"Initial diagnosis suggests dizziness caused by mental overexertion."
After returning from the medical room, Mitsudomoe addressed Ishikawa and the team. "No physical injuries, but he'll need more rest."
"Understood." Ishikawa nodded.
The others exchanged uneasy glances.
"Mental interference?" Kaneshiro touched his chin thoughtfully. "Those syllables had that much power?"
"In India, religion holds immense influence," Mitsudomoe explained. "Ancient Hindu traditions span millennia. For them to maintain such reverence over centuries... you can imagine how formidable they are."
The Japanese team nodded grimly.
The Ochi brothers' mental resilience wasn't weak—rated at a solid 5. By World Cup standards, that should've been sufficient. Yet they'd still been overwhelmed.
"The Indian team..."
Yagyu glanced at their portly, composed coach and felt a chill. This squad was stronger than anticipated. Those cryptic syllables were like fog—without understanding their nature, any carelessness could be fatal.
But then his gaze landed on their raven-haired leader rising from the coach's seat.
"Him, though... He won't be affected."
---
### Contrasting Moods
While the Japanese camp was tense, the Indian team celebrated their doubles victory.
The Ochi brothers' synchronicity was fearsome—yet they'd been crippled before even activating it.
"Bhatt and Johaan were brilliant!"
Normally, the pair would've boasted, but today they remained humbly silent.
"The credit isn't ours," Bhatt said, bowing toward their dark-skinned captain. "Without Captain Sharma's teachings, victory wouldn't have been possible."
"Indeed," Johaan agreed. "This win belongs to Captain Sharma!"
The team erupted in cheers.
"The captain predicted this!"
"One draw, two losses, one win—now it'll be one draw, two losses, two wins!"
"Victory belongs to India!"
Their excitement peaked knowing their true ace was next. Bhatt and Johaan's mental tricks? Mere child's play compared to Sharma's prowess.
---
### The Duel Begins
"Taran."
Coach Viyas fixed his star pupil with a stern look. "Stay calm. Play your usual game—don't let distractions cloud your judgment."
"Understood."
Sharma turned, his piercing gaze locking onto the black-haired boy standing across the court.
The umpire's voice rang out:
"Now beginning Singles 1—India's Taran Sharma (12th grade) vs. Japan's Makoto Ishikawa (7th grade)."
"Players, prepare!"
The crowd watched as the two took opposite baselines, meeting at the net.
"Makoto Ishikawa." Sharma's accented English dripped condescension. "I watched your match against Korea's Lee Seung-bu. You're... decent."
His tone sharpened. "But my tennis is nothing like his. Today, you'll witness true mental warfare."
A crushing wave of psychic pressure rolled off him—yet Ishikawa's expression remained unshaken.
"Huh?"
Sharma blinked. This wasn't the reaction he'd expected.
"Impossible! He must be hiding his fear!"
But then—
Ishikawa's eyes met his.
No words. Just a look.
Sharma's body reacted before his brain could—he stumbled back a step.
"Wha—?"
The crowd gasped. Even his own team stared in shock.
"Tch!"
Flushing under their scrutiny, Sharma spun toward the baseline, snapping over his shoulder:
"You take first serve. Let's see how long you last!"
---
### Coach's Reflections
From the sidelines, Viyas frowned.
His protégé's arrogance was a double-edged sword. It fueled his mastery of ancient scriptures' power... yet also blinded him.
"Gods and mortals walk different paths," Viyas murmured, recalling his own downfall.
Once, he'd believed physical prowess could defy even deities—until a crushing defeat shattered that illusion. Broken, he'd retired... until the scriptures' wisdom resurrected him.
Now, he saw Sharma as the vessel for that divine power.
"Stay focused, Taran," he whispered. "With faith, you're invincible."
---
### First Blood
"Game start! Best of three sets!"
"First set—Ishikawa to serve!"
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Ishikawa bounced the ball calmly before tossing it skyward—
CRACK!
A bullet serve streaked across the court.
"Too fast!"
Indian players paled. Their earlier mockery vanished.
"Decent speed."
Sharma arrived at the landing spot, smirking. "But speed alone is—"
FWOOSH!
The ball jerked sideways upon bouncing, whizzing past his frozen racket.
"15-0!"
"He... missed?!"
The crowd buzzed.
"That serve's insane!"
"No ordinary spin—it's like the ball has a mind of its own!"
Sharma's jaw tightened. He'd underestimated the spin's complexity.
"Again." He repositioned, eyes blazing. "Do it again!"
CRACK!
Another lightning serve.
Sharma analyzed furiously—no spin. Just raw speed.
"A bluff!" He grinned. "Using psychology? Clever... but I see through you!"
He swung at the expected bounce—
SHING!
The ball veered 90 degrees, landing squarely in the opposite corner.
"30-0!"
Murmurs spread. Were their eyes deceiving them?
"Two in a row... No fluke."
Even elite players like Kiran and Roha couldn't detect any spin.
Then Sharma spotted it—crushed pebbles at the impact point.
His blood ran cold.
"He... mapped the court's imperfections beforehand?!"
(End of Chapter.)