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

The stands were now in complete chaos.

"I think Seigaku has a point. Atobe knew the other guy was injured but still beat him to death. That's a bit cold-blooded."

"What do you mean 'cold-blooded'? What kind of game is it if you don't give it your all? Seigaku put their injured player on the court, who can they blame?"

"Well... look at Hyotei, they have a substitute coach and tactical advisors, while Seigaku only has a first-year student sitting on the coaching bench. That's not fair."

"Unfair? The coach is also part of the team competition. Seigaku's own coach isn't here, so who's to blame? Besides, the substitute coach is only three years older than Seigaku. It's his skill to come up with great tactics for his players. How dare you say it's unfair?"

"Exactly. Ryuzaki Jin went to the hospital and didn't come back. We can't let the opponent kick the coach out too. What kind of logic is that?"

"You can't say that. We have to consider humanitarianism. Kawamura's hand was ruined in the last match, and Tezuka's injury isn't serious this time either. Hyotei is specifically targeting Seigaku's regulars to ruin their arms. That's so unfair!"

"The injury is an old one, it wasn't inflicted by Hyotei. Playing tennis is about exploiting weaknesses; are you going to avoid them? What's the point of playing then? It's like playing house."

"Besides, Hyotei's doubles player, Mukahi, was hit on the head and went to the hospital on the last point of a dominating match, but they didn't cry and complain that their opponents won unfairly. How come it's all someone else's fault when it comes to Seigaku?"

"How can that be the same? Mukahi caught the ball himself, and he only bumped his head. It's nothing like Tezuka's situation."

"Bumped your head?! Are you even speaking human language...? That's a concussion! How serious is that? How can you compare it like that?"

Both sides were sticking to their own arguments, and the debate raged on. Some people were even snapping photos of Tezuka on the sidelines, muttering "Big news!"

The air was filled with the sweet and sour smell of sports drinks, mixed with the salty smell of sweat and the burnt smell of the rubber track after being exposed to the sun. Hot winds swirled around the noise, making people's ears feel uneasy.

In the press box, Saori Shiba was so angry after hearing what Shinobu said that her chest heaved and she almost crushed the camera in her hand.

"That's outrageous! Absolutely outrageous!"

Her voice was shrill and urgent, bursting out like a machine gun, her eyes reddening, "Tezuka was the one who persevered despite his injury, and instead of admiring him, they made sarcastic remarks! What do you mean they didn't notice? Do teammates have to stare at each other's wounds every day?!"

Inoue frowned, flipping through the notebook in his hand. His pen hovered over a blank space, not moving for a long time. He sighed and advised, "Saori, calm down."

Shiba Saori turned sharply to look at him, her face filled with disbelief. "How can I stay calm, Inoue-senpai, after hearing what they're saying! Look at how badly Tezuka is injured! Hyotei did it on purpose! They just wanted to injure all the Seigaku regulars so they could easily secure their spots!"

She became more and more agitated as she spoke, pointing towards the Hyotei Grandstand area, her fingertips trembling.

"This victory is unfair! It's completely unfair! They started pulling dirty tricks back in the Kawamura match, and now they're doing this again! They won the match but lost their integrity. What's the point of this victory! Look... they can even laugh! How ruthless!"

"It's not what you think," Inoue sighed, his tone tinged with helplessness. "Shinobu isn't entirely wrong either. Tezuka's old injury was caused by Kuniichi, and its recurrence is due to the frequent use of Zero-type attacks, which has little to do with Hyotei."

"How can it be okay!" Saori Shiba immediately retorted. "If they hadn't forced Tezuka to use the Zero Shiki short ball so frequently in the previous games, would his old injury have flared up? They did it on purpose!"

A smartly dressed, bespectacled middle-aged female reporter sitting next to her listened for a while, and finally couldn't help but put down her pen and turn her head to look at her.

"Miss, which newspaper do you work for?"

Saori Shiba paused for a moment, then stiffened her neck and replied, "I work for a professional tennis monthly magazine! What's wrong?"

"Professional...is this how tennis magazines write news now?" The female reporter scoffed, deliberately emphasizing the word "professional," and adding a touch of mockery to the second half of her sentence, "They only listen to what they want to hear, ignoring everything else. Do they really think anyone will read a report like that?"

"What do you mean!" Saori Shiba immediately blushed.

