The match was a total shitstorm—flipping faster than a bad Tinder date.
Sanada Genichirou, deep in his selfless zone (Muga no Kyouchi), cranked his FuuRinKaZan shots up a notch thanks to that five-dimensions boost. Atobe could see the returns half the time, but his body? Straight-up ghosted him.
Under Sanada's selfless onslaught, even spotting the ball wasn't enough—Atobe's meat suit lagged hard. Sanada owned the court from the jump. Once that zone kicked in? Game over for control.
!
"Game, Rikkai's Sanada—4-3!"
!!
"Game, Rikkai's Sanada—5-3!"
Flashback to pre-match warm-up.
Yukimura Seiichi dropped the bomb on Sanada mid-stretch.
"You—what?! You want me to pop Muga mid-match and bench Rai? That's bullshit!"
Sanada's jaw hit the floor. No way this came from his childhood bro.
"Sanada, you know the deal."
Yukimura shook his head, flashing that sunny captain grin. "Singles 3? Hyotei's sending Atobe. No question."
"If we split the first two or sweep 'em, Singles 3 flips the whole damn tournament."
"Your Rai's fast—hell, I can barely return it—but it ain't enough, Sanada. Not by a long shot!"
Yukimura's tone hardened. He knew the cost.
"Get stuck in a mid-match hole, Rai won't dig you out. Seal it. Crush him with raw power."
Yukimura got it: Rai had a three-ball lifespan max, even at peak. Body limit—no quick fix.
Sanada's job? Win. By any means.
Whoosh…
Sanada inhaled deep, locked eyes. Long pause. Nod. "Got it, Yukimura. I'll seal Rai mid-match, flip the script with Muga."
"Sanada—this is for Rikkai's 14 straight. Nationals. Unprecedented three-peat!"
Yukimura clenched a fist. He knew Sanada's pride was a goddamn fortress.
Back then, losing to that kid in practice? Even tying powerhouses like Atobe? "Decent" to outsiders.
To Sanada? Total L. Locked himself in the trainer, smashing balls till his hands bled. All for this. Extend Rikkai's Kanto reign.
Cut to courtside.
"No matter how many times you try—same result."
Sanada's body churned milky-white aura. Smashed a blistering straight-line speeder—Fuu (swift as wind).
Yah!!
Tennis ball kissed the baseline. Atobe lunged—brain said yes, legs said fuck no. Ball zipped past. Atobe froze, heaving like a chainsmoker.
"40-0! Rikkai's Sanada—match point!"
Score gapped wide. One more, Atobe's toast.
"Atobe! You show for Singles 3… and this is your A-game?!"
Sanada gasped, Muga backlash frying his cells. But he held—one ball left.
"Well played, Sanada."
Yukimura nodded faint approval.
"Goddammit, Atobe—what the hell?!"
Ootori clenched fists. Couldn't stomach an Atobe loss.
That eyesight he flexed earlier—where was it?
What's he plotting?
"Atobe!"
Mukahi gripped tight, flashbacks of their matches looping.
This cocky king—really cool with tanking to a peer?
"Hmph!"
Atobe arched a brow, sweat pouring like Niagara. Didn't dim his fire. Glanced at Hyotei bench, flashed a cocky grin. "Match ain't over! This king ain't losing to that guy."
"Still clinging?!"
Sanada smirked, tossed the ball skyward. Aura ramped max. Last-ditch serve, all-in.
"Wither in despair, Atobe Keigo!"
Racket up, eyes laser-locked. Knees bent—boom.
Crack!!
Ball exploded out—faster than anything prior. Crowd barely clocked the swing before it nuked Atobe's court.
Atobe raised slow, like he predicted the path. Pre-positioned, flat return—nothing fancy. Ball spun wild.
Sanada stared, body paralyzed. Crack—ice pillars shattered in his ears, shards materializing.
"15-40!!"
"Atobe, you sly…"
Shishido grinned. Knew he'd save Ice World for the clutch.
