After the referee announced a pause in the match, Ishikawa and the others rushed Ōban to a local hospital. Medical tests confirmed that his collapse was due to extreme exhaustion—nothing more than temporary unconsciousness from overexertion.

Once he was given an IV drip of glucose, Ōban regained consciousness, much to everyone's relief. Ishikawa assigned Banrikiya and Dateotoko—who weren't scheduled to play the next day—to stay with him, then led the rest of the team back to the hotel.

By dinnertime, Ōban and the other two had returned.

After gathering the team, Ishikawa reminded them that no one was to leave the hotel at night before dismissing everyone to their rooms.

The night passed without incident.

The Next Morning

The Japanese and Indian teams arrived on time at the Mumbai Youth Tennis Center. Thanks to the thrilling match the day before, the stands were now packed to capacity.

Giant banners stretched across both sides of the court, each cheering for their respective teams. Even before the match began, the stadium buzzed with restless energy, like a waking beast.

But for the battle-hardened Japanese team, this kind of atmosphere was nothing.

Soon, the referee announced the resumption of the tournament, picking up where yesterday's Singles 3 match had left off.

"Next up: Doubles 2."

"Representing India: Khetlin Singh (12th grade) and Narajit Gaur (12th grade)."

"Representing Japan: Kajimoto (12th grade) and Kimijima (12th grade)."

"Players, prepare yourselves."

With that, the four competitors stepped onto the court.

Khetlin Singh was a tall, broad-shouldered young man with thick black hair, a wide forehead, and a prominent mustache framing his lips—giving him a mature appearance. His partner, Narajit Gaur, wore a traditional red Indian turban. Of average build, his sharp gaze cut through the air like a blade.

Though ranked only 7th and 10th in the Indian team, they were one of the few fixed doubles pairs—a clear sign of their coach's confidence in them.

"Interesting," Mitsuya murmured from the sidelines. "India's coach is going all-in on this match."

"Yeah," Echizen and Tokugawa agreed.

After yesterday's match, no one on the Japanese team underestimated their South Asian rivals. While India might not match them in overall skill, their sheer determination was undeniable.

The Match Begins

Under the best-of-three format, both sides started cautiously. The first two games were a probing exchange, each breaking the other's serve.

But by the third game, the Indian duo cranked up the intensity—speeding up their movements, increasing their power, trying to overwhelm their opponents with sudden bursts of aggression.

Unfortunately for them, Kajimoto's defense was impenetrable.

No matter how fiercely they attacked, he returned every shot with precision. And once their patience wore thin, Kimijima struck like a viper, targeting their weak spots relentlessly.

BAM!

"Game!"

"Japan leads, 2–1!"

India's strategy had backfired spectacularly. Their coach, Viyas, quickly adjusted tactics, instructing his players to deliberately leave openings to bait the Japanese into reckless attacks.

Kajimoto, impulsive by nature, took the bait without hesitation—only to nearly take a tennis ball to the face. Luckily, Kimijima's sharp instincts saw through the trap, intercepting the ball just in time.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The rallies grew fiercer.

To the Indians' shock, not only was the blue-haired player's defense unbreakable—even the bespectacled one was a fortress.

"Incredible coverage," muttered Kiran, India's strategist, from the sidelines. "His perception is razor-sharp. He reads Khetlin and Narajit's moves before they even execute them."

"Mhm," Captain Sharma nodded. "His fundamentals are flawless. If I recall correctly, he's ranked… 7th in Japan?"

"Correct," Kiran confirmed.

The other Indian players exchanged uneasy glances.

If their 7th is this strong… what does that say about the rest?

Coach Viyas, a heavyset man, sighed inwardly.

This is the kind of country that produced him, after all.

After years of silence, Japan's tennis scene had erupted into a golden age. Their players were emerging like a tidal wave—far surpassing India in raw ability.

The Turning Point

Regaining his footing, Kajimoto unleashed his full speed, easing the pressure on Kimijima. This time, he didn't hold back—his Sonic Bullet serves tore through the air with explosive force.

BAM!

A pale-yellow streak exploded between the Indian pair before they could even react.

Kajimoto dominated the next few games, widening the gap to 5–1.

