The next day, Yoru and QP arrived in Tokyo.
Stepping out of the airport, Yoru treated QP to the authentic Tokyo experience—riding the train.
No sane person takes taxis in Japan. Even if you're loaded, you'll cry when you see the fare.
"Want to stay at my place for these three months? I already cleared it with the old man. So—rest first, or head to Seigaku?"
"Let's see your team."
"Was thinking the same. Been gone too long—time to whip things back into shape."
The moment they landed, he'd gotten a text from Kirihara: "Seigaku made it to the Top 8."
Expected.
But the next line? "Team's not doing great."
He could already guess what that meant.
A week without him around—those slackers must've gotten complacent.
Let one slide, and the rest follow. Even if it didn't show at first, the rot would spread.
Whip things into shape?
QP raised an eyebrow. "How's your team?"
"Their mentality's pretty good!"
"...Their skill level?"
"Personalities are decent too."
"Skill. Level."
"They handle pressure well."
"..."
---
Seishun Gakuen (Seigaku)
"Senpai Nishimura, you haven't finished today's drills."
Yamato scowled at Nishimura Komugi, lazing under a tree like a baked potato.
But Nishimura, a veteran slacker, just clutched his stomach dramatically. "Ugh… think I've got heatstroke, Yamato."
Yamato's eye twitched. "How many times this week?"
"He's not sick. He just decided he's trash and gave up."
A cold voice cut in.
Nishimura bristled—until he saw who it was. Then he just yanked his cap over his face. Out of sight, out of mind.
"Kirihara-senpai." Yamato sighed.
Kirihara's glare could've melted steel.
"Pathetic."
"The captain busted his ass to get us ready for Nationals. And you repay him by skipping drills?"
To Kirihara, Yoru's dedication was sacred. Every extra hour the captain spent training them was a debt he owed.
And after just one week gone, the team's discipline was crumbling?
Unforgivable.
"Chill. I'll finish later," came Nishimura's muffled yawn from under the cap.
Within seconds, snores followed.
Yamato and Kirihara exchanged a tired look before walking off.
Across the courts, one-fifth of the team had vanished—probably napping in some corner.
The worst part?
Coach Ryuzaki hadn't lifted a finger. Just half-hearted scoldings, zero consequences.
"This is the real Seigaku. Just focus on yourself."
Kaedō, drenched in sweat from drills, joined them.
As a veteran, he knew some people never changed.
Yoru's training had sparked motivation—for about five minutes.
At the end of the day, hard workers kept grinding (like him), while the lazy stayed lazy.
Some just didn't care about tennis. They were here for the grading points.
"'Drop the savior complex. Let people rot.' That what you're saying, Kaedō-senpai?"
A familiar, icy voice rang out.
All three froze—then whipped around.
Standing behind them was Seigaku's heart and soul… and some blond foreigner.
"CAPTAIN!"
"You're back!"
Kirihara looked ready to cry from relief.
Yoru's gaze swept the courts.
"Let's go. Time to take out the trash."
---
Court 1
The scene was worse than he'd imagined.
"Captain!" Kirihara scrambled to hand him a mic.
Yoru took it.
"ASSEMBLE."
Two words.
Every slacker in the club jolted like they'd been electrocuted.
Those napping fell out of trees.
The ones actually training arrived first. The slackers? Too busy dusting off their laziness to hurry.
Yoru ignored the punctual ones, eyes locked on the stragglers.
When regular player Nishimura Komugi shuffled in late, his disappointment solidified.
Ten minutes later, the entire team stood at attention.
Yoru let the silence stew.
Then:
"Everyone who skipped drills today—double sets. Nishimura Komugi, demoted from regulars. Add two extra rounds."
"Finish it all today—or hand me your resignation forms tomorrow."
Dead. Silence.
Not a single breath.
Yoru's aura was heavier than before he'd left.
"I can't expel you. But I can make your club grades zero. Slack off if you want—enjoy failing."
Gulp.
Not one slacker dared protest.
Yoru paused, daring someone to test him.
No takers.
Satisfied, he stepped aside and gestured to QP.
"Meet QP. From Germany. New Seigaku regular, effective now."
Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the team.
But no one dared object.
"I know some of you think you're better."
Yoru's smirk was razor-sharp.
"Ten matches. Pick any ten players. If one of you beats him, I'll step down as captain."
He tossed the mic to Kirihara.
"Referee."
"Yes, sir!"
With that, Yoru headed to the coach's office, paperwork in hand.
The moment he disappeared, chaos erupted.
Nishimura and his cronies lunged forward, itching to take their frustration out on QP.
QP just cracked his neck.
This'll be fun.