Mumbai, India
The largest city in South Asia, the economic heart of India, and currently the region's fastest-growing hub for tennis development.
That evening, inside the coaching office at the National Youth Sports Center's tennis facility on the outskirts of Mumbai…
A portly, well-groomed middle-aged man with graying hair sat on a sofa, eyes closed in light repose.
Creak!
The door opened, and two young men walked in. The first, tall with dark hair, brown eyes, and a prominent nose, was Taran Sharma—India's U17 team captain. Behind him was a medium-built player with light brown hair, a pair of round glasses perched on his nose, and striking blue-tinted eyes—Kiran Rajput, the team's strategist.
"Coach," Sharma and Rajput greeted respectfully as they approached. "You wanted to see us?"
The gray-haired man—Avidh Vyas, the 54-year-old head coach of India's U17 team—opened his eyes and nodded. "Sit."
Once they were seated, Vyas activated a screen on the far wall. Footage of a tennis match appeared, showing two teams exchanging formal greetings.
Rajput adjusted his glasses. "Is this… last week's match between Japan and South Korea?"
"Correct," Vyas confirmed.
Rajput continued, "Japan's team is the second strongest in East Asia, right behind China. Their captain, Byoudouin, is exceptionally skilled. But if I recall, he didn't play in this match?"
At the mention of Byoudouin, Sharma's sharp eyes gleamed with interest. "He didn't play? Then what was the result?"
"Japan won, three matches to two," Rajput answered.
Sharma's brows shot up. "That close?"
He knew the general strength of both teams. Under normal circumstances, South Korea would be lucky to win even one match. How had they taken two this time?
"On paper, yes," Vyas chuckled, shaking his head. "But Japan forfeited two matches where they had overwhelming leads."
"Forfeited?" Sharma narrowed his eyes. "Even without Byoudouin, they're still that bold? Tanegashima wouldn't do something like that. Neither would Mouri. So…" He turned to Rajput. "Who was their leader this time?"
His familiarity with Japan's team wasn't surprising—Sharma had faced Byoudouin before and knew firsthand how terrifying he was. In fact, Sharma was one of the few players who had ever walked away from a match against Byoudouin relatively unscathed.
"A newcomer," Rajput replied. "There's no detailed intel yet, but his skill level is far beyond ordinary elite standards. South Korea's Lee Seung-bok lost both sets without scoring a single point."
Whoosh!
Sharma's expression shifted instantly.
At his level, he understood that while team captains varied in strength, the gap between them—unless one belonged to the Big Four—should never be that extreme.
"Shiraishi… Shin?" He turned to the screen, eyes locking onto the displayed name. "Wait… why isn't his age listed?"
"Unknown," Vyas admitted. "From what we've gathered, this new Japanese captain has no prior match records outside of last week's U17 exhibition against South Korea. It's almost like…" He trailed off.
Rajput adjusted his glasses, voice low. "Like he appeared out of nowhere."
"Exactly," Vyas nodded. "That's why I called you here. Based on this season's rankings, we've already secured our spot in the Melbourne U17 World Cup. So, I want your thoughts."
Both looked at him.
Vyas continued, "For this match, do we field our strongest lineup, or avoid direct confrontation for now?"
The two hesitated.
As players, they naturally wanted to give their all on the court. But as Vyas's students—as the captain and strategist of India's team—they had to consider the bigger picture.
"I think—" Rajput began, ready to argue for sending the second-string players to preserve their main squad's strength.
But Sharma cut in, voice firm. "We go all out. We're graduating this year. If Japan's leader is a newcomer, we need to test his true strength."
His gaze was unwavering as he met Vyas's eyes.
"Good." Vyas smiled, satisfied.
He'd called them here precisely to gauge their resolve. Sharma, as captain, was proving himself a true leader.
"It's settled, then." Vyas rapped his knuckles on the desk. "Tomorrow, we field our strongest team against Japan!"
Meanwhile…
Under Shiraishi's leadership, Japan's team arrived in Mumbai after a flight from Sri Lanka.
Though Shiraishi hadn't enforced any strict rules, the near-ten-day journey had left the players exhausted—especially the lower-ranked members of the first string.
They'd carried the team in the friendly matches against Thailand and Sri Lanka. Even against weaker opponents, competing at a national level—combined with constant travel—had taken a toll on their stamina and focus.
So, after checking into their Mumbai hotel, most of them turned in early. The next morning, they boarded a bus to the National Youth Sports Center's tennis stadium.