But in the seventh game, something changed.

No matter where Kajimoto aimed, the Indians returned every shot.

"Finally," Kiran smirked. "Khetlin and Narajit's 'Indomitable' trait is kicking in."

"Indomitable?" The Japanese team turned to Mitsuya for answers.

"According to my data," he explained, "these two activate an ironclad defense in the later stages. No matter the shot—no matter how impossible—they return it."

"That's… exaggerated, right?" Mouri and Hara exchanged skeptical glances.

"No shot is unreturnable?" Kajimoto's eyes narrowed. "Let's test that."

WHOOSH!

Blue energy flared around him as his speed skyrocketed. His next serve was even faster—

BAM!

—yet Khetlin somehow reached it, sending it back effortlessly.

"What?!" Kajimoto's confidence wavered.

Again and again, he attacked, only for the Indians to counter every shot, just as Mitsuya had predicted.

The score narrowed to 4–5, with Japan barely clinging to the lead. The crowd roared, chanting **"INDIA! INDIA!"**—a deafening wave of pressure that would've crushed lesser players.

But Kajimoto and Kimijima were veterans. Even in dire straits, they kept their cool.

The Secret Exposed

After five grueling games, Kimijima finally saw through their opponents' trick.

"Kajimoto," he called. "After my return, sprint to the left baseline."

"Got it." Kajimoto trusted Kimijima's tactical genius implicitly.

BAM!

Kimijima fired a sharp, spinning shot to the left—

Khetlin lunged, confident in his positioning—

—only for the ball to suddenly kick right on the bounce.

"Wha—?!"

Caught off guard, Khetlin barely managed a clumsy return—straight into Kajimoto's waiting strike.

"Hah!" Kajimoto grinned as they scored.

Khetlin shot his partner a questioning glare. Narajit could only shrug helplessly.

"Just as I thought," Kimijima smirked.

He repeated the tactic, exploiting their miscommunication again and again.

"30–30!"

"YES!" The Japanese bench erupted in cheers.

"But… how?" Mouri frowned. "What's the secret?"

Mitsuya hesitated—until Ishikawa spoke up.

"Kimijima deciphered their signals."

"Signals?"

Mitsuya's eyes snapped to Narajit's left hand, subtly moving behind his back.

"Morse code!" he realized. "They're using coded gestures to coordinate—that's how they anticipate every shot!"

The team gasped.

Collapse

Frustration mounted for the Indian pair as their secret unraveled.

"How did he figure it out?!"

Their system wasn't standard Morse—it was a customized variant. It should've been impossible to crack.

"Too bad for them," Ishikawa mused. "Kimijima's talent as the 'Negotiator' makes him a master of reading subtle cues."

And that wasn't even his full ability.

Ishikawa could sense it—Kimijima's 7.0-level mental acuity hinted at deeper, untapped potential.

BAM!

"30–40!"

BAM!

"Game!"

"Japan takes the first set, 6–4!"

The Indians' morale shattered.

Their trust in each other broken, their coordination fell apart. The second set was a massacre—6–0, sealed in under ten minutes.

"Match over." The referee's voice rang out. "Japan's Kajimoto and Kimijima win, 6–4, 6–0!"

The Indian duo collapsed to their knees, defeated.

"Once trust is lost…" Coach Viyas sighed, "...it's hard to rebuild."

Their doubles career had just suffered a fatal blow.

"That young man is dangerous," Viyas muttered, eyeing Kimijima. "He deliberately fed them deceptive spins, stoking their distrust until their teamwork crumbled."

For any doubles pair, he was a nightmare.

And now, India was at a disadvantage. With the first match a draw and this loss, the tournament would likely hinge on the substitute match—a scenario India couldn't afford.

"Kiran." Viyas turned to his bespectacled strategist. "For this next match… use any means necessary to win."

The team tensed at the unspoken implication.

Kiran adjusted his glasses, his expression calm as he studied Japan's next player—a tall, composed figure stepping onto the court.

"Next up: Singles 2."

"India's Kiran Jiraput (12th grade) vs. Japan's Tokugawa Kazuya (11th grade)."

"Players, prepare yourselves."