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

When the opening whistle blew in the sixth inning, the wind on the sidelines also stopped.

Tezuka stood behind the baseline, his eyes lowered. He raised his left arm slowly, as if he were calibrating something, or perhaps gathering his strength.

All eyes were fixed on his left arm; the discussions from halftime hadn't subsided. Some were waiting to see him falter, others were waiting to see him turn the tide…

No one knew what he was thinking at that moment; they only felt that his posture was different from the usual serve preparation stance.

Two seconds later, he straightened up, pinched the ball between his fingertips, and gently tossed it.

The ball flew higher than ever before, almost twice the height of a regular serve. The afternoon sun shone on the surface of the ball, and the tiny black dot it landed on the ground shrank to a single point.

Tezuka's left arm extends fully in the direction of the ball toss, his muscles taut into clean straight lines, and the racket face slices through the bottom of the ball at an almost vertical angle.

"Bang!"

The sound of the ball hitting the ball was very soft, unlike the loud boom of a Tannhäuser serve; it was more like a blade grazing silk.

The ball seemed to sink into the air, vibrating almost imperceptibly as it crossed the net. Upon landing, it didn't bounce; instead, it rolled a few centimeters to the side and forward, as if glued to the ground, before coming to a complete stop.

The whole process was so fast that it was impossible to blink.

The referee's whistle blew a beat late.

"ACE. 15-0."

After three seconds of deathly silence, the stands erupted in a deafening roar.

"What's that? A zero-ball short ball... So it can be used as a serve?!"

"As expected of Tezuka Kunimitsu, he actually had this trick up his sleeve! I've never seen him use it before!"

……

Meanwhile, the stands at Seigaku were even more excited.

Momoshiro waved the support flag loudly, his voice cracking from shouting. Kikumaru jumped higher than the fence, his outward-curling hair swaying with each jump, repeatedly chanting, "The captain's new trick, so amazing!"

Three first-graders were squeezed at the front, their mouths agape for a long time.

Beside them, Inui Sadaharu's pen flew across two lines on the data notebook before suddenly stopping.

The data, including serve speed, landing angle, and roll distance, appeared in rows and rows, finally landing on the "Elbow Load Estimation" row.

The numbers were glaringly red.

He tightened his grip on the pen, glanced at his excited teammates, his lips moved, and his fingertips pressed the values ​​he had just calculated, but he ultimately didn't say anything.

Oishi stood next to Momoshiro, his gaze following Inui's eyes to the data page.

Upon seeing the words "overload," his pupils contracted slightly, and his left hand unconsciously pressed on the bandage on his right wrist, gradually increasing the pressure until a dull pain crept up his nerves, at which point he snapped back to reality.

My palms were already damp with a thin layer of sweat.

Fuji stood by the fence, his eyes suddenly opening. His brown pupils fell on Tezuka's straight back, staring for a long time before he softly uttered a sentence.

"He also plans to gamble with his hands..."

The sound was very soft, almost inaudible amidst the surrounding cheers.

Ryoma Echizen sat on the coach's bench, his fingertips clutching the tennis ball stained with Kawamura's blood, its fluffy fibers ruffled by his caresses.

Echizen Nanjiro's words suddenly popped into my head:

"Don't just sit on the coach's bench; you have to see what's going on. The players need to know how to play the next move, not just be handed a towel."

Of course he could tell.

Tezuka's arms were about to give way.

But he couldn't figure out what the next move should be.

The zero-serve is a double-edged sword; it can hurt the opponent a thousand times but also hurt yourself eight hundred times. But besides this, are there any other ways to score points right now?

The territory was broken, the short ball was received, and the player could not gain an advantage in the baseline stalemate.

Ryoma Echizen gripped the tennis ball even tighter, his knuckles cracking.

The audience in the stands was still making noise, buzzing like a swarm of bees.

"Atobe previously said that the other person had an elbow injury. How could someone with an injury play like that? Injury my foot! I think it's just psychological warfare, deliberately trying to mess with his mentality."

"Exactly, that was a fantastic shot. Who said he had a hand injury? Rumors stop with the wise!"

"That's right, Tezuka has come up with a new trick now, let's see what they have to say."

"Tezuka, hurry up and catch up! Win another game! It's only 1-4 now, there's still a chance!"

