286-290

Chapter 286: The Ranking Matches Begin—The Strong First String!  

[Ding!]  

As Tokugawa conceded defeat, the system notification chimed.  

[Player defeated boss-level opponent Tokugawa Kazuya. Earned 5,600 EXP.] 

[Player acquired Tokugawa Kazuya’s dropped skill: Photon Strike.]  

Meanwhile, Tokugawa picked up his racket, gave Ishikawa one last glance, and walked away—his silhouette stark and solitary against the fading light.  

"Alright," Ishikawa turned to Marui and Ōtsuka. "We should head back too."  

"Huh?"  

The two checked the time and froze.  

6:40 PM.  

Marui distinctly remembered it was 6:37 PM when he’d climbed into the referee’s chair.  

Which meant…  

This grueling match had lasted only three minutes.  

Was Tokugawa weak?  

No.  

Marui and Ōtsuka knew better. The problem wasn’t the Court 1 leader’s skill—it was that Ishikawa was just that strong.  

At that moment, Ōtsuka finally understood the weight of Hirarin’s parting words.  

Nightfall — U-17 Training Camp 

The compound buzzed with activity under bright floodlights. But with the top players’ return and the ranking matches looming, the second-stringers kept a low profile—even the elite third-year players from the top courts.  

Ten kilometers away, atop the cliff behind the camp, a bonfire crackled against the dark. Two figures sat beside it, discussing the day’s training: Oni and Inui.  

Since Ishikawa’s departure, they’d pushed their limits daily. Tonight was no exception—they’d only wrapped up an hour ago.  

But their efforts bore fruit. The relentless training deepened their connection to the [Path of Asura]. Their mental barriers were thinning; the "door" was within reach.  

"One more week," Inui said, eyes gleaming. "That’s all I need to break through."  

"Time’s not on our side," Oni muttered. "By my count, those guys are already back."  

Inui stiffened.  

Right.  

Without him or Oni—especially Oni—there was nothing stopping Byōdōin from targeting Tokugawa.  

"This is bad." Inui’s voice turned grim. "If Byōdōin makes a move, Tokugawa won’t stand a chance alone."  

Technically, assaulting another player violated U-17 rules. But Inui knew better than to expect the coaches to rein in Byōdōin—not after the captain had openly mocked them as "second-rate instructors."  

"We should go back," Inui urged.  

"Unnecessary." Oni shook his head.  

"You’re not seriously hoping Byōdōin will play nice?"  

"No." Oni poked the fire with a stick. "I’m saying Tokugawa doesn’t need our protection anymore. Haven’t we coddled him enough?"  

Inui fell silent.  

He recalled his own loss to Ishikawa—how effortlessly the rookie had dismantled him and Oni. What right did losers have to shield Tokugawa?  

Oni was right. Tokugawa had outgrown their shelter. Overprotecting him would only stunt his growth.  

Besides…  

Inui had a hunch.  

This ranking match might not unfold as they feared.  

Next Morning — 8:00 AM 

The entire camp gathered at Center Court.  

On one side stood eighteen players adorned with gold badges—the first-string representatives, led by Byōdōin.  

Opposite them, the second-stringers lined the台阶, eyes locked on their rivals.  

"I’ll go first."  

A lanky teen in a white baseball cap stepped forward—his badge marked [No.20].  

"It’s Akiba Kōyou!"  

Murmurs rippled through the second-string ranks.  

As the lowest-ranked first-stringer, Akiba was their best chance at a win. Immediately, five or six players stepped forward—but one moved fastest.  

"Akiba," declared a sharp-featured gray-haired player, "you’re mine."  

"Ishimaru?" Akiba raised a brow. "I thought you were gunning for the top ten. Slumming it with No.20 now?"  

"The top ten’s a pipe dream." Ishimaru smirked. "I just want that overseas expedition slot."  

"Overseas, huh?" Akiba’s grin turned razor-thin. "Prove you’re worthy of it, then."  

After the coin toss, the referee announced:  

"Ranking Match #1 — First String No.20 Akiba Kōyou (3rd Year) vs. Second String Court 1 Representative Ishimaru Mikito!" 

"Best of three sets. First set — Ishimaru to serve!"  

The Match Begins 

Ishimaru struck instantly—a [Quick Serve], designed to catch opponents off-guard.  

Thwack!  

The ball bulleted past before most spectators registered the motion.  

Whispers spread. Ishimaru wasn’t called the "Tennis Assassin" for nothing. His unpredictable style made him Court 1’s wild card.  

Yet Akiba barely flinched.  

Crack!  

He returned the serve with casual ease. "This is all you’ve improved?"  

Ishimaru retaliated with a flurry of spins and slices—but Akiba dismantled each technique effortlessly.  

6-2.  

First set: Akiba.  

Second Set 

Ishimaru unleashed his full arsenal.  

It didn’t matter.  

Akiba’s defense was impenetrable. Every attack fizzled out; every strategy crumbled.  

Bang!  

A final smash sealed the match.  

"Second set: Akiba wins, 6-1!" 

