The atmosphere on the court was tense.
Gedō Gaichūchi tightened his grip on his racket.
He'd expected QP to be strong—but not this overwhelming right from the first point.
He needed to focus harder.
---
QP paid no attention to the reactions around him. He simply walked to the opposite baseline, waiting for the serve.
"You bastard..."
A vein throbbed on Gedō's forehead.
As a delinquent, anger was second nature—and QP's indifference after scoring pissed him off. It was as if victory was a foregone conclusion for him.
"No more power serves."
Gedō took a deep breath.
Angry didn't mean stupid. His heavy serves had too much recovery lag, and QP's returns were too fast—it'd just hand him free points.
If brute force didn't work, there was no point forcing it.
Thud—!
This time, Gedō went for a standard flat serve, aiming precisely for the corner.
Yet—
BAM!
The moment the ball bounced, a figure blurred into position—
A sharp, ruthless return streaked across the court, landing at the farthest possible point from Gedō.
With heavy topspin, the ball kicked off the ground even faster—leaving zero room for a counter.
Hell, Gedō barely twitched his shoulder before the ball was already out of bounds.
"QP scores! 30–0!"
The umpire's call was swift.
"This kid..."
Banji's usual slit eye sharpened.
"Minimalist, hyper-efficient scoring—definitely German style. But he's perfected it."
No flashy techniques.
Just pure, clinical point-taking. A playstyle that suffocated opponents with pressure.
"Gedō's in trouble."
"Trouble?"
Nanjiro snorted. "You're getting senile, old man. Your player has zero chance of winning."
Banji stayed silent.
Normally, he'd retort with some sly remark—but this time, he knew Nanjiro was right. The gap between Gedō and QP wasn't just wide—it was insurmountable.
Gulp.
Yamabuki's team swallowed hard.
The stadium was eerily quiet. Spectators stared, wanting to comment—but what could they say?
QP's dominance was effortless.
Move. Return. Score.
No theatrics. No wasted motion.
The second point had been as brutally simple as the first—leaving everyone speechless.
"...He's terrifying."
Yamato's pupils trembled.
Facing QP felt like facing Yoru—an abyss of skill with no visible bottom.
During QP's match with Kirihara, he hadn't gone all out. But now?
Every shot radiated cold, calculated perfection.
Thud—!
"40–0!"
Thud—!
"Game! 1–0!"
Same pattern. Same ruthless efficiency. Every return forced Gedō to scramble to the farthest corner.
Each strike carried just enough topspin to accelerate off the bounce—leaving no time to react.
QP was a machine.
A perfect, point-scoring machine.
"Tch. He's even stronger than when I played him."
A lazy voice drawled.
Yamato turned—Kirihara was awake, scratching his crotch.
"Kirihara-senpai! You're up!"
"Just woke up. Can't believe you guys let me sleep through the finals."
Kirihara stretched, then eyed the court. "QP wasn't serious against me—but I could feel his level. Right now? He's on captain's tier."
That statement sent chills down Seigaku's spines.
Their captain was a monster—someone who could crush semi-pros.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Three consecutive strikes.
QP's serve blitzed past Gedō—who didn't even twitch before the ball hit the back fence.
"Wha—... How?!"
Gedō's hands shook.
He'd been laser-focused—yet from swing to impact, the ball was invisible.
"That's on par with my full-speed serves."
Kirihara's comment drew sharp inhales from the team.
Swallowing hard, Yamato whispered, "C-Captain... could you beat QP right now?"
Yoru didn't turn. "If I felt like it? Ten minutes."
"WHAT?!"
Even Kirihara jolted, goosebumps rising.
They'd all thought they were catching up to Yoru—only to realize they hadn't even reached where he'd pissed years ago.
The gap was suffocating.
---
On the court, QP dismantled Gedō point by point.
Thud—!
"2–0!"
...
Thud—!
"3–0!"
...
Thud—!
"5–0!"
By the sixth game, QP served three aces in a row—40–0.
Total match time? Under 10 minutes—including ball retrieval and breaks.
Gedō stood frozen.
Aside from his own serves, he hadn't touched the ball once.
Every shot from QP was a death sentence—the moment the thud echoed, the point was already over.
---
QP tapped his racket against his shoe, mind drifting.
"Under Japanese rules, one more point ends it."
Thud—!
A golden streak blazed across the court.
"Game! Set! 6–0!"
Just like that—QP's victory was sealed.
Final score: 3–1.
Seigaku had won the Metropolitan Championship.
To the crowd, it almost looked like Gedō had thrown the match—if not for QP's inhuman speed.
"...Lost. Just like that."
Gedō stared blankly at the scoreboard.
"Handshake."
QP approached the net, extending his hand.
The cold tone snapped Gedō back to reality—
"SCREW YOUR HANDSHAKE!"
He smacked QP's arm away.
QP didn't react. After a confirming glance from the umpire, he walked off.
With the overall score at 3–1, Yoru didn't even need to play.
"Seigaku wins the Metropolitan Tournament!"
The announcement echoed—
And in that exact moment, a new chime rang in Yoru's mind.
(Rune Reward Acquired!)
---