The crowd was no longer just loud—it was thunder, crashing against Ren's skull with every chant of Kaza-ma! Kaza-ma!
The scoreboard glared: 3–0.
Ren wiped his palms against his shorts. His racket felt heavier than ever. Across the net, Ryuji stood as if untouched by fatigue, shoulders loose, eyes calm.
"Ready?" the priest asked.
Ren nodded once. His throat was too dry for words.
The first rally began—Ryuji's serve, wide to the corner. Ren lunged, strings biting just enough to float it back.
The Dragon's reply came instantly: a forehand smash angled at the glass. Ren sprinted, knees screaming. The ball ricocheted high, and somehow—somehow—his Vortex racket kissed it clean back into play.
Gasps rippled through the stadium.
Another shot. Another chase. His HUD jittered:
[Stamina Drain: −3]
[Warning: Threshold Exceeded]
But his legs kept moving. His breath became rhythm.
Don't think. Just breathe. One more. One more.
The rally stretched—ten balls, twenty, thirty. The crowd shifted from chants to silence, watching the impossible.
At ball fifty, Ren's lungs felt like knives. His grip screamed for release. Yet his body obeyed. The Oracle HUD pulsed faintly:
[Endless Rally Lv.1 — Active]
[Duration Extended by Resolve]
Shizuka gripped the railing so tight her knuckles whitened. "Idiot... he's burning himself alive."
Maria leaned forward, voice low. "But look—he's not breaking."
Mio's lips moved soundlessly: Please... don't fall, Ren.
At ball seventy, Ryuji's expression finally changed. Not mockery. Not boredom. But a flicker of intent. He accelerated.
Eighty. Ninety.
Ren's entire world shrank to the sound of bounce, swing, breath.
Ball one hundred—Ryuji launched a towering smash, the kind meant to end all resistance. Ren staggered, eyes nearly blacking out—then his racket face found the ball, redirecting it to kiss the baseline.
The stadium exploded.
He collapsed a second later, knees giving way, chest heaving. The rally was over—the point still lost after Ryuji closed with a volley—but the crowd's roar had shifted.
It wasn't only "Dragon." It was something else too. Something new.
"Messiah! Messiah! Messiah!"
The scoreboard still showed 4–0. The set was slipping away. But Ren had carved something onto the glass tonight.
Ayaka's voice cracked through the broadcast:
"Ladies and gentlemen—Kazama Ryuji may lead, but the Substitute Messiah just survived a hundred-ball rally against the world's #1!"
Ryuji collected the ball calmly, gaze locked on Ren's kneeling form. For the first time, his voice carried a note of respect.
"...Stand up. You're not done yet."
Ren's chest burned, vision blurred, but his lips moved, forming the words he had promised himself long ago:
"I'll keep losing forward... until I win for real."
The Dragon smiled faintly. And the next game began.