belamy20

321-325

Added 2025-05-28 17:17:21 +0000 UTC

Chapter 321: The Most Dangerous Player for Doubles (Part 2)

After the referee announced a pause in the match, Ishikawa and the others rushed Ōban to a local hospital. Medical tests confirmed that his collapse was due to extreme exhaustion—nothing more than temporary unconsciousness from overexertion.

Once he was given an IV drip of glucose, Ōban regained consciousness, much to everyone’s relief. Ishikawa assigned Banrikiya and Dateotoko—who weren’t scheduled to play the next day—to stay with him, then led the rest of the team back to the hotel.

By dinnertime, Ōban and the other two had returned.

After gathering the team, Ishikawa reminded them that no one was to leave the hotel at night before dismissing everyone to their rooms.

The night passed without incident.

The Next Morning

The Japanese and Indian teams arrived on time at the Mumbai Youth Tennis Center. Thanks to the thrilling match the day before, the stands were now packed to capacity.

Giant banners stretched across both sides of the court, each cheering for their respective teams. Even before the match began, the stadium buzzed with restless energy, like a waking beast.

But for the battle-hardened Japanese team, this kind of atmosphere was nothing.

Soon, the referee announced the resumption of the tournament, picking up where yesterday’s Singles 3 match had left off.

"Next up: Doubles 2."

"Representing India: Khetlin Singh (12th grade) and Narajit Gaur (12th grade)."

"Representing Japan: Kajimoto (12th grade) and Kimijima (12th grade)."

"Players, prepare yourselves."

With that, the four competitors stepped onto the court.

Khetlin Singh was a tall, broad-shouldered young man with thick black hair, a wide forehead, and a prominent mustache framing his lips—giving him a mature appearance. His partner, Narajit Gaur, wore a traditional red Indian turban. Of average build, his sharp gaze cut through the air like a blade.

Though ranked only 7th and 10th in the Indian team, they were one of the few fixed doubles pairs—a clear sign of their coach’s confidence in them.

"Interesting," Mitsuya murmured from the sidelines. "India’s coach is going all-in on this match."

"Yeah," Echizen and Tokugawa agreed.

After yesterday’s match, no one on the Japanese team underestimated their South Asian rivals. While India might not match them in overall skill, their sheer determination was undeniable.

The Match Begins

Under the best-of-three format, both sides started cautiously. The first two games were a probing exchange, each breaking the other’s serve.

But by the third game, the Indian duo cranked up the intensity—speeding up their movements, increasing their power, trying to overwhelm their opponents with sudden bursts of aggression.

Unfortunately for them, Kajimoto’s defense was impenetrable.

No matter how fiercely they attacked, he returned every shot with precision. And once their patience wore thin, Kimijima struck like a viper, targeting their weak spots relentlessly.

BAM!

"Game!"

"Japan leads, 2–1!"

India’s strategy had backfired spectacularly. Their coach, Viyas, quickly adjusted tactics, instructing his players to deliberately leave openings to bait the Japanese into reckless attacks.

Kajimoto, impulsive by nature, took the bait without hesitation—only to nearly take a tennis ball to the face. Luckily, Kimijima’s sharp instincts saw through the trap, intercepting the ball just in time.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The rallies grew fiercer.

To the Indians’ shock, not only was the blue-haired player’s defense unbreakable—even the bespectacled one was a fortress.

"Incredible coverage," muttered Kiran, India’s strategist, from the sidelines. "His perception is razor-sharp. He reads Khetlin and Narajit’s moves before they even execute them."

"Mhm," Captain Sharma nodded. "His fundamentals are flawless. If I recall correctly, he’s ranked… 7th in Japan?"

"Correct," Kiran confirmed.

The other Indian players exchanged uneasy glances.

If their 7th is this strong… what does that say about the rest?

Coach Viyas, a heavyset man, sighed inwardly.

This is the kind of country that produced him, after all.

After years of silence, Japan’s tennis scene had erupted into a golden age. Their players were emerging like a tidal wave—far surpassing India in raw ability.

The Turning Point

Regaining his footing, Kajimoto unleashed his full speed, easing the pressure on Kimijima. This time, he didn’t hold back—his Sonic Bullet serves tore through the air with explosive force.

BAM!

A pale-yellow streak exploded between the Indian pair before they could even react.

Kajimoto dominated the next few games, widening the gap to 5–1.

But in the seventh game, something changed.

