Prince of Tennis: The Emperor's Eye

Chapter 72: Chapter 72: Atobe’s Breakthrough

After three games, both players switched courts. Tezuka returned to the bench to drink water. Akashi chuckled lightly and asked, ”How does Fuji’s strength feel? Is it about what you expected? But it’s about time you start getting serious, right?”

”I understand,” Tezuka replied calmly, his mind clearly elsewhere.

”Tezuka, I know you and Fuji have known each other since you were kids. You’re not going easy on him because of that, right~?” Kite’s glasses reflected the light as he spoke in a teasing tone.

Tezuka ignored Kite’s comment, but he knew Kite’s personality and didn’t mind it. He stood up and slowly walked toward the other side of the court.

Fuji did the same, walking slowly. When they faced each other, Tezuka spoke flatly: ”I didn’t expect your strength to grow this much, Fuji. But this is where it ends.”

”Is that so? I’d like to see just how much strength you’re still hiding, Tezuka!” Fuji said, eyes sharp as he stared at Tezuka.

The two of them didn’t speak further, each moving to their respective sides to prepare for the fourth game.

Fuji stood at the backcourt, watching Tezuka prepare to serve on the opposite side. He started to feel a sense of unease. In the last game, he had given everything he had, but Tezuka clearly still had energy left. And now it was Tezuka’s service game—with that unbeatable Zero Shiki Serve, Fuji had no idea how to handle it.

Sure enough, Tezuka didn’t hesitate at all, firing four consecutive Zero Shiki Serves. Fuji tried everything he could, but each time, either the ball bounced off his racket or he violated the return rules and got penalized directly.

”Game! Fudomine! 2-2!”

It was finally Fuji’s turn to serve again, but instead of relief, he felt even more pressure. Just then, Tezuka suddenly made another absolute prediction.

”Four shots!”

Fuji’s expression grew tense as he quickly served the ball. The quality of his serve was still excellent, but it was useless against Tezuka in Saiki Kanpatsu mode—Tezuka easily returned it.

Fuji watched the ball fly back, then sliced his racket horizontally, adding strong double-sided spin before smashing the ball with a fierce swing. The ball whirled at high speed toward Tezuka.

”Fifth Counter! Hecatoncheires no Monban!”

Tezuka’s expression stayed calm as he rushed to the ball’s landing point. The Muga aura around him shifted instantly, entering Hyaku Ren Jitoku state. Wrapped in seven-colored light, his racket intercepted the ball head-on.

The moment his racket touched the ball, Tezuka used Hyaku Ren Jitoku’s amplifying effect along with his super sweet spot technique, adding extreme reverse spin. The ball shot straight into Fuji’s court, gliding just over the net without dropping, landing in Fuji’s front court, and then flying out of bounds.

”0-15!”

Fuji stared blankly at the ball outside the court. He hadn’t expected Tezuka to perfectly counter Hecatoncheires no Monban after seeing it only once.

”What! Fuji’s new move got broken just like that!” Kikumaru yelled in disbelief.

”Fuji’s Hecatoncheires no Monban should use high-speed double-sided spin on the ball during the return, creating extreme squared spin. The opponent has to produce several times more reverse spin than Fuji’s to get the ball over the net. But Tezuka actually did it instantly!” Inui said, eyes wide with shock.

If Fuji had used this move on anyone else, it wouldn’t have been broken so easily. Not everyone could generate that much reverse spin—even Shiraishi took a full four games to manage it.

But Fuji had chosen to use it on Tezuka. In the original, Tezuka’s mastery of spin was unmatched among middle school players, and now he’d also learned the super sweet spot technique—Fuji could only call it bad luck.

For the next three shots, Tezuka calmly made absolute predictions, and the match unfolded exactly as he foretold. Unless Fuji could unleash a new move, there was nothing more he could do.

”Game! Fudomine! 3-2!”

”Game! Fudomine! 4-2! Switch courts!”

Another four Zero Shiki Serves left Fuji with no chance at all. On the sidelines, Akashi had already signaled Tezuka to stop—at this point, with twelve Zero Shiki Serves, Tezuka was at his limit. Any more and it wouldn’t just be a burden—it could cause real damage.

