict routine. Waking up half an hour earlier left them groggy and disoriented.  

Yawning and sluggish, they all looked half-asleep.  

THUD!  

Oni didn’t answer. Instead, he tossed a large cardboard box in front of them.  

"Huh?"  

The ever-curious Hyōgo stepped forward to check and gasped. "Our uniforms?!"  

"Correct," Oni said sternly. "By Coach Inui’s orders, your training is complete. You’re leaving today."  

Leaving?!  

For a moment, they thought they’d misheard. They stared at Oni, searching his face—cold, stern, and intimidating as ever—before realizing it was true.  

"Finally, we’re going back!"  

Mukahi nearly jumped for joy. Even the usually stoic Kabaji couldn’t hide his relief.  

"At last!"  

Sanada, Yanagi, and the others were just as thrilled.  

The past month of training had been hell—nothing but drills, meals, and sleep. They’d been like wind-up toys, repeating the same grueling routine day after day.  

And now…  

They were finally free.  

Watching their reactions, Irie smiled. "Hurry up and change. We’re leaving."  

"We?"  

The sharp-eyed Echizen caught the implication. "You’re coming back with us?"  

"Yeah."  

Oni gave a single nod.  

Whoosh!  

The middle schoolers exchanged glances.  

After training under these two, they knew just how terrifyingly strong they were—bottomless didn’t even begin to describe it.  

In many ways, Oni and Irie had been their real coaches, the reason their skills had skyrocketed.  

And now…  

They were returning too.  

Some of them could already picture it—the two leading them to absolute domination.  

Even the usually stern Sanada couldn’t suppress his excitement.  

2:30 PM.  

At the U-17 training camp, afternoon drills were in full swing across all courts. The top four courts trained the hardest, but among them, Courts 4 and 2 were especially tense.  

There was a reason.  

Under Byōdōin’s brutal regime, the middle schoolers of Court 5 had become monsters, radiating sheer killer instinct.  

Meanwhile, Courts 3 and 1 had Duke and Tanegashima holding the fort—if things went south, at least the big guns would handle it.  

But their courts?  

Their leaders could barely hold their own against the lower-ranked members of the Elite 10. At this rate, they wouldn’t even need Byōdōin to step in—the middle schoolers alone could wipe them out.  

"Move it, move it!"  

In Court 2, Udon—one of the court’s leaders—barked at his players. "Slacking off won’t cut it against those middle school brats! Pick up the pace!"  

Exhaustion weighed on him.  

Lately, he’d been having nightmares about facing Court 5 in a shuffle match—with Byōdōin as his opponent. Every time he dreamed of that golden tennis ball hurtling toward him, he’d wake up in a cold sweat.  

"Give me a break…"  

Rubbing his temples, he muttered Ōmori’s catchphrase under his breath.  

Right now, he wanted nothing to do with being a court leader.  

"At least the overseas squad should be back soon."  

That thought gave him some relief. "Byōdōin’s real target is them. A guy like him wouldn’t settle for losing."  

Most likely, the middle schoolers were just pawns in Byōdōin’s plan to take down the Elite 10.  

Then again…  

There was always the chance he’d go after Court 2 first.  

After all, Byōdōin had made it clear—only those who earned his approval could challenge the Elite 10.  

Watching his players push through drills, Udon sighed. "Just hang on until the others return…"  

BANG!  

Suddenly, the court’s iron gate was slammed open.  

"Huh?!"  

Udon whipped around, instantly on edge—until he saw it was just a heavyset guy in a black jacket.  

"Phew… Not Court 5."  

Lately, he’d been having nightmares about this exact scenario. He’d even studied Court 5’s players to prepare.  

"Still…"  

His eyes narrowed. "If you’re not from Court 5, who the hell do you think you are, barging into Court 2 like this?"  

For the first time in days, Udon felt a flicker of confidence. As one of the camp’s top players—a regular in shuffle matches—he had every reason to be self-assured.  

Arms crossed, he glared at the dark-skinned intruder with icy disdain.  

"Which court is this?"  

"Doesn’t matter. Oni-san said any court’s fine."  

"Right. From now on, this is our turf!"  

