(Author's Note: Some readers are fixated on age discrepancies. Officially, all character ages are given as ranges—e.g., Ryoma is 12–13 at the start of the series, Tezuka 14–15, Mori 15–16. Exact months aren't specified, so just focus on their grade level.)
[Congratulations, Master! Leading Seigaku to victory in the Metropolitan Tournament! Reward: Random Rune ×1!]
[Claim?]
"Claim."
Winning any major tournament awarded a rune.
This time, Yoru was especially curious.
[Insight Rune Acquired!]
[Insight Rune]:
- All members gain +20% dynamic vision.
- Regular members: +5% reaction speed.
- Regulars: +10% reaction speed.
- Master (Yoru): +15% reaction speed.
Damn.
Another game-changing rune.
Dynamic vision and reaction speed were huge.
Against speed-based players, this was a hard counter.
If you can see it and react but still can't return the shot? That just means your physical stats aren't keeping up.
Kiriharu's about to get nerfed before he even gets to flex.
He hasn't even played a single match with Swift Strike Rune, and now Insight Rune drops.
But to outsiders? It'll just look like another power-up.
Luckily, this rune didn't need much setup.
I'll just teach them "eye exercises" to explain the vision boost.
(The tennis world had never heard of eye calisthenics.)
Reaction speed? No need to explain. It's subtle until critical moments—and even then, they'll chalk it up to training.
---
"Final score: 3–1! Seigaku wins the Metropolitan Championship!"
The referee's whistle echoed as cheers erupted.
"WOOOO!"
"We did it! Seigaku's first Metropolitan title in years!"
"HELL YEAH!"
While Yoru, QP, and Kiriharu remained stoic, Yamato and the other veterans were ecstatic.
The Seigaku supporters in the stands roared.
QP was unfazed.
Kiriharu, though?
He'd dreamed of this moment.
His body trembled slightly as he muttered, "Not bad, huh, Buchou?"
Yoru nodded. "Not bad at all."
His gaze drifted to the stands—specifically, the section packed with fangirls now jumping in celebration.
QP followed his line of sight and deadpanned: "..."
---
### Nanjiroh vs. Tōyama: The Prank War
"BAHAHAHA!"
Nanjiroh pointed at Tōyama, cackling. "How's it feel, old man? My kid's team CRUSHED yours! You only got a point 'cause they forfeited!"
He was relishing this.
"Hey! Fossil! Say something!"
"C'mon, did you croak mid-match?"
When Tōyama stayed silent, Nanjiroh waved his hands in front of his face—
—only to freeze.
Tōyama wasn't ignoring him.
He was clutching his chest, face pale, sweat beading.
"M-My heart…"
"H-Hey! Don't die on me!" Nanjiroh panicked, grabbing his shoulders. "You got meds?!"
"B-Back pocket…" Tōyama wheezed.
Nanjiroh frantically reached for his pants—
PFFFT.
A sudden blast of air ruffled Nanjiroh's hair.
Then… the stench hit.
Nanjiroh's brain short-circuited.
"HAHAHA! Still falling for that, eh, Nanjiroh?"
Tōyama bolted, leaping onto Nakagauchi's back.
"RUN, NAKAGAUCCHI! HE'S GONNA KILL ME!"
"YES, SIR!"
Confused but obedient, Nakagauchi sprinted off, carrying his cackling coach.
Nanjiroh's scream shook the stadium:
"TOOOOOYAMAAAAA!! I'LL SKIN YOU ALIIIIVE!!"
---
### Meanwhile—Wimbledon, England
A stunning woman polished her racket in a luxury hotel suite, her bag adorned with the Swiss team emblem.
Joanna Langman.
The current #1 ranked women's singles player.
With Wimbledon approaching in July, top seeds had arrived early—Joanna included.
"Joanna, here's the confirmed player list. A few strong contenders, plus a dark horse."
Her assistant—a wealthy, middle-aged woman—handed her a folder.
Joanna didn't glance up. "No need. They're all losers. Boring."
Her icy gaze locked onto the assistant. "And I told you—call me Nalan in private."
The woman flinched. "S-Sorry, Nalan! I forgot!"
She couldn't afford to anger her.
As Nalan's manager, she'd earned more money than most people saw in a lifetime.
Losing this job? Financial ruin.
Angering Nalan? Something worse.
Nalan resumed cleaning her racket. "What about the other task?"
The assistant tensed. "N-Nothing yet. Daxia is too vast. No leads."
"Useless."
The woman didn't dare retort.
Nalan's voice turned steel-cold. "After my 10th Grand Slam, I'm going back to Daxia. I'll find him."
"B-But—!" The assistant paled. "If sponsors find out you have a child—or if the media catches wind—endorsements will plummet! And your goal is 20 Slams! You're only halfway—"
"GET OUT."
The room's temperature dropped.
The assistant fled.
Alone, Nalan pulled a photo from her bag—
—a younger Yoru and his father.
Her fingers traced the image as she whispered:
"Are you mad at me? Hiding so well…"
"Wait for me, Yoru. Mommy's coming home soon."
Once, she'd dreamed of being the greatest.
20 Grand Slams.
She'd made sacrifices—mistakes—for that goal.
Now? After dominating every woman on tour, the fire was gone.
All she wanted was to fix what she'd broken.
---
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