belamy20

306-310

Added 2025-05-25 16:33:15 +0000 UTC

Chapter 306: The Berserker Gene – A Glimpse of Asura! (Update 1)

"Uh…"

In the broadcast booth, the female host froze for a moment at the referee's call before turning to her co-host in confusion. "Mr. Kim Gun-yoon, what just happened?"

"Hmm."

The former Korean pro tennis player was just as stunned. In theory, Park Geon-soo's shots should have been impossible for an average player to return—unless…

His expression darkened as he realized something. "If I had to guess, this player’s technique is exceptional. In tennis, skill and power counterbalance each other. Park Geon-soo’s raw strength is immense, but with enough spin and control, it can be countered."

His tone grew serious.

He’d only agreed to commentate on this U-17 exhibition match because his old friend—Korea’s current U-17 head coach, Park Dong-geon—had assured him Korea’s victory was "over 90% guaranteed."

But now? Things weren’t looking so simple.

For one, Tokugawa Kazuya—this Japanese player—wasn’t in any of the scouting reports he’d reviewed beforehand. That was a major oversight on Coach Park’s part.

Still, as a former pro who’d followed Park Geon-soo’s career, Kim knew the Korean powerhouse hadn’t even begun to fight seriously.

They still had a solid chance.

The Court – A Storm Brews

"Good… Very good!"

Park Geon-soo’s eyes burned as he locked onto Tokugawa. "I underestimated you. But if you think you can humiliate me, you’re about to pay for it!"

—Hummm!

A dark, ferocious aura erupted around him.

In an instant, the muscular buzzcut athlete transformed—his presence now like a wild beast, primal and suffocating.

"No way…"

Even the Korean team was stunned.

A brown-haired player with square glasses gaped. "He’s using [Berserk Mode] already?!"

"He’s pissed," a tall, sharp-eyed teammate muttered. "You know how he is. Getting toyed with like this? No way he’s holding back now."

Another smirked. "First set and he’s pulling this out? That Japanese guy’s screwed."

Screwed?

Lee Seung-bok’s brow furrowed.

If anything, the advantage was not on their side. Who was to say this Tokugawa had even shown his full strength yet?

Meanwhile, their No. 3 had already burned through his arsenal—and now, his last resort.

This next play could decide the match.

As team captain, Lee felt anything but confident.

—BAM!

Park’s next serve exploded like a mortar.

With [Berserk Mode] active, the ball’s impact kicked up a dust storm as it rocketed toward Tokugawa.

"Not bad."

Tokugawa’s eyes sharpened.

—CRACK!

His racket met the shot head-on.

The force strained his strings—but his grip didn’t waver.

After all, he’d trained against power hitters who made Park look amateurish.

And his own grip strength?

A monstrous 90kg—on par with Oni.

So while the ball raged at first, it quickly submitted under his control.

"Impressive."

Even Japan’s team nodded in approval.

That one return spoke volumes about Tokugawa’s skill.

"Hmm."

Mitsudaka, their strategist, adjusted his glasses. "If we measure by traditional five-stats, Tokugawa’s parameters are likely around 5 across the board."

"A 5?"

Kaji and Oomagari exchanged glances.

According to Kurobe’s metrics, their own total stats hovered near 25. Tokugawa was already on their level—more than worthy of taking Duke’s spot.

—SWOOSH!

The ball streaked back like a laser.

Park’s fury spiked. "RRRGH—!"

His dark aura flared as he charged, a raging beast hellbent on destruction.

The crowd roared, electrified.

—BAM! BAM! BAM!

Park unleashed a barrage of brutal strikes, each one a potential match-ender.

Yet Tokugawa stood firm—unshakable as a mountain.

Then—

—POCK!

A flawless counter.

A clean winner down the line.

"0-30!"

"Wha—?!"

As the dust settled, revealing Park’s stunned face, the Korean team froze.

Even in [Berserk Mode]… he’d been outplayed?

"This is bad."

Lee’s jaw tightened. "Using your trump card early is reckless. And tennis isn’t won by brute force alone."