Before Udon could react, a group of boys with brightly colored hair filed in behind the first guy.  

"You little—!"  

The Court 2 players, finally snapping out of their shock, bristled at the audacity.  

"Hey!"  

Udon’s patience wore thin. "Which court are you from?"  

"Court?" A boy with brown mushroom-cut hair smirked. "We don’t belong to any court. But starting today, this one’s ours!"  

"If you’ve got a problem with that," added a redheaded boy, "we can settle it on the court!"  

THUD! THUD! THUD!  

More black-jacketed boys poured in.  

"These guys…"  

Udon’s expression darkened.  

Their arrogance was unbelievable. He was ready to teach them a lesson—  

"Udon."  

A deep, commanding voice cut through the tension. "As Court 2’s leader, have you lost the ability to make decisions?"  

"Huh?!"  

Udon’s blood ran cold. He knew that voice.  

Slowly, he turned toward the gate—  

And there he was.  

A towering figure with fiery red hair, a fearsome glare, and an aura of pure intimidation.  

"O-Oni?! Wh-what are you— Wait!"  

His eyes widened in realization. "These guys… Are they the middle schoolers who got eliminated?!"  

Now it made sense.  

The rumors about the mysterious "Black Jacket Group" suddenly clicked. About a month ago, a group of middle schoolers had been weeded out in brutal internal matches.  

They’d been sent to the mountains.  

And now they were back.  

"Damn it!"  

Udon cursed inwardly.  

All this time, he’d been worried about Court 5—only to walk right into Oni’s trap.  

His fighting spirit evaporated.  

Whether it was Byōdōin or Oni, both were monsters he couldn’t hope to beat.  

"Huh."  

The middle schoolers exchanged glances. Oni’s reputation here was even more terrifying than they’d thought.  

"Relax."  

Irie, standing beside Oni, chuckled. "Oni and I won’t be playing."  

"Really?!"  

Udon perked up, hope flashing in his eyes.  

"Right," Oni confirmed. "This is your fight. We won’t interfere."  

"Good."  

Udon’s confidence returned—though he wasn’t as cocky as before. "Then let’s do this fair and square."  

He turned to his players. "These are the middle schoolers who got cut last time. We’ll handle them one-on-one. Understood?"  

"Uh…"  

The high schoolers hesitated.  

But then they remembered—these were the rejects. The ones who hadn’t made the cut.  

There was no reason to be afraid.  

Nodding, they steeled themselves.  

The matches began.  

But to their shock, the high schoolers didn’t win a single game.  

"What the hell?!"  

Udon was stunned.  

His players weren’t pushovers—they were strong.  

But these middle schoolers?  

Their ferocity was unreal. Every swing, every step radiated raw power. Even he felt a chill watching them.  

What he didn’t know was this:  

For the past month, under Oni’s harsh rules, the Black Jackets had barely touched their rackets.  

All they’d done was eat, sleep, and train—relentlessly.  

Now, finally unleashed, even the gentlest among them played like wild beasts.  

BAM!  

Tanishi’s smash cracked the court’s surface, sending his opponent’s racket flying.  

Thud.  

The heavyset boy landed lightly—proof of his newfound control.  

"This guy…"  

Udon’s eyes narrowed.  

Despite his bulk, Tanishi moved with surprising agility.  

"Tch."  

A quick glance confirmed the worst—only he and one other high schooler remained.  

Under his glare, the last player stepped forward reluctantly.  

"Heh."  

Kintarō, fiery-haired and eager, was about to charge in—until Oni stopped him.  

"My turn."  

Understanding Oni’s intent, Echizen stepped onto the court. Within minutes, the last high schooler fell.  

"Your turn, Kintarō."  

Irie smiled. "Don’t underestimate Udon. He’s strong enough to rank in the Elite 10’s lower half."  

"Really?"  

Kintarō’s eyes sparkled. He didn’t fully grasp what that meant, but "strong opponent" was all he needed to hear. Bouncing excitedly, he dashed onto the court.  

"The Elite 10…"  

Outside, Sanada, Yanagi, and the others exchanged glances.  

Echizen, too, was deep in thought.  

Irie’s words hinted at something—the camp’s hierarchy wasn’t as simple as court numbers.  