No matter where Kajimoto aimed, the Indians returned every shot.

"Finally," Kiran smirked. "Khetlin and Narajit’s ‘Indomitable’ trait is kicking in."

"Indomitable?" The Japanese team turned to Mitsuya for answers.

"According to my data," he explained, "these two activate an ironclad defense in the later stages. No matter the shot—no matter how impossible—they return it."

"That’s… exaggerated, right?" Mouri and Hara exchanged skeptical glances.

"No shot is unreturnable?" Kajimoto’s eyes narrowed. "Let’s test that."

WHOOSH!

Blue energy flared around him as his speed skyrocketed. His next serve was even faster—

BAM!

—yet Khetlin somehow reached it, sending it back effortlessly.

"What?!" Kajimoto’s confidence wavered.

Again and again, he attacked, only for the Indians to counter every shot, just as Mitsuya had predicted.

The score narrowed to 4–5, with Japan barely clinging to the lead. The crowd roared, chanting *"INDIA! INDIA!"*—a deafening wave of pressure that would’ve crushed lesser players.

But Kajimoto and Kimijima were veterans. Even in dire straits, they kept their cool.

The Secret Exposed

After five grueling games, Kimijima finally saw through their opponents’ trick.

"Kajimoto," he called. "After my return, sprint to the left baseline."

"Got it." Kajimoto trusted Kimijima’s tactical genius implicitly.

BAM!

Kimijima fired a sharp, spinning shot to the left—

Khetlin lunged, confident in his positioning—

—only for the ball to suddenly kick right on the bounce.

"Wha—?!"

Caught off guard, Khetlin barely managed a clumsy return—straight into Kajimoto’s waiting strike.

"Hah!" Kajimoto grinned as they scored.

Khetlin shot his partner a questioning glare. Narajit could only shrug helplessly.

"Just as I thought," Kimijima smirked.

He repeated the tactic, exploiting their miscommunication again and again.

"30–30!"

"YES!" The Japanese bench erupted in cheers.

"But… how?" Mouri frowned. "What’s the secret?"

Mitsuya hesitated—until Ishikawa spoke up.

"Kimijima deciphered their signals."

"Signals?"

Mitsuya’s eyes snapped to Narajit’s left hand, subtly moving behind his back.

"Morse code!" he realized. "They’re using coded gestures to coordinate—that’s how they anticipate every shot!"

The team gasped.

Collapse

Frustration mounted for the Indian pair as their secret unraveled.

"How did he figure it out?!"

Their system wasn’t standard Morse—it was a customized variant. It should’ve been impossible to crack.

"Too bad for them," Ishikawa mused. "Kimijima’s talent as the ‘Negotiator’ makes him a master of reading subtle cues."

And that wasn’t even his full ability.

Ishikawa could sense it—Kimijima’s 7.0-level mental acuity hinted at deeper, untapped potential.

BAM!

"30–40!"

BAM!

"Game!"

"Japan takes the first set, 6–4!"

The Indians’ morale shattered.

Their trust in each other broken, their coordination fell apart. The second set was a massacre—6–0, sealed in under ten minutes.

"Match over." The referee’s voice rang out. "Japan’s Kajimoto and Kimijima win, 6–4, 6–0!"

The Indian duo collapsed to their knees, defeated.

"Once trust is lost…" Coach Viyas sighed, "...it’s hard to rebuild."

Their doubles career had just suffered a fatal blow.

"That young man is dangerous," Viyas muttered, eyeing Kimijima. "He deliberately fed them deceptive spins, stoking their distrust until their teamwork crumbled."

For any doubles pair, he was a nightmare.

And now, India was at a disadvantage. With the first match a draw and this loss, the tournament would likely hinge on the substitute match—a scenario India couldn’t afford.

"Kiran." Viyas turned to his bespectacled strategist. "For this next match… use any means necessary to win."

The team tensed at the unspoken implication.

Kiran adjusted his glasses, his expression calm as he studied Japan’s next player—a tall, composed figure stepping onto the court.

"Next up: Singles 2."

"India’s Kiran Jiraput (12th grade) vs. Japan’s Tokugawa Kazuya (11th grade)."

"Players, prepare yourselves."

Chapter 322: A Trap Designed for the Intelligent

As the announcement ended, Tokugawa and Kiran stepped forward to the net.

Both carried an air of distinction—Tokugawa cold and sharp-eyed, Kiran smiling with the confidence of a man holding all the cards.