As a graduate of Germany’s elite training camp, he knew true strength lay in balance—leveraging strengths to mask weaknesses.

But Park?

He’d lost all composure.

His obsession with power, paired with consecutive losses, had shattered his focus. Even with enhanced strength, his efficiency had plummeted.

Meanwhile, Tokugawa remained ice-cold—his every move calculated, his spin-power hybrids maximizing every ounce of energy.

At this rate, Park would burn out first.

The match was already decided.

The Tides Turn

"Game! Japan leads, 1-0!"

"Game! Japan, 2-0!"

"Game! Japan, 3-0!"

Three straight games—in the blink of an eye.

Park, drenched in sweat, gasped for air.

His eyes burned red, veins bulging as fury and exhaustion warred inside him.

"Damn you… DAMN YOU!!!"

His rage teetered on the edge of meltdown.

"Geon-soo…"

The Korean team paled.

Some glanced at Coach Park, expecting intervention—but the man stood silent, arms crossed.

"His own father… isn’t going to stop this?"

Whispers spread.

They didn’t know—this was exactly what Coach Park wanted.

Years ago, on a camping trip, a three-year-old Park had wandered off. When his father found him, a wolf had been stalking close.

But as the beast lunged—

The toddler’s eyes had glowed red.

The wolf fled.

From that day, Coach Park knew: his son harbored a monster within.

And now?

Tokugawa’s pressure was unleashing it.

—POCK!

Another serve.

The ball vanished mid-flight—only for Park to blur into motion.

—BAM!

He smashed the "invisible" shot back!

"He returned it?!"

The Koreans erupted.

Even Coach Park finally smiled.

"It’s working!"

His son’s latent power was awakening.

"Subconscious instinct?"

In the booth, Kim Gun-yoon gasped. "To think Park had this hidden inside him!"

He leaned forward, addressing the camera. "Viewers, witness the turning point of this match!"

The audience held their breath.

On-screen, Park’s aura swelled, his muscles coiling like a predator’s.

"HRRAAAAH—!"

With a final roar, he unleashed his wrath—

—BOOM!!!

The stadium shook.

Then—

—THUD.

A body slammed into the wall.

Silence.

The Koreans stared, horrified.

Because the one sent flying—

Was Park Geon-soo.

"Cough… cough…"

Gasping, he looked up—and trembled.

In that split second before impact, he’d seen it.

A towering, demonic silhouette behind Tokugawa.

"That… that was…"

His voice cracked.

"An… Asura?"

Chapter 307: The Three Stages of Synergy – A Second Consecutive Win (1st Update)

Thud.

Under the stunned gazes of the crowd, Park Geon-soo—tall, muscular, and moments ago brimming with confidence—locked eyes with Tokugawa one last time before collapsing face-first onto the court.

"Huh?!"

Silence.

The spectators and Korean team members froze.

"G-Geon-soo...?"

The lower-ranked Korean players panicked, while Lee Seung-bok and Kim Tae-woo, their top two, exchanged grim looks.

Unthinkable.

Their power specialist had been utterly crushed in his own domain.

Their eyes snapped back to the slender figure now fully visible through the settling dust—Tokugawa.

This Japanese player... was strong.

"P-Park Geon-soo?!"

The umpire leaned forward, voice tense. "Are you... alright?"

No response.

"Damn it."

The Korean team’s stomachs dropped. A forfeit here, on live TV, would be a national humiliation.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Heads turned as Coach Park Dong-gun strode onto the court.

"Poor Coach Park," someone muttered. "He trained Geon-soo personally. This must be devastating."

But then—

Splash!

Park Dong-gun upended a water bottle onto his son’s face.

"Wake up, brat," he hissed. "If you want to sleep, do it after the match. Right now, you finish this."

The Korean team collectively flinched.

This harsh? To his own son? On national television?

Clang!

The empty bottle sailed into a trash bin. Park Dong-gun returned to his seat without another glance.

"Impressive," Ishikawa mused from Japan’s bench. "Using his son as a warning to the others. Ruthless."

Click-click-click!