"Match result: First String No.20 Akiba Kōyou defeats Ishimaru Mikito, 6-2, 6-1!"  

Gasping for breath, Ishimaru stared in disbelief.  

"H-How…?"  

Just a month ago, they’d been evenly matched. How had Akiba grown this much in weeks?  

"Surprised?" Akiba adjusted his cap. "This is what real competition does. You’ll never understand—not stuck here in this cage."  

With that, he walked off—leaving the second-stringers to grapple with the chasm between them and the first string.  

Chapter 287: The Final Match – Ishikawa vs. Echizen  

A Bad Start  

The defeat of Ichimaru from Court 1 cast a shadow over the morale of the second-string players.  

But the shuffle matches pressed on.  

A lean, sharp-eyed young man stepped forward.  

"First-string representative, No. 19—Tanigaki Kokushi!"  

His voice was calm, but whispers broke out among the second-string.  

"That’s Tanigaki—the 'Insight Specialist'!"  

"Didn’t he only make the first-string after another senior retired?"  

"Exactly. He’s probably the weakest among them."  

Their expressions shifted.  

If Tanigaki was the last to join the first-string, his skill was likely even below Akitsuki’s.  

Meanwhile, among the first-string, No. 18, Hirajōshi, glanced toward Oshitari from the second-string. When their eyes met, he gave a slight nod—this was Oshitari’s best chance.  

But to Hirajōshi’s surprise, Oshitari merely smiled and shook his head.  

"This brat…" Hirajōshi narrowed his eyes. "Does he actually want to fight me?"  

"I’ll go."  

Matsudaira stepped forward.  

After intense training, his skills had improved—but he was cautious. Against anyone stronger than Tanigaki, he wouldn’t have dared.  

The match began.  

Matsudaira was skilled, but Tanigaki had also grown stronger during the overseas expedition.  

Final score: 6-4, 6-3.  

First-string victory.  

A second loss.  

The second-string’s enthusiasm was doused like cold water. Fear flickered in their eyes.  

"My turn."  

Hirajōshi cracked his neck and descended the steps.  

"First-string No. 18—Hirajōshi."  

Though only a second-year, his presence was intimidating. Gone was the comedic tennis of Shitenhōji—here, he was a cold, ruthless sniper.  

The second-string hesitated.  

Hirajōshi’s gaze locked onto Oshitari again—but again, the latter only smiled, refusing to step forward.  

"Hah?"  

Hirajōshi was baffled.  

Did Oshitari really plan to skip the shuffle matches?  

"Coward."  

Disappointment settled in. The Oshitari he knew from Shitenhōji had been fearless, always laughing in the face of adversity.  

A second-stringer finally challenged Hirajōshi—only to surrender after three rackets were destroyed by his "Bullet Shot."  

Then, from No. 17 to No. 11, the first-string swept every match.  

Ten wins. Zero losses.  

The overwhelming dominance crushed the second-string’s spirits.  

"What the hell is he thinking?" Hirajōshi frowned.  

If Oshitari hadn’t challenged by now, he must’ve given up.  

"Pathetic."  

Then—  

"My turn."  

A tall, sharp-eyed brunet stepped forward.  

"First-string No. 10—Kishimoto Masaomi!"  

His presence was fiercer than the previous first-stringers.  

"Top 10 now!"  

"Kishimoto—the 'Iron Man' of the courts! His stamina is second only to No. 6, Ōban!"  

"No way the second-string can beat him!"  

No one dared to step up.  

Ten straight losses had shattered their confidence.  

But then—  

"I’ll go."  

Oshitari walked down with a smile.  

"Second-string, Court 3—Oshitari Yūshi!"  

"This idiot?!" Hirajōshi’s face darkened.  

Kishimoto was strong enough to block his Bullet Shot head-on. Even Hirajōshi’s odds were less than 20%—yet Oshitari was walking in like it was nothing.  

"Court 3?" Kishimoto raised an eyebrow. "I don’t recognize you. New?"  

Oshitari smirked. "Is there an age limit for shuffle matches?"  

"Cheeky."  

Kishimoto grinned.  

A confident rookie? Interesting.  

But confidence without strength was just arrogance.  

The match began.  

Kishimoto dominated the first set—6-1.  

The second-string sighed.  

If Oshitari lost the first set this badly, there was no coming back. Kishimoto’s stamina was monstrous.  

The second set started the same way—three straight games for Kishimoto.  

"I expected more," Kishimoto taunted. "This is disappointing."  

Then—  

Tap!  

A drop shot.  

Kishimoto lunged forward, barely reaching it before the second bounce. Forced into a defensive lob, he left the net wide open.  

Whoosh!  

Oshitari leapt—  

"A setup?" Kishimoto smirked. "Cute."  

He swung to counter the smash head-on—  

Rip!  

His racket strings snapped like paper.  

"What?!"  

The ball slammed into the court behind him.  

Oshitari landed smoothly, unfazed.  

"You… hid your strength?!"  

Kishimoto’s eyes burned.  

