"Congrats, Gekko! You finally got what you've been chasing!"
After the award ceremony wrapped up…
The tennis team from Hyotei High School watched as Ochi held the trophy. Someone grinned and said, "So, where are you treating us to eat? You've got to celebrate this, right?"
"Hmm."
Ochi gave a small nod.
After three long years, he'd finally hit this milestone. But compared to when he'd first started high school, the excitement just wasn't the same anymore.
Time had mellowed him out, made him steadier.
More importantly, though, the guy who'd led some no-name middle school team to crush Hyotei in the national junior high tournament—stealing the championship right out from under him—hadn't shown up this time.
Not that Ochi was surprised.
He'd seen it coming. That guy's status was totally different now. With his current standing in U17, he didn't need to prove anything in a tournament like this.
And Ochi? His sights weren't just on Japan anymore—he was looking beyond.
*Beep beep beep!!!*
Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered.
"Congrats, Ochi!"
A light, chuckling voice came through from the other end.
"Coach Saito?"
Ochi's heart skipped a beat. "Thanks for checking in. What's up?"
"Congrats on winning the high school nationals!"
The voice on the other end kept that cheerful tone. "In a couple days, the team's heading to Southeast Asia for a ranking match. The head coach says you need to get back ASAP."
"Got it."
Ochi replied calmly, "If that's all, I'll hang up now."
After getting a quick confirmation, he ended the call.
"Let's go."
He turned to the guys nearby. "How about that place we used to hit up all the time?"
"Uh…"
The group froze for a sec. One of them scratched his head awkwardly. "That spot closed down ages ago."
"Oh, really?"
Ochi blinked, caught off guard.
He thought back. Ever since joining Japan's U17 team, he hadn't really hung out with these old buddies much. It wasn't until this year, when he signed up for the high school nationals, that they'd all gotten back together.
But every time, it was the same—win, then head straight back to U17.
Thinking about it, Ochi couldn't help but sigh a little.
"Uh, hey…"
One of the guys piped up, changing the subject. "The junior high semifinals just wrapped up a bit ago."
"Oh?"
Ochi's curiosity perked up. "How'd it go?"
The guy grinned. "Those junior high kids took down Rikkai Dai Affiliated Middle School. They're facing Seigaku in the finals."
"Seigaku?"
Ochi's mind flickered.
If he remembered right, back when he was in junior high, Seigaku was a regular in the metropolitan tournament's top four.
"Didn't expect them to make it to the national finals," Ochi mused with a small smile. "Looks like those junior high kids might just snag the championship this year."
The others nodded, sharing the same vibe.
Five years ago, they'd followed Ochi as Hyotei stormed through the nationals. But no matter how hard they fought, they couldn't reach the top.
Now, five years later, Hyotei had finally broken through to the final stage.
"Is it because of *that kid*?"
A thought crossed Ochi's mind.
In his head, he pictured that calm, collected boy—so mature and skilled beyond his years.
"Too bad," Ochi thought with a quiet sigh. "I won't get to see them claim the national title in person."
To him, the junior high nationals carried way more weight than the high school ones.
And it was something he hadn't managed to pull off in three years!
*Click.*
Meanwhile…
At Japan's U17 training base, inside the coaches' office…
A middle-aged man in a white coat with a long black braid hung up the phone with a grin. "Who'd have thought Ochi was so hung up on the nationals?"
Saito Itaru.
43 years old.
Japan U17's mental conditioning coach.
"Yeah, seriously."
In the dimly lit room, another middle-aged guy in a military-green tank top was doing push-ups with one hand, keeping a steady rhythm.
Takuzumi Ryuji.
44 years old.
Japan U17's physical conditioning coach.
"Hard to picture a cold, proud guy like Ochi getting so serious about a low-tier tournament like that," Takuzumi added.
To him, the high school nationals were small potatoes. He coached U17, after all—facing off against the best players from around the world.
"I heard he's been dreaming of that national title since junior high," said a third man with curly brown hair, working on player data at the desk. "After biding his time for two years, he led Hyotei closer to the championship than ever.
"But bad luck struck.
He ran into the strongest dark horse team in junior high national history."
"Oh?"
Saito and Takuzumi perked up, glancing over curiously.
Saito couldn't help but ask, "Someone actually shut him down in a junior high match?"
A no-name team? A super dark horse?
No matter how you sliced it, that didn't sound like something that could beat Ochi.