Their first exchange of glances told them everything: this opponent was no ordinary player.

"Tokugawa Kazuya," Kiran spoke first, his tone light. "I’ve seen your matches. Park Junsu from Korea was completely outmatched by you in raw power."

His eyes studied Tokugawa carefully, but to his disappointment, the Japanese player’s expression remained unreadable.

"Of course," Kiran adjusted his glasses, unfazed. "A player like you wouldn’t show emotion over mere words."

With that, he signaled the approaching umpire. After the coin toss, both retreated to their baselines.

"Game set, best of three!"

"First set, Japan’s Tokugawa to serve!"

The crowd’s attention locked onto Tokugawa. What kind of serve would this formidable-looking player unleash?

Whoosh!

Tokugawa tossed the ball high, his left arm arcing back in a smooth motion. The moment the ball entered the optimal strike zone—

Crack!

A crisp impact sent the ball streaking across the court, its trajectory shimmering with prismatic light before vanishing entirely.

"What the—?!"

The Indian team stiffened in shock.

Kiran, however, merely narrowed his eyes, tracking the ball’s unseen path.

Tap-tap-tap…

A second later, the ball materialized behind him.

"So this is the 'Mirage Serve,'" Kiran mused. "I saw it in your match against Korea’s No. 3. Tricky stuff."

He’d analyzed it thoroughly—a serve that exploited high-frequency vibrations to exceed the human eye’s perception, creating an illusion of disappearance.

Impressive.

"But," Kiran’s gaze sharpened, "as Japan’s new No. 3, you’re surely more than just this gimmick."

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Three more Mirage Serves followed, each disappearing mid-flight. Kiran didn’t even attempt to return them.

"Game!"

"Japan leads, 1-0!"

Tokugawa’s dominance was absolute.

The crowd murmured in disbelief. Compared to yesterday’s marathon or even the previous doubles match, this Indian player seemed… weak. Some spectators even jeered, demanding Kiran step down.

But the Indian team remained eerily calm.

They knew better.

This was just the appetizer.

The Trap Springs

"Strange," muttered one of Japan’s players. "It feels like India’s already given up."

"An illusion," Mitsuya countered. "Kiran’s been collecting data this whole time."

"Data?!"

"Kiran Gilaput," Mitsuya explained, "India’s No. 2 and their strategist. A two-time world math Olympiad silver medalist. His mental calculations are terrifying."

A pause. Then, reluctantly:

"His Data Tennis surpasses mine."

Silence.

Mitsuya’s Data Tennis was infamous within Japan’s team—a nightmarish web of predictions that left opponents feeling like puppets.

And yet, he admitted inferiority?

"How?" Hakamada scowled. "From those casual shots? No way."

Whoosh!

The third game began.

Tokugawa unleashed another Mirage Serve—

Crack!

But this time, Kiran’s racket connected cleanly.

"Got you." He smirked. "Nothing in this world truly vanishes. I’ve deciphered your trick."

The ball shot back, skidding along the baseline before abruptly twisting sideways mid-bounce.

"0-15!"

"Outer spin shifting to side spin?" Fuwa raised an eyebrow. "Not bad."

"It’s more than that," Mitsuya said. "The timing, the angle—he’s exploiting Tokugawa’s instincts."

"Visual deception," Moon added grimly. "He’s playing with perception."

The Chess Match

Kiran’s strategy unfolded like a masterclass in psychological warfare.

Every shot was a feint, every spin a lie.

When Tokugawa expected a curve, the ball stayed straight. When he braced for power, the ball died softly.

"0-30!"

"0-40!"

"Game! India leads, 4-2!"

The crowd roared, their earlier disdain forgotten.

Kiran exhaled, savoring the shift.

"Tokugawa Kazuya," he mused, "you’re intelligent. That’s precisely why you’ll lose."

His trap was designed for the sharp-minded—the more Tokugawa analyzed, the deeper he sank.

And now, the web was complete.

"Your chances of winning are zero percent—"

Crack!

A golden streak exploded at Kiran’s feet before he could finish.

The ball had already passed him.

Chapter 323: The Absolute Realm of Data Tennis – The Forbidden Technique!

"15-0!"

The umpire's voice rang out.

The spectators snapped out of their daze, their faces filled with disbelief.

"No way… That’s gotta be a joke, right?" one of the Indian team’s representatives muttered in shock. "Kiran didn’t even touch the ball?"