No first-stringer would tolerate being toyed with.  

"You’ll regret this."  

He unleashed a furious assault—but Oshitari defended flawlessly. Kishimoto’s reckless attacks only drained his stamina.  

Another drop shot.  

Another smashed racket.  

"Game! Oshitari leads, 1-3!"  

Oshitari landed, tilting his head.  

"Hey, senior. I heard first-stringers only use 60% of their strength. No need to hold back now, right?"  

"60%?"  

Kishimoto froze.  

Then it hit him.  

"You mean… you’ve been at 60% this whole time?!"  

A cold sweat formed.  

The truth?  

Kishimoto had gone 90% from the start—then 100% in his rage.  

"Oshitari…"  

Hirajōshi watched, stunned.  

"When did you get this strong?"  

His gaze shifted to the second-string side—to Ishikawa, standing calmly beside Marui.  

A pang of envy struck him.  

The match turned.  

Kishimoto’s focus shattered. Oshitari seized control.  

Second set: 6-3, Oshitari.  

Third set: 6-1, Oshitari.  

Final score—2-1.  

The first second-string victory.  

Silence.  

Then—chaos.  

"Kishimoto… lost?!"  

The first-string stared in disbelief as Oshitari took the No. 10 badge and joined their ranks.  

"Well then."  

Marui stretched, grinning.  

"My turn."  

He strolled onto the court.  

"Second-string, Court 3—Marui Jūzaburō!"  

The crowd erupted.  

Another Court 3 challenger?!  

"You’re mine, brat."  

No. 9, Kirihara, stepped forward.  

He attacked ruthlessly—but Marui dismantled his plays, striking back the moment Kirihara faltered.  

Final score: 6-4, 6-3.  

Second victory.  

The second-string’s eyes burned with renewed hope.  

Maybe the top 10 weren’t so invincible after all?  

Then No. 7, Kaneshiro, crushed his challenger 6-0, 6-0 in 20 minutes.  

Reality set in.  

It wasn’t that No. 9 and No. 10 were weak—Marui and Oshitari were just monsters.  

"Those two…"  

Yamato and Nakagauchi glanced at their fellow Court 3 players, then at Ishikawa.  

They knew the real reason for Marui and Oshitari’s success.  

But the others didn’t.  

Now, every eye—first-string and second-string alike—was locked onto the remaining Court 3 players.  

"Uh…"  

They stiffened, wisely choosing to stay silent.  

The matches continued.  

From No. 6 to No. 3, no second-stringer dared to challenge.  

Then—  

"Time to wrap this up."  

A towering figure descended the steps.  

Blonde hair. Piercing gaze.  

Every step sent a tremor through the second-string.  

Echizen Kintarō—No. 1.  

His eyes scanned the crowd, and like mice before a lion, the second-string averted their gazes.  

Then his stare landed on Tokugawa, standing alone in Court 1.  

"Tch."  

Echizen smirked.  

"No Oni, no Irie—so you’ve lost your spine, Tokugawa?"  

Tokugawa met his gaze silently.  

But then—  

"Sorry, Echizen-senpai."  

A voice cut through the tension.  

A black-haired boy stepped forward, smiling.  

"Your opponent… is me."  

Chapter 288: Fierce Battle—Ishikawa’s Swordsmanship! (1st Update)  

"Next up, the final match of the ranking battle! Representing the first string, No. 1, Kōtarō Byōdōin! Versus the second string’s representative from Court 3—Shin Ishikawa!"  

Soon, the referee announced the players.  

"Court 3?"  

Hearing that unusual court number, the other first-string members turned their heads in surprise.  

"Interesting."  

Among the first-string players, Kyōsuke Kiyosuji—a silver-haired, mature-looking player—adjusted his glasses with a smirk. "This year’s Court 3 is full of surprises."  

"Mitsuya."  

Ryōji Mōri, a brown-haired player with a white beanie and a thin mustache, turned to the person beside him. "Do you have any data on this guy?"  

At his words, the others also looked over.  

The young man with flaxen hair and glasses was Mitsuya Akuto, a 17-year-old second-year high school student. Currently ranked No. 17 in Japan’s U-17 first string, he also served as the team’s strategist during overseas expeditions—a master of data tennis.  

"Hm."  

Mitsuya nodded. "Shin Ishikawa, a newcomer, currently the leader of Court 3. His match records include defeating Tsukimitsu Oshi in the first ranking battle, beating Inui in a practice match, and defeating Oni in the team ranking battle."  

His expression turned serious as he continued, "Based on my analysis, his strength is already at captain level. One detail to note—after his match with Oni, the court was completely destroyed."  

"D-destroyed?!" No. 5, Kazuya Kaji, widened his eyes in shock.  

"He actually defeated Oni head-on?" Mōri’s face darkened.  

Unlike later members like Kiyosuji, who believed Oni had fallen behind the rest of the first string, Mōri knew better. Despite not participating in overseas expeditions, Oni’s monstrous strength was still unmatched—even No. 3, Duke Watanabe, wouldn’t stand a chance against him.  

