Prince of Tennis: The Emperor's Eye

Chapter 117: Chapter 117: As Expected, the Finals Opponent

Hyōtei’s Singles Three player was Kabaji. When the two stood for the customary bow at the net, the difference in their builds was stark, drawing headshakes from the crowd. This match looked uneven from the start.

Of course, some spectators still held out hope—Dan Taichi might just have hidden potential. After all, in the past two years, how many first-year geniuses had taken the middle school tennis world by storm?

Dan Taichi (Note: feels a bit like Yukimura)

Dan won the toss and chose to serve. After the umpire announced the start of the match, Dan walked to the baseline, slapped his cheeks, and whispered to himself, ”You got this, Dan Taichi! You can do it! Just like in practice. No problem!”

He took a deep breath, adjusted his breathing, then pulled out a tennis ball with his right hand—he was a left-handed player, holding the racket in his left hand.

After testing the ball’s bounce, he tossed it high. His body leaned slightly back, arched, and he jumped up, swinging upward. As the racket struck the ball, he added a quick spin. The ball flew toward Kabaji’s side.

Kabaji quickly moved to the landing spot. Just as he was about to return it, he noticed the ball spinning rapidly on the ground—then suddenly shot toward his face. Instinctively, he turned his head, and the ball zipped past his ear and flew out of bounds.

”Side-spin serve!”

”Ace! 15-0!”

From the bench, Atobe furrowed his brow. That serve looked a lot like that brat from Seigaku. He didn’t expect Yamabuki’s first-year regular to have some skills.

”Whoa~ that serve looks like Super Ahead’s!” Tōyama Kintarō said excitedly from the sidelines.

”Yeah, it’s kinda similar... but there’s something different about it,” Chitose Senri said, eyes locked on Dan.

Only Akashi seemed to notice something deeper. A strange smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. If he wasn’t mistaken, Dan Taichi might be walking a path similar to the original timeline.

For the next point, Dan served another side-spin ball. Kabaji again got to the drop zone but still instinctively dodged the shot flying toward his face.

”Ace! 30-0!”

Dan saw he’d taken two straight points and relaxed a bit. A small smile crept onto his face—until Atobe’s voice rang out from Hyōtei’s bench.

”Return that serve, Kabaji!”

”Ussu!” Kabaji replied with a sharp glint in his eye, voice full of power.

On the third side-spin serve, Kabaji moved more nimbly. As the ball bounced, he took a step back and cleanly returned the serve with a strong swing.

Dan hadn’t expected his serve to get countered so quickly. He froze. The ball zipped past his feet before he realized it—too late to react.

”30-15!”

Dan’s once-relaxed face tensed up again. Frustrated with himself for spacing out, he shook it off and fired off another side-spin serve.

Kabaji returned it more easily this time, but Dan was already on the move the moment Kabaji hit it. He arrived at the drop point even before the ball landed.

As it bounced, Dan swung—only to feel a huge shock travel through his left arm the moment racket met ball. Gritting his teeth, he forced the ball back with all his strength.

Kabaji didn’t hesitate. He stepped in and slammed a forehand. Dan, having anticipated it, rushed to intercept with both hands on the racket and launched a sharp diagonal drive.

Despite their massive size difference, the two began a fierce rally. Kabaji’s power was immense, but Dan managed to return each shot with quick, well-timed prep. At this point, Atobe had seen through Dan’s movements.

”That one-legged split step... is he copying that Seigaku brat, Echizen?” Atobe muttered, looking skeptical.

”One-legged split step, and the side-spin serve... This kid from Yamabuki really does play like Echizen,” Tachibana Kippei commented from the sideline.

”Copying Echizen’s style? Could it be that they know each other?” Chitose asked, frowning.

”No. He’s not copying Echizen Ryōma,” Akashi said calmly. ”Just keep watching. You’ll see soon enough.”

People still didn’t fully get what Akashi meant, but they focused back on the match. Only Tezuka seemed to have a clue, casting a thoughtful glance toward Banji on Yamabuki’s bench.

”40-15!”

Dan used his agility to seize on a slight gap in Kabaji’s movement, hitting the ball toward his feet, catching him off guard and winning the point.

But Kabaji wasn’t easy to deal with. While he lacked Dan’s flexibility, his strength was overwhelming. As he ramped up his return speed, Dan started struggling more to respond.

”40-30!”

”40-40! Deuce!”

”Hyōtei leads!”

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 1-0!”

In the end, Kabaji broke serve with sheer power. Dan’s physique simply couldn’t match—it was Kabaji’s natural advantage.

The second game was Kabaji’s serve. Right away, he started copying Dan and served a side-spin ball, catching Dan completely off guard and scoring instantly.

”Ace! 15-0!”

