296-300

Chapter 296: Tyrant Mode & Muga no Kyouchi – The New Ancient Martial Arts Secret (Part 1)  

Thwack! 

Bang! 

Thwack!  

The crisp sound of tennis balls echoed across the Ice Tennis Club grounds. Even though classes were in session, heads turned toward the courts.  

"Someone’s playing a match now?"  

In Class 3-A, a boy sitting by the window gaped in shock. But when he recognized the figure on the court, his eyes widened. "Vice-Captain?!"  

"Suzuki!"  

The middle-aged teacher at the front—parted hair, square glasses—glared. "What are you muttering about?"  

Normally, Suzuki would’ve shrunk back. But this time, he turned to Atobe. "Captain! Vice-Captain Ishikawa is back!"  

The teacher’s frown deepened. "With your entrance exams just—  

His scolding died in his throat.  

Atobe had already risen from his seat and strode to the window. His ocean-blue eyes sharpened as he took in the two figures battling below.  

"So, he’s finally back."  

Even from this distance, Atobe could sense it—an aura unlike anything before.  

He’s gotten stronger.  

Atobe’s pupils flickered.  

Meanwhile, students from Classes C, D, H—even first and second-years—leaned out their windows, drawn to the match.  

The teacher sighed in exasperation—until the bell rang, saving him.  

Within seconds, the entire tennis team (minus Atobe) bolted for the courts.  

"It is the vice-captain!" Oshitari grinned as they reached the gates, spotting Ishikawa locked in a fierce rally with Akutsu.  

"About time," Mukahi added.  

It had been a month since Ishikawa left for the U-17 camp. Without his relentless presence, the club had felt… incomplete.  

From April till now, this first-year had quietly become Ice’s core—surpassing even Atobe. Coach Sakaki and Atobe themselves had unofficially named him next in line for captain.  

Now, their soul was back.  

Even with no major tournaments left, the team breathed easier.  

Thwack! 

Bang! 

Thwack!  

But as they neared, the sheer force behind each shot wiped the smiles off their faces.  

"This level…" Oshitari and Mukahi exchanged grim looks.  

The pressure radiating from the court was suffocating. The speed? Unreal.  

Akutsu—a beast relying purely on instinct—moved like a panther, his steps a blur, leaving afterimages in his wake.  

Bam!  

He caught the ball mid-flight and slammed it forward.  

Hiss—  

The ball streaked across the court, trailing a dark aura.  

"Deep-level power?!"  

Oshitari’s jaw dropped.  

In just a month, Akutsu had mastered it to this extent?  

After Ishikawa left, Akutsu had barely trained. Coach Sakaki had given up nagging him. Everyone assumed he’d plateaued.  

But now…  

They realized how wrong they’d been.  

Thwack!  

Yet Ishikawa returned the shot effortlessly.  

"Senpai," he called, amused. "Surely you’ve improved more than this?"  

Akutsu’s lips curled.  

A dark, oppressive energy erupted from him—condensing into a regal, obsidian cloak that draped over his frame. His presence turned feral.  

"Tyrant Mode!"  

Shishido and Mukahi recoiled.  

During Nationals, this form had crushed Seigaku’s Sanada—the "Emperor" himself—without mercy.  

And now?  

It was even stronger.  

Fwoosh!  

Akutsu lunged.  

His movement was so fast, his afterimage lingered like a fading shadow.  

"Too fast!" Shishido’s throat went dry. Even his Limit Break couldn’t match half that speed.  

BOOM!  

Akutsu’s racket connected.  

The ball rocketed toward Ishikawa like a black comet, trailing dark flames—a direct challenge.  

Everyone held their breath.  

Oshitari expected Ishikawa to counter with Shishin Engi—his Four Gods technique.  

Thwack!  

Instead…  

A casual flick of the wrist.  

The "comet" bounced harmlessly back.  

"…Huh?!"  

Silence.  

Even Akutsu froze.  

"He… just returned it?!"  

Up in the faculty office, Sakaki smirked. "A month at U-17 has honed him further."  

If anyone could rein in Akutsu, it wasn’t him or Atobe—it was this first-year prodigy.  

Because taming a beast required strength, not seniority.  

"You—!"  

Akutsu’s grip tightened.  

Ishikawa had dismantled his attack like swatting a fly. It infuriated him—but also left him speechless.  

Step!  

Akutsu vanished again.  

This time, his gray eyes gleamed with something darker.  

RUMBLE.  

A bloodthirsty aura exploded outward.  

Shishido shuddered. "That pressure… It crushed Sanada’s Emperor aura at Nationals."  

Even Hyoutei’s genius, Fuji, had folded under it.  

But Ishikawa?  

Unfazed.  

Calm as still water.  

"RAAAAH!"  

Akutsu’s strike sent dust geysering into the air, obscuring half the court.  

"What kind of power—?!"  

The first-years trembled. Facing that shot head-on would’ve sent them fleeing.  

Yet Ishikawa just…  

Tap.  

The racket met the ball—and the violent momentum died.  

No explosion. No recoil.  

Just… silence.  

Like a wild beast tamed mid-pounce.  

"Not bad," Ishikawa mused, like a teacher grading homework. "Power’s solid, but spin needs work. Slacking off, senpai?"  

Zip!  

His return shot was a blur.  

But instead of raging, Akutsu smirked.  

"I was saving this for our rematch. But I guess… I underestimated you."  

