Prince of Tennis: The Emperor's Eye

Chapter 44: Chapter 44: Atobe’s Crushing Defeat

During the changeover, Atobe walked toward Akashi’s side with a dark look. Facing Akashi directly, he couldn’t help saying,

”Akashi, ever since we were kids, people have said we’re alike. But I’ll prove to you—whether it’s tennis or insight—I’ll surpass you!”

”You’d best not provoke me, Atobe. Just being compared to a counterfeit already makes me deeply irritated,” Akashi said coldly.

”You dare call me a fake? Fine! This match isn’t over. I’ll show you my true strength. And that annoying jacket of yours—I’ll knock it off your body soon enough!” Atobe was clearly rattled.

When the umpire announced the start of the fourth game, Akashi walked to the baseline, already determined to utterly crush Atobe. That was the only way to fully ignite Atobe’s potential.

He launched another Tannhauser Serve. Atobe’s eyes were locked in. Just before the ball touched down, he reached the spot. The moment it bounced, he bent low and swung. In his eyes, the ball seemed to move in slow motion, frame by frame.

But as soon as his racket touched the ball, it bounced off at a weird angle and flew straight out of bounds.

”Ace! 15-0!”

”So you’ve already figured out the mechanics of this serve, huh? Not bad, Atobe...” Akashi muttered quietly.

Unfazed, he served another Tannhauser. He wanted to see if Atobe could truly break it. Even though Atobe had missed the last one, it didn’t shake him. He again reached the drop spot early and waited for the bounce.

Staring the ball down, he timed the swing perfectly. This time, he adjusted the angle and lessened his swing power. As the ball rose high, it struck his racket face and rebounded toward the net, gently tumbling down after hitting the tape.

”Ace! 30-0!”

”Next ball, I’ll break it for sure. That serve’s already useless against me, Akashi!” Atobe declared, regaining confidence.

”Oh? Then go ahead—give it a shot~” Akashi said, unconcerned, launching another Tannhauser Serve.

Atobe didn’t hesitate. He swung hard, scooping the ball just after the light bounce and returning it across the net. But before he could feel satisfied, Akashi was already at the net and fired a sharp crosscourt shot. Atobe didn’t even have time to react before the ball flew out of bounds.

”40-0!”

”Even if you break the serve, so what? You still don’t stand a chance. Your defeat is inevitable, Atobe,” Akashi said coldly at the net.

Atobe’s face turned ugly. It was only now that he realized how massive the gap between him and Akashi really was.

For the last serve, Akashi didn’t use Tannhauser. Instead, he smashed a high-speed flat serve. Before Atobe could move, the ball was already out of bounds. His eyes saw it—but his body couldn’t react in time.

”Game! Fudomine! 4-0!”

”That speed! So you weren’t even trying earlier?! You bastard!” Atobe yelled furiously at Akashi.

Akashi just stood there, expressionless, ignoring the outburst. As the umpire prompted the next game, Atobe could only fume and walk back to the baseline.

”You’ve got to be kidding... Atobe’s being completely overwhelmed!” Oshitari said in disbelief from the bench.

”Tch! If Atobe loses, I won’t let him live it down!” Shishido Ryō said angrily. He already had a grudge against Atobe.

”Yeah right. If it were you out there, you’d be crushed even worse,” Mukahi Gakuto shot back. After his break, he’d recovered a bit of spirit and wasted no time clapping back.

”Zzzzz...” Akutagawa Jirō continued to nap, totally unbothered by the chaos around him.

On the coaching bench, Sakaki Tarō was both surprised and quietly pleased. It wasn’t Atobe’s likely loss that pleased him, but the sight of Japan’s tennis future. He’d already been impressed by Atobe’s talent—especially after Yuezhi Gekkō left the team, and Hyōtei produced another prodigy.

But seeing the full Fudomine lineup today made him realize: a new golden age was on its way. Last time, the Byoudouin era was full of blooming geniuses. He had thought that was divine favor upon Japan. Yet now, another batch of prodigies had risen—Fudomine, Hyōtei, and rumor had it Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku had also recruited some terrifying first-years.

Sakaki was now seriously considering whether to report this to Mifune of U-17. Up to now, U-17 had avoided recruiting middle schoolers. But that was out of necessity. In Europe, many U-17 teams start grooming talent from early on. By the time those kids hit high school, they’re ready to be drafted, instantly boosting their team’s strength.

