Prince of Tennis: The Emperor's Eye

Chapter 108: Chapter 108: Tōyama Kintarō’s Debut

Chitose looked at Tachibana Kippei and felt a strange sense of unfamiliarity. The aura around Tachibana wasn’t just a regular Beast Aura anymore—it was even more intimidating.

But soon, that aura settled down, returning to the normal Beast Aura. It had just been a burst from accumulated power. Though it was a breakthrough, Tachibana hadn’t fully mastered it yet.

”Sorry for making you return all the balls alone just now, Chitose,” Tachibana said with a hint of apology.

”It’s nothing. No need to say sorry between us~” Chitose replied casually.

On the other side, Kikumaru had snapped out of his stunned state. Thanks to Synchronization, Oishi already knew what had happened to Kikumaru. Just thinking back to that first-year experience still gave Oishi chills. Luckily, Akutsu had already played.

Although that last ball was returned by Tachibana, it really was the twelfth shot. So Chitose’s absolute prediction wasn’t wrong. Ryōma finally reacted and asked Inui again, ”Inui-senpai, did that Chitose-senpai really predict how many shots this game would have before the match started?”

”That’s right! It’s a gateway to the Muga techniques—Saiki Kanpatsu no Kiwami! By enhancing brain function with the power of Muga, it simulates the match using existing data in an instant, predicting when he can score the fastest and making an absolute forecast!” This time, Fuji stepped in to explain, cutting off Inui, who looked a bit frustrated as his words were stuck in his throat.

”Muga... technique?” Ryōma muttered after hearing Fuji’s explanation.

Back on court, the match continued. With Tachibana’s Beast Aura stabilized, he and Chitose entered Beast Synchronization together, making things even worse for Oishi and Kikumaru.

But Oishi and Kikumaru wouldn’t give up so easily. Oishi served again, and the rally resumed, only for the two of them to start losing points even faster.

”15-40!”

”Game! Fudomine! 2-0!”

The third game was Chitose’s service game. He immediately served using Kamikakushi Kai. Thanks to the Super Sweet Spot boost, the ball’s speed and power significantly increased—and since it was invisible, Oishi and Kikumaru couldn’t react until after it landed.

”Ace! 15-0!”

”Ace! 30-0!”

”Ace! 40-0!”

After Chitose’s final Kamikakushi Kai, Oishi noticed the ball’s shadow on the ground. Kikumaru quickly got it too, leaped into the air, and swung his racket where Oishi had pointed.

In the next instant, the ball appeared on Kikumaru’s strings—but a massive force shot through the racket into his body. He lost balance mid-air and was sent flying backward along with his racket. Thankfully, Oishi caught him from behind.

”Game! Fudomine! 3-0! Change courts!”

Fuji, watching from the sideline, finally figured out the principle behind Kamikakushi Kai. During the break, he explained it to Oishi and Kikumaru. Since they’d both trained at the camp and U-17 training, they immediately understood what the Super Sweet Spot was.

Clearly, a single person couldn’t return that shot. But if both of them tried, there wouldn’t be time to spot the shadow. It was a tough spot—in the end, the problem was their lack of strength.

The fourth game was Kikumaru’s service game. To counter Chitose’s Saiki, Kikumaru stayed in the backcourt after serving instead of switching with Oishi. Oishi went to the net and activated his Oishi Territory. It was a complete offense-defense role reversal.

This threw off Chitose’s simulation completely. But he didn’t mind. As time passed, he realized that Saiki Kanpatsu no Kiwami had clear limitations.

Honestly, both Hyaku Ren Jitoku no Kiwami and Saiki Kanpatsu no Kiwami were just transition forms on the way to unlocking Ten’i Muhō no Kiwami. Or rather, those two techniques didn’t originally exist. Overseas players often went straight to Light of Restraint, but Nanjirō had broken it down further to make it easier for Japanese players to learn.

The so-called Light of Restraint was actually Ten’i Muhō no Kiwami, and it had three types—Light of Love, Light of Resolve, and Light of Desolation, each reflecting a different mindset.

In the original timeline, Ryōma, Tezuka, Kintarō, and Oni had all started with just Light of Restraint, with no clear differences. Only after the World Tournament did Kintarō and Ryōma awaken Light of Love, Oni awakened Light of Resolve, and Tezuka awakened Light of Desolation.

Germany’s QP went further—he absorbed all three Lights and awakened Ultimate Quality, and in a match, even broke Oni’s arm, completely crushing him.

Now, due to Akashi’s intervention, Tezuka would likely awaken Light of Resolve, and if Chitose awakened Ten’i, it would probably be Light of Love, given his obsession with Muga. That passion was genuine. As for Kintarō, there was no doubt—he’d awaken Light of Love.

Back in the match, even though Oishi and Kikumaru had switched positions, the situation was still overwhelmingly against them. Tachibana and Chitose quickly adapted to the new formation and started attacking at full power.

”Game! Fudomine! 4-0!”