A hush fell.  

Something was coming.  

Flick.  

Akutsu raised his racket—  

And three spectral afterimages materialized behind him.  

"Four Akutsus?!"  

Even Atobe and Sakaki stiffened.  

This wasn’t an illusion.  

Four real stances.  

Four real attack angles.  

If all four struck at once, the opponent would have to predict four trajectories simultaneously.  

Whoosh!  

The images merged.  

Akutsu’s swing was a black flash.  

The ball vanished.  

"Oh?"  

Ishikawa’s brow rose.  

Akutsu was conscious during this?  

"Tyrant Mode… Muga no Kyouchi?"  

So he’d trained his mind to tap into deeper consciousness without losing himself.  

Impressive.  

But four afterimages?  

Child’s play.  

Swish!  

Without activating Ken’i or Muga, Ishikawa intercepted the ball with pure skill.  

Thud!  

His swing was deceptively simple—yet the ball screamed back, a crimson streak.  

Akutsu barely tracked it.  

Step! 

Step!  

Tyrant Mode flared.  

This time—five afterimages split from him.  

His limit. Any more would break his body.  

"F-five?!"  

Shishido’s nails dug into his palms.  

When had Akutsu reached this level?  

Atobe’s expression darkened.  

Five simultaneous attack vectors.  

CRACK!  

Akutsu’s racket connected—  

And shattered.  

The ball drilled into the court, shaking the ground—before bouncing innocently away.  

"How?!" Mukahi gasped. "That swing… shouldn’t have that much force!"  

It defied physics.  

Unless…  

Oshitari’s eyes widened. "Is this… the pinnacle of ancient martial arts? 

‘Light as a Feather, Heavy as a Mountain’?!"  

Chapter 297: The Mass Invitation from U-17 (2nd Update)  

"T-This… is real tennis?!"  

Outside the court, the short boy with the bruised eye gaped in shock.  

A racket… had been shattered by a single shot?!  

Just how much power did that take?!  

As for Akutsu, his once-intimidating aura had completely collapsed under that blow. The ferocity in his eyes dimmed, leaving only resignation.  

"H-He’s incredible…"  

The boy stared at Ishikawa with newfound awe—this was the first person he’d ever seen who could suppress Akutsu.  

"Tch."  

Losing the point, Akutsu clicked his tongue in frustration, picked up his broken racket, and stormed off without a word.  

"Leaving already, Senpai?"  

"Hmph."  

Akutsu didn’t even turn around, his pride refusing to let him acknowledge the loss. But unlike usual, he didn’t lash out.  

The surrounding tennis club members exchanged knowing smiles. Only Ishikawa could defuse Akutsu’s temper like this—leaving him furious but unable to vent.  

"Vice Captain!"  

Hiyoshi rushed over, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Was that another ancient martial arts technique just now?"  

As someone from a family that practiced traditional martial arts, Hiyoshi had always been fascinated by Ishikawa’s fusion of combat styles into tennis. During Ishikawa’s absence, he’d trained relentlessly in the [Four Gods Combat Style], adapting it to his own play.  

Though far from mastering it, he’d made progress.  

"Something like that," Ishikawa replied with a smile.  

The technique he’d used was a higher-tier martial arts secret—one that amplified the destructive force of his swings. Combined with his spin, it could pierce rackets with ease, surpassing even U-17’s No. 18, Hirakoba’s [Bullet Shot].  

But that was Ishikawa’s current level—his ordinary returns now rivaled (or surpassed) the signature moves of elite players.  

Classroom – Later 

The school bell rang, signaling the start of classes.  

Students dispersed, and Ishikawa returned to his dorm to change before heading to his classroom.  

As one of the school’s most famous figures, his presence drew attention. But thanks to prior arrangements with Coach Sakaki, none of the teachers minded his occasional absences.  

Besides, Ishikawa’s academic performance was flawless—the school treasured him as a gem.  

Afternoon – Tennis Club Practice 

With Ishikawa’s return, even third-years who’d been semi-retired due to college prep came back, including Shinohara Saburou—the first opponent Ishikawa had defeated upon joining Hyotei.  

Shinohara’s tennis talent hadn’t been enough to change his fate; he’d ultimately prioritized academics. But his toned physique showed he’d still kept up training.  

When their eyes met, there was no lingering tension—just a nod and a smile, their past rivalry long settled.  

Ishikawa also noticed many new faces.  

After Hyotei’s national championship win, a flood of newcomers had joined tryouts. But with Atobe’s generation of third-years gradually stepping down, the club’s golden era of 200 members was fading into legend.  

Training Insights 

During warm-up laps, Hiyoshi sidled up to Ishikawa—his once-stubborn refusal to call him "Vice Captain" now replaced by eager respect.  

"So," Ishikawa smirked, "hitting a wall with martial arts tennis?"  

"Heh…" Hiyoshi scratched his head awkwardly.  

Behind them, Shishido shook his head in amusement. Who would’ve thought the same Hiyoshi who’d once aimed to "overthrow" Atobe would now seek guidance so earnestly?  

But Shishido understood. If he had someone who’d mastered [Limit Break] to its peak, he’d ask for advice too.  

"Hiyoshi-senpai," Ishikawa said, "martial arts can enhance tennis, but forcing techniques without fundamentals is counterproductive."  

"Huh?" Hiyoshi blinked.  

