301-305

Chapter 301: Fierce Indoor Battle – The Terror of High Schoolers! (Update 1)  

Swoosh—  

The tennis ball skidded across the court, spinning rapidly against the ground.  

A split second later, it shot straight toward Byoudouin’s head.  

But just as he raised his racket to return it, the ball suddenly curved mid-air, veering parallel to the ground and darting toward his backhand side.  

"Oh?"  

Byoudouin raised an eyebrow, impressed. "I didn’t expect this serve to have such a tricky variation."  

"Heh."  

On the other side of the net, Echizen smirked confidently.  

This was his newly refined Twist Serve, perfected through relentless training. With this first serve, he intended to make a strong impression—to show this high schooler exactly what he was capable of.  

To Echizen, high schoolers might be stronger, but they weren’t unbeatable. His real goal was defeating Ishikawa, and he’d trained harder than ever to close the gap. This serve was his way of making sure his opponent remembered his name.  

Thwack!  

But before Echizen could savor the moment, the crisp sound of a return shot echoed through the court. The ball, which had been flying parallel to the ground, was already intercepted and sent rocketing back.  

Boom!  

It landed right on the baseline, sending an invisible wave of pressure crashing over Echizen. When he swung his racket to meet it, a tremendous force jolted through his wrist.  

"This power…?!"  

Echizen’s expression twisted in shock.  

His earlier confidence vanished, replaced by sheer disbelief. Instinctively, he gripped the racket with both hands, barely managing to withstand the impact.  

"Hoh?"  

Byoudouin’s eyes gleamed with interest. "He blocked it? Not bad. This middle schooler’s got some skill."  

Thwack!  

He chased down the next ball and fired it to the far corner, forcing Echizen to sprint across the court.  

Tap-tap!  

Yet, the boy’s feet moved with surprising agility, reaching the ball just in time.  

"The Split Step?"  

Byoudouin’s eyebrows rose higher. And when he noticed Echizen’s footwork adjusting mid-dash, his intrigue deepened. "No—a Single-Legged Split Step?"  

If this kid really was a rookie, his technique was already at an impressive level.  

Thwack! 

Boom! 

Thwack! 

Boom!  

The two fell into a grueling baseline rally.  

"Not bad, not bad."  

On the adjacent court, Duke Watanabe—wearing his signature oni mask—nodded approvingly. "To hold his own against the boss? This kid’s got talent."  

He turned to his own opponent, a grinning redhead. "Hey, you’re no slouch either, right? Go on, serve."  

"You got it!"  

Kintarou beamed and tossed the ball high.  

WHAM!  

His serve exploded forward like a cannon shot.  

Duke smoothly moved into position, raising his racket to counter—  

CRACK!  

The moment his strings connected with the ball, his eyes widened behind the mask.  

"This power… He’s a middle schooler?!"  

He stared at Kintarou’s lean frame, struggling to reconcile it with the raw strength behind that shot.  

Of course, for Duke—the #1 power player in U-17—this was nothing. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the ball rocketing back, placing it perfectly in the far corner.  

"Unless he’s got some fancy footwork too— Huh?!"  

But then, Kintarou leaped into the air, curling into a ball and spinning like a human top.  

Whoosh—!  

He landed with a skid, his racket already whipping forward.  

BOOM!  

The ball screamed back at Duke.  

"What the—?!"  

Duke had never seen such unorthodox play. It was chaotic yet fluid, full of wasted motion yet impossibly efficient.  

"Since when were Japanese middle schoolers this insane?"  

Thwack! 

Boom! 

Thwack! 

Boom!  

The rallies intensified. Duke gradually increased his power, yet Kintarou kept returning everything.  

"This brat’s a monster."  

Duke’s expression grew serious behind the mask.  

Then—  

Tap.  

Kintarou suddenly dropped a delicate short shot.  

"Huh?!"  

The timing was flawless—right as Duke committed to a power swing.  

Scrambling forward, Duke barely managed to lob it high.  

"NOW’S MY CHANCE!"  

Kintarou’s eyes lit up. He launched himself into the air, spinning like a tornado.  

WHOOSH—!!!  

Dust swirled around him as he transformed into a human whirlwind.  

"This kid—!"  

Duke’s eyes narrowed. The rotational force alone was terrifying—whatever came next would be brutal.  

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

With that absurdly named shout, Kintarou unleashed his ultimate move.  

BOOOOM!!!  

The ball streaked down like a meteor.  

"A secret technique, huh?"  

Nearby, Echizen shielded his eyes from the dust storm, watching intently.  

He’d heard about Kintarou’s infamous match against Ishikawa—how his final shot had been monstrous.  

But seeing it in person?  

This was on another level.  

Echizen was certain: If Duke tried to return this, he’d be sent flying.  

