Prince of Tennis: The Emperor's Eye

Chapter 106: Chapter 106: Ryōma’s Confusion

At the same time, inside the Japan U-17 training camp, Tokugawa Kazuya was kneeling on the ground with a devastated expression. Standing before him was the camp’s No. 1, Byoudouin Houou, who had undergone a complete change in temperament.

Tokugawa had trained overseas since the age of five, working tirelessly at a renowned tennis club with the goal of becoming a professional player. He even stood out in Germany’s elite training system before being scouted by the Japan team and joining the U-17. Within the camp, he had been undefeated across all courts.

But eventually, swollen with pride and youthful aggression, Tokugawa set his sights on the First String. He directly challenged the leader, Byoudouin, only to have his tennis completely shattered. The loss crushed his confidence.

Fortunately, Oni arrived just in time to pull Tokugawa out of Byoudouin’s hands. If he had come even a little later, Tokugawa might’ve been ruined both physically and mentally. When questioned, Byoudouin only gave Tokugawa a dismissive glance before turning and walking away.

Mifune later relayed the entire situation to Akashi over the phone. Byoudouin’s current mindset was clearly off, and the oppressive atmosphere inside the training camp was unmistakable. Yet no one could challenge Byoudouin—not even Oni—and Duke was loyally following him.

So Mifune hoped that when the U-17 officially began recruiting middle schoolers, Akashi could help keep Byoudouin in check, at the very least preventing him from scaring them off.

Mifune had heard Oni admit it himself: he wasn’t a match for Akashi. Even if Akashi couldn’t completely defeat Byoudouin, applying enough pressure shouldn’t be a problem.

After listening to Mifune, Akashi thought for a moment and said he’d decide based on the situation. If needed, he would step in. But if he did, it would have to be a decisive match.

Mifune said that wasn’t an issue. If Akashi could defeat Byoudouin, then handing over the No. 1 spot of the Japan U-17 to him wouldn’t be out of the question.

After hanging up, Akashi didn’t think about it any further. The U-17 wasn’t his responsibility—at least not yet. His priority was raising Kintarō. The regional tournament was about to begin, and their final opponent would definitely be Seigaku. If Kintarō faced off against Ryōma, it would certainly be interesting.

Over time, Kintarō had become the darling of the Fudomine tennis team. Everyone looked after him. Akashi even arranged for a takoyaki shop to open near the school gate.

Kintarō, for his part, got along great with everyone. But sometimes, he would latch onto someone and demand endless matches. In those moments, Krauser usually had to step in to calm him down.

Even Akashi hadn’t expected it: the person Kintarō got along with best, and played the most matches against, wasn’t Akashi or even Tezuka—it was Akutsu.

Ever since Kintarō saw Akutsu’s Glowing Shot, he’d been hyped out of his mind and bugged him constantly to teach it. But since Kintarō hadn’t even mastered the sweetspot technique yet, there was no way he could perform the Glowing Shot. Akutsu, clearly at his limit, came up with a solution: if Kintarō could win a game against him, he’d teach him.

Kintarō, of course, agreed right away—any excuse for a match. Without realizing it, the two grew a lot closer.

When Akashi noticed, he didn’t interfere. Honestly, it made his life easier. Every match with Kintarō meant Akashi had to restrain himself heavily, always afraid of accidentally crushing the kid. Kintarō was cheerful by nature, but better safe than sorry.

So Kintarō played match after match in the tennis club, mostly with Akutsu. One day, during a match, Kintarō managed to score a point. He bounced around like it was New Year’s. Akutsu didn’t mind losing the point—instead, he taught him the sweetspot technique.

Kintarō, being the genius he was, managed to grasp the basics of the sweetspot technique in just a week. Now, he was aiming for the super sweetspot technique and walked around every day holding a cross-shaped racket.

Meanwhile, after losing badly to Inui Sadaharu, Ryōma had started to take practice more seriously. Many of Seigaku’s training plans were written by Inui—not as refined as Akashi’s, but still scientific and effective.

During this time, Ryōma grew closer to Momoshiro, just like in the original story. He had shed some of his arrogance, making him a little easier to get along with.

Fate brought them to the street tennis court again, where they ran into Fukawa and Izumi from Gyokurin. Ryōma and Momoshiro tried out doubles. Momoshiro had some experience, but the two had no chemistry, so they lost to Fukawa and Izumi.

This time, however, they didn’t run into Tachibana An. With Fudomine’s current situation, they had no reason to train on street courts anymore. Naturally, An wouldn’t show up either.

Time passed, and soon the regional tournament was about to begin. Most schools had given up on aiming for the championship—their goal was just to qualify for the Tokyo tournament. Everyone knew the top two would be Fudomine and Seigaku.

On the day of the regional tournament, when Fudomine’s team bus arrived at the park gate, all the spectators watching the match instinctively stepped back in awe. Stepping off the bus were the reigning champions of middle school tennis—Fudomine’s regulars.