Cameras zoomed in on Park Dong-gun’s stony expression.

"This," commentator Kim Gun-yoon intoned solemnly, "is how Korea’s national coach operates. No exceptions. No mercy."

The broadcast audience nodded—anger momentarily soothed by this display of discipline.

"Cough... cough..."

Park Geon-soo stirred. His physique had absorbed the worst of the impact; consciousness returned quickly.

"Tokugawa Kazuya!"

No more arrogance. Only wariness. He adjusted his stance—defensive now.

The match resumed.

A calmer Park managed to steal a few points, even clinching one game.

But the first set ended 6-1 for Tokugawa.

By the second set, Park’s stamina crumbled—his earlier power surges exacting their price.

6-0.

A shutout.

"Game, set, match!" The umpire exhaled. "Japan’s Tokugawa Kazuya wins 6-1, 6-0!"

Post-Match:

Japan’s side nodded in quiet approval.

Korea’s? Park Geon-soo slunk into the shadows while his father’s scowl deepened.

Gulp.

The next Korean doubles pair swallowed hard.

If the coach’s son got no leniency... losing wasn’t an option.

"Doubles 2 commencing!"

"Korea: Jung Eun-hyuk (3rd year), Yoon Seung-hyun (3rd year) vs. Japan: Ryouma (3rd year), Ryouga (3rd year)!"

"Players, prepare!"

"What?!"

Park Dong-gun’s pulse spiked.

The twins?!

In his intel, the Ryouma-Ryouga duo had a near-perfect record. He’d expected them in Doubles 1!

His current pair—Korea’s No. 6 and 7—were versatile but outmatched. A sacrificial move in his "lower-tier vs. upper-tier" strategy.

Yet after losing the first match, this gamble felt dire.

First Set:

The Koreans exploded off the blocks, disrupting the twins’ rhythm with aggressive plays.

"First set to Korea, 6-4!"

The stadium erupted.

Thousands roared—Japan finally feeling the host nation’s pressure.

"Perfect." Park Dong-gun nodded. "Deny them momentum. Choke them out."

His players grinned. That first-set win had reignited their confidence.

Physically, Korea’s No. 6/7 were superior to Japan’s No. 15/16.

But then—

Second Set:

The twins shifted tactics.

Their synergy—previously restrained—uncoiled like twin vipers.

Park Dong-gun burned all three timeouts, each masterfully timed to disrupt Japan’s surges.

"Brilliant!" Kim Gun-yoon praised on-air. "Coach Park’s control is absolute. This match is ours."

He smirked. "Japan’s ‘coach’ might as well be a spectator. No comparison to a real tactician."

The camera cut to Ishikawa—just as he snapped his fingers, smiling faintly.

"Huh?" The host blinked. "What does that gesture mean?"

"Nothing," Kim scoffed. "Unless he intervenes properly, this outcome is locked."

Amateur.

But then—

The twins relaxed.

"Finally," Ryouma sighed. "Our new boss really makes us work for it."

"Seriously," Ryouga groaned. "Holding back against these guys? Painful."

"Hey!" Jung Eun-hyuk barked. "You done stalling?"

"Oh?" Yoon Seung-hyun sneered. "Ready to quit already?"

The twins grinned.

"Wish granted."

Hummm!

White light erupted. Their bodies levitated, auras intertwining into a single entity.

"That’s—?!"

Park Dong-gun and Kim Gun-yoon paled.

"S-Synergy!" Kim choked out. "And not just basic... Stage Two!"

The Three Stages of Synergy:

Awakening – Initial synchronization.
Harmonization – Deeper fusion, shared instincts.
Oneness – Legendary unity; rare even among pros.

Most pro doubles teams stop at Stage One.

Stage Two? Only the elite.

And the twins?

Brutal.

Six minutes.

That’s all it took to claim the second set 6-3.

The third set?

A 6-0 massacre.

"Match to Japan!" The umpire gaped. "4-6, 6-3, 6-0!"

Thud! Thud!

The Koreans crumpled, exhausted.

The twins walked off—cool as ever.