"He got careless," another said, shaking his head. "His opponent isn’t as simple as he thought. The data he collected was overturned—no way he could return that shot."

"Exactly," someone else agreed. "It’s like a computer update. Different versions of a system aren’t always compatible."

Unlike the average spectators, the Indian U-17 players quickly regained their composure after the initial surprise.

Kiran was strong—but his strength didn’t lie in raw power. It was his supercomputer-like brain that made him formidable.

This Japanese player was no pushover, but they were confident that once Kiran updated his data, he’d crush him.

"Tch."

On the court, Kiran himself had snapped out of his momentary freeze. He glanced at his opponent, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

"That’s more like it," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Show me the same power you used to defeat Park Junsu."

His sharp gaze bore into Tokugawa, as if peeling back layers to dissect every bit of information.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Tokugawa remained unfazed.

After securing the point, he calmly bounced the ball a few times before tossing it into the air.

Crack!

The Phantom Serve shot out once more.

The ball flickered in mid-air before vanishing completely. By the time anyone registered it, the ball had already landed behind Kiran.

"30-0!"

The crowd gasped.

This serve felt significantly faster than before.

Crack!

Another serve.

The ball hit the ground and bounced—yet again, Kiran couldn’t even react in time.

"40-0!"

"Not bad," Kiran suddenly said, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "An excellent serve. It took me three tries to fully analyze its trajectory."

"This guy…"

Kaji, Kaneshiro, and the others narrowed their eyes.

On the surface, it sounded like praise—but if Kiran had truly deciphered the Phantom Serve in just three attempts, his analytical skills were terrifying.

And they doubted he’d bluff about something like this.

Whoosh!

Tokugawa showed no reaction.

He simply tossed the ball again and swung his racket upward in a sharp, fluid motion.

Crack!

The ball transformed into a streak of shimmering light, darting across the court.

"A fine serve indeed," Kiran mused before suddenly dashing to the side.

To everyone’s shock, he swung at empty air—

BANG!

A loud impact echoed as the Phantom Serve was intercepted mid-flight.

Kiran’s perception was monstrous.

"Huh?"

But then—

His expression twisted in disbelief.

"This… power…? Impossible!"

Clatter.

His racket slipped from his grip and hit the ground.

"Game!"

"Japan leads, 3-4! Change sides!"

The crowd stared in stunned silence.

No one expected this slender, unassuming player to possess such raw strength.

"Right," Coach Viyas muttered, eyes glinting. "He withstood the full force of Korea’s power player. Never judge a book by its cover."

Kiran had underestimated him.

"But…"

A smirk crept onto the Indian coach’s face.

"This might be exactly what he needs. Only when the mask comes off does he truly get serious."

"Good. Very good."

At the baseline, Kiran—who had been staring at his fallen racket—slowly lifted his head.

A sharp glint flashed in his shadowed eyes.

Rip!

In one swift motion, he tore off his blue wristbands, revealing black weights hidden beneath.

Then, he removed the weighted straps from his ankles, dropping the lead plates inside.

THUD!

The heavy weights hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Hiss—"

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even some of the Indian and Japanese players couldn’t hide their shock.

"No… way…" Akutsu, Hirakoba, and the others gaped. "He was playing with those on him this whole time?!"

"Heh."

An Indian player scoffed. "Warm-up’s over. Now, the real hunt begins."

"Interesting," Captain Taran Sharma chuckled. "I never thought Kiran’s seal would be broken before the World Cup."

The last time Kiran had gone all out was nine months ago—during an exhibition match against England’s captain.

That match had been a grueling two-hour battle, ending only when the English captain unleashed a forbidden technique.

"So…" No. 3 Roha, a dark-skinned player, murmured. "We’ll see that terrifying domain again?"

The Eighth Game – Kiran’s Serve

Free from his restraints, Kiran tied back his disheveled brown hair.

The bookish strategist had vanished—replaced by a cold, lethal predator.

"You stand no chance of winning this match."

He tossed the ball high—

BANG!

A bullet-like serve shot across the net.

"A straight shot?"

The Japanese players frowned. The serve had no spin—just pure speed.

But after Kiran’s earlier tricks, they weren’t taking any chances.

"Is it really just a straight serve?" Tokugawa narrowed his eyes.

Having trained in the Cave of Enlightenment, his perception was razor-sharp.

At a glance, he confirmed—this was indeed a no-frills, straight serve.

"Is he playing reverse psychology?"

He locked eyes with Kiran.