"Hmm."  

Among the group, Gōzō Mōri—a towering figure and the former ace who led Hyōtei to nationals—narrowed his eyes.  

Without me even realizing it… he’s already left me far behind.  

"Ishikawa."  

His gaze sharpened as he watched the black-haired boy step onto the court. "I hope you’re ready for this."  

He knew how strong Oni was.  

But as Kiyosuji had said, Byōdōin—who had led the team through countless overseas battles—was no longer the same player he once was.  

Most importantly, Ishikawa was just a first-year middle schooler. Byōdōin, on the other hand, was a prodigy who had survived life-and-death battles abroad. His match experience rivaled that of professional players.  

"Shin Ishikawa, huh?"  

At the net, Byōdōin smirked at the black-haired boy. "I don’t know how you shut Tokugawa up, but since you’ve chosen to step onto this court… be prepared to be crushed."  

"Something that insignificant?"  

Ishikawa chuckled in response. "Senior, I hope you don’t disappoint me. I’d appreciate it if you went all out."  

In the original ranking battle, Byōdōin had fought Tokugawa in a three-set match that appeared evenly matched. But in reality, Tokugawa had likely only pushed Byōdōin to about 60% of his full strength.  

That was why Ishikawa wanted his opponent to take this match seriously.  

To others, however, his words sounded downright arrogant.  

"You’ve got guts."  

Byōdōin laughed. "But since you defeated Oni, you must have some skill. Let’s see if Oni’s level has really dropped."  

His tone was indifferent, as if Ishikawa wasn’t even worth his attention. And in truth, he wasn’t. The only reason Byōdōin acknowledged the boy at all was because of Oni.  

After dozens—no, hundreds—of overseas battles against other national aces, Byōdōin had developed an unrivaled confidence. Even Oni himself barely registered in his mind now.  

The only reason he felt anything at all was because of that one loss to Oni in the past.  

But that thought vanished as quickly as it came, crushed under the weight of Byōdōin’s overwhelming mental fortitude.  

Soon, they spun their rackets to decide the serve.  

Byōdōin won.  

Both players retreated to the baseline.  

"Best of three sets."  

The referee, fully aware of the match’s significance and danger, spoke gravely. "First set, Byōdōin to serve. Game start!"  

As soon as the announcement ended, the noisy court fell silent.  

All eyes turned to the golden-haired player.  

"Hmph."  

Byōdōin smirked.  

After a quick glance at Ishikawa’s positioning, he casually tossed the ball up and struck it.  

Ping!  

A crisp sound echoed as the ball shot forward, its trajectory almost invisible to the naked eye.  

"Too fast!"  

The second-string players tensed.  

Had their strongest player already started with a serve of this caliber?  

"This is nothing."  

Among the first string, Izo Hakamada—a white-haired player with earrings—grinned. "That was just a casual serve from Byōdōin."  

Hakamada, 17, was ranked No. 14.  

But as soon as he and the others looked toward the expected landing spot—  

Pong!  

A sharp impact rang out.  

Their eyes snapped to Ishikawa’s racket, where the ball was spinning violently—proof that he had just returned Byōdōin’s serve.  

"He blocked it?!"  

Hakamada stiffened. The other first-string members were equally stunned.  

"A bit underwhelming."  

Holding the racket with one hand, Ishikawa smiled. "Senior, could you try taking this a little more seriously?"  

Swish!  

The ball shot back like a bullet, so fast that most only saw a blur before it slammed onto the baseline.  

"Nice reflexes."  

Byōdōin nodded slightly.  

Ishikawa’s response had been flawless—from receiving the serve to judging its path and countering, every movement was precise and efficient.  

"A fundamentals-based player, huh?"  

Byōdōin’s brow lifted as he swung his racket with added force.  

Swoosh!  

The ball streaked across the court like a yellow flash, landing right beside Ishikawa.  

BOOM!  

Before the ball even arrived, the sheer pressure sent dust flying into the air.  

"He’s increasing the power already?"  

The first-string members tensed.  

They hadn’t expected Byōdōin to escalate so quickly.  

CRACK!  

But in the next instant, the dust around Ishikawa split apart as the ball shot past—only for an equally powerful return to blast through Byōdōin’s side.  

"This level of force?!"  

The lower-ranked first-string players paled. Mitsuya, who had been analyzing the match, muttered, "The match just started—what are they trying to do?!"  

THUD!  

Another strike echoed.  

Byōdōin’s voice followed. "Not bad. Your control over power is impressive."  

At his words, the first-string’s power players—No. 12, Otoko Date, and No. 13, Rikiya Ban—exchanged glances.  

Byōdōin’s standards were extremely high. For him to acknowledge Ishikawa’s strength meant the boy was anything but ordinary.  

"This ball—"  

But when they saw Byōdōin’s return, their faces changed.  

The thick smoke around him split apart as the ball shot forward—its surface flickering with a terrifying black light.  

As power players themselves, they knew what that meant.  

Only when destructive force reached a certain threshold would a ball appear to emit "black light" to the human eye.  

