Kaedamori: 8 minutes, 59 seconds.
Nishimura Komugi: 8 minutes, 21 seconds.
Imai Izumi: 7 minutes, 49 seconds.
...
One by one, Seigaku's regulars were effortlessly crushed by Yoru.
Even the tennis club captain, Kawasaki Junna, was swiftly defeated in 7 minutes and 30 seconds—the fastest match yet.
Each game ended quicker than the last, proving Yoru's earlier words true:
"Beating all the regulars will just be my warm-up."
"Game, 6-0! Yoru wins!"
The Seigaku members gulped in unison.
They had never seen someone so monstrously strong.
In just over thirty minutes, Yoru had swept aside four regulars—including the captain.
With last year's seniors gone, only five regulars remained.
Now, only one obstacle stood between Yoru and the captaincy—
Yamato Yūdai.
"Yamato, step up."
The breeze fluttered the jacket draped over Yoru's shoulders as his gaze locked onto the other jacket-wearing boy outside the court.
His tone carried an undeniable pressure, freezing the air.
Gulp.
The sheer dominance in his stance sent shivers down everyone's spines.
"So it's come to this..."
Yamato took a deep breath and removed his jacket.
Frankly, he had no right to wear it against Yoru—not after what he'd just witnessed.
"Yamato..."
The other regulars looked at him with concern.
At this point, no one doubted Yoru's strength.
Their hopes for Yamato had shifted from "He'll definitely win" to "Just don't lose too badly."
(If he could pull off a miracle, even better.)
They prayed that Yamato's new technique, developed over the break, could stand a chance.
But if even Yamato fell within ten minutes—
This generation of Seigaku regulars would become the biggest joke in the school's history.
"I'll do my best."
Yamato stepped onto the court under the weight of everyone's stares.
Yoru tapped his racket against the ground.
"Heads or tails?"
"Tails."
Yamato didn't dare underestimate him.
After watching four straight demolitions, playing the "senior card" would be pure idiocy.
The racket spun—
Heads.
Yoru got the serve.
Yamato wiped his nose awkwardly.
"Game start! Yoru to serve!"
Both players returned to the baseline.
"Yamato Yūdai, huh..."
As Yoru bounced the ball, his mind flashed to the original story.
Yamato had plenty of screentime.
In short—
Average talent, relentless effort, and an obsessive love for tennis.
Against someone like that...
Yoru felt just a little like playing around.
His aura lost its earlier sharpness, but an oppressive weight still hung over the court.
Whoosh—!
The ball soared into the air.
Yoru's knees bent, his body unfolding like a spring as his racket whipped forward—
BANG!
A flat serve!
Fast, but not as fast as before.
Yoru was holding back.
The ball twisted unpredictably, tearing through the air before skidding sharply near the service line.
A sharp-angled serve!
The same technique used for sharp-angled shots could be applied to serves.
"He's going easy on me?"
Yamato's brow furrowed as he sprinted forward.
No denying the serve's quality—but for someone of Yoru's level, this was child's play.
"Please take this match seriously!"
BANG!
He returned the ball with a firm stroke.
"Sure."
Yoru's reply was casual.
In the original story, Yamato was far from weak—just not elite.
Maybe he'd underestimated him too much.
BANG!
Yoru intercepted, increasing his speed and power slightly.
The rally continued, each strike pushing Yamato closer to his limits.
"A teaching match..."
Ryūzaki narrowed her eyes.
This was classic guidance play—like a master toying with an apprentice.
Truthfully, Yamato was one of the most talented players she'd coached in years.
Yet Yoru was strong enough to treat him like a practice dummy?
The gap was like egg vs. boulder.
A light tap was fine—but if Yoru got serious, Yamato would shatter instantly.
"Yamato's being completely controlled."
"Look at him struggling, while that first-year looks like he's playing around!"
"The difference is insane..."
The upperclassmen stared in disbelief.
The newcomers didn't know Yamato's strength, but they did.
As a first-year, Yamato had already been capable of defeating all the regulars—including the two graduated seniors.
Only the archaic rules had kept him from becoming a regular until the end of the year.
Yet now, Seigaku's so-called "genius" was being handled like a puppet.
BANG!
Yoru fired another return—
Too fast. Too powerful.
Yamato lunged desperately, but the ball whizzed past his racket, flying out of bounds.
"Reached your limit already?"
Yoru straightened, not particularly disappointed.
Yamato's 5-star rating was far below Ryōma's, let alone Ralph's level.
Even among U-17 players, the gap between individuals was massive.
Yamato and Ralph were from the same era, yet three stars separated them—a chasm in skill.
"Stop holding back. Your hidden tricks mean nothing to me."
Yoru's voice was ice.
Yamato froze.
Then nodded.
Against this monster, hiding his techniques was pointless.
"15-0, Yoru!"
As the score was called, Ryūzaki studied Yamato.
"Yamato... you're stronger than this."
Last year, after watching the National Tournament, Yamato had vowed to create a new technique—
One designed specifically to counter geniuses.
His idea had stunned Ryūzaki with its creativity.
Given Yamato's work ethic, he should have perfected it over the break—or at least made progress.
"Haaah..."
Yamato exhaled deeply, gripping his racket tighter, eyes locked onto Yoru.
Yoru's style was relentless.
Whether serving or returning, Yamato had to give 120% focus—just to make contact with the ball.
There was no denying Yoru's strength.
But Yamato still had one card left to play.
A technique that—
The stronger the opponent, the deadlier it became.
"Good."
Sensing the shift in Yamato's aura, Yoru smirked.
The game was finally getting interesting.