Danji Date was the first to rush to Ishida Gin's side, reaching out to help him up. Though Ishida's face was pale, his eyes still carried that firm resolve. He coughed twice, then—supported by Danji—struggled to his feet and shook his head toward him and the rest of the Japan team, signaling that he was fine.
But Akashi noticed something no one else did—Gin's left hand was trembling ever so slightly. That definitely wasn't normal. It was obvious that the last exchange had caused damage to his arm.
"Still planning to push through? Or… can you even keep going?" Akashi asked quietly, stepping up beside him as Ishida replaced his broken racket.
"Don't worry, Akashi-kun! I won't go down that easily!" Ishida smiled at him, pressing his palms together in a small bow before walking back toward the court.
Akashi sighed softly. Using the Emperor Eye, he had already seen what was happening—Gin's left arm was suffering from muscle spasms, his body trying desperately to self-correct from the strain of overexertion.
If he kept using that level of power nonstop, it would soon lead to a muscle tear—or worse, a rupture. For a power-type player, that was fatal. But Akashi also knew—there was no stopping him now. All he could do was watch closely, ready to intervene if it came to that.
As Ishida returned to his position, Federer took a deep breath, tossed up the ball, and swung down hard. The moment his racket struck, sparks burst from the strings, and the ball shot forward like a heavy cannon shell.
"Heavy Artillery Bombardment!"
A surge of blue aura exploded from Ishida's body as he slid across the baseline. In an instant, he reached the landing point, muscles tensing again as his left arm swelled with power. He poured everything he had into that swing.
"Final Hadoukyu!"
The ball flattened from the crushing force between the two sides, then detonated into a massive yellow shockwave that tore across the court toward the Swiss team.
Federer and Randy Pugu exchanged a look. They both stepped forward, raised their rackets together, and met the impact head-on. The next instant, the yellow shockwave vanished—replaced by a roaring red cyclone.
The scarlet vortex swept across the court like a storm, ripping straight toward the Japan side. Before Ishida and Danji could react, they were lifted off the ground and thrown violently out of bounds.
"40–0!"
Federer didn't give them even a moment to breathe. He tossed up another ball and unleashed another devastating serve. Ishida forced his aching body to move, swinging with everything left in him. Though he managed to return the serve, the strength behind his Hadoukyu was clearly weaker.
The red cyclone returned once again, carrying the full might of both Federer and Pugu. Even as Danji and Ishida fought with all they had, they couldn't avoid being blasted away once more.
"Game! Switzerland! 4–1! Change ends!"
During the break, no one from the Japan team dared to speak to Danji or Ishida. This was their only chance to recover. Even Coach Mifune stayed silent, while Akashi directed the medical staff to massage both players' arms to restore circulation as quickly as possible.
Japan still held a strong lead, but anyone with keen eyes could see it—the Swiss duo hadn't even used their full strength before. Meanwhile, Danji and Ishida already looked like they were running on fumes.
"Hmm… purely in terms of power, those two from Switzerland might be the number one doubles pair in the whole tournament," Nanjirō murmured from the stands, watching the Swiss team intently.
"I wonder how far Japan can go this year," he added with a grin. "But once that brat Ryōma's done training in the States… next World Cup, Japan's gonna be unstoppable." His eyes flashed sharply as he spoke, a glint of fierce pride in them.
Before long, the timeout ended. Danji and Ishida stepped back onto the court. This time, it was Danji's serve. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his wrist, he swung down hard.
"Man's Winter!"
Randy clearly hadn't expected that move to be used for a serve. Caught off guard, his racket was blasted right out of his hand. But even such a powerful serve couldn't reverse the match's momentum.
"Ace! 15–0!"
"15–15!"
"15–30!"
"15–40!"
"30–40!"
"Game! Switzerland! 4–2!"
After Federer and Pugu went all out, Switzerland quickly took the sixth game, while Danji and Ishida managed to scrape together only two points—and that was mostly because their opponents got careless. Otherwise, they wouldn't have even earned one. The gap in power between the two sides was now painfully obvious.
