\"Make this quick. Tomorrow, we head to Yamabuki to challenge their strongest player."
After his little display of arrogance, Kirihara began planning his next move.
BAM—!
A thunderous strike echoed across the court, snapping him out of his thoughts.
The ball blurred past him, bounced once, and slammed into the chain-link fence behind him before he could even react.
"Yoru scores! 15-0!"
Yamato hadn't even seen the return clearly, but the fresh ball mark on the ground was undeniable.
"What?!"
Kirihara whipped his head around, eyes widening at the sight of the ball embedded in the fence.
No way…
He rubbed his eyes, as if the image would change.
That had been his Supersonic Serve—even at half-power, its speed surpassed what most middle schoolers could handle.
Yet this guy had returned it… effortlessly?
"Daydreaming mid-match isn't a good habit."
Yoru's voice was calm, as if he'd just done something trivial. He repositioned himself, ready for the next point.
To others, Kirihara's serve was lightning-fast.
To Yoru? It moved in slow motion.
"This guy…"
Kirihara's frown deepened.
He was starting to realize—this wasn't some random rookie. Anyone who could casually return his Supersonic Serve, even a toned-down version, demanded caution.
SWOOSH—!
He tossed the ball high, channeling every ounce of focus into his next serve. At the peak of its arc, he unleashed another Supersonic Serve, this time with full force.
CRACK—!
The ball streaked across the court, faster than before, kicking up dust as it landed.
"Much quicker."
"Still not enough."
Yoru barely adjusted his stance before swinging.
BAM—!
The crisp impact made Kirihara's pulse spike.
Even though he'd suspected Yoru might return it, seeing it happen so smoothly was unnerving.
"My skills aren't limited to just serves."
Kirihara steadied himself.
Beyond the Supersonic Serve, he had something deadlier—the Supersonic Return.
While slightly slower than his serve, its threat level was far higher.
Serves gave receivers time to prepare—maximum distance, full visibility.
But returns?
They were reactive. No time to think, let alone strategize.
Even if his Supersonic Return wasn't as fast as his serve, its pressure was incomparable.
"Daydreaming again?"
Yoru's voice snapped Kirihara back to reality.
"Shit—!"
By the time he noticed the ball crossing the net, it was too late. He could only watch as it landed and shot past him.
Against a normal shot, he might've recovered. Speed was his forte.
But Yoru's returns were too fast. No amount of reflexes could save him now.
BAM—!
"30-0, Yoru!"
"Another speedster, huh?"
Kirihara tightened his grip.
Yoru's returns suggested he specialized in speed too. The blistering pace of his counters only confirmed it.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Kirihara bounced the ball, his expression hardening.
After two humiliating points, he was finally taking this seriously.
CRACK—!
He unleashed his Supersonic Serve at maximum velocity.
The ball practically teleported to the far corner of the service box.
Yet just like before—
Yoru intercepted it mid-flight.
"Too fast!"
Kirihara's muscles tensed.
Before he could process it, the ball was already rocketing back at him.
"You want a speed battle?!"
His eyes flashed with defiance. Speed was his domain—he wouldn't back down.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The rallies escalated into a blur of exchanges, both players returning shots before the ball could bounce twice.
"Their swing speed is insane…"
Yamato watched in awe. From his perspective, their rackets were just afterimages.
High-speed swings meant high-speed returns—a spectacle few could follow.
"He's keeping up with the captain? That's impressive."
"The ball's barely visible! Their footwork, swings, everything's on another level."
"A real monster."
"Doesn't the captain seem… relaxed?"
"No 'seem' about it. Look at the other guy—he's sweating bullets. The captain's barely breaking a stride."
As more club members finished 50% of their drills, the rapid-fire exchanges drew a crowd.
To the untrained eye, it looked like an intense match.
But anyone paying attention could see Yoru's ease—especially as his movement radius shrank.
The Seigaku regulars knew exactly what that meant.
"It's the captain's solo show now." Kaedechi shook his head.
"This is—!"
When Yoru stopped moving entirely—yet the ball still flew to him—Kirihara's brain short-circuited.
Tezuka Zone.
A technique he'd only seen in pro matches… executed by a middle schooler?!
BAM—!
His momentary shock cost him the point.
"40-0!"
Game point.
"The captain's Zone… It's despair incarnate."
"First time I saw it, I nearly passed out. That's a pro-level technique!"
"To be fair, Kirihara's no slouch. His speed's insane—even Yamato would get wrecked."
"As long as the captain's winning, who cares about Yamato?"
*"Yamato: Am I a joke to you?"
"Yamato, stop calling me. I don't want the captain to misunderstand~"
Laughter rippled through the spectators.
Since the brutal training regimen had skyrocketed their skills, Yoru's status in Seigaku had reached near-deific levels—surpassing even Ryuzaki's authority.
BAM—!
"Game! Yoru leads 1-0!"
Between jokes, Yoru effortlessly broke serve, sealing the first game.
As they switched sides, Kirihara's hands trembled—not from fear, but exhilaration.
He'd challenged powerhouse schools precisely because his own (Furinkan Middle) lacked worthy rivals.
After so many battles, he'd finally found someone who pushed him.
"That excited?"
Yoru smirked.
Then—
[Ding!...]
(System notification incoming...?)