Shishido, however, froze mid-step as the words clicked.  

"For example," Ishikawa continued, "an advanced martial arts move might seem powerful, but if your swing mechanics or footwork are lacking, the shot’s effectiveness plummets."  

"Martial arts tennis isn’t just about the techniques—it’s about tennis too. Theory alone won’t carry you."  

"…!"  

Hiyoshi fell silent, processing the insight.  

Shishido, meanwhile, muttered, "Fundamentals and vision… I get it now!"  

A weight lifted off his shoulders.  

But then a sobering thought hit him:  

Just how strong is Ishikawa?!  

Two sentences had cleared roadblocks Shishido had struggled with for months—something even Coach Sakaki hadn’t managed.  

Worse, Ishikawa’s analysis wasn’t limited to them. He’d pinpointed flaws in Atobe, Akutsu, and even Kabaji with eerie precision.  

The gap between them wasn’t just wide—it was monstrous.  

Yet instead of frustration, Shishido felt… relief.  

With him leading Hyotei, a three-peat national championship is guaranteed.  

Dinner – Hyotei’s Luxurious Cafeteria 

"Captain," Ishikawa remarked, lounging on a plush sofa, "once you leave, the club’s dining standards will drop drastically."  

"Oh?" Atobe raised an eyebrow. "You already know?"  

"It’s hardly a secret," Ishikawa chuckled. "Most of the team does. Everyone agrees a British school suits your future."  

"Coach Sakaki told you, didn’t he?" Atobe sipped his alcohol-free champagne. "Under normal circumstances, I might’ve hesitated. But with you taking over, I have no concerns."  

He meant it. Ishikawa as captain ensured Hyotei’s legacy would thrive. Membership might shrink, but the newcomers would be true tennis enthusiasts.  

With Ishikawa’s guidance, even someone like Shinohara could reach national-level skill by third year.  

"Also," Atobe added, "don’t think I’ll neglect tennis. Finance is my focus, but I’ll keep training."  

"Good." Ishikawa nodded. "Your talent’s exceptional. Maintain this pace, and you could turn pro within two years."  

"Pro, huh?" Atobe’s eyes gleamed. "An interesting suggestion. Maybe I’ll register for fun someday."  

Tennis was, after all, a sport of the elite. A pro-athlete financier would make headlines—especially in the social media era.  

"Now," Atobe’s gaze sharpened, "where exactly have you been this past month?"  

Records showed Ishikawa’s parents (former high-ranking employees of the Atobe Group) had passed away in an accident. With no other family in Japan, his absence was… curious.  

"You’ve probably guessed," Ishikawa smiled. "Also, Captain—if you’re serious about tennis, delay your UK transfer until year-end."  

He paused, then added cryptically:  

"Unless you’d prefer to meet us in a different capacity. In that case, leaving sooner might be better."  

"…!"  

Atobe’s grip on his glass tightened.  

There was an implication here—something big was coming.  

"Wait… could it be that?!"  

A realization flashed in his eyes.  

Meanwhile – Coach Sakaki’s Office 

A new email notification popped up on Sakaki’s screen, interrupting his classical music.  

The sender made his pulse spike:  

"Japan U-17 Training Camp."  

U-17.  

The cradle of future pros.  

Over 80% of the world’s professional players had emerged from their national U-17 programs.  

And now…  

They were inviting middle schoolers?  

"A rule change… or…"  

Sakaki’s gaze drifted toward the tennis courts, where a certain figure stood among the players.  

A faint smile tugged at his lips.  

Or… because of him.  

Chapter 298: The Middle Schoolers Set Off – The Expedition Team Assembles (Update 1)  

On the same day that Ishikawa left.  

In the evening.  

At the U-17 training base parking lot.  

A tall figure with chocolate-brown skin and wild, snow-white hair stepped off the bus. Stretching lazily, he rubbed his sleepy eyes and sighed, "Finally back."  

A faint smile crossed his face as he spoke.  

"Looks like the ranking matches are over, huh? Heh, good thing I was smart—showing up late has its perks."  

With that, he entered the U-17 facility.  

As he walked, the high schoolers training nearby noticed him and greeted him with respectful nods.  

"Am I imagining things?"  

The white-haired young man—Shūji Tokugawa, Japan U-17’s No. 2-ranked player—felt a flicker of surprise. Something about the training atmosphere seemed different from before.  

He distinctly remembered that among those who had greeted him were Kōsuke Tenjin and Junpei Taira from Court 16—two of U-17’s most notorious slackers.  

Yet now, they were diligently training, and with surprising focus at that.  

Puzzled, Tokugawa made his way to the central training area. Below, players were scattered across every court, engaged in drills and matches.  

"Interesting."  

His gaze landed on one court where a match was underway, and his surprise deepened. "Even Enjō’s participating in regular training now? And Ryōji… Huh, who’s he playing against? A new face, it seems."  

Descending the steps, Tokugawa drew curious glances from the others. Those who met his eyes showed the same respect as before.  

"Kanjō."  

Approaching the court where the top-ranked players trained, Tokugawa grinned. "Who’s the guy playing against Ryōji?"  

"Hisumi Sōzō."  

Kanjō glanced at him and nodded. "This year’s Autumn Tournament Rookie King. Strong player. Yesterday’s ranking match, he defeated Kirihara and claimed the No. 9 spot."  

