Just as everyone started wondering where the Seigaku team was, the familiar bickering voices of Momoshiro and Kaidō echoed from the entrance.
"That last shot of yours was way off. Guess your muscles have invaded your brain!"
"Hah? Speak for yourself! That snake shot of yours almost went out. You're just a stinking snake with trash eyesight!"
"Huh?" "Huh?" The two of them, glaring at each other, gradually came into view.
"You two, knock it off! This isn't the place to mess around!" Oishi's voice scolded sharply.
Players from the other schools looked at Seigaku with blank stares. From the crowd, Mizuki Hajime twirled his finger around his hair, wearing an eerie grin like he'd found something amusing.
"Full of energy, huh~" Yukimura said with a smile.
"You're sounding pretty old, Yukimura," Shiraishi replied with the same smile.
Akashi glanced at Ryōma in the middle of the Seigaku group, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. So Ryōma hadn't gone to America after the nationals—he'd stayed in Japan and come here with his teammates.
"So noisy… typical junior high kids, totally clueless," muttered a high schooler from a nearby court, frowning.
But he didn't notice that after he spoke, everyone around him had quietly stepped away, leaving a wide space. Several third-years backed off instinctively. Luckily, the junior high players were all focused on Seigaku and hadn't noticed him.
At that moment, a figure in a white suit stepped out onto the balcony of a building near the central plaza, holding a megaphone. Looking at the loud and messy crowd of junior high students, then at the cold, calm Akashi, he couldn't help feeling a bit excited.
"Testing, testing! All junior high players, quiet down! First off, welcome to the U-17 joint training camp. I'll start with a self-introduction. I'm Kurobe Yukio, the tactical advisor here! While the head coach is away, I'll be overseeing your training!"
Even though many already knew the place well, Kurobe still gave a quick intro.
"I'm sure most of you already know this camp is made up of 246 high school players and 50 selected junior high players. From now on, it doesn't matter whether you're from junior high or high school—you'll be sparring, competing, and aiming to improve the overall level of Japan's U-17!"
"However, the head coach also said that nearly 300 players is too many—it's a total waste of resources. So we've decided to drop 250 tennis balls. If you don't catch one, leave immediately!"
As soon as he finished, a glider flew overhead and released a downpour of tennis balls.
'Kurobe, are you sure you're not secretly related to Aizen?' Akashi leapt and casually caught a ball, grumbling to himself in his mind.
Kurobe Yukio.
Right away, all the junior high players bolted toward where the balls were falling. The high schoolers paused for a moment, but the second- and third-years quickly caught on and joined the scramble.
Just then, Kintarō leapt into the air and flipped midair, sweeping a bunch of tennis balls into his leopard-print vest. The first-years who were a step too slow clenched their jaws in frustration, but they didn't have time to complain—they had to grab what they could.
'So that hasn't changed. Mifune's clearly starting the cleanup,' Akashi crossed his arms and silently watched.
Soon, all the junior high players had snagged a ball, and most of the upperclassmen had too. The unlucky ones were the first-years—many of them didn't get any.
"Alright, now I'll explain the camp rules. As you can see, the whole facility is split into 16 courts, numbered 1 through 16. Each player is assigned to a court. The lower the number, the stronger you are!"
"Every day before training, we coaches will draw random matchups for rotating-round matches! Winners move up a court. Losers drop. If you're already on Court 16 and lose, you're out! Now, all high school players who didn't grab a ball—please leave the camp! That is all." Kurobe's voice rang out from the control room mic.
"You've gotta be kidding me!!! That brat hogged a bunch of balls all by himself! Why should we be kicked out?!" yelled a guy with yellow hair and a pompadour, pointing at Kintarō.
"Hah. Pathetic," Atobe sneered, not even bothering to look his way.
"You wanna die, trash?" Akutsu growled, his gaze deadly as he stared at the guy. His bloodlust poured out like a tidal wave.
The guy instantly stumbled back several steps. Panic surged through him. He felt like wetting himself—he'd never felt pressure like this. Not even Oni Juujirou, the infamous terror of the camp, had ever felt this scary.
"What's wrong, Sasabe?" a nearby high schooler asked.
Akashi twitched slightly when he heard that. 'Seriously? His name is Sasabe too? Just how much does the original author hate that name? Every single throwaway villain has it.'
Sasabe.
Sasabe snapped back to his senses, embarrassed. He randomly jabbed a finger and shouted, "You guys just got lucky! That doesn't prove anything! Hey, you with the glasses—bet your tennis and face me in a match!"
