The first thing Ren noticed was the ceiling—glass panels stretching like a cathedral roof, sunlight refracting into prisms. The National League Entry Hall felt less like a sports venue and more like a shrine.
Banners of past champions draped from towering columns, each stitched with the Sigil of the Glass Star. Holograms hovered above the floor: replays of perfect smashes, names of teams glowing in bright colors. The air buzzed with scouts, journalists, and agents in sleek semi-formal sportwear, their voices a low thunder.
Ren stood frozen at the entrance, cracked racket case hanging from his shoulder. This place... I don't belong here. One mistake and they'll see it instantly.
"Oi!" A hand clapped his back hard. Haru grinned, blond hair messy, glasses fogged from running.
"You're looking like you just stepped into Heaven's buffet, Ren! Relax—just smile like you planned to be here all along."
Ren tried, lips twitching into something that looked more like a grimace.
Daigo exhaled smoke nearby, gruff as always. "Don't grin like an idiot. Stand straight. If you bow your head here, you're already 0–6 down."
Ren swallowed and adjusted his posture. Right. No bowing. Even if my legs feel like glass rods.
A cluster of reporters turned as their badges pinged.
"Hey— that's the 'Substitute Messiah,' right?"
"The one who lost 0–6 but kept swinging?"
"Rumors say he survived Sacred Court duels..."
Flashes popped, holo-drones hovered in for close shots. Ren froze again until Haru threw an arm around his shoulder.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you're looking at the future champion! Japan's pride! My best buddy!"
"Cut it out—!" Ren hissed, face burning.
The crowd laughed, attention half-amused, half-curious. In the middle of it all, Ren noticed one banner unfurl high above—Kazama Ryuji's face, stern and cold, eyes like burning gold. Beneath it, the words:
[Supreme Record: 6–0, 6–0. Undefeated.]
His chest tightened. That's the wall. That's the monster. And I'm supposed to climb that?
Daigo stepped forward to the registration console, pressing Ren's ID. The glass screen pulsed:
[Player Registered: Tachibana Ren — Academy Entry, Street Rank Graduate]
The announcer's voice echoed across the hall.
"Welcome, Tachibana Ren. Welcome to the National League."
Ren stared at his glowing name among hundreds on the digital board. His hands trembled—not from fear, but something else.
I made it here. I really did.
Ren's cracked racket case shines faintly, constellation lines glowing under the artificial lights, as if the Fallen Star itself was acknowledging his first true step.