"Damn, this kid’s a beast."  

Duke braced himself as the shockwave hit. "Is he Oni’s secret love child or something?!"  

In U-17, Duke was strong—but Oni could lift a ton of weight. And this redheaded brat? Aside from his smaller build, he was like a mini-Oni!  

"Guess I’ll have to get serious."  

KABOOM!!!  

A deafening blast shook the indoor courts.  

A massive dust cloud erupted, swallowing the entire area.  

"Huh?!"  

Echizen’s eyes widened as a figure went flying—  

But it wasn’t Duke.  

It was Kintarou.  

THUD!  

The redhead crashed into the wall, knocked out cold.  

"Wha—?!"  

Echizen’s breath hitched.  

As the dust settled, Duke stood there—shirt torn clean off, revealing a sculpted, powerhouse physique.  

"Phew. That was close."  

Duke wiped imaginary sweat off his brow, eyeing the unconscious Kintarou. "Kid’s scary. Who throws a shot like that?!"  

Scary?!  

Echizen’s eye twitched. Duke hadn’t even flinched, while Kintarou was out cold.  

"Hey, brat."  

Byoudouin’s voice snapped him back to reality.  

"You shouldn’t lose focus mid-match."  

With that, Byoudouin raised his racket—and suddenly, his arm seemed to multiply into countless afterimages.  

"Indian Snake Charmer!"  

SWISH!  

The ball split into a swarm of serpent-like trajectories, all lunging for Echizen.  

"This technique—?!"  

Echizen’s pulse spiked.  

This wasn’t just some upgraded version of Ochi’s Wild Ball Barrage. This was real high-level play.  

Without hesitation, he switched his racket to his left hand.  

"Oh?"  

Byoudouin’s interest peaked. "A southpaw, huh?"  

The more he saw, the more this "rookie" impressed him.  

Still, Byoudouin was confident. Even holding back, this technique should be beyond any middle schooler’s ability to return.  

But then—  

Pulse!  

A radiant white aura erupted around Echizen.  

"This light—?!"  

Byoudouin recognized it—Muga no Kyouchi (Perfect Harmony). But this version felt different, almost consuming his focus.  

CRACK!  

Echizen returned the shot with a fierce counter.  

"Well, well."  

Byoudouin grinned. "If he’s really a rookie, his talent’s insane."  

This level already put him in the U-17’s top ten. That aura was dangerous—even former elites like Kirihara and Akutsu would struggle against it.  

Time to get serious.  

Thwack! 

Boom! 

Thwack! 

Boom!  

The exchanges grew fiercer, dust clouds obscuring the court.  

Echizen fought at his absolute peak, treating Byoudouin like he would Ishikawa.  

But with every return, the weight behind the shots grew heavier.  

"This pressure…"  

Echizen gritted his teeth. Something was off.  

Then—  

RIIIP!  

The dust curtain tore apart.  

A gigantic tennis ball, swirling with terrifying force, hurtled toward him.  

"This is—?!"  

Even in Perfect Harmony, Echizen felt a primal fear.  

The same fear he’d felt against Ishikawa at Nationals.  

"HAAAH—!"  

Gritting his teeth, he poured every ounce of strength into his swing.  

BOOOOOOM!!!  

The collision was catastrophic.  

"Guh—!"  

Echizen’s racket warped on impact.  

And then—  

WHOOSH!  

He was launched backward, slamming into the wall beside Kintarou.  

"Ugh…"  

Dazed, Echizen stared at his mangled racket in disbelief.  

What kind of monster was this guy?!  

"Hoh?"  

Byoudouin tilted his head. "Still conscious? You’re no ordinary middle schooler."  

"Kid, you’ve got skill," Duke called over, chuckling. "But this isn’t your stage yet. Train hard—we’ll meet again."  

"Y-Yeah…"  

Kintarou groaned, slowly sitting up. He rubbed his head sheepishly.  

"But, uh… We’re not even the strongest in middle school."  

"Oh?"  

Duke’s eyes sharpened. "There’s someone above you two?"  

That was unexpected. These two were already top-ten material.  

"Not surprising."  

Byoudouin crossed his arms. "You’re both first-years, right?"  

"Heh…"  

Kintarou scratched his cheek awkwardly. Then, under his breath:  

"Well, there’s still one guy stronger than us… Too bad Ishikawa didn’t show up for the selections…"  

"—?!"  

Both Byoudouin and Duke snapped their heads toward him.  

"Kid," Duke’s voice turned deadly serious. "Who did you just say?!"  

Chapter 302: Byoudouin’s Shock – The Arrival of the Expedition Team (Update 2)  

"Uh…"  

Suddenly pinned under the intense gazes of the two high schoolers, even the usually fearless Kintarou shrank back slightly.  

