"What a fast return!"

Outside the court, Kim Taewoo and Park Geon-soo watched with grim expressions. They hadn't even seen Ishikawa swing—just the aftermath of the shot.

The smoke screen played a role, but it also meant his swing speed was terrifyingly fast.

"Nice shot."

Lee Seung-bu, ever the sportsman, acknowledged it openly. He wasn't one for excuses—strength was strength, weakness was weakness.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He bounced the ball a few times, finding his rhythm before serving again—a sharp angle toward Ishikawa's backhand corner.

"Yes!"

The Korean spectators erupted as the ball landed perfectly at the intersection of the service line and sideline.

But Ishikawa had already anticipated it.

With a half-step adjustment, he intercepted the ball effortlessly and returned it without even looking.

"His perception is sharp."

Lee's eyes narrowed.

He had a habit of studying his opponents mid-match—a habit honed in Germany's elite training camp. He played strategically, analyzing his rival's patterns before striking decisively.

Know your enemy, win without fail.

Lee wasn't a data tennis player, but he had the discipline of one. And until now, that approach had brought him nothing but victories.

But this time…

"His footwork is flawless—he reaches every ball."

"His power and technique are both top-tier."

"His anticipation? He reads my shots before I hit them."

Lee's confidence wavered.

No matter how he probed, the black-haired boy in front of him seemed to have no weaknesses.

"Enough."

Lee's patience snapped.

If he couldn't find a flaw, he'd force one open.

Seizing an opening, he dashed forward, eyes locked onto Ishikawa's return.

"Try returning this, Ishikawa!"

Swish—!

His racket blurred, the motion so fast it left afterimages in the smoke.

Crack!

One swing—but two balls launched in opposite directions.

"It's here!"

The Korean team tensed.

Kim Taewoo and Park Geon-soo exchanged uneasy glances.

"Captain's signature move—[Twin Shot]!"

"How can one swing produce two balls?!"

The commentator gasped.

"This is Lee Seung-bu's [Twin Arrow]," expert Kim Gun-yun explained. "Inspired by archery—one real, one fake. The trajectories are unpredictable. A top-tier technique!"

But before the audience could marvel—

Ping!

A crisp return cut through the air.

Kim Gun-yun's smile froze.

"He… blocked it?!"

"Just like that?!"

Lee's expression darkened.

[Twin Shot] was his second-strongest move—a feint-and-kill technique that left opponents guessing.

Yet Ishikawa had dismantled it instantly.

"This feeling…"

A memory surfaced—his time in Germany, facing that monster known as [Perfect Quality]. The gap between them had been insurmountable.

And now…

"No."

Lee shook his head.

"He can't be on that level."

Steeling himself, he charged forward, pressuring the net with his height advantage.

"He took the bait!"

Coach Park Dong-geon smirked.

"Letting a near-professional dominate the net? A fatal mistake."

In his eyes, Lee—though not quite at Byoudouin's level—was still a cut above this unknown Japanese player.

This match would be Korea's redemption.

But then—

Whoosh!

Ishikawa casually lofted a high-arcing lob.

"Huh?"

The Koreans blinked.

"Too high—it's going out!"

"The pressure got to him!"

Even spectators leaned back, ready to catch the "foul" ball.

But then—

"Screech—!"

A phantom phoenix's cry split the air as the ball merged with the sun's glare.

"Wha—?!"

Lee's vision whited out.

He spun blindly, sprinting toward the baseline—

Fwoom!

The ball plummeted like a meteor, heat waves rippling outward.

Thud.

It kissed the baseline—and didn't bounce.

Lee lunged, swiping at empty air as the ball spun dead on the court.

Silence.

"0-30."

The crowd stared, dumbstruck.

Coach Park's smirk vanished.

"What is this kid?!"

No records, no data—just overwhelming skill.

"Cough…"

Lee staggered up, vision clearing.

"You let me approach the net."

His voice was low, dangerous.

Ishikawa just smiled.

"Now you understand."

Lee exhaled sharply—then shifted.

His aura turned razor-sharp, eyes locking onto Ishikawa like a predator's.

"You're only the second person to force this move."

Swish—!

His racket blurred—faster than before.

A purple streak tore through the air, warping perception itself.

"This is—?!"

Kim Taewoo's pupils shrank.

"The hyperspeed dimension?!"

The same sensory overload he'd felt against Ochi.

"Captain… can use it too?!"

This was Lee's ultimate technique—[Piercing Arrow], born from archery.

A restricted-level move.

100% accuracy.

0% return rate.

Until now.

Ping!

The sound was almost mocking.

Lee's face paled.

"Impossible—!"

Before he could react, the smoke ripped apart.

A gigantic tennis ball loomed before him, filling his vision like an oncoming train.

Gulp.

Lee swallowed hard.