229-230

*Chapter 229: Backfiring Brilliance, Atobe’s Resolve (Update 3)*

Thwack!

Atobe returned the ball, landing it precisely at Tezuka’s backhand.

Seizing the moment, he bolted toward the net.

“Too reckless!” St. Rudolph’s Mizuki remarked from the stands. “His opponent is Tezuka. Rushing the net without a clear advantage is just begging to be exploited.”

Thwack!

Sure enough, Tezuka’s return was cool and calculated. The ball, arcing from left to right, suddenly dropped low, aiming for Atobe’s left ankle.

“The ball slowed down!” the crowd gasped, their expressions shifting.

No one expected Tezuka to pull off a change-of-pace shot like that. If it had been a fast rally, Atobe’s net play might’ve given him the edge. But now, the rhythm had shifted.

Atobe had two options: slow down to receive the ball or try to return it while maintaining his high-speed charge. Normally, slowing down for a steady return would be the safer bet. At such a fast pace, catching that fleeting moment to hit was tough. But even then, with Tezuka aiming for Atobe’s ankle, it wasn’t guaranteed he’d handle it well.

“Exactly,” St. Rudolph’s captain Akazawa said, shaking his head. “That’s the price of being too impulsive against a player of the same caliber.”

Thwack!

But then, a sharp sound rang out.

Without even glancing at the ball, Atobe swung his racket, effortlessly smacking the ball that had come dangerously close.

“What?!”

Mizuki and Akazawa’s faces froze. Exchanging a glance, they shared a wry smile, realizing the gap between themselves and a top-tier player.

In that moment, they understood.

In the same situation, they’d have switched to defense. But Atobe’s thinking and choices were on a completely different level.

Thwack!

Another shot, this time hammering Tezuka’s backhand side. As Tezuka returned, Atobe, already at the net, smashed the ball down.

Bang!

The ball hit the ground and rocketed out, leaving Seigaku’s team in stunned silence.

“15-0!”

“That offense… it’s too strong!” Momoshiro clenched his fist. Atobe’s aggression was overwhelming, even suppressing Tezuka.

“Keigo Atobe,” Coach Ryuzaki said, looking up with a grave expression. “Is this your confidence in abandoning the serving duel?”

Right now, Hyotei’s captain was like a sharpened spear, thrusting at Seigaku’s sturdiest shield.

Thwack!

Atobe served. To Ryuzaki, the ultra-fast ball landed, and as Tezuka received it, that shield visibly wavered.

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

With Atobe’s relentless offense, Tezuka’s shield shook violently, teetering on the edge of being pierced.

“Tezuka!” Atobe stepped forward, a fierce glint in his eyes. “I’ve seen through your blind spots!”

Whoosh!

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Suddenly, countless glistening ice pillars descended from above, embedding themselves around Tezuka.

“Wait a second!” Saito in the stands gasped, realizing something. “This Atobe guy… he’s seen through his opponent’s blind spots?”

“Exactly,” Inoue nodded. “That’s Atobe’s signature move, World of Ice, which lets him pinpoint his opponent’s weaknesses!”

Shiba glanced over, surprised. She hadn’t expected this stranger to instantly recognize Atobe’s ability to exploit blind spots.

Thwack!

Atobe swung, sending the ball rocketing toward one of the ice pillars.

Bang!

But just as the ball was about to shatter the pillar, it exploded into a cloud of glittering fragments.

“The blind spot… disappeared?!” Hyotei’s Hiyoshi and Mukahi froze, then Hiyoshi blurted out, “It’s the Zone!”

Whoosh!

The ball curved in an astonishing arc, drawn to Tezuka’s backhand side.

“The ball got pulled in?!” Spectators who’d never seen the Zone before gaped in shock.

Saito, too, was floored. He hadn’t expected these two junior high kids to be this fierce. One could see through weaknesses, while the other could use spin to draw the ball to their side.

Especially the latter. This so-called “Zone” was no different from the “Divine Zone” used by the U-17’s Court 2 leader!

“Are this year’s junior high kids this insane?” Saito’s heart raced.

He’d underestimated them. His gut told him this match would be far more intense than he’d imagined.

Thwack!

Tezuka returned, using the Zone to counter World of Ice. With a backhand, he sent the ball to Atobe’s baseline.

“15-15!”

“The Tezuka Zone, huh?” Atobe’s gaze sharpened.

His opponent’s technique directly countered his. The match was now heavily stacked against him.