Despite Oishi and Kikumaru giving it their all, they couldn’t overcome the gap in raw strength. All they could do was watch as they kept losing points, unable to find a solution.

The fifth game was Tachibana Kippei’s service game. Right now, he had only one thought—end the match quickly, so he could take time to reflect on that earlier sensation. Chitose, synchronized with him in Beast Synchronization, could clearly sense his intent.

So, Chitose activated Saiki Kanpatsu no Kiwami again. Since Oishi and Kikumaru hadn’t switched positions this time, the simulation formed instantly, playing out clearly in both Chitose and Tachibana’s minds.

”Four shots!”

As Chitose made the absolute forecast, Tachibana swiftly launched Abare Jishi. Kikumaru didn’t back down and responded with his Kikumaru Bunshin technique again. But on the sidelines, Akashi sharply noticed that Kikumaru’s breathing had grown erratic—his stamina was running out.

No matter how much training he had done, Kikumaru’s stamina reserves remained limited. One, because his physical ceiling wasn’t that high to begin with. Two, his style consumed too much energy—almost like the side effects of Muga. This might also explain why he wasn’t chosen for the world tournament lineup in the original timeline.

Right now, Kikumaru had managed to return Chitose’s powered-up shot. As he rushed over to Oishi, ready to do another synchronized return, Tachibana suddenly appeared at the net and dropped a short ball. Kikumaru couldn’t react in time—the ball bounced a few times, then stopped.

”15-0!”

Oishi and Kikumaru were at their limits. Chitose’s Saiki Kanpatsu no Kiwami kept working perfectly, and Kikumaru’s stamina was nearly gone. No matter how hard they tried, there was nothing left to turn things around.

”30-0!”

”40-0!”

”Game! Fudomine! 5-0!”

The next three points played out exactly as they’d feared. They had no more strength to resist. Worse, Kikumaru had pushed himself too hard—he was out of stamina and couldn’t even maintain Synchronization.

At that point, facing Tachibana and Chitose who were still going strong, the outcome was obvious. In the final game, Oishi and Kikumaru were thoroughly crushed.

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

By then, Ryōma had finished warming up and stepped onto the court. He glanced at the scoreboard. Even though he had mentally prepared himself, he still found it hard to believe.

Looks like Fuji had been grooming Ryōma for this spot. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been placed in Singles Three. With Ryōma’s current strength, he was, at best, a reserve player.

Meanwhile, Tōyama Kintarō was doing light stretches on the other side. His body was special—even without warm-ups, he could still perform at full strength without worrying about injury.

”One-two-three-four, two-two-three-four...” Kintarō counted cheerfully as he stretched, excitement written all over his face.

”Now starting the Singles Three match: representing Fudomine, Tōyama Kintarō! Representing Seigaku, Echizen Ryōma! Will both players please enter the court!”

Before Kintarō went up, Akashi reminded him again: he could only use six layers of power. Kintarō’s Power and Stamina had already reached the national level. The other three attributes were still Kanto level, so his overall strength wasn’t quite at nationals yet—but still more than Ryōma could handle right now.

Kintarō nodded happily, signaling he understood, then skipped his way onto the court. After holding back for so long, he was finally getting to play, and he couldn’t be more thrilled.

As the two approached the net for the customary handshake, the ever-cheerful Kintarō spoke first.

”I didn’t hear the umpire clearly just now. What’s your name again? Something-Mae Ryōma?”

”Echizen!” Ryōma twitched at the corner of his eye but still told him his surname.

”Oh! I see, so it’s Koshimae? Got it!” Kintarō nodded seriously.

”It’s Echizen!” Ryōma’s voice clearly grew louder.

”Okay, okay, I got it, Koshimae!” Kintarō replied, grinning.

Just as Ryōma was about to correct him again, the umpire interrupted and told them to proceed with the coin toss. Ryōma had no choice but to let the name thing go and get on with the toss.

Ryōma won the serve. Kintarō didn’t care about that—he happily bounced back to the baseline, jumping excitedly in place. The height of his jump was shocking—it went above the umpire’s chair.

Ryōma looked at the bouncy Kintarō across the net like he was on a trampoline. It left him speechless. But he had match experience and quickly pulled himself together. He picked up a tennis ball and tested its bounce.

Akashi noticed Ryōma was still holding the racket in his right hand and thought to himself, ’Facing someone his own age like Kintarō... how long can you last before switching to your left hand?’

Standing at the baseline, Ryōma felt ready. He tossed the ball high into the air. With his right hand swinging powerfully from behind using his core muscles, he slammed the racket into the ball with a strong spin. The serve rocketed toward Kintarō’s side.

”Kick Serve!”

Kintarō excitedly rushed to the bounce point. The ball landed, spun hard, and then shot straight toward his face. Kintarō tilted his head, dodging it easily.

”Ace! 15-0!”

”That serve was amazing! So cool, Koshimae!” Kintarō cheered, totally unfazed by losing the point.

