Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

Somewhere in Japan's U-17 training facility, inside an indoor tennis court, two figures were locked in a fierce battle. Their movements were lightning-fast, and the force behind their swings was terrifying. If not for the soundproofing, the noise would've been audible hundreds of meters away.

"Boss, your physical recovery is insane."

On one side of the court, a fair-skinned, heavyset man—Duke Watanabe—grinned. "You've already regained about 80% of your original strength, haven't you?"

Initially, Duke had estimated it would take Phoenix a full month of rehab to return to form. But now, it seemed his captain's body was far more monstrous than he'd imagined.

"More or less."

Phoenix replied calmly, though inwardly, he was just as surprised. His body had undergone another transformation after his brush with death.

Last time, after being struck by lightning, he had awakened the power of Alaya-vijnana—the eighth consciousness—in that liminal space between life and death.

This time, however, the change was different. His recovery speed had skyrocketed.

Phoenix had a theory.

Both Alaya-vijnana and rapid regeneration were latent human abilities—deep-seated potentials that remained dormant in most people. Yet, through experiences few could ever claim, he had awakened two of these profound powers.

"Then let me test it out."

Duke's half-lidded eyes suddenly snapped open, a sharp glint flashing within them. His aura surged, an oppressive force radiating from him like an invisible weight.

Whoosh—!

A dark, abyssal energy coiled around him, warping the very space in his vicinity.

This was one of tennis's otherworldly dimensions—the Hypergravity Dimension!

"Duke Homerun!"

With a roar, Duke swung his racket in a devastating arc.

BOOM!

The collision between ball and racket created a vacuum, compressing the air until it erupted in chaotic turbulence.

Sssshink—!

A streak of black light shot toward Phoenix, carrying with it an eerie, whispering echo—like the murmurs of some ancient deity.

"Good!"

The former king of the U-17's eyes gleamed coldly. Without hesitation, he raised his racket and smashed the ball back with brutal precision.

Hummm—!

As his focus sharpened, his own aura exploded outward. The sound of thunder, crashing waves, and howling winds filled the indoor court.

BANG!

Duke's homerun was sent rocketing back like a meteor.

KABOOM!

The ball struck the wall behind Duke, blasting a crater into it. Cracks spiderwebbed outward before the entire section collapsed in a cascade of rubble and dust.

"Impressive."

Duke whistled as he watched his signature move get effortlessly returned. "Boss, you've recovered even faster than I thought."

He had expected Phoenix to need both hands to counter his Duke Homerun.

"Still far from enough."

Phoenix shook his head, expression unreadable. "My control's still off. The ball shouldn't have veered that far."

"True."

Duke nodded.

At his peak, Phoenix could neutralize even the Duke Homerun's force with refined technique, minimizing collateral damage.

In fact, that was why pro matches on TV never reduced stadiums to rubble.

"Let's keep going."

Phoenix turned to walk back to the baseline.

"That's enough."

A voice cut through the settling dust. Three figures emerged from the haze—one of them a towering middle-aged man who sighed. "Gentlemen, I think this venue is no longer suitable for your... rehab training."

"Hm?"

Duke glanced over just as the last fragments of the shattered wall crumbled away, revealing a gaping hole to the outside.

"Uh…"

His cheek twitched.

So much for a casual spar. Now they'd have to find another place to train.

"You three."

Unlike the easygoing Duke, Phoenix immediately saw through their presence. He turned toward the newcomers, his gaze sharp. "Get to the point. What do you want?"

"Straight to business, as expected of you, Phoenix."

The tall man—Saito—smiled. "It's simple. We want you to take over as the 5th Court's supervisor."

"Oh?"

Both Phoenix and Duke raised their brows.

"Hold on."

Phoenix scoffed, scratching his ear with a lazy smirk. "Did you mistake me for someone like Oni? I'm not the 'nurturing' type."

"Besides," Duke added, puzzled, "isn't the 5th Court supervisor supposed to be Kishimoto?"

Kishimoto Masahiro—former No. 10 of the U-17's elite squad.

With his skills, he should've had no trouble keeping even the 1st Court in line.

"Ah…"

Takizawa, one of the coaches, sighed. "Kishimoto's probably at his wit's end by now."

"Meaning?" Phoenix frowned.

"It's the middle schoolers."

Kurobe explained. "More and more of them are advancing to the 5th Court. Their skills are… exceptional. Kishimoto can't handle them."

He paused, then added, "Remember those two middle schoolers you met yesterday? The ones who revealed Ryoma's true identity? These kids are all products of his influence. They're a handful."

"Ryoma, huh?"

Phoenix's eyes narrowed.

The image of that calm, composed prodigy flashed in his mind. When he'd learned the boy was just a first-year, even he had been stunned.

If these middle schoolers—now flooding the 5th Court—were the same ones who had faced Ryoma in the national tournament…

"Fine."

Phoenix gave a slight nod. "I'll take a look at the 5th Court."

The three coaches visibly relaxed.

Then, Saito turned to Duke. "Also, Duke, we'd like you to oversee the 3rd Court."

"The 3rd?"

Duke smirked. "Suits me just fine."

"Then it's settled."

