Time flew by.
Three days had passed.
While the atmosphere at the U-17 training camp remained unchanged, the expedition team led by Ishikawa had already left the Maldives after a short break and headed to their final destination—Macau, China.
Unlike most U-17 teams, China's setup was unique. In addition to the main national team, there were three other registered squads: Macau, Hong Kong, and Taipei.
However, apart from the main team and Taipei, the other two teams were relatively weak.
This final match against Macau was more of a friendly exhibition than a serious competition.
After discussing with Mitsuya, Ishikawa decided to field the bottom ten players from Japan's first-string lineup. After three days of rest, they were fully recovered—especially the Marui brothers, who hadn't gotten a chance to play in the Maldives. The moment they stepped off the plane, they were already itching for action.
Normally, the expedition team would take a day to rest before a match.
But this time, the venue and timing were… unusual.
That night, when the team followed the staff to the top of a skyscraper, they were stunned.
"We're playing… up here?" Genjiro gaped.
They stood atop the tallest building in the city, surrounded by flashing neon lights. Above them, helicopters circled noisily.
Whoosh—!
The fierce winds at this height made everyone tense.
"This environment will truly test a player's skills," Mitsuya, the team's strategist, remarked solemnly. "Wind speed, visibility, and overcoming the fear of heights—this won't be easy for outsiders."
The top ten players remained unfazed, but the lower-ranked members—especially Akitsuki—flinched slightly.
"Don't worry," Ishikawa reassured them. "Just treat this as a normal match and play freely."
"That's right," even the usually silent Mouri chimed in. "Focus on the game. Ignore everything else."
Hearing this, Hakamada and Hirazen took deep breaths, steadying themselves.
Soon, a group of players in white-and-green jackets (emblazoned with lotus designs) approached.
Fully aware of Japan's dominant winning streak, they looked tense.
The match began.
The Macau team fought hard, but they were outmatched from the start.
- Singles 3: Mitsuya won 6-3, 2-6, 3-6 with ease.
- Doubles 2: The powerhouse duo of Date and Ban overwhelmed their opponents—one even had to retire mid-match due to a wrist injury.
- Singles 2: The Macau player went all out, launching desperate, high-risk attacks.
Whoosh—!
The howling winds at this height made every shot unpredictable.
His bold playstyle earned him the first set: 6-4 against Furuhata Iron.
But in the second set, Furuhata got serious.
Lifting his self-imposed 60% power limit, he matched his opponent's aggression with his own relentless offense.
The two clashed in a fierce exchange, but Furuhata's superior fundamentals prevailed. He took the second set 6-3.
Defeat was inevitable.
The Macau player's fighting spirit wavered, replaced by despair. Though the crowd's cheers briefly reignited his resolve, it wasn't enough.
BAM!
In a last-ditch effort, he unleashed his strongest technique.
"Bold move, attacking against the wind," Furuhata smirked. Then, his eyes snapped open.
BAM!
With a sharp counter, he returned the shot with identical trajectory—but now, aided by the wind, the ball blasted past his opponent.
THUD!
The Macau player collapsed, struck by his own move.
Chaos erupted.
Medical staff rushed in, and after a quick examination, the player was carried off on a stretcher.
The referee exchanged glances with Macau's head coach, ready to call the match—
"Hm?"
But then, a black-jacketed young man casually strolled onto Macau's side of the court.
"Who…?"
Even the head coach was baffled.
Was this guy one of theirs?
But he had no memory of such a player.
Was he from Japan?
But the match was already over!
Both teams assumed the stranger belonged to the other side.
"Oh?"
Hearing no announcement, Furuhata smirked. "What's this? A last-minute substitution?"
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The stranger stood at the baseline, casually tossing a ball—
Wait.
Not a ball.
An orange.
"Switch out. You're no match for me."
His words, spoken in flawless Japanese, stunned Furuhata.
"This guy…"
Squinting past the glare, Furuhata noticed the stranger's jacket wasn't Macau's green—it was black.
"A gatecrasher?"
Furuhata's expression darkened.
Whoever this was, he was clearly here to challenge Japan.
As the strongest of the bottom ten, Furuhata wasn't about to back down.
And that condescending tone?
It pissed him off.
"Now I get why Enjou's always so irritable," he muttered, grinning. "Fine. I'll 'interrogate' you with my racket."
"Heh."
The stranger smirked.
Then—
He tossed the orange and smashed it toward Furuhata.
"Bring it!"
Furuhata dashed forward, ready to return it with full force—
"Huh?!"
But at the last second, he realized—
That wasn't a tennis ball.
It was just an orange.
"You've got to be kidding me!"
Furious, Furuhata swung harder, determined to teach this arrogant fool a lesson—
CRACK!
The moment his racket connected—
His face twisted in shock.
"This… power…? IMPOSSIBLE—!"
BOOM!
A deafening explosion of force erupted.
Furuhata was blown backward, crashing into the skyscraper's glass wall—which shattered into spiderweb cracks on impact.
"FURUHATA!!"
The Japanese team panicked.
Date and Ban rushed to check on him, while Hakamada—originally slated for Singles 1—raised his racket in fury.
"You bastard! What did you do?!"
But unlike his usual hotheadedness, Hakamada hesitated.
He knew Furuhata was stronger than him.
If this guy one-shotted Furuhata…
Would he even stand a chance?
"Step back, Hakamada."
A calm voice cut through the tension.
"You're no match for him."
Hakamada exhaled in relief.
Footsteps.
A tall, black-and-red-jacketed figure walked onto the court—Ishikawa.
"Finally," the stranger grinned. "I had zero interest in those small fries. But you? The one who replaced Byoudouin? Now you've got my attention."
"Sir," the referee interrupted sternly. "This area is restricted. If you want to play, find another venue."
Ishikawa turned to Macau's head coach.
"May we borrow the court for a quick… private matter?"
After a pause, the coach nodded. "Make it fast."
"Thanks."
Ishikawa then faced the stranger.
"We're short on time. If you want a match, we either reschedule—or settle this in one point."
"One point it is."
The stranger—Ryoga Echizen, the rogue American player who had wreaked havoc in the Philippines—smirked.
His original target had been Byoudouin.
But with Ishikawa taking the lead, his curiosity was piqued.
He'd traveled all this way to test this new prodigy—and eliminate any potential threats.
"Since we're in a hurry," Ryoga said, "serve whenever you're ready."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Ishikawa bounced the ball calmly.
The Japanese team tensed.
The Macau squad watched in awe.
Even the head coach leaned forward, sensing something extraordinary.
"This match…"
Might just redefine their understanding of tennis.
Whoosh—
Ishikawa tossed the ball—
And swung.
THWACK!
The serve blurred, trailing a faint ghostly glow.
"This technique…?"
The Japanese team recognized it instantly.
"No, wait!" Mouri realized. "This isn't 'Phantom' or 'Karma'—it doesn't affect us!"
But Mouri's sharp eyes caught something else—
A subtle pulse of mental energy, reminiscent of India's "Phantom Strike".
"Could it be…?"
His gaze locked onto Ishikawa.
"Here it comes."
Ryoga tracked the ball's trajectory—
Then froze.
The glowing tennis ball rippled like water—
And vanished.
"Hmph. Nothing truly disappears."
Ryoga had seen countless "invisible" techniques before.
All were mere illusions.
But then—
SPLASH!
The "water" erupted.
A tall, black-clad figure emerged—
Long hair tied back, wielding a racket like a samurai sword.
Ryoga's blood ran cold.
"F-Father?!"
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