"That strong?" Tokugawa raised an eyebrow. "Guess the new blood’s really lighting a fire under everyone. By the way, what happened to Enjō?"  

He gestured toward a purple-haired young man nearby, his face and body wrapped in bandages. "Did Byōdōin rough him up again?"  

Whoosh.  

The moment the name "Byōdōin" left his lips, the atmosphere shifted. The high schoolers—especially the top-ranked players—froze, their expressions darkening.  

"Uh…"  

Sensing the tension, Tokugawa chuckled awkwardly. "Did I say something wrong?"  

"No." Kanjō shook his head. "Enjō’s injuries… came from someone else."  

"Someone else?"  

Tokugawa’s eyes widened. Then, as if realizing something, he turned back to the court where the orange-haired rookie was locked in a fierce match with Ōmagari.  

"…Him?"  

The No. 9 player had beaten the No. 8?  

This year’s rookies were on another level.  

But something still felt off. It was as if he’d accidentally triggered a landmine—everyone’s mood had soured instantly.  

"Hmm."  

His gaze drifted to a nearby court, cordoned off and utterly destroyed. His pupils contracted slightly. "Looks like yesterday’s ranking matches were… eventful."  

Meanwhile, in a second-floor office.  

Kurobe scanned the medical report in his hands, his expression grim. "He’s stable, but it’ll take at least a month for a full recovery."  

"I’ll handle that part." Tōzō nodded. "I’ll speed up his rehab as much as possible."  

"Good."  

Kurobe exhaled. Given the severity of the injuries, survival alone was a miracle.  

"Coach."  

A staff member turned from his workstation. "Just got word from the head coach. The next overseas expedition starts in four days."  

"Understood."  

Kurobe nodded. Beside him, Saitō sighed. "Thankfully, even without Byōdōin, we still have Ishikawa. This expedition will have to rely on him."  

"It should be fine." Tōzō crossed his arms. "Given his personality, he’ll manage the team well."  

Unlike others who might face insubordination, Ishikawa had earned his No. 1 spot by defeating Byōdōin outright—his authority was undeniable.  

"True." Saitō agreed. "But we’ll need to adjust the roster. Duke, the former No. 3, hasn’t left U-17, but he handed his insignia to Tokugawa."  

His expression turned serious.  

Duke Watanabe—once a top player from France’s national team.  

Technically, he could return to France anytime and reclaim his position as captain.  

"Duke is Byōdōin’s follower." Kurobe shook his head. "He’s probably staying to look after him. No need to worry. As for the roster… let’s give Tokugawa the spot. He could use the experience."  

After all, Tokugawa had been personally trained by Oni and Irie.  

With Byōdōin’s reign ended by Ishikawa, sending Tokugawa on the expedition would be a good test.  

"Then it’s settled."  

After finalizing the details, Kurobe made the decision official.  

That night.  

At Hyōtei’s tennis courts.  

As usual, after dinner, only Ishikawa remained, leisurely walking laps around the court under the dim moonlight.  

The sky was partly cloudy, casting shadows across the grounds. From a distance, Ishikawa seemed to blend into the darkness.  

Standing in the quiet, empty court, he reflected on his journey.  

From the moment he first picked up a racket in this world, to defeating powerhouse after powerhouse, cementing his status as a national-level player.  

Leading Hyōtei to a national championship.  

Entering U-17, crushing elite players, and mastering the Asura Path and Muga no Kyōchi at the Chiba temple.  

Finally—the ranking match against the monstrous "King," seizing the No. 1 spot.  

Memories flashed through his mind like scenes from a film. With each recollection, his mental state refined further.  

In the depths of his consciousness, he had battled his own alternate selves, undergoing a spiritual metamorphosis. Now, by retracing his steps, his already-peaking mental strength smoothly broke through its final barrier.  

Whoosh.  

A breeze swept through, parting the clouds.  

Moonlight spilled over Ishikawa’s figure.  

[Ding!]  

[Player’s mental state has evolved. Mental strength has increased!]  

Snap.  

Suddenly, Ishikawa perceived the world differently—the court, the school, the distant buildings—everything seemed subtly altered.  

But when he blinked, everything returned to normal.  

"I see."  

A faint smile touched his lips. "So this is the so-called ‘seeing the mountain as the mountain’ realm."  

He summoned his status panel.  

[Name: Ishikawa Shin] 

[Age: 12] 

[Status: Hyōtei Academy 1st Year, Tennis Club Regular, Training Advisor, Vice-Captain, Hyōtei’s Demon King, Street Tennis Legend, Japan U-17 Legend, No. 1 Representative] 

[Main Skill: Tennis Lv. 69 (0/45000)] 

[Secondary Skills: Kendo, Go, Ancient Martial Arts, Yoga (Lv. 9)] 

[Attributes: Speed 5.5, Power 5.5, Stamina 6.5, Technique 7, Mental Strength 10. Total: 34.5] 

[Basic Techniques: All Lv. 8] 

**[Advanced Techniques:  

• Lv. 9 (MAX): Black Hole  

• Lv. 8: Photon Strike, Star Scar, Twist Serve, Gale, Awakening, Zero-Shiki Drop, Bear Hunt, Mind Shift, Daybreak, Super Volley  

• Lv. 7: Dance of Destruction, Chaos Ball Barrage, Four Gods Formation]** 

[Special Abilities: Data Nullification, Pinnacle of Perseverance – Brilliance, Ālaya-vijñāna] 

[Asura Path: Sword God, Omniscience, Ultimate Path, Flawless] 

[Secondary Skill Points: 0] 

[Skill Points: 15] 

[Items: Dry’s Special Juice Recipe] 

[Evaluation: Even among professionals, you stand out. A rising star with limitless potential.]  

