Prince of Tennis: The Emperor's Eye

Chapter 425: Chapter 104: Record? Game? Motivation?

When Tanegashima finally managed to stop that Mana Cannon, the referee’s announcement followed immediately. Many in the audience let out a long sigh of relief—especially those sitting behind the back wall. Even from that distance, the destructive force of Akashi’s shot had terrified them.

Akashi looked at Tanegashima, whose normally calm appearance was now slightly disheveled, and couldn’t help but smile faintly. The Mana Cannon looked overwhelming, but all its power had been tightly sealed within the ball itself. Even if it had hit the wall, it wouldn’t have harmed anyone in the audience.

Ironically, it was Tanegashima’s interception that triggered the ball’s internal energy to burst out like a volcanic eruption. If it had been anyone else—Byoudouin or Oni, for example—they likely would’ve been blown off the court entirely.

Across the net, Ludovic stood frozen, staring blankly at the chaos before him. His eyes were wide, his face a mixture of disbelief and humiliation. He had retreated just now. Against Akashi’s attack, he had chosen to back away. For someone as proud as Ludovic, that single act of hesitation cut deeper than any defeat.

The match entered a break period, but even as he returned to his bench, Ludovic’s mind remained clouded. Beneath his anger, a deeper emotion stirred—confusion.

From the moment he picked up a racket, Ludovic had always been a prodigy. He had beaten players older than him by years. His confidence in his tennis ability had never once wavered. That confidence was the foundation of his pride.

When he joined France’s U-17 team, Camus’s overwhelming strength did make him wary, but not discouraged. Camus was five years older, after all. Ludovic was sure that by the time he reached his senior year, he would surpass him easily.

But his match against Akashi shattered that belief completely. The strength he’d always taken pride in felt utterly insignificant. Even if Akashi was two years older, they were still both middle schoolers—yet the difference between them felt like an abyss Ludovic couldn’t cross.

Camus sat calmly on the bench, his gaze fixed on Ludovic. He said nothing, but he understood. What the boy needed right now wasn’t comfort or advice—it was strength from within.

Words of reassurance would be as useless as dust carried away by the wind. Camus knew that only Ludovic himself could reignite his will to fight.

The rest of the French team exchanged uneasy looks. They wanted to help, but didn’t know how. Then, quietly, a figure appeared beside Ludovic—it was Auguir, moving as unpredictably as always.

He leaned close and whispered something softly into Ludovic’s ear, forming strange hand signs as he spoke—his own peculiar little ritual, as if casting a good-luck charm.

Ludovic blinked in surprise, staring at him for a moment. Then, before anyone realized it, he laughed. The haze clouding his heart lifted, replaced by a spark of renewed spirit—thanks to that ridiculous but sincere teammate.

Camus noticed and couldn’t help but smirk faintly. He knew Auguir well enough. Despite his eccentricity, the boy always had a strange way of turning things around when it mattered most.

Meanwhile, on the Japan bench, Akashi sat perfectly composed, his breathing steady, his gaze calm—as if he hadn’t just finished a brutal first set. Everyone on the team knew he hadn’t even gone all out. If he had, that French prince would have been crushed completely.

”The first set lasted exactly 16 minutes and 57 seconds. You’re not going to try breaking the record, Akashi?” Inui said from behind the bench, his tone full of mischief.

”Oh? There’s a record for that?” Akashi turned slightly toward him, raising an eyebrow. He remembered most of the key moments from the original series, but small details like this were easy to forget.

”Yes,” Inui said, pushing his glasses up with a sly grin. ”The current fastest match record in this World Cup is 29 minutes and 32 seconds—set by none other than your opponent, Ludovic Chardard.”

”I see,” Akashi murmured, his eyes narrowing with amusement as he glanced across the court. ”Now that’s interesting.”

Inui’s words stirred an old memory—something from long ago, back in the Teikou era. Back then, the five of them—The Generation of Miracles—had invented a cruel little game during a match against Meikou Middle.

The match was a massacre. Teikou dominated completely. And yet, one player from Meikou—Ogiwara—refused to give up. He kept playing until the very end, never losing his will to fight.

But when his final shot missed, Aomine’s teammate, Murasakibara, casually dunked the rebound... into their own basket.

Ogiwara didn’t understand at first. Then he saw the scoreboard: 111–11.

His heart broke completely in that moment. From then on, he quit basketball altogether.

Teikou’s reasoning? Nothing more than boredom. They’d created that ”game” simply to make scoring feel a little more exciting.

Thinking about it, Akashi suddenly felt that what Teikou had done back then wasn’t completely without reason. Just like now, he could barely find any excitement in this match. But if he played with the goal of breaking a record, maybe that would give him a little more drive.

”Sorry about this, Prince of France,” Akashi murmured softly, his eyes half-lidded.

The three-minute break ended quickly. Akashi picked up his racket and walked slowly back onto the court. With every step, the pressure around him grew heavier. Even Byoudouin and the others on the bench could feel a faint, suffocating force radiating from him.

”What’s that kid planning?” Byoudouin frowned. He couldn’t figure Akashi out. The opponent wasn’t even that strong—there was no need for him to raise his aura to this level.

”Didn’t think you had a mischievous side like this, Inui,” Fuji said with a small laugh, glancing at him. He’d heard every word of the conversation earlier.

”Well, I only made a tiny suggestion,” Inui replied with a glint flashing across his glasses.

The first game of the new set was Akashi’s serve. As he stood behind the baseline, his pupils turned a glowing orange-gold. Several golden rings spun around his irises, and behind him, the faint image of a blue-green planet shimmered briefly before fading.

”Alternate Dimension—Chaldeas!”

Two crimson streaks of lightning burst from his eyes. In the next instant, Akashi tossed the ball high—so high it went far beyond normal limits. As the crowd stared in confusion, a blazing red silhouette flashed behind him.

It was Kagami Taiga.

Akashi’s figure leapt into the air like a wild beast. His body traced a sharp red arc through the sky. For that moment, it felt as though he had broken free from gravity itself.

His jacket fluttered open, the sleeves spreading wide like a pair of wings. He hung in the air for a brief heartbeat—his form radiant, untouchable.

”Air Walk!”

As his right arm raised the racket high above his head, the entire stadium fell silent. Every gaze locked onto the descending tennis ball. Its movement seemed to slow, as if caught in Akashi’s control. Then—like a thunderclap—his racket slammed down.

The ball exploded off the strings in a flash of blazing light. It shot across the court with devastating force, a comet streaking through the air. Ludovic froze. For a moment, he thought the ball was heading toward the stands—it didn’t seem aimed at him at all.

But the instant it reached the backcourt, the impossible happened. The ball curved mid-flight, sharply deflecting back toward the baseline, striking it dead-on with a crisp crack before bouncing out of bounds like a fired shell.

”Meteor Dunk!”

”Ace! 15–0!”

Ludovic’s eyes widened like brass bells. His entire body trembled as he stared at Akashi descending from the air. His mind went completely blank.

Akashi landed smoothly, his jacket still perfectly draped over his shoulders, untouched by the jump. Without even glancing at the stunned Ludovic, he picked up another ball and tossed it upward again—just as high.

Once more, he rose into the sky, the motion identical.

Ludovic, snapping out of his daze, darted back to the baseline. When the ball deflected again and shot up from the backcourt, he swung with all his strength to intercept it.

The moment the ball struck his racket, a violent shock ran through his arm. It felt like being electrocuted. His wrist went numb instantly, the impact so strong that his racket flew out of his hand and clattered aside. The ball soared up into the air again, vanishing deep into the stands.

”Ace! 30–0!”