In the seventh game, Fuji was still completely seen through by Saiki Kanpatsu. He was like a puppet under control, unable to escape the grip of Tezuka’s predictions. Tezuka gave him no chances at all—he avoided topspin returns, didn’t go for smashes, and even Hakuryu was broken by Tezuka’s Hyaku Ren Jitoku movement.

”Game! Fudomine! 5-2!”

Fuji stood sweating, staring at Tezuka as memories from elementary school floated into his mind. ’Even after growing this much stronger, is the result still the same?’ he thought bitterly.

Next was Tezuka’s service game. If he served four more Zero Shiki Serves, the match would be completely over. Fuji felt a wave of bitterness, but surprisingly, Tezuka didn’t do what he expected. He made an absolute prediction and launched a normal high-speed serve instead.

”Is this pity, Tezuka?” Fuji said quietly, face darkening, but he still couldn’t stop himself from running to the drop point.

In Seigaku’s players’ seats, Kikumaru asked Inui curiously, ”Inui, why isn’t Tezuka using that unfair serve anymore? Is he really pitying Fuji?”

”No! It’s because Tezuka can’t use Zero Shiki Serve too many times. I just said earlier that Zero Shiki puts a huge burden on his arm!” Inui replied seriously.

”Looks like Tezuka-kun is careful about his body. That’s good! Very good!” Yamato said with a hint of relief.

While they talked, Fuji on court was already on the verge of collapse. Even though he fought desperately, even shouting as he hit, there was nothing he could do against two major Muga secrets and the super sweet spot technique—not even genius Fuji could handle that.

”15-0!”

”30-0!”

”40-0!”

It was match point. Tezuka looked at the battered Fuji across the net and, unusually, spoke to him directly: ”Fuji! Keep training hard. I believe you’ll become Seigaku’s pillar one day. Don’t give up—give it your all!”

Then he tossed the ball without making any prediction, and even the aura of Muga around him completely vanished. He served a slower ball; after it landed, it didn’t bounce and instead rolled slowly backward, stopping right under the net.

”Game! 6-2! Match over! Winner, Fudomine Middle School!”

Fuji stared blankly at the ball under the net, Tezuka’s words echoing in his ears. He stood frozen until Oishi walked up to check on him, snapping him out of it. Fuji forced a small smile and walked back to the bench with Oishi.

Akashi shook his head helplessly, then immediately ordered the team’s massage staff to do an emergency check and massage on Tezuka’s arm to make sure there’d be no lasting damage.

And so, Fudomine won the semifinal 3-0 and advanced smoothly to the final. As expected, their opponent in the final would almost certainly be Rikkai.

”Tezuka Kunimitsu! In this boy, I actually saw a glimpse of Nanjirō-san... limitless potential!” Saitō Itaru praised as he prepared to leave after the match.

Just as Saitō Itaru turned to go, Akashi casually glanced around and sharply sensed his presence. He froze for a moment, then a playful smile appeared on his lips.

”With that height and outfit, that’s definitely Saitō Itaru. The U-17’s mental coach actually came to the Kanto tournament... interesting. But it’s not time to approach him yet~” Akashi muttered to himself.

Leaving Akashi’s muttering aside, the Seigaku team began packing up their belongings with heavy hearts. Let’s move time forward a bit.

At the venue for the Rikkai versus Hyōtei match, the Hyōtei players looked extremely grim. The scoreboard beside the court showed the match results: Doubles Two, 6-2; Doubles One, 6-0; Singles Three, 3-1.

That’s right—Hyōtei had lost both doubles matches to Rikkai. Especially their third-year Doubles One pair, who were practically questioning their entire lives now after losing to Yanagi Renji and Niō Masaharu!

On court, the current match was Singles Three: Atobe versus Sanada. But even now, things were going badly for Hyōtei. After four games, Atobe had only taken one.

In the fifth game, it was Sanada’s service game. Wearing his cap, Sanada stood at the baseline with a stern face, shouting energetically at Atobe: ”Stop struggling, Atobe! I’ll drag you into the depths of defeat!”

”Swift as the wind!”

Sanada’s arm flicked, and the ball shot fiercely toward Atobe’s court. But with his keen eyes, Atobe just barely caught Sanada’s strike direction, sprinted to the drop point, and swung his racket hard, sending the ball back before quickly rushing to the net.