"That..." A Korean doubles specialist trembled. "That was their real level?"

Lee Seung-bok’s gaze sharpened.

Stage Two Synergy.

And then—his focus shifted to Japan’s bench.

To that snap.

"Just who is he?"

The dismissed rumor resurfaced in his mind:

Did this kid really defeat Byoudouin Houou?!

Chapter 308: Singles 2 – "Your Serve Is Nothing Special"

The court was eerily quiet.

The Japanese team remained completely calm after securing their second consecutive victory. They knew exactly how capable the twin brothers were.

Sure, their individual skills weren’t the strongest, but with their synchronicity—*"The Pair Resonance"*—their combined strength was far greater than the sum of its parts.

On the other hand, the Korean team was drowning in tension. After two straight losses, both the players and the spectators were visibly uneasy, their eyes flickering with anxiety.

Among them, Head Coach Park Dong-gun’s expression was the darkest.

Two losses in a row.

And worse—this humiliation was being broadcast live to the entire nation. If they didn’t turn things around soon, the U17 team’s fate would be uncertain, but he would undoubtedly go down as the most disgraceful coach in Korean U17 tennis history.

There was only one way out now: win. At all costs.

Swish!

His sharp gaze locked onto the confident blond boy stepping onto the court.

"Tae-woo. Take this seriously."

"Coach!"

Kim Tae-woo, who had been completely relaxed just moments ago, stiffened under Park’s intense glare.

"Remember," Park growled, his voice low and threatening. "You must win. If you lose… you know the consequences."

"…Understood."

A flicker of fear passed through Tae-woo’s eyes. He knew all too well the power Park held as the U17 head coach.

Even if Korea somehow made it to the World Cup this year, he might not get to play.

The thought of being benched made his expression turn serious.

"Pressuring his player before the match even starts?"

From the sidelines, Ishikawa shook his head inwardly.

"As expected, Coach Inui’s leadership is on a completely different level."

The Korean team was already backed into a corner. If Ishikawa were in charge, he’d ease his players’ nerves, analyze the opponent’s weaknesses mid-match, and adjust tactics during timeouts.

But Park?

He was panicking.

With such poor decision-making under pressure, Korea’s fate was already sealed.

"Now beginning the Singles 2 match!"

"Representing Korea—Kim Tae-woo (3rd Year)!"

"Representing Japan—Echizen Nanjiroh (3rd Year)!"

"Players, prepare!"

The crowd, murmuring moments earlier, fell silent.

After two crushing losses, the Korean spectators clung to a fragile hope as their golden-haired ace stepped forward.

KBS2 Broadcast Studio

"Mr. Kim," the flustered host turned to the analyst, "could you tell us about Kim Tae-woo?"

"Of course." Kim Gun-woo cleared his throat. "He’s currently ranked No. 2 in Korea’s national team, just behind their captain, Lee Seung-bok. However, since Lee trained at Germany’s elite camp…"

He paused for emphasis.

"Tae-woo is the strongest homegrown player in Korea’s U17!"

"Homegrown?!"

The audience’s spirits lifted instantly.

On screen, the two players met at the net.

The Japanese representative towered over Tae-woo—yet the Korean ace radiated confidence.

Maybe… just maybe…

Like an underdog movie, Korea would stage a comeback and crush their rivals!

The Court

"Echizen Nanjiroh," Tae-woo said in broken English, smirking. "I’ve heard about your ‘unstoppable’ serve. Show me what you’ve got."

His tone was cocky, bordering on mocking.

"You’ll see it."

Nanjiroh’s expression didn’t waver.

"Tch. Boring."

Tae-woo scoffed and turned away.

Broadcast Studio

"What was that?" The host blinked.

"He’s conceding the serve," Kim Gun-woo explained, forcing a smile. "Clearly, Tae-woo is confident in his abilities!"

Internally, though, he was furious.

Showboating when we’re losing? Idiot!

But with Korea’s back against the wall, he could only pray Tae-woo’s "homegrown strongest" title wasn’t just hype.

