Prince of Tennis: Shocking! Hyotei's Demon King is a Yukimura fangirl!

Niou lunged to the side and clung to Yagyu's shoulder, his silver braid swaying. "Anyone would be annoyed if Tezuka deliberately avoided them. Besides, fighting with a bit of energy is more exciting than a lukewarm one. Puri~"

With his ears turning red, Liu Sheng pushed away the fox that was rubbing against his neck and added, "It's normal to be angry. But to be able to control your emotions like this in this situation, without losing your composure, is remarkable. Your emotions have become an asset, not a burden."

Sanada stood at the front, his gaze fixed on Atobe beneath the brim of his hat.

He recalled the last afternoon of the training camp.

During their match, Atobe's "Tannhäuser serve" resulted in several errors. There's a slight bounce after the jump, giving the returner a chance to adjust their racket face.

That gap is gone now.

The ball landed and stuck to the ground without even a slight tremor, sliding precisely in the predetermined direction as if it had been programmed.

Sanada understood that kind of "precise" difficulty better than anyone else.

He tightened his grip on the railing.

Kirihara glanced at Sanada, then at Yukimura, and finally at the greyish-white figure walking back behind the service line. His voice trembled slightly as he asked, "That serve... if I go up to receive it, will I be able to reach it?"

"You can't touch it." Liu Sheng's voice came from behind him, calm and without any unnecessary tone. "Your positioning is usually towards the middle, and that ball landed right on your weakest point, the outer corner of your backhand. You didn't even have enough time to get going."

Kirihara's mouth opened again, and this time it didn't close.

Kuwahara stood behind, silently touching his bald head without saying a word.

"The second ball is about to start." Yagyu's voice drifted over from the side.

On the court, Atobe had already returned to his position behind the service line. He was twirling a new ball in his hand, his fingertips pinching the seam of the ball as he spun it around once, then he raised the ball to eyebrow height.

Tezuka shifted his stance about half a step forward, lowering his center of gravity and bringing the racket face closer to his body. His glasses reflected a small patch of white light in the sunlight, obscuring his pupils, but the calmness emanating from him was like a tightening net.

Atobe glanced at his new position, his lips twitched almost imperceptibly, and then he tossed the ball.

The second ball was tossed slightly lower than the first, and the rhythm of the whole action was half a beat faster.

Another "Tannhäuser serve".

"ACE. 30-0."

Atobe gave no one time to react, and immediately followed with the third ball. It was the exact same "Tannhäuser serve," only the angle was more and more tricky.

Speed ​​and power have also been increased.

Tezuka adjusted his stance and landing point, and with each swing, he missed by the millimeter, not even touching the ball's fletching.

"ACE. 40-0."

They secured the game point directly.

Three consecutive aces struck like three heavy hammer blows into the hearts of the Seigaku team.

The cheers from the stands subsided, Momoshiro lowered his hand holding the support flag, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"How could this be... that he couldn't even touch the ball?"

Kikumaru pressed himself against the railing, his fingers trembling as he gripped it, and even the new bandage on his face wrinkled up.

Oishi stood beside him, the bandage on his arm slightly loose, his brow furrowed so deeply it could trap a mosquito. He wanted to say something encouraging, but looking at Tezuka's tense back on the field, he swallowed the words back.

Fuji stood a little behind, his eyes, which had been curved, opened a crack, and his brown pupils fell on Atobe. He didn't speak, but gently stroked the texture of the railing with his fingertips.

The gasps from the stands were louder than the first time. People started whispering, their voices rising uncontrollably.

"A triple ace?"

"I'm a big fan of Tezuka. I've watched all of his official matches, and no one has ever been able to achieve consecutive aces against him. Atobe truly deserves to be called a player of his caliber."

"That last shot was completely off-target! The last shot went left, this one went right..."

"So, according to you, Atobe can control the direction of the serve? Then this serve can't be predicted at all?"

"Otherwise what! He can control the offset in both the left and right directions, and with such high precision."

"This is beyond what a middle school student should be able to serve. There probably aren't many professional players who can consistently hit a serve like this, right?"

"Tezuka couldn't catch it at all?"

"No, no, look at Tezuka's stance, he's looking for the pattern of rotation. I knew it... he just hasn't gotten into the zone yet, he'll definitely be able to receive it once he gets used to it."