Still, Danji and Ishida refused to give up. Even as exhaustion weighed on them, they continued to fight head-on against the Swiss pair. Explosions echoed across the court, clouds of dust and smoke filled the air—any outsider might've thought they were watching a battlefield instead of a tennis match.
"Finishing Move—Man's Winter!"
"Final Hadoukyu!"
Their roars mixed with the thunderous detonations, voices filled with fierce determination. Even the spectators could feel the reckless resolve of the two men who were fighting without fear of breaking themselves.
"Game! Switzerland! 4–3!"
"Game! Switzerland! 4–4!"
But despite their fighting spirit, it was nothing more than a desperate struggle. Against the overwhelming might of Federer and Pugu, their resistance couldn't change a thing. The Japan team on the sidelines could only watch with heavy expressions—they all knew deep down that the match was slipping away.
Switzerland had won four consecutive games, tying the score. The blow to Japan's morale was devastating. Danji and Ishida were drenched in sweat, panting hard, their bodies trembling from exhaustion.
When the ninth game began, it was Federer's serve again. As the ball shot across the court, Danji's eyes widened—its power hadn't lessened at all. After eight full games, Federer still showed no sign of fatigue.
"Damn it! Are those two even human? After so many explosive hits, their strength hasn't dropped one bit! This is bad!" Danji muttered between gritted teeth as he returned the serve.
"Looks like you two are barely holding on. Let's wrap this up," Pugu said with a faint smile, stepping toward the net.
The next moment, a massive red pillar of light exploded from his racket—his Full Power: Shattered Star. Ishida moved to intercept, but Danji was faster.
With a shout, Danji gripped his racket tightly with both hands and met the incoming ball. The impact forced the strings deep inward, his body shuddering from the sheer force. His feet skidded back, carving two black burn marks across the court from friction.
He barely managed to block the ball, but the recoil sent him tumbling backward. Ishida quickly caught him, steadying his fall—but the returned ball soared high above the court.
Both Federer and Pugu leapt into the air simultaneously. Their rackets crashed down together, smashing into the ball from above. This time, the red cyclone didn't move horizontally—it spiraled downward from the sky, engulfing both Danji and Ishida in its raging storm.
"15–0!"
As the umpire called the score, Danji and Ishida were once again hurled out of bounds. The difference in raw strength was now an unbridgeable gulf. Akashi's sharp eyes kept flicking to their arms, ready to call for the match to be stopped at any second.
———
"Game! 6–4! First set complete! Winner: United States! Overall score, 1–0!"
Meanwhile, at the match between the United States and Greece, Kiko had turned the tables alongside Rocky. After landing the final shot, Kiko crouched down and rolled up his pant legs—they'd come loose during the intense rally.
"Try changing your approach, Taranta. Otherwise, in the second set, you'll just keep getting led around by your opponents," Zeus said firmly, watching Hercules return to the bench.
"I know, Zeus-sama. That American high schooler read both my movements and Papadopoulos's intentions completely. But changing habits and tactics in such a short time isn't easy," Hercules admitted grimly.
"We understand that," Hermes replied in a calm tone. "Just do what you can. Even if things don't turn around, Greece still has a strong chance of winning overall."
On the other side, at the U.S. bench, Ryōma watched Kiko walk back with a thoughtful expression. The style looked familiar—strikingly similar to Irie-senpai's. Ryōma remembered clearly the first time he faced Irie after entering the camp—that suffocating feeling of having every move completely seen through.
He'd heard before that Kiko was exceptionally strong, known as the ever-changing trickster, but he'd never truly understood what made him so special. They'd never played a training match together—until now.
In truth, Ryōma's observation wasn't entirely correct. Kiko's style was more like a fusion of Sengoku and Irie—his luck rivaled Sengoku's, and his fluidity matched Kikumaru and Mukahi's. A player like that was unpredictable… and a nightmare to face.