Kintarō, bouncing off the bus, looked around excitedly. This was his first official match ever. He’d had trouble sleeping from excitement the night before, but thanks to his boundless energy, it didn’t affect him much.

After registering, Akashi reminded Kintarō to hold back during the match. ”Don’t go all out. If you do, Krauser will come find you tonight.” Hearing that, Kintarō looked at Krauser beside him and immediately nodded like an obedient little puppy.

Before facing Seigaku, Akashi had only planned to let the Second String play. But with Kintarō pestering him day after day, begging to be on court, he had no choice but to warn him repeatedly before the match. After all, the other schools hadn’t done anything to deserve it—if Kintarō accidentally crushed someone, that’d be hard to explain.

Since it was the first round, all five matches had to be played, and Kintarō lucked out with a spot. Akashi placed him in the Singles 1 slot.

Incidentally, this year Sakurai Masaya, Uchimura Kyōsuke, and Mori Tatsunori all made it into the Second String too, which made Akashi suspicious that the world’s will was at it again.

Honestly, the three weren’t anything special—maybe a bit above average, but their strength was just about even with standard Second String players. Even so, they somehow always scraped out wins and managed to squeeze into the lineup.

Akashi didn’t bother dwelling on it. If they could make it, that was their luck and effort. Aside from Seigaku, no other team in the regional tournament posed any threat.

The match started quickly. Their opponent was Iwakura Middle School, a total no-name team. Akashi had zero memory of them, but still sat in the coach’s seat—mainly to watch Kintarō.

The other regulars stayed outside the court to watch. That alone showed how much they all liked Kintarō. In the Doubles 2 match, Uchimura Kyōsuke and Mori Tatsunori represented Fudomine.

Their opponents were both third-years, but they weren’t even close. Uchimura and Mori flattened them 6-0, exactly as expected. Iwakura had just drawn the short straw by running into Fudomine.

For Doubles 1, Ishida Tetsu and Kamio Akira stepped onto the court. The result? 1-0. Ishida Tetsu used Hadōkyū right out of the gate, and their opponents just gave up on the spot.

Kintarō watched from the bench, grinning ear to ear. He’d experienced Ishida’s Hadōkyū before—it took all his effort to return it. Too bad, just when he was about to unleash his Super Ultra Great Delicious Mountain Storm, Akashi shut him down.

In Singles 3, Fuji Yūta breezed through his opponent. His half-volley was already sharp and consistent, and thanks to Akashi’s training methods, his strength had surpassed what the original story had shown.

Singles 2 was Ibu Shinji. He didn’t even use anything fancy—just basic tennis completely overwhelmed the other guy. Another 6-0.

Then, finally, a cheerful Kintarō stepped onto the court.

But fate played a trick on him. His opponent for Singles 1 forfeited without playing. Kintarō immediately threw a tantrum, kicking up a fuss. In the end, Krauser had to drag him off the court like a baby chick.

In the second round, they faced another background team. This time, Akashi didn’t let Kintarō play but promised to put him in Singles 3 for the finals. That got him back in a good mood.

The results? No surprise—three straight 6-0s. Ishida Tetsu held off on using Hadōkyū this time. With that, the first day of the regional tournament wrapped up. Matches would continue the next day.

Meanwhile, Ryōma and Momoshiro couldn’t escape punishment from Ryūzaki Sumire. Their doubles match had been such a mess that even she couldn’t bear to watch it.

The next day, the regional semifinals began on schedule. Fudomine’s opponent was Kakinoki Middle School—a school they’d once briefly encountered. Only then did Akashi recall that in the original story, Fudomine had also faced Kakinoki here.

Unfortunately, Kakinoki Middle lost even worse this time. Their captain, Kuki, faced Fuji Yūta in Singles 3 and got sent off with a clean 6-0. He couldn’t believe it. He’d trained desperately for the past two years, yet still got crushed by a second-year—even if that second-year was from Fudomine.

Akashi didn’t have time to worry about a background character. The real match was in the afternoon: Fudomine vs. Seigaku. It would be Akashi’s first time seeing Echizen Ryōma in person.

The lunch break passed quickly. When both teams arrived at the venue, spectators had already surrounded the court, packed three layers deep. These were two of last year’s national top four schools.

As Fudomine entered the stadium, Horio Satoshi started bragging again to his friends about Fudomine’s accomplishments. But at the end, he still proudly declared that their senpai would definitely beat Fudomine.

Akashi smiled and greeted Ryūzaki Sumire. She had changed a lot by now, and Akashi no longer had any particular opinion about her—even if she wasn’t the most competent coach.

Then he turned his eyes to the boy in the white cap. Seeing Ryōma in that Seigaku regular jacket stirred a distant memory in Akashi’s mind, but he quickly buried it and returned to the bench without a word.

Ryōma, on the other hand, felt a sudden wave of pressure the moment Akashi looked at him. He didn’t know why, but couldn’t help asking the senpai beside him who that guy was.

