9:00 AM

Narita Airport, Tokyo

Two U-17 buses pulled in one after another. Veterans like Mareshi and the others, accustomed to away matches, stepped off calmly. Meanwhile, first-timers like Kiritani and Harahiko looked around with curiosity.

"So, who are we playing this time?" Harahiko asked, glancing at Heisuke, who wore a military-green cap.

"No idea," Heisuke shrugged. "That's up to the coaches and the team leader. Though… Mitsuya might know."

His gaze shifted to a bespectaced young man with flaxen hair—Mitsuya Akuto, the U-17's data tennis specialist. Since spring, he'd served as the expedition team's strategist, essentially their brains.

"Him?" Kiritani and Harahiko turned to look.

Noticing their stares, Mitsuya smiled faintly.

"…"

The two suddenly felt as if their secrets had been laid bare.

"Hey," No. 14 Hakamada Izou cut in, frowning. His short blond hair and cross-shaped scar made him look like a delinquent. "Who the hell are we even playing? Why's everything so secretive?"

"Sorry, I don't know either," Mitsuya admitted. "Only the team leader has the details."

"The team leader?" Hakamada scoffed. "Speaking of which, isn't this his first time leading? Feels kinda unreliable if he's already late."

"Senpai."

A voice rang out from the entrance.

"Badmouthing people behind their backs isn't a good habit, you know."

Everyone turned. A boy in the U-17's black-and-red jacket stood there, smiling.

"—!"

Hakamada's smirk froze. His expression flickered before he finally lowered his head.

"…My apologies."

The others exchanged glances, stunned. The normally defiant Hakamada had been subdued in an instant. But then again—this wasn't just anyone.

This was the guy who'd taken the top spot from Byoudouin. The same Byoudouin who now lay severely injured, fate unknown.

Who wouldn't fear him?

"Let's go." After a quick headcount, Ishikawa grinned. "We've got three stops this expedition. The first one's close—just three hours away."

"Three hours?"

That narrowed it down to nearby countries. But Byoudouin's team had already crushed all the regional competition. With an even stronger leader now, no one was worried.

Meanwhile – U-17 Training Camp

Before the main team reached the airport, another bus arrived at the camp's parking lot—carrying Hyoutei's members.

"So this is U-17?"

Surrounded by dense forests and mountains, the secluded facility surprised them.

"Hyoutei?"

A voice called out. "Figures you got invited too."

They turned. A group in blue-and-white jackets approached—Seigaku.

"Oh? Seigaku?" Atobe raised a brow, locking eyes with their bespectacled captain.

"Long time no see." Tezuka nodded. Behind him, Inui adjusted his glasses. "Seems U-17's recruiting a lot of middle schoolers."

Beep! Beep!

Another bus rolled in.

Out stepped Rikkai's team—Yukimura, Sanada, Yanagi, and the others.

"Rikkai's here too?" Oshitari noted. With this, three of the Nationals' top four had arrived.

"Everyone's gathered, huh?" Yukimura smiled at Atobe and Tezuka. The three shared mutual respect as elite players.

"Hm?" Yukimura glanced around. "…Ishikawa's not here?"

Even among Hyoutei's powerhouse roster, Ishikawa stood above the rest. His absence puzzled them.

Was U-17 really beneath his notice?

"Tch. He didn't come?" A cold voice cut through. The group turned—Higa Chuu's team, clad in purple-black jackets, approached.

"Higa?!" Inui blinked. "They got invited too?"

Higa had been crushed 5-0 by Hyoutei in Nationals. Their captain, "The Assassin" Kite Eishirou, had been brutally pinned to a concrete wall by Ishikawa. After that, Higa vanished—until now.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?!" Higa's players bristled.

"You got a problem?!"

"Wanna settle this before we even go in?!"

"Enough." Kite's voice silenced them. His eyes flicked to the surveillance cameras. "This isn't the place."

But then he smirked.

"Save it for inside." His gaze locked onto Tezuka. "Right, Tezuka?"

To Higa, their Nationals loss was no different from Seigaku's. Both fell to Hyoutei.

And if they couldn't touch Hyoutei… Seigaku would do just fine.

"Mn." Tezuka remained unfazed.

With no unifying figure like Ishikawa present, tensions simmered as the teams entered U-17.

U-17 Control Room

"They're here." Saito watched the heated middle schoolers on-screen, amused. "Quite lively, aren't they?"

"Good." Tane remained stone-faced. "Means they've got energy to burn. Hope they last past the first test."

"This is just the first batch." Kurobe tapped the desk. "Fifty-three middle schoolers were selected—excluding Ishikawa. Also, the head coach wants the high schoolers pressured. Too many slackers."

"Understood." Saito nodded. "Proceed as planned."

Inside U-17

The middle schoolers advanced unchallenged—until they reached the central courts.

Here, higher-ranked high schoolers didn't hold back.

"The hell are brats doing here?"

"Scram before you get hurt!"

"Hyoutei and Rikkai, fine—but Higa? What trash got let in?"

"…What did you just say?" Kite's voice turned lethal. His glare sent chills down the heckler's spine.

"Y-You wanna die, kid?!" the high schooler blustered.

"High schoolers?" Kite's lips curled. "All bark, no bite?"

"Fine!" The Court 8 player snarled. "I'll show you the gap!"

Control Room

"Should we stop them?" Saito asked.

"No." Kurobe shook his head. "Let's see how these middle schoolers fare. Kite's a good benchmark."

Ten minutes later—

THUD!

The high schooler was embedded in the fence, bloodied and broken.

"G-Game! Kite Eishirou wins—6-0!" The umpire trembled.

"…!"

The high schoolers paled.

This middle schooler was monstrous.

"Heh." Kite walked off, sparing a glance at Tezuka—his next target.

"Kite Eishirou…" The middle schoolers tensed.

"It's like…" Oshitari muttered. "After Ishikawa broke him, he embraced the darkness."

"Worse." Atobe narrowed his eyes. "He wasn't even at 80% just now."

Yukimura and Sanada eyed Kite's bloodstained racket.

The "Assassin" lived up to his name.

"Attention." A voice boomed over the speakers. "The head coach finds 300 players excessive."

WHOOSH!

A plane flew overhead, dropping 250 tennis balls.

"Grab one—or leave immediately."

CHAOS!

High schoolers panicked. Middle schoolers moved swiftly—not a single ball was left.

"D-Damn it!" The losers seethed, eyeing those with extras.

But after Kite's display? No one dared demand a handout.

"Pathetic."

A new voice—cold, disdainful.

The crowd parted. A long-haired, androgynous figure stepped forward.

"T-Tohno…!" High schoolers recoiled.

"No guts to fight? Then get out." Tohno's smile was venomous. "U-17 doesn't need trash."

The high schoolers fled.

"Middle schoolers?" Tohno's gaze swept over them. "Good. I was getting bored."

His stare felt like a snake's—even Kite stiffened.

Atobe, Yukimura, Tezuka—all sensed it.

This man…

Was on another level.

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