Prince of Tennis: The Emperor's Eye

Chapter 116: Chapter 116: Tokyo Tournament Semifinals

The second game was Kawamura Takashi’s service game. He tossed the ball high and slammed it down hard as it dropped, flames trailing off the ball as it flew toward Kabaji on the other side.

”Burning Serve! Burning!”

Kabaji, moving surprisingly fast for his size, rushed to the drop point and used both hands to smash it right back. The two clashed again in a fierce exchange, but gradually, everyone watching noticed something—every one of Kabaji’s movements perfectly mirrored Kawamura’s.

No matter what kind of shot Kawamura hit, Kabaji returned it with the exact same trajectory. And for Kawamura, that wasn’t a good sign. As the saying goes, the hardest opponent to defeat is yourself.

Kabaji hadn’t attended the U-17 camp, but he had joined the training camp last year. On top of that, he’d received training directly from Akashi as well. In terms of physical strength, he was at least on par with Kawamura, maybe even slightly ahead. Unlike Kawamura, he hadn’t had to split his focus developing specific techniques—he trained all five attributes evenly.

Their match had become a pure test of strength and willpower. The score stayed tight, and Kawamura was starting to feel uneasy. But there was nothing he could do now except keep pressing forward.

”15-0!”

”15-15!”

”30-15!”

”30-30!”

”40-30!”

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 1-1!”

Once Kabaji began completely mirroring Kawamura’s playstyle, Kawamura started feeling out of sync himself. In the end, Kabaji found an opening and broke his serve.

”Heh~ Kawamura Takashi, you’ll never beat Kabaji,” Atobe said confidently from the sidelines.

Game three was Kabaji’s serve. He tossed the ball high and mimicked Kawamura’s exact motion, smashing the ball down hard. Flames trailed the ball—he had used the Burning Serve!

Kawamura gritted his teeth and rushed forward to trade blows again. Now their match looked like a mirror image to the spectators, both players moving in perfect sync.

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 2-1! Court change!”

Kabaji claimed the third game with his physical advantage. As he came off the court, Atobe gave him an approving nod.

”Well done, Kabaji! Keep it up!”

”Mmsshh,” Kabaji mumbled with his usual dull tone.

Back at Seigaku’s bench, Kawamura returned looking frustrated. Fuji Shūsuke gave him a worried look and asked, ”Taka-san! You okay?”

”No problem! I’m burning up! Burning!” Kawamura’s spirit flared again at Fuji’s concern.

But deep down, he was seriously considering how to respond to this situation. Kawamura knew that if he kept going like this, he’d be the one to lose. His eyes hardened with determination, as if he’d made up his mind about something.

The fourth game was Kawamura’s service game again. He opened with another Burning Serve. Kabaji returned it easily, and they resumed their back-and-forth battle. But when Kabaji mirrored one of Kawamura’s powerful drives, Kawamura suddenly tensed and shouted:

”For Seigaku’s victory, I have no choice but to use the move my senpai taught me!”

His right arm flexed dramatically, muscles swelling so much they pushed up against his sleeves. His arm looked nearly twice its usual size. He roared and slammed the incoming ball with all his might.

The ball exploded forward with immense force, slicing the air with a high-pitched whoosh. Kabaji didn’t flinch. He swung his racket, but the moment it met the ball, his face twisted in strain—and his racket was blown out of his hands. The strings tore open from the impact.

”Danji Date’s Springtime of Danji!”

”15-0!”

That’s right—it was Danji Date’s signature move, Springtime of Danji. Kawamura had learned it from Danji last year. Danji had always admired younger players with raw power, and Kawamura’s fierce, unfiltered passion on court had suited his taste perfectly.

Although Danji had also appreciated Ishida Gin, that player had already developed Hadōkyū on his own. So Danji hadn’t offered much technical guidance. But since Kawamura only had his Burning Serve, Danji had been happy to pass on one of his moves.

”Springtime of Danji, huh? Didn’t expect you to learn that one! But you shouldn’t have used it in front of Kabaji. Kabaji!” Atobe snapped his fingers.

”Mmsshh!” Kabaji replied dully and walked over to switch out his broken racket.

When Kawamura launched another Burning Serve, Kabaji sprinted to the drop point. His right arm bulged grotesquely, even more exaggerated than Kawamura’s—his sleeve looked like it was about to tear. He unleashed a full-force return.

”No way... He copied it that easily? I spent forever practicing that!” Kawamura was stunned.

Still, he roared and charged forward, gripping his racket tightly with both hands, channeling all his strength into intercepting the incoming ball. As the ball met the racket, Kawamura immediately knew—it was Springtime of Danji.

But this wasn’t the time to be impressed.

His racket creaked under the pressure. In the next second, he couldn’t hold on. The racket was flung high into the air, and the ball rocketed out of bounds.

”15-15!”