"S-Senpai…?"  

He swallowed hard, unnerved by their oni and phoenix masks. Something about them sent a primal chill down his spine.  

"Hey, kid," Duke said, forcing a friendly tone. "You mentioned there’s a middle schooler even stronger than you two?"  

"Yeah!" Kintarou nodded eagerly. "Ishikawa from Hyotei—he’s crazy strong! Even me and Echizen couldn’t beat him. Oh, and he’s their vice-captain!"  

Hyotei. 

Ishikawa.  

The two keywords clicked instantly in Byoudouin and Duke’s minds.  

"A… first-year?"  

Behind his phoenix mask, Byoudouin’s expression darkened.  

Losing to Ishikawa before hadn’t shaken him—but now, realizing his opponent was a middle schooler?  

A storm of emotions raged inside him.  

"Huh?" Kintarou tilted his head. "Do you guys know Ishikawa?"  

"Nah, no way!" Duke laughed it off. "We’re just surprised there’s someone stronger than you two. So… he didn’t join the camp selections?"  

"Nope," Kintarou sighed. "Hyotei said he had some urgent stuff. He’ll come later."  

Then, his eyes lit up.  

"Oh! Oni-mask senpai! That move you used earlier—can you teach me?!"  

"Uh…" Duke blinked before chuckling. "Sure, but you’re not strong enough yet."  

"I’ll train like crazy!" Kintarou slammed his fists together, eyes blazing.  

"Too late."  

Byoudouin’s cold voice cut in. "U-17 rules say missing the group eliminations means disqualification."  

"WHAT?!"  

Kintarou’s face paled.  

Even Echizen stiffened.  

"Let’s go!"  

Without another word, they grabbed their rackets and bolted. Kintarou shouted over his shoulder, "Oni-senpai! You promised!"  

Duke waved as they vanished. "Those kids… something else." He grinned. "That redhead? Spitting image of Oni."  

Byoudouin’s mask hid his smirk, but his shoulders shook briefly before he schooled his expression.  

"Boss," Duke turned serious. "What’s the plan?"  

He’d followed Byoudouin for his indomitable spirit. But after the loss to Ishikawa, something had dimmed in the former king.  

Now, Duke searched his leader’s eyes for that familiar fire.  

"Hmph." Byoudouin removed his mask, voice low. "My goal was never just beating others. The only opponent that matters is myself."  

Duke grinned. "That’s the boss I know."  

The unshakable heart was still there.  

"Train harder." Byoudouin’s gaze sharpened. "We leave for the expedition in a month. No time to waste."  

He’d reclaim what he lost—stronger than ever.  

"Got it." Duke ripped off his mask, eyes glinting crimson. "Guess I’ll stop holding back too."  

Meanwhile – U-17 Camp 

"Kintarou? Echizen?"  

Shiraishi, Tezuka, and the others stared as the two burst into the now-empty center court.  

Only half the original 50 middle schoolers remained.  

"Where is everyone?!" Kintarou gaped. "Choutarou-senpai! Koharu-senpai?!"  

Silence.  

Fuji sighed. "They’re gone."  

The coaches had enforced the rules mercilessly—those who lost were sent home immediately.  

"You two," a smooth voice interrupted. "Arriving late means automatic disqualification."  

"NO WAY!" Kintarou flailed. "We had a good reason! Give us another chance!"  

"Hmm?" Coach Aizou smirked. "Fine. But the loser gets expelled. Still want to play?"  

Kintarou and Echizen froze.  

The surrounding players tensed. A duel between these two would be explosive—but only one could stay.  

"Wait—Echizen, your racket?!" Kikumaru gasped.  

Everyone stared. Both their rackets were twisted beyond recognition.  

What the hell had they been through?  

"Coach," Echizen stepped forward, voice steady. "Start the match."  

"Yeah!" Kintarou cracked his knuckles. "Let’s do this!"  

The air thickened with anticipation.  

But then—  

"Just kidding~" Aizou sang. "Rules are rules. Follow me."  

He strolled off, leaving the two deflated.  

Losers’ Cliff 

The eliminated players stood before a sheer mountain face, confusion mounting—until Aizou reappeared with Kintarou and Echizen.  

"Climb," he said simply. "If you want back in."  

With that, he vanished.  

Silence.  

Then—  

"Hmph." Sanada was the first to move.  

One by one, the others followed.  

Aizou watched from the trees, satisfied. "Come back stronger."  

Seoul, Korea 

The Japanese U-17 team arrived at their hotel, Ishikawa leading with calm authority.  

"Matches start tomorrow," he said. "No unauthorized outings. Any objections?"  

None dared.  

This was his first expedition as captain—failure wasn’t an option.  