Ryōma simply pulled down his cap and picked up another ball for his second serve, completely ignoring the guy who kept calling him the wrong name.

Without hesitation, Ryōma served another kick serve. Kintarō watched the incoming ball, his eyes filled with curiosity as the tennis ball bounced toward his face again. Then he did a backflip, easily dodging it.

”Ace! 30-0!”

”That was awesome, Koshimae! How do you do that serve? Can you teach me?” Kintarō asked with sparkling eyes.

”Ko-Kin! Focus on the match!” Krauser couldn’t hold back and shouted from the sidelines.

Kintarō’s body froze, and he quickly nodded like crazy. The excitement on his face faded a little, and his eyes showed a rare trace of seriousness.

When Ryōma served a third kick serve, Kintarō didn’t bother watching how the serve was executed. As the ball bounced, he jumped along with it, flipping several times midair and then slammed Ryōma’s serve back with a smash.

Ryōma was stunned. ’What kind of move is that?’ He’d never seen anything like it. By the time the ball flew out of bounds, he finally reacted—but it was already too late.

”30-15!”

”What’s wrong, Koshimae? You gotta hit the ball back, or how are we supposed to have fun?” Kintarō complained, unhappy Ryōma hadn’t returned the shot.

Even Ryōma, who was usually cool and indifferent, couldn’t help feeling a flicker of anger. Anyone who didn’t know Kintarō’s personality would definitely think he was mocking him outright.

Refusing to back down, Ryōma served another kick serve. Kintarō, like a circus performer, easily returned it again. This time, Ryōma didn’t freeze. He sprinted to the landing point and swung the moment the ball bounced. But the next second, his racket went flying, spinning in the air before landing on the court.

”30-30!”

”That power... What kind of monster strength is this?” Ryōma clutched his right hand, staring at Kintarō in surprise.

The Seigaku team at the sideline was also shocked. Even though Ryōma’s right hand wasn’t his dominant one, for someone to blow his racket away so easily, this first-year named Tōyama Kintarō clearly had strength far beyond others his age.

Ryōma picked up his racket and switched it to his left hand. He lifted the racket, looked at the bouncing Kintarō, and said seriously, ”Mada mada da ne!”

”Whoa! You switched to your left hand! You’re amazing, Koshimae! Come on, let’s keep going!” Kintarō grinned, totally missing what Ryōma just said and urging him to continue.

Ryōma, defeated in his cool moment, said nothing more. He used his split step, then served a regular crosscourt shot with his left hand. The kick serve wasn’t worth the risk—Kintarō could smash it back with ease.

Kintarō, like a nimble little leopard, raced to the ball, flipped again, and returned it with a heavy shot. The ball flew toward Ryōma even faster than before.

On the sidelines, Akashi watched Kintarō’s movements and suddenly thought, ’Maybe this is what the ultimate form of special technique tennis looks like... a natural, instinctive style with near-limitless stamina.’

Ryōma saw the incoming ball and wised up this time. He held the racket with both hands and braced for impact. The shot was still heavy, but at least he managed to return it with a crosscourt shot.

Seeing Ryōma return his shot, Kintarō got even more excited. It was the first time someone his age had returned one of his hits. He rushed to the ball, leaped high, spun vertically several times midair, then suddenly swung his racket down.

Ryōma quickly chased the return using split steps. The moment the ball hit his racket, an overwhelming force, even heavier than before, surged through his arm. He gritted his teeth and managed to return it—but it was just a high lob.

Kintarō’s eyes lit up. He dashed to the net and jumped with explosive force like a rocket launch. Even the umpire had to look up to see him.

As he soared, Kintarō tucked in his legs and started spinning rapidly in the air like a blazing wheel. Then he unleashed all the centrifugal force into one devastating slam.

”Super Invincible Thousand-Ton Taiyama Avalanche Smash! Hah!”

The ball sliced through the air with immense pressure, slammed into the court with a dull boom, then bounced out of bounds. Ryōma’s cap was blown right off.

”30-40!”

”Yay! Scored!” Kintarō shouted joyfully as he landed.

Fuji had opened his eyes on the sidelines, staring seriously at Kintarō on the court. From that small body, he saw what felt like limitless power.

”Where on earth did you find this monster, Akashi?” Fuji muttered with a wry smile.

On the coaching bench, Ryūzaki Sumire frowned tightly. If this kept up, she couldn’t guarantee Ryōma wouldn’t get injured. The opponent’s power was too intense—nothing like a normal first-year. He even seemed more exaggerated than Akashi and the others.

Ryōma quietly picked up his cap, put it back on, adjusted it, and silently returned to the baseline to serve again.

He tossed the ball and served. Kintarō still full of energy, chased it down and returned it right away. Ryōma gritted his teeth and engaged him head-on, both hands on the racket—but in the end, he still got his racket knocked away.

”Game! Fudomine! 1-0!”

”This time, let’s see if your protagonist aura can still kick in, Echizen Ryōma,” Akashi said softly, smiling as he watched Ryōma.