"It was Oni," said the curly-haired man—Kurobe Yukio, U17's tactical coach—without missing a beat. "Back then, he turned down offers from teams all over the country and led a random no-name squad to sweep the nationals!"
"Oni?"
Saito and Takuzumi exchanged a look, then chuckled. "Okay, if it's *him*, that makes sense."
"Here's the fun part," Kurobe added. "This year, Hyotei made it to the junior high nationals' top four again. Today, they're facing off against last year's champs, Rikkai Dai, for a finals spot."
"Huh?"
Saito's brow furrowed at Kurobe's words. "Since when do you have time to keep tabs on junior high matches—oh, wait, the U17 World Cup rules changed this year!"
He cut himself off mid-sentence, the realization hitting him.
This year was different.
The World Tennis Association had decided that for the U17 World Cup—including warm-up matches—every game had to include at least three junior high players. Otherwise, it was an automatic forfeit.
With that rule in play, even though they coached high schoolers, they *had* to pay attention to the junior high league.
"I've got an idea," Saito said suddenly, a spark in his eye. "Instead of staring at cold data all day, why not go check out those junior high matches in person?"
"Uh… sure, why not?"
Kurobe thought it over for a sec and nodded. "Mind taking a trip out there?"
"No problem!"
Saito grinned wide.
He'd been itching to get out of this stuffy training base for a while now.
The three chatted a bit more about the day's work before the room fell quiet again.
Meanwhile, in Tokyo, at the Arena Stadium…
The officials announced that due to damage to the court, the finals were postponed for three days.
With the afternoon matches canceled, players and random spectators started trickling out of the venue.
The Hyotei crew hopped on their bus and left early.
At the parking lot…
Seigaku's team, freshly confirmed for the finals, was about to board their ride.
*Vroom!*
Just then, a yellow taxi pulled up and stopped right next to them. The window rolled down slowly as everyone stared, confused.
"That guy is…"
The Seigaku players frowned when they saw a scruffy middle-aged man in a black monk robe sitting in the back.
But their coach, Ryuzaki, just smiled. "Long time no see, Nanjiro."
*Nanjiro?!*
*Whoa!*
The team froze, then their hearts collectively skipped a beat.
The legendary tennis player—the Samurai, Echizen Nanjiro!
Not a single person there didn't know who he was. His legend had been around since they first picked up a racket.
But *no one* expected to meet this tennis icon up close like this!
"Granny, congrats on making it to the finals," Nanjiro said with a grin, then turned to the others. "Oh, and you guys—thanks for looking after my dumb kid. Ryoma, hop in!"
"Ugh…"
Ryoma's mouth twitched. He tugged his cap down awkwardly, clearly not thrilled, before reluctantly climbing in.
"See ya, Seigaku crew!"
Nanjiro waved with a laugh as the taxi peeled out of the parking lot.
The team stared after it, still reeling from the shock.
Sure, it was just a taxi—not some fancy supercar—but the guy inside? His presence blew any "cool car" bonus out of the water.
"Let's go, kids," Ryuzaki said, patting Momoshiro on the shoulder with a smile. "Head home and rest up today. Tomorrow, we kick off our final training push for the year!"
"Yes, Coach!"
The thought of the match in three days lit a fire in their eyes.
Nanjiro showing up had sparked something in them—boosting their confidence for the finals against Hyotei!
Meanwhile…
Nanjiro and Ryoma's taxi cruised out of the parking lot.
Inside, Nanjiro grinned at his son. "What's up, kid? You don't look too happy."
"Hmph!"
Ryoma let out an annoyed huff.
Clearly, he wasn't a fan of how Nanjiro had described him earlier.
"Tch, tch."
Nanjiro shook his head, then turned to look out the window at the people passing by.
Whenever he spotted a dolled-up lady or a girl in cute shorts, he'd let out an excited whistle.
"So embarrassing…"
Ryoma yanked his cap even lower, pretending he didn't know the guy.
"Hm?"
But then something caught his eye. He frowned at the unfamiliar road ahead. "Where are we going? This isn't the way home."
"What, I thought you didn't even want to talk to me," Nanjiro teased with a laugh.
Ryoma raised a hand to tug his cap down again—his go-to move—but then Nanjiro's face shifted, a sly, meaningful grin creeping up. "We're going to train you in the art of Seamless Perfection, obviously!"
*Whoosh!*
Ryoma's hand froze mid-air.
A flicker of disbelief flashed deep in his eyes.
"Seamless… Perfection?"
*(Image caption: A description from Byodoin's perspective of Oni leading a no-name team to seize the national title.)*