Logic had two sides.

Any argument could be supported with the right evidence—but only those who saw the truth could separate fact from deception.

To him, this was just a straight serve. No tricks.

Swish!

Just as the ball was about to bounce, Tokugawa swung early—

Tap.

But then—

The ball changed direction mid-bounce, veering sharply away from him.

"15-0!"

"What kind of serve was that?!" Kaji and Oomagari exchanged stunned looks.

If this was the power of advanced tennis, Kiran’s technique was on another level entirely.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Kiran bounced the ball calmly before serving again.

This time—a sharp side spin.

The ball spun like a top, ensuring a low bounce.

Tokugawa prepared accordingly.

Tap.

But once again—

The ball launched upward instead.

He barely managed to return it, but Kiran was already waiting—

SMASH!

"30-0!"

"How?!"

Even Yagyu and Kaneshiro, known for their sharp eyes, couldn’t detect any hidden spin.

"Don’t tell me…" Kaji muttered. "His serves are at a pro level now?"

The mood grew heavy.

But then, someone glanced at their raven-haired leader sitting on the bench.

"Captain," Hakamada asked, confused. "What’s going on?"

"It’s simple," Ishikawa said, shaking his head. "You’re overcomplicating things. The truth doesn’t always require deep analysis."

"…!"

On the court, Tokugawa’s eyes sharpened in realization.

BANG!

Kiran served again—a high-speed spin aimed at the service line.

This time, Tokugawa focused—and spotted it.

A pebble the size of a fingernail lay where the ball would land.

"So that’s it!"

The mystery of the erratic bounces was solved.

As Ishikawa said—the answer was simple.

Crack!

He adjusted his swing and returned the unpredictable bounce with ease.

"Finally figured it out?" Kiran grinned. "Too bad. On this court, you’re full of openings."

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The rally intensified—but Tokugawa was on the backfoot.

No matter how he attacked, Kiran always predicted his moves and countered with precision.

"He’s… dominating him!" Hakamada gasped.

"Every shot is flawless," Kaneshiro noted. "Kiran’s reading Tokugawa like an open book."

"Is this the power of Data Tennis?" Kaji muttered.

Tokugawa wasn’t playing poorly—yet he was being overwhelmed.

"Mitsudomoe," the Ochi brothers turned to their bespectacled teammate. "Is this… a higher form of Data Tennis?"

"I don’t know," Mitsudomoe admitted. "His understanding surpasses mine. This isn’t just data analysis—it’s like he’s weaving an information net around the court."

"Every shot, every bounce, even the opponent’s mental state—Kiran controls it all."

"He’s like a spider, waiting for its prey to struggle in a web of his own making."

A spider…

The description sent chills down their spines.

Watching Tokugawa fight desperately, they understood—he was trapped.

The harder he struggled, the tighter the web became.

BANG!

"Game!"

"India leads, 5-3!"

In minutes, Kiran secured the game, tilting the match firmly in his favor.

"You’re skilled," Kiran said, smiling. "But every move you make is already calculated."

Roha, India’s No. 3, frowned.

"So it’s here… the Absolute Realm of Data Tennis."

His stamina, once his pride, had been crushed in that domain like metal under a hydraulic press.

Once trapped, nothing escaped unscathed.

Yet—

Tokugawa’s expression remained unchanged.

Ignoring the doubtful stares, he served again.

BANG!

Kiran intercepted effortlessly.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The exchanges continued—but Kiran returned every shot.

To the spectators, the match was still under his control.

But something felt… off.

"Strange," Roha muttered. "From the start, all his shots have been aimed directly at Kiran."

"Has he given up?" someone asked.

"No," Captain Taran shook his head. "The tide is turning."

BANG!

Kiran returned another shot—but his confident smirk was gone.

"What’s happening? His power… it’s increasing?!"

After over a dozen exchanges, Kiran realized—

Tokugawa’s strikes were growing stronger with each hit.

And as their speed escalated, the ball’s impact kicked up a thick cloud of dust, obscuring the court.

Whoosh!

A sudden gust—

Kiran’s instincts screamed at him to end this now.

Rip!

But then—

The dust parted.

A glowing, blue-green tennis ball materialized right in front of him.

His pupils shrank to pinpricks.

"That’s—!"

A memory flashed in his mind.

"A… forbidden technique?!"

Chapter 324: The Ability to See Weaknesses – The Mental Game of Tennis

Kiran Rajput

A mixed-race Indian-British boy, Kiran had lived in England with his father since childhood. It was there that he first discovered tennis.