Still, after a moment’s thought, Atobe pressed the attack. Using fast-paced rallies and baseline play, he tried to outmaneuver Tezuka technically.

But he’d miscalculated.

In terms of skill, Tezuka was no less his equal—maybe even better. Tezuka’s spin shots, in particular, were so masterful they left Atobe reeling.

Locked in a stalemate, unable to secure a quick win, Atobe found himself on the back foot.

“Atobe was too cocky,” Rikkai’s Sanada, arms crossed and cap low, sneered. “He underestimated Tezuka, thinking he was on the same level as Shitenhoji’s Shiraishi.”

“Exactly,” Yanagi nodded. “Tezuka’s fundamentals are stronger than Shiraishi’s. His ball control and shot execution are absolutely top-tier.”

Thwack!

As he spoke, Tezuka hit another spin-heavy shot, forcing Atobe to scramble left.

Tap!

When Atobe returned, Tezuka lowered his racket head, delicately slicing the ball.

Swish…

The textbook-perfect drop shot landed, rolling irregularly backward.

“15-30!”

“Zero-Shiki… Drop Shot?!” Atobe’s expression darkened.

Losing two points in a row stung his pride. His aggressive play wasn’t working, and now his opponent was scoring. To him, this was nothing short of humiliating.

“Again!” Atobe growled, frustration bubbling as he hit the ball back.

This time, he didn’t go all-out or rally blindly. Instead, he focused on sensing the spin direction of Tezuka’s returns.

His plan was simple: use counter-spin to neutralize the Zone’s pull. If he could break the Zone, his World of Ice would give him the upper hand.

Whoosh!

But unexpectedly, the ball he hit didn’t get drawn to Tezuka. Instead, it was as if an invisible force pushed it, sending it sailing out of bounds.

Tap!

The ball landed—technically in bounds, but outside the singles sideline.

“15-40!”

The referee’s call left Hyotei’s team stunned.

Then, Hiyoshi, snapping out of it, said gravely, “It’s that Tezuka Phantom!”

The realization hit the others hard. Zero-Shiki, Zone, Phantom—Seigaku’s captain had unleashed a barrage of signature moves right from the start.

“Not good!” Oshitari’s face paled. “He’s trying to break Atobe’s service game!”

With the score at 1-1, if Tezuka broke Atobe’s serve and then held his own with four Zero-Shiki Serves, he could clinch the match.

A small misstep had snowballed into a critical turning point.

Whoosh!

Atobe tossed the ball up, leaning back sharply, his racket perpendicular to the ground.

“Tannhäuser Serve?” Inoue said, surprised. “So, it’s back to a serving duel after all?”

Nanjiro and Saito shook their heads. Sure, Atobe had this ace up his sleeve, but momentum mattered in a match. Strike while the iron’s hot, falter, and it’s hard to recover. Atobe had made the wrong move at the wrong time. It might look like a serving duel, but the impact was entirely different.

Thwack!

Atobe sent the ball flying.

Skrrt!

It skimmed the ground, sliding fast. Just as the crowd thought Atobe might save his service game, Tezuka moved.

Swish!

He stepped forward quickly, lowering his racket so its tip was less than a centimeter from the ground—a move with almost no margin for error.

But Tezuka, ever the elite, seized that fleeting moment to strike.

Thwack!

The ball spun back, rocketing away.

“He broke it?!” Hyotei’s team went pale.

They couldn’t believe Atobe’s Tannhäuser Serve had been cracked at such a crucial moment.

“What a terrifying guy,” Oshitari said, eyeing Tezuka with deep wariness. “He figured out how to counter Tannhäuser in the first game but saved it for this moment.”

“That’s Tezuka,” Ishikawa nodded. “He’s like a cunning, seasoned hunter, knowing exactly when to strike the fatal blow.”

No doubt about it—by breaking Tannhäuser, Tezuka had firmly seized control of this game.

Buzz!

Realizing he’d messed up, Atobe’s body radiated a golden aura. He surged forward, chasing the ball and delivering a precise backhand.

Bang!

The ball arced beautifully, aimed straight for the baseline.

Whoosh!

But then, the ball, which should’ve hit the line, was inexplicably pushed off course.

Tap!

It landed just outside the baseline.

“Out!”

“Game!”

“Seigaku’s Tezuka, 2-1! Change sides!”

The crowd erupted, eyes wide at the score shift.

“A-Atobe, he…” Mukahi, Hiyoshi, and the others were dumbfounded.

