"W-why...?"

Struggling to free himself from the wall, Sharva staggered, his body swaying unsteadily. Sweat dripped from his disheveled hair as he glared at Ishikawa, his voice hoarse. "How... did you do that?"

In that last moment, he had sensed something—an eerie pulse of spiritual energy radiating from Ishikawa's shot.

But what shocked him even more was the sheer force behind it. The ball had ripped through his racket like paper, yet when it struck the ground, it left no mark. No impact. Nothing.

"Cough... cough..."

Nearby, Kiran, still on his knees, choked as he forced himself up, his face flushed. "His control... is this monstrous?"

His eyes darted toward Ishikawa, fear flickering in his gaze. None of the players wanted to relive the agony they had just endured—a searing pain that had crawled through their veins like fire, as if thousands of ants were gnawing at their flesh. The mere memory of it sent shivers down their spines.

"His shots are like karma itself," muttered Coach Vyas, his face pale with sweat as he sat on the sidelines. "They ignite the darkness within a person's heart, burning them from the inside out. There's no defense against it."

Karma.

A concept deeply rooted in Hinduism and Buddhism—the inescapable force of cause and effect.

What Ishikawa had done was similar to Sharva's own mental interference techniques, but with one crucial difference: while Sharva preyed on fear, Ishikawa targeted the malice hidden within a person's soul.

Fear could be overcome with sheer willpower.

But malice?

That was far more insidious. No matter how strong a player was physically, if their spirit faltered, they would crumble under the weight of their own sins.

"K-Karma?!"

The Indian players shuddered as realization dawned. Their eyes locked onto Ishikawa, dread seeping deeper into their bones.

How could anyone resist such a technique?

Even the world's top players—did they not harbor even a shred of darkness in their hearts?

If so, then did that mean... no one was safe from this?

"As expected of someone who once faced that samurai," Ishikawa mused, glancing at Vyas. Though age had weakened the coach's body, his insight remained razor-sharp.

"Again..."

Sharva forced himself upright, his voice trembling but determined.

Still fighting?

The Japanese team exchanged surprised glances. They had assumed he would forfeit.

Yet despite his battered state, Sharva's eyes burned with defiance. Say what you would about his skills, but his spirit as a captain was undeniable.

Thud!

"0-40!"

Thud!

"Game and first set: Japan's Ishikawa wins, 6-0!"

By the end of the first set, Sharva could barely stand. But he refused to surrender.

As the second set began, he mustered every ounce of strength he had left and swung.

"Good," Vyas murmured, nodding approvingly. "The flames of karma aren't purely destructive. Endure this, Tarun, and you'll emerge stronger."

He knew India had already lost.

But as the saying went—when one door closes, another opens. The flames weren't just burning Sharva's body; they were purifying him. If he could withstand this trial, his mental fortitude would reach new heights.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The match was a massacre.

Against Ishikawa's relentless onslaught, Sharva stood no chance. Within five minutes, he had lost five straight games.

Now, in the sixth game—Ishikawa's serve—the outcome was inevitable.

Three aces.

"40-0!"

The crowd fell silent.

This was match point.

"I can't watch..." One Indian player turned away, unable to bear the humiliation of seeing their captain utterly dismantled.

The others wore expressions of despair.

Who could've imagined that their strongest player, on home soil, wouldn't even score a single point?

Sharva felt their pity like knives stabbing into his chest.

"No!" The rightful source is novel_fіre.net

His fists clenched.

"I can't end like this!"

"Just one point... I have to take one point from him!"

"Tarun Sharva—you're better than this!"

Desperately, he called upon his faith, visualizing the gods Brahma and Shiva. And miraculously, his fading spirit began to stabilize.

"Yes!"

A spark of hope ignited in his chest.

He was recovering!

"Ishikawa...!"

Sharva widened his stance, gripping his racket tightly.

"Come at me!"

"I will return this!"

His focus sharpened, his senses returning to their peak.

On the other side of the court, Ishikawa lightly bounced the ball, studying his opponent.

"Oh? Recovered already?"

A faint smirk played on his lips.

"Let's see if your 'gods' can save you now."

Swish—!

With a casual flick of his wrist, he served.

A straight shot—simple, direct.

"Huh?!"

The spectators blinked in confusion. Hadn't Ishikawa only used this basic serve in the very first game?

"He's mocking us!" An Indian player snarled.

Kiran and Roha remained silent.

In tennis, strength dictated everything. Without power, pride was meaningless.

And Ishikawa's "simple" serve wasn't so simple after all.

Sharva's eyes narrowed as he tracked the ball's trajectory.

"No spin... no tricks..."

He scanned the court for loose pebbles—nothing.

Confident, he adjusted his stance and swung—

"Huh?!"

The ball curved mid-air, veering sharply away from his racket.

Tap... tap...

It rolled to a stop at his feet.

Sharva's face went pale.

"An... irregular bounce?!"

Frantically, he checked the spot where the ball had landed.

No pebbles. No irregularities.

Just smooth, unmarked clay.

"S-So..."

His throat went dry as he stared at Ishikawa in horror.

"His skill... is that advanced?!"

At that moment, something inside him shattered.

The divine figures he had clung to—Brahma, Shiva—their images fractured like glass in his mind.

Thud.

His legs gave out.

He collapsed to his knees, his faith crumbling.

"This boy..."

Coach Vyas's hands trembled as he watched.

For a fleeting second, he saw him—the shadow of a man who had once crushed him decades ago.

"The... the Samurai?!"

"Game, set, and match!"

The umpire's voice boomed across the stadium.

"Japan's Ishikawa wins, 6-0, 6-0!"

Boooo—!

The crowd erupted in jeers, their faces twisted in disbelief. They had come expecting a triumphant victory, only to witness their champion reduced to nothing.

Yet when their furious gazes landed on Ishikawa—calmly walking away—their voices died in their throats.

"The U17 exhibition match between India and Japan concludes with Japan's victory, three wins to one!"

The announcement sealed their defeat.

[Ding!]

A chime echoed in Ishikawa's mind.

[Player has defeated boss-level opponent Tarun Sharva. Reward: 14,000 EXP.]

[Player has acquired dropped skill: "Phantom Strike – Illusion."]

"Oh?"

Ishikawa's brow arched slightly.

He had expected one of Sharva's aura-based techniques, but luck had granted him something even better—his opponent's ultimate move.

Phantom Strike: Illusion.

Unlike his own Karma Flames, which only affected those burdened by guilt, Illusion preyed on fear—universal and inescapable.

At higher levels, its potency would be terrifying.

Combined with Karma Flames, the two techniques would cover each other's weaknesses.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he wondered who would be the first to experience this deadly duo.

With their victory secured, Ishikawa and his team boarded a flight to their next destination—the Maldives, a tropical paradise 600 kilometers south of India.

This was part of the coaches' plan: three days of relaxation, with friendly matches against the local U17 team to give the reserve players some action.

After that, they would head to their final stop—the highest-ranked nation in East Asia.

As the plane soared through the clouds, Ishikawa leaned back, strategizing how to maximize Illusion and Karma Flames.

Meanwhile, on a training court in Southeast Asia, a green-haired teen scoffed as he surveyed the unconscious bodies of an entire national team.

"Pathetic."

He checked his phone, scrolling through his target's itinerary.

A grin spread across his face.

"Finally... someone worth my time."