After seeing Kawamura Takashi’s last shot, the audience around the court quickly cleared out the area behind both players. No one wanted to get knocked out by a stray ball—at this point, even the chain-link fence couldn’t guarantee safety.

Kawamura picked up his racket and stared hard at Kabaji across the court. With renewed spirit, he shouted, ”Burning! Come on! Baby!”

He served another Burning Serve. Kabaji, without hesitation, responded with Springtime of Danji again. Though his copying ability was temporary, once he absorbed a technique, he could freely use it throughout the match.

Kawamura didn’t hold back either—he fired back with his own Springtime of Danji. It was his final trump card. With clenched teeth, low growls rumbling in his throat, he put all his strength into countering Kabaji’s Springtime of Danji.

But the strings on Kawamura’s racket snapped right away. Kabaji copied him again and launched another Springtime of Danji. With his racket broken, Kawamura had no way to respond and could only watch helplessly as the ball flew out of bounds.

”15-30!”

After Kawamura switched to a new racket, the two started fiercely exchanging Springtime of Danji shots. Their power-tennis showdown hit peak intensity, thrilling the crowd with the raw display of strength.

”30-30!”

”40-30!”

”40-40! Deuce!”

”Game! Seishun Academy! 2-2!”

Kawamura pulled through by sheer willpower and won the game, but his right arm had started to tremble—it was obvious he had overexerted himself.

The next game began with both players still locked in an all-out slugfest. Neither showed any signs of letting up. Kawamura gave everything for Seigaku’s victory, and Kabaji seemed to have copied even that spirit—fighting back with full effort.

”Game! Seishun Academy! 3-2!”

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 3-3! Court change!”

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 4-3!”

”Game! Seishun Academy! 4-4!”

At the start of the ninth game, Kawamura’s racket suddenly slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. His right arm twitched unnaturally. He clutched it tightly, trying to stop the spasms, but it was no use.

The umpire called for a timeout. Ryūzaki Sumire immediately came over to check on Kawamura. With her years of experience, she judged it to be muscle cramping and said he needed massage therapy at the hospital.

Kawamura didn’t want to give up. He wanted to keep playing, but Fuji Shūsuke stepped in and stopped him. There was no way he’d let Kawamura risk his health for a single match.

In the end, Ryūzaki made the decision—Seigaku would forfeit the singles match. She informed the umpire, who nodded in response.

”Seishun Academy has declared forfeit. Match over! Winner: Hyōtei Academy!”

From the sidelines, Akashi Seijūrō felt a bit sentimental. He remembered that in the original storyline, Kawamura had used Hadōkyū against Kabaji and both had ended up injured. But Springtime of Danji didn’t have the same side effects as Hadōkyū. Still, Kawamura’s physical strength was slightly inferior to Kabaji’s.

With that, Hyōtei won the second round of the Tokyo Tournament. This meant that if Seigaku wanted to enter the Kantō Regional Tournament, they’d have to fight through the repechage and defeat the other losing schools. But given Seigaku’s current strength, that wouldn’t be a problem.

All of today’s matches had concluded, and the Tokyo Tournament’s final four were confirmed: Fudomine, Hyōtei, Yamabuki, and Ginka. When he saw Ginka’s name, Akashi was speechless. Just like in the original, Ginka made it to the semifinals through pure luck.

Next week’s matches were set: Fudomine vs. Ginka and Hyōtei vs. Yamabuki. Most spectators assumed the final would likely be Fudomine vs. Hyōtei.

After all, while Yamabuki was a veteran strong team, they still fell short against the current Hyōtei. At the very least, Hyōtei had a pair of national-level doubles players, and in singles they were clearly superior.

While everyone waited for the semifinals to start, the incident from the original story where Ryōma single-handedly took on Ginka’s regulars still happened. But this time, Ryōma was much stronger than he had been at this point in the original, and easily wiped the floor with all of Ginka’s regulars.

Also, after a recent match, Akashi had called Fuji Yūta aside for a talk. He shared many stories from when Fuji Shūsuke was in his first year—things Yūta had never heard before. He had never imagined how frustrated and constrained his older brother had been when he first joined Seigaku.

Akashi also told Yūta that Shūsuke had asked him to look after him. Then he left Yūta with a question: who really cared about him the most?

It was said that on the night of that talk, Shūsuke and Yūta had a long, heartfelt conversation at home. Judging by Yūta’s smile the next morning, Akashi assumed the brothers had finally made up.

Soon, the semifinals began. On match day, Fudomine’s team arrived at the venue safely by private bus—unlike the accident that happened in the original storyline.

Their opponent today was Ginka Middle School. Akashi had the second string step in for this match. A team like Ginka was no threat—the second string would be more than enough.

While Fudomine’s second string went to register, Ginka’s lineup hid behind a row of trees, just like in the original, spying on their opponents.

”Can’t believe we ended up against Fudomine—the two-time national champions. Just our luck,” Suzuki said gloomily.

”Don’t worry too much. We still have a chance. Looks like they sent out the second string today!” Fushiman tried his best to boost morale.