They couldn’t fathom how Atobe’s service game had slipped away so easily.

“He botched it,” Nanjiro chuckled. “Confidence is great, but he underestimated his opponent.”

“Yep,” Saito nodded. “He lost the momentum. Unless he can break Tezuka’s serve, it’s…”

Thwack!

Tezuka unleashed a Zero-Shiki Serve. The ball hit the ground and rolled back toward the net.

“15-0!”

“Atobe’s in trouble,” Inoue sighed. “Compared to Tannhäuser, Tezuka’s Zero-Shiki is undeniably tougher to crack.”

Buzz!

But as Tezuka prepared his second serve, Atobe’s golden aura flared again.

The Emperor’s presence!

To break Tezuka’s service game, Atobe got serious. His icy gaze locked onto his opponent, his intensity peaking.

He was ready to do whatever it took to shatter Tezuka’s serve!

*Chapter 230: The True Blind Spot, Birth of Atobe’s Kingdom! (Part 1)*

Bang!

Tezuka served again.

The ball, loaded with heavy spin, rocketed across the court, landing precisely on the service line.

Skid!

As the spin released, the ball hugged the ground, threatening to roll back toward the net.

“What an incredible serve!”

In the stands, Saito’s eyes were wide with shock and admiration.

A serve like that? He hadn’t seen anything like it, not even from high schoolers.

“Kunimitsu Tezuka!”

He mentally noted the name. When the U-17 team scouted junior high players for tryouts, this guy was a must.

Whoosh!

In the next instant, Atobe moved.

The moment Tezuka served, Atobe’s sharp eyes had already traced the ball’s trajectory and landing spot.

As the ball spun, about to roll back, Atobe’s racket met it with precision.

Smack!

The ball flew off, but his contact wasn’t perfect. It barely cleared the ground, slamming into the net.

“Net.”

“30-0!” the referee called.

Seigaku’s team let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Good thing Atobe’s not Ishikawa,” Oishi said, patting his chest. “As long as Tezuka holds his serve and widens the score gap, he’s got this match in the bag!”

The others nodded in agreement.

To them, Tezuka was a powerhouse. His loss at the Kanto Tournament was only because he faced Ishikawa—a player so dominant among junior high students, he was practically a glitch in the system.

Even Yukimura, the so-called “Child of God,” fell to him. Tezuka’s defeat was just par for the course.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

At the baseline, Tezuka bounced the ball, readying his next serve.

Under the crowd’s watchful eyes, he gripped the ball, tossed it high, and raised his racket for a powerful swing.

Bang!

The ball shot out.

Like before, it landed perfectly on the service line.

Whoosh!

But unlike what everyone expected, the ball didn’t roll back. Instead, it bounced normally.

“Huh?”

The crowd blinked in confusion.

“A mistake?”

Muroto from Yamabuki blurted out.

“No,” Sengoku shook his head. “That was a regular serve, not a Zero-Shiki.”

“Smart move,” Banji, the hunched-over coach, said with a nod and a smile. “If his opponent can touch the Zero-Shiki serve, it’s only a matter of time before they crack it. Better to go for a straight-up showdown instead.”

His eyes gleamed with appreciation as he looked at Tezuka.

Calm, meticulous, decisive.

Seigaku’s captain had all the qualities a leader needed.

Banji couldn’t help but glance enviously at the figure in the pink tracksuit in the stands.

First Nanjiro Echizen, now Kunimitsu Tezuka!

Two exceptional tennis players had come from that man’s guidance. And if you added the genius Fuji and the rookie Ryoma Echizen…

Banji felt a twinge of bitterness.

Bang!

Atobe returned the ball, aiming precisely for Tezuka’s backhand side.

“What a fast return!”

Seigaku’s team tensed.

“The Emperor’s Aura!” Inui said gravely. “In this state, Atobe’s abilities are heightened. Plus, that golden aura suppresses his opponent’s skills!”

Shitenhoji’s Shiraishi and Rikkai’s Nioh, both top-tier players, couldn’t perform at even 80% of their potential under the pressure of Atobe’s Emperor’s Aura.

“So,” Momoshiro said, piecing it together, “is that why Captain Tezuka didn’t use the Zero-Shiki serve? He knew this could happen?”

“No,” Fuji said, his usually squinted eyes snapping open. He shook his head. “Tezuka wants to crush Atobe head-on!”

Buzz!

As if on cue, a milky-white aura erupted around Tezuka.

“The Pinnacle of Perfection?!”