In other words—this shot was on another level.  

They glanced at each other, stunned.  

Why was Byōdōin escalating so quickly?  

This shot’s power… if Ishikawa misjudged it, his arm could fracture—or worse.  

BANG!  

Yet, as soon as the thought crossed their minds, the sound of Ishikawa’s return echoed.  

"He blocked it?!"  

They stared in disbelief.  

Sizzle…  

Through the thinning smoke, they saw a figure swinging his racket—  

"Wait… is that—?!"  

Their pupils shrank.  

"A one-handed return?!"  

"He blocked that with one hand?!"  

Swish!  

The next moment, a return carrying the same black light tore through the smoke, flashing past the spectators.  

The first-string members’ expressions darkened.  

If Ishikawa could return that shot one-handed, his strength was terrifying.  

"Oh?"  

Byōdōin’s eyes gleamed with interest. "So you countered it with pure power?"  

He had considered several possibilities—the most likely being that Ishikawa had used technique to mitigate the ball’s force.  

But instead, the boy had relied on raw strength.  

A clear challenge.  

Byōdōin’s smile widened as he added even more power to his next shot.  

Yet Ishikawa returned it effortlessly.  

BAM! BAM! BAM!  

The two exchanged blows at a frightening pace.  

Each strike carried enough force to make the audience’s ears ring.  

And yet, they kept going—twenty exchanges in the blink of an eye.  

"Is he a power player?"  

Even Mitsuya was starting to doubt his own analysis.  

Very few players could match Byōdōin’s strength one-handed.  

"Not bad."  

After several exchanges, Byōdōin nodded approvingly. "For a newcomer, you’re one of the rare few with this level of power and stamina."  

Around this time last year, he had fought Tokugawa in the U-17 camp.  

But Tokugawa hadn’t been able to withstand even a few rounds of this intensity.  

This year’s newcomers were on another level.  

"However."  

Byōdōin’s grip tightened as his eyes sharpened. "Power alone won’t be enough."  

Swish—!  

With a flick of his wrist, the ball vanished—reappearing in midair at blinding speed.  

"This trajectory?!"  

Even the newly promoted first-stringers, like Jūjirō Mori and Tetsuya Hara, stiffened.  

Too fast!  

Not just in speed, but in how unpredictably it moved. Even Tokugawa’s "Phantom Serve" paled in comparison.  

"Heh."  

But Ishikawa only smiled. "If you’re testing me, I’ll play along."  

He lowered his racket to his left side, thumb resting on the frame, while his right hand assumed a stance—like drawing a sword.  

SHING!  

The moment the ball approached, Ishikawa’s racket slashed forward like a blade.  

CLANG!  

A metallic clash rang out as a silver streak cut through the smoke, flashing toward Byōdōin.  

Swip!  

The ball shot past him.  

To the shock of the first-string players, it landed perfectly on the baseline—then dug into the wall from sheer spin.  

"0-15!"  

The umpire’s voice broke the silence.  

The high schoolers—especially the first-string members—stared in disbelief.  

"He… scored?!"  

No one had expected Ishikawa to take the first point.  

"What… just happened?"  

Many hadn’t even seen the silver flash clearly.  

But then—  

"Wait… is that—?!"  

Mōri, Kiyosuji, and the other top-ranked players froze.  

A few strands of golden hair drifted down from Byōdōin’s forehead.  

That last shot… had cut his hair?!  

"Hmm."  

Byōdōin’s gaze darkened as he studied Ishikawa. "That technique just now… was it swordsmanship?"  

Swordsmanship.  

One of Byōdōin’s own mastered skills.  

But even after honing his craft worldwide, he had felt something unsettling in that last strike—  

A pressure he rarely encountered.  

"An illusion?"  

Byōdōin’s eyes narrowed.  

For the first time, he wondered—  

Could this kid’s swordsmanship be… above mine?  

Chapter 289: Clash of Light Shots, the Shattered Court (2nd Update)  

"The boss actually…"  

Outside the court, Duke Watanabe—a fair-skinned, heavyset player—wore an expression of shock.  

Among the representatives of the first-string players, No. 2 Shūji Tōjirō was absent, as was Oni. That left Duke as the strongest player present after Kōjirō Byōdōin.  

Yet even he hadn’t been able to see how Shin Ishikawa had returned that shot.  

But the proof was undeniable—Byōdōin’s golden hair, swept back before it could even settle, was testament to the sheer terror of that last strike.  

Thud! 

Thud! 

Thud!  

At the baseline, Byōdōin bounced the ball, his usual aggressive playstyle momentarily paused in contemplation. The other first-stringers found it unbelievable—Byōdōin never hesitated.  

Yet, in that moment, his mind was racing, analyzing the kendō mastery hidden within Ishikawa’s technique. The more he thought about it, the less certain he became.  

"Shin Ishikawa."  

Gripping the ball, Byōdōin locked eyes with his opponent. "Your kendō may be impressive, but swordsmanship alone doesn’t make a tennis player."  

Boom!  

With that, he served.  

