"Ref! Rikkai's forfeiting Singles 2!"
Fushimi stood up under every damn stare and yelled at the ump. Dude froze.
Match was this close to done—forfeit made zero sense.
"Ref! I said RIKKAI FORFEITS SINGLES 2!"
Fushimi doubled down, eyes locked on Yukimura—dude's legs wobbling, brain on fumes, still flexing spirit power to peek Godchuan's future.
"REF! Speak up."
Tarou, chilling in the coach chair, dropped it cold.
He'd clocked Yukimura's stunt ages ago. Not Hyotei? Tarou wouldn't let his kid burn future for a W.
"Y-Yes!" Ref snapped to it, booming: "Rikkai forfeits Singles 2—winner: Hyotei's Godchuan Muzuki!"
Yukimura froze mid-swing. Scoreboard screamed 5-2. Even gutting it out wouldn't flip shit.
Then—boom. Head spun, body ate dirt forward.
"YUKIMURA!" Sanada's face went ghost, bolted courtside.
"Yukimura! 5."
Rest of Rikkai scrambled after.
Yukimura landed right in Godchuan's arms. Godchuan side-eyed the limp captain, sighed. Gotta square this with the squad later.
Yukimura and Tezuka? This gen's Oni and Byoudouin—freak talents. Hit Byoudouin's age? They'd eclipse 'em.
Tezuka jumped pro post-U17 World Cup. Sophomore year? Brightest damn star on tour. Oni and Byoudouin ate his dust entry-speed.
Huff…
Sanada skidded up, relief hitting hard seeing Yukimura safe. Complicated stare at Godchuan. "Thanks, man."
"No big. Spirit overload—passed out."
Godchuan shook head, eyed Rikkai crew. "His juice ain't infinite. Bones not done growing—push too hard, he's done with tennis. Forever."
"Y'all know this better than me!"
"Rikkai's king rep ain't built on frying first-years' futures!"
Godchuan laid it bare. Yukimura, Sanada—both mortgaging tomorrow for today. Why Echizen Nanjiro held back Ryoma's god-tier moves? Kid's frame wasn't ready. Talent would've bloomed solo. Seigaku's meddling helped physique, but without Limitless Seamless swallowing Yukimura's fire in finals? Rikkai wins.
"We got it handled."
Fushimi nodded, sucked in air eyeing Yukimura's wrecked form.
Rikkai's future? On these first-years. He's graduating anyway—high school seniors' duties? His load.
Like Godchuan said—king rep shouldn't ride kid backs.
"HYOTEI!"
"HYOTEI!"
"HYOTEI!!"
Crowd erupted.
Broadcast sealed it: "Rikkai forfeits Singles 2—Hyotei takes Kanto 3-1. CHAMPS!"
"New kings crowned!"
Inui pushed glasses. Hyotei title? Inevitable.
But Rikkai's 13-peat monsters? Stronger than last year. Hyotei just leveled harder.
"Let's bounce."
Fuji smiled, waved the spectator crew.
"Fuji—think we'll hit that stage someday?"
Kikumaru piped.
"We will." Oishi's face steel. "Seigaku's glory? Ours again."
"…Next year Hyotei and Rikkai just get scarier." Honest Kawamura dropped truth.
"Shut it, Kawamura." Inui deadpanned.
Vibe ruined.
Seigaku peaced. Rokakku, Yamabuki scouts dipped too—still had ceremony as Final Four.
July tourney—Nationals August 17. Draw August 14.
Even Kanto champs draw for order. Region winners bye Round 1, grind five full matches Round 2.
Rules mirror Kanto/Kansai.
Kanto wraps early—Kansai/Kyushu still in semis. Last year Kansai Final Four crushed Nationals: Okayama Oku (Hyogo), Makino Fuji (Hyogo), Shitenhouji (Osaka), Maiko坂 (Kyoto).
"Satisfied."
Godchuan strolled off court, grin wide. This vibe? Every player's wet dream.
"Knew you'd smoke 'em!"
Atobe swaggered up, light punch to shoulder.
Kanto gold—last year's Yuechi couldn't. First-years did the impossible.
"Ow—watch the arm, jackass."
Godchuan rolled eyes. Punch dead on right shoulder—Golden Snake Wild Dance serves wrecked it. Frame still growing, limits suck. Spring next year? Fully developed—no more pain.
Spotted Tezuka—ice soda in hand, fresh from vending, condensation dripping. Raised it, rare smile: "Here."
Godchuan snatched. "Smile more, dude. Kid with a resting bitch face? People think Hyotei's tanking."
Hyotei crew instinctively glanced Tezuka.
Yeah—smiling Tezuka? Human. Ice king vibe? Captain cool, but squad prefers chill vibes.
Cough. "I'll… try."
Tezuka hid grin, coughed.
Copied Yuechi's frosty captain act—dude had a workhorse VP to balance.
Tezuka eyed Atobe. His VP? Hard worker… cocky as hell.
"Yo—when I clocked Yukimura future-peeking? Mind blown. Dude's spirit game nuts." Atobe replayed final games—Yukimura dominated Godchuan till Muga drain + body crash.
"Mm."
Godchuan nodded, then shook. "How you know he'd crack my future? One snapshot ain't the whole movie—future's fluid, Atobe."
"Still cocky as ever."
Atobe knew: this clown's win-lust? Topped the squad.
Good thing he and Tezuka skipped Seigaku. Even rotting, those two? Nationals easy.
"This loss? Rikkai levels up. Kanto L = needle in their ass. Win and lesson."
"Month till Nationals—evolve or get left. Don't let one W blind y'all."
Tezuka to the hyped crew. Practice matches—Rikkai won and still mutated fast.
"Tezuka's right!"
Coach Tarou rolled up. Didn't wanna rain on parade, but Rikkai? Real threat. They'd hunger harder.
Biggest roadblock to Hyotei national domination.
"Whatever! Hyotei took this. Tonight—butler's booking BBQ. Starters only—my treat. Who's in?!"
"BBQ?!"
Mukahi and Hiyoshi gulped.
"BBQ works."
Godchuan shrugged. July heat murderous, but night-time fancy joint? Hell yeah.
"Solid." Tezuka nodded.
Rest echoed.
They weren't craving meat—victory high.
"Coach Tarou—join."
Atobe to the side.
Tarou handled zilch training, but match calls + daily tips? Clutch. Even Atobe ate pointers.
"Nah—allergic to BBQ."
Tarou waved off. Just didn't want it.
This Hyotei? Near-complete. Rarely needed babysitting. Bittersweet—if one of these three backed Yuechi back then? Kanto gold his year.
Timing's a bitch. Tarou waited—and got this squad.