Prince of Tennis: The Emperor's Eye

Chapter 109: Chapter 109: A Move Beyond Ryōma’s Imagination

Ryōma picked up his racket and noticed his hands trembling slightly. Those last few shots were way too heavy—he’d used almost all his strength just to barely return them. If Ryōma knew this was only sixty percent of Tōyama Kintarō’s power, who knows what he’d think.

”This time the little guy’s probably done for. That first-year called Tōyama is a total monster!” Kikumaru said with a frown, now fully recovered.

”I believe in Echizen. He’ll figure something out!” Momoshiro backed Ryōma up without hesitation.

Over on Fudomine’s bench, Chitose looked at the overly excited Kintarō with concern.

”Hey, are we sure this is okay? Kintarō already used that Taiyama move or whatever it was. If he pulls out the other two, that first-year over there might not make it out in one piece.”

”Didn’t you notice Akutsu standing at the sidelines with a racket in hand? He’s probably ready to jump in if those two moves show up,” Kite said calmly.

Everyone glanced left—and sure enough, Akutsu had his hands behind his back, holding his racket casually, but his eyes were locked onto Kintarō’s every move. Just like Kite said.

”I told Kintarō before the match to hold back. Even if he uses that move, as long as it doesn’t hit Echizen Ryōma head-on, it shouldn’t be a big deal,” Akashi said indifferently.

Now that Kintarō had mastered the sweetspot technique, his special moves were even more powerful than in the original storyline. That’s why Akashi had limited his full-force play. If the opponent were Fuji, it might be fine—but with Ryōma at this stage, one direct hit could mean the end.

In the second game, it was Kintarō’s serve. He tossed the ball ridiculously high, then leapt up, spinning several times in the air before smashing the ball like a powerful overhead. It launched toward Ryōma’s side with incredible force.

Ryōma stood outside the baseline, waiting. As the ball reached the back of the court, he stepped up with both hands on his racket. That familiar weight hit again at contact. Still, Ryōma clenched his teeth and returned it with all his strength.

But as soon as the ball landed, Kintarō had already chased it down and slammed it back with such force that the ball visibly distorted. It flew toward Ryōma at lightning speed.

What Ryōma did next shocked everyone—except Akashi. He rushed straight at the incoming ball, suddenly crouched down mid-run, and slid across the court, sparks flying from his shoes.

Just as he reached the net, he jumped up and put every ounce of strength into his return. The ball soared high, and just as everyone thought it would go out, it suddenly dropped on the center line. After bouncing once, it dropped again near the backcourt, forming a faint B-shaped trajectory.

”Drive Shot B!”

”0-15!”

Akashi looked at Ryōma’s move and couldn’t help but sigh internally. ’Seriously opening your protagonist aura like that, huh?’ For Ryōma to pull off Drive Shot B at this stage—Akashi couldn’t help but think of the Will of the World.

”Whoa! That move was awesome, Koshimae! Teach me! Teach me!” Kintarō ran up to the net, shouting excitedly.

Ryōma just gave a cold snort, turned away, adjusted his cap, and walked back to the baseline to prepare for the next return. Kintarō didn’t seem to mind, but he was already thinking, ’No way I’m losing to Koshimae. I’ll use that move next.’

”Is that a new move the little guy developed? Looks pretty badass!” Kikumaru said, his eyes shining.

”Drive Shot B, huh? I guess Echizen’s pride isn’t always a bad thing,” Fuji said with a smile.

”Boosted momentum through a running start, increasing centrifugal force during the slide, and applying intense spin at impact—that makes the ball suddenly drop in midair. Basically, it’s a drive shot interception,” Inui Sadaharu explained from the side.

The trio watching from the sidelines didn’t fully get it, but that didn’t stop them from cheering. Who cares about the science—just shout rokkurokuroku and call it a day!

On court, Kintarō launched another serve like an overhead smash. Ryōma had started getting used to the impact of Kintarō’s hits. If nothing else, his foundation was incredibly solid—thanks to Nanjirō’s strict training.

They exchanged rapid-fire shots for a few more rallies. Ryōma pulled off another Drive Shot B, but this time Kintarō wasn’t going to let him score so easily. As soon as the ball bounced up, Kintarō jumped into the air and spun vertically a few times.

When the ball reached a certain height and began to drop, Kintarō slammed his racket down. Flames burst from the frame, and the ball itself caught fire, hurtling toward Ryōma’s court like a meteor.

”Watch this—Super Megaton Fantasy Deluxe Volcano Eruption Ball!” Kintarō shouted midair.

As the flaming ball flew, the air around it visibly warped. When it hit the court, Ryōma didn’t even react. Behind him, flames exploded outward as the ball erupted like molten lava—just like a real volcano.

Smoke and sparks flew in every direction, forcing the Seigaku team back from the court to avoid catching fire. Luckily, it didn’t last long, and things quickly returned to normal.