With this, Ishikawa’s mental strength had officially surpassed 10—pushing his Asura Path to new heights.  

Now, even among high schoolers, he had no obvious weaknesses.  

Moreover, he could now sense the deeper layers of his subconscious power. Ālaya-vijñāna was just the beginning.  

The world was vast.  

Beyond the fierce competition of the pro circuit, even among high schoolers, there were bound to be hidden monsters.  

But unlike before, Ishikawa no longer felt cautious—he was eager to seek out the world’s strongest and test himself against them.  

Beep.  

Just then, his phone buzzed. Pulling it out, he smirked at the message:  

[X/X (3 days from now), 10:00 AM. Expedition team assembles at Narita Airport. – Kurobe Yukimura]  

Tucking his phone away, Ishikawa gazed up at the moon.  

"Finally… time to see the world."  

Three days later.  

Back at Hyōtei, practice was in full swing when Coach Sakaki made a rare appearance.  

He announced the selection of players for the U-17 training camp.  

"Japan’s U-17 is the nation’s premier elite tennis training facility. As national champions, we’ve been granted 10 recommended spots."  

Sakaki’s voice was firm. "After consideration, the chosen members are Ishikawa, Atobe, and eight others—including regulars and reserve players."  

The final list included all eight regulars, plus reserve members Hiyoshi and Ryō.  

The latter was ecstatic—he hadn’t expected to make the cut.  

"U-17?"  

After Sakaki left, the group huddled together. "Never heard of it," Ōshitari muttered.  

"Not surprising." Atobe shrugged. "Under-17 means players below 17. Normally, it’s only for high schoolers. No idea why they’re making an exception for us."  

His eyes flicked toward Ishikawa, who simply smiled. "Probably a rule change. More importantly, I’m looking forward to facing their top players."  

Whoosh.  

At that, Mukahi, Hiyoshi, and the others perked up.  

They’d already defeated Rikkai and Seigaku, claiming the national title. Among middle schoolers, they had no rivals left.  

But high schoolers? That was a different story.  

"Heh."  

Hiyoshi, freshly polished by Ishikawa’s training and now a national-level player, cracked his knuckles eagerly.  

"High schoolers, huh?" Ōtori bit his lip. "That place won’t be easy. We should be careful."  

Ōshitari and Ryō nodded in agreement.  

To them, U-17 was uncharted territory—a professional training ground. Undoubtedly, it would be crawling with elite players. Caution was necessary.  

Still, their eyes drifted back to Ishikawa. No matter what, with him around, they’d at least hold their ground.  

After a brief discussion, they resumed training—though most were too distracted to focus.  

The next morning.  

8:00 AM.  

The selected members boarded the bus early, but Ishikawa was nowhere in sight.  

"Seriously?" Mukahi blinked. "Ishikawa’s never late."  

Whoosh.  

All eyes turned to Atobe, who opened his eyes and shook his head. "No idea this time."  

Beep.  

Then, his phone lit up. After reading the message, he smirked. "He says something came up. We’re to go ahead—he’ll catch up."  

"…Alright."  

Though puzzled, no one doubted Ishikawa. If he said he’d come, he would.  

And U-17? There was no way he’d pass up a chance to face Japan’s strongest high schoolers.  

Soon, the bus pulled out, winding through mountain roads as the trees grew denser.  

"Are we really going to a tennis camp?" Hiyoshi muttered skeptically.  

Most clubs were in scenic suburbs—not the middle of nowhere.  

"Maybe that’s why it’s so secretive," Ōshitari mused.  

"Hm?"  

Mukahi, gazing out the window, spotted another bus passing by—packed with passengers.  

"Are those… U-17 players?"  

Whoosh.  

Another bus zoomed past.  

Atobe’s eyes narrowed as they locked onto a blue-and-white-haired young man inside.  

For a split second, their gazes met—and Atobe felt an overwhelming pressure.  

If this was U-17’s caliber, then the camp was no joke.  

On the other bus.  

"Something wrong, Ōchi?"  

A small-mustached player tilted his head at the tall, silent figure beside him.  

"Nothing."  

Ōchi shook his head—though inwardly, he was intrigued.  

"That uniform… Hyōtei’s. So the middle schoolers are finally being recruited, huh?"  

Thanks to Ishikawa, he’d been curious about this year’s Hyōtei squad. And that purple-gray-haired boy just now…  

There’d been a sharpness in his eyes.  

Ōchi found himself looking forward to the aftermath of this expedition.  

Chapter 299: Middle Schoolers Arrive – The Mysterious Expert (Part 1)  

9:00 AM 

Narita Airport, Tokyo  

Two U-17 buses pulled in one after another. Veterans like Mareshi and the others, accustomed to away matches, stepped off calmly. Meanwhile, first-timers like Kiritani and Harahiko looked around with curiosity.  

"So, who are we playing this time?" Harahiko asked, glancing at Heisuke, who wore a military-green cap.  

"No idea," Heisuke shrugged. "That’s up to the coaches and the team leader. Though… Mitsuya might know."  