The ball streaked across the court, landing with pinpoint precision on the service line. Dust erupted, obscuring Ishikawa’s figure—but a moment later, the ball came rocketing back, effortlessly returned.  

"Senpai," Ishikawa said with a smile, "I think we’re past warm-ups. No need to hold back—show me the techniques you used overseas."  

The first-stringers—Kaji, Kiyosumi, and the others—stiffened.  

No one had ever dared provoke Byōdōin on the court like this.  

"This kid’s got a death wish!" 

"Does he even know who he’s talking to?" 

"Once Byōdōin gets serious, it’s over for him!"  

To them, Byōdōin was an untouchable force. During their recent Southeast Asian tour, they’d crushed every opponent without a single loss.  

And Byōdōin?  

He’d left rival team captains trembling in fear. Match after match, he’d humiliated them so thoroughly that some had quit tennis entirely.  

That was why he’d earned the title—*"The Conqueror."*  

And now, this arrogant rookie was taunting him?  

Didn’t he know that when the Conqueror raged, blood would spill?  

Swish!  

Byōdōin moved.  

A top-tier player like him wouldn’t be baited by mere words—but he did recognize that Ishikawa was no ordinary opponent.  

"If you’re so confident," he growled, "then try stopping this!"  

CRACK!  

His racket whipped forward, the strings biting into the ball with brutal spin. To the spectators, it looked like a raging bull, hooves kicking up dust as it charged straight at Ishikawa.  

"It’s here!" 

"The Conqueror’s Spanish Bull!" 

"A world-class technique!"  

The first-stringers tensed in anticipation.  

Byōdōin had finally unleashed his signature move—and it was a devastating one.  

"The power behind this shot is monstrous," Mitsutaka muttered from the stands. "The sheer force and spin combine into something even deadlier. That ‘bull’ could shatter a racket!"  

PING!  

But then—a crisp return.  

"He blocked it?!"  

The first-stringers froze.  

SCREECH!  

The ball shot back like a blade slicing through air, gleaming under the sun’s glare. The sound of its flight was so sharp it made their ears ring.  

Advanced Technique—Daybreak!  

Struck at a precise angle with the racket’s metal frame, the ball refracted sunlight—creating a near-blinding flash. Even Byōdōin was caught off guard.  

But a player of his caliber didn’t need vision.  

His instincts kicked in, his senses locking onto the ball’s trajectory.  

THUD!  

He returned it cleanly.  

"Nice visual effect," he sneered. "But the actual shot? Pathetic."  

Swish!  

His racket moved—slow at first, then splitting into a dozen afterimages, like the arms of a thousand-handed goddess.  

"India—Snake Charmer!"  

The afterimages morphed into venomous serpents, fangs bared as they lunged for Ishikawa.  

"Good."  

Ishikawa grinned.  

His own form split into a dozen copies, each swinging at an incoming ‘snake.’  

SWISH! SWISH! SWISH!  

In an instant, the illusions collapsed—leaving only the real Ishikawa, who smashed the ball back with a roar like a lion’s fury.  

BOOM!  

The ball split midair, multiplying into a storm of afterimages that rained down on Byōdōin.  

"Huh?"  

Byōdōin’s brow rose. "A world-class technique?"  

He hadn’t expected Ishikawa to not only counter his move but retaliate with one of the same caliber.  

"Interesting."  

His body blurred, splitting into matching afterimages—each intercepting a ‘ball.’  

CRACK!  

Ishikawa’s Wild Ball Barrage was dismantled.  

But then—  

The ball changed direction mid-flight, arcing high into the sky.  

"Egypt—Phoenix!"  

Byōdōin’s voice was calm.  

SCREECH!  

The ball blazed like a fiery phoenix, streaking down toward Ishikawa’s backhand corner.  

"That lob—!"  

Tetsuya’s face paled.  

It was terrifying.  

The ball’s descent was so violent he could smell the burning air—less like a phoenix and more like a meteor.  

Swish!  

Ishikawa moved.  

His upper body remained perfectly still as his feet carried him to the landing point in an instant. Without even looking, he swung at empty air—  

PING!  

The ball met his racket as if drawn to it.  

Then—  

He launched it skyward in a mirror-image lob.  

"Another lob?!" Mitsutaka gasped.  

Kiyosumi narrowed his eyes. "Is he mocking Byōdōin by copying him?"  

But then—  

The ball merged with the sun’s glare, erupting into a fiery bird of its own.  

"One of the Four Divine Strikes—Vermilion Bird!"  

The blazing shot hurtled toward Byōdōin’s backhand.  

"Not bad!"  

Byōdōin’s eyes gleamed.  

He exploded into motion, his form blurring as he intercepted the ball mid-descent. His racket lashed out at ‘nothing’—  

CRACK!  

The spinning ball was smashed back, but upon landing, it shattered into jagged afterimages that shot in all directions.  

"American Pirate!"  

Yet Ishikawa was already moving, splitting into multiple forms—each intercepting a ‘fragment’ before the ball could fully rise.  