Korean U-17 Base 

"Report: Target missing."  

A spy’s voice crackled through the phone.  

"No sign of Byoudouin."  

Coach Park Dong-geon smirked. "Perfect."  

Across from him, Korea’s No. 1—Lee Seung-bu—frowned.  

"No… Byoudouin?"  

His chance to challenge the legendary king… gone?  

"Rest well," Park patted his shoulder. "Victory is ours."  

As Lee left, Park’s grin widened.  

No Byoudouin meant no threat.  

Japan was already defeated.  

Chapter 303: The Mysterious Oni and the Glasses Man on Heart’s Cliff  

Evening.  

At the hotel where Japan’s U-17 expedition team was staying, Ishikawa went door to door as promised, notifying everyone to gather for dinner.  

For him, the most important thing while traveling was ensuring the players’ physical condition. To guarantee everyone arrived on time, he had to enforce a strict meal schedule.  

Otherwise, if someone ate something questionable and got sick, it would disrupt his plans.  

Some might think he was being too controlling, but to strategist Mitsuya, Ishikawa’s approach was undoubtedly correct.  

He couldn’t help but feel relieved—if not for Ishikawa’s authority, who knew what kind of trouble these unruly players might cause?  

After dinner, Ishikawa ordered everyone back to their rooms with a strict no-going-out policy. Once he confirmed no one had disobeyed, he returned to his own room.  

Meanwhile, at the Korean U-17 training base…  

Head coach Park Dong-geon received an intriguing report.  

"So, Japan has a new captain?"  

He smirked. "Changing leaders right before a match… What is Coach Mikuni thinking? Or do they believe Japan is already guaranteed a World Cup spot?"  

"Well, no matter."  

Park’s eyes gleamed with ambition. "This is Korea’s chance to shine!"  

As head coach, he had long been criticized for his overly conservative strategies. But outsiders didn’t understand—whether they ranked in the top 32, top 10, or even the Big Four, the result was the same: a World Cup qualification.  

Park’s philosophy was simple—secure the ticket with minimal losses.  

But Japan’s sudden leadership change presented the perfect opportunity to prove himself.  

Tomorrow’s exhibition match… I’ll make sure we win decisively!  

Nightfall. Deep in the mountains behind Japan’s U-17 camp.  

The defeated middle schoolers trudged through the dense forest. After scaling a steep cliff, they had fallen into a river when an old bridge collapsed beneath them.  

Now, soaked and exhausted, they pressed on.  

Two hours passed—still no sign of their destination. Some began to doubt whether Coach Saito had given them the wrong directions.  

But turning back wasn’t an option.  

Silently, they marched another hour.  

Just as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm them, they finally spotted the plateau Saito had described—perched precariously on the cliffside.  

Gritting their teeth, they climbed up, only to find the area shrouded in thick mist.  

"W-What’s that?!"  

Tohyama’s sharp eyes caught movement in the fog. His face paled.  

"A GHOST!!!"  

His shriek sent chills down everyone’s spines—especially Kaidō, who nearly bolted back down the mountain.  

"Who’s there?"  

A voice cut through the mist.  

The middle schoolers froze.  

Bold as ever, Shishido stepped forward. As the fog thinned, he made out a blond pompadour.  

"You?"  

"These guys…" Ryōma muttered. "The high schoolers who failed to catch the balls earlier?"  

A breeze scattered the mist further, revealing a group of high schoolers in white shirts and shorts—the very ones expelled from the main camp.  

"Well, well." The blond sneered. "Look who got sent to the loser’s corner too."  

The middle schoolers’ expressions darkened.  

Losing to their teammates still stung.  

"Tch." The high schooler—Sasabe Jun’ichi—grinned. "But since we got here first, you brats get the caves over there."  

"Says who?" Shishido shot back. "U-17 rules don’t care about ‘first come, first served.’"  

"Correct." Inui adjusted his glasses. "Priority goes to the stronger players."  

The middle schoolers straightened, confidence radiating.  

Sasabe’s smirk faltered.  

He could bully them with seniority, but in a real match? After witnessing what happened to the No. 8 court player earlier…  

"What’s wrong?" Shishido taunted. "Scared? Some high schoolers you are."  

Tennis was about strength. And the middle schoolers were ready to prove theirs.  

"Enough."  

A deep voice boomed.  

The high schoolers instantly parted, forming a path.  

A towering, scarred redhead emerged from the shadows—Oni Jūzaburō.  

"You’re the middle schoolers?"  

His gaze swept over them before locking onto Shishido.  

"So you’re the one who said strength decides everything?"  

Shishido swallowed hard but held his ground.  

"Damn right. And that’s not just my opinion—it’s U-17’s law."  