The "Elite 10" reminded him of the two players he and Kintarō had met in the indoor courts.  

"So that’s how it is."  

Echizen nodded to himself. "This place is more complicated than it seems."  

After everything he’d been through—the matches, the losses, especially that crushing defeat against Ishikawa—he wasn’t the same hotshot who’d won four straight U.S. junior tournaments.  

Failure had humbled him.  

Seeing players like Ishikawa and Kintarō—his own age but just as strong—kept him sharp.  

And the grueling training at Heart’s Peak had sanded away his impatience, leaving him calmer, more focused.  

In the past, he might’ve resented Oni for favoring Kintarō.  

But now?  

He understood.  

The U-17 camp was full of monsters.  

If Udon was only in the lower half of the Elite 10, then he wasn’t worth Echizen’s time.  

He could wait for a real challenge.  

"Good."  

Oni watched Echizen closely.  

The boy’s talent was undeniable—second only to Ishikawa in his generation, tied with Kintarō.  

But their personalities were worlds apart.  

Kintarō was pure, unbridled energy—a force of nature.  

Echizen, though, was more like Ishikawa—calculating, composed, and fiercely independent.  

That’s why Oni hadn’t sent him against Udon.  

In his eyes, Echizen belonged higher.  

He’d already decided—when the shuffle matches came, he’d push Echizen to aim for the top ten.  

Chapter 334: The Evolution of Kintarō Tōyama  

"Hehe!!"  

As the last middle schooler to take the court, Kintarō carried none of the pressure expected of a final player. Grinning from ear to ear, he bounced onto the court with uncontainable excitement.  

"This kid..."  

His opponent, Udon, frowned slightly.  

After witnessing the strength of the other middle schoolers, he wasn’t about to underestimate anyone from the "losers' group."  

More importantly—  

This red-haired brat had clearly been handpicked by Oni specifically for him. And when it came to Oni, the former strongest player of U-17, a man feared as the "Gatekeeper of Hell," no amount of caution was excessive.  

But as they met at the net, Udon’s frown deepened.  

The kid’s small frame ruled out the possibility of him being a power player. And with that height, he didn’t seem like a speedster either.  

"If he’s neither power nor speed..."  

Udon narrowed his eyes. "Then he must be a technical player."  

Ironically, Udon himself was a technical player. To him, this wasn’t a coincidence—it was deliberate. Oni’s plan was obvious: to use him, Udon Watanabe, as a whetstone for this kid.  

"Whatever you’re plotting..."  

He shot a glance at Oni before hardening his expression. "I won’t lose this match."  

As the leader of Court 2, with strength rivaling the lower ranks of the top 20, Udon had absolute confidence in himself.  

"Kid."  

He waved dismissively. "Let’s begin. Show me what you’ve got."  

"Sure!"  

Kintarō grinned and nodded eagerly.  

Under the watchful eyes of both middle schoolers and high schoolers, the two retreated to their baselines.  

"Match start, best of one set!"  

The U-17 official in the umpire’s chair announced, "Tōyama to serve!"  

"Hehe."  

Kintarō cheerfully pulled out a tennis ball and began bouncing it—fast, erratic, and completely unrefined. To Udon, a player trained in orthodox techniques and risen to lead Court 2, everything about it was wrong.  

"His ball control is terrible."  

"He doesn’t look like a tennis player at all."  

"At this rate, his first serve might not even clear the net."  

The more Udon watched, the more baffled he became.  

Yet this was the player Oni had specifically chosen for him. If the Gatekeeper of Hell had approved of him, his skill was undeniable.  

"Is he mocking me?"  

Dismissing the unlikely thought, Udon shook his head and settled into his return stance. "Whatever. Whether he’s strong or weak, the outcome won’t change."  

Tap!  

Kintarō caught the ball mid-bounce.  

"Alright, time to get serious."  

The moment the ball rested in his palm, the boy’s demeanor transformed. His carefree, innocent expression sharpened into focus. His amber eyes gleamed with a predator’s intensity—so much so that Udon felt an instinctive chill, as if he were facing not a boy, but a hawk poised to strike.  

Whoosh!  

Kintarō tossed the ball high.  