THWACK!  

The return was instantaneous.  

"A super half-volley?!"  

The first-stringers shuddered.  

Not only had Ishikawa countered American Pirate—he’d done it with a near-impossible reflex shot!  

"Sharp reflexes," Byōdōin acknowledged.  

Then—he lunged.  

His racket’s edge met the ball, twisting violently upon contact.  

SCREECH!  

A crimson dragon erupted, fangs bared as it roared toward Ishikawa.  

"China—Red Claw Dragon!"  

The heat was palpable, the flames licking at Ishikawa’s skin as the beast’s maw opened wide—  

"A high-speed spin technique?"  

Ishikawa didn’t flinch.  

His racket shifted into a kendō grip—then slashed forward like a blade.  

SHING!  

A gust of wind split the dragon clean in half, the flames dissipating as the ball rocketed back—now infused with storm and fire.  

One of Ishikawa’s signature moves—Gale Force!  

"A kendō technique?"  

Byōdōin’s eyes narrowed.  

Unlike the earlier Iaido-style strike, this was pure swordsmanship—using the racket’s edge to exploit the dragon’s weak point, then channeling the force of a blade into the return.  

To onlookers, it looked effortless—like Ishikawa had casually bisected Byōdōin’s fiery beast.  

"This kid’s skill… is terrifying."  

Any remaining arrogance in Byōdōin vanished, replaced by wariness.  

But he was the Conqueror.  

He didn’t retreat—he attacked.  

THUD! CRACK! BOOM!  

The two traded blows, Byōdōin hurling world-class techniques while Ishikawa countered each one. The spectators could only watch, mouths agape, as the match escalated beyond comprehension.  

"Incredible!"  

Up in the observation room, Saitō stared in awe. "He’s matching Byōdōin shot for shot!"  

"Yes," Kurobe agreed. "Their technical mastery is peerless. To them, the racket is just an extension of their will."  

He focused on Ishikawa, a flicker of disbelief in his eyes.  

Last time, against Oni, it had been speed versus power.  

Now?  

He was dueling Byōdōin in a pure battle of skill.  

Speed. Power. Technique.  

Every aspect of his game was flawless—and he was only a first-year middle schooler.  

ROAR!  

On the court, Byōdōin’s latest shot bellowed like a lion—only for Ishikawa to cage it mid-charge, the ball’s furious spin useless against his control.  

SWOOSH!  

The return was effortless.  

"Tch."  

Byōdōin clicked his tongue.  

How many times had it been now?  

None of his techniques could break through.  

His eyes hardened.  

Crackle…  

Golden light gathered in his left palm, seeping into his racket as the ball approached.  

"Perish."  

He swung.  

The first-stringers recoiled—they knew this technique.  

"The Light Shot—Annihilation!" Mōchi’s voice was tense.  

That shot carried obliterating force. If Ishikawa tried to block it head-on, the backlash could destroy him.  

But then—  

Ishikawa’s left hand also began to glow.  

A golden sphere materialized above his palm.  

"What?!"  

Before anyone could process it, he swung.  

BOOOOOOM!  

The two light shots collided at the net.  

The ground beneath them shattered, fissures spiderwebbing outward as the shockwave erupted into a miniature mushroom cloud.  

RUMBLE!  

Debris rained down as the dust cleared, leaving the court in eerie silence.  

Chapter 290: The Tennis Dimension – Pirate of the World  

"W-what just happened?!"  

Outside the court, the high schoolers exchanged stunned glances.  

All they had seen was Ryoma striking back with his own Glow Shot the moment Byoudouin unleashed his. The collision of the two glowing balls sent a shockwave through the court, kicking up a massive dust cloud.  

Whoosh!  

A moment later, the dust settled, revealing the devastated court—cracked and sunken like a battlefield straight out of hell.  

"Uh… this…"  

The umpire froze, unsure how to call the point. He hadn’t even seen what caused the explosion.  

"15-15, Mr. Umpire."  

Ryoma looked up, smiling at the flustered official.  

"O-oh, right!" The umpire blinked, then nodded gratefully. "Byoudouin’s point, 15-15!"  

"This guy…!"  

The U-17 representatives stared at Ryoma in disbelief. No one had expected him to willingly concede the point.  

But those who had seen the exchange clearly—like Duke and Mouri—knew the truth. Ryoma hadn’t lost to Byoudouin’s Glow Shot. He had deliberately broken the rules by intercepting it.  

"Was he testing Byoudouin’s Glow Shot?" Duke narrowed his eyes, studying Ryoma. "What’s his game?"  

Was this a challenge?  

Did he even realize who he was playing against?  

"Hmph."  

On the court, Byoudouin’s expression darkened as he surveyed the wreckage. He had seen it clearly—his Glow Shot had been completely neutralized.  

This wasn’t just skill.  

It was a provocation.  

And a declaration of Ryoma’s own strength.  

"Umpire."  

A voice cut through the tension—Kurobe, standing on the second-floor platform. "Switch courts."  

"Y-yes, sir!"  