A chorus of gasps erupted from all directions in the stands, a buzzing sound like a pot of boiling water. Some were still discussing the spin of the ball; others were already excitedly shouting "Take the lead! Take the lead!"; still others were taking pictures of the 15-0 scoreboard with their phones.

Of course, some people frowned, shook their heads, crossed their arms, and scoffed coldly.

"You're celebrating too soon. The zero-ball technique is already bad for the wrist; turning it into a serve will only increase the strain. Didn't you see his arm shaking after he finished hitting the ball? Just because he could hit the ball doesn't mean there's no problem."

"Exactly, playing one or two balls is fine, but if you play too many, you might ruin your arm."

"You can't hold on and still throw an ace? If you're so good, why don't you do it yourself?"

"You know nothing about tennis."

The two sides' voices clashed, and neither side was willing to concede.

……

The grandstand area of ​​Rikkai University.

Yukimura, whose fingertips had been resting on the cat-shaped mesh, pulled them back, his expression becoming more serious. "The ball's spin speed just now exceeded the normal range of force. He added an excessive amount of spin."

His voice was very soft, but it silenced the people who were chatting and laughing nearby.

With her eyes closed, Liu's pen flew across the paper, calculating rapidly. Before the ink had even dried, a long string of numbers had already been written.

After writing down the last number, he paused, his brow furrowing slightly: "The instantaneous spin of the serve is about 270 revolutions per second, which is 20% higher than the zero-style short serve. The return roll distance is only eight centimeters, almost half the standard value. The wrist power is limited, and the axis of rotation is off by three degrees."

"It's the same principle as the zero-style short ball, only the way you generate power is by serving." Yagyu pushed up his glasses and added, "The risk of hand injury is only greater, if not greater."

He then added another sentence.

"Atobe can receive the Zero-Shiki short ball, and with the same principle, you can't stop him for too long."

"Then his hand..." Sanada suddenly stood up, his gaze fixed on Tezuka from under the brim of his hat. He saw an abnormal flush on the skin at the edge of the other's wrist, as if it had been rubbed too much.

Sanada's eyes, hidden beneath the brim of his hat, were intensely serious, and the knuckles of his fingers gripping the railing were bulging.

Yukimura looked at his tense profile and lowered his voice: "This shot shows that he has no other choice. He's gambling with the last thing he can offer."

Niou crossed his arms, his fox-like eyes narrowing slightly. "What else can we do? Our domain has been broken, short balls aren't working, we need a way to score points. We can't just sit here and wait to die... We have to take a gamble. We'll lose if we don't gamble, but if we do, we might get lucky."

Yagyu gave a soft "hmm," his gaze behind his glasses falling on Tezuka's left hand hanging at his side, without saying a word.

Kirihara squatted on the steps, forgetting to eat the canelé in his hand, staring at the field with his mouth open, and finally uttered a sentence after a long while.

"That's way too much..."

Kuwabara touched his bald head, nodded, and didn't say anything.

In the center of the court, Tezuka was still in the position of finishing his serve.

His left arm hung straight at his side, trembling slightly from his fingertips to his shoulder. The trembling wasn't intense, but those in the front row could see it clearly. After trembling for two seconds, he raised his right hand, placed it on the outside of his left elbow, and slowly pressed it down.

The movements were very gentle, as if to soothe or to confirm.

Atobe stood behind the opposite service line, his racket hanging casually at his side. He was in the same condition as at the start of the match, his back still straight, a few strands of his short, purplish-gray hair slightly damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead, and his beauty mark under his eye still shining brightly in the sunlight.

He took half a step forward, his icy blue eyes lingering on the ball resting at the net for two seconds before returning to Tezuka. He raised his left hand, habitually tapping his brow, a nonchalant smile playing on his lips.

"Hmm, not bad. That was a decent shot."

A boastful, proud voice drifted on the wind; it wasn't loud, but it was clear enough.

There was no provocation, no sarcasm, just a player's genuine recognition of another player's beautiful shot in a desperate situation.

As always, it was as flamboyant as Atobe's style.

Tezuka withdrew his arm, gripped his racket, his expression remained unchanged, and his voice was as calm as still water, revealing no emotion.