”But I heard even Fudomine’s second string is super strong. Whenever they play, it’s always a blowout win!” Tashiro said, sounding unsure.

”Don’t talk like that. This is a huge chance for Ginka! We finally made it into the top four. If we push forward and make the finals, it’ll be a historic breakthrough! More than that, if we beat Fudomine, we’ll be famous!” Fushiman said, eyes sparkling with hope.

”Yeah, that’s true! So what are we waiting for? Let’s go all out against them! It’s just their second string!” Dōmoto, riled up by the thought, shouted with fire in his voice.

”Right! I heard Fudomine’s second string are all second-years. The real monsters are in the main lineup. So go smash them with your power serves, Dōmoto!” Suzuki said, regaining some confidence.

”Let’s go with that then! Ginka! Let’s do this!” The four of them pumped each other up.

Honestly, if Akashi had sent out the main team, Ginka probably would’ve just forfeited, like in the original timeline. But Akashi wouldn’t have cared either way.

When both teams arrived at the court, Ginka’s squad came out with unexpected energy and spirit, which made Fudomine’s second string pause. Then their expressions turned serious.

If the opponents showed this much spirit even before the match began, they probably had something planned. No one wanted to lose to a team like this by accident—who knew how Akashi would punish them afterward?

Akashi didn’t even bother to come watch, knowing full well what kind of team Ginka was. He trusted the second string to handle it and went with the main team to watch the Hyōtei vs. Yamabuki match.

In Doubles Two, Fudomine sent out Sakurai Masaya and Mori Tatsunori. Both walked on court looking stern and focused, bowing respectfully to the two third-years from the other side.

Once the match started, Sakurai and Mori quickly realized something—the opponents weren’t just weak... they were really weak. They barely returned any shots, and sometimes Fudomine scored off the serve alone.

Was this really a team in the final four? That question crossed not only Sakurai and Mori’s minds but also the heads of everyone else on the second string watching from the sidelines.

In the end, Doubles Two ended in a clean sweep—6-0. But strangely enough, the Ginka team didn’t seem shaken at all. They still looked full of confidence.

This made Fudomine wonder—was Doubles Two not their true strength? Was the real threat yet to come?

In Doubles One, Fudomine sent in Uchimura Kyōsuke and Ishida Tetsu. They had teamed up in the original timeline too, and their coordination now was just as solid.

Ginka’s lineup for this match was Suzuki and Tashiro. As their school’s top representatives, they got loud cheers from their classmates.

But 20 minutes later, the crowd had gone completely quiet. Ginka lost again, 6-0, shocking Fushiman. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

”Dōmoto, it’s all on you now. If you win, we still have a chance!” Fushiman said seriously.

”I got this. My power serve will win us the match!” Dōmoto said, thumping his chest. He was a big guy and looked confident.

For Fudomine’s Singles Three, Fuji Yūta stepped onto the court. Facing the tall, heavy-set Dōmoto, Yūta didn’t seem concerned. He had already figured it out—Ginka probably got to the top four purely by luck. After all, his brother’s Seigaku had been knocked out by Hyōtei and were still fighting through the repechage.

So Yūta finished the match quickly with Shukuchihō and Super Half Volley. The entire match lasted about 10 minutes, and he won 6-0.

Just like that, Ginka was crushed in the semifinals with three straight 6-0 losses. It was an embarrassing exit, though they still managed to qualify for the Kantō Regional Tournament—ridiculous as that was.

Meanwhile, while Fudomine’s match had already wrapped up, Hyōtei and Yamabuki were still finishing up Doubles Two. Hyōtei had sent in Shishido Ryō and Hiyoshi Wakashi, while Yamabuki’s duo was Minami Kentarō and Azuma Masami.

The final score was 7-5—Yamabuki took the win. Minami and Azuma had clearly grown stronger than in the original timeline. Now they were recognized as a nationally ranked junior high doubles team.

Next up was Doubles One. As expected, Hyōtei sent in Oshitari Yūshi and Mukahi Gakuto. Yamabuki sent out Kita Kazuma and Nitobe Inakichi.

”Looks like Banji wants to secure one win through doubles,” Tachibana Kippei said from the sidelines.

”Too bad their singles lineup is too weak. Only Sengoku can really fight,” Chitose Senri added with a sigh.

As doubles specialists themselves, they had a pretty good impression of Yamabuki and respected Coach Banji, who had trained so many top doubles players.

The match didn’t drag on for long. While Kita and Nitobe barely qualified as national level, they were completely outclassed by Oshitari and Mukahi. Not to mention, Oshitari himself was a top-tier singles player.

The final score was 6-1. Yamabuki got crushed, bringing the overall match score to 1-1. For Singles Three, Yamabuki didn’t send Sengoku Kiyosumi. Instead, they sent someone even Akashi found surprising—Dan Taiichi, the boy who, in the original timeline, idolized Akutsu Jin.