As the smoke cleared on Ryōma’s side, the Seigaku team looked on nervously. Ryōma stood there, covered in dust and ash, but seemingly unharmed. Only then did everyone finally relax.

”15-15!” The umpire’s score call finally rang out.

”Looks like Kintarō still has some restraint—he didn’t aim directly at the opponent,” Chitose let out a sigh of relief.

”Even so, that first-year on the other side is probably traumatized now,” Tachibana Kippei said.

”No, Tachibana! You’re wrong! That’s Echizen Ryōma. He’s not the type to give up so easily,” Akashi said with a light chuckle.

”Echizen Ryōma? Wait... how did I not realize that before? That surname... Don’t tell me he’s...?” Chitose turned to Akashi in surprise.

”That’s right! He’s the son of the samurai Echizen Nanjirō, the so-called Prince of Tennis, Echizen Ryōma,” Akashi didn’t try to hide it.

”Prince of Tennis? That’s a bold claim. Doesn’t seem all that impressive to me,” Tachibana said with a laugh.

”Yeah, his skill really doesn’t match the hype around his name,” Kite commented seriously.

”Echizen Nanjirō...” Tezuka muttered under his breath.

Ryōma came back to his senses, brushing off the dust on his clothes. Right now, his mind was a mess. His opponent was a fellow first-year, just like him—but was that last shot even something a human could do?

”What do you think, Koshimae? Pretty awesome, right? My Super Megaton Fantasy Deluxe Volcano Eruption Ball!” Kintarō grinned at him.

Ryōma stayed silent. He was racking his brain, trying to figure out how to handle that move. But no matter how he thought about it, it didn’t seem like there was a real solution. That kind of shot wasn’t something you could return just by using technique.

With the umpire urging them to continue, Kintarō served again. Ryōma decided to stop thinking about that insane shot and just focus on the rally. This time, Kintarō didn’t use that super move again. Even with his freakish stamina, it clearly took a lot out of him.

But even with normal shots, Kintarō’s natural strength made things tough for Ryōma. His Drive Shot B had only worked once. After that, even when Ryōma tried it again, Kintarō caught up easily and returned it without trouble.

”30-15!”

”40-15!”

”Game! Fudomine! 2-0!”

Ryōma still couldn’t fully handle Kintarō’s monster power. Each time, he lasted a few rallies before either losing his grip or making a misstep from overexertion, giving away points.

Only two games into the match, and Ryōma’s face was already drenched in sweat. He wasn’t exhausted yet, but every single shot required his full strength, draining him fast.

In the third game, Ryōma stood on the baseline, staring at Kintarō across the court who looked completely unfazed. For the first time, Ryōma began to doubt his own tennis skills and talent. Could he really beat someone his age like that?

Even when he lost badly to Inui Sadaharu, Ryōma always told himself Inui was two years older, so he just needed to train harder to catch up. But now, here stood Tōyama Kintarō—a first-year just like him!

Luckily, Ryōma didn’t know that Kintarō had only been training seriously in tennis for about a year. And Akutsu had been playing for just over two years. Otherwise, Ryōma might’ve ended up in the same state as Tokugawa Kazuya.

Ryōma shook off the thought and reset his mindset. He tossed the ball and served again. Kintarō chased it down right away, his face still beaming with joy.

This game, Ryōma still couldn’t beat Kintarō, but the length of each rally kept growing. No one could tell if Kintarō was going easy to enjoy the match more, or if Ryōma was just improving mid-game.

”0-15!”

”0-30!”

”0-40!”

”Game! Fudomine! 3-0! Change courts!”

During the break, Fuji walked over to the panting, water-chugging Ryōma and asked, ”You alright, Echizen?”

”I’m fine, don’t worry, Captain,” Ryōma replied calmly. Right now, all he could think about was how to beat Kintarō.

”Alright. Just be careful. Don’t get yourself hurt,” Fuji could feel Ryōma’s resolve and didn’t say anything more.

When the match resumed, Kintarō still looked as full of energy as ever and blasted his serve. Ryōma wasn’t backing down either. He returned the ball with both hands and rushed to the net.

Kintarō leaped a few steps forward and slammed the ball before it hit the ground. At the net, Ryōma managed to return a drop shot. He was slowly starting to adjust to Kintarō’s power—barely enough to pull off this kind of return.

Kintarō didn’t hesitate. He charged up and flicked his racket under the ball, sending it soaring. Ryōma timed it perfectly, leapt up, and smashed a forehand at full force.

”Drive Shot A!”

Kintarō spun through a series of backflips like he was doing circus acrobatics, landing at the baseline and laughing as he sent the ball back toward Ryōma.

Just as the ball cleared the net, Ryōma intercepted with a strong two-handed shot aimed at an open space in the front court. But Kintarō dashed over in time. As the ball bounced, he got ready to hit it—only for the ball to suddenly bounce off to the side and fly out of bounds.

”0-15!”