His gaze shifted to a bespectaced young man with flaxen hair—Mitsuya Akuto, the U-17’s data tennis specialist. Since spring, he’d served as the expedition team’s strategist, essentially their brains.  

"Him?" Kiritani and Harahiko turned to look.  

Noticing their stares, Mitsuya smiled faintly.  

"…"  

The two suddenly felt as if their secrets had been laid bare.  

"Hey," No. 14 Hakamada Izou cut in, frowning. His short blond hair and cross-shaped scar made him look like a delinquent. "Who the hell are we even playing? Why’s everything so secretive?"  

"Sorry, I don’t know either," Mitsuya admitted. "Only the team leader has the details."  

"The team leader?" Hakamada scoffed. "Speaking of which, isn’t this his first time leading? Feels kinda unreliable if he’s already late."  

"Senpai."  

A voice rang out from the entrance.  

"Badmouthing people behind their backs isn’t a good habit, you know."  

Everyone turned. A boy in the U-17’s black-and-red jacket stood there, smiling.  

"—!"  

Hakamada’s smirk froze. His expression flickered before he finally lowered his head.  

"…My apologies."  

The others exchanged glances, stunned. The normally defiant Hakamada had been subdued in an instant. But then again—this wasn’t just anyone.  

This was the guy who’d taken the top spot from Byoudouin. The same Byoudouin who now lay severely injured, fate unknown.  

Who wouldn’t fear him?  

"Let’s go." After a quick headcount, Ishikawa grinned. "We’ve got three stops this expedition. The first one’s close—just three hours away."  

"Three hours?"  

That narrowed it down to nearby countries. But Byoudouin’s team had already crushed all the regional competition. With an even stronger leader now, no one was worried.  

Meanwhile – U-17 Training Camp 

Before the main team reached the airport, another bus arrived at the camp’s parking lot—carrying Hyoutei’s members.  

"So this is U-17?"  

Surrounded by dense forests and mountains, the secluded facility surprised them.  

"Hyoutei?"  

A voice called out. "Figures you got invited too."  

They turned. A group in blue-and-white jackets approached—Seigaku.  

"Oh? Seigaku?" Atobe raised a brow, locking eyes with their bespectacled captain.  

"Long time no see." Tezuka nodded. Behind him, Inui adjusted his glasses. "Seems U-17’s recruiting a lot of middle schoolers."  

Beep! Beep!  

Another bus rolled in.  

Out stepped Rikkai’s team—Yukimura, Sanada, Yanagi, and the others.  

"Rikkai’s here too?" Oshitari noted. With this, three of the Nationals’ top four had arrived.  

"Everyone’s gathered, huh?" Yukimura smiled at Atobe and Tezuka. The three shared mutual respect as elite players.  

"Hm?" Yukimura glanced around. "…Ishikawa’s not here?"  

Even among Hyoutei’s powerhouse roster, Ishikawa stood above the rest. His absence puzzled them.  

Was U-17 really beneath his notice?  

"Tch. He didn’t come?" A cold voice cut through. The group turned—Higa Chuu’s team, clad in purple-black jackets, approached.  

"Higa?!" Inui blinked. "They got invited too?"  

Higa had been crushed 5-0 by Hyoutei in Nationals. Their captain, "The Assassin" Kite Eishirou, had been brutally pinned to a concrete wall by Ishikawa. After that, Higa vanished—until now.  

"The hell’s that supposed to mean?!" Higa’s players bristled.  

"You got a problem?!"  

"Wanna settle this before we even go in?!"  

"Enough." Kite’s voice silenced them. His eyes flicked to the surveillance cameras. "This isn’t the place."  

But then he smirked.  

"Save it for inside." His gaze locked onto Tezuka. "Right, Tezuka?"  

To Higa, their Nationals loss was no different from Seigaku’s. Both fell to Hyoutei.  

And if they couldn’t touch Hyoutei… Seigaku would do just fine.  

"Mn." Tezuka remained unfazed.  

With no unifying figure like Ishikawa present, tensions simmered as the teams entered U-17.  

U-17 Control Room 

"They’re here." Saito watched the heated middle schoolers on-screen, amused. "Quite lively, aren’t they?"  

"Good." Tane remained stone-faced. "Means they’ve got energy to burn. Hope they last past the first test."  

"This is just the first batch." Kurobe tapped the desk. "Fifty-three middle schoolers were selected—excluding Ishikawa. Also, the head coach wants the high schoolers pressured. Too many slackers."  

"Understood." Saito nodded. "Proceed as planned."  

Inside U-17 

The middle schoolers advanced unchallenged—until they reached the central courts.  

Here, higher-ranked high schoolers didn’t hold back.  

"The hell are brats doing here?"  

"Scram before you get hurt!"  

"Hyoutei and Rikkai, fine—but Higa? What trash got let in?"  

"…What did you just say?" Kite’s voice turned lethal. His glare sent chills down the heckler’s spine.  

"Y-You wanna die, kid?!" the high schooler blustered.  

"High schoolers?" Kite’s lips curled. "All bark, no bite?"  

"Fine!" The Court 8 player snarled. "I’ll show you the gap!"  

Control Room 

"Should we stop them?" Saito asked.  

"No." Kurobe shook his head. "Let’s see how these middle schoolers fare. Kite’s a good benchmark."  

Ten minutes later—  

THUD!  

The high schooler was embedded in the fence, bloodied and broken.  