Sanada didn’t hold back at all. After reaching the drop point, he spun 360 degrees, using the momentum to smash the incoming ball hard. The tennis ball seemed to catch fire, shooting toward Atobe like a blazing meteor.

”Fierce as fire!”

Atobe gripped his racket with both hands, catching the falling ball with all his strength. His legs powered up as he returned the now slightly scorched ball. But Sanada had already rushed to the net, a massive wall seeming to appear behind him as he easily blocked the ball, then slammed a sharp shot into the corner, sending it out of Atobe’s reach.

”Immovable as a mountain!”

”15-0!”

Atobe’s sharp gaze locked onto Sanada, constantly trying to improve his vision and see through Sanada’s weaknesses. Even though both were national-level players, Sanada’s Swift as the wind, silent as the forest, fierce as fire, immovable as a mountain techniques were seriously troublesome.

Sanada served again, using Swift as the wind and his invisible backswing to launch a high-speed serve. Atobe barely followed Sanada’s arm movement, but it was already taking a toll on his eyes.

They began another fierce rally at the net. Sanada kept unleashing his techniques, while Atobe refused to back down, relying on his solid fundamentals to extend the rally, hoping to exhaust Sanada’s stamina.

”30-0!”

”30-15!”

”40-15!”

”40-30!”

”Game! Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku! 4-1!”

In the end, Atobe still lost the game, but a faint chill appeared in his sharp eyes, as if he could freeze everything around him.

Standing at the baseline, ready to serve, Atobe’s expression was frustrated and complicated. He took a deep breath, tossed the ball high, and snapped his wrist forcefully as he swung, cutting down on the ball. The tennis ball spun fiercely, flew over the net, landed, and then skidded crazily just above the ground, sliding out of the court.

”Tannhauser Serve!”

”15-0!”

That’s right—it was the Tannhauser Serve. Akashi had given Atobe special training for this serve after the training camp ended, warning him not to overuse it or he’d risk injuring his wrist.

At the time, Atobe had arrogantly claimed he didn’t need it, but Akashi still passed it to Sakaki Tarō, who accepted without hesitation. He knew perfectly well how important strength was, and this serve could be invaluable for Atobe.

Akashi never planned to use the Tannhauser Serve himself after giving it to Atobe. First, it could still be countered, unlike the Zero Shiki Serve; second, he’d developed it partly for fun, just to see Atobe’s reaction.

Sanada watched the ball skidding past his feet, unconsciously recalling Akashi. That serve was exactly like Akashi’s, but even if Akashi showed up himself, Sanada wouldn’t be afraid—he was determined to defeat both Tezuka and Akashi.

”30-0!”

”40-0!”

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 4-2!”

Relying on four consecutive Tannhauser Serves, Atobe secured another game, just as he had earlier. But he knew Sanada could probably counter it now, and Atobe’s wrist already ached faintly, so he decided not to use it again.

Even so, Atobe couldn’t stop Sanada’s Swift as the wind, silent as the forest, fierce as fire, immovable as a mountain attacks. But he didn’t give up, fighting back tenaciously and unknowingly draining Sanada’s stamina bit by bit.

”Game! Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku! 5-2!”

After a long battle, Sanada took another game, but his breathing grew a bit ragged—Atobe’s plan was clearly starting to work.

Atobe served normally with a high-speed shot. Compared to Sanada, Atobe’s current condition was better; his stamina ranked among the best of all middle school players.

They clashed fiercely once more. During the rally, the icy light in Atobe’s eyes grew more intense—he could feel his vision nearing a breakthrough.

”0-15!”

”15-15!”

”15-30!”

”15-40!”

”30-40!”

The score kept swinging back and forth. Even though Sanada had reached match point, he didn’t dare relax for a second. As he used Silent as the forest to counter Atobe’s spin-heavy return, Atobe’s eyes suddenly lit up with a sharp gleam, as if countless ice spikes shot out from his gaze.

In Atobe’s vision, six or seven icy spikes stabbed into the space around Sanada. Locking onto one of them, Atobe smashed the ball straight toward it. Sanada moved to intercept but found himself frozen, unable to react, and could only watch the ball sail past.

”It’s finally complete! Ice World!”

”40-40! Deuce!”