On the court, Atobe, burning with frustration, served a powerful, high-quality ball. But Akashi returned it with ease—and this time, his return speed was clearly faster than before, catching Atobe off guard. Not only that, Atobe noticed Akashi’s playing style had completely changed.

That feeling of being totally controlled made Atobe incredibly uncomfortable. No matter where he hit the ball, Akashi seemed to predict it all in advance and returned every shot. Meanwhile, Atobe struggled to keep up with the increasing speed, his eyes growing sore and his body sluggish.

”0-15!”

”0-30!”

”Game! Fudomine! 5-0!”

In the blink of an eye, he lost his service game. Atobe now stood on the edge of total defeat. Looking at Akashi, still wearing his jacket and as composed as ever, Atobe, for the first time, felt something close to despair.

The surrounding Hyōtei members had gone completely silent. No one was cheering anymore. Many had already lost hope. Their highly anticipated captain, Atobe, was now clearly unable to turn the match around under Fudomine’s captain’s dominance.

The final game began, with Akashi serving. Standing at the baseline, Akashi looked at the silent Atobe and silently muttered an apology in his heart. Then he tossed the ball high and served—a simple high-speed flat serve. If someone had measured it with a radar gun, they’d have seen that Akashi’s serve speed had already exceeded 210 kilometers per hour.

For reference, in the original story, Tōtarō’s power serve barely surpassed 190 kilometers, not even reaching 200. Only later refinements or Sadaharu’s Waterfall could hit such speeds.

At Atobe’s current level, even if he could see the ball, there was nothing he could do. He could only watch helplessly as it flew past him and out of bounds.

”Ace! 15-0!”

”Ace! 30-0!”

”Ace! 40-0!”

Three straight high-speed serves. Match point.

Atobe stood still, head lowered. No one knew what was going through his mind. On the bench, Oshitari, Mukahi, and the others looked on with concern, fearing he might break down from the blow.

”Looks like that Hyōtei guy is totally done for,” Akutsu scoffed.

”Getting matched up with Captain Akashi... he was just unlucky,” said Kite flatly.

”Don’t say that. They’ve been childhood friends, right? Akashi’s being kinda heartless here~” said Tachibana with a different take.

”Tachibana! That’s not what ’childhood friends’ means...” Chitose muttered with a sigh.

”Wow, your Japanese is even worse than mine!” Krauser fired a deadly jab, making Tachibana visibly uncomfortable. He’d only mixed up the term by accident.

Tezuka stared at Akashi on the court and couldn’t help but recall their match at the Junior Open finals. Even though his current strength had improved significantly since then, he still couldn’t see where Akashi’s limits lay.

Looking at Atobe’s state, Akashi frowned slightly. In his memory, Atobe wasn’t someone who’d give up like this. He remembered in the original story, just before Nationals, Atobe played a match against Sanada and was completely overwhelmed. But he never gave up—he held on until the very end, unlocking World of Ice. If Yukimura hadn’t stepped in, he might’ve turned the tables on Sanada.

Just as he thought that, Atobe suddenly looked up. His bloodshot eyes locked firmly on Akashi. In them, Akashi saw a fierce resolve—a point of no return.

”You’re really not one to give up easily, are you... Atobe? Then show me your resolve.”

Akashi served the final ball. It still looked incredibly fast, but only Akashi knew—it was slightly slower now, only around 200 kilometers per hour. Atobe roared and dashed with all his strength toward the ball’s trajectory.

Just in time, he barely managed to return the serve. Without pause, he charged the net. In that moment, he tossed aside all pride, elegance, and flair. Now, all he saw was the ball—and Akashi.

Akashi also moved to the net. As he prepared to strike, he faked a straight shot. Atobe, seeing this, instinctively shifted his weight left. But that was exactly what Akashi was waiting for—his Emperor Eye took it all in. At the moment of contact, Akashi switched and hit a clean cross-court shot.

”Fall, Atobe.”

Atobe tried to change direction and intercept, but because of the earlier weight shift, his feet couldn’t keep up. He lost his balance and collapsed awkwardly to the ground. The ball landed cleanly on the baseline and bounced out of bounds.

”Game! 6-0! Match over! Winner: Fudomine!”

Atobe sat on the ground, raising his head to look at Akashi—who stood like a sovereign ruler. That iconic jacket billowed behind him like a cape.