Hyrule’s team paled.

“No, wait!” Hiyoshi frowned, realizing something. “The Secret of Tempered Mastery concentrates the Pinnacle’s aura in the wrist. The rest of Tezuka’s body should be weaker… so how?!”

“Hm.”

Kanji, watching Tezuka sprint toward the ball, said in a low voice, “Because he’s mastered… the Pinnacle’s aura wave!”

Whoosh!

Everyone looked closer.

Sure enough, the aura representing the Pinnacle’s power had shifted to Tezuka’s feet. Not only did this counteract the drawbacks of Tempered Mastery, but it also boosted his speed while minimizing the Pinnacle’s side effects.

“This…”

Hyrule’s team fell silent.

Buzz!

As Tezuka reached the ball, the aura shifted upward, wrapping around his racket-wielding wrist.

Bang!

A deafening crack rang out.

Atobe’s return was smashed back with double the spin and power.

The ball was so fast that Atobe couldn’t react, watching helplessly as it landed, scoring another point.

“40-30!”

“Atobe… he’s being completely overwhelmed?”

Yueji gaped in disbelief.

Kanji and Shishido’s faces grew grim.

“But…” Chotaro hesitated, confused. “Isn’t Captain Atobe’s Emperor’s Aura supposed to suppress his opponent’s abilities? Why does it seem like Tezuka’s not affected at all?”

“Hm,” Coach Sakaki said from the bench, his voice heavy. “With that Seigaku captain’s unyielding willpower, Atobe’s ability might not be able to touch him.”

His words reminded everyone of the Kanto semifinals, where Tezuka was pushed to the brink by Ishikawa. Even with his arm bruised and battered, he never gave up—a terrifying display of resolve.

Yueji’s face darkened. “So you’re saying Atobe has no chance of turning this around?”

Silence fell over the team.

They’d thought Hyrule, with their two easy wins over Seigaku, would cruise through this national final.

Reality, however, was a cold splash of water.

Even with Atobe playing Singles 3, Hyrule might still lose to Seigaku.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

On the court, the two clashed fiercely.

Atobe, enveloped in his Emperor’s Aura, had lost his earlier aggressive edge. Under Tezuka’s near-perfect control of the Tempered Mastery state, freely manipulating his aura wave, Atobe was forced into a defensive stance.

He couldn’t afford to hit with heavy spin or power, trying to seal Tezuka’s Tempered Mastery.

But this turned the match into a war of attrition.

And Tezuka’s willpower and mental fortitude? Atobe had already witnessed them in the Kanto semifinals.

Against an opponent like this, Atobe wasn’t confident he could outlast him.

Bang!

Suddenly, Tezuka made his move.

Using a backhand diagonal shot, he pinned Atobe to his left side. As Atobe approached the net, Tezuka unleashed a Zero-Shiki Drop Shot.

Skid!

The ball rolled back toward the net, and Atobe’s face twisted in frustration.

“Game!”

“Seigaku’s Tezuka, 3-1!”

Holding his serve, Tezuka widened his lead. Many in the crowd believed Seigaku was about to take the first win.

“Atobe… he’s been pushed this far?”

From Rikkai’s section, Kirihara stared in disbelief.

Just three days ago, in the semifinals, Atobe had utterly dominated Nioh. Now, he was in such a sorry state?

“It’s a matter of counters,” Yanagi said, shaking his head. “Atobe’s strength lies in the oppressive force of his Emperor’s Aura. Without that edge, he’s not necessarily much stronger than Nioh’s Phantom Ishikawa.”

That was a bit of an exaggeration, of course.

If Atobe faced Nioh, the latter would likely lose.

“Also,” Sanada added gravely, “word is, Seigaku and Shitenhoji held a joint training camp these past three days. With Inui’s knack for data, they probably gathered plenty of intel on Atobe from Shitenhoji.”

“Exactly,” Yukimura nodded. “Add Tezuka’s exceptional talent to that, and Atobe being suppressed makes sense.”

Sanada nodded firmly, agreeing.

No one in the arena understood Tezuka’s strength better than those two.

Three years ago, it was a loss to Tezuka that drove Sanada to develop “Thunder” and “Shadow.”

Even Yukimura had been overwhelmed by Tezuka back then.

Atobe’s talent was impressive, but compared to Tezuka, he was a step behind.

“Hm,” Marui and Jackal narrowed their eyes.

Rikkai’s big three were unanimous: Atobe was completely outmatched.

