On the bench.
Yukimura's lost in the zone, brain replaying a highlight reel of every ass-kicking he's ever handed out—or taken. All those kids, upperclassmen… probably felt this same gut-punch of helplessness crashing over them.
"Am I really gonna lose? Here? In the match that matters?"
"Am I cool with that?!"
His mind's screaming no. He tries talking himself into folding—just quit, man—but that iron will keeps firing back: "I'm dragging Rikkai to nationals. No collapsing now. Been burned once—never again."
Flashbacks hit hard: that bitter loss, solo grinding till sunset, linking up with Sanada at Rikkai Dai, meeting Renji… every drop of sweat for this win.
"Future? If it's screwing me, I'll shatter the damn thing myself!"
"Players to court!"
Ref's call snaps him up. Towel tossed. Yukimura strides out, eyes glowing like a haunted anime protag. Unconscious Selfless State kicks in—vibe so thick Sanada behind him jolts.
"Yukimura, you—"
Sanada's pupils shrink. He knows.
BOOM!
!!
Left-right ping-pong resumes.
Yukimura's flashy tricks? Gone. Selfless mode dials his tennis to surgical. Still, Kawamura stonewalls every return.
BOOM!
Kawamura flips—backhand rip to the left. Nasty sidespin; ball hooks inward on bounce.
But Yukimura's already there. Forehand cracks it back before it peaks.
Kawamura scowls, racket low—net-front slice.
Yukimura materializes at net. Feather-touch drop. Ball kisses the tape, plummets.
[Quick plug: Fastest reads at 101 Book Net—tons of stash, 101kanshu.com—super handy]
"15-0!"
"Weird… Yukimura's style shifted," Mouri frowns. Something's off.
"Yeah," Renji squints. "He's ahead of Kawamura. Like he's reading the script."
Every. Single. Time. Yukimura's planted exactly where the ball lands—before Kawamura swings.
Data tennis vibes, but Yukimura? Never his game. That crap needs years of scouting, crunching, live updates. This? Feels like cheat-code data.
"Yukimura… you're winning this," Sanada mutters, fist clenched white.
"HAA!"
Kawamura claws rhythm—forehand blast. Yukimura sprints… misses by five centimeters.
"15-15!"
Huff— "Not done."
Baseline. Serve up.
Rallies explode again. Kawamura's every twitch, every tech? X-rayed. Hyotei crew clocks it.
"Yo, Kawamura's moves? Yukimura's calling 'em. Plants early every time."
Atobe lowers his arm, brow furrowed. Kawamura had the edge—now Yukimura's flipping the script. His serve + pre-positioning? Stacked deck.
Lobs, rips, maple slices—all sniffed out. Not like Atobe's insight. Yukimura's body auto-pilots like he's seen the replay.
"I think…" Tezuka's eyes lock. "He's seeing Kawamura's future moves."
"Future?!" Atobe's eyes bug.
Ninomiya: "That even possible?"
"Win hunger," Tanishi says flat. "Belief evolved him mid-match. Tied to Selfless, no doubt."
Unconscious Selfless amps his spirit. From jump, Tezuka spotted Yukimura's Sensory Strip attempts—chipping Kawamura's senses per rally. But Kawamura? Beast spirit. Ends points fast—his serves, Yukimura's too. Minimal rally imprint.
Now? Future-peeking lets Yukimura pre-return. Tech neutralized. Match drags.
Court:
CRACK!!
Kawamura returns—Yukimura's waiting, space cleared. Forehand nuke.
Tap… tap… Kawamura bolts back—freezes.
!!
Ball bounces—top-spin bomb. Skyrockets toward the stands.
"Game, Yukimura! 2-4!"
"My moves… read like a book?"
Kawamura feels the psychic pressure. Dude evolved under fire.
"You seeing my future?"
Ball boy hands him balls. Kawamura side-glances.
"Couldn't hide it from you!"
Sweat drips chin to court. Breath ragged. Selfless is draining—future glimpses safe in bursts. He just binged a whole game. Spirit cracking, stamina torched. Dude's standing on fumes.
"Pushing your spirit like this? You'll torch your tennis career."
Kawamura's eyes flicker pity. OG Yukimura? Probably Guillain-Barré from spirit overload—mental disease. Early from early Sensory Strip, future-peeks.
He admires the glow-up… but mourns the fallout.
Keep this up? Spirit + future = ashes in this match.
Yukimura's pupils contract. Speechless.
Future.
Heavy AF. Peeking Kawamura's? Saw his own too.
But for King Rikkai's crown!
Grip tightens. Belief steel. Even if it ends his career—he's taking this W.
Yukimura Seiichi! Betting his future for this one damn victory!
"Your future's bigger than this, Yukimura Seiichi!"
Kawamura leaps—aura crushing. Smash like judgment day.
!!
BOOM. Ball craters Yukimura's side. He's there early—body locks. Can't swing.
"15-0!"
"Saw the future… still can't return?"
Deep breath. Reset.
!!
"30-0!"
!!
"40-0!"
"Game, Hyotei Kawamura! 5-2!"
Kawamura's serve? Untouchable. Future or not—his 5D can't crack it. Serve seals fates.
"This ends now, Yukimura Seiichi. Terrifying opponent—sacrificing his future for the win." Atobe feels the resolve.
National elite—top-tier. Yukimura's raw stats? Neck-and-neck with Kawamura. Base 5D rivals Tanishi. Spirit? Above Tezuka.
Healthy? Matches Tezuka's spirit. Tiebreaker: tech variance. Beyond Sensory Strip? Just fundamentals.
Spirit even, Strip offline—flashy base can't bridge the gap. Kawamura's serve proves it.
"Yukimura, stop."
Candle-in-wind Yukimura—Sanada can't take it.
"Genichirou, what the hell did Seiichi do?!"
Renji's eyes wide, grabbing Sanada.
Sanada trembles, teeth grinding. Silent.
"Genichirou! Tell me what Seiichi DID!!!"
Renji yanks his collar, voice commanding.
"He's burning his spirit for the club," Mouri says, voice hollow. "Overdrawing his future."
Caught it when perception spiked. Shocked silent. Recalls Fushimi's words.
Yukimura would give everything for Rikkai Dai's win.
Weight hits now.
"You—what?!"
Rikkai stares at Mouri. Only he and Sanada saw the truth. Rest were hyping the god-mode.
Who knew…
He's mortgaging his future to flip an unwinnable match.
"Genichirou! Is Mouri-senpai right?!"
Renji glares—why hide this?!
Overdraw future?! For one match—club rep on the line.
To Renji? Idiotic. Doesn't want Yukimura bedridden, racket dust.
"This match ends here."
Fushimi stands.
"But—"
Fushimi cuts Sanada. "Yukimura's Rikkai's future—and his own. Can't bury it for one game."
"You want him moaning in a hospital bed, watching you play?!"
Fushimi's seen it—last year's golden gen. Kids sacrificed everything for club glory.
Result? Injuries, roots of chronic crap. High school? Quit the sport they bled for.
Too many ghosts. Doesn't want Yukimura joining 'em.
Right or wrong—he shoulders it.