The new season began.
Seigaku's first opponent? Fudōmine Middle School.
Yoru glanced at their lineup—mostly two- and three-star players. No pressure at all.
He handed out the match assignments:
Doubles 2: Kawasaki & Nishimura Doubles 1: Izumisawa & Kaidō Singles 3: Yamato Singles 2: Kirihara Singles 1: Yoru
"Any objections?"
Silence.
Kawasaki and the others didn't even blink at Yoru's lack of honorifics.
Strength ruled here.
In Japan, if you were strong enough, people would let you step on their heads.
Yoru's gaze sharpened. "Everyone wins 6-0. Any games you drop, you'll make up in training laps."
"Huh?!"
Except for Kirihara and Yamato, the others flinched.
Sure, they'd improved—but 6-0?
For players like Kawasaki, who were used to losing, the idea of a flawless victory felt unthinkable. Even against a weaker school.
"But Captain, we—"
"No excuses."
Yoru's tone left no room for debate as he handed the lineup to the officials.
Pathetic.
These guys had the skill but not the mentality.
Four-star players against two- and three-stars? With the First Strike Rune on top? This should be easy.
"Y-Yes, sir!"
Kawasaki and the others looked defeated.
Yamato hesitated. "Captain, isn't this too harsh on the senpai—"
"You doubting your teammates?"
Yoru's icy stare froze Yamato mid-sentence.
"N-No, but—"
"If you can't even believe in a 6-0, how the hell do you expect to win nationals?"
Kawasaki's face burned with shame.
Right now, every regular except Yoru's inner circle was four-star. Against Fudōmine's scrubs? This was a slaughter.
Even if Fudōmine's two four-star players avoided them, failing to bagel the rest was unacceptable.
But Yoru couldn't fully blame them.
Seigaku had been the underdogs for so long—every past match was a struggle. Winning at all felt like a miracle.
Fudōmine's Side
"Seigaku's got three new faces this year."
Sekine Kazuyoshi eyed their opponents.
Kushima Kaoru scoffed. "Relax. Seigaku's never beaten us. Changing players won't change that."
"Meeting us this early? Their bad luck." Miyamoto Kan shrugged.
In the Harutachi District, three schools usually advanced:
Fudōmine (consistent qualifiers). Seigaku vs. Gyokurin (fighting for scraps).
Last year, Seigaku barely scraped past Gyokurin—only to flop in the Metropolitan Tournament.
No wonder Fudōmine looked down on them.
"Harutachi District Prelims, Round 2—Fudōmine vs. Seigaku!"
"Doubles 2, prepare to start in 10 minutes!"
The referee's whistle echoed.
"Warm up."
Yoru took the coach's seat—technically meant for Ryuzaki, but no one in Seigaku respected her anymore.
Even she knew it.
For her final coaching years, she wanted a glorious send-off. A three-peat championship would do nicely.
"Yes, Captain!"
Kawasaki and Nishimura began their warm-ups, nerves visible.
"K-Kawasaki… can we really win 6-0?" Nishimura gulped.
Kawasaki shook his head. "Dunno."
They weren't even confident in winning, let alone a shutout.
Worse—before Yoru arrived, they'd both been singles players. Their doubles chemistry was rough.
And without clear benchmarks in practice, they had no idea how much stronger they'd gotten.
"Players to the court!"
Ten minutes later, the whistle blew again.
Kawasaki and Nishimura shuffled onto the court, while Fudōmine's Furuyama Shin'yō and Nagaoka Hanpo strode out, smirking.
"Kawasaki, never thought a first-year would steal your captaincy."
"Couldn't even keep your singles spot?"
"Don't worry—we'll go easy on you."
Furuyama's mockery was standard Fudōmine mind games.
Kawasaki and Nishimura said nothing. Their past losses spoke for them.
"Pathetic." Kirihara's scowl deepened.
Coming from a "bald school" (no-nonsense discipline), he hated cowardice.
Izumisawa whispered, "We've… never beaten Furuyama's pair before."
"That was then."
Yoru's eyes glinted.
"Game start! Kawasaki to serve!"
The referee cut the chatter.
Kawasaki took his position, breathing deeply.
"Come on… You've improved. You can win this."
Even with Yoru's threat, his goal was still just winning—not a 6-0 stomp.
"Sure, I got better… but so did they, right?"
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
He bounced the ball, steadying himself.
Then—
WHOOSH!
A Bullet Serve!
A straightforward, powerful flat serve—basic but effective. Common in Seigaku's arsenal.
BANG!
The ball blasted across the court, leaving afterimages.
It whizzed past Furuyama and Nagaoka, landing cleanly before rocketing out of reach.
"15-0!"
Silence.
Then—
"W-What?!"
Furuyama's jaw dropped.
That serve…
Since when was Kawasaki this fast?!