Kurobe nodded. "We'll take our leave."

With that, the three departed.

"Boss," Duke said once they were gone, his grin fading. "Why the sudden interest in the 5th Court?"

"No reason."

Phoenix shrugged. "Just curious about the kind of monsters that kid's generation has produced."

"That kid…"

Duke's lips curled.

Yeah. That made sense.

Honestly, even he was intrigued by the middle schoolers who stood in Ryoma's shadow.

U-17 Training Camp – 5th Court

Thud!

Thud!

Thud!

The daily training regimen was in full swing.

Though only a day had passed since the middle schoolers' arrival, the second round of ranking matches had already pushed five or six of them into the 5th Court—including Tezuka, Yukimura, and Atobe.

As the cream of the crop (excluding Ryoma), their talent and skill were undeniable.

And unlike some of their peers, these three were disciplined. They followed the coaches' instructions without complaint.

After all, they still had that guy to catch up to. Slacking wasn't an option.

But not everyone shared their mindset.

Leaning against the wall in a corner, a silver-haired boy with wild, upturned locks kept his eyes shut, ignoring the drills entirely.

"Hey. Akutsu."

A cold voice slithered into his ear.

"Hn?"

Akutsu Jirou cracked one eye open to see a tanned, bespectacled boy with purple-black hair smirking at him.

"Higa's Kite."

Akutsu's brow twitched. "What do you want?"

Their teams had clashed fiercely in the nationals. While Akutsu had no particular loyalty to Rikkai, he despised Higa's underhanded tactics. Even he thought they crossed the line.

Still, due to certain… history between them, he held back his irritation.

"Where's Echizen Ryoma?" Kite adjusted his glasses, the lenses glinting. "He's the camp's golden boy, right? No way they didn't invite him."

Even schools like St. Rudolph and St. Icarus had gotten spots. It'd be absurd if the best middle schooler in Japan was left out.

"Tch."

Akutsu's gaze turned dangerous. "You giving me orders now?"

He might've had reasons not to punch Kite on sight, but that didn't mean he'd tolerate being messed with.

"You—!"

Kite's smirk faltered as he felt the bloodlust rolling off Akutsu.

He knew better than to test him. If it came to blows, his Okinawan martial arts might not be enough.

"Hey, you two!"

A sharp voice cut in.

They turned to see a tall, stern-faced high schooler with brown hair striding toward them—Kishimoto Masahiro, the 5th Court's current supervisor.

As a former top-ten elite, he looked down on most high schoolers, let alone middle schoolers. If not for the coaches' orders, he'd never have babysat these brats.

His management style was simple: brutal discipline.

Before the middle schoolers arrived, he'd earned the nickname "The Iron Judge."

"Four-Eyes," he snapped at Kite. "You're not a 5th Court member. Get back to your own court."

"Oh?"

Kite pushed his glasses up, smirking. "And if I don't?"

For a split second, Kishimoto felt an icy pressure—like a venomous snake coiling around him.

What the hell?

Since when did a middle schooler intimidate him?

"You—Akutsu, was it?"

Deciding to avoid unnecessary trouble, Kishimoto switched targets. "Start training. Now. Or else—"

"Or else what?"

Akutsu laughed.

He cracked his neck, tendons popping like firecrackers.

"Idiot."

Kite snorted.

This moron had no idea what he was provoking.

"Fine."

Kishimoto's face darkened.

He hadn't backed down from Kite out of fear—just pragmatism. But if these brats thought they could walk all over him—

"You asked for it."

The aura of a top-ten elite erupted from him, making Kite stiffen.

"This guy's strong."

Instinctively, Kite took a step back, distancing himself from Akutsu.

His philosophy was simple: strike when victory was certain, retreat when it wasn't.

Seeing this, Kishimoto smirked.

But when he turned to Akutsu—

"…!"

His blood ran cold.

Those golden-brown eyes weren't human. They belonged to a predator.

"Shit."

Kishimoto realized his mistake.

Now he understood why the former No. 1 had voluntarily demoted himself to oversee the 5th Court.

Dealing with these monsters was hell.

But as supervisor, he couldn't back down. His pride was on the line.

"Very well."

Gritting his teeth, Kishimoto growled, "Let me teach you the rules of the 5th Court—"

"Kishimoto Masahiro."

A voice boomed from the speakers—Kurobe's. "As of now, you are relieved of your duties as 5th Court supervisor."

"What?!"

Kishimoto's head snapped up. "Why?!"

Was this brat connected to the coaches?!

Furious, he roared, "You can't do this!"

"Yes, we can."

A deep voice rumbled from behind.

"From today onward, I will oversee the 5th Court."

Every high schooler in the vicinity froze.

Kishimoto slowly turned—

And his blood turned to ice.

Standing there, with his unshaven jaw and white headband, was a man who shouldn't even be alive.

"Y-You're…!"

Kishimoto's voice trembled.

"Problem?"

Phoenix's gaze was glacial.

"N-No, sir!"

In front of the stunned middle schoolers—including Akutsu and Kite—the once-stern supervisor now looked like a scolded child.

"Huh."

All eyes locked onto the scruffy, sandal-wearing legend before them.

Just who was this guy?!