Right now, everyone from Josei Shonan had fallen silent. Kajimoto walked back to the bench without a word to rehydrate, clearly shaken by the match. Hanamura-sensei could only offer a few comforting words.
Because the last match ended early, Akutsu and Wakato Hiroshi were still warming up and hadn't returned, but soon Akutsu came back first. Obviously, he'd just done a light warm-up, completely unconcerned about his opponent.
The training camp had given Akutsu's five stats a boost, firmly cementing him at the national level—he might even surpass some regular national-level players now. Even Atobe might not be his match anymore.
However, Akashi had paid close attention to Atobe during the camp and noticed his insight had improved slightly; it wouldn't be long before he could develop the World of Ice, and then his strength would skyrocket.
When Wakato Hiroshi returned, the referee announced the start of the singles three match. Akashi recalled that Wakato Hiroshi was a copycat player who liked imitating pro tennis stars' styles—but that was all he could do. Compared to Niō's illusions, Wakato Hiroshi was leagues behind; even Kabaji was much better.
As Wakato Hiroshi entered the court, several girls in the stands let out shrill cheers. At the net, Akutsu shot his opponent an annoyed glare without offering a handshake, but Wakato Hiroshi didn't mind. He looked at Akutsu with a playful expression, pretending to think, and said:
"It's time to choose your opponent!"
"Right, the perfect match for you is..." Wakato Hiroshi continued, pulling a hat from his pocket, tossing it high into the air, then snapped his fingers dramatically.
"Transform!"
"All right!" the girls who'd been screaming earlier shouted in unison.
Wakato Hiroshi spread his arms wide as a puff of pink smoke suddenly burst from behind him. He caught the falling hat with what he thought was a cool flourish, wearing it backward as his face took on a serious expression.
Watching from the side, Akashi almost wanted to cover his face. 'It's already ridiculous enough you're putting on such a flashy show, but where the hell did you get those special effects? Don't push it too far!'
Akutsu stared blankly at the clownish act before veins popped on his forehead—he felt like his intelligence was being insulted. But since Akashi was watching, he forcibly restrained his urge to beat Wakato Hiroshi to a pulp, hurriedly turning away after the coin toss so he wouldn't catch the stupidity.
Maybe fools do have fool's luck, because Wakato Hiroshi won the serve. He took his place on the baseline, setting up a serving stance that made some spectators murmur in familiarity, as if they'd seen it somewhere before.
Wakato Hiroshi tossed the ball high and swung his racket hard, sending the ball quickly over the net and into Akutsu's court. By average standards, it was a solid serve—but for Akutsu, it wasn't impressive at all.
Akutsu zipped to the landing point, leaning into his swing, and whipped the ball back at a sharp angle to Wakato Hiroshi's left corner.
Wakato Hiroshi sprinted left with a running form that made the onlookers even more certain they recognized it. Akashi smiled faintly; of course he knew who Wakato Hiroshi was imitating—he'd even met the original.
Wakato Hiroshi reached the ball and smashed it back at Akutsu, letting out a loud shout as he did.
"Come on!"
In the Fudomine bench, Tachibana blinked in surprise and said:
"This is... Lleyton Hewitt? That movement, those baseline shots, the running—it's an exact copy of Hewitt's style!"
Akutsu didn't care at all. He might be playing tennis now, but he had zero interest in tennis stars; he'd rather watch F1 races than care about pros.
He easily chased down the ball, swinging in a bizarre posture to smash it violently back, this time even faster than before.
Before Wakato Hiroshi could even react, the ball zipped past him, whizzing out of bounds behind him.
"0-15!"
Akutsu's aggressive style completely crushed a flashy, superficial player like Wakato Hiroshi. It didn't matter what antics his opponent tried—Akutsu could overpower him with sheer speed and strength.
"That's right, he's copying Hewitt. The baseline returns and footwork are just like Hewitt's. But it's only an imitation—he's nowhere near even ten percent of Hewitt's real level," Akashi said quietly.
Wakato Hiroshi stared in shock at Akutsu's return. When he mimicked Hewitt, he was supposed to be able to chase down anything—he'd even specifically trained his footwork. Yet he hadn't even had a chance to react.
But he brushed it off as a fluke and kept serving in Hewitt's style. No matter how perfect his copy looked, it had no effect against Akutsu's returns, and he could only watch himself lose point after point.
"0-30!"
"0-40!"
"Game! Fudomine! 1-0!"
Soon, Wakato Hiroshi lost his service game. Realizing Hewitt's style wasn't enough, he raised his hand dramatically, snapped his fingers again, and shouted:
"Transform!"
"All right!" the girls echoed enthusiastically.
He took off his hat, his face turning a bit wilder as he stepped just inside the baseline, ready to receive Akutsu's serve.
"That stance... is it Andre Agassi? I see, Agassi really was good at handling fast returns—but how long can you keep this up?" Akashi said with a soft laugh. 'But copying Agassi without shaving your head? Zero points!'
Akutsu looked at the clown across the net and, if anything, felt less angry—there was no point getting mad at a fool.
If it were anyone else, seeing someone copy a world-famous player would at least cause some surprise, but not Akutsu; he just saw a clown.
Akutsu stood at the baseline, not overthinking it, and fired off a high-speed serve. Even though he wasn't using full power, the ball still flew at around 180 kilometers per hour. Wakato Hiroshi barely managed to track the trajectory, rushed to the landing spot, and used Akutsu's own power to send the ball back toward Akutsu's baseline.