First Serve

"Best of three sets! First game—Japan’s Echizen Nanjiroh to serve!"

Whoosh!

Nanjiroh tossed the ball high, then—*BAM!*—hammered it down with his towering reach.

The ball streaked across the net like a bullet, landing squarely on the service line.

"Too fast!"

The Korean team and crowd gasped.

This serve was on another level compared to earlier matches.

Broadcast Studio

"According to data," Kim Gun-woo muttered, "the Japanese player is over 2.2 meters tall. His serve is practically a smash."

"What do we do?!" The host panicked.

If they lost this, not only would Coach Park be crucified—KBS would become a national joke.

Tae-woo’s Move

Swish!

Tae-woo reacted instantly, darting to intercept the ball before it bounced twice.

"Not bad speed," he taunted, grinning. "But still too slow for me!"

CRACK!

He returned it with a sharp angle, aiming for the far corner.

"Yes!"

The crowd erupted—finally, a worthy play!

But before they could celebrate—

THWACK!

Nanjiroh was already there, effortlessly returning it.

"Oh?"

Tae-woo’s grin widened. "Good! I was worried you’d be too weak!"

He exploded into motion, his afterimages blurring across the court.

Japanese Team’s Reaction

"Huh." Kaji raised an eyebrow. "Not bad speed."

"Kim Tae-woo," Mitsutani added calmly. "Age 17. Dubbed ‘Korea’s Homegrown Genius’ and ‘Golden Lightning’ for his reflexes."

"Lightning?" Kaji snorted. "Their standards must be low."

As Japan’s fastest player (with a speed stat of 7), he wouldn’t dare call himself "lightning." Globally, that level wasn’t even top-tier.

The Rally

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The match intensified.

Nanjiroh was fast, but Tae-woo controlled the tempo, pushing harder with each return.

"It’s working!" A Korean player grinned. "Tae-woo’s overwhelming him!"

Sure enough—three exchanges later, Tae-wou nailed a cross-court winner.

"0-15!"

"Heh." Tae-woo smirked. "Better step it up, big guy. Or this’ll be over fast."

He could tell—Nanjiroh wasn’t even trying yet.

The Turning Point

Nanjiroh’s next serve was faster.

Tae-woo returned it easily.

"Faster! Faster!" he jeered, dictating the pace.

Nanjiroh remained silent.

Then—

0-30.

0-40.

Tae-woo was dominating.

"Yes! That’s our ace!"

"Tae-woo oppa! We love you!"

The crowd roared, their earlier frustration vanishing.

The Truth

"Pathetic." Kaji sighed. "That wasn’t even 70% of Nanjiroh’s real serve."

"What?!"

Coach Park, who understood Japanese, paled.

"That… wasn’t his full power?!"

Chapter 309: Mach Breaker and Full Moon State – An Unexpected Move

"Is… is that the legendary Mach Serve?"

Outside the court, the South Korean team members were stunned.

"Too fast!"

Kim Tae-woo hadn’t even managed to swing his racket. How could anyone return a serve like that?

"Damn it," one of the Korean players muttered bitterly. "We were just one point away from winning the game."

The rest of the team fell silent.

Their advantage had vanished in an instant. In a direct match, their opponent was no match for Tae-woo—except for that absurd serve. It felt like cheating! But since it was technically legal, there was nothing they could say.

Boom!

Another serve at 70% power landed. Tae-woo’s feet moved, but his racket remained still.

"Deuce! (40-40)!"

"Again!" Tae-woo shouted, rallying his focus as he prepared for the next serve.

Boom!

This time, as the ball landed, Tae-woo finally reacted. The crowd watched as he stepped forward, swinging his racket the moment the ball bounced—

Smack!

—only for the shot to slam straight into the net.

"Advantage, server!"

"Tch." Tae-woo clicked his tongue in frustration, but the spectators could see the confidence returning to his expression.

"That’s our Tae-woo!" The Korean team grinned.

Only a prodigy like him could adapt so quickly to such an insane serve.

Whoosh!

Munehiro tossed the ball again, his exposed right eye glinting coldly. His racket swung down with brutal force.

