After a brief rest...
Tezuka returned to the court.
His breathing was steady, his expression focused—unshaken by the earlier break game.
Kirihara smirked at the sight.
"You've got nerves of steel."
"But nerves alone won't win you this match."
Swish—!
The ball left his fingertips, soaring into the air.
Bending his knees, Kirihara leaped, his long arm arcing overhead before his racket whipped down with brutal force.
The swing was blindingly fast.
The moment the racket struck, the ball transformed into a golden streak, tearing across the court toward the far corner.
Though not one of Kirihara's signature Supersonic Serves, the First Strike Rune amplified its speed—turning even a standard fast serve into a formidable weapon.
In the blink of an eye, the ball landed and rebounded in Tezuka's half.
"Too fast!"
Even with mental preparation, Tezuka was stunned by the sheer velocity.
Unbelievably fast—but still within reach.
His feet moved swiftly, intercepting the ball just before it flew out of bounds. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he returned it—a slow but heavily spun shot.
Kirihara dashed to the net, intercepting the ball mid-flight with a sharp volley.
"Hm?"
As the ball rocketed back, Kirihara narrowed his eyes, watching its trajectory.
Tezuka's spin had subtly dampened the ball's speed—not by much, but enough to give him a sliver of reaction time.
Thud!
Tezuka caught the ball just before it crossed the baseline, his racket curving in a wide arc. Another heavy topspin shot flew back, leveling the playing field.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The rallies continued, the ball firing back and forth like a metronome.
On the surface, it seemed evenly matched—but in reality, Tezuka was fighting an uphill battle.
Kirihara's speed was monstrous.
He covered the entire court effortlessly, returning every shot with blistering pace. Tezuka couldn't find an opening to score. Worse, his reliance on spin shots limited their offensive threat.
If this dragged on, it'd become a battle of attrition.
Yamato frowned. "Tezuka's trapped... but Kirihara-senpai..."
Tezuka's skill was impressive, but Yamato knew Kirihara's true strength.
Right now, Kirihara wasn't even trying.
His full speed was still locked away—and not a single technique from his Supersonic Series had been used.
"Don't jump to conclusions," Yoru interjected calmly. "Tezuka isn't as helpless as he looks."
Huh? Yamato blinked.
Did Tezuka have another card up his sleeve?
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The rhythmic exchanges continued.
Kirihara made no move to end the rally, content to wear Tezuka down.
Normally, he preferred overwhelming his opponents with speed—but there was something delicious about watching them struggle, knowing they couldn't touch him.
"Tezuka," he taunted mid-swing, "if this is all you've got, you already know how this ends."
Tezuka remained silent, his focus unbroken as he returned the shot.
For half a minute, the deadlock held—until Yoru suddenly spoke.
"Here it comes."
What does he mean?
The spectators exchanged confused glances.
Only Yamato's frown deepened.
"See it yet?" Yoru asked.
"I—" Yamato hesitated, the realization hovering just out of reach.
Something had changed.
Kirihara, once dictating the pace, was now being controlled. Meanwhile, Tezuka's returns grew smoother, almost effortless.
Seeing Yamato struggle, Yoru sighed. "Too hard for you? Look closer—Tezuka's movement range is shrinking."
Yamato's eyes widened.
It wasn't just shrinking—Tezuka was barely moving at all now. Every ball, no matter where Kirihara aimed, curved back toward him after the bounce.
"This is...!"
Yamato's pupils trembled.
The sharper-eyed club members gasped as a swirling aura slowly formed around Tezuka.
A Zone.
Kirihara's stomach dropped.
He'd suspected it earlier, but Tezuka's youth made it hard to believe—until now. The forming vortex left no room for doubt.
"Tezuka has a Zone too," Yoru confirmed.
Whoa—!
The sidelines erupted.
"No way...!"
"A Zone?! Yoru-buchou just confirmed it!"
"This kid's Zone is as refined as the captain's?!"
"First that insane drop volley, now this... Am I even human compared to him?"
"He's a monster!"
Anyone who'd seen Yoru's matches knew how terrifying a Zone was—a technique demanding insane precision, control, and experience.
Yet Tezuka, barely in middle school, had mastered it.
"Damn it, another Zone?!" Kirihara gritted his teeth. "But even that won't save you!"
His demeanor shifted, his playful edge replaced by cold focus.
As Tezuka's next return flew toward him, Kirihara's body blurred.
"He got faster?!"
Tezuka's breath hitched.
His spin hadn't accounted for another speed tier.
But the worst was yet to come.
Planting himself in the ball's path, Kirihara wound up—then, at the last millisecond, accelerated his swing beyond human reaction.
BANG!
The impact and the ball's landing sound merged into one.
A phantom streak shot past Tezuka—only the faintest afterimage hinted at its trajectory.
Yoru didn't even blink. "Kirihara takes the point. 15-0."
"...Incredible speed."
For the first time, Tezuka's composure cracked.
That swing was so fast, even a fully formed Zone would struggle to pull it back.
Kirihara's smirk was gone. "Tezuka... I'm playing seriously now."
Yoru's eye twitched.
Back in his past life, whenever a League of Legends teammate said "I'm getting serious," the game was already lost.
"Then I'll match you," Tezuka answered coolly, gripping his racket with both hands.
And then—
A faint mist began rising from his body.
Kirihara's blood ran cold.
Yamato and the club members froze, a horrifying thought dawning.
"No... No way."
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