"What I mean is, if you're going to do journalism, you have to act like a journalist. Neutrality and objectivity are basic qualities." The female reporter's smile faded, and her tone became more serious. "In our line of work, the worst thing you can do is be biased and write with a preconceived notion. If you want to be a fan of Seigaku, go to the audience. If you're sitting in the press box, you have to act like a journalist. If you can't even be objective and neutral, you should probably change careers as soon as possible."

"Oh... on a side note. You just kept saying Hyotei intentionally injured someone, do you have any evidence? Just because they won the match and their opponent happened to be injured, it's all their fault? According to your logic, from now on, every time we lose a match, we can say the opponent intentionally injured someone?"

"It's a team decision for an athlete to play while injured; you can't expect the opponent to go easy on you. Writing about this with such strong personal bias is irresponsible to your readers and unworthy of your role as a journalist."

"I……"

Shiba Saori's face flushed instantly. She wanted to retort, but only opened her mouth. She glanced around and saw other reporters from different newspapers nodding in agreement, some even whispering in agreement, "That's right," "We really need to be objective."

Those gazes felt like needles piercing her, and she could only bite her lip in embarrassment. She turned around angrily, grabbed her camera, and snapped several pictures of Tezuka on the field, pressing the shutter button quickly and heavily, as if venting her emotions.

Seeing her sullen expression, Inoue didn't say anything more, but simply continued writing in his notebook. The scratching sound of the pen on the paper was almost inaudible in the noisy press area.

He knew in his heart that no matter how one judged the farce just now, Seigaku was in the wrong.

But looking at that stubborn figure on the field, one can't help but feel sorry for him.

In the stands of Yamabuki, the old man slowly fanned himself with a palm-leaf fan, the breeze from the fan blades carrying a hint of heat. He gazed at Tezuka's back in the stadium, his open eyes veiled with a complex light.

Tan Taichi, holding the headband on his forehead, swallowed hard, still shaken by the heated argument. He muttered, "That was...that was terrifying...we almost came to blows. Thank goodness the referee stopped us, or it might have really been a problem."

Sengoku crossed his arms and leaned against the railing, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

"They won't actually fight. They'll just keep arguing. What really bothers them is realizing they can't do anything about it."

He glanced at the noisy scene at Seigaku and snorted coldly.

"What right do those Seigaku people have to lay a hand on us? Don't they know why Tezuka's hand was injured? They kept it a secret until now, and nobody paid attention during training. Now, they're putting all the blame on Hyotei. It's so ugly."

He whistled, his tone somewhat nonchalant. "So only Seigaku can win, and anyone else's victory is considered unfair. Is it so hard to admit you're not good enough?"

The old man didn't respond, but the palm-leaf fan was a beat slower.

Akutsu sat with his legs crossed on the back of the back seat. He had heard the whole argument between the two schools, and a mocking smile played on his lips, his disdain undisguised.

idiot.

He took out his phone, tapped a few times on the screen, sent a message to Akutsu Yuki, then put the phone back in his pocket, his eyes coldly sweeping over the direction of Seigaku before quickly looking away.

Being in the same stands as this bunch of idiots makes me feel inferior.

-

On the field, after the referee had mediated, the whistle blew again, signaling the players to switch sides.

As Atobe passed the coach's bench, he paused, racket in hand.

Wang Yueling looked up at him. The afternoon sun shone on the boy's purplish-gray hair, gilding it with a light gold. Sweat still clung to the boy's forehead, his jawline was taut, and his icy blue eyes held a complex mix of emotions.

Wang Yueling saw through it at a glance, her eyes gleaming with a gentle light.

"You're worried about his arm."

His tone was very calm, as if he were stating something extremely ordinary.

Atobe's voice hardened instantly, his eyebrows raised high, "I don't have time to worry about my opponent's physical condition."

"Oh?" Wang Yueling slowly adjusted the wristband on her wrist, her fingertips brushing against the sweaty fabric. "Then your third shot just now, the racket face was off by half a degree."

Atobe choked for a moment, turned his face away, still maintaining his arrogant and flamboyant demeanor, and refused to look into Yue Ling's eyes.

"I was just adjusting my rhythm."

Wang Yueling smiled, not exposing him. She looked up at Tezuka, who was warming up opposite her, and softened her voice, "Tezuka Kunimitsu will only become more stubborn when pushed to the brink. You can't persuade him."

