Prince of Tennis: The Emperor's Eye

Chapter 389: Chapter 68: The Suppressed French Team

”Heh~ So all that before was just setup to seize the future, huh?” Atobe said from the Japan team bench, eyes narrowing as he watched Yukimura on court.

”But according to the data Akashi provided, both players from France are ambidextrous and skilled in Nitōryū. If Yukimura hasn’t factored that in, his ’Seizing the Future’ could be broken pretty soon,” Inui adjusted his glasses and spoke in a low, serious tone.

”Knowing Yukimura’s personality, the chance of that happening is less than one percent,” Yanagi replied, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

On court, Tristan stared silently at the tennis ball lying on the ground, his mind replaying the last exchange. But before he could make sense of it, Yukimura was already back at the baseline, ready to serve again.

As soon as the high-speed serve flew out, the fierce rally resumed. Once again, Yukimura handled most of the returns while Omagari covered the gaps. This time, however, a flash of an image appeared in Timothée’s mind—a vision of himself losing the point.

After seven or eight exchanges, Yukimura scored another point through his ”Seizing the Future.” Timothée, like Tristan before him, fell silent, though he wasn’t much of a talker to begin with.

”30–0!”

At that moment, neither Tristan nor Timothée realized how serious the situation was. They brushed it off as coincidence. Yet in the next two points, Yukimura won again the exact same way—and both of them saw the same losing image play out in their minds before it actually happened.

”Game! Japan! 3–1!”

Tristan and Timothée locked eyes, each seeing shock mirrored in the other’s gaze. Neither of them could explain why the scenes in their heads were turning into reality.

”He actually predicted every possible shot path? As expected, even Japan’s middle school players aren’t ordinary,” Camus said with a sigh from the French bench, watching Yukimura claim the fourth game.

The fifth game was Tristan’s serve. Though he could tell something was off, there wasn’t time to overthink it. He tossed the ball quickly and slammed it toward the back right corner of Yukimura’s court.

But the same thing happened again—his mind flooded with flashes of a losing rally. Tristan was now certain it had to be something the boy across the net was doing.

Unfortunately, even realizing that didn’t help. Despite their best efforts, he and Timothée kept slipping. Under the seamless coordination between Yukimura and Omagari, the French pair’s openings grew, and soon enough, the images in their minds became reality once more.

”Game! Japan! 4–1! Change sides!”

”You’ve noticed it too, right, Moreau?” Tristan asked grimly as they walked to the bench.

”Yeah. What if we...” Timothée didn’t finish his sentence, but Tristan already understood.

After the side change, both Tristan and Timothée switched their rackets to the other hand. Yukimura’s calm gaze showed a flicker of realization—’So that’s how it is’—while Omagari sighed, knowing the match was about to get much tougher.

The sixth game was Omagari’s serve. As he stepped to the baseline, his aura rose sharply. Tossing the ball high, he leaped into the air, crossing both rackets as they struck the ball with explosive force.

”Abare Jishi!”

Timothée had already seen this move once, so he immediately tried to spot the real ball. But this time, Omagari’s serve didn’t split in two—the ball tore straight toward the deep right side of the French court with incredible power.

Timothée sprinted to the spot, his right hand driving the racket into the ball—but the moment of contact sent a crushing weight up his wrist. His expression twisted, and he quickly added his left hand to steady the racket, barely managing to block the serve.

His return cleared the net, but Omagari was already there, intercepting it cleanly. The ball’s force was halved, and it drifted lightly back across the net, dropping toward the front court.

Tristan lunged forward, sliding into position. His left hand shot out, flicking the ball up—but Yukimura had already leapt high into the air, eyes sharp. He slammed down a violent smash, mental energy surging out of him and coating the ball in a shimmering aura.

Tristan, prepared this time, took two quick steps back and to the right, raising his racket to intercept—but then his vision suddenly went black. Everything in front of him vanished.

Startled, his swing warped mid-motion, and the ball struck the net instead. Timothée sensed something wrong and rushed to his partner’s side.

”15–0!”