"Ah. Let's keep going without being careless."

Atobe's smile deepened slightly as he turned and walked back to where he was getting his hair extensions.

After he steadied himself, he bent down and gently tapped his shoes with his racket before lowering his center of gravity again. There wasn't a trace of panic in his eyes; instead, it was as if he had finally encountered a challenge worth taking seriously, and his entire aura was rising.

On the east side of the stands, Irie adjusted his sunglasses under his nose, watched Atobe's reaction on the field, and clicked his tongue softly.

Tokugawa stood beside him, his gaze shifting back and forth between Atobe and Tezuka, his voice cool and detached: "Why didn't he catch that ball just now?"

"Because he had already prepared for the possibility that his opponent would come up with something new before the match." Irie took off his sunglasses, twirled them in his hand, and tapped the surface of the lenses with his fingertip. "Look at the subtle adjustment in his positioning... he moved forward about half a step compared to when he received the first serve. That means he had already mentally rehearsed how he should receive a short serve that doesn't bounce."

Tokugawa's brow twitched slightly: "You mean, Atobe anticipated it before the ball was even hit?"

"It was a prediction." Irie put his sunglasses back on his nose, a cryptic smile playing on his lips. "But he might have known how to deal with the 'zero serve' much earlier than we thought. You'll see in the next game."

Tokugawa looked at him without asking any further questions, but when his gaze returned to the field, he was clearly more focused than before.

The second ball was played very quickly.

Tezuka took a deep breath and moved slightly faster than he did with the first ball, as if trying to hit the ball before his body's pain threshold rose.

Throw the ball high again, in the same posture and at the same angle.

Another zero serve.

This time, Atobe didn't stand still.

He moved to the net almost the instant the ball was tossed, his center of gravity extremely low, and his racket precisely caught the bottom edge of the ball. With a deft flick of his wrist, he lifted the ball back with spin.

With a spin opposite to that of a zero serve, the ball grazed the net and landed on the opposite side of the court.

Tezuka clearly wasn't expecting to score directly from his serve. The moment the ball bounced, he was already at the net, rushing forward a few steps to deliver a forehand volley. The ball went straight for Atobe's backhand side, at a tricky angle.

Atobe stepped back and barely managed to save the shot, but the quality of his return wasn't great. Tezuka followed up with another shot, landing it comfortably in bounds.

"30-0".

Tezuka turned and walked back to the baseline, his left arm swinging a beat slower than before. His left hand, gripping the racket handle, twitched slightly uncontrollably at the fingertips, and the inside of his wrist was already red and purple, with the veins under the skin throbbing painfully.

The sunlight falling on it was somewhat shocking.

Compared to Kawamura's skill in the previous match, it wasn't much different.

"Tezuka!"

Oishi finally couldn't help but shout out, his voice trembling. Tezuka didn't turn around, his back ramrod straight, as if he hadn't heard.

Ryoma Echizen sat on the coach's bench, his grip on the tennis ball tightening even more.

He looked at that figure from behind and blurted it out.

"Minister, stop using Type Zero."

The sound wasn't loud, just enough to drift to the sidelines. Tezuka didn't stop, still ignoring it, and returned to his serving position.

For the third serve, Tezuka again opted for the zero-style serve.

Atobe's return of the serve was more stable than the previous one. As he returned the ball, he quickly retreated to the midfield, just in time to defend against Tezuka's net volley.

Tezuka retreated to the baseline, almost instinctively activating his Tezuka Zone. The yellow-green ball darted rapidly across both sides of the net, the sounds of hitting the ball echoing one after another, muffled in the sweltering air, each strike feeling like a blow to the heart.

The spectators on the sidelines watched intently. Some held their breath, some clenched their fists, and some tilted their heads to whisper to the person next to them, analyzing the trajectory of the ball.

Sweat soaked through Tezuka's uniform, clinging tightly to his back and outlining the lines of his shoulder blades. He gritted his teeth, giving his all to control the spin with every beat. His footwork remained steady, but his breathing gradually became heavier.

Several times the ball almost flew out of the guiding range, but he managed to bring it back.

Atobe's returns became increasingly tricky, with the angles widening, forcing him to increase the range of his wrist strike.