He turned back to look at Atobe, his eyes becoming more serious.

"So, how do you plan to play?"

Atobe was silent for two seconds.

His icy blue eyes swept over the ramrod straight figure in the center of the field, suppressing all superfluous emotions and leaving only clear judgment.

He knew that continuing the fight might worsen his opponent's injuries. But he also understood that holding back would be the greatest disrespect.

Tezuka has his pride, and so does Atobe Keigo.

He didn't say anything more, just raised his chin and turned to walk towards the field. His voice drifted back on the wind after he'd taken two steps.

Fight with all your might.

The sound was not loud, but it was resounding.

Wang Yueling looked at his tall and straight back, and the corners of her mouth curved into a smile.

Keigo Atobe.

Proud, open-minded, and always knowing what you should do.

C'est mon roi. (This is the true king.)

While it may sound childish, this statement is genuinely sincere.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze returning to the court. He was already mentally calculating the rhythm of the next game. Tezuka had switched to his right hand, greatly reducing the threat of his returns… Knowing Tezuka's personality, he would definitely fight to the very last point, so he would likely switch back to his already weakened left hand.

So, the stalemate on the bottom line might still have room for change.

But the next game is Atobe's serve, and as long as he plays consistently, winning the match is only a matter of time.

but……

Ryo Mochizuki's gaze fell on Tezuka, his eyes deepening.

The protagonist group, which has reached the top of the junior high school, is not so easily resigned to its fate.

Perhaps they have other trump cards up their sleeve.

Or... be forced to come up with something else.

Wang Yueling raised an eyebrow, and that bit of chuunibyou (adolescent delusions of grandeur) interest in her heart resurfaced.

Yeah.

The more exciting, the better.

We can't let this battle between the two ministries end in such an uninteresting way.

-

When the opening whistle blew for the seventh inning, the murmurs in the stadium subsided spontaneously.

The air felt thick and heavy, almost suffocating. The sun beat down relentlessly, baking the rubber surface until it felt soft and sticky underfoot. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the center of the field, and even their breathing became subdued.

In the Seigaku stands, everyone held their breath. Oishi's hands, gripping the railing, were sweaty and slippery, almost too slippery to hold. Kikumaru bit his lower lip, his eyes fixed on the field. Momoshiro and Kaidou stood ramrod straight, their fists clenched so tightly they cracked.

On Hyotei's side, everyone leaned forward, their eyes filled with anticipation. Shishido crossed his arms, his expression serious. Shinobu adjusted his glasses, a confident smile playing on his lips. Ootori clasped his hands together, softly chanting, "Go, Captain!" Jiro, no longer sleepy, leaned against the railing, his eyes sparkling.

Atobe stood behind the baseline, slightly bent over, his fingertips gently twirling the ball through the crack, a few strands of his purplish-gray hair fluttering in the wind. He glanced at Tezuka opposite him; the latter was right-handed, his stance slightly off-center than usual, clearly adjusting to the rhythm of a right-handed grip.

Atobe smiled faintly.

Ah, this is the last game.

Let's end this match quickly in the most spectacular way possible.

He tossed the ball, bent his knees, and swung his racket.

The movement was executed in one smooth motion, without the slightest hesitation.

"Bang!"

The sound of the ball hitting the ground was as crisp as thunder. Tannhäuser's serve, with its strong sidespin, carried the ball towards the opponent's backhand corner. After landing, the ball slid sideways at such a speed that it was just a blur of yellow.

Tezuka stood in the receiving area, shifted his feet, but was ultimately a beat too slow. His racket grazed the ball, missing it.

"ACE. 15-0."

The referee's voice faded.

A low gasp rippled through the audience.

Atobe remained unfazed, adjusted his position, and prepared for the second ball.

The second ball was served from the inside corner. It was still a Tannhäuser serve, but with more spin and a more difficult landing point. The ball was so fast it left a blur as it slammed into the court with a whooshing sound.

Tezuka didn't receive it again.

"ACE. 30-0."

Two consecutive aces widened the score gap to an undisputed extent. It was so fast that no one could react.

The referee picked up the megaphone, ready to announce the scores continuously.

The Hyotei cheering squad fell silent; no one cheered. The golden fan, held high in the air, seemed to have been paused.

Everyone could see that Tezuka had no way to reach this serve. Although his right arm could still generate power, due to the natural structure of his arm, the range of his right hand was inherently smaller than that of a left-handed person's left hand. The angle and offset of each serve landing were precisely at the farthest point of his right-handed return.