Thankfully, Dan was very familiar with side-spin serves—he had spent ages practicing the technique. On Kabaji’s second attempt, Dan cleanly returned the ball.

But Kabaji’s raw power remained a huge problem. When his movements began to mimic Dan’s, including the one-legged split step, his speed improved too, giving Dan even more trouble.

When Kabaji hit a sharp diagonal shot toward Dan Taichi’s right, Dan’s next move gave everyone a strange sense of déjà vu. To avoid losing his grip on the racquet during a backhand, he switched it to his right hand mid-run and returned the ball with focused power.

”Two-sword style!”

That sudden switch caught Kabaji off guard. Left- and right-handed strokes had opposite angles, and the ball flew past Kabaji’s left side and out of bounds.

”15-15!”

After that, Dan started switching hands more fluidly, using his ambidexterity to deliver unexpected shots. Kabaji struggled to keep up and ended up losing the second game.

”Game! Yamabuki Middle School! 1-1!”

Dan jumped up with joy after winning his first game. It was his first time playing in an official match; he’d only ever played in practice matches before, so he couldn’t help feeling a little excited.

In the third game, even though Kabaji had already cracked the side-spin serve, Dan still went with it. Kabaji easily returned it—what followed surprised even Atobe.

Kabaji started mimicking Dan’s two-sword style during the rally. He switched his racquet to his left hand and swung at the incoming ball.

But the ball sailed over the net without dropping, flew straight past the baseline, and slammed into the chain-link fence behind Dan.

”Out! 15-0!”

Kabaji stared blankly at his left hand, puzzled. Atobe sighed from the bench. It seemed not all aspects of ”childlike imitation” were good.

Kabaji had never practiced playing with his left hand. While he could imitate the motion of switching hands like Dan, he lacked the control to guide the ball properly.

Even so, Kabaji kept trying to use the two-sword style. But the results were way off. A rare look of confusion showed on Kabaji’s face.

”Out! 30-0!”

”Out! 40-0!”

Just as Kabaji was about to use the two-sword style again, Atobe finally called out from the bench:

”Stop! Kabaji! Quit imitating that style!”

”Ussu!” Kabaji immediately stopped, but Dan’s return zipped right past him and out of bounds.

”Game! Yamabuki Middle School! 2-1! Change court!”

During the court change break, Kabaji walked off looking dazed. Atobe spoke directly to him:

”Kabaji, don’t copy his two-sword style. Stop using your left hand. Go back to the first game—just overpower him with brute force. You’ve already gotten used to the shot angles from that style anyway.”

”Ussu.” Kabaji nodded.

Over at Yamabuki’s bench, Banji noticed Dan was starting to breathe heavily and sighed to himself. Their chances of winning looked slim now, but Dan had already performed well—better than Banji expected before the match.

”Taichi, your opponent can probably handle your two-sword style now. So you should try that move,” Banji said.

”Huh? But Banji-sensei, that move is really tough. I haven’t fully mastered it yet,” Dan replied hesitantly.

”It’s fine. Maybe this match will help you get better at it. Push your limits,” Banji said with a smile.

”Got it! I’ll do my best!” Dan nodded seriously.

After the break, both players returned to the court. It was Kabaji’s serve. He fired another side-spin serve. Dan read it easily and returned it, adding a special spin to his shot.

The two resumed their rally. Gradually, people began to notice—Dan’s movement range kept shrinking. Eventually, he stopped at the center of the baseline, yet every return from Kabaji went straight to Dan’s left side.

”Is that a zone?!” Kite Eishirō asked in surprise, glancing at Tezuka beside him.

”Yeah. But it’s not complete—probably a prototype,” Tezuka replied with a serious look.

”This time, I really don’t think he’s copying Echizen anymore... but why is his playing style still so similar to Echizen’s?” Chitose asked Akashi in confusion.

”It’s simple. Side-spin serves, one-legged split step, two-sword style—none of those originated from Echizen Ryōma. He’s just copying someone else,” Akashi said calmly.

”Echizen Nanjirō,” Tezuka said suddenly.

Everyone froze at Tezuka’s words, looking at him in disbelief. None of them had ever seen how Echizen Nanjirō played—so how did Tezuka know?

”Tezuka’s right. That really is Echizen Nanjirō’s playing style back when he was a student. Ryōma probably copied it unconsciously as he grew up,” Akashi explained, glancing at Tezuka.

”But Akashi! How did this first-year from Yamabuki get access to footage or records of Nanjirō-san’s student days?” Tachibana asked, puzzled.

”You all forgot—Yamabuki’s coach is Banji. Aside from Ryūzaki-sensei, he probably knows the most about Nanjirō’s school days,” Akashi said with a chuckle.