Kintarō looked at the ground in confusion. A small pebble rolled away, making a faint clink. The shot had hit the stone, changing its angle mid-bounce.

”It hit a rock? You’re amazing, Koshimae!” Kintarō praised Ryōma once he understood what had happened.

”Hmph! You’ve still got a long way to go!” Ryōma finally responded, not bothering to correct his name this time.

”Tch! Using cheap tricks now, huh,” Akutsu grumbled from the sidelines.

Kintarō served again, but this time Ryōma wasn’t so lucky. After all, there weren’t many pebbles on the court—he could only rely on his raw strength to fight back. Even though Ryōma could last longer than at the beginning, he was still gradually being pushed back.

By this point in the match, it was a real test of Ryōma’s stamina. His opponent showed no signs of fatigue at all, and the mental pressure was mounting fast.

In the original story, Ryōma’s stamina was top-tier—he wasn’t even behind Atobe in that regard. Across all his matches, he basically never ran out of steam, not even when using Muga no Kyōchi.

But Ryōma now was in a very different state. First, his current strength hadn’t yet reached the level he had in the original. Second, running into someone his age with such overwhelming power during the regional tournament was a huge blow for him.

”15-15!”

”30-15!”

”40-15!”

”Game! Fudomine! 4-0!”

Quickly, Ryōma lost the fourth game too. Drenched in sweat, he looked at Kintarō’s smiling face across the court, his emotions in a total mess. Even he probably couldn’t say what he was feeling now—bitterness, surprise, maybe a little defeat.

’At this rate... is Ryōma going to awaken the aura of loneliness next?’ Akashi thought with amusement.

The fifth game was Ryōma’s service game. He had already given up on using his topspin serve and just hit a basic flat serve, diving into another rally with Kintarō.

Kintarō was loving every second of it. While someone always played with him during tennis club practice, losing all the time wasn’t exactly fun. Still, Kintarō didn’t care too much about winning or losing—as long as he could play, he was happy.

But this wasn’t a club match. This was an official match, and his opponent was the same age. The thrill of a back-and-forth match like this—it felt completely different for Kintarō.

On the sidelines, Akashi’s Emperor Eye caught Kintarō’s increasingly excited expression and the signs of an imminent muscle burst. He frowned slightly. ’This isn’t good—looks like Kintarō’s starting to lose control!’

But then he glanced at Akutsu, still standing at the baseline with his eyes locked on the court. That was reassuring. So Akashi kept watching.

Back on the court, Kintarō returned Ryōma’s Drive Shot B, then started spinning in place like a human top. The rotation got faster and faster, and soon a small tornado formed around him. Even the spectators on the sidelines could feel the gusts of wind.

Ryōma noticed too after his last hit—but after everything he’d been through today, he was already kinda numb. ’A tornado? What’s the big deal... wait, what the hell?!’

Kintarō winds up for his ultimate move.

Just as the Seigaku team gasped in disbelief, Akutsu suddenly appeared behind Ryōma’s baseline like he’d been waiting for something.

At that moment, Kintarō leapt from the eye of the tornado, somersaulted twice in the air, and smashed the ball with a massive overhead. Instantly, red light filled the court like the apocalypse had arrived.

”Take this! My Super Ultra Invincible Absolute Delicious Giant Rolling Mountain Storm!”

Ultimate move animation.

”Get out of the way, kid! That ball’s not something you can handle!” Tachibana shouted at the top of his lungs.

”Ryōma! Don’t return it!” Fuji yelled, tense.

Ryōma stared blankly at the ball crashing toward him like a meteor. ”What... is this?”

But in the next second, he snapped back to reality. That was a ball. This was a match. He couldn’t back down. Ignoring everyone’s shouts, Ryōma gripped his racket with both hands and swung at the incoming ball.

The moment racket met ball, his arms went numb instantly. But pure unwillingness kept him locked in place, fighting the impact with everything he had. And then—his whole body began to glow gold.

Akashi’s Emperor Eye caught everything. Even he was surprised. ’Seriously? He’s using protagonist aura to hold on? That’s cheating!’

The next moment, a deafening crash echoed through the air. Smoke and dust exploded across Ryōma’s side of the court. The ball, still charged with energy, shot toward the fence—only to be stopped mid-air by Akutsu’s racket.

But no one saw him move. Everyone was too busy coughing from the dust or shielding their eyes. Finally, the smoke began to clear. Fuji and the others looked toward the court.

A broken red racket lay outside the court in two pieces. Ryōma was lying exactly where he had tried to return the ball, completely unresponsive. Momoshiro was the first to rush in and check on him.

The umpire immediately called for a match stoppage. Ryūzaki Sumire ran over too. After giving Ryōma a quick check, she let out a breath of relief. He had just passed out from exhaustion—no injuries. She turned to the umpire and signaled Seigaku’s forfeit.

”Due to Seigaku’s player being unable to continue, the Singles 3 match ends. Score: 4-0. Winner: Fudomine!”