The ball speed was no slower than the serve, which made many people realize what was going on—it looked just like Agassi's style. It was now obvious that Wakato Hiroshi's so-called "transformation" was changing his playstyle to imitate different tennis stars. At first, everyone thought he was just a Hewitt fan copying his idol, but clearly that wasn't the case.
Unfortunately, it was useless against Akutsu. He casually returned the ball from the baseline, then burst forward to the net, completely shattering Wakato Hiroshi's plan to pin him at the baseline.
Wakato Hiroshi stood at the left baseline and hit a powerful forehand cross-court drive, one of Agassi's signature shots. But the difference in their abilities was too big—Akutsu used a bizarre, almost impossible-looking movement to smash a straight shot past Wakato Hiroshi for an immediate point.
"15-0!"
From there, it was the same story no matter what Wakato Hiroshi tried, even when he hit sharp-angle passing shots in Agassi's style. Against Akutsu, he stood no chance and lost point after point.
"Game! Fudomine! 2-0!"
On the sidelines, Hanamura-sensei's eyes sparkled as she watched Akutsu on the court. Such outstanding physical talent—he'd be the perfect piece for her collection. She'd even forgotten how Akutsu had called her an old hag earlier.
It was Wakato Hiroshi's serve again, and now he looked a bit lost. He'd tried two different stars' styles, but neither worked. Could he really win this match? Still, he had no choice but to keep going.
"Transform!"
"All right!" the girls still cheered on cue.
Wakato Hiroshi changed styles again. As he served, his left leg lifted, his body leaned slightly back, and a cocky grin spread across his face. After sending the ball over, he sprinted straight to the net.
"Serve-and-volley! That's Pete Sampras, isn't it? Pretty interesting," Chitose chuckled.
"He switches styles every rally? He sure can imitate a lot, but in the end, he's just a monkey trying to draw a tiger and ending up a dog," Krauser scoffed.
"Oh? Krauser, your Japanese idioms have improved," Akashi teased lightly.
Meanwhile, Hanamura-sensei watched Akashi and the others chatting and laughing without a care for the match. She felt a growing sense of dread—was Josei Shonan about to suffer a complete defeat?
Akutsu saw his opponent charging the net and let out a contemptuous smirk. He simply lobbed the ball high. Wakato Hiroshi, using his momentum, leaped forward and swung downward at the ball with a fierce smash.
"Slam dunk shot!"
But Akutsu had already moved to the landing point. As the ball bounced up, he smashed a forehand return, the sheer power of the smash not affecting him at all. The ball zipped right under Wakato Hiroshi's feet, then flew out of the court.
"0-15!"
After landing, Wakato Hiroshi stared at the ball outside the lines, unable to calm down. Akutsu had effortlessly returned his slam dunk shot—Sampras' specialty.
Unwilling to accept it, Wakato Hiroshi kept serving and rushing the net, hitting tricky one-handed backhand shots from all sorts of angles. But his opponent was Akutsu, who played like a wild animal; what seemed sharp and difficult to others was child's play for him.
The match continued, with Akutsu performing all sorts of freakish, contorted movements that made the spectators' scalps tingle. No one dared imagine themselves trying it, afraid they'd snap in half.
Meanwhile, Wakato Hiroshi kept changing styles—Goran Ivanisevic, Gustavo Kuerten, and more—but none worked. Akutsu broke them all with ease.
"Game! Fudomine! 3-0! Change courts!"
"Game! Fudomine! 4-0!"
"Game! Fudomine! 5-0!"
Soon it was the final game. Even the girls who'd been screaming in support fell silent, unable to watch their idol get crushed so badly.
Standing on the court, Wakato Hiroshi hung his head like he'd given up. The referee was about to ask if he could continue when Wakato Hiroshi suddenly raised his right hand high and snapped his fingers.
"Transform!" This time, his voice was heavy with determination.
"All right!" the girls still shouted, giving him face.
Wakato Hiroshi spread his legs front to back, bent his waist, and let his arms hang naturally with his racket in one hand. This stance made everyone from Fudomine stare in shock—it was Akutsu's usual ready position.
"No... way... that guy's trying to imitate Akutsu?! Has he completely lost the will to live?" Tachibana exclaimed in disbelief.
Even Akashi was speechless. 'Of all the people to imitate, you picked Akutsu? You'd have been safer mimicking Echizen Nanjirō himself. This is like lighting a lamp in an outhouse—you're looking for death.'
Akutsu's rage, which had cooled, now erupted like volcanic lava when he saw Wakato Hiroshi's stance. His eyes glowed with danger as he launched a supersonic serve straight at Wakato Hiroshi.
Wakato Hiroshi, clueless about the impending disaster, kept running in Akutsu's signature awkward style to meet the ball. Hanamura-sensei suddenly shouted for him to stop, but it was too late—when Wakato Hiroshi made contact with the ball, a sharp pain shot through his waist like it would snap in two.
"So painful! Is this even humanly possible?" Wakato Hiroshi grimaced in agony.
Because of the pain, his return was weak, and the ball popped up high. Akutsu's eyes flashed coldly; he charged forward, leapt high, and as he swung, the ball exploded with dazzling golden light, roaring toward Wakato Hiroshi like a meteor.
"Light Strike!"