(Quick question—did the Mōri brothers, Akiba Benihime, and Utan Weitarou ever have confirmed schools? If not, I'm about to start spreading some rumors.)
United States.
Drenched in rain.
A street tennis court.
Dozens of spectators stood frozen, staring at the scene unfolding before them.
A dark-skinned young man knelt on the ground, eyes hollow with despair, muttering over and over: "I can't… I can't play anymore. I don't know how to play tennis."
Across the net, a pale-faced young man hid under his cap, his pupils trembling violently.
"Why… Why did this happen?"
The speaker was Ryōga, his voice shaking.
Lately, his skills had grown rapidly, and his control over his "talent" had become more precise. In recent matches, he'd even managed to avoid stealing his opponents' abilities entirely.
Just as he was overjoyed—thinking he'd play a few more matches before seeking out Ryōma—something went wrong.
Near the final set of this match, Ryōga suddenly lost control.
It was like instinct took over. In the span of a single point, he absorbed everything—his opponent's playstyle, techniques, even their fundamental ability to play tennis.
This felt different from before. Stronger. More voracious.
It wasn't just taking anymore—it was devouring.
And the result proved it.
His opponent didn't just lose their playstyle or techniques—they forgot how to hold a racket.
"WHY… WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!"
Ryōga's roar of horror echoed as his cap flew off.
The crowd quickly recognized him.
"It's… it's him! That Asian guy—the one who ruined my brother! He's a demon!"
"I remember now—something about a 'dragon'? My friend played him and lost his entire style. Still hasn't recovered."
"The 'Tennis Demon' from the rumors?"
"Everyone who plays him loses their skills… He steals them!"
"No wonder that guy can't even grip a racket now. A real demon…!"
As whispers spread, panic set in. In a country obsessed with urban legends, the crowd scrambled back, fleeing the scene.
Ryōga pulled his cap back on and bolted, sprinting through the streets in a daze.
His mind was blank. He had no idea what was happening to him.
After running aimlessly, he finally stopped, hands shaking as he dialed a number.
"Old… old man. My ability—it's out of control."
"Ryōga…?"
On the other end, Nanjirō's brow furrowed. Like Yoru, Ryōga had always been independent—never someone who needed hand-holding.
Hearing his son's voice crack with fear told him things were worse than he thought.
If Yoru could see Ryōga's stats now, he'd notice something terrifying:
The ability once labeled "Theft" had now become—
"Devour."
---
Thud… Thud… Thud…
The rhythmic bounce of a tennis ball echoed across the court.
Yoru tapped his racket against the ball, eyes scanning Sanada's stats.
Exactly the same as during the JR Finals. No growth at all.
The aftermath of that loss had clearly broken him.
In the original timeline, Yukimura might've pulled him back—but now, with Yukimura hospitalized, Sanada had no anchor.
Whoosh—THUD!
Yoru served before the ball even reached its peak. Fast, but still within Sanada's reach.
Sanada exhaled sharply, pressure weighing on him.
Yoru hadn't shown anything overwhelming yet, but from Tezuka's accounts, he knew—this was someone who could crush semi-pros.
Holding back would just be an insult.
He lunged, racket flashing like a blade.
"Fūrin Kazan—Speed of Wind!"
BANG!
The ball vanished mid-court.
Even Tezuka, watching from the umpire's chair, frowned.
"Speed of Wind" was identical to the JR Finals version. Sanada's growth had stalled.
"Decent speed. Poor angle and placement."
Yoru moved effortlessly as a system prompt chimed in his mind:
[You perfectly copied "Speed of Wind (Lv. 5)." 120% power boost applied. Obtained "Speed of Wind (Lv. 7)."]
[Due to high base stats, "Speed of Wind" upgraded to Lv. 8!]
"Watch closely. I'll show you the difference between your version and mine."
Huh?
Sanada and Tezuka froze.
What did he mean by—
Before they could process it, Yoru was already in position, stance identical to Sanada's earlier swing.
Sanada's stomach dropped.
BANG-BANG-BANG!
Three near-simultaneous strikes rang out—too fast for the duo to track.
By the time the last thud came from behind him, Sanada turned robotically.
The ball lay still against the fence.
"Did… did he learn this from watching matches, or… just now?"
Sanada's mind short-circuited.
Even Tezuka, usually unshakable, swallowed hard.
Then, a voice cut through the silence—in German:
"Just as I thought. Yoru has instantaneous copying—and the ability to perfect techniques mid-use."
Tezuka turned to see Q.P. stepping onto the court, fresh from training.
"A German? Why is he here?"
Q.P. ignored him, deep in thought.
If Yoru could copy and refine techniques on the spot, then his eerily similar playstyle to Q.P.'s own made sense.
The realization sent a chill down his spine.
So far, Yoru had displayed:
- Sensory manipulation
- Copying and perfecting
- Insight beyond human limits
- Physical genius
"What are you? Did God forget to close the doors and windows when he made you?"
Back on the court, Yoru locked eyes with Sanada.
"Tell me. What's different?"
"Y-Your swing was faster… the ball too… and the angle—"
"I asked about the motion, not the result!" Yoru snapped.
"I… I don't know!"
Sanada's head hung low, unable to meet his gaze.
Yoru sighed.
"Damn. Is this really the future 'Emperor'? One loss, and he's completely broken."
Without Yukimura, Sanada's spirit had shattered.
---