”Chibi, that guy just now was Akashi Seijūrō, captain of Fudomine. He’s the acknowledged No. 1 in middle school tennis. He’s never lost a match, and his school has been national champions for two straight years,” Kikumaru said mysteriously, introducing Akashi to Ryōma.

”Oh? Then playing a match with him sounds like it’d be fun,” Ryōma said with interest.

Even though he’d toned down a bit after losing to Inui Sadaharu, as the saying goes, ’a leopard can’t change its spots.’ Given time, Ryōma’s cockiness was already starting to resurface.

”Chibi, don’t you like living? Why would you go provoke that monster?” Kikumaru looked at Ryōma like he was out of his mind.

Ryōma didn’t say anything else, but judging from his face, he clearly didn’t take Kikumaru’s words seriously. He figured that strong feeling of danger just now must’ve been a mistake. That guy Akashi Seijūrō had a big smile on his face—he must be gentle, just like Fuji-san.

”The next match, Doubles 2, will be Fudomine’s Akutsu Jin and Kite Eishirō versus Seigaku’s Inui Sadaharu and Kaidō Kaoru. Players, please take the court!”

As the umpire’s voice rang out, all four players walked onto the court. Inui frowned the moment he saw the two across from him. Just one Akutsu would’ve been a problem—but with Kite too, things looked grim.

The two sides met at the net, exchanged handshakes, and Inui spoke first.

”Didn’t expect we’d be facing you two. This might be tricky...”

”Heh~ Your mind’s probably running full speed, crunching our data, huh, Inui?” Kite smirked coldly.

Inui didn’t deny it. He just gave a helpless shrug. Then they started the coin toss, which Inui won, gaining serve.

”First game! Seigaku to serve!”

”Go, Jin!” Kintarō’s cheerful shout suddenly rang out from the sidelines.

”I told you, stop calling me Jin!” Akutsu growled, shooting Kintarō a deadly glare. Kintarō didn’t care at all and just laughed loudly.

Inui glanced at Kintarō in surprise. He knew exactly what kind of person Akutsu was. That kid must be Fudomine’s new first-year. Interesting. Wearing a regular’s jacket—so not just anybody. But what was with that yellow leopard-print vest underneath?

Quickly, Inui brought his focus back to the match. He took a deep breath, tossed the ball high, and his arm flexed with power as he slammed the racket into it. The ball cut through the air like rushing water and crashed toward the opposite court.

”Waterfall!”

”Ace! 15-0!”

Kite adjusted his glasses and looked over at Inui without a word. Akutsu just clicked his tongue in irritation at Kite. ’If that ball had come at me, I would’ve returned it no problem.’

”Oishi, Oishi! That serve—it had to be over 225 km/h, right? Inui’s pulling out all the stops!” Kikumaru said in shock.

”Seems like it... but a serve like that won’t be enough to trouble Akutsu and Kite,” Oishi said with a serious face.

On the sidelines, the trio of underclassmen were already excitedly praising Inui’s serve, going on about how powerful it was and how the opponents couldn’t react. Ryōma thought the same.

Too bad they were all about to get slapped in the face.

Inui served another Waterfall. This time, Kite appeared near the baseline in a flash and returned the ball cleanly with a smooth stroke. Kaidō had anticipated this and charged forward to send back a Snake.

Akutsu instantly appeared along the ball’s trajectory and, using a strange stance, blasted a forehand drive that flew across the net and bounced out of bounds.

”15-15!”

Ryōma froze in his seat. That serve he couldn’t return no matter how hard he tried—this senpai named Kite had sent it back like it was nothing. And how did he even move to the baseline so fast? Ryōma hadn’t seen a thing.

Horio looked super awkward now. He’d just been bragging that no one could return Inui’s serve—and boom, Kite had returned it like it was just another warm-up shot.

Though Inui kept up the Waterfall serve’s speed, it was nothing to Akutsu and Kite. Honestly, Akashi’s regular serve was faster than that.

Kaidō, for his part, played his role as the tireless chaser. He chased down every ball he could, trying to buy Inui time to collect data. But the strength gap was just too wide. He couldn’t hold out long.

”15-30!”

”15-40!”

”Game! Fudomine! 1-0!”

Not long after, Inui and Kaidō lost their serve. The first-years on Seigaku’s side couldn’t believe it, especially Ryōma. He knew how strong Inui was, yet he’d lost a game that fast?

Kintarō cheered loudly again for Akutsu—not that it made Akutsu any happier.

Now it was Akutsu’s turn to serve. He stood at the baseline, tossed the ball, and with a sharp crack, sent it flying at lightning speed toward Kaidō’s right baseline corner. Before Kaidō could even react, the ball was already out.

”Ace! 15-0!”

Akutsu’s regular high-speed serve was already over 200 km/h. Not quite as fast as the Waterfall, but still way too much for Kaidō to handle.

At that moment, Ryōma sat frozen on the bench. Was this really Japan? Why did it suddenly feel so unfamiliar? A middle school regional match... with players whose strength rivaled professional matches in the U.S.?