Prince of Tennis: The Emperor's Eye

Chapter 39: Chapter 39: Tokyo Tournament Semifinalists

Akazawa stood there in a daze, staring at the tennis ball at his feet, forcing a bitter smile as he muttered to himself, ”So I lost just like that? I didn’t think the gap in strength would be so huge!”

”Why did this happen! How could Akutsu Jin break Akazawa’s Blur Ball? He’s supposed to be just an instinctive player. In the end, I’m the one who didn’t get to play! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!”

Mizuki Hajime had completely snapped. Out of these three matches, other than doubles one, which he had given up on from the start, the other two didn’t follow his script at all—something he just couldn’t accept. Suddenly, Mizuki Hajime turned to Akashi, glaring, and shouted, ”Akashi Seijurō! You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You made everyone hide their strength before, messing up my intel so your team could win easily. You’re too sneaky!”

Akashi suddenly didn’t feel like responding. At first, he found Mizuki’s meltdown kind of entertaining, but now it was just annoying. This guy really had no mental toughness.

”Why aren’t you saying anything? Answer me, Akashi Seijurō!” Mizuki got even angrier, shouting louder when he saw Akashi ignoring him.

”Because your data tennis is just ugly to watch!” A gentle voice suddenly cut in between Mizuki and Akashi.

Both Akashi and Mizuki looked toward the voice, seeing an upperclassman in Yamabuki’s team jersey standing outside the benches, separated from them by just a chain link fence. It was Mitsuya Akuto.

”What did you say? You dare say my data is ugly? Who are you?” Mizuki Hajime lashed out, venting his anger on the newcomer.

Akashi, though, narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t expected Mitsuya to show up here, but considering Yamabuki’s strength, they’d probably already secured their own win.

Mitsuya didn’t answer Mizuki, just spoke calmly: ”Just taking a basic rally as an example, when you hit the ball, there’s speed, trajectory, deformation of the ball, tilt of the spin axis, spin speed, the friction from air and pseudo-particles, plus you have to factor in the opponent’s technique, natural talent, and the court’s conditions. All these things interact, creating countless possible outcomes.”

”And from all that huge data set, deducing the most probable result—that’s the real basic use of data tennis. Not to mention the input and output of data. If all you do is collect superficial stuff like habits and personality, and think you can build a perfect model and simulate an entire match, you’re just kidding yourself.”

Mitsuya’s voice was mild as always, but to Mizuki, every word felt like a knife. It stung worse than getting beaten up—his tennis was being dismissed at the core. Good thing Inui Sadaharu had already left for his own match, otherwise he would have totally agreed with Mitsuya’s opinion.

Just as Mizuki’s face twisted and he wanted to retort, Akazawa stepped up and grabbed his arm, speaking in a low, tired voice: ”Mizuki, that’s enough. We lost completely this time. But we’ll get another chance—if we train hard, we’ll win next year! Also, I’m sorry for my teammate’s outburst, senpai from Yamabuki. Mizuki was just upset just now. I apologize for him.”

After Akazawa spoke, he pulled the unwilling Mizuki back to St. Rudolph’s bench to pack up—they were done for this year’s Tokyo tournament.

Akashi then gave Tezuka a few quick instructions before leaving the court to walk up to Mitsuya. He smiled politely and said, ”Mitsuya-senpai, nice to meet you! I’m Akashi Seijurō. Please take care of me.”

”Hello, Akashi-kun. Looks like you’ve already checked our Yamabuki info,” Mitsuya replied, also with a smile.

”Heh, Yamabuki is a famous powerhouse, of course I’d look into you guys. After all, you’re the ones who will make our championship run more interesting,” Akashi answered, full of confidence.

”Interesting! The last time I heard someone speak this confidently was that legendary captain of Makinofuji, Byoudouin Houou. I’m really curious if Fudomine can get to that level.” Mitsuya wasn’t offended at all by Akashi’s words—instead, he brought up Byoudouin for comparison.

”Even Makinofuji, when Byoudouin was only a first-year, didn’t win the national championship. Fudomine will surpass them soon and become the first school to take three national titles in a row!”

”Oh? Even when Byoudouin dominated middle school tennis, there were still players like Tanishima Shuji from Maizusaka and Irie Kanata who could go toe-to-toe with Makinofuji. Are you really so sure your team is flawless?” Mitsuya asked with interest.

”In my dictionary, there’s no word for defeat. In this world, only victory matters—winners get everything. So my victory is absolute!” Akashi had zero doubts about the tennis club he’d built.

”I see~ Well, according to our stats, there’s an 87% chance our schools will meet in the finals. Hope you’ll show your real strength then!” Mitsuya said, then turned to leave.