Boom!

Tae-woo braced himself, but the sheer speed of the ball felt like an unbridgeable gap.

Thud.

The ball hit the ground.

He stood frozen, unable to move a muscle.

Scratch…

Only when the ball rolled to his feet did he snap back to reality.

"Gulp."

He swallowed hard, looking up at his opponent in disbelief. "That feeling just now… Could it be—?"

His face darkened as realization struck.

"The Supersonic Dimension!"

Outside the court, Lee Seung-bu, Korea’s No. 1 player, frowned. "I never expected a Japanese high schooler to reach that level."

The Supersonic Dimension was an elite tennis realm—one that guaranteed a player’s entry into the professional league. And yet, he’d never heard of a high schooler mastering it before.

Even if Munehiro only tapped into it during serves, it was terrifying enough.

Tae-woo, now fully aware of what he was up against, tensed like a cornered beast.

"Game! Japan leads, 1-0! Change ends!"

The first game ended.

As the players switched sides, the serve shifted to Tae-woo. He bounced the ball lightly, searching for his rhythm.

"The Supersonic Dimension, huh?" He gripped the ball tightly, his gaze piercing. "I didn’t expect you to reach that level. But this match… will still be mine."

He served aggressively, charging forward with his signature [Lightning Tempo], quickly leveling the score.

"Good."

In the broadcast room, Kim Gun-yoon nodded approvingly. "If Tae-woo can hold his serve, he still has a chance."

He had to admit, the kid had guts. Facing an opponent who’d touched that realm without flinching? That took serious mental strength.

The match intensified, both players holding their serves until the score reached 5-5.

In the 11th game, Munehiro secured another effortless win with his Mach Serve.

Boom!

"Game! Japan leads, 6-5! Change ends!"

The 12th game—Tae-woo’s serve.

Despite trailing, he remained confident. If he could hold this, they’d go into a tiebreak.

Boom!

He served and dashed forward, aiming to dominate with his speed.

But this time, Munehiro shifted tactics—a sharp passing shot straight to the baseline.

"What?!"

Tae-woo barely managed to pivot, watching as the ball landed perfectly on the line.

"Incredible control!"

The Korean team stiffened. They hadn’t expected Munehiro to hide such precise shot placement until now.

"Something’s wrong," Seung-bu muttered. "He’s been holding back. Now that he’s making his move, he’s aiming to end this."

"But why wait until now?" Yoon Seung-hyun frowned.

"To drain Tae-woo’s stamina," Seung-bu said grimly.

This tall Japanese player was far from just a brute—he was calculating.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

A fierce baseline rally erupted.

"Hmph! This won’t work on me!" Tae-woo smirked, returning every deep shot. "You’re just delaying the inevitable."

Tap!

But then—Munehiro switched to a drop shot.

The ball floated delicately over the net.

"Beautiful!" The Japanese team applauded.

Ishikawa smiled. That drop shot had been perfectly set up, executed flawlessly.

"Damn it!" Tae-woo gritted his teeth, sprinting forward. His speed was unreal—he reached the ball just before its second bounce.

"He made it!"

"That’s our Tae-woo!"

"Now’s the time to counter!"

The Korean team cheered as he lunged for the return.

Tap!

He got it—barely. The ball arced high, and he steadied himself, ready to unleash a furious net assault.

But when he looked up, Munehiro was already mid-air, racket poised for a smash.

Tae-woo’s eyes widened.

Boom!

A deafening crack echoed behind him.

"0-15!"

"Gulp." Some of the Korean players paled.

"There it is," Mitsuya said, closing his notebook with a smile. "Munehiro’s Mach Smash."

Ishikawa nodded.

The Mach Serve was essentially a smash disguised as a serve. To maintain dominance, Munehiro just needed to force his opponent into a high return—turning every game into his own serve.

He had fully integrated the [Supersonic Dimension] into his playstyle, evolving beyond its initial limitations.

"H-He can do that?!"

The Korean team was speechless. What had been a close match had suddenly turned one-sided.