Then, with an explosive leap that stunned the high schoolers, he swung down with a thunderous smash.  

BANG!  

The sound was deafening.  

The ball shot forward like a cannonball, hurtling toward the court with terrifying speed.  

"This serve?!"  

Udon’s eyes widened. The entire motion—toss, jump, smash—was so fast it nearly bypassed his reflexes.  

Fortunately, his trained instincts kicked in.  

Swish!  

He lunged right, raising his racket just in time.  

THUD!  

The impact rattled his arms.  

"This power?!"  

Udon’s confidence shattered. His grip nearly failed him as the ball threatened to tear through his strings.  

Without hesitation, he gripped the racket with both hands, barely managing to return it.  

"He got it?!"  

Kintarō blinked, then beamed. "AWESOME!!"  

Tap-tap-tap!  

In a flash, he dashed forward—so fast that the Court 2 high schoolers only saw a blur.  

"That speed?!"  

Udon’s face paled.  

He had been wrong. This short kid wasn’t just monstrously strong—he was fast.  

CRACK!  

Kintarō caught up to the ball and fired it back.  

"Tch."  

Udon gritted his teeth.  

He hated to admit it, but the pressure was real.  

Still, as Court 2’s leader, he wasn’t about to back down. He sprinted forward, adjusted his grip, and sliced a sharp return toward Kintarō’s backhand corner.  

"Nice, nice!"  

Instead of panicking, Kintarō grinned wider. "You’re really something, old-timer! Guess I’ll stop holding back!"  

"What?!"  

Udon’s stomach dropped.  

"Don’t tell me he wasn’t even trying with that serve?"  

"No way!"  

He shook off the absurd thought and steeled himself.  

"Kid, don’t get cocky!"  

Udon’s eyes burned with resolve. If this brat wanted to play, he’d teach him a lesson.  

BAM!  

But when he returned the next shot, even with both hands, the sheer force nearly ripped the racket from his grip.  

"HRRGH!"  

He roared, mustering all his strength to send it back.  

"Here I come!"  

Kintarō charged forward, his movements now resembling a pouncing tiger more than a boy.  

BAM! BAM! BAM!  

The rally was brutal.  

Udon was completely outmatched.  

"No way..."  

A Court 2 high schooler trembled. "Udon’s getting crushed?!"  

The others were just as stunned.  

This was Udon Watanabe—one of the few players entrusted with leading a court. How could a middle schooler dominate him like this?  

Yet the evidence was undeniable.  

Udon scrambled desperately, barely keeping up.  

SMASH!  

Finally, Kintarō broke through, blasting a winner past him.  

"15-0!"  

Silence fell over the court.  

The Court 2 players who had previously lost to the middle schoolers now stared at the red-haired boy with awe—and fear.  

"Impressive."  

Outside the court, Inui smiled. "Kintarō’s power and speed have improved this much?"  

He glanced at Oni, who remained stoic but inwardly swelled with pride. Over the past month, he had personally trained Kintarō, pushing him harder than anyone else—even calling him out for extra sessions while others rested.  

At first, the high schoolers (led by Sasabe) had mocked Kintarō, calling him unlucky.  

But as time passed, even the densest among them realized—Oni wasn’t punishing him. He was grooming him.  

And now, after a month of relentless training, the boy who had once lagged behind Ryoma had caught up.  

Oni had even borrowed Coach Mikoto’s hawk and wolf, using the beasts’ ferocity to hone Kintarō’s natural instincts.  

THUD!  

The ball landed at Udon’s feet, but he didn’t move.  

There was no point.  

He had already lost three straight points, and his hands still stung from the earlier exchanges.  

"Game!"  

"Tōyama leads, 1-0! Change sides!"  

"Tōyama Kintarō..."  

Udon repeated the name silently, his gaze sharpening.  

This boy was the toughest opponent he had ever faced.  

If he didn’t pull out everything he had, he’d become Court 2’s laughingstock.  

BOOM!  

The second game began with Udon going all out.  

His serve carried extreme spin, and he immediately sprinted to the far left—leaving his right side wide open.  

"Huh?"  

Hiyoshi and Momoshiro exchanged confused glances. "Isn’t that just asking for trouble?"  