"It looks like this game will be over soon, there's no suspense."

"Yeah, my right-handed serve isn't threatening anymore, let alone my return."

"What a pity. The duel between the two departments that I've been looking forward to for so long has turned out to be a one-sided affair."

……

The stands at Seigaku were deathly silent.

The three first-graders hung their heads, looking listless. Momoshiro clutched the flagpole of the support flag, which drooped so low that even the wind couldn't budge it. Kaidou pursed her lips, her face full of resentment, yet she couldn't utter a word.

Ryoma Echizen looked at the upright figure on the field, his amber eyes beneath the brim of his hat filled with complex emotions.

Is it really... just like that, we've lost?

In the center of the court, Tezuka stood behind the baseline, his right hand holding the racket trembling slightly.

It's not fear, it's pain.

A sharp pain shot up my left elbow in waves, like countless tiny needles repeatedly pricking me, spreading up my arm to my shoulder, and even making my right side numb. My vision blurred, and the sounds around me seemed to come from different distances, buzzing as if through a layer of cotton.

Sweat stung his eyes. He blinked, his vision blurring for a moment before clearing again.

Kawamura's face suddenly flashed into his mind. That boy who always had a憨厚 (honest and simple) smile was lying on a stretcher, his arm wrapped in thick bandages, and he was still smiling as he said to him, "Captain, I'm entrusting Seigaku to you."

The cheers and shouts of my teammates, Coach Ryuzaki's words of advice, and the words "pillar of Seigaku" weighed heavily on my heart.

We can't lose here.

He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and tasted a hint of blood on his tongue. He struggled to switch the racket back to his familiar left hand, and with that movement, a dull pain crept up his nerves, making his face even paler.

At least... we can't lose so badly.

On the opposite side, Atobe adjusted his breathing and threw the third ball.

Another standard Tannhäuser serve. The yellow ball arced through the sunlight, flying towards you with a familiar sense of pressure.

Everyone thought this was another ace.

Even the referee leaned closer to the megaphone.

Tezuka on the field moved.

He gritted his teeth and strode towards the ball's landing point. His footsteps slammed into the scorching hot rubber court, making a rapid, grinding sound. But everyone could see that, given the ball's speed and angle, he most likely wouldn't be able to return it. The moment his racket swung out, some spectators even looked away.

The moment Tezuka swung his racket, you could even feel the tearing sensation coming from his elbow.

But his willpower forced him to suppress the pain, and all he could see was the rapidly approaching yellow-green ball.

Just as the racket was about to miss again.

An invisible barrier suddenly spread out from his body.

Tezuka's aura has changed.

The change was not drastic, but it was so obvious that it could not be ignored.

His short, brownish-red hair moved without wind, as if lifted by an air current, inexplicably bobbing upwards. A faint white halo enveloped him, and his previously taut shoulders suddenly relaxed. His eyes abruptly became crystal clear, like a mirror reflecting the trajectory of a ball.

The racket, which was about to miss, suddenly changed direction, and the racket face precisely hit the bottom of the ball with unbelievable ease.

"Bang!"

The returned ball was nearly twice as fast as it came, slamming into the opposite baseline with a whooshing sound. It landed extremely deep, but bounced very low, as if the ball had been subjected to a spin and speed far exceeding the normal range at the moment of contact with the racket face.

The pupils on the atobe contracted slightly.

The ball was much faster than he had anticipated.

He immediately stepped back to defend, and the moment his racket met the ball, a tremendous force traveled through the handle of the racket, and a tingling sensation shot from his fingertips to his arm.

My fingertips went numb, and even my wrist throbbed with pain.

Atobe gritted his teeth, increased his strength, and forcefully returned the ball. Looking at Tezuka, who was in a completely different state on the other side, he felt a pang of sadness in his heart.

"This is……"

Meanwhile, in the front row of the audience.

Irie, who had been resting his hands on his knees, suddenly sat up straight. His sunglasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose, but he didn't bother to push them up. Tokugawa's brows furrowed instantly, a hint of surprise flashing in his cold eyes.

The two looked at each other, and both saw confirmation in each other's eyes.

The next second, two voices rang out simultaneously, landing softly in the noisy stadium, yet they were exceptionally clear.

"The ultimate test of perfection!"