“Looks like Hyrule’s in for a rough final.”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

On the court, Atobe returned the ball, carefully controlling his power. At the same time, he worked to decipher whether Tezuka’s shots carried the spin of his Domain or Phantom.

On the surface, it looked like a stalemate.

But in reality, Atobe was fighting on two fronts, trying to keep Tezuka from seizing control of the match’s rhythm.

Domain, Phantom, Zero-Shiki, Tempered Mastery…

Tezuka didn’t have many signature moves, but each was top-tier. Worse, they linked together seamlessly, forming an impregnable defense.

It wasn’t that Atobe was weak.

It was precisely because he was Atobe that he hadn’t already crumbled. Even so, he felt the situation slipping out of his grasp.

Bang!

Returning another shot, Atobe’s heart sank. “Damn it… this guy’s tennis is too tough to crack!”

This was his service game, yet he was the one being pressured. He had to constantly anticipate the spin on Tezuka’s next shot.

Atobe knew.

If this kept up, his loss was only a matter of time.

Right now, his Ice World was countered by Tezuka’s Domain, and his Emperor’s Aura was neutralized by Tezuka’s Pinnacle of Perfection and iron will.

Every aspect of his game was being shut down!

“So… what else can I do?”

Atobe’s eyes locked onto his opponent.

His pride wouldn’t allow defeat. This was the national tournament, and after leading Hyrule this far, there was no way he’d accept losing the first match!

“Keigo Atobe!”

His inner voice roared, “Get it together!!!”

Whoosh!

As his emotions surged, Atobe’s fighting spirit, Emperor’s Aura, and vision sharpened to their absolute peak.

Crack. Crack.

Suddenly, Tezuka’s movements on the other side of the court slowed, like a slideshow. As Atobe’s vision intensified, Tezuka’s image flickered in black-and-white hues.

Whoosh!

In the next moment, as Atobe’s perception hit its limit, Tezuka’s form transformed. No longer a normal human figure, he looked like an X-ray—muscles, blood flow, even bone structure laid bare before Atobe’s eyes.

“I see it!”

A glint flashed in Atobe’s eyes. After Tezuka’s return, he swung his racket with sudden precision.

Bang!

The ball landed right at Tezuka’s feet.

To the shock of Seigaku and the other teams, Tezuka didn’t move an inch.

“15-0!”

The referee called as the ball bounced away.

“What just happened?”

Seigaku’s Momoshiro, Kikumaru, and others were stunned.

“Tezuka (Captain)…”

The first-year trio looked lost. Horio said, bewildered, “It’s like he was frozen. Could it be… Ice World?”

“No!” Inui shook his head, his face grim. “With Atobe’s vision, he shouldn’t be able to spot Tezuka’s blind spots.”

“Hm,” Fuji and Ryoma nodded in agreement.

If that were the case, Atobe wouldn’t have let Tezuka take two games and pull ahead.

This was the finals, after all.

With thousands of spectators watching, every match, every game, every point was critical.

Bang!

But then, Atobe’s serve landed.

The ball rocketed off the service line, scoring directly, and everyone’s pupils shrank instinctively.

“How is that possible?!”

Seigaku’s team was dumbfounded.

Tezuka’s expression darkened.

“Why?” Kanji said, baffled. “Tezuka can return even a Tannhäuser Serve. How could that serve just now…?”

The shock of Atobe scoring left them reeling, almost unable to process it.

“The True Blind Spot!”

Ishikawa, who’d been silent until now, spoke calmly. “Captain Atobe’s vision has clearly leveled up. In this state, he can see every single one of Tezuka’s movements perfectly.”

Bang!

As he spoke, Atobe’s serve landed again.

At the baseline, Tezuka, poised and ready, froze like a statue, unable to react.

“I… can’t move?!”

A strange sensation gripped him.

It didn’t feel like he was on a tennis court anymore. It was as if he’d stepped into Atobe’s personal domain, where his every thought and movement was being watched from every angle, with no escape.

Whoosh!

Tezuka instinctively looked up at his opponent.

“Huh?”

For a fleeting moment, he felt something absurd.

Across the net, Atobe stood, clad in a luxurious fur coat, a gem-encrusted crown atop his head. Regal and imposing, he sat on a throne, one hand gripping a scepter of authority, the other propping up his chin, gazing at Tezuka with amused interest.

“Tezuka,” Atobe said, his eyes meeting Tezuka’s as a faint smile curled his lips. “Welcome… to my kingdom!”