”So this is what you call vision deprivation?” Tristan asked calmly, showing no panic despite his loss of sight.

”Looks like you expected this already,” Yukimura replied evenly, watching Tristan’s composed expression.

”Aside from my good looks, I’ve got plenty of confidence in my willpower too. So... your trick won’t keep working on me!” As Tristan spoke, light gradually returned to his pupils.

Seeing him recover from vision deprivation so quickly, Yukimura said nothing more. He simply turned back to position. Omagari had already stepped onto the baseline and, without hesitation, unleashed another serve.

”Abare Jishi!”

This time, Timothée was ready. Gripping his racket with both hands, he blocked the serve cleanly and rushed toward the net. He and Tristan moved together, forming a tight two-man interception at the front. Yukimura sidestepped and swung, sending the ball toward the open gap between them.

Running full speed, Timothée instantly switched his racket to his left hand, intercepting the ball’s path. Omagari instinctively shifted left to cover—but Timothée deliberately raised his racket, letting the ball slip beneath it.

A split second later, Tristan’s racket came down and intercepted the ball cleanly. The two had timed it perfectly, using mirrored hand switches to create a delay that caught their opponents off guard. The ball flashed past the net and struck the baseline before rolling out of bounds.

”15–15!”

Omagari didn’t attempt another Abare Jishi. He knew that move had lost its edge, so he launched an ultra–high-speed serve instead. The velocity surprised Tristan for a moment, but he quickly reached the spot and returned the ball solidly.

Yukimura was already at the net. He swung his right hand in a motion aimed left, and Timothée, reading it through instinct, shifted quickly in that direction.

But at the instant of impact, Yukimura’s racket was suddenly in his left hand, and the shot angle reversed. The ball whizzed past Timothée’s startled gaze, striking the left sideline before bouncing out.

”Mirage Mirror!”

”30–15!”

”You’re not the only ones who can play ambidextrous,” Yukimura said coldly, his voice calm and steady.

”George, didn’t your data say that kid from Japan wasn’t ambidextrous?” Edgar asked from the French bench, glancing sideways.

”That’s right, senpai,” Jonathan replied after a brief pause.

”Don’t put too much faith in easily gathered data. Remember—they’re from Japan. Ninjas specialize in deceiving their enemies,” Auguir Delon said seriously, forming a hand sign as he spoke.

While the French team discussed, the match had already resumed. Both Tristan and Timothée were now constantly switching hands, trying to strike from the most effective angles possible.

On the Japan side, Yukimura continued to use Mirage Mirror to confuse them, while Omagari—holding two rackets—looked slightly out of place, though he himself couldn’t have cared less.

Unfortunately, even with their hidden trump card revealed, the French pair couldn’t turn the situation around. The same scenes of losing points once again flashed through their minds, stirring a trace of anxiety—and as before, those visions came true.

”40–15!”

Still, the unpredictability of Nitōryū meant even Yukimura couldn’t perfectly foresee every play. During the fifth rally, the mental visions finally stopped. But Omagari’s front-court defense was airtight, and Yukimura handled every return flawlessly.

After more than ten consecutive rallies, Tristan was misled by Yukimura’s Mirage Mirror and left a small opening. Omagari seized it immediately, smashing a baseline drive to secure the sixth game.

”Game! Japan! 5–1!”

”To be pushed this far... kind of embarrassing, huh?” Tristan muttered with a wry smile as he returned to the bench. But then he noticed Timothée’s eyes fixed on a spot in the stands.

”So you saw it too. Looks like your old man came to watch you today,” Tristan said, following his gaze and realizing instantly.

”Yeah. He’s been busy preparing for his art exhibition these past few days, yet he still made time to come see me play... I can’t lose this match,” Timothée said firmly, his voice unwavering.

”Don’t worry. I’ll give it everything I’ve got too. After all, I can’t embarrass myself in front of the old man either,” Tristan replied with a grin.

Tristan knew Timothée’s family situation well—he even knew his father personally. So both for friendship and for pride, he had every reason to fight with everything he had.