As Hyōtei’s national-level player, Shishido wasn’t one to back down. Today’s match had been a deliberate loss to his partner, leaving him restless.  

Now? This was his chance to vent—and establish the middle schoolers’ dominance.  

"Good."  

Oni nodded approvingly. "Follow me."  

He led them to the cliff’s edge, where a battered, uneven court lay under torchlight.  

"This…" Shishido hesitated.  

"Problem?" Oni challenged.  

"Hell no."  

Shishido grabbed his racket and stepped onto the jagged terrain.  

Then he noticed Oni’s "racket"—a wooden frame with just two strings forming a cross.  

"Well?" Oni growled. "Serve."  

With a sharp exhale, Shishido tossed the ball—  

BANG!  

"Bullet Serve!"  

The middle schoolers recognized it instantly. Even after a month, Shishido’s signature shot hadn’t dulled.  

But the uneven ground sent the ball ricocheting wildly—  

THWACK!  

Oni’s "racket" intercepted it effortlessly.  

"Impossible!" Inui and Yanagi gasped.  

In near darkness, on unstable footing, with a two-string racket—he’d returned an unpredictable bounce perfectly.  

Shishido barely managed a super half-volley return, but the impact nearly wrenched his arm off.  

"What kind of power…?!"  

Each return grew heavier. Soon, sweat dripped from Shishido’s brow.  

I need to end this fast.  

"HYAH!"  

Blue light erupted around him—Limit Break!  

His speed doubled as he lunged forward like a panther.  

"Nice spirit." Oni’s eyes glinted. "But not enough."  

BOOM!  

The next shot blasted Shishido off his feet—  

"WATCH OUT!"  

He skidded to a stop inches from the cliff’s edge.  

"YOU BASTARD!" Mukahi screamed. "YOU COULD’VE KILLED HIM!"  

"Shh."  

A cheerful voice interrupted.  

A round-faced, bespectacled man smiled from the sidelines.  

"Don’t worry. Oni knows exactly how much force to use."  

His grin turned ominous.  

"But I’d keep quiet if I were you. You wouldn’t want to wake Coach Mikuni."  

Chapter 304: The Expedition Match Begins (Update 1)  

“I-Into Coach?”  

At the bespectacled man’s words, Tōyama instinctively blurted out, “Wait, so this red-haired guy isn’t the coach here?”  

“Uh…”  

Hearing that, Oni’s eye twitched in the distance.  

“Hahaha!”  

Irie, however, burst out laughing before explaining, “Of course not. We’re just trainees here. Into is the one in charge—just make sure you don’t wake him up!”  

With that, he winked at the middle schoolers.  

“D-dammit…”  

Meanwhile, Shishido struggled to his feet, his right arm numb and unresponsive. His face twisted in frustration.  

“Not bad determination.”  

Oni gave an approving nod before turning to the other middle schoolers. “Anyone else want to step up?”  

“…”  

Silence.  

Among them, there were players stronger than Shishido. But Oni’s overwhelming power made even Echizen and Sanada hesitate. And if they weren’t stepping forward, it meant the middle schoolers had effectively surrendered their say in the matter.  

“If no one’s challenging, then we’re done here.”  

Oni turned away, tucking his cross-shaped racket under his arm as he and Irie walked off.  

“Heh.”  

Watching Oni sweep the middle schoolers aside, the spiky-haired blond, Sasadō, sneered. “Just a bunch of middle school brats. You have no idea how terrifying this place is. Consider this a lesson—learn some respect for your seniors!”  

“Damn it!”  

The middle schoolers clenched their fists, especially Echizen and Sanada, who burned with frustration. They were this close to calling Oni back for a real match.  

—Swish!  

But then, Oni suddenly turned his head, his gaze locking onto Sasadō.  

“Starting tonight, all high schoolers will sleep in the caves. After today, whoever performs best in daytime training gets a room.”  

“Wha—?!”  

Sasadō’s smirk froze. “O-Oni, boss, we—!”  

Oni didn’t even bother listening. He just walked away, leaving Sasadō and the other high schoolers deflated.  

They could talk tough to middle schoolers, but against him? They didn’t dare even think about fighting back.  

“Pfft—hahaha!”  

Watching the high schoolers’ misery, Momoshiro and Zaizen couldn’t help but laugh.  

Now that was satisfying.  

“Poor fools.”  

Irie, already walking away, shook his head at Sasadō and his group.  

Originally, Oni hadn’t been targeting the high schoolers—his role was just to enforce the rules of the Cliff of Resolution. The high schoolers knew better, so he only needed to suppress the unpredictable middle schoolers.  

But then Sasadō had to open his big mouth.  

“‘Just a bunch of middle school brats’?”  

Irie sighed inwardly. “Even we wouldn’t say something like that.”  