However, Kiran wasn’t physically gifted.

He lacked strength, his speed was mediocre, and he was shorter than most British boys his age.

Because of this, he was often bullied while learning tennis—until he realized that tennis and mathematics could be perfectly combined.

So, he sharpened his mind. During training, he began observing his opponents, collecting data on their playing styles.

Once he had enough information, matches became effortless. His opponents moved like puppets on strings, playing exactly as he predicted.

After defeating several so-called "tennis prodigies" his age, Kiran started to believe tennis was nothing special.

That is, until he met that blond boy.

The boy was a British-American, his face dotted with freckles, giving him an unassuming, almost naive appearance. But the moment their match began, Kiran was suffocated by an overwhelming pressure.

His prized data-driven tennis was useless. Worse, his opponent’s shots seemed to carry an eerie precision, striking every one of his weaknesses with uncanny accuracy.

Kiran lost—badly.

Later, he learned that the boy came from a family of doctors. From a young age, he had practiced dissecting animals, giving him an almost clinical understanding of the human body’s vulnerabilities.

Watching his opponent’s retreating figure, Kiran swore to himself: One day, I’ll defeat him.

Six years passed.

They met again in a U17 exhibition match between India and Britain. His opponent? Hopkins, Britain’s U17 No. 2!

By sheer coincidence, Kiran faced him in a decisive match.

This time, Kiran gave it everything he had.

Yet Hopkins effortlessly countered him. Refusing to accept defeat, Kiran pushed past his limits, managing to hold his ground.

Just as he thought he’d finally caught up—Hopkins got serious.

The terrifying, ruthless tennis that followed introduced Kiran to what could only be called the forbidden realm of the sport.

He lost again.

And this time, it was humiliating.

Had Hopkins not held back on the final point, Kiran might have suffered an injury severe enough to end his career.

After that, Kiran trained like a man possessed, desperate to find even the slimmest chance of victory in the upcoming World Cup.

Finally, he mastered a new technique—flooding the court with overwhelming data streams, dividing it into a grid-like system, controlling the game with near-omniscient precision.

His confidence returned.

He imagined himself standing on the World Cup stage, proving his worth at last.

But he never expected…

That in what should have been an easy match, he’d once again face that nightmare-like technique.

The ball descended from the air, carrying a pressure so immense it felt like a mountain crashing down. Kiran’s hands trembled with instinctive fear.

"No! I can’t back down now!"

He forced the fear down, steadied his grip, and swung with all his might.

BANG!

He made contact—but the sheer weight behind the shot made his eyes widen in shock.

"This power… how?!"

BOOM!

Outside the court, the crowd watched as the ball vanished into a cloud of dust. Most remained confident—Kiran’s analytical skills were near-computer-like. Once he gathered enough data, his opponent’s defeat was inevitable.

Sure enough, the sharp sound of a return echoed across the court.

"He got it!"

The Indian team erupted in cheers—

WHOOSH!

—only to freeze as a figure was sent flying out of the dust like a broken marionette.

"KIRAN?!"

Disbelief spread through the crowd.

"H-how…?"

This was Kiran Rajput—India’s No. 2, a genius with an IQ over 200. How could he end up like this?

THUD!

Kiran hit the ground hard, rolling several times before skidding to a stop. His racket flew from his grasp, his glasses shattered, and a deep cut streaked across his cheek.

"What a terrifying shot…"

India’s captain, Sharma, narrowed his eyes. He could sense the immense power behind Tokugawa’s return. This wasn’t just raw strength—there was something more to it.

Watching Kiran struggle to his feet, battered and bruised, Sharma sighed inwardly.

"In the end, he’s still a step away from that higher level."

But that was only natural.

Beyond elite high school players existed those who stood at a professional caliber. The most prominent example? Jürgen Borisovich Berger, Germany’s captain.

A team with even one pro-level player would draw significant attention.

In reality, many so-called "pro-level" captains were only semi-professional—stronger than elites but not yet ready for the true pro circuit.

Even Sharma himself had only glimpsed the edges of that forbidden realm. He was still far from reaching true professional status.

In his eyes, only the captains of the Big 4 were genuine pros.

As for other teams?

Even Japan’s former captain, Byoudouin Houou—highly regarded as he was—didn’t qualify.

"Again!"

Kiran steadied himself, refusing to back down.