"Oh?"  

Kintarō noticed it too and smirked. "Alright, old-timer, if you’re giving me an opening, I’ll take it!"  

BAM!  

He fired a shot straight to Udon’s right.  

But just before it landed, the ball curved mid-air, veering back toward Udon.  

"Is that...?"  

The middle schoolers gasped. "The Zone?!"  

It looked identical to the technique used by Ishikawa (from Hyōtei) and Tezuka (from Seigaku).  

"No."  

Dry shook his head. "The ball curved left, not center. The spin mechanics are different."  

"He did it!"  

The Court 2 high schoolers erupted. "The Right-End Saber!"  

"Yes!"  

"Udon’s finally serious!"  

"This match is over!"  

They sighed in relief.  

With this technique, Udon was practically invincible—short of the top 20 stepping in. And with his experience, he could handle any power gap.  

BAM! BAM! BAM!  

Sure enough, Kintarō’s attacks kept coming back. Freeing his full strength, Udon used expert deflection and his Right-End Saber to seize control.  

"Whoa!"  

"Whoa!"  

But instead of panicking, Kintarō’s eyes sparkled with excitement.  

"This kid... isn’t normal."  

Udon’s frown returned.  

Still, he didn’t let up, piling on the pressure and racking up points.  

BAM!  

"Game!"  

"Udon, 1-1!"  

BOOM!  

"Game!"  

"Udon, 2-1! Change sides!"  

BAM!  

"Game!"  

"Udon, 3-1!"  

Three straight games.  

The high schoolers’ morale soared.  

Even Udon relaxed slightly.  

He had weathered the storm.  

"To earn Oni’s favor, your talent must be exceptional."  

He studied the red-haired boy across the net. "But talent alone isn’t enough."  

Perhaps this was Oni’s true goal—to use him to teach this kid a harsh lesson.  

"Kintarō!"  

A voice rang out from the sidelines. It was Ryoma. "You’re playing around too much."  

"Huh?"  

Kintarō blinked, then glanced at the scoreboard. His grin faded. "Oh... I lost that many points?"  

"This brat..."  

Udon’s eye twitched.  

Whether the kid was masking fear or genuinely treating this as a game, it was insulting.  

"If you want to play, I’ll play hard."  

His grip tightened. He’d make sure Kintarō understood the difference between them.  

But then—  

VIBRATION.  

Kintarō’s aura shifted.  

A razor-sharp, wolf-like ferocity erupted from his small frame.  

And for the first time, Udon felt true, primal fear.  

Chapter 335: The Ability to See Through Weaknesses—Reunion of Rivals!  

Crack!  

Crack!  

On the court, Kintarō twisted his neck and stretched his limbs, his joints popping like firecrackers.  

"Hey, old-timer, you ready?"  

His sharp gaze locked onto Udon, radiating an aggressive intent that sent a chill down the latter’s spine.  

BAM!  

Kintarō tossed the ball and smashed it down.  

"Huh?"  

The high schoolers scoffed.  

"That’s it? I thought it’d be something scarier."  

"Kid, with a serve like that, you’ve got no chance against Udon."  

"That’s the 'Divine Territory'—no way a middle schooler can break it."  

THUD!  

Udon swung, returning the serve—but unease prickled at him.  

The serve was weaker than before, yet something felt off.  

Like an eagle slowing before a dive, or a wolf stalking in silence—Kintarō was in hunting mode.  

BAM!  

Kintarō fired a straight shot to Udon’s right.  

But the Right-End Saber twisted its trajectory, pulling it back toward Udon.  

"Useless."  

A high schooler smirked. "Without top-tier technique, you can’t break this!"  

THUD!  

The ball landed.  

Udon returned it smoothly.  

Kintarō dashed, caught up, and smashed again—only for the ball to curve back once more.  

On the surface, it seemed Udon’s technique had trapped Kintarō in an inescapable cage.  

But Udon’s unease grew.  

BAM! BAM! BAM!  

Each shot was reeled in by the Right-End Saber—yet Udon’s expression darkened.  

"What’s… happening?"  

The high schoolers sensed something wrong but couldn’t pinpoint it.  

"Look at the ground."  