"G-Game! Kite Eishirou wins—6-0!" The umpire trembled.  

"…!"  

The high schoolers paled.  

This middle schooler was monstrous.  

"Heh." Kite walked off, sparing a glance at Tezuka—his next target.  

"Kite Eishirou…" The middle schoolers tensed.  

"It’s like…" Oshitari muttered. "After Ishikawa broke him, he embraced the darkness."  

"Worse." Atobe narrowed his eyes. "He wasn’t even at 80% just now."  

Yukimura and Sanada eyed Kite’s bloodstained racket.  

The "Assassin" lived up to his name.  

"Attention." A voice boomed over the speakers. "The head coach finds 300 players excessive."  

WHOOSH!  

A plane flew overhead, dropping 250 tennis balls.  

"Grab one—or leave immediately."  

CHAOS!  

High schoolers panicked. Middle schoolers moved swiftly—not a single ball was left.  

"D-Damn it!" The losers seethed, eyeing those with extras.  

But after Kite’s display? No one dared demand a handout.  

"Pathetic."  

A new voice—cold, disdainful.  

The crowd parted. A long-haired, androgynous figure stepped forward.  

"T-Tohno…!" High schoolers recoiled.  

"No guts to fight? Then get out." Tohno’s smile was venomous. "U-17 doesn’t need trash."  

The high schoolers fled.  

"Middle schoolers?" Tohno’s gaze swept over them. "Good. I was getting bored."  

His stare felt like a snake’s—even Kite stiffened.  

Atobe, Yukimura, Tezuka—all sensed it.  

This man…  

Was on another level.  

Chapter 300: The Mysterious Masked Men H & D (Part 2)  

"That guy’s glare is terrifying!"  

After Tohno left, Osaka’s Tohyama muttered with lingering fear.  

"Yeah," Shiraishi nodded. "If I’m not mistaken, he’s probably one of the U-17 training camp’s top players—on a completely different level from that high schooler earlier."  

"Welcome, middle schoolers, to the U-17 training camp."  

Just then, a tall, middle-aged man in a white lab coat, his hair tied in a small ponytail, appeared on the second-floor platform of the building in front of them.  

"Allow me to introduce myself—I’m Saito Michiru, the mental training coach of this facility." He smiled. "Congratulations on passing the initial test. However, the head coach wants a deeper understanding of your abilities. So, next up, we’ll be conducting actual matches. The rule is simple: pair up in teams of two."  

"Teams?" Mukahi blinked in surprise. "Wait, so we’re doing doubles matches?"  

"Doubles? Perfect!"  

Established doubles pairs, like Yamabuki’s Minami and Higashikata, visibly brightened.  

Soon, the middle schoolers began forming their pairs.  

"Chotaro." 

"Yeah."  

"Bunta, this is our specialty!" 

"Of course. We’re unstoppable."  

"Oishi, time to show them what we’ve got." 

"Right. But we don’t know our opponents yet, so we should stay cautious."  

The strongest doubles pairs from each school quickly teamed up, while others found their own partners—like the Fuji brothers, Akutsu and Hiyoshi, Atobe and Kabaji, Yukimura and Sanada.  

"Echizen!"  

Osaka’s Tohyama jogged over to the boy in the black jacket and grinned. "Let’s team up!"  

"Sure." Echizen nodded.  

He knew Tohyama’s skills well. Even if their doubles coordination wasn’t perfect, as long as they each held their ground, they could take on most opponents.  

"Good."  

Once all the middle schoolers had formed their teams, Saito spoke again. "Now, those who’ve paired up will compete in singles matches."  

"Singles?!"  

The middle schoolers’ expressions froze.  

"Wait, wasn’t this supposed to be doubles?" Kikumaru was stunned. He’d been ready to team up with Oishi and dominate the court with their synchro play—only to find out it was singles after all?!  

"Correct."  

Saito continued, crushing their hopes. "And according to the rules, the loser will be eliminated immediately—just like those who failed to retrieve the balls earlier."  

A sharp intake of breath swept through the group.  

Winner stays, loser leaves.  

Did that mean they’d have to personally send their own partners packing?  

The thought made them glance at each other, a pang of guilt twisting in their chests.  

But Saito’s next words shattered any remaining illusions.  

"Teams that refuse to compete will be disqualified together."  

There was no way out.  

The U-17’s rules had them cornered, forcing them into brutal, unavoidable battles against their own teammates.  

One by one, heartbreaking matches unfolded.  

"Echizen!" 

"Yeah."  

Echizen and Tohyama exchanged determined looks. Both had lost to Ishikawa before, but in their respective regions, they were among the best. They’d been itching for a match against each other.  

"Grrr…"  

But then, Tohyama’s stomach growled loudly.  

"Uh-oh." His face paled. "Stomachache. Gotta go!"  

Without another word, he bolted off the court.  

"This guy…" Echizen sighed.  

He knew Tohyama wasn’t faking it to avoid their match.  

"Grrr…"  

Then his own stomach protested.  

"Not good." His expression darkened. "Dad’s cooking this morning was definitely off…"  

Without hesitation, he sprinted after Tohyama.  

"Those two…"  

In a dimly lit monitoring room, Kurobe, the tactical coach, shook his head in exasperation. "I was hoping to see how much they’d improved over the past month."  

He had high expectations for Echizen and Tohyama. They were likely to become key players in future international tournaments, supporting Ishikawa as his right-hand men.  