He was pointing toward a group of players wearing glasses—Tezuka, Kite, Inui, Oshitari, and Ryōma…
Wait a second!!! Something's off—when did Ryōma start wearing glasses?! He had on a pair of round glasses and was watching Sasabe with an amused look. For some reason, he felt oddly familiar with that last name. (Elsewhere, Konjiki Koharu suddenly panicked—his glasses were missing!)
"Since you brought up glasses, obviously you mean me!" Kite said with a cold smirk, getting ready to step in.
"Hold it~ I can't agree to that. I'm not the only one here with glasses," Yagyū from Rikkai cut in calmly.
"No need to argue. He was definitely talking about me!" Oshitari jumped in too, not backing down.
Inui didn't say anything. He just silently took out his notebook, ready to record data anytime. He wasn't all that interested in the match—the high schoolers seemed pretty weak.
"Cut the crap already, bastard!" Sasabe shouted, fuming. Meanwhile, Ryōma had already walked up to the court and casually asked if the match could begin.
"Stand down, Echizen~" a voice called out behind him. Ryōma turned to see Fuji with his eyes open and a serious expression.
With a sigh, Ryōma gave the glasses back to Konjiki Koharu and stepped aside. Fuji slowly walked onto the court and said to Sasabe, "How about I keep you company for a bit? Puri~"
Everyone knew exactly who it was the moment they heard that catchphrase. Ryōma was clearly annoyed now—he'd been tricked by Niō. When he turned, he saw the real Fuji standing right where he'd been the whole time, smiling calmly.
"Leave it to me, Sasabe! You be the umpire!" a voice rang out from the side just before the match began. It was the same guy who'd spoken to Sasabe earlier.
"Matsudaira, huh… Alright, the match's yours. But the opponent's just some junior high brat. Don't take it seriously—just mess around a bit." Sasabe, clearly rattled, seized the chance to back off and sat down in the umpire's chair.
Matsudaira.
A few upperclassmen nearby exchanged looks with eyes full of pity for Sasabe, then turned to watch the match with interest. Some of them already knew about Niō's unique ability.
"I'm not the type to hold back. Hope you don't regret this later." Matsudaira stared at the now untransformed Niō, speaking coolly.
Then he struck a bizarre pose: right leg stretched forward, left knee bent into a squat, both arms pulled back. From the umpire chair, Sasabe grinned wickedly when he saw it.
Matsudaira tossed the ball up, twisted his body using that strange stance, and smashed down with full force. The ball launched toward Niō with solid speed and momentum.
"Magnum Shot!"
The ball flew straight at Niō's face. He tilted his head with a smirk, and the ball zipped past his ear. A few clueless first-years on the sidelines broke into cheers.
"Ace! 15-0!"
"Hmm~ not a bad serve. Let me think… if I remember right, there's someone you guys are all terrified of, right? Puri~" Niō didn't care about losing the point. Instead, he looked at Matsudaira meaningfully.
As soon as he finished speaking, Niō's form began to warp. In the next moment, the terrifying image of the fifth-court guardian from the training camp—Oni Juujirō—appeared.
"Come at me with everything you've got, Matsudaira!" 'Oni's' deep, booming voice roared, making everyone instinctively flinch.
"Y-yes, sir!" Matsudaira responded reflexively, then blinked in disbelief at the 'Oni Juujirō' standing before him.
"Looks like Niō's having fun~" Fuji said with a smile.
"Niō! No need to hold back. Crush that trash in one go!" Akashi suddenly shouted from the sidelines, arms crossed.
"Oh? If Akashi-kun's getting serious, guess I've got no choice," Niō said in Oni's voice, making many high schoolers visibly uncomfortable.
"Hmph! Cheap tricks like that won't change your actual strength!" Matsudaira finally realized the person in front of him wasn't the real Oni, but the junior high kid pretending to be him. Still, he had no idea how the boy even knew about Oni's existence.
Confident he'd seen through the trick, Matsudaira struck the same strange pose and unleashed another Magnum Shot, the ball howling as it flew toward the fake Oni.
"You think a pathetic serve like that can do anything? Go to hell—Black Jack Knife!" 'Oni' instantly dashed to the ball's landing point, jumped up, and smashed it with a powerful backhand using both hands.
The ball was instantly engulfed in a black glow and shot forward like a missile. Matsudaira stood frozen, stunned that this junior high kid could actually use Oni's signature move.
But he didn't have time to think. The ball hit, launching him high into the air before slamming him to the ground. His racket flew out of sight, and his whole body went numb—he couldn't move at all.
"Mission complete! Puri~" Niō returned to his normal form and called out to Akashi from the court.