Thanks to Oni’s intervention, both sides spent the night in the caves—but in complete silence. No arguments, no fights.  

The Next Morning – 5:30 AM 

A rough, booming voice echoed outside the cave.  

The sleeping middle and high schoolers jolted awake. While the middle schoolers were confused, the high schoolers looked terrified.  

They scrambled up and rushed outside. Not wanting to be left behind, the middle schoolers quickly followed.  

Outside, the sky was still dim.  

Oni and Irie stood there, flanking a disheveled old man with a red nose, reeking of alcohol.  

“Is that Into Coach?!”  

The middle schoolers exchanged glances.  

If not for Oni and Irie standing beside him, they’d have assumed he was just some drunkard who’d wandered in.  

Even so, one thought crossed their minds: Even if he is the U-17 coach, he must’ve been exiled to this wasteland as punishment.  

“Everyone, strip off your jackets, put on these clothes, and then—fetch water from the mountain!”  

With that, Mifune turned and left, leaving the middle schoolers staring in bewilderment.  

But the high schoolers, already used to this, grabbed wooden buckets and headed for the cliff without hesitation.  

“A word of advice.”  

Oni crossed his arms, his voice firm. “Here, you only do one thing—obey Coach Into’s orders.”  

Then, to the middle schoolers’ shock, he picked up a bucket and followed the others.  

“No way…!”  

Mukahi’s eyes widened. “That Oni is fetching water too?!”  

This was the same guy who’d blasted Shishido away with one shot. And yet, here he was, obeying some old drunk’s commands?  

Exchanging glances, the middle schoolers quickly changed and grabbed their buckets.  

Once they accepted the rules, their competitive spirits kicked in. The agile ones—like Chōtarō, Shishido, and Mukahi—raced ahead of the high schoolers.  

But when they reached the water source and turned back, Oni and Irie were already at the top of the cliff.  

“Already?!  

Their confidence took a hit.  

Echizen and Sanada, who’d assumed Oni was just a power player, paled. His speed and agility were on another level.  

It was hard to believe someone like him trained in this wasteland.  

With Oni and Irie as benchmarks, the middle schoolers’ arrogance faded fast. Humbled, they threw themselves into training.  

Meanwhile – U-17 Training Camp (6:00 AM) 

Half an hour after the losers’ group started training, the winners were jolted awake by a blaring alarm.  

Black-capped staff members marched down the dorm halls, banging on doors with wooden sticks.  

BAM! BAM! BAM!  

Even the laziest sleeper, like Akutagawa, was wide awake in seconds.  

After a quick wash, the middle schoolers assembled on the field for another grueling day of training.  

Tōzoe showed no mercy.  

In the coaches’ eyes, the winners had it easy compared to the losers.  

More importantly—if the losers returned and crushed the winners, the coaches would never hear the end of it from the head coach.  

And after seeing what Ishikawa was capable of, Kurobe and the others were determined to push these middle schoolers to their limits.  

So, whether it was the Cliff of Resolution or the U-17 camp, both sides were in for brutal training.  

Seoul, Korea – Expedition Team’s Hotel 

After breakfast, under Ishikawa’s strict orders, the team boarded a bus to Seoul’s National Stadium.  

Meanwhile, Korea’s KBS2 TV began a special broadcast on the U-17 national team’s match.  

In the studio, a former pro tennis player gushed about Korea’s rising status in the tennis world.  

“While we’re not yet on Europe or America’s level, Korea is already a powerhouse in Asia!  

“This year, our U-17 captain, Lee Seung-bok, trained at Germany’s elite tennis academy. His talent rivals even Europe’s best!  

“Today’s match against Japan will decide if we qualify for the World Cup in Melbourne!  

“Look—here comes our team!”  

The camera cut to Seoul’s 20,000-seat stadium.  

Under the guidance of coach Park Dong-geon and the towering purple-haired Lee Seung-bok, the Korean team strode onto the court with confidence.  

The lights shone on them as they walked, their national team jackets billowing—like they owned the place.  

Then, the camera panned to the Japanese team.  

The lighting was dimmer, making their uniforms look dull and their skin sallow.  

To the untrained eye, they seemed inferior in every way.  

This, of course, was no accident.  

Coach Park had arranged the broadcast specifically to highlight Korea’s dominance.  

“Ladies and gentlemen, the U-17 exhibition match between Korea and Japan is about to begin!”  

The stadium was a third full.  

As the announcer spoke, the crowd’s attention turned to the court.  

On Korea’s side, Lee Seung-bok stood tall and handsome, exuding charisma.  

But on Japan’s side, the captain’s looks and presence were even more striking—enough to make some female spectators hesitate before choosing sides.  

“Hello. I’m Lee Seung-bok.”  

At the net, the purple-haired captain spoke in slightly broken English.  

