"Mission accomplished!"
Kawasaki and Nishimura stepped off the court, beads of sweat glistening on their foreheads.
Thanks to their intense and efficient training, their stamina had visibly improved.
Yoru nodded in approval. "Good job."
"Buchou..."
Though it was just a simple compliment, the two couldn't hide their excitement.
Despite being two years his senior, Yoru's strict training regimen and overwhelming presence—completely unlike that of a first-year—made his rare praise feel like a badge of honor. It was validation they cherished.
Yamato considerately handed them towels. "You've worked hard, Kawasaki-senpai, Nishimura-senpai."
"Imanishi, Kaidou—go warm up."
Yoru turned his gaze toward the two sitting behind him.
"Yes!"
Perhaps due to sheer excitement, Kaidou's muscles trembled slightly as he stood.
"Kaidou, are you scared?"
"Hmph~ You're shaking too. Who's the one afraid here?"
"Right now... I just can't wait!"
After watching Kawasaki and Nishimura's match, the two had already entered a state of exhilaration.
Their skills were on par with Kawasaki's pair.
Honestly, before the match, they had subconsciously pinned their hopes on Yoru and the others, assuming their own role was merely procedural.
Even after improving, they'd been constantly outplayed during internal club matches, making it hard to gauge their progress.
But now, with Kawasaki's duo as a benchmark, their long-dormant fighting spirit had been reignited. They were itching to step onto the court.
"Sorry... We lost."
Furuya Shin'ya and his partner walked off the court, their expressions grim.
Sekine Kazuyoshi responded coldly, "As long as you tried your best."
Everyone had seen the match—the gap in skill was undeniable. But in the end, weakness was still weakness.
"Tch. Useless."
Miyamoto Kan, one of Fudomine's "Big Three," showed no mercy.
"What did you say?!"
Furuya's face darkened, but one look at Miyamoto's fierce glare made him swallow his words.
Fudomine was, after all, a gathering place for delinquents.
Miyamoto Kan and Kushima Kaoru were the fiercest of the bunch—where tennis skill dictated hierarchy, they were untouchable.
"Enough. No point arguing."
Sekine cut Miyamoto off, then turned to the other doubles pair.
"Next match, make up for the lost points. Otherwise... you'll regret it."
"Y-Yes, Buchou!"
After a ten-minute break, the next doubles match began.
Fudomine's pair—Usui Eri and Matsuda Yukie—took the court.
Their skill level was similar to Furuya's duo, if not slightly weaker. Since they'd only started partnering this year, their coordination was lacking.
The result was predictable.
In less than ten minutes, Kaidou and Imanishi dominated 5-0.
The score stood at 40-15—just one point away from victory.
The Fudomine pair had barely scraped a few points, completely outclassed from start to finish.
"Game, Seigaku wins! Total score: 2-0!"
Another loss.
And another 6-0 shutout.
Usui and Matsuda trembled as they stepped off, their fearful eyes locked on Miyamoto, dreading his reaction.
And just as expected—
Miyamoto pulled brass knuckles from his bag, glaring at them. "You two—"
"Not here. You want us disqualified? Save it for later."
Sekine was the more level-headed of the three, though the vein pulsing on his forehead betrayed his suppressed rage.
"I'm taking Singles 3."
Without waiting for Kushima's response, Sekine stripped off his jacket and headed to the court to warm up.
By official rules, the submitted lineup was final—no substitutions unless under exceptional circumstances.
Originally, Kushima was slated for Singles 3.
If the referee caught them switching, they'd risk forfeiture. But regional prelims were lax—unless someone reported it, they could get away with it.
"Sekine Kazuyoshi, huh?"
Yamato Yudai pondered for a moment.
"You know him?"
Kirihara leaned in, picking his nose before wiping it on Yamato's shirt.
"I saw that!"
Yamato shoved him away. "Not really. Just that his playstyle is... dirty. Last year's Nationals, our former captain got injured by him."
"Oh? You taking this? I'm kinda interested in guys like him~"
"Doesn't matter. If he can't touch the ball, his style means nothing."
With that, Yamato removed his jacket and began warming up.
He'd love to pull off Yoru's signature move—playing with his jacket on—but he lacked the skill, the looks, and the sheer presence to make it work.
"Go get 'em, Yamato!"
Kawasaki and the others cheered from the sidelines.
Unlike Yoru and Kirihara, Yamato was someone they'd watched grow. Held back by old rules last year, seeing him finally step onto the court filled them with pride.
"Thanks, senpai."
Taking a deep breath, Yamato stepped onto the court.
Even through his shoes, the ground beneath him felt scorching—as if it were about to ignite.
At the center of the court, Yamato extended his hand. "Good match."
"I don't shake hands with losers."
Sekine ignored the gesture, turning away to head for the baseline.
Kirihara bristled. "Who does this guy think he is?!"
Yamato was someone he respected—no one got to look down on him.
"Well... Sekine, Kushima, and Miyamoto have dominated the Seishun area since last year. They even made it to Kanto Regionals," Kaidō said, though his tone lacked certainty.
After all, they'd all grown stronger. Even Kaidō felt he could hold his own against Sekine now.
And Yamato's progress was even more pronounced.
Yoru remained calm. "Just watch."
Sekine Kazuyoshi.
A nobody who didn't even get screen time in the original U-17 arc—just a name in the rankings.
If not for Yoru's attention to detail, he wouldn't even remember the guy.
"BEEEP—!"
The referee's whistle cut through the air.
"Seishun District Preliminaries: Fudomine Middle School vs. Seishun Academy! Singles 3—begin!"
"Yamato Yudai to serve!"
Silence fell as all eyes locked onto the court.
Yamato exhaled slowly, his gaze steady.
"Nationals... I'm coming."
This was his first official match in the national circuit—the stage he'd waited a full year to step onto.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The ball bounced rhythmically.
With absolute focus, Yamato tossed it high—
"Haa—!"
The match had begun.
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