Atobe Keigo!
Shiraishi Kuranosuke!
At the net.
These two charismatic young captains, representing the top schools of Kanto and Kansai, shook hands once again.
"Atobe-kun," Shiraishi said with a smile, nodding at his opponent. "I never thought we'd face off in Singles 3."
"Same here," Atobe replied, returning the nod. "I figured you'd be in Singles 1 or 2. Looks like your school's strategy is focused on sweeping the first three matches, huh?"
"Maybe," Shiraishi said with a noncommittal chuckle. "Compared to Hyotei, our tactical options are a bit limited."
The Shitenhoji captain exuded a gentle aura, his gaze clear and steady. His tone was perfectly balanced—neither too light nor too heavy, neither too fast nor too slow— radiating absolute confidence in his skills.
"Hm," Atobe acknowledged with a slight nod. "I'm eager to see just how strong the Kansai region's top player really is!"
"Kansai's top player?" Shiraishi couldn't help but laugh at the title.
He didn't bother explaining, though. Instead, he stood his racket upright, gave it a gentle spin, and let it fall naturally.
"Heads," Atobe called.
The racket landed, revealing heads.
"Please, let's have a good match," Shiraishi said with a smile, picking up his racket and heading to the baseline.
"Definitely not an ordinary guy," Atobe muttered, nodding slightly.
Their brief exchange hadn't revealed any of Shiraishi's weaknesses. As Nio had warned, Shitenhoji's captain was like a figure shrouded in mist—utterly mysterious.
With that, Atobe turned and walked to his baseline.
"The match begins! One set to decide the winner!" the referee announced after confirming both players were ready. "Hyotei's Atobe serves! First game!"
**TAP!**
**TAP!**
**TAP!**
At the baseline, Atobe bent low, lightly bouncing the ball.
"Alright… let's see what you've got!"
**BAM!**
With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed a serve with intense spin and blazing speed.
The ball landed precisely at the intersection of the service line and the singles sideline.
"That serve?!"
The Shitenhoji players, including Nio Kenya, tensed as they watched.
"Is this Atobe's strength?" second-year Zaizen felt a jolt. If he were facing that serve, he'd have almost no chance of keeping up with its speed. That point was 90% lost!
"Atobe's not holding back!" Shishido, Yue, and the other Hyotei players smirked.
**SWISH!**
But at that moment, a flash of silver streaked across the ball's path. With a *BAM*, Shiraishi's racket intercepted Atobe's serve, sending it back.
Precise.
Decisive.
Flawless.
Shiraishi's return was a thing of beauty, impossible to fault.
"Not a bad return," even Atobe had to admit, nodding.
Known for his sharp insight, he couldn't spot even the tiniest crack in Shiraishi's performance.
**BAM!**
Atobe struck back.
The ball sliced through the air like a surgical scalpel, targeting the sideline on Shiraishi's left-hand side.
"As expected of Hyotei's captain," Shitenhoji's coach, Watanabe Osamu, chewing on a blade of grass, nodded approvingly from the bench. "Not only did he neutralize the force of Shiraishi's return with ease, but he also made such a pinpoint counter in such a short time."
The Shitenhoji players grew solemn.
Their coach rarely praised players from other teams, yet he had nothing but admiration for Hyotei's captain. Atobe's skill was clearly exceptional.
**BAM!**
But Shiraishi calmly handled Atobe's precise and rapid counter. Returning to the center of the court, he kept his eyes locked on his opponent.
Even when Atobe unleashed a backhand, Shiraishi responded with cool-headed precision.
**BAM!**
**BAM!**
**BAM!**
On the court, the two traded blows.
Atobe's style was flashy and elegant, his relentless offensive like a series of dazzling strikes that made Shitenhoji's regular players' scalps tingle.
But Shiraishi's responses were remarkably composed.
If Atobe was a razor-sharp spear, each thrust gleaming with breathtaking intensity, Shiraishi was a polished shield—calm, steady, and unshakable as a rock.
"Incredible!" Yue exclaimed, watching their increasingly fast-paced duel. "This Shiraishi guy's holding his own against Atobe's onslaught without even flinching?"
This was *Atobe* they were talking about!
Before Ishikawa arrived, he was undeniably Hyotei's strongest player. Even now, he was among the elite of junior high tennis.
And yet, he was struggling, his edge blunted?
"His playstyle is crystal clear," Nio said, observing Shiraishi's flawless composure. "He's using the most fundamental tennis techniques, but he's mastered them to perfection. His style is so polished, there's not a single flaw to exploit!"
If it were Nio out there, he'd have no confidence in overpowering Shiraishi through skill alone. The only hope would be outlasting him in a war of attrition.
And Nio could sense something else.
Shiraishi was likely a counterattacking player. The moment Atobe's offensive rhythm faltered, Shiraishi would seize the chance to strike back.
**BAM!**
Sure enough, after Atobe's repeated attacks failed to break through, Shiraishi made his move. He sent a shot toward Atobe's backhand, landing about fifteen centimeters away.
Normally, that would've been a comfortable distance for a return.
But Shiraishi's shot carried a subtle topspin.