Dry adjusted his glasses. "Kintarō’s shots are inching closer to the right side."  

True enough—faint white marks dotted Udon’s right flank.  

The Right-End Saber still worked… but its walls were crumbling.  

"Why?!"  

Udon’s composure frayed.  

This technique could be broken—but only by superior skill. Yet Kintarō wasn’t using any spin!  

BAM!  

Finally—  

The ball broke through, landing cleanly on Udon’s right.  

"Wha—?!"  

The high schoolers gaped.  

Udon’s 'Divine Territory'—shattered.  

"How?!"  

Udon’s voice rose. "You didn’t use any technique!"  

The middle schoolers exchanged stunned looks.  

"No spin? Impossible!"  

Hiyoshi, Momoshiro, and Kaidō—who’d faced Ishikawa and Tezuka’s Zone—knew breaking such a move required reverse spin.  

"Did raw power overwhelm technique?"  

Yanagi murmured. "As the saying goes, 'Absolute strength defeats all skill'?"  

"Perhaps."  

Dry wasn’t convinced. The force needed would be monstrous.  

"It’s not just power."  

Sanada crossed his arms. "The mountain training honed Kintarō’s instincts. In this state, he sees weaknesses in techniques."  

"Correct."  

Inui smiled, glancing at Oni. "Kintarō’s innate predatory sense is terrifying."  

Oni gave a slight nod.  

During training, Kintarō had once begged to learn "real tennis." Oni agreed—on one condition: Beat a U-17 high schooler without technique.  

This match was that test.  

But Kintarō hadn’t just overpowered Udon—he’d outsmarted him.  

"If this ability develops further…"  

Oni mused. "He might even dismantle world-class techniques."  

BAM! BAM! BAM!  

Without his 'Divine Territory,' Udon was back on the defensive—overwhelmed.  

CRACK!  

Kintarō suddenly ramped up the power, forcing a weak return.  

"Ready, old-timer?!"  

Kintarō’s grin turned feral—like a hawk spotting prey.  

WHOOSH!  

He leaped, soaring higher than thought possible.  

Then—  

SPIN.  

A tornado of motion erupted around him.  

"EVERYONE, GET BACK!"  

Shiraishi’s team shouted in alarm.  

"SUPER… ULTRA… DELICIOUS… BIG WHEEL MOUNTAIN STORM!!!"  

BOOOOOOM!  

A meteor-like smash slammed down.  

Udon braced—instinct screaming at him to dodge.  

But as Court 2’s leader, retreat meant surrender.  

BANG!!!  

The impact sent him flying—crashing into the fence, racket shattered.  

"G-Game… set."  

The umpire swallowed. "Winner… Tōyama Kintarō."  

Silence.  

Then—  

"That was AWESOME!"  

Kintarō stretched, grinning. Then he blinked at Udon’s crumpled form.  

"Uh… oops?"  

The contrast between his violence and innocence was jarring.  

"Well, Oni?"  

Inui teased. "Happy with your student?"  

"Hn."  

Oni’s stern face hid pride.  

Then he turned to the gawking high schoolers.  

"What are you waiting for? Carry him to the infirmary!"  

"And from now on—"  

His voice boomed. **"This court belongs to the Black Jackets!"**  

The high schoolers scrambled, hauling Udon away in panic.  

The middle schoolers exchanged glances.  

Oni and Inui’s authority was undeniable—were they part of U-17’s elite "Top 20"?  

CLANG!  

The gate swung open.  

"You actually made it back?"  

Atobe strode in, scowling. "And you took Court 2 before us?"  

"Yeah."  

Oshitari adjusted his glasses. "We can’t accept that without a match."  

But the tension dissolved as teammates reunited—smiles breaking out.  

"Welcome back."  

Ōtsuka clasped Mukahi’s shoulder.  

Even rivals like Tezuka and Yukimura exchanged nods.  

"How heartwarming."  

Inui sighed. "This year’s talent is unbelievable."  

Oni agreed.  

But then—  

His gaze snapped to the entrance.  

A figure stood there—golden hair, white headband, stubble.  

"Oni…?"  

Inui followed his stare—then froze.  

"…Phoenix."  

(End of Chapter.)