“Ishikawa Shin.”  

Ishikawa nodded, replying in fluent English.  

“Tell me…”  

Just as Ishikawa was about to leave, Lee suddenly asked, “Why isn’t Byōdōin here?”  

“Hm?”  

Ishikawa paused, studying Lee’s earnest expression before shrugging. “No idea. I’m just here to do my job.”  

“Your… job?”  

Lee’s eyebrows rose.  

Then his gaze dropped to the glaring [No.1] badge on Ishikawa’s collar—and his pupils contracted.  

“No… way.”  

His mind raced.  

Did Byōdōin skip this match because it’s beneath him?  

With Japan’s accumulated points, they’d already secured their World Cup spot. It made sense to rest their ace and let others gain experience.  

But then—why was the No.1 badge on this kid?  

Unless…  

No. That’s impossible.  

Lee dismissed the thought immediately.  

He’d rather believe Byōdōin was injured—or that the coach was hiding him—than accept that this kid had beaten him.  

“Thanks for the answer.”  

Taking a deep breath, Lee forced a smile. “I look forward to our match.”  

“Likewise.”  

With a final nod, Ishikawa walked away.  

Match Start! 

“This exhibition follows standard international rules—best of five matches, with a sixth if necessary. Each match is best of three sets, with tiebreakers.”  

“First up—Singles 3!”  

“Korea’s Park Geon-soo (3rd Year) vs. Japan’s Tokugawa Kazuya (2nd Year)!”  

A muscular, dark-skinned Korean with a buzzcut stepped onto the court, his presence radiating raw power.  

He scanned the Japanese team, smirking when he didn’t see Duke Watanabe.  

Meanwhile, Tokugawa—now filling Duke’s spot—walked forward calmly.  

“It’s finally starting.”  

Coach Park leaned back on the bench, smiling.  

Everything was going according to plan.  

The match was being broadcast live across Korea.  

And soon, the world would see Korea’s triumph—just as he’d orchestrated.  

Chapter 305: The Vanishing Tennis Ball, A Script Gone Awry (2nd Update)  

The two players on the court exchanged no unnecessary words. After the coin toss to decide serve and sides, they retreated to their respective baselines.  

"Huh." 

On the Japanese team’s side, Ōmachi raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Duke actually gave the No. 3 spot to Tokugawa?"  

"Makes sense," Kaneshiro replied with a shake of his head. "He switched from French to Japanese nationality just to follow Byōdōin. After the last match, there was no reason for him to stay in U-17 anyway."  

At that, Kajimoto and Fuwa couldn’t help but sigh.  

Duke’s departure meant Japan had lost one of its top-tier players—a huge blow to their overall strength.  

"Still, this match feels different," Mitsuya, the team’s strategist, suddenly remarked, eyeing the multiple camera setups and staff around them. "The Koreans are going all out with the production!"  

"Let me guess," Kaneshiro mused, resting his elbow on his left arm while stroking his chin. "They actually think they can win this exhibition match, don’t they?"  

"Heh." Kajimoto smirked. "They must’ve assumed that without Byōdōin, we’d be pushovers. Their head coach is seriously naïve."  

After a moment’s thought, the others quickly pieced it together—and the realization made them laugh.  

True, Byōdōin wasn’t here. But sitting in the coach’s seat was someone even more terrifying than the Golden Tyrant himself.  

"Just wishful thinking," Fuwa muttered coldly.  

"Not entirely," Mitsuya countered with a smile. "According to Korea’s current ranking, winning this match would secure their spot in the World Cup."  

"Wait," Marui interjected, puzzled. "Mitsuya-senpai, what exactly is this exhibition match? And how are the team rankings calculated?"  

He’d tried applying the pro tennis ranking system but quickly dismissed the idea—pro players competed individually in tournaments like Grand Slams and Masters, earning points based on placement.  

But U-17 was a team event. And as far as he knew, outside of the World Cup, there weren’t any similar competitions.  

"Well," Mitsuya explained, "exhibition matches are held weekly, rotating randomly among the 128 registered U-17 nations."  

"Points start accumulating from the first month after the World Cup ends. A doubles win earns 15 points, a singles win 10. A draw gives 1 point, and winning the entire exhibition match nets 100."  

"One month before the World Cup begins, the top 32 teams based on total points qualify."  

He chuckled. "So yeah, the seniors are right. The Korean coach probably saw Byōdōin’s absence as his golden opportunity."  

"Opportunity?!" 

Marui and Hiroshi’s lips twitched uncontrollably.  

Then, almost reflexively, their eyes flicked toward the coach’s bench—where Ishikawa sat.  

If that was really Korea’s plan… their coach was in for a rude awakening.  

"Game set, best of three!" 

