"What I mean is—every single one of you here is trash."
The Seigaku regulars froze.
Every club member, new and old, stared in stunned silence.
Even Ryuzaki Sumire stood rooted to the spot, speechless.
These words were a direct challenge to the entire Seigaku tennis club.
After a beat of silence, the club erupted.
"Holy shit, this kid's got a death wish!"
"Damn, this first-year's got some nerve! Kaedearashi, you better teach him a lesson!"
"He's not even taking Yamato seriously!"
"Probably doesn't know how strong Seigaku's tennis club is. Freshmen always have a few loudmouths."
"Yoru… sounds like foreigner name. Their tennis isn't much better than ours, right?"
"He's in for a rude awakening."
"Senior Kaedearashi, make him cry on the court!"
"Crying's not enough—he should be carried off!"
The Seigaku members were furious.
The upperclassmen were livid, and even the new first-years were incensed by Yoru's words.
"Let's see if your skills match that mouth of yours!"
Kaedearashi, known for his temper, clenched his fists. He knew tennis disputes had to be settled on the court.
Originally, he'd planned to go easy on Yoru—just a quick lesson.
Now? He wanted to crush him.
"Make it quick."
Yoru pulled out his racket and calmly walked to one side of the court.
His casual demeanor only stoked Kaedearashi's rage.
Yoru didn't even warm up.
He just draped his jacket over his shoulders, letting it hang loosely—as if Kaedearashi wasn't worth his attention.
"Aren't you going to warm up?" Kaedearashi growled.
"Beating you all should count as a warm-up."
Yoru's tone was indifferent.
Arrogant.
Unbelievably arrogant.
Hearing this, Kaedearashi didn't even bother asking about the jacket. All he wanted now was to destroy Yoru on the court.
If Yoru wasn't warming up, neither would he.
The two stepped onto the court.
"Kaedearashi, don't hold back. This'll be boring otherwise."
"Haven't seen a cocky brat like this in ages. His crying's gonna be music to my ears."
Before the match even started, the Seigaku crowd was already mocking Yoru, certain of his defeat.
Yoru ignored them. He just walked to the baseline and tapped his racket against the ground.
"Heads or—"
"Just serve. Don't say I didn't give you a chance."
Kaedearashi cut him off, already in a defensive stance.
"Oh? How generous."
Yoru's lips curled into a sneer.
"You bastard!"
Kaedearashi's fury peaked at the sight of that smirk.
Game start.
First game: Yoru's serve.
No theatrics. Just a simple toss, a leap, and a whip of the racket.
BANG—!
The sound of impact echoed.
Then Yoru turned and walked to the other service box.
"Huh?"
Kaedearashi blinked.
He'd heard the impact—then felt a breeze brush past his elbow.
Before he could process it, another BANG sounded behind him.
The court fell silent.
The Seigaku members stared, jaws slack.
Spectators see more.
From the sidelines, they'd clearly seen the ball shoot past Kaedearashi, bounce, and rocket out of bounds—blindingly fast.
"That had to be 200 km/h…"
Ryuzaki, seated at the umpire's chair, was the first to react. She announced, "Yoru scores. 15–0!"
Her voice snapped everyone back to reality.
"No… no way."
"The ball was just—gone. How?!"
"Kaedearashi-senpai didn't even react!"
The club members gaped at Yoru in horror.
Moments ago, they'd been imagining Kaedearashi humiliating him. Now? This.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Another series of impacts rang out.
A chill ran down Kaedearashi's spine.
The ball tore through the air again, slamming into the chain-link fence behind him—embedding itself in the mesh.
"How… how is this possible…?"
Kaedearashi's pupils shrank to pinpricks.
"Daydreaming during a match? You're even weaker than I thought."
Yoru's voice was icy.
Kaedearashi's rage had vanished. Now, there was only fear.
Two serves. That was all it took to prove the gap between them.
He wasn't stupid. Just outclassed.
BANG—!
A golden streak ricocheted into the backcourt.
30–0.
Yoru wasn't even trying anymore. The rest of Seigaku's players might barely count as a warm-up.
BANG—!
1–0.
BANG—!
3–0.
BANG—!
6–0.
Total match time: under 10 minutes.
And that included ball retrieval, serves, and side changes.
Kaedearashi was drenched in cold sweat.
The match hadn't been physically taxing—he'd barely touched the ball.
But the psychological devastation? Unprecedented.
Recalling the match, he felt only despair. The gap in their Five Stats was insurmountable.
"Next."
Yoru's voice cut through the silence.
The Seigaku crowd collectively gasped.
"I've… never seen anyone this strong."
"The audacity!"
"He's earned it. That performance speaks for itself."
"Honestly? I'm not even sure Yamato could take him."
"Next match: Nishimura Komugi!"
Ryuzaki ignored the murmurs and called the next player.
A yellow-haired regular stepped forward, his expression grim.
Skill-wise, he was on par with Kaedearashi—maybe even weaker.
This was going to be a massacre.
And it was.
Another 6–0 shutout.
This time, it took even less time.
"Pathetic. I'm not even sweating."
Yoru twirled his racket.
"Next."