The next day.
The weather was clear and sunny.
Around the Tokyo Metropolitan Arena, a large crowd had gathered early in the morning.
Among them were representatives from various schools.
Students from Rikkai, Shitenhouji, and Fudomine, dressed in their respective team uniforms, followed their captains through the entrance and into the stadium.
By now, the arena, which could hold up to 20,000 people, was completely packed.
"Is this the scale of a national final?" Shiba, a reporter from Tennis Monthly, was visibly stunned as he stood in the aisle.
"Pretty overwhelming, right?" Kyoji, standing beside him, chuckled. "It's hard to imagine that a match involving just four players at most could draw such a massive crowd."
In fact, Kyoji had experienced a similar shock years ago when he accidentally stumbled upon a tournament in the United States. What made that moment unforgettable was that one of the players in that match was none other than the legendary "Samurai of Tennis," Echizen Nanjiro! That match had turned Kyoji into a lifelong fan of Nanjiro, and he remained one to this day.
"By the way," Kyoji suddenly looked around curiously, "I wonder if Mr. Nanjiro is here to watch this match!"
"That pervert?" Shiba blinked, then nodded.
Indeed, this final was Seigaku's closest shot at a national championship in their history. And among the players was Nanjiro's son, Seigaku's super rookie. Logically, Nanjiro should be here.
However, after scanning the crowd, neither of them spotted the familiar figure.
Meanwhile, outside the arena, as the last few spectators entered, the staff prepared to close the gates.
"Wait!"
A middle-aged man in a black monk's robe and sunglasses rushed over, panting.
"Phew, made it just in time," the man—Nanjiro—sighed in relief. After the staff let him in, he quickly slipped inside.
"Wait, there's one more!"
Just as he entered, another man hurried over.
"Huh?"
Feeling a large shadow loom over him, Nanjiro instinctively frowned and turned to look.
"Hello," the newcomer, a towering man over 2 meters tall, also wearing sunglasses and a white lab coat, greeted him with a smile.
"Ni hao," Nanjiro replied, deliberately altering his tone to sound foreign.
"A foreigner?" The man, U-17's mental training coach, Saito, raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And a foreign monk, no less?"
After exchanging nods, the two men climbed the stairs and entered the stands, coincidentally ending up near where Kyoji and Shiba were standing.
"Huh?" Sensing someone behind him, Shiba turned around and was shocked to see the familiar face. "Nanjiro? You actually came!"
"Mr. Nanjiro?" Kyoji's eyes lit up with excitement. "You're here to watch Ryoma's match, aren't you?"
"I'm not Nanjiro," Nanjiro continued his charade, but Saito, standing beside him, had already seen through the disguise. His eyes gleamed with interest. *'Echizen Nanjiro? The legendary tennis player?'*
He hadn't expected to stumble upon such a surprise before even watching the middle school national finals.
"And you are?" Shiba asked, curious about the tall man beside Nanjiro.
"You can call me Saito," the man replied with a smile. He didn't use a fake name, but he also didn't reveal his true identity.
"Nice to meet you," Kyoji and Shiba nodded politely.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the final match of the National Middle School Tennis Championship is about to begin!"
The announcer's voice echoed through the stadium.
"Please welcome Tokyo's Hyotei Academy and Tokyo's Seigaku Academy!"
From the east and west entrances, the two teams emerged, led by their coaches, Tōru and Ryūzaki. One team wore gray, the other blue.
"It's finally starting!" Kyoji said solemnly as he watched the two teams take the court. "Seigaku is the only team left that can stop Hyotei from claiming the championship."
"True," Shiba agreed.
Although Seigaku had lost to Hyotei twice since the regional tournaments, they were now the only team in the nation capable of stopping Hyotei's dominance. Despite being the underdogs, they had drawn their swords and were ready to fight to the end.
"The middle school national championship, huh?" Saito, who had been observing the players, chuckled inwardly.
He didn't show it, though. After all, the level of competition he was used to overseeing was on a completely different scale.
Still, he was slightly surprised to see the legendary Nanjiro, disguised as an ordinary spectator, showing genuine interest in the match.
"That reporter mentioned something about Nanjiro's son playing in this match. Is that him?" Saito's eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"Let's have a good match!"