A middle-aged man wearing glasses in the back row scoffed and slowly retorted, "So what if you found it? The ball is so fast, you wouldn't even have time to react. This ball speed is top-notch even in professional matches; it's no wonder a middle school student couldn't catch it."

……

Atobe weighed the tennis ball in his hand and looked up at the opposite side. Tezuka was still standing straight, his face expressionless, but his fingers tightened around the racket.

"Tannhäuser serves."

This time, Tezuka anticipated the ball's landing point almost the instant it was tossed up, quickly shifted his feet to the side, and precisely sliced ​​the ball with his racket.

"Bang!"

With a muffled thud, Tezuka's racket vibrated so loudly that his left wrist went numb. The ball hit the racket frame, grazed his wrist, and landed with a "thud" outside the baseline.

The racket flew half a meter away from my hand, leaving a white mark on the plastic surface.

The ball landed within the bounds.

"Game, Hyotei, 1-0."

When the referee announced the score, Hyotei's cheering squad erupted in cheers.

The golden fans swirled into a sea of ​​light, and the orderly shouts and slogans made the stands tremble slightly, even the wind seemed to get a bit warmer.

A chorus of gasps erupted from the audience.

"Holy crap, the racket flew off its feet? How heavy was that serve?"

"It can't be that bad, it's only the first game, Tezuka hasn't even started yet."

"It's no use trying to exert force; the power difference is too great. Didn't you see the racket fly away?"

The chatter was deafening, mingled with the slogans of the Hyotei supporters, creating a lively atmosphere amidst the summer heat.

In the Hyotei rest area, Shishido stood with his arms crossed, his jaw clenched, but a glint of light appeared in his eyes: "This serve is even more powerful than in training."

Feng stood beside him, clutching a towel, and nodded in agreement: "The minister is in good condition."

Jiro, clinging to the railing, excitedly shook his head and shouted, "Atobe is so handsome!"

Oshitari, holding Atobe's coat, leaned against the railing, his glasses reflecting the light, and smiled: "He's been holding in a lot of anger, he'd be doing himself a disservice if he didn't let it out."

Over at Rikkai University, Kirihara nearly fell off the steps railing, but Shishido, who was quick-witted, grabbed him by the back of the collar. "His racket flew off?! Is Atobe-senpai that strong?"

"Is the effect of weight training that powerful? I didn't see him use enough strength to knock the racket away during the training camp." Marui forgot to chew his gum and stared with his mouth open.

Liu paused, then wrote "Strength increased by 23%" on the paper. "After more than two months of intensive weight training, his basic strength will naturally increase significantly. In addition, with the spin deflection of his serve, Tezuka couldn't keep up."

He closed his notebook as he spoke, not because he had finished writing, but because he realized he had no new data to record for the time being.

The three core variables of Tannhäuser's serve are: speed, offset angle, and landing point deviation.

All of them were outside the extreme values ​​in his database, and he needed to establish a new statistical benchmark before he could continue entering data.

"Judging from the trajectory after the ball lands, he added sidespin to his serve," Yukimura suddenly spoke up, his voice very soft, but everyone around quieted down to listen carefully. "If this serve were just pure backspin, the opponent could barely touch it if they positioned themselves correctly. But with the added sidespin, the ball's trajectory becomes unpredictable, making it difficult to even anticipate. Staying in the same position makes it completely impossible."

After listening to his words, Yagyu pondered for a moment: "Seichi, you mean he's preventing Tezuka's 'domain'? According to Renji's data, Tezuka's domain requires him to use spin to guide the next shot after receiving the ball, but if the serve itself has an unpredictable deviation, making it impossible for Tezuka to even touch the ball... then the domain can't be activated in the first place."

Marui took the chewing gum out of his mouth, wrapped it up, stared at Atobe on the field for several seconds, and then said something, his voice unusually devoid of its usual playfulness: "Isn't that planning ahead from the very first ball...? That's amazing."

Sanada didn't reply, but his grip on the railing tightened.

Niou twirled the end of his silver braid with his fingertips, his fox-like eyes fixed on Atobe on the court. He suddenly chuckled, "Piyo~ Do you think he's been spending all his training time since the training camp on this serve?"

