"Singles No. 3 match will now begin! Players, take your positions!"
Kirihara and Kajimoto Fūta stood across the net, sizing each other up.
After a brief handshake and the coin toss (which gave Seigaku the first serve), they took their places without a word.
The umpire blew his whistle.
"Game start! Seigaku to serve!"
Under Nationals rules, the first match determined serve order—after that, it rotated. Since Seigaku served first in Singles No. 3, Maidonama would serve first in Doubles No. 2, and so on.
"Luck's on my side today~!"
Kirihara grinned, spinning the ball in his fingers.
Yoru facepalmed. "And there he goes, getting cocky again…"
Still, for all his idiocy, Kirihara was reliable in matches.
SWOOSH!
The ball soared high—too high.
Kirihara leaped, his racket arm vanishing into a blur as he smashed it down at the peak of its descent.
Yamato blinked. "Starting with Supersonic Serve right off the bat?"
QP didn't even glance up. "He hasn't had a real match in weeks. None of his opponents were worth using it on—and after that incident against Shitenhouji, he's been itching to cut loose."
BANG!—THUD!—THUD!
Three sounds in rapid succession:
The hit, the bounce, and the impact against the back fence.
Kajimoto barely twitched before the ball was already out of bounds.
On paper, Kajimoto was Kirihara's mirror—a speed-based player just like him.
But Kirihara had runes stacked on him.
His stats were higher. He had Yamato's buff.
Even in their shared specialty, the gap was obvious.
"Kirihara takes the point! 15–0!"
The crowd erupted in murmurs. Half of them hadn't even seen the ball.
"D-Damn, that guy's fast."
"Huh?"
"Kirihara—one of Seigaku's Big Three. His whole gimmick is speed. That was his Supersonic Serve. He's got a Supersonic Return too, y'know."
"Wait, is he Seigaku's secret weapon?"
"Nah, he plays pretty often. Regulars know him."
"But didn't he forfeit against Shitenhouji? Maybe they were saving him?"
"Probably didn't wanna risk injury in a pointless match."
"He's already injured. Look at that bump on his forehead."
"Oh… yikes."
The chatter devolved, but Kirihara wasn't listening.
He was trembling—not from nerves, but from excitement.
His eyes burned. "He reacted that time. Finally, someone who's not trash!"
BANG!
"Kirihara leads! 30–0!"
---
BANG!
"40–0!"
---
In just three serves, Kajimoto went from barely moving to predicting the trajectory.
That alone had Kirihara thrilled.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd faced a real challenge.
QP and Yoru were monsters. His "blinding speed" meant nothing to them.
Yamato was too weak—he didn't even need Supersonic techniques to beat him.
And the Nationals season? Boring. Not a single opponent worth his time.
Now, though—
Even though Kajimoto whiffed his swing on the third serve, he'd guessed right.
That alone lit a fire in him.
"Next one—I'll return it!"
Gripping his racket tight, Kajimoto braced himself, ready to burst forward the moment Kirihara moved.
SWOOSH!
"Then I won't hold back~!"
Kirihara's grin turned feral.
His arm vanished—not even a blur this time.
BANG!—THUD!
Two sounds. Almost simultaneous.
Kajimoto froze.
His pupils shrank to pinpricks. "H-How…?"
That serve left Maidonama in dead silence.
Inui sucked in a breath. "He can go faster?"
Atobe's expression darkened. "That was 230 km/h. Even I wouldn't guarantee a return."
230 km/h.
The number sent chills down Maidonama's spines.
Since when could middle-schoolers hit like pros?
"Kirihara takes the game! 1–0!"
Most spectators couldn't tell the difference—it was over too fast.
But with First Strike Rune and Swiftfoot Rune boosting his base stats, Kirihara's Supersonic Serve had crossed into untouchable territory.
(If the runes amplified final speed instead of base speed, he could've matched Tezuka's Mach Serve without breaking a sweat.)
---
And the serve was just the start.
Second game—Kajimoto's serve.
He fired off his own speed-based specialty…
Only for Kirihara to blur forward and crush it with a Supersonic Return.
BANG!
"Seigaku leads! 2–0!"
To his credit, Kajimoto wasn't helpless.
Despite being outclassed in speed, he had 13 techniques in his arsenal—including wide-range defensive moves.
The match became a high-speed slugfest, the score climbing rapidly:
BANG!
"3–0!"
---
BANG!
"1–3!" (Kajimoto's first hard-earned game.)
---
BANG!
"4–1!"
---
"Hahaha! This is what I've been missing!"
Kirihara laughed, exhilarated.
The prolonged speed duel had forced Kajimoto to adapt—his returns were getting cleaner.
At this point, Maidonama knew he couldn't win.
The gap was too wide.
Losing in your own specialty wasn't something you could overcome with sheer willpower.
But every time Kajimoto landed a return, his team cheered.
The crowd, too, was riveted—one-sided stomps were boring, but this? Progress in real time.
"Nice one!"
Kirihara's eyes gleamed as Kajimoto barely grazed his latest Supersonic Return.
"Since it's the sixth game—let's crank it up!"
CRACKLE!
Purple electricity surged around him.
Before Kajimoto could process it, Kirihara was already at the ball's landing point.
A chill shot down Kajimoto's spine.
"…Impossible."
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