(Note: I won't detail matches before the semifinals—this era's Kantō region lacks strong opponents. Meanwhile, Kansai, Kyūshū, and Osaka are where the real action is. Most original-series high schoolers are active there.)
July.
Summer sunlight bathed every corner of Tokyo.
In the rare patches of shade, a few kittens napped lazily.
This was the month when life thrived in full vigor.
And today—the Kantō Tournament officially began.
The format was single-elimination: one loss, and you're out.
---
Court A.
Yoru led Seigaku's team onto the grounds.
Their opponents, Shōchō Middle School, were a four-star team—weak by any standard.
With ten minutes until match start, spectators trickled in.
Unlike the Metropolitan Tournament (where only semifinals and finals drew crowds), the Kantō Tournament had hype from Round 1.
Why?
From the second round onward, every match featured top seeds from their respective districts—each with established fanbases.
(Seed teams got a first-round bye.)
As the referees conducted final court checks—
Click. Click.
In the stands, reporter Inoue Mamoru snapped photos of Seigaku.
After covering preliminaries, Inoue had spent weeks in Kansai.
But upon hearing Seigaku had reached Kantō, he'd rushed back.
"Even Hyōtei and Yamabuki fell to them…" Inoue muttered, reviewing shots of Yoru's sharp profile. "Guess Ryūzaki-sensei was right. This year's Seigaku might contend for Nationals."
After deleting unwanted shots, he scanned Seigaku's bench—hoping to interview Ryūzaki. (Interviewing Yoru was hopeless; the kid despised media.)
But Ryūzaki was nowhere in sight.
"No coach supervision? She must trust them completely."
---
Nearby, chatter erupted among fans.
"So handsome! My friend wasn't lying—Seigaku's looks are top-tier!"
"Told you! Tennis has the cutest guys. That captain's Chinese, right? His bone structure is unreal for an Asian."
"If he were my boyfriend, I'd water two acres of land daily—"
"That European guy's cool too. Not as dreamy as Yoru, but still…"
"Too bad those four plain guys ruin the vibe."
"Our angle's bad. The prime seats facing Seigaku got snatched."
"Wait—my brother's a regular! I'll make him clear a spot!"
...
Female spectators multiplied by the minute.
Most weren't here for tennis—they were here for Yoru.
(The male audience seethed with jealousy.)
---
Seigaku's bench.
Apart from Yoru, Q.P., and Ōishi, the others sat ramrod straight—eyes closed, exuding faux serenity.
Kirihara cracked first. "Hey, Iseya… the girls still watching us?"
Iseya whispered back: "Yep. When I 'drank water,' I saw them pointing."
Kawasaki and Kaidō mirrored the act—even ignoring sweat trickling down their faces to preserve their "cool" facades.
They'd held this pose for ten minutes.
Ōishi finally snapped. "Ever considered they're not looking at you?"
"Impossible!" Kirihara hissed. "Their eyes are glued here!"
Ōishi rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. "Text from my little sister."
The message read:
['Bro, tell those four ugly ducklings to MOVE. My friends wanna see Yoru-senpai!']
"..."
"My kidneys just got stabbed."
"Morale: annihilated."
The quartet slumped into gloom as the referee's whistle blew.
"Teams—approach the net for greetings!"
Yoru led Seigaku onto the court—
And the stands exploded with screams.
"Yoru-SAN! LOOK HERE!"
"I'm a Seiryō University senior! My number's 070—"
"Granny, you're how old? Back off!"
"SEIGAKU GIRLS—DROWN THEM OUT!"
Even the referees froze. Since when are fans this wild?
---
In the stands, Tezuka and Sanada observed quietly.
"Yoru-senpai's popularity is… intense," Sanada noted.
Tezuka said nothing. (The noise was agonizing.)
The head referee grabbed the mic. "Spectators—silence during matches!"
---
On court, Shōchō's team looked ready to vomit.
This wasn't a neutral venue—it was Seigaku's home turf.
---
Post-match, Q.P. nudged Yoru. "Any noteworthy players?"
Yoru draped a towel over his eyes. "Doubt we'll play before finals."
Q.P. wordlessly donned headphones.
He was right.
Seigaku bulldozed Shōchō 3–0 in under thirty minutes. Their next opponent—Akiyama Third Middle (a team so irrelevant they weren't even named in the original series)—fared no better.
Yoru had drawn the luckiest bracket possible.
While powerhouses like Hyōtei and Rikkai clashed early, Seigaku's path was paved with no-name schools—a free ticket to finals.
Barring a meteor strike, Nationals was guaranteed.
But easy wins bred arrogance.
By semifinals, even Ōishi grew uneasy.
"Captain…" he ventured. "Should we scout Rikkai? Kirihara and the others are getting… overconfident."
Yoru stretched. "Who're they facing?"
"Hyōtei. Semifinals."
---