A Bad Start

The defeat of Ichimaru from Court 1 cast a shadow over the morale of the second-string players.

But the shuffle matches pressed on.

A lean, sharp-eyed young man stepped forward.

"First-string representative, No. 19—Tanigaki Kokushi!"

His voice was calm, but whispers broke out among the second-string.

"That's Tanigaki—the 'Insight Specialist'!"

"Didn't he only make the first-string after another senior retired?"

"Exactly. He's probably the weakest among them."

Their expressions shifted.

If Tanigaki was the last to join the first-string, his skill was likely even below Akitsuki's.

Meanwhile, among the first-string, No. 18, Hirajōshi, glanced toward Oshitari from the second-string. When their eyes met, he gave a slight nod—this was Oshitari's best chance.

But to Hirajōshi's surprise, Oshitari merely smiled and shook his head.

"This brat…" Hirajōshi narrowed his eyes. "Does he actually want to fight me?"

"I'll go."

Matsudaira stepped forward.

After intense training, his skills had improved—but he was cautious. Against anyone stronger than Tanigaki, he wouldn't have dared.

The match began.

Matsudaira was skilled, but Tanigaki had also grown stronger during the overseas expedition.

Final score: 6-4, 6-3.

First-string victory.

A second loss.

The second-string's enthusiasm was doused like cold water. Fear flickered in their eyes.

"My turn."

Hirajōshi cracked his neck and descended the steps.

"First-string No. 18—Hirajōshi."

Though only a second-year, his presence was intimidating. Gone was the comedic tennis of Shitenhōji—here, he was a cold, ruthless sniper.

The second-string hesitated.

Hirajōshi's gaze locked onto Oshitari again—but again, the latter only smiled, refusing to step forward.

"Hah?"

Hirajōshi was baffled.

Did Oshitari really plan to skip the shuffle matches?

"Coward."

Disappointment settled in. The Oshitari he knew from Shitenhōji had been fearless, always laughing in the face of adversity.

A second-stringer finally challenged Hirajōshi—only to surrender after three rackets were destroyed by his "Bullet Shot."

Then, from No. 17 to No. 11, the first-string swept every match.

Ten wins. Zero losses.

The overwhelming dominance crushed the second-string's spirits.

"What the hell is he thinking?" Hirajōshi frowned.

If Oshitari hadn't challenged by now, he must've given up.

"Pathetic."

Then—

"My turn."

A tall, sharp-eyed brunet stepped forward.

"First-string No. 10—Kishimoto Masaomi!"

His presence was fiercer than the previous first-stringers.

"Top 10 now!"

"Kishimoto—the 'Iron Man' of the courts! His stamina is second only to No. 6, Ōban!"

"No way the second-string can beat him!"

No one dared to step up.

Ten straight losses had shattered their confidence.

But then—

"I'll go."

Oshitari walked down with a smile.

"Second-string, Court 3—Oshitari Yūshi!"

"This idiot?!" Hirajōshi's face darkened.

Kishimoto was strong enough to block his Bullet Shot head-on. Even Hirajōshi's odds were less than 20%—yet Oshitari was walking in like it was nothing.

"Court 3?" Kishimoto raised an eyebrow. "I don't recognize you. New?"

Oshitari smirked. "Is there an age limit for shuffle matches?"

"Cheeky."

Kishimoto grinned.

A confident rookie? Interesting.

But confidence without strength was just arrogance.

The match began.

Kishimoto dominated the first set—6-1.

The second-string sighed.

If Oshitari lost the first set this badly, there was no coming back. Kishimoto's stamina was monstrous.

The second set started the same way—three straight games for Kishimoto.

"I expected more," Kishimoto taunted. "This is disappointing."

Then—

Tap!

A drop shot.

Kishimoto lunged forward, barely reaching it before the second bounce. Forced into a defensive lob, he left the net wide open.

Whoosh!

Oshitari leapt—

"A setup?" Kishimoto smirked. "Cute."

He swung to counter the smash head-on—

Rip!

His racket strings snapped like paper.

"What?!"

The ball slammed into the court behind him.

Oshitari landed smoothly, unfazed.

"You… hid your strength?!"

Kishimoto's eyes burned.

No first-stringer would tolerate being toyed with.

"You'll regret this."

He unleashed a furious assault—but Oshitari defended flawlessly. Kishimoto's reckless attacks only drained his stamina.

Another drop shot.

Another smashed racket.

"Game! Oshitari leads, 1-3!"

Oshitari landed, tilting his head.

"Hey, senior. I heard first-stringers only use 60% of their strength. No need to hold back now, right?"

"60%?"

Kishimoto froze.

Then it hit him.

"You mean… you've been at 60% this whole time?!"

A cold sweat formed.

The truth?

Kishimoto had gone 90% from the start—then 100% in his rage.

"Oshitari…"

Hirajōshi watched, stunned.

"When did you get this strong?"

His gaze shifted to the second-string side—to Ishikawa, standing calmly beside Marui.

A pang of envy struck him.

The match turned.

Kishimoto's focus shattered. Oshitari seized control.

Second set: 6-3, Oshitari.

Third set: 6-1, Oshitari.

Final score—2-1.

The first second-string victory.

Silence.

Then—chaos.

"Kishimoto… lost?!"

The first-string stared in disbelief as Oshitari took the No. 10 badge and joined their ranks.

"Well then."

Marui stretched, grinning.

"My turn."

He strolled onto the court.

"Second-string, Court 3—Marui Jūzaburō!"

The crowd erupted.

Another Court 3 challenger?!

"You're mine, brat."

No. 9, Kirihara, stepped forward.

He attacked ruthlessly—but Marui dismantled his plays, striking back the moment Kirihara faltered.

Final score: 6-4, 6-3.

Second victory.

The second-string's eyes burned with renewed hope.

Maybe the top 10 weren't so invincible after all?

Then No. 7, Kaneshiro, crushed his challenger 6-0, 6-0 in 20 minutes.

Reality set in.

It wasn't that No. 9 and No. 10 were weak—Marui and Oshitari were just monsters.

"Those two…"

Yamato and Nakagauchi glanced at their fellow Court 3 players, then at Ishikawa.

They knew the real reason for Marui and Oshitari's success.

But the others didn't.

Now, every eye—first-string and second-string alike—was locked onto the remaining Court 3 players.

"Uh…"

They stiffened, wisely choosing to stay silent.

The matches continued.

From No. 6 to No. 3, no second-stringer dared to challenge.

Then—

"Time to wrap this up."

A towering figure descended the steps.

Blonde hair. Piercing gaze.

Every step sent a tremor through the second-string.

Echizen Kintarō—No. 1.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and like mice before a lion, the second-string averted their gazes.

Then his stare landed on Tokugawa, standing alone in Court 1.

"Tch."

Echizen smirked.

"No Oni, no Irie—so you've lost your spine, Tokugawa?"

Tokugawa met his gaze silently.

But then—

"Sorry, Echizen-senpai."

A voice cut through the tension.

A black-haired boy stepped forward, smiling.

"Your opponent… is me."

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