He wouldn’t retreat, not even against Tokugawa, who had touched that forbidden realm.

Abandoning any thought of conserving stamina, he unleashed his full strength.

But it still wasn’t enough.

Tokugawa remained ice-cold, every shot executed with flawless precision.

With perfectly balanced stats, Tokugawa distributed his power flawlessly, making every shot as deadly as a specialist’s.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The match continued, Tokugawa dominating point after point. Kiran grew more desperate with each rally.

"How is this possible?!"

His eyes widened in disbelief.

"Every single shot targets my weaknesses… Is he a data player too?!"

This precision was even more terrifying than his own data tennis. It was as if Tokugawa knew his every move before he made it.

Topspin, sidespin, sharp angle changes—Kiran was completely overwhelmed.

Never had he imagined being outplayed in his own specialty.

BANG!

"Game, set, match!"

"Japan’s Tokugawa wins, 7-5!"

The first set ended in Tokugawa’s favor.

Kiran’s mental state crumbled. The second set was a massacre—he didn’t win a single game.

POW!

As Tokugawa’s final shot whizzed past him, the umpire announced:

"Match over!"

"Japan’s Tokugawa wins, 7-5, 6-0!"

The Indian team lowered their heads in defeat.

With this loss, Japan had secured two victories, leaving India with no room for error.

"Tokugawa Kazuya."

Kiran forced himself to stand, looking at his opponent. "You’re a data player, aren’t you?"

"Data?"

Tokugawa, surprised to be addressed in Japanese, shook his head. "I have no interest in that number-crunching style."

With that, he turned and walked away.

"Then…?"

Kiran’s eyes widened as realization struck.

"So he’s like Hopkins—able to see his opponent’s weaknesses?!"

Staring at Tokugawa’s retreating figure, Kiran muttered, "Maybe he doesn’t even realize it himself… but he has an insane natural talent for tennis."

If harnessed properly, that talent could truly propel him into the professional realm.

Two wins down.

Compared to India’s despair, Japan’s team was in high spirits.

Thanks to Ishikawa’s guaranteed victory, they had already won the exhibition match.

That said, even without him, the match would likely have ended in the fourth round—because Japan’s next players were their strongest doubles pair:

The Ochi Brothers.

Unlike their match against Korea, this time, the twins hadn’t received any special instructions from the coaches.

Meaning?

They could wrap things up early.

The match began, and the Ochi brothers immediately took control. Their seamless teamwork and ruthless efficiency secured a 6-1 victory in just 20 minutes.

The second set started the same way—until the Indian duo suddenly changed tactics.

"Iyawaori!"

One of the Indian players, a tall, imposing figure, chanted a strange, rhythmic phrase.

"Iyawaori!"

His partner echoed it.

Their voices rose and fell in an eerie, almost ritualistic cadence.

"What the hell?"

Fujimaru grimaced. "Are they trying to win by annoying our guys to death?"

"Hmm."

Mouri frowned.

This was the World Cup. India’s representatives, especially their No. 1 doubles pair, wouldn’t resort to something so pointless.

THUD!

Suddenly, Ochi Yuma misjudged a return.

"Out!"

"0-15!"

"What’s wrong?" Yuma’s twin, Yudai, immediately noticed something off.

"I… saw something terrifying," Yuma admitted. "A face painted like a demon."

"A demon?!"

Yudai’s pupils contracted.

"Don’t let it get to you," he said, forcing himself to stay calm.

From the sidelines, Mitsuya’s eyes narrowed.

"Those chants might sound like some kind of curse, but it’s just psychological warfare."

"How do you know?" someone asked.

"Simple," Mitsuya smirked. "We don’t understand their language. It’s meaningless noise."

"Oh… right."

The others nodded in relief.

"Exactly," Kaji sneered. "Ignore them and finish this."

On the court, the Ochi brothers steeled themselves to end the match quickly.

But then—

The Indian duo suddenly surged forward, their coordination sharper than before.

And once again, they chanted:

"Iyawaori!"

Their voices wove together, hypnotic and unsettling, sapping the twins’ focus.

Desperate, the Ochi brothers activated their ultimate technique—

Synchro Mode.

A faint white aura connected them…

Only to fade away seconds later.

"What?!"

Japan’s team stared in shock.

"Synchro… failed?!"

The mental interference grew worse. Visions of a grotesque, painted face flashed in their minds, disrupting their rhythm.

"Iyawaori!"