"Tae-woo…"

They glanced at their star player, now standing frozen at the net, his expression unreadable.

"Good. Very good."

Tae-woo lifted his head, his eyes sharp. "I didn’t expect you to have another trick like that. Fine then—I won’t hold back either."

He retreated to the baseline, gripping the ball tightly.

"I was saving this for the World Cup, but you’ll do as a warm-up."

Hum!

A surge of blue energy erupted around him—cool yet razor-sharp.

"What is this?!"

Most of the Korean team gasped.

Jung Eun-hyuk, Tae-woo’s close friend, clenched his fists. "This is his secret weapon—[Mach Breaker]. I can’t believe he’s using it now!"

Boom!

Tae-woo’s serve rocketed across the court, his body blurring as he charged forward like a bolt of lightning.

"Too fast!!!"

Even the Japanese team was stunned.

The speed was overwhelming—enough to pressure their own speedster, Mashita. By their metrics, Tae-woo’s speed had just skyrocketed to 7.5.

Boom!

Munehiro returned the serve, but Tae-woo was already at the net in a flash.

"You can’t beat me in speed!"

His confidence surged as he raised his racket—

Then froze.

Munehiro had swept aside his bangs, revealing his left eye. A crushing wave of mental pressure slammed into Tae-woo.

Smack!

His return hit the net.

Thud.

The ball rolled to a stop.

Silence.

"0-30!"

"H-How?!"

The Korean team stared in disbelief. Their No. 2 player—making such a basic mistake?!

"M-My hands…"

Tae-woo trembled, unable to steady himself.

"Tonight… is a full moon."

Munehiro turned away, his aura receding.

The Koreans were too focused on Tae-woo to notice, but Seung-bu felt the shift.

"That pressure…" His stomach dropped. "He was hiding his true strength too?"

And if he remembered correctly, this guy was only Japan’s No. 4.

That meant there were three players ranked above him.

No—four.

His gaze shifted to the black-haired boy sitting on the coach’s bench, the No. 1 insignia gleaming on his collar.

Smack!

"Fault!"

Tae-woo’s next serve hit the net.

Boom!

His second attempt sailed long.

"Out! Double fault! 0-40!"

"Damn it!" Coach Park Dong-geon’s face twisted in fury. Losing was one thing, but losing like this? It was humiliating.

Yet Tae-woo couldn’t control his hands. His speed was unmatched, but his mental resilience was lacking. Under Munehiro’s [Mental Assassin] technique, he was helpless.

Smack! Smack!

Two more serves—both faults.

"Game and first set! Japan’s Munehiro wins, 7-5!"

During the break, Coach Park tried to calm Tae-woo down, but it was no use.

The second set was a massacre.

Munehiro’s [Full Moon] state crushed Tae-woo’s spirit. 0-5 in minutes.

The sixth game was Munehiro’s serve—everyone knew it was over.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Three straight points. 40-0. Match point.

"Referee!"

Just as the crowd braced for the end, Munehiro raised his hand.

In clear English, he declared:

"I forfeit."

Gasp!

The stadium erupted.

Chapter 310: A Display of Strength – A Result More Humiliating Than Defeat

"Forfeit?!"

The Korean team’s representatives stared in disbelief at the towering young man on the court, wondering if they had misheard.

But the other party simply turned and walked away after dropping that single sentence.

As for the rest of the Japanese team? They remained completely unfazed—as if they had expected this outcome all along.

"W-Wait!!"

Just as Moonlight Ochi was about to leave, Kim Taewoo—his entire body trembling—forced himself to look up and call out to his opponent. "No! You have to finish this match!"

As Korea’s strongest homegrown talent, he had his own pride. He wanted to win this match, but not like this—not through his opponent’s pity.

"Oh?"

Ochi glanced back coldly. "Save that talk for when you can take a single step forward." (In English)

And with that, he left.

"Damn it!"

Kim Taewoo gritted his teeth, veins bulging as he desperately tried to force himself forward.

Yet Ochi’s words haunted him like a nightmare. No matter how hard he struggled, his body refused to obey.