”87%... So you think we have a 13% chance to lose in the semifinals? That’s pretty annoying...” Akashi muttered coldly.

And as the match between Fudomine and St. Rudolph ended, Seigaku and Ginka were still in the middle of singles three. Honestly, nobody knew how a background school like Ginka kept making it to the later rounds of the Tokyo tournament, and even making the semifinals in the original—talk about weird.

Before the match started, seeing Seigaku’s big lineup shuffle, the Ginka team was beyond excited, feeling like they’d hit the jackpot. The gap between them and Seigaku wasn’t even that big to begin with, and now Seigaku had five first-year regulars. Wasn’t that just giving up the match?

Even though the tennis media had been hyping up this wave of powerful first-years, everyone’s ingrained beliefs made them subconsciously think first-years could never beat second- or third-years. This mindset was still around even in the original story.

Seigaku sent out Oishi Shūichirō and Kikumaru Eiji as the doubles two pair. These two, the golden pair from the original, had already started walking their destined path as Seigaku’s fixed first-year doubles team, thanks to Akashi’s intervention.

Ginka, seeing Seigaku fielding two first-years, got super confident, thinking this doubles two was a guaranteed win. But reality hit them hard. Even though Oishi and Kikumaru weren’t quite at their prime, there was no way a background school like Ginka could hold up against them.

In the end, Seigaku took doubles two with a score of 6-3, leaving the Ginka team completely stunned. They just couldn’t understand how their two third-years lost to a pair of first-years.

Next up was doubles one, with Captain Yamato and Kawamura Takashi for Seigaku. Yamato took extra care with Kawamura, who had great power but not a solid tennis foundation, so he specially applied to pair up with him in doubles to guide him during the match and help him improve fast.

During the match, Kawamura made several mistakes, but Yamato always had his back, helping him fix his errors right away. Kawamura was moved and got all fired up. Even though his technique wasn’t great, there’s a saying: brute force beats all skills. His sheer power left the opponents struggling.

Seigaku laughed to the end, winning doubles one 7-5, pushing Ginka to the edge of the cliff. If they lost singles three, their Tokyo tournament run would end right here.

Luckily, thinking Seigaku’s regulars were mostly first-years, Ginka’s captain decided to play singles three himself, hoping for a 3-0 sweep. Now, that last slot was their only lifeline, just like Seigaku during the district prelims.

Seeing the glasses-wearing kid from Seigaku walk onto the court, Ginka’s captain breathed a sigh of relief—it was a first-year, and he looked pretty ordinary. No way Ginka could afford to lose any more matches now.

Once the match began, the Ginka captain realized his opponent wasn’t bad, but since he was a first-year, there were plenty of chances, and he took every opportunity to score.

”GAME! Ginka Junior High! 3-0!”

In a flash, Ginka had taken three games, and their captain was pumped, thinking they still had a shot—Seigaku must’ve put all their hopes on doubles.

”Data’s collected. Time to fight back. Seigaku’s win probability is 97%!” As Ginka’s captain was getting cocky, Inui Sadaharu’s glasses glinted as he murmured to himself.

At the start of the fourth game, everyone noticed things had changed. Ginka’s captain suddenly found it hard to return Inui’s shots, often missing completely, and Inui kept muttering weird calculations under his breath.

”Chances of retreating in time to the baseline: 83%. Probability of hitting a cross-court: 96%!”

”Knee bend angle 67—judging by the motion, the probability of a straight shot is 89%!”

”Probability of a diagonal shot: 87%... probability of timely return: 74%... probability of returning a lob: 90%!”

Inui Sadaharu looked like he could predict the future, running to every spot before the ball even got there, while Ginka’s captain seemed like a puppet being controlled, totally falling into Inui’s predictions.

”GAME! Seishun Academy! 3-1!”

”GAME! Seishun Academy! 3-3!”

Fuji Shūsuke and the others on the bench sighed as they watched. They already knew about Inui’s data tennis, but every time they saw it, they couldn’t help but complain—was that a human brain or a computer?

”Data tennis is really scary~ Looks like even I’ll lose to Inui soon~” Fuji said with a wry smile and narrowed eyes.

Everyone around him was speechless. Ryūzaki Sumire even rolled her eyes in secret—’Fuji, with your skill, doesn’t saying that make your conscience hurt? Everyone’s data might be collected by Inui, but not yours.’

”GAME! 6-3! Match over, Seishun Academy wins!”

With Seigaku’s victory, the final four teams for this Tokyo tournament were set: Fudomine, Yamabuki, Hyōtei, and Seigaku.