Neon U-17 Training Camp!
"Owww—"
In the monitor room, a tall middle-aged dude smacked the doorframe, yelping as he hunched over, rubbing his head, creeping in like a busted robot.
"Saito, how many times? I told you—watch the damn door."
Kurobe, glued to the chair, shot a deadpan look back.
"Slipped up, man." Saito grinned like an idiot. Kurobe was used to his partner's clown act.
"That match ended, the Overlord bolted to the back mountains. Who knows what kinda monster he'll turn into under that guy's coaching!"
"As for that ancient high-schooler Oni Jujiro? Crushed everyone. Even Hyotei's king couldn't match raw power."
Kurobe exhaled, eyes on two files glowing on screen.
One: Byodoin—kid prodigy, undefeated in juniors, stacked overseas experience, never missed a beat with the association.
Two: Oni Jujiro—raised in backwoods, trained with junk rackets, turned down every elite school, dragged a no-name middle school to nationals champ.
Two high school freshmen, polar opposites, demolished U-17 upperclassmen day one. Locked eyes, sparked a hellscape showdown.
Dust so thick refs couldn't see shit—Byodoin or Oni only called scores when they felt like it.
"Got some fresh blood," Saito said, hugging a stack of files from Kanto juniors. Meant for high school Kanto, but middle school sucked him in.
"These? Top potential middle schoolers. Check 'em."
He slapped a few on Kurobe's desk.
All first-years. Base stats? Trash most U-17 back-court high schoolers.
"Keigo Jingu, Sanada Genichiro, Yukimura Seiichi… and Kamikawa Muzuki?!"
Kurobe read names. Tiny ages—freshman babies. One file incomplete.
"Tezuka Kunimitsu?!"
"That Tezuka kid only played twice in Kanto. Hyotei captain now. Keigo, Kamikawa—Hyotei. Sanada, Yukimura—Rikkai. Dig school intel."
Easy say. U-17 high schoolers barely know freshman faces—they were in elementary when these kids ruled middle school.
"Send these to the back-mountain guy later. Focus: high school freshmen. Last year's national middle school leaders."
Kurobe sidelined files, clicked mouse—last year's nationals roster. Promotion blitz. Under a month, rocketed from back courts to Court 3, rankings climbing.
Fastest: Oni Jujiro, Echizen Ryoma, Tokugawa Kazuya—hit Court 1. Oni snagged No. 1 in a bloodbath.
Old No. 1? Mental wreck. Took ages to crawl out.
Oni's a freak—only Byodoin Phoenix pushes him. Rest? Food.
---
"Morning, Grandpa!"
Kamikawa, dressed, strolled into the living room. Grandpa buried in fresh newspaper.
"You little shit—Kanto champ and you don't tell your old man?!"
Grandpa glared. Heard it yesterday fishing with Tezuka's grandpa. Invited Sanada's old man too—dude bailed, grandkid lost, no mood.
Tezuka's grandpa bragged: My grandson snagged Kanto.
Grandpa: Wait—same club. Tennis team.
Wanted to grill Kamikawa last night, but kid rolled in late. Grandpa cut slack.
This morning? Game on.
"Just Kanto, Grandpa. You're overreacting."
Kamikawa yawned, plopped at table.
"Just Kanto? Big dreams, punk."
"Chill. Nationals champ? I'll call ahead."
Kanto title? Regional flex. Outside? Meh. Rikkai's Kanto dynasty? Zero national trophies. "Undefeated in Kanto" = "Nationals scrub."
"Club practice again? Help your dad at the shop. Business booming."
Grandpa grinned. Deep down? Wants grandkid in the family chef game. Legacy. If not him—his kids. Grandpa's spry. Can wait.
"School's got a sports fest today—club swap meet. Tennis crew set up yesterday, teardown today. Home late."
Kamikawa dodged. Help shop? Trap. Dad + Grandpa = no escape. Tennis + cooking = zero free time.
"Sports fest?" Grandpa blinked. "What you signing up? Basketball? Volleyball? Badminton?"
Hot ones. Grandpa followed basketball, soccer, sometimes badminton.
"Ping-pong. Table tennis."
Kamikawa finished, grabbed racket bag, shoes on, out.
Grandpa scratched head. "…When the hell did this kid learn ping-pong?"
Raised him. Zero table tennis memory.
---
Door—Tezuka waiting, bikes ready. Pedaled to school, chatting sports fest sign-ups.
"Tezuka, what'd you pick?"
"Badminton."
"You play badminton?"
"Yeah. Similar to tennis. Kinda."
Tezuka nodded. Researched last night. Badminton = net play, kill on drop. Smaller court, defense easier.
Tezuka Zone on shuttlecock? Spin a feather? Kamikawa smirked—weird.
"You?"
"Me?" Kamikawa pointed thumb. "Ping-pong."
"Table tennis?"
"Yup."
Born from rainy England—can't play lawn tennis? Bar table, corks for balls, books for paddles. Mini tennis. Evolved: table tennis.
"You play?"
Tezuka shocked. Childhood buddy dropping ping-pong bombs?
"Don't sleep on me. My table tennis? National elite."
Kamikawa grinned. Past life? Ping-pong nation. Elementary, middle, high—tables everywhere. PE, holidays—hustled old geezers on street. Ball feel trash, but grind. Tiny table = effort > talent.
Haven't played this life. But ball feel god-tier. Sweep Hyotei ping-pong club. Keigo signed up too.
Show him the gap.
---
School. Sports fest = free day chaos. Every school does it—vibe check.
"~Gotta bounce, match starting. Later, Tezuka."
Kamikawa eyed ping-pong bracket. Up soon—third-year "Tokyo ping-pong prodigy."
"Cool. Signing up."
Tezuka split.
Kamikawa hit venue—roar from crowd. Keigo in Hyotei casual, strutting through, hair flip. Girls screamed.
"That's Hyotei tennis vice-captain Keigo Jingu? Total douche vibe."
"No shit."
"Keep it down—Jingu zaibatsu heir. Trash-talk = trouble."
"Heard Hyotei snagged Kanto this year. Way stronger."
Crowd chatter—tennis hype, Keigo's rich-kid aura.
"Yo~ Who we got? Kamikawa, you in ping-pong?"
Keigo scanned, locked on.
Surprised. Table clash?
Tennis? Kamikawa owns him. Ping-pong? England roots. Prodigy in both. Insight? Exploits weaknesses.
"Yeah. Looks like table showdown."
Kamikawa smiled. "Go easy, Keigo."
"Hah~ No mercy, Kamikawa!"
Mercy? 11-0's generous!
Kamikawa Muzuki—you're mine!