Across the U-17 training camp, fierce clashes erupted between the middle schoolers of the second string and the elite first-string high schoolers.
While some of the second-string players were overwhelmed, others staged stunning upsets. The gap between middle and high schoolers still existed—but it was now visible, tangible.
"Tch."
On one of the courts, golden maple leaves drifted lazily to the ground.
A high schooler in a baseball cap scowled at the figure standing across the net.
"Where the hell are Udon and Toshio? Sending a middle schooler to greet us?"
His sharp eyes raked over his opponent—a boy in a black jacket, a blue-gray cap pulled low over his face.
"So this is the famed first string?"
Shishido Ryou smirked.
"Honestly… unimpressive."
"Arrogant brat!"
Akutsu Jin, the hot-tempered high schooler, glared back.
"I don't know how you ended up here, but if you're stepping onto this court, you'd better be ready for the consequences."
He locked eyes with Shishido, voice dripping with challenge.
"You got the guts for that?"
"Guts?"
Shishido's smirk widened.
"Funny. The one thing I do have is plenty of nerve."
He'd been waiting for this moment—the chance to face the first string head-on.
Skill-wise, Shishido had long since crossed into the national level. His "loss" in the elimination tournament a month ago? A deliberate move to let Ootori advance instead.
But on the mental training cliffs, against Oni's overwhelming power, he'd tasted the brutal gap between middle and high schoolers.
So for the past month, he'd pushed himself to the limit—training relentlessly, all for this moment.
The match began.
Akutsu, as the first-string player, gestured for Shishido to serve first.
Boom!
A bullet-like serve streaked over the net.
"Not bad speed." Akutsu nodded. "But still just middle-school level."
With a casual flick, he returned it.
But Shishido was already moving—a lightning-fast half-volley before the ball even touched the ground.
Boom!
The shot rocketed to Akutsu's backhand.
"What—?!"
Akutsu barely reacted in time. But the moment he returned it, Shishido struck again—another half-volley, this time to the opposite corner.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Shishido's rhythm was relentless, seamless.
Caught off guard, Akutsu scrambled, barely keeping up.
"15–0."
Shishido's voice was laced with quiet mockery.
"Tell me, senpai… is this all the first string has?"
"You little—!"
Akutsu's temper flared, even as he forced himself to stay calm.
A middle schooler… looking down on me?!
He exhaled sharply. Fine. If this kid wanted a lesson, he'd give him one.
The next serve came.
Akutsu lunged forward, mimicking Shishido's own style—a sharp half-volley return.
But Shishido was faster.
A super jump—hitting the ball mid-air before it even bounced.
"What?!" Akutsu's eyes widened.
The rallies intensified. Despite Akutsu's experience, Shishido's speed and precision kept him on the back foot.
Ten minutes in, the score stood at 3–1—Shishido leading.
"Enough."
Akutsu's aura shifted, his gaze turning razor-sharp.
"Time to show you what the first string really is."
His restraint lifted—60% power limit released.
Speed, strength, technique—all surged.
Monitoring Room.
"Akutsu's getting serious?" Takuzou raised an eyebrow.
"Aside from Tachibana, another middle schooler's pushing him this far?"
"Wrong."
Saitou shook his head.
**"It's not the middle schooler forcing Akutsu's hand. It's the other way around—Akutsu's the one unleashing Shishido's true strength."**
Kurobe nodded.
"Shishido Ryou. Third-year regular at Hyoutei Academy."
Hyoutei.
That name made Takuzou pause.
Before, "regular" status meant little to him. But now?
Hiyoshi—who'd shattered Hirakoba's racket—wasn't even a starter at Hyoutei.
That alone spoke volumes about the "Hyoutei regular" title's worth.
On the court, Akutsu's onslaught intensified.
Using his experience and unleashed power, he clawed back points, tying the score.
"Hmph."
Catching his breath, Akutsu shot Shishido a cold smile.
"Told you. Challenge me, and you'll fall straight into the abyss."
"Senpai… you've got it backwards."
Shishido tilted his head, eyes gleaming.
"I'm just disappointed. If this is all the first string has… well, that's just sad."
"You—!"
Akutsu's temper spiked—until a deep blue aura erupted around Shishido.
Compared to the national tournament, his "Limit Break" had evolved—denser, fiercer.
"Let's see if you can handle this month's training results."
Akutsu's smirk vanished.
No more underestimating. He dropped into a defensive stance—ready for war.
Boom!
Shishido's next serve was a blur.
Akutsu barely blocked it—but the follow-up shot blew past him.
Ten minutes later, Shishido's final smash sealed the match.
"Game. 6–3."
Calm. Matter-of-fact.
Shishido turned away without even claiming Akutsu's badge—leaving the high schooler frozen in shock.
"This… this is a middle schooler's strength?!"
A 6–3 loss—to a kid.
Unthinkable.
Monitoring Room.
"They've gotten this strong under the Head Coach's training?" Takuzou muttered.
If the earlier wins had hints of luck, this was pure domination.
"That's only part of it."
Saitou crossed his arms.
"Even before the camp, Shishido was a top-tier middle schooler. But under his influence, Hyoutei's players grew at a monstrous rate."
Hyoutei.
Takuzou exhaled.
If he'd trained under that monster's shadow, he'd have pushed himself to the brink too.
"Look at Court 23."
Kurobe's voice cut in.
"Another Hyoutei regular's match… just started."
Their screens switched to a bespectacled boy with navy-blue hair—Oshitari Yuushi.
And opposite him?
A dark-skinned high schooler, his hair tied back in thick dreadlocks.
"No. 11… Fuwa Kanata?!"
Court 23.
"Heh."
Fuwa Kanata—1st String's No. 11—smirked.
"To think I'd be 'welcomed' by a middle schooler. How far I've fallen."
"No. 11, huh?"
Oshitari adjusted his glasses, smiling.
"Guess I lucked out."
Inui had said these pre-shuffle matches were just appetizers—featuring players ranked 11th to 20th.
And No. 11?
The strongest of the bunch.
"Let me introduce—"
"Skip it."
Fuwa waved him off.
"No interest in small fry. Let's just get this over with."
"Sure."
Unfazed, Oshitari stepped onto the court.
Fuwa's eyes narrowed.
Most people would bristle at that dismissal—anger, nerves, something.
But this kid?
Totally unbothered.
Either he was confident… or hiding fear too well.
"Well, well."
Fuwa grinned as Oshitari took his position.
"Let's see what you've got."
Boom!
Oshitari's serve was deceptively light—fast, almost soundless.
"Hoh?"
Fuwa returned it—then felt the fierce spin hidden beneath.
"Clever. That spin would wreck most players."
But Fuwa was no amateur. With a sharp twist, he redirected the ball to Oshitari's backhand—a near-certain winner.
Yet Oshitari was already there, effortlessly neutralizing the spin.
And aiming straight for Fuwa's own backhand.
"You little—!"
A blatant challenge.
Fuwa retaliated, upping the power—but Oshitari matched him, stroke for stroke.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Minutes in, Fuwa's smirk faded.
This kid wasn't just holding his own—he looked comfortable.
"Hmph!"
Fuwa intensified his shots—heavier spin, sharper angles.
Finally, Oshitari faltered, forced into a weak lob.
"This is your limit?"
Fuwa leapt, smashing downward—
Only for Oshitari to spin around, arms spread like wings.
Boom!
The ball arced high—landing dead on the service line.
"…You baited me?!"
Fuwa's expression darkened.
For the first time, No. 11 looked genuinely serious.