The referee, perched on the high chair, announced after confirming both players were ready. "First set, Korea’s Park Geon-soo to serve!"  

Thud. Thud. Thud.  

The crowd’s attention locked onto the burly, black-haired young man as he rhythmically bounced the ball.  

"Good." 

Park clenched the ball in his hand, glaring across the net at Tokugawa. "Since this is a match to prove ourselves, I’ll show you the power of Korea’s U-17 strongest!"  

Whoosh!  

He tossed the ball high—then, with a violent snap of his racket, muscles bulging, he smashed it forward like a cannon blast.  

Sssshhh—!  

A fire-trailing bullet of a serve rocketed toward Tokugawa.  

"There it is!" 

A Korean player grinned. "Geon-soo’s 'Missile Serve'!"  

Park Geon-soo, 17, Korea’s No. 3, was a powerhouse honed through rigorous training. His signature Missile Serve had once shattered an opponent’s racket and arm in a match against a Southeast Asian player, cementing his reputation.  

To the Koreans, Tokugawa—leaner, seemingly less physically imposing—stood no chance. Even if he blocked it, they expected his racket to fly from his grip.  

Swish!  

Yet, Tokugawa’s expression remained unchanged. His left hand lifted the racket smoothly, meeting the ball the instant it rebounded—  

Ping!  

A crisp return.  

"No way?!" 

A Korean player gaped. "He just—he just returned Geon-soo’s Missile Serve?!"  

"Tch." 

Park’s eyes narrowed. "So you’ve got some skill. Let’s see how much more you can take."  

BANG!  

His next swing was even fiercer—a Missile Drive, this time at 60% power.  

"Geon-soo’s getting serious," remarked a cool-faced blond on Korea’s bench. The others nodded in agreement.  

Kim Tae-woo, 17, Korea’s No. 2—domestically the strongest player, paired with overseas returnee Lee Seung-bok as the nation’s "Twin Stars."  

He watched Tokugawa with interest. "How many of those can you handle?"  

Ping!  

Tokugawa returned it effortlessly.  

"Good!" 

Park grinned, not angry but exhilarated. He dashed forward, racket poised for another brutal strike—  

CRACK!  

This one was at 70% power.  

"Not bad," Idate and Ban murmured approvingly from Japan’s side. The sheer force behind Park’s swings would’ve wrenched the racket from most players’ hands.  

Yet Tokugawa remained unfazed.  

"Damn it!" 

Korea’s head coach, Park Dong-gun, scowled from his seat.  

He’d expected an easy victory against this unknown Japanese player. But Park Geon-soo’s relentless attacks weren’t even shaking him.  

Worse, Geon-soo was losing his cool, frustration mounting with each failed strike.  

Bam! Crack! Bam! Crack!  

The two traded blows at the baseline, Park’s power escalating—yet Tokugawa stood firm.  

"You bastard!" 

Park’s face darkened. With millions watching live, his inability to dominate was humiliating.  

Gritting his teeth, he lunged forward, muscles swelling as he unleashed his ultimate technique—  

"Sky Bow Missile!"  

"Mr. Kim," the KBS2 host asked nervously, "you said Park Geon-soo’s power was overwhelming. Why hasn’t he broken through yet?"  

Kim Gun-yoon, a former pro turned analyst, cleared his throat.  

"Tennis tests more than just strength—technique, strategy, mental fortitude…"  

Then, spotting Park’s full-power strike, he brightened. "Ah! Here it comes! His strongest move, the Sky Bow Missile!"  

"Park’s grip strength is 80kg—he could crush an apple barehanded. This shot can pierce through chain-link fencing!"  

"What?!"  

The host and viewers gasped. A tennis ball breaking a fence? Unthinkable!  

Yet on screen, the ball tore through the air like a comet, kicking up a dust storm in its wake.  

The audience braced for impact—surely Tokugawa would be sent flying!  

BOOM!  

The collision sent a shockwave rippling outward, smoke engulfing Tokugawa.  

But before the Koreans could cheer—  

Flicker. Flicker. Flicker.  

A multicolored spin shot zigzagged through the haze… then vanished.  

"Wait—where’d the ball go?!"  

Park frantically scanned the court—nothing.  

Then…  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

The sound of a bouncing ball came from behind him.  

The crowd turned in unison.  

There, just beyond the baseline, was the "missing" ball.  

The referee, baffled, checked the high-speed replay—  

"In! Tokugawa takes the point, 0-15!"  

"Damn it all!" 

Coach Park Dong-gun’s face twisted in fury.  

With live cameras broadcasting every angle, even a biased referee couldn’t overturn the call.  

The match wasn’t over yet—but the script was unraveling fast.  

And he had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t end the way he’d planned.  

(End of Chapter)