"It's hard to say." Liu Sheng adjusted his glasses, his tone carrying a cautious sigh. "This kind of precise serve requires repeated adjustments to the angle of force and the precision of wrist control. Look at his four serves just now; all of them landed near the sideline. The first ball landed in the inside corner, the second in the outside corner, and the third in a different direction. Each ball landed within ten centimeters of the sideline... This requires a lot of repetitive training to build muscle memory."

"One month." Niou repeated the number, the light in the fox's eyes dimming slightly.

Marui switched the chewing gum from his left hand to his right, his jaw twitching slightly. "How many times do you think he practiced this serve in training?"

"Based on the training data I secretly collected..." Liu paused, as if he himself was calculating the reasonableness of that number, "there were at least two thousand such instances just at school."

Marui's ahoge (cowlick) on his head stopped wobbling.

"Two, two thousand times..." Kirihara repeated, his eyes wide, then looked down at his wrist, as if wondering which hand could withstand two thousand full-force slice serves.

Yukimura watched Atobe finish his stroke on the court. Luna in his arms was restless, its little paws pawing at Yukimura's arm, its head tilted up to look at the court. It was too hot, its fur was a little ruffled, its ears drooped limply, and its tail flicked idly.

Yukimura lowered his head and touched its wet little nose with his fingertip. "Are you hot?"

Luna meowed softly, her voice slightly listless.

In a corner on the east side of Rikkai University, Irie took his sunglasses off his nose and twirled them halfway around in his hand. His gaze followed Atobe's retreating figure, and he remained silent for a while.

Tokugawa.

"Um."

"That serve just now...did you see the angle of deflection after it landed?"

Tokugawa stood beside him, his black tracksuit zipper slightly unzipped, hands in his pockets. His gaze shifted from the court to Irie's face: "I saw it. Every ball was consistently around 42 degrees."

"What does that mean?" Irie put her sunglasses back on her nose, her voice unusually serious. "Those serving machines in the training camp... Echi, Mori... can they consistently hit serves at that angle?"

Tokugawa paused for two seconds: "Echi-senpai should be able to. But Echi-senpai's serve relies on his height and wingspan. His power generation method is different from the previous one."

"What's the difference?"

"Echi-senpai's serve relies on 'pressure.' He uses his height advantage to push the ball down. The Hyotei captain's serve just now relied on 'slicing.' A slicing motion of the wrist combined with body rotation." Tokugawa paused, then continued, "He's not as tall as Echi-senpai, but his wrist control is more refined."

Irie took off her sunglasses, then put them back on, as if she was processing something.

"Wow... It's amazing that 15-year-old junior high school students can serve like that. No wonder the coaches are willing to recruit junior high school students this year; there are quite a few outstanding students."

Tokugawa did not respond.

But his right hand, which was in his pocket, twitched slightly, as if unconsciously gripping something. He recalled the data records of most of the junior high school students that he had seen with Coach Saito the day before yesterday. The serves in those videos were like two completely different sports compared to the one he had just played.

He shifted his stance, changing his weight from his left to his right foot, and his cool voice drifted out: "This match... might be more interesting than we imagined."

Irie turned to look at him when he heard this. Tokugawa's expression remained unchanged, but Irie had known him long enough that he knew that when Tokugawa used the word "interesting" to describe something, it meant that the matter had fallen into his serious category.

"Didn't you say before that there was a big gap between the level of junior high school students and those in the training camp?"

Tokugawa did not answer.

But his gaze returned to the field and never looked away.

On the Hyotei coaching bench, Mochizuki Ryo opened a bottle of beverage and took a sip. The cool tea slid down his throat, easing the heat. He watched Atobe turn and walk back to the baseline, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips, so quick it was almost an illusion.

He truly deserves to be called his "eldest disciple".

He muttered to himself, maintaining his languid and composed demeanor, lightly tapping the bottle with his fingertips, and whispered in French, "Pas mal. (Beautiful)."

The sound wasn't loud, just enough for Atobe, who was wiping his sweat at the baseline, to hear. He glanced at the coach's bench out of the corner of his eye, gave a soft hum, and his lips curled up slightly, as if to say "duh."

Ryoma Echizen sat on the Seigaku coach's bench, his hat pulled low, his fingers twirling a tennis ball rapidly. He had clearly seen those few shots; Atobe's serve was stronger than he had anticipated.