Eyed Sanada's aura-wrapped form. Muttered: "Muga for a quick KO?"
"Too bad—in a grind, Atobe don't flinch. Gets hungrier. Sanada's tapped—no Rai left."
"Match over."
If Sanada dropped Rai mid-set, maybe rattled Atobe early. But both ultimate moves had limits—like Ice World.
Muga boosted stats for surprise factor—better than Rai visually—but drained Sanada hard. Couldn't last.
Atobe's play? Survive. Wait for the kill shot.
"Tezuka, warm-up with me."
Shishido stood, racket in hand.
"Yeah." Tezuka nodded, followed.
大局定—next: Singles 2 prep.
Meanwhile…
Yukimura's eyes flickered. Underestimated Atobe's grit and stamina. Practice match? Weaker spirit. Short time, total glow-up?
Which match sparked it?
Thought back: Sanada's Rai? Forced the evolution?
Yukimura felt it too—post his match, spirit jacked. Now mastered Destroying Five Senses smooth.
"Renji, warm-up."
Yukimura's voice iced over, back to stoic mode.
Win or die. Get Mouri on court five if he had to.
"Right, Yukimura." Yanagi nodded, gut twisting. Yukimura loss? Rikkai's 13-peat dead.
"Yukimura."
Mouri, usually chill, sensed the captain's weight. Rikkai Tennis Club boss burden.
"Yukimura—I started tennis at five. Clawed to Rikkai starter. Then three monsters crashed the club. Boom—demoted from captain."
Fushimi piped up sudden.
"Fushimi—"
Ishihara's eyes shifted. Three-year doubles partner knew: Fushimi still salty, even with Yukimura's peaks.
"Sometimes I envy you. No grind, still drop unreadable bombs. Talent rivals Yukimura and Sanada."
"Straight talk, Mouri: Guys like you? Insult to average joes like me! Your tennis shouldn't be that casual shit—"
Fushimi's words hammered Mouri's chest.
Mouri's eyes? Lost AF.
"You belong higher—like him. Fight to the wire. No hope? Forge the goddamn light!"
Fushimi pointed.
Mouri silent, watched the court: Sanada sprinting, vision blurring, legs jelly—win-lust unbreakable.
Seen this before!
That same-age kid who joined Shitenhouji with him—eyes burned same fire. Knew he'd lose, still hunted the W.
"I respect you, Sanada Genichirou!"
Atobe wheezed, smashed into Sanada's ice pillar.
!!
"40-0, Hyotei's Atobe—match point!"
Ice World guzzled spirit—he saved it for endgame.
Mid-match, fewer Tango serves. Rondo Towards Destruction? Once only—spared the drain.
Even with doom sealed, Sanada's desperation chased? Respect.
Dude's win-hunger > his own.
"But—Hyotei takes this!"
Atobe tossed, ice pillars thinning on Sanada's side. Spirit low, eyesight glitching gaps.
Find one flaw—nail it.
!!
Final Tango serve. Ball screamed, dead-on pillar. Vicious underspin dragged it sliding, glowing yellow scar.
Step… step-step—
Sanada flared white aura last gasp. Death chase. Ball bouncing wild—amped senses snagged it. Returned.
Screech!!
Racket screamed spin. Sanada muscled it back—barely.
!
Ball slammed net center, spun manic till drop. Sanada's blue eyes cleared.
"Match over!"
"Hyotei Academy, Atobe wins—7-5!"
Atobe strolled to Sanada's side, eyed the collapsed gasp-fest. Grinned wide. "Sanada, you beast—never playing you again."
"Atobe! Congrats."
Sanada exhaled long. Pushed his limit.
Last return? No gas for more.
Lost the match. Broke Yukimura promise.
"But—Rikkai takes the W!"
Sanada hauled up, eyes flashing. "Nah!"
Atobe shook head, cool smirk. "Hyotei wins."