The chants continued, the pressure mounting—until finally, the Ochi brothers’ defenses collapsed.

BAM!

"Game, set, match!"

"India’s Solada Bhat & Ajeet Johar win, 1-6, 6-4, 6-2!"

THUD! THUD!

Exhausted and disoriented, the Ochi brothers collapsed onto the court.

Chapter 325: Singles 1 - Ishikawa vs. Sharma (1st Update)

"Initial diagnosis suggests dizziness caused by mental overexertion."

After returning from the medical room, Mitsudomoe addressed Ishikawa and the team. "No physical injuries, but he'll need more rest."

"Understood." Ishikawa nodded.

The others exchanged uneasy glances.

"Mental interference?" Kaneshiro touched his chin thoughtfully. "Those syllables had that much power?"

"In India, religion holds immense influence," Mitsudomoe explained. "Ancient Hindu traditions span millennia. For them to maintain such reverence over centuries... you can imagine how formidable they are."

The Japanese team nodded grimly.

The Ochi brothers' mental resilience wasn't weak—rated at a solid 5. By World Cup standards, that should've been sufficient. Yet they'd still been overwhelmed.

"The Indian team..."

Yagyu glanced at their portly, composed coach and felt a chill. This squad was stronger than anticipated. Those cryptic syllables were like fog—without understanding their nature, any carelessness could be fatal.

But then his gaze landed on their raven-haired leader rising from the coach's seat.

"Him, though... He won't be affected."

Contrasting Moods

While the Japanese camp was tense, the Indian team celebrated their doubles victory.

The Ochi brothers' synchronicity was fearsome—yet they'd been crippled before even activating it.

"Bhatt and Johaan were brilliant!"

Normally, the pair would've boasted, but today they remained humbly silent.

"The credit isn't ours," Bhatt said, bowing toward their dark-skinned captain. "Without Captain Sharma's teachings, victory wouldn't have been possible."

"Indeed," Johaan agreed. "This win belongs to Captain Sharma!"

The team erupted in cheers.

"The captain predicted this!"

"One draw, two losses, one win—now it'll be one draw, two losses, two wins!"

"Victory belongs to India!"

Their excitement peaked knowing their true ace was next. Bhatt and Johaan's mental tricks? Mere child's play compared to Sharma's prowess.

The Duel Begins

"Taran."

Coach Viyas fixed his star pupil with a stern look. "Stay calm. Play your usual game—don't let distractions cloud your judgment."

"Understood."

Sharma turned, his piercing gaze locking onto the black-haired boy standing across the court.

The umpire's voice rang out:

"Now beginning Singles 1—India's Taran Sharma (12th grade) vs. Japan's Makoto Ishikawa (7th grade)."

"Players, prepare!"

The crowd watched as the two took opposite baselines, meeting at the net.

"Makoto Ishikawa." Sharma's accented English dripped condescension. "I watched your match against Korea's Lee Seung-bu. You're... decent."

His tone sharpened. "But my tennis is nothing like his. Today, you'll witness true mental warfare."

A crushing wave of psychic pressure rolled off him—yet Ishikawa's expression remained unshaken.

"Huh?"

Sharma blinked. This wasn't the reaction he'd expected.

"Impossible! He must be hiding his fear!"

But then—

Ishikawa's eyes met his.

No words. Just a look.

Sharma's body reacted before his brain could—he stumbled back a step.

"Wha—?"

The crowd gasped. Even his own team stared in shock.

"Tch!"

Flushing under their scrutiny, Sharma spun toward the baseline, snapping over his shoulder:

"You take first serve. Let's see how long you last!"

Coach's Reflections

From the sidelines, Viyas frowned.

His protégé's arrogance was a double-edged sword. It fueled his mastery of ancient scriptures' power... yet also blinded him.

"Gods and mortals walk different paths," Viyas murmured, recalling his own downfall.

Once, he'd believed physical prowess could defy even deities—until a crushing defeat shattered that illusion. Broken, he'd retired... until the scriptures' wisdom resurrected him.

Now, he saw Sharma as the vessel for that divine power.

"Stay focused, Taran," he whispered. "With faith, you're invincible."

First Blood

"Game start! Best of three sets!"

"First set—Ishikawa to serve!"

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Ishikawa bounced the ball calmly before tossing it skyward—

CRACK!

A bullet serve streaked across the court.

"Too fast!"

Indian players paled. Their earlier mockery vanished.

"Decent speed."