Everyone suddenly realized what they’d missed before. Now it all made sense. So this new kid, Dan Taichi, was imitating Echizen Nanjirō’s style.

”0-30!”

By now, Dan Taichi had used his half-finished zone to win two points. Since it was incomplete, Kabaji’s returns were automatically pulled to Dan’s left side. With his current skill, Dan could only control the ball’s spin in one direction.

But on the next point, Kabaji unexpectedly replicated Dan’s half-formed zone, causing the ball to fly toward his own right side. The match started to look bizarre—like a choreographed rally—balls flying back and forth only on one side.

Eventually, Dan couldn’t keep up. His power was nowhere near Kabaji’s. Once Kabaji activated his own version of the half-finished zone, Dan’s chances of winning vanished.

”15-30!”

”30-30!”

”40-30!”

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 2-2!”

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 3-2!”

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 4-2! Change court!”

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 5-2!”

”Game! 6-2! Match over! Winner: Hyōtei Academy!”

In the end, Kabaji relied on the power gap to defeat Dan Taichi and secure the win in Singles Three. The Hyōtei team all looked visibly relieved—they could finally relax. Their captain, Atobe Keigo, was up next.

Naturally, Yamabuki’s Singles Two player was Sengoku Kiyosumi. His physical ability had improved significantly, surpassing even his U-17 form from the original timeline. He had barely reached national-level status—but it still wasn’t enough to challenge Atobe.

Atobe made his entrance in his usual flamboyant style. The moment he stepped onto the court, it felt like Hyōtei’s home ground. All cheers and support came from Hyōtei’s side. Luckily, Sengoku was already used to it.

He won the toss and took the serve, though now he wondered if all his luck had been wasted elsewhere. Facing Atobe in this match was brutal. If the opponent were Jirō, he might have stood a chance.

He couldn’t say he would definitely win, but there would’ve been hope. Against Atobe, however, he had none. Especially since he had no way to counter Atobe’s Ice World.

Still, there was no way Sengoku would just give up. He made his way to the baseline, pulled out a ball, and tossed it high. His body leaned forward, legs tensed, and he sprang upward, smashing down hard on the ball.

”Kohō!”

The ball shot toward Atobe’s side with incredible force and speed, but Atobe had already read the path as soon as Sengoku launched it. He moved into position and fired a sharp angle return, the ball speeding past the net and bouncing right on the baseline.

”0-15!”

The ball landed just as Sengoku hit the ground. Seeing it roll off-court, he sighed and muttered, ”Man~ yeah, that’s not gonna work. Guess I’ll have to stop using Kohō.”

For the next serve, Sengoku didn’t use the Kohō. He sent out a fast regular serve, then changed his stance, starting to weave side to side like a boxer.

He had, just like in the original story, spent time training with the boxing club and had fused boxing footwork into his tennis. With his solid all-around stats now, ordinary national-level players would struggle to beat him.

Atobe paused for a moment after seeing Sengoku’s new movements. Sengoku had picked up boxing during the end of second year, so even Atobe wasn’t aware his style had changed.

But Atobe quickly collected himself. No matter how the opponent changed, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing could escape his eyes. With that, he returned the serve with a strong backhand.

The rally began. Sengoku, using his boxing footwork, just managed to keep up with Atobe. He deliberately avoided hitting lobs so Atobe wouldn’t activate his Waltz Series.

After a few exchanges, Atobe switched to ultra-offensive mode. He moved to the net, attacking aggressively while searching for gaps in Sengoku’s defense.

”0-30!”

”15-30!”

”15-40!”

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 1-0!”

In the end, Atobe caught onto Sengoku’s openings and exploited them. Sengoku lost multiple points, but he had done his best—and at least got one point.

The second game was Atobe’s serve. Without hesitation, he unleashed a Tannhauser Serve and scored three points. Sengoku managed to counter the last one with his great dynamic vision, but it wasn’t enough.

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 2-0!”

In the third game, Atobe activated Ice World and froze Sengoku in place. He couldn’t fight back at all and was completely dominated.

”Game! Hyōtei Academy! 3-0! Change court!”

During the break, Banji couldn’t come up with anything to help Sengoku. Atobe’s ability was just too overwhelming. For players weaker than Atobe and without any special talents, there was no way to break through.

”Game! 6-0! Match over! Winner: Hyōtei Academy!”

In the end, Sengoku was utterly defeated in Singles Two. That meant Yamabuki was eliminated and would miss the tournament finals—they’d now have to play for third place.

Later in the afternoon, the results of the losers’ bracket came in. Seigaku swept through their opponents and secured their ticket to the Kantō Tournament.

As expected, tomorrow’s finals would be Fudomine versus Hyōtei. Most spectators were wondering—would Hyōtei last longer this time? Many were looking forward to finding out.