With his final shot, Tezuka used the spin of his net to hit a wide-angle shot. The ball grazed the net, bounced, and landed right on the line.

The lineman called for the line to be in bounds.

"40-0".

This point was incredibly close and hard-fought. Many spectators in the stands held their breath, and only after a long while did scattered applause break out.

The Seigaku stands breathed a sigh of relief, and the cheers rose again.

"We held on! There's still a chance!"

"Tezuka-sama is giving it his all! They're definitely going to turn things around!"

"Come on! Let's catch up!"

The moment he scored the point, Tezuka bent slightly at the waist, his left arm hanging at his side. He twitched his fingers, as if he wanted to rub his elbow, but then clenched his fist and pulled it back.

He quickly straightened up, his face showing no sign of anything amiss, still bearing that aloof expression.

On the Hyotei coaching bench, Mochizuki Ryo remained leaning back in her chair, her fingertips tapping lightly on the armrest.

The rhythm was slow, one beat after another.

The empty iced tea bottle lay beside him, water droplets trickling down its surface, leaving a small damp patch on the chair. He watched Tezuka's left arm trembling on the field, his azure eyes devoid of any extra emotion.

That's enough.

The voice was very soft, as if stating a pre-written ending. There was neither schadenfreude nor sympathy, just an objective, almost indifferent judgment.

He did some mental calculations and realized that Tezuka's three zero-style serves put the same strain on his elbow as hitting ten standard zero-style short balls in a row.

Three consecutive blows in a short period of time is already the limit. Continuing to do so would not only cause a relapse of an old injury, but could potentially leave permanent damage.

But Tezuka won't stop; he'll keep going even if he can't hold on any longer.

You'll have to bear the consequences yourself.

Mochizuki Ryo paused for a moment, his heart not stirred much. He looked up at Atobe's back; the boy stood behind the baseline, his back ramrod straight, even the rise and fall of his shoulders was steady.

Wang Yueling's lips curled up slightly, but she quickly suppressed it again.

Without him reminding him, that guy knew what he was doing.

-

Tezuka raised his left arm again.

Twice in a row, his elbow wobbled at the highest point. The axis of spin shifted, and the ball grazed the net before hitting the ball out of bounds.

"Double fault. 40-15."

A buzz went off throughout the hall.

Tezuka straightened up, his left arm hanging down. He flicked his arm slightly, a small movement that, like a needle, pierced the eyes of the audience in the front row.

"Again."

He uttered two words in a low voice and walked back to the service line.

He stood for three extra seconds before throwing the ball, head down, right hand on his left elbow, pressing it repeatedly. It was as if he were winding up a component, or making final adjustments.

The surrounding chatter subsided somewhat. Many people could see that there was indeed something wrong with his arm.

But no one said it out loud.

Or rather, some people simply don't want to believe it.

Throw the ball again.

This time, his left arm paused noticeably when he exerted force. The ball cleared the net, but the spin weakened considerably. Atobe stood still, barely moving, and caught the ball steadily. With a flick of his wrist, he delivered a powerful, wide-angle return shot with strong sidespin straight to his backhand corner.

The moment Tezuka's traction touched the ball, it was mostly dispersed by the sidespin. He took a big step to save it, but his racket grazed the ball's feathers, and the return shot flew straight out of bounds.

"40-30".

When Tezuka walked back to the service line, his left arm was already struggling to lift. He stood there for two seconds, and then, under everyone's gaze, suddenly switched the racket to his right hand.

The crowd stirred again.

"They switched hands?! Right-handed serve..."

"Your left hand isn't working?"

"My God, there really is a wound..."

Sanada stood at the very front, his hat pulled low so his expression was hidden. But his knuckles were white as he gripped the railing, the strength so great that the veins on the back of his hand were taut.

Tezuka, holding the racket in his right hand, still adopted the zero-style serve posture.

Toss the ball up, swing the racket, and hit the ball.

The movement was the same, but the power was significantly lacking. After the ball cleared the net, it bounced upon landing. Although not high, it bounced nonetheless. The spin was no longer sufficient to maintain the effect of the zero-style shot.

Atobe stood still, watching the ball bounce up, his icy blue eyes flickering.

At the moment he swung his racket, the angle of the racket face was slightly off. The ball was returned, but the landing point was too shallow.

