Even with the Counter Rune enhancing his strength, the sheer force behind the shot felt overwhelming.
It was a testament to Hirakoba Ryou's raw power—something Yamato couldn't afford to underestimate.
BANG—!
Faced with a high-arcing return, Hirakoba leaped effortlessly and unleashed a perfect smash.
Kawasaki from the backcourt lunged to intercept, but the moment the ball struck his racket, the impact forced his fingers open, sending his racket clattering to the ground.
"Shitenhōji scores, 15-0!"
"That power…"
Tezuka, watching from the stands, narrowed his eyes in surprise.
Hirakoba's wiry frame didn't suggest overwhelming strength—yet his smash had deformed the ball into an irregular oval on impact.
"Another stats anomaly."
Yoru sighed.
In the original timeline, Hirakoba had pierced clean through two rackets with a single shot.
While he wasn't that monstrous yet, he was still far from weak.
Shitenhōji's strategy was simple: Hirajima's setups created openings for Hirakoba to attack.
If Hirakoba got a clean hit, his sheer power would dominate the rally, giving them control over the point.
"Scoring this easily? Hah! My handsomeness truly is a weapon."
Hirakoba adjusted his infamous green cap, striking a ridiculous "S-pose" with exaggerated flair.
Hirajima, scratching his thigh lazily, deadpanned: "If you're gonna pose, at least ditch the ugly hat."
Their antics sent waves of laughter through the crowd—even Seigaku's supporters, including Kaidō, were struggling to keep straight faces.
"…This is funny?"
Yoru's expression twisted in disbelief.
If this were his past life's meme culture, this bit wouldn't even qualify as entry-level humor.
But the damage was done.
Yamato managed to stay composed, but Kawasaki's focus shattered.
Normally, after losing a point, players would channel frustration into determination.
But that momentum had just been laughed away.
BANG—!
Hirajima served again—a sharp wide-angle spin.
Thanks to the Agility Rune, Kawasaki tracked it easily, moving into position without issue.
But as he lined up his return—
"Mwah~ ♡"
Hirakoba blew him a mock kiss.
"BAKA!"
Kawasaki's vision whited out from sheer cringe.
The momentary lapse turned his return into a weak, floating shot—
—which Hirakoba punished with a ruthless net intercept.
Too close. Too fast. No chance to react.
BANG—!
"Shitenhōji scores, 30-0!"
"Damn it!"
Kawasaki's face burned with rage.
No physical attacks—just psychological warfare.
Every move designed to get under their skin.
The Shitenhōji duo struck another ridiculous pose, drawing more laughter—and further draining Kawasaki's anger.
But Yamato wasn't laughing.
If he fell for this after losing two straight points, he wouldn't have earned the captaincy in the original timeline.
"Kawasaki-senpai—it's a trap. Ignore their antics, or it'll ruin our game."
Kawasaki froze.
He'd been played.
BANG—!
Hirajima served again.
Now aware of the mind games, Yamato and Kawasaki locked in.
Using Kawasaki's baseline endurance, Yamato began analyzing Hirakoba and Hirajima's habits, adapting their strategy in real time.
The scoreboard lit up as the match intensified.
BANG—!
"Shitenhōji leads, 1-0!"
...
BANG—!
"Seigaku ties, 1-1!"
...
BANG—!
"Shitenhōji pulls ahead, 2-2!"
...
The match became a battle of attrition, each point fiercely contested.
The crowd roared with every exchange.
A high-level doubles match was far harder to execute than singles—requiring tactical synergy, positioning, and split-second adjustments.
Shitenhōji's "comedy tennis" lost its edge as Hirakoba and Hirajima shifted to pure strategy.
And that's when their true strength emerged.
Their tactical fluidity left Yamato and Kawasaki constantly scrambling.
Every time Seigaku adjusted, Shitenhōji counter-adjusted faster.
Yamato's "Misdirection Ball" tactic, once disruptive, now faltered under the pressure.
The gap in doubles expertise was undeniable.
BANG—!
"Shitenhōji extends their lead, 3-2!"
...
BANG—!
"4-2!"
...
BANG—!
"5-3!"
Superior tactics gave Shitenhōji total control.
"Incredible doubles play. No flashy techniques—just flawless strategy."
"Yamato's struggling to keep up."
"They've improved a lot, but Shitenhōji's just on another level."
Seigaku's players murmured among themselves.
Kaidō and Imanishi, seasoned doubles players themselves, saw the issue clearly.
Shitenhōji had targeted Yamato's tactics from the start.
Once his Misdirection Ball was neutralized, Seigaku had no answer for their adaptability.
"4-5!"
"5-5!"
"7-5!"
After nearly an hour, Yamato and Kawasaki fell just short.
Hirakoba and Hirajima met them at the net, extending their hands.
"Honestly? You two surprised us."
No empty praise—they meant it.
They'd studied Seigaku's duo beforehand, preparing specific counter-tactics for Yamato's playstyle.
Yet the match had still been far harder than expected.
Yamato and Kawasaki's rapid mid-game adaptations had pushed Shitenhōji to their limits.
If not for their preparation, the result could've flipped.
"You're the real deal. Now I see what true doubles dominance looks like."
Yamato shook his head.
Defeat was defeat. As his captain said: "If you're weak, train harder. Excuses insult effort itself."
"Losing? Good."
Yoru nodded slightly.
This match had exposed flaws under pressure—and that was exactly what they needed.
Even QP, the so-called "Masterpiece," had grown through repeated failures.
Sure, his debut in the original story had been full of cool moments—but most of his screen time was just him getting wrecked.
He'd taken beatings for Rakurai Kōki, for Aichi Kōki, and even from Borg in U-17.
His ultimate evolution, Gōki Kōki ("Fortitude Radiance"), had started with him getting crushed.
Talent was one thing—but the will to learn from defeat?
That separated the great from the legendary.
"Your turn."
Yoru's gaze shifted to QP, who stood calmly, ready to step onto the court.