"Huh? That direction…"  

Next to him, Takashima frowned. "Are those two seriously not reading the signs? They’ll never find the court at this rate."  

Kurobe chuckled. "Can’t expect them to be as sharp as Ishikawa. A talent like his only comes once in a decade."  

Takashima didn’t disagree. He was certain that Ishikawa’s leadership would shock their opponents in the upcoming matches.  

"Wait—"  

But then, Takashima’s eyes widened. "Those idiots just went where?!"  

"Hm?"  

Kurobe turned to the screen—and his expression shifted.  

"That’s the rehabilitation training room!"  

THUD! THUD! THUD!  

Elsewhere in the U-17 facility, inside a secluded indoor court, two figures were engaged in an intense rally.  

Though it was just practice, every shot carried enough force to knock a regular player’s racket out of their hands.  

"Not bad, Boss."  

On one side of the court, a fair-skinned, pudgy man with a pompadour—former No. 3, Duke Watanabe—grinned. "You’re handling my power shots without breaking a sweat now."  

"Heh."  

His opponent—the once-injured, long-absent Byodoin—merely smirked.  

Gone was his former domineering aura. Now clad in the second-string uniform, he exuded a weathered maturity.  

THUMP! THUMP!  

Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed from the entrance.  

"Hm?"  

The two exchanged glances.  

Byodoin distinctly remembered Kurobe promising him an undisturbed training environment.  

"Figures I can’t trust those second-rate coaches."  

He sighed. He hadn’t wanted anyone to see him like this. Though his match with Ishikawa had been inconclusive, he considered it a loss.  

But unlike his defeat against Oni years ago, this loss didn’t shake him. His only goal now was to see Japan rise in the World Cup, making up for their past failures.  

"Whatever."  

Resigned, he reached into a nearby equipment box, pulled out two items, and tossed one to Duke.  

THUMP! THUMP!  

A red-haired boy burst in, followed closely by a black-capped youth—Tohyama and Echizen.  

"Uh…"  

The two froze mid-step, their eyes widening.  

"GHOSTS!!!"  

Tohyama, superstitious about the supernatural, shrieked.  

Echizen, however, narrowed his eyes, studying the two masked figures warily.  

"Uh, excuse us," he began, prioritizing his urgent need. "Where’s the restroom?"  

The one with the phoenix-and-demon mask (Byodoin) answered gruffly, "Left ahead, 20 meters in."  

"Thanks."  

The two hurried off.  

Once they were gone, Duke (wearing an oni mask) tilted his head. "Those kids…?"  

"Middle schoolers," Byodoin said. "Coach mentioned the rules changed this year—three middle schoolers must participate in every match. Those two are probably new recruits."  

"Weird," Duke mused. "They look pretty young. First-years?"  

"Maybe." Byodoin shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. Middle schoolers won’t change anything."  

He still believed high schoolers were the backbone of the team.  

That said, he did see potential in Ishikawa, Marui, and Tetsukawa. With them, Japan might even reach the semifinals this year.  

And in two years? With Ishikawa leading, they’d have no weaknesses.  

"Still, Boss, you should focus on recovering," Duke said seriously. "The Big Four won’t go down easy."  

As a former top player from France’s U-17, he knew how formidable the top teams were. Even France, ranked third, struggled—let alone Switzerland or Germany.  

"Yeah." Byodoin nodded. "Let’s keep going."  

They resumed training.  

When Echizen and Tohyama returned, their eyes gleamed with excitement.  

"Echizen, what do you think?"  

"Yeah."  

Echizen smirked.  

No doubt about it—these two were hidden elites of the U-17. And wasn’t facing strong opponents the whole point of coming here?  

"Hey, seniors," Echizen called out boldly.  

"Hm?" Duke turned. "Need something else?"  

Like Byodoin, he had zero interest in middle schoolers.  

"We heard Japan’s U-17 has some of the strongest high school players," Echizen said, grinning. "Mind giving us a match?"  

Duke’s eyes narrowed behind his mask.  

"A match?"  

Did these kids think they were that easygoing?  

But before he could refuse, Byodoin spoke.  

"Fine."  

"YES!" Tohyama cheered.  

Echizen’s smirk widened.  

Just as he’d guessed—the pride of these elites made them easy to provoke.  

Soon, the four stood across from each other in the spacious indoor court, preparing for one-on-one matches.  

Tohyama, drawn to Duke’s imposing build, chose him. Echizen picked Byodoin.  

"Ah, my apologies for earlier," Echizen said suddenly. "I’m Echizen Ryoma. He’s Tohyama Kintaro. And you two are…?"  

"Names?" Byodoin’s lips curled. "Call me Masked Man H."  

"Masked Man D," Duke added.  

"Masked Men?" Tohyama blinked. "Weird names."  

"H and D?" Echizen mused, intrigued.  

He had a hunch these two were far stronger than that creepy high schooler, Tohno.  

"Well then," Echizen said, bouncing a ball lightly before flashing a confident grin. "Let’s begin."  

With a sharp whoosh, he tossed the ball high, coiled his body, and sprang upward—  

SMACK!  

A crisp twist shot through the air as his racket whipped down, launching the ball like an arrow.  

"A twist serve?"  

Byodoin’s eyes flickered in surprise.  

This kid—likely a first-year—could pull off a serve like that?  

(End of Chapter)