"Nationals... I'm coming!"
The tennis ball soared to its peak.
Yamato twisted his body, the scene distorting slightly as he swung his racket down with full force.
Yoru, watching from the sidelines, twitched his lips. "Too much power."
The others were confused—until they saw what happened next.
The moment Yamato's racket connected, the ball vanished mid-air. Only the sound of it hitting the ground made everyone realize it had already crossed the court.
"Wha—WHAT?!"
Sekine stood frozen.
His brain registered the shot, but his body couldn't react in time. He could only watch helplessly as the ball whizzed past him.
"15–0!"
"Yamato Yudai scores!"
The referee's whistle blew.
For a moment, the Fudomine players and spectators looked like they'd seen a ghost.
"H-How... is this possible?"
Sekine's lips parted slightly, his pupils trembling, a bead of cold sweat forming on his forehead.
That shot exceeded his limits.
Too fast.
His body couldn't keep up.
"Hm?"
Even Yamato was surprised by how easily he scored.
It wasn't that he doubted his ability to beat Sekine. Unlike Kawasaki and the others, Yamato had watched last year's matches and believed he could win.
But Sekine was still Fudomine's captain.
A year of growth should've made him stronger too—Yamato expected a hard-fought victory.
Yet, Sekine couldn't even return a single serve.
"Time Yamato. If he doesn't finish within ten minutes, he's doing extra drills after the match."
A calm voice drifted from the bench.
Quiet, but loud enough for Yamato to hear.
Extra. Drills.
A shiver ran down Yamato's spine.
Seigaku's training was already brutal—even one extra set would destroy him.
THWACK!
No time for Sekine to recover. Once Yamato confirmed his opponent was ready, he fired another serve.
Another full-power flat shot, blisteringly fast.
"Yamato Yudai scores! 30–0!"
"40–0!"
"Game, 1–0!"
Ball after ball shot past Sekine.
From the first serve, where he didn't even move, to the fourth, where he barely twitched a foot—Sekine was giving it his all.
But the speed was beyond his limits.
By the time his eyes processed the shot, his body was already too late.
Unless he had insane reflexes or preternatural prediction—like some prodigies—he stood no chance.
And Sekine had neither.
The result? A one-sided slaughter.
After the first game, the players switched sides.
Sekine gripped his racket, still in disbelief.
THWACK!
With a shaky motion, he served.
But the moment the ball bounced, a blur streaked across the court.
Yamato's racket intercepted it before it even reached its peak, slamming it back in a sharp arc.
Fast half-volley.
One of Yamato's signature techniques—striking early to accelerate the rally.
BANG!
The ball ricocheted inside the lines before smashing into the fence.
"15–0!"
Silence.
The entire Fudomine bench was dead quiet.
Their earlier arrogance had vanished.
"This match is pointless."
Kirihara sighed, draping a towel over his eyes and tuning out the rest.
Yoru said nothing.
With the team's average skill at 4-star level—plus Yamato's 6-star, Kirihara's 7-star, and his own 9-star—district prelims were a massacre.
Boredom was inevitable.
He could only hope the Metropolitan Tournament would bring stronger opponents.
The rest of the match was a foregone conclusion.
Yamato dominated every rally, Sekine barely touching a single ball after his own serves.
The threat of extra drills pushed Yamato to go all-out on every shot.
THWACK!
"Game, set, match! Yamato Yudai wins, 6–0!"
At the same time, Kirihara stopped the timer.
9 minutes, 56 seconds.
So close.
Just four seconds shy of Yamato's doom.
"Pack up. Next match."
Yoru stood, walking off without another word.
The team hurried after him, not even glancing at the defeated Fudomine players.
The referee considered calling for the customary handshake—but given the tension earlier, he decided against it.
No need to risk a brawl.
"Next up is Shikaku New. Finals will likely be against Gyokurin."
Ryuzaki Sumire, now doubling as a scouting specialist, handed Yoru dossiers on the remaining schools.
A quick skim confirmed it—no notable names.
Yoru sighed.
In this timeline, most future stars hadn't emerged yet.
The few he could encounter—like **Tanjimaru Shuuji ** or **Byodoin Houou **—were monsters, leagues above the rest.
But to face them, he'd need patience.
The real challenges wouldn't appear until later.
The next matches played out exactly as expected.
Boring.
So boring that even Yamato and the others, who actually had to play, struggled to stay awake.
Fudomine, ironically, turned out to be their toughest opponent in the prelims.
The rest?
Pathetic.
Two days later.
"Final score, 3–0! Seishun Academy wins!"
Seigaku cruised to victory, claiming the Seishun District Championship and securing their spot in the Metropolitan Tournament as the top seed.
The moment the referee announced the result—
[Ding!]
The system's chime echoed in Yoru's mind.
[Congratulations, Host! You've led Seishun Academy to victory in the District Preliminaries!]
[Reward: Random Rune ×1!]
[Claim now?]
"Yes."
[Reward acquired!]
[Congratulations! You've obtained the 'Counter Rune'!]
[Counter Rune]:
Reduces damage taken when returning shots by 30%. Boosts teammates' return quality by 5%. Regulars get +8%, Host gets +10%.
"Interesting."
Another stat-boosting rune.
The stronger the player, the more absurd the effect.
Even a 1% increase in power—like the "Glowing Shot" from the original series—could make a noticeable difference.
And with damage reduction on top of it?
Yoru couldn't wait to see what future matches would bring.