The relieved official quickly agreed. With the coaches stepping in, the match wouldn’t spiral out of control.  

During the court change, the players finally had a chance to process what they’d just witnessed.  

"That Ryoma… he’s insane." One of the representatives muttered. "He countered Byoudouin’s Glow Shot head-on!"  

"No kidding," another agreed. "Even national-level aces crumble against that shot. Who is this guy?"  

During their overseas matches, they had seen Byoudouin dominate every opponent. The strongest—the Philippine team’s ace—had been hospitalized after taking a single Glow Shot.  

Yet here was Ryoma, not just surviving it but matching it.  

"Hey." Ochi turned to Mouri. "He’s from overseas, right? There’s no way a player this strong flew under the radar in middle school."  

The others nodded.  

Ryoma had been wearing Ice Middle’s jacket yesterday.  

All eyes shifted to Mouri, but the tall ace simply shook his head. "I don’t know much about him."  

"So," Tokugawa pressed, "is he really a transfer?"  

The idea made sense. Byoudouin, Ryoma, even Duke—all of them had come from overseas. The only homegrown elites were Oni, Tanegashima, and Mouri himself.  

"Ryoma’s from overseas?" Marui gaped.  

But what other explanation was there?  

"Huh?" He noticed his teammate’s expression. "Mouri, you look pale."  

"It’s nothing."  

Mouri sighed inwardly.  

Aside from himself, no one knew Ryoma’s real background.  

If they found out…  

"Hey, Matsudaira."  

Over at Court 3, Ochi and the others frowned at their teammate’s odd behavior.  

"You okay?"  

"Y-yeah." Matsudaira swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously toward Byoudouin.  

If he finds out he’s playing a middle schooler…  

He shuddered and buried the thought deep.  

Match Resumes 

"Game set, first set! Byoudouin to serve, 15-15!"  

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

The rhythmic bounce of the ball echoed as Byoudouin steadied himself at the baseline.  

"If you’ve mastered the Glow Shot, there’s no need for warm-ups." His sharp gaze locked onto Ryoma. "Let’s see if you can keep up, brat."  

BOOM!  

The serve tore through the air before the net, kicking up a dust storm that surged toward Ryoma.  

SHING!  

But in the next instant, the haze split apart—ripped open by a massive, glowing tennis ball.  

The eerie blue-green light illuminated Ryoma’s calm expression.  

"This is—!"  

Mouri’s eyes widened.  

"Tennis Dimension!"  

The other representatives tensed, some even flinching back.  

The Tennis Dimension—a realm beyond basic technique, where a player’s skill transcended into a higher plane.  

Among them, only Duke and Mouri (with his Mach Serve) could touch that level.  

But this…  

This was something else entirely.  

"Finally getting serious?"  

Ryoma didn’t even blink as the terrifying serve bore down on him.  

THUD!  

His racket met the ball head-on, stopping it dead.  

"He blocked it?!"  

Even Duke stared in shock.  

ZZZT!  

A silver-white aura flared around Ryoma, forcing the spectators to shield their eyes.  

WHOOSH!  

A streak of light shot across the court—so fast that some players felt their vision lag trying to follow it.  

"Huh?"  

Byoudouin’s eyes narrowed.  

"A speed-based dimension?"  

The ball moved faster than the eye could track, warping perception itself.  

Without hesitation, Byoudouin closed his eyes, relying on instinct to sidestep—  

CRACK!  

His racket connected, but the impact made his arm tremble.  

"Nice shot!"  

With a grunt, he whipped the ball back—  

"Spanish Bullfight!"  

The return wasn’t just powerful.  

It was alive.  

The dust swirled into the shape of a charging bull, the ground shaking beneath its phantom hooves.  

Ryoma didn’t move.  

"Did he freeze?"  

"No—he’s avoiding a direct hit!"  

But then—  

WHOOSH!  

The "bull" veered off course, yanked sideways as if by an invisible lasso.  

Ryoma’s racket flashed like a blade.  

"Shockwave."  

BOOOOM!  

A thunderous roar split the air as a violet streak—like a lightning dragon—blasted across the court.  

World-Class Technique: Thunderclap!  

"Tch."  

Byoudouin’s instincts screamed danger.  

"His swordsmanship… is this refined?!"  

This wasn’t just a tennis shot.  

It was a killing strike.  

RRRUMBLE!  

A dark aura erupted around Byoudouin, swallowing Ryoma’s technique whole.  

KABOOM!  

The air compressed—then detonated.  

"Did he return it?!"  

"What was that?!"  

Duke and Mouri barely caught the afterimage—  

SLAM!  

The ball skidded along the baseline, spinning violently against the wall.  

"15-30!"  

Silence.  

Then—  

"Byoudouin… just lost a point?!"  

The representatives were stunned.  

As the dust cleared, Byoudouin stood motionless, his jacket slit open at the side.  

"He’s… losing?"  

Tokugawa, Ochi, and the others stared at Ryoma, their minds reeling.  

This wasn’t just a match.  

It was a battle of kings.  

(End of Chapter)