Noticing QP's gaze, Yoru understood exactly what the other was thinking.
He cast aside all distractions, entering a state of hyper-focused concentration—one that optimized his body for the match.
This state was similar to the effects of Rakurai Kōki (Fading Brilliance).
The difference? Rakurai Kōki didn't just sharpen focus—it amplified the quality of every return by leveraging every possible factor: momentum from movement, torque from body rotation, precision in shot angles, and more.
Mōri's "Serious Mode," on the other hand, was purely about heightened concentration.
This wasn't some special technique—it was Mōri's innate talent. The ability to slip into deep sleep almost instantly, letting his subconscious take control of his body.
BANG—!
From the opposite court, Mōri served with an unorthodox stance.
The ball shot forward at blistering speed, crashing into the ground and rebounding even faster.
"Much quicker, but still not enough."
Yoru's feet shifted, and in the next instant, he was at the landing point, his racket slicing through the air.
BANG—! BANG—! BANG—!
The two launched into a rapid-fire exchange.
Aside from QP, the Seigaku team watched in stunned silence, their expressions a mix of disbelief and awe.
Despite Mōri's bizarre, almost comical return stances, every shot was executed with flawless precision—keeping pace with Yoru's rhythm.
That wasn't something just anyone could do.
As the rally continued, the spectators grew more engrossed.
Muguruma, watching from the sidelines, bit down on Yamato's shoulder in sheer envy. "This should've been my match!"
"Ow! Muguruma-senpai, that hurts!"
Shaking Yamato off, Muguruma resorted to gnawing on his own sleeve, his molars grinding in frustration.
---
"Seigaku's team still looks so relaxed…"
The members of Shitenhōji chuckled among themselves.
They knew better than anyone—once Mōri entered this state, his abilities underwent a metamorphosis.
There wasn't a ball he couldn't return!
Even Yoru was surprised.
At first, he assumed Mōri's "sleep mode" was some kind of technique.
But after checking his system panel, he realized—it wasn't a skill at all. It was pure, raw talent.
Logically, with such a unique gift, Mōri's combat power should have been higher.
Yet he barely scraped the threshold of seven-star level.
The reason? Sheer laziness.
Whether in the original story or now, Mōri's defining trait was his sloth—right down to napping at the court's edge before the match.
"The talents in this world really are something else," Yoru mused with a smirk.
He swung his racket, sending the ball back across the net.
The moment it bounced up, Mōri—still in sleep mode—returned it effortlessly.
"Go, Mōri!"
Shitenhōji's team erupted in cheers.
Before the match, everyone had assumed Mōri would lose—best-case scenario, he'd just lose less embarrassingly.
After all, Weekly Tennis had painted Yoru as practically unbeatable.
But now, seeing Mōri hold his own against him, their extinguished hopes reignited.
"Keep it up, Mōri!"
"I can't believe he's matching him blow for blow—he might actually win!"
"Maybe we overestimated Yoru and underestimated Mōri!"
"Sleeping Mōri is unstoppable—go take this match!"
The Shitenhōji players grew more fervent.
"Annoying."
Yoru shot them a cold glance. "Guess I'll shut you up first."
SWISH—!
As the ball hurtled toward him, Yoru didn't budge—letting it drop near the frontcourt.
At that distance, once it landed, retrieval would be impossible.
"Is he giving up?!"
"This is our chance—score and turn the tide!"
The cheers swelled—until Shitenhōji's captain, Hirakoba Ryou, felt a sudden pang of dread.
BANG—!
Sure enough, just before the ball touched down, it veered sideways, flying out of bounds.
"Yoru scores, 30-0!"
The umpire's call was like a plug—silencing the crowd mid-cheer.
"I was just playing around, and you all got way too excited."
Yoru turned back to Mōri, unimpressed. "This focus mode is impressive—it boosts your reaction time. But pity..."
Pity?
The audience held their breath.
"...pity he can't control it. He's just reacting, not acting. So tell me—how will you return this?"
The words were cryptic.
Most of Shitenhōji didn't grasp their meaning—even Seigaku's players were puzzled.
QP clarified, "This state only lets him return shots—not score. He has to wait for his opponent to mess up to win."
Yoru scoffed. "If he'd just trained to master this state, he wouldn't be a puppet to his subconscious."
BANG—!
Still asleep, Mōri ignored Yoru's jab and served again.
Yoru returned it—and once more, Mōri's next shot sailed out of bounds.
40-0!
2-0!
If the first time was a fluke, three in a row was no accident.
And terrifyingly—it was just the beginning.
BANG—!
Yoru's next serve was faster than anything he'd unleashed so far.
Against anyone else, it would've been an instant point.
But in sleep mode, Mōri's heightened senses allowed him to barely intercept it.
Barely.
The moment the ball cleared the net, it curved violently—landing well outside the lines.
"Yoru scores, 15-0!"
"...Incredible."
Tezuka's eyes widened, his entire body tensing with awe.
Of everyone watching, he was studying the match most intently.
This wasn't his first time seeing Gyaku Ryouiki (Reverse Domain), nor was it his first time receiving Yoru's guidance on it.
But despite his efforts, he still hadn't mastered reverse spin.
The entire team knew how seriously Yoru took teaching this technique.
In truth, it was a personal regret for Yoru.
In the original timeline, Tezuka had only just learned Gyaku Ryouiki before Nationals—and with his arm not fully healed, he'd lost to Sanada.
But true reverse spin didn't require "predicting" Rai (Thunder).
Its ferocious rotation could force any return out of bounds.
It was something Yoru had realized only after mastering it himself.
Unless the opponent had a technique like In (Extinguishment)—which nullified spin entirely—the only counter was to overpower the rotation with an even stronger reverse spin.
If Tezuka hadn't been sealed for so long in the original story, Sanada wouldn't have stood a chance.
BANG—!
Yoru scored. 3-0!
---
BANG—!
Yoru scored. 5-0!
---
Once Gyaku Ryouiki entered play, Mōri was powerless.
Trapped in "sleep mode," he could only react—never adapt.
The final score: 6-0.
"Game over! Winner—Yoru!"
The umpire's voice jolted Mōri awake.
"...I lost?"
Blinking groggily, he stared at the scoreboard—more specifically, at the match duration.
Just over ten minutes.
And that was with Yoru holding back in the first two games.
The stadium was dead silent.
As Shitenhōji's team watched Yoru walk off the court, a collective chill ran down their spines.
"How can a middle schooler be this monstrous...?"