"WOOOOO!!!"
The stadium was already buzzing before the match even began.
Unlike South Korea, India hadn't heavily promoted the event. But as one of only two countries in the world with a population exceeding a billion, finding an audience was never an issue.
This newly built stadium, designed to host future Masters-level tournaments, could hold nearly 15,000 spectators. Today, it was almost 80% full—students, expats, and curious locals all eager to witness the showdown.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the exhibition match between India's U17 team and Japan's U17 team will now begin!"
"Players, please take your positions!"
The lights shifted, illuminating both teams as they entered from opposite sides. The home crowd erupted in cheers for India's players, while Japan's team was met with near-silence—save for a handful of enthusiastic exchange students.
"Talk about home-court advantage," Marui remarked, glancing at the sea of spectators. "This is on a whole different level from the match in Korea."
"Yeah," Mouri agreed absentmindedly. "It's like Hyotei's 200-member fan club back in middle school—" He suddenly cut himself off.
"What?" Marui frowned. "Keep going. I've heard of Hyotei's insane fanbase. So what if Shiraishi's from there? That was middle school. It doesn't matter—"
"Never mind," Mouri shook his head, sighing internally.
His gaze drifted to the composed figure walking ahead of them—Shiraishi, his back straight, steps steady.
I thought I was catching up to him… but maybe I was just being naive.
The constant matches and travel had worn him down, leaving his mind and body in an odd state.
On India's side…
Every player's attention was locked onto Shiraishi. As Japan's leader—and the one who had crushed South Korea's captain without conceding a single point—he was their biggest threat.
But upon seeing him up close, many couldn't hide their surprise.
"He's even younger in person," Rajput murmured.
Sharma nodded. "He's nothing like Byoudouin. I don't know why Japan's coach made him captain over Byoudouin, but his strength must surpass even Mouri's."
"Mouri…" Rajput's eyes flicked to the towering figure of Mouri, a dangerous glint flashing in his gaze.
This time… I'll win.
After the pre-match formalities…
"The first match will be Singles 3!"
"Representing India—Atra Lohar (Grade 11)!"
"Representing Japan—Oomagari Ryuuji (Grade 12)!"
"Players, prepare yourselves!"
The crowd's focus shifted to both teams.
From India's side emerged a dark-skinned, black-haired player with an unreadable expression—Atra Lohar.
"Damn, he's dark," Hukuda blurted. "Are we sure he's from India and not Africa?"
"Actually," Mitsuya, ever the analyst, chimed in, "due to historical caste systems, India has two main groups—the ruling Aryans and the oppressed Dalits. The Varna hierarchy splits society into four tiers: Brahmins (priests), Kshatriyas (warriors/rulers), Vaishyas (merchants), and Shudras (laborers)."
"Lohar means 'blacksmith'—a low-caste surname. He's from the lowest rung of society."
"The lowest?" Someone frowned.
India's social structure was baffling to most of them. Only a handful of Japan's first string—Mouri, Kaji, Oomagari, and Kimijima—had faced India's team before during an overseas expedition over a year ago.
Since then, India's roster had changed entirely.
"Atra Lohar," Mitsuya continued. "16 years old. India's No. 3. Orphaned young, worked in a brick factory at 10 to support his little sister. Coach Vyas discovered him and brought him into India's U17 program."
"Started tennis at 12. Natural talent. Fought his way up, defeating elite-trained players to become India's third-strongest. He's not someone to underestimate."
The team's eyes lingered on Lohar, now seeing him in a different light.
"Big bro, you got this!!!"
A young girl's voice rang out from the front row. A tanned girl in a light-colored T-shirt cheered loudly, hands cupped around her mouth.
For the first time, the stoic Lohar's expression softened into a faint smile.
"Ugh, spare me," Oomagari groaned, rubbing his temples. "Emotionally driven players are the worst to deal with."
Still, he stepped onto the court, his usual lazy demeanor replaced with an unshakable aura of confidence.
"Wait…" Marui squinted. "Am I seeing things, or is Oomagari's badge upside down?"
"Badge?" Mouri focused on the number stitched onto Oomagari's cap.
Sure enough, it read **"No. 9"**—the same as Mouri's.
Oomagari…
Mouri's eyes narrowed.
He had a feeling this laid-back, seemingly indifferent upperclassman was far more than he appeared.
After the coin toss…
"Best of three sets!"
"First set, Japan's Oomagari to serve!"
The stadium fell silent as all eyes fixed on Oomagari.