Thud!

Finally, as if all his strength had been drained, he collapsed onto the court. Closing his eyes, he lay there in bitter resignation.

"Uh…"

The referee hesitated before glancing toward the Japanese team’s coach—a black-haired boy sitting calmly on the bench.

"It’s fine."

Ishikawa nodded. "I respect my player’s decision."

"Phew."

The referee exhaled in relief before announcing loudly: "Due to Moonlight Ochi’s forfeiture, the winner of this match is Korea’s representative, Kim Taewoo!"

"Hah…"

Park Dong-geon, the Korean coach, let out a sigh of relief.

He hadn’t wanted to accept this charity either, but without it, they would have lost outright. Compared to three straight defeats, at least one win—even like this—was statistically easier to swallow.

"You bastards…!"

But then, his gaze turned icy as he glared at the Japanese team. "You’ll pay for underestimating us!"

Immediately, he pulled aside Korea’s next doubles pair—about to play in the Doubles 1 match—and reminded them of this humiliation. "Make them regret this!"

Meanwhile, on the Japanese side…

Mōri and Genichirō stared at Ochi in surprise.

"Ochi-senpai doesn’t seem like the type to do this…" Genichirō muttered under his breath.

"Yeah."

Mōri nodded.

Ochi gave off an icy, untouchable aura—the kind of person who took pride in his skills. It was hard to imagine him forfeiting in such an important match.

"It’s simple."

Mitsutaka, the team’s strategist, smiled. "This was Coach Nyūdō’s order."

"Coach Nyūdō?!"

Genichirō blinked, while Mōri’s eyes widened. "You mean… the head coach?"

"Exactly."

Before the match, Sanzō had instructed the players to ensure the competition reached the Singles 1 round—no matter what.

And the Singles 1 player?

Ishikawa.

The team’s leader.

Mitsutaka suspected this was all a calculated move to showcase Japan’s strength. With Ishikawa’s addition, their top-tier players were now on par with the Big 4 teams.

And if rumors about Byōdōin’s condition were exaggerated…

Plus Oni, still training in the mountains…

Japan’s U-17 now had three elite players capable of dominating the world stage.

This exhibition match was just the beginning.

Doubles 1 – Japan vs. Korea

"Next up: Doubles 1!"

"Korea’s representatives: Yoo Joon-hyun (3rd year) & Choi Jae-wook (3rd year) vs. Japan’s Kazuya Kaji (3rd year) & Ryūji Ōmachi (3rd year)!"

"Players, please prepare!"

On Japan’s side, the blue-haired Kaji Kazuya (average build, slightly round face) and the ever-stoic Ōmachi Ryūji (white beanie, thin mustache) stepped forward.

Korea’s pair?

A tall, lanky black-haired player (Yoo Joon-hyun, No. 4) and a short, stocky brown-haired one (Choi Jae-wook, No. 5).

Their expressions were sharp with anger—Ochi’s forfeit had already humiliated Korea.

Losing here would be unforgivable.

The Match Begins

"Game set, best of three!"

"First set, Korea’s Choi Jae-wook to serve!"

The Koreans immediately lined up in an Australian Formation—a strategic setup meant to pressure opponents.

But Ōmachi just sighed.

"Seriously? This basic formation’s weakness is obvious."

With a swift swing, he sent the ball straight down the middle.

Yet the Koreans shifted seamlessly, their movements so synchronized they seemed to overlap—an advanced variation called "Phantom Stagger Formation."

"They’ve mastered over ten different formations," Mitsutaka noted. "They once overwhelmed the Philippines’ doubles team just by cycling through strategies."

But Kaji wasn’t impressed.

"Pathetic."

In a blur of motion, he intercepted the ball mid-flight and smashed it past them.

"0-15!"

The Koreans paled.

Kaji’s speed was inhuman.

They switched tactics, targeting Ōmachi instead—only to realize he had endless stamina.

No matter how hard they pushed, he never tired.

Meanwhile, Kaji danced around them like a phantom.

"0-30!"

"0-40!"

"Game, Japan! 3-6!"