When the umpire announced the final result of the match, Duke dropped straight to the ground. Though losing left him somewhat frustrated, he had finally fulfilled his long-held wish to face Camus. His emotions were a tangled mix of regret and relief.
"Do you still feel guilty toward me, Duke?" Camus walked calmly to the net, his voice soft but clear.
"Heh~ I've already moved past that. Just a pity I still lost to you, Leopold!" Duke gave a self-deprecating smile as he answered.
"You're familiar with the Swiss team's strength, aren't you? So what are Japan's plans next?" Camus's sudden question made Duke blink in surprise.
"The match today isn't even over yet, and you're already..." Duke gave him a confused look, unsure what Camus was getting at.
"To achieve victory, one must first have the courage to accept defeat. I trust my teammates, but I also know Akashi Seijurō's strength. Chardard and Delon can't possibly stand against him." Camus had already realized that France's overall defeat was inevitable.
His calm acceptance left Duke at a loss for words. All he could do was stand up, meet Camus at the net, and shake hands to complete the post-match ritual.
When Duke returned to the Japan bench, everyone greeted him with gentle smiles. No one blamed him—they all knew he had given everything he had, especially in those last two games where he had completely exhausted his stamina.
"Sorry, coach, captain... I still lost," Duke said quietly, guilt heavy in his tone despite the team's support.
"You've done well enough. The rest is up to Akashi-kun now," Mifune said calmly, unfazed by the loss. Japan still held a clear advantage, and the next singles match was practically guaranteed.
Byōdōin didn't say much, but he gave Duke a small nod. He wasn't disappointed—just a little regretful. He understood Duke's heart perfectly.
Among the group, Akashi frowned slightly. His concern wasn't Duke's loss—it was tomorrow's lineup against Switzerland. He knew that the Swiss team's "muscle pair" might require Duke's power to counter, but seeing his condition now, Akashi realized sending him out again tomorrow would be difficult.
But what caught Akashi's attention even more was a particular name—Kuraraga Tatsuta. In the original schedule, due to the team's player restrictions, he hadn't appeared against the American team.
Now, however, there was no guarantee he wouldn't appear tomorrow. And Akashi suspected that Switzerland's true ace might not be Amadeus at all. Compared to the main captains of the other Big Four nations, Amadeus's strength seemed somewhat underwhelming.
Still, this wasn't the time to overthink. Akashi rose slowly, draping his jacket over his shoulders. His movements were steady and composed as he walked toward the court.
Mifune watched him silently and gave a small approving nod. With this level-headed, overwhelmingly powerful leader, he had no worries at all. There was no need for advice—Akashi knew exactly what to do.
On the other side, the French bench remained still. None of their players showed any sign of preparing to step onto the court. They simply watched Akashi intently. Camus and Edgard exchanged glances, both showing faint expressions of resignation.
Then, a sharp neigh of hooves suddenly echoed from the player tunnel, grabbing everyone's attention. Heads turned toward the source of the sound, and from the tunnel emerged a tall figure in the French uniform—riding a majestic white horse.
It was Leprince, France's Singles No. 2 player. His dramatic entrance drew gasps from the crowd. Beside him walked an elderly man dressed as a butler, his stern face and upright posture radiating the air of a lifelong servant.
Leprince's appearance instantly became the focus of the arena. His features were handsome, his manner graceful, his uniform tailored to perfection. Combined with the white stallion beneath him, he looked like a prince straight out of a fairy tale.
His entrance was so dazzling it could rival Atobe Keigo's flair. Yet, under the audience's rapt gaze, Leprince remained composed and confident, a faint smile playing at his lips.
Ryōma, watching from the stands, couldn't help but sweatdrop, three dark lines forming on his forehead. The scene reminded him of that ridiculous horseback match he'd once had with the same guy. He still didn't understand how things had even escalated to that point.
Leprince dismounted gracefully, and immediately the stadium erupted into cheers—mostly from the French supporters.
"Leprince! Leprince! Leprince!"
"Whoa~ It's gonna be a showdown between redheads!" Kirihara blurted from the bench, earning a bewildered look from Shiraishi beside him, as if to say, 'Do you have a death wish?'
"Leprince, huh? Prince, is it?" Atobe smirked coldly. "How