Tezuka's zone of control worked again. Just as he brought the ball in front of him, Atobe's second shot came crashing down. The powerful, sidespin shot slammed into the open space at the baseline. Tezuka reached out to grab it, but missed by half an inch.

"Game, Hyotei. Score 5-1."

As the referee's voice faded, the clicking sound of the scoreboard flipping was exceptionally clear in the noisy stadium.

Atobe finished his stroke and casually flicked his wrist. Sweat dripped down his jawline from his forehead, his breathing was slightly rapid, but his eyes remained remarkably bright.

He glanced at the scoreboard, a slight smile playing on his lips, but said nothing.

Hyotei's thunderous cheers rose up, and the other spectators in the stands also let out screams without any restraint.

"Does Tezuka's hand switch mean that what Atobe said before was true? Is Tezuka really injured in the elbow?"

"If that's the case, isn't that going too far? Fighting like that?"

"Wait a minute, didn't the Seigaku guys say they were all better in the previous rounds? What about the follow-up check-ups and being cured? Were they just lying to us?"

"Putting aside whether they were lying or not, Hyotei is too ruthless. They knew the other person was injured, yet they still pushed them to the brink of death."

"What do you mean by pushing them to the limit? Does not giving it your all mean you're going to hold back? Seigaku chose to play their injured player, so who can they blame?"

"Exactly! The coach even went to the hospital and didn't come back, leaving a kid to tough it out on the court, and now they're blaming the opponent for playing seriously?"

"You can't say that. Competitive sports should also consider humanitarianism, shouldn't they?"

"Go play friendly matches, why are you playing official matches?"

The audience on both sides were arguing heatedly. Some people were banging on the railings, some were whistling and taking pictures, and some were waving support flags and shouting until their faces were red.

The stands at Seigaku were completely silent.

Da Shi slumped back into his chair, covering his face with his hands, his shoulders trembling slightly, and a suppressed nasal sound leaking from between his fingers.

Kikumaru stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder, her lips moving several times, but she couldn't utter a single word. Her eyes were terribly red.

Fuji stood by the foremost fence, his eyes still open. His chestnut pupils reflected Tezuka's right hand adjusting his strumming motion on the field. He watched for a long time, sunlight falling on his face, revealing no emotion.

After a while, he turned his head to look at the big rock and spoke softly.

"Oishi."

"Did you personally hear the doctor at your last follow-up appointment say that you were fully recovered?"

Daishi slowly removed his fingers from his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his voice was terribly hoarse.

"I……"

He opened his mouth, but it took him a long time to make a sound.

"The doctor has indeed said it's cured."

He paused for a moment, his voice growing softer and softer.

"But Tezuka found that doctor himself. He scheduled an appointment and had me wait outside the examination room. When he came out, he told me... that the doctor said everything was fine. I didn't..."

The rest of the sentence was left unsaid, but everyone understood.

"How could this happen..." Kikumaru's voice trembled with tears as he clutched his clothes. "Why did Tezuka keep this from us..."

Momoshiro stood before them, listening to the entire conversation, his fists clenched so tightly they cracked. He whirled around, his voice filled with suppressed rage, "We had no idea about his arm..."

"Now we know." Inui's voice came from the side, almost too calm, like the kind of cool, almost ruthless data analysis. "Tezuka's left arm never fully recovered after his injury in Kokuichi. For the past two years, he's been using compensatory power to maintain his technical performance, but the tendon attachment point in that arm has been under constant strain. The intensity of today's match exceeded the limit his arm could withstand."

"What's the point of all this talk!" Momoshiro whirled around, her voice rising. "Is data useful now?!"

Qian did not refute.

He simply flipped to the page with Tezuka in the notebook, looked at the densely packed data records, and then closed the notebook.

Haitang stood at the very back, her brows furrowed tightly beneath her headscarf.

His lips moved slightly, emitting a low hiss. His gaze was fixed on Tezuka's left arm, his expression shifting from shock to disbelief, and then to a gnashing of anger. His tone was extremely aggressive.

"It must be Hyotei's doing! They knew their captain had a bad elbow, and they deliberately forced him to use the Zero-Shiki short ball frequently in the first few sets, just to ruin his arm!"