**WHOOSH!**
The ball suddenly accelerated, veering out of Atobe's ideal striking zone. His expression shifted as he stretched to the right, but the move weakened his return's power and spin.
**STEP STEP!**
Seizing the moment, Shiraishi charged the net.
He met the ball with a fierce smash, hammering it into the corner. Atobe scrambled to save it, but Shiraishi, as if he'd predicted it, unleashed another crushing smash.
**BAM!**
The short-range volley landed precisely near the sideline, far from Atobe's reach.
"0-15!" the referee called.
Hyotei's players felt a jolt.
"Unbelievable!" Yue gasped. "Atobe actually lost a point?"
The others were equally stunned.
No one expected their captain to lose a point in the opening game, especially on his own serve.
"That style of tennis… it's surprising," Coach Sakaki Tarou said, eyeing Shiraishi with astonishment. "I never imagined someone could elevate basic tennis to this level!"
"Basic tennis?" several Hyotei players echoed, shocked. "That shot just now was just *basic* tennis?"
"Exactly," Ishikawa said, nodding. "Shiraishi-buchou sticks to the fundamentals of tennis. But he's taken that approach to its absolute peak. That's why, within Shitenhoji, he's known as [*Tennis no Seisho*]—the Bible of Tennis!"
"And," Ishikawa added with a smile, "judging from that last point, it seems Shiraishi-buchou has been studying Atobe-buchou for quite a while."
"Oh?" The others shot him curious looks.
If anyone else had said it, they wouldn't have bought it. The nationals had only started a few days ago, and including the draw, it was less than ten days total. The idea that Shitenhoji's captain could analyze Atobe's habits in such a short time sounded absurd.
But this was Ishikawa talking.
His status in Hyotei arguably surpassed even Atobe's. No one doubted him—they were just curious. Was Shitenhoji's captain really *that* good?
**BAM!**
**BAM!**
**BAM!**
The two resumed their offensive and defensive duel.
Just like before, Shiraishi keenly spotted a flaw in Atobe's movements. He sent a shot, then pressured the opposite side. When Atobe returned, Shiraishi smashed another point home.
"0-30!"
"Hiss!"
Hyotei's players' faces fell.
Ishikawa's words were proving true—Shiraishi had clearly studied Atobe extensively.
"It's not just Atobe," Shitenhoji's coach Watanabe thought, watching Hyotei's shocked reactions. "From Shishido to Nio, even Akutsu—Shiraishi's analyzed them all."
Since the matchups were confirmed, Shiraishi had been the first to arrive and the last to leave Shitenhoji's training courts.
Every time, he pushed himself to exhaustion before resting.
Frankly, the person who understood Hyotei's players best might not be themselves—it was Shiraishi.
Know your enemy, know yourself, and you'll never lose.
Mastering fundamental tennis and wielding simple techniques with ease, Shiraishi wasn't a data-driven player, but he meticulously studied his opponents before every match.
And now, the sweat he'd poured in day and night was paying off.
**BAM!**
Another smash.
Shiraishi scored again off Atobe.
"0-40!"
"Ugh," Atobe grunted, forced to take his opponent seriously. In a way, Shiraishi's fundamental-focused style was the worst matchup for him.
There were no extraneous flaws to exploit.
Every move maximized efficiency with minimal effort. It was impossible to find fault.
"The Bible of Tennis, huh?" Atobe's eyes gleamed with a sharp edge as he looked at his opponent.
**BAM!**
He fired off another powerful serve.
Then, taking the initiative, he maintained a high-intensity offensive, relentlessly pinning Shiraishi to the baseline.
**TAP!**
Suddenly, Atobe played a drop shot.
The unexpected move made the crowd gasp. But Shiraishi sprinted to the net along the shortest path, reaching the ball just before its second bounce.
**TAP!**
He flicked it back into the air.
"Beautiful!" Shitenhoji's players cheered, marveling at Shiraishi's steady, flawless response.
"Idiots," a Hyotei player sneered. "Look closely—that's Atobe-buchou's real trump card."
**SWISH!**
Sure enough, Atobe leaped into the air, raising his racket for a fierce smash.
**BAM!**
The close-range chase shot caught Shiraishi off guard, knocking his racket out of his hand.
"Shiraishi!"
But then, Atobe leaped again.
Raising his racket high, his eyes sparkled as he grinned. "Bask in the glory of my magnificent technique!"
**BANG!**
Atobe smashed the ball down.
"*Hametsu e no Rondo* (Waltz Toward Ruin)?"
To everyone's shock, Shiraishi showed no trace of panic. Under their stunned gazes, he turned, grabbed his flying racket, spun 180 degrees, and returned the smash with his back to the net.
**BAM!**
Atobe's smash was countered.
"Game!"
"Shitenhoji's Shiraishi, 1-0! Change courts!"
The referee's voice rang out, and the court fell silent.
"Atobe-kun," Shiraishi said, gripping his racket and feeling the tension of the strings, a smile on his face. "I'm guessing your strength goes beyond this, right?"
His words hushed the entire court.
**(Chapter End)**