At the net, the two team captains led their players in a bow, exchanging pre-match courtesies.
Then, Atobe and Tezuka shook hands. The two top players locked eyes, and for a moment, it felt as if sparks were flying.
The atmosphere on the court grew tense.
"Tezuka," Atobe said with a confident smile, "I'm curious where you'll be positioned in this match."
"You'll find out soon enough," Tezuka replied calmly.
His icy demeanor and commanding presence made Atobe slightly uncomfortable.
Atobe could sense that Tezuka, like himself, was a natural leader. But just like the poles of a magnet, when two equally strong forces came too close, they repelled each other.
As they released their handshake, Tezuka's sharp gaze lingered on Atobe. He, too, felt the immense pressure radiating from his opponent.
"These two are the captains?"
In the stands, representatives from schools like St. Rudolph, Yamabuki, and Rokkaku watched the exchange with awe.
In a way, these two could be considered the strongest captains in the nation.
"Too bad," Saeki from Rokkaku sighed. "Tezuka will definitely be in Singles 1, while Atobe is likely in Singles 2."
It was a classic case of kings and generals facing off, but unfortunately, the two wouldn't be directly competing against each other in this match.
"Now, the Singles 3 match will begin!"
As the players retreated to their respective benches, the announcer's voice rang out again:
"Hyotei Academy's Atobe Keigo vs. Seigaku Academy's Tezuka Kunimitsu. Please prepare!"
The crowd erupted in surprise.
Everyone's eyes widened as they focused on the two tall, confident figures stepping onto the court, rackets in hand.
Step. Step.
As the two players entered the court, the Seigaku and Hyotei teams cheered for their captains.
Unsurprisingly, Hyotei's larger fanbase gave them the edge in volume.
However, Atobe didn't perform his usual flamboyant gestures, like tossing his jacket or snapping his fingers. Instead, he walked onto the court with a serious expression, his gaze locked on Tezuka. Tezuka, in turn, kept his eyes on Atobe.
Both captains could feel the intensity of the other's presence.
Even before the match began, the tension on the court was palpable.
"Let the match begin."
After a brief coin toss to determine the serve, the two players retreated to their respective baselines. The referee confirmed their readiness and announced:
"Atobe Keigo of Hyotei to serve. First game!"
"I can't believe it's starting with these two!" Shiba clenched her fists in excitement.
"Indeed," Kyoji nodded. "Both teams clearly want to secure the first game to boost their morale."
"Kyoji-senpai," Shiba turned to him, curiosity shining in her eyes. "Who do you think will win?"
"It's hard to say," Kyoji shook his head. "Both are incredibly strong, and their styles seem similar. It's impossible to predict the outcome, but one thing's for sure—this match will be even more intense than Hyotei's Singles 3 match against Shitenhouji!"
Another clash of captains, but this one promised to be even more thrilling.
"Is it really that big of a deal?"
Saito, standing nearby, shook his head inwardly. To him, this was just a middle school match. Having managed and led high school teams on international tours, he found this level of competition underwhelming.
Even the high school national championship, which someone like Mouri had won, didn't impress him much.
His thoughts shifted as he focused on Atobe, who was bouncing a tennis ball on the court. "After all, how strong can a middle school match really be?"
Whoosh!
Atobe tossed the ball high into the air.
He leaned back, his body arching like a bow, his racket held low at a 90-degree angle to the ground.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
At the same time, a kaleidoscope of colors swirled in Atobe's eyes.
"Tannhäuser..."
Swish!
The moment the ball reached its peak, Atobe's eyes sharpened. Like a spring coiled to its limit, he snapped forward, his racket slicing through the air as he struck the ball with precision.
"Serve!!!"
Crack!
The ball shot forward like an arrow, clearing the net and curving sharply downward to land precisely on the service line.
"Not bad," Saito murmured, impressed by the serve's accuracy. "This level could earn him a spot in the U-17's second string, Court 5. But that's about it—wait, what?!"
Sssss...
The ball, after bouncing, skidded low and fast, barely rising off the ground.
"H-how is this possible?!" Saito's eyes widened in disbelief. "A middle schooler pulled off a serve like that?!"
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