Even if he went to catch it, he definitely wouldn't be able to.

Thinking this, he glanced sideways at the blond boy on the opposite coaching bench, who was looking at Atobe with satisfaction.

Pshaw... Monkey King only hit a decent shot, what's so great about that?

He scoffed inwardly, his fingers gripping the tennis ball tightly, and he stopped spinning it.

-

On the veranda of a traditional Japanese house in Tokyo.

Echizen Nanjiro sat cross-legged, holding a radio in his hand, the volume turned down low, just enough to hear the live broadcast.

"...Hyotei player Atobe Keigo scores with a serve, the first set ends, Hyotei leads 1-0... Seigaku player Tezuka Kunimitsu may not be in form yet, he needs to adjust..."

"Adjust my ass," Nanjiro muttered.

Nanako was cutting a watermelon in the kitchen when she heard him talking to himself. She peeked in and asked, "Uncle, who are you talking to?"

"Nobody." Nanjiro turned the radio volume down to the lowest setting, pulled it closer to his chest, and hid it.

Nanako couldn't help but laugh as she watched him huddle close to the radio. "Are you listening to Ryoma's match?"

Nanjiro quickly straightened up, scratching the back of his head and laughing awkwardly, "Ah? No, no, this radio seems to be broken. I had nothing better to do, so I fixed it."

As he spoke, he pretended to pat and tap the door.

Nanako placed the watermelon next to him, not calling him out on it, and smiled, tapping her lips as she remarked, "I wonder if Ryoma won or not. My aunt and I prepared a lot of ingredients to make a celebration feast for him."

"Oh, all that preparation for nothing." Nanjiro was still fixing the radio, practically right up to his ear, and casually replied, "They've already made it to singles match two. That kid probably won't get to play today; he'll likely just be an unwanted substitute. But... that brat on their side named Atobe has some interesting serves."

Nanako stopped and smiled, "Uncle still cares about Ryoma, doesn't he?"

"Who cares about him?" Nanjiro finally looked up from the radio, scratching his stubble. "I'm listening to that substitute coach's lineup. That blond kid from France I ran into at the art exhibition. He's sitting on the coach's bench today..."

"Are you talking about the Hyotei coach that Ryoma always talks about challenging?"

"Who else could it be but him?" Nanjiro said, a rare hint of his usual nonchalant expression disappearing from his face. "This man's troop deployment is quite interesting."

"He was strategizing from the doubles onwards. His decision to forgo the power play in the third singles match was even more audacious. In the two doubles matches, one was stable and the other risky, while in the second singles match, he simply placed his strongest player in that position. The entire match was part of his script."

"You've listened to the first four matches..."

Nanjiro turned his head to look at her, a cryptic smile playing on his lips: "I was thinking, if there had been a coach like this back in my day, maybe I could have led my team to a few gold medals."

Nanako was stunned, her mind filled with questions: "Uncle, I remember Ryoma saying the other person was a third-year middle school student, isn't that just a fifteen-year-old kid..."

"So what if you're fifteen?" Nanjiro put down the radio, which rang crisply. "Some people live their whole lives and nothing ever changes. Some people, at fifteen, have already figured out things that others at fifty can't understand."

Nanako didn't quite understand, but she noticed that Nanjiro's hand was constantly adjusting the knobs on the radio. The movements were subtle, as if he was trying to make the signal clearer.

She smiled, turned around, and left.

After everyone left, Nanjiro quickly turned up his voice and leaned closer to listen.

The radio was just talking about the lineup, and the commentator was excitedly explaining how the Hyotei coach placed Atobe in singles number two and how Atobe made a high-profile entrance.

Nanjiro scoffed, picked up a slice of watermelon, and took a big bite. "Seigaku's formation is completely outmatched. Ryuzaki, that old hag, she's really bitten off more than she can chew this time."

He stroked his chin, a playful look in his eyes.

Unexpectedly, that arrogant blond kid is actually quite good at coaching, and he understands Ryuzaki's thoughts perfectly.

He listened for a while longer, and when the host began to describe in detail how Atobe had won the first game with a series of high-intensity slice aces, he whistled.

"He's got something."

"I just wonder how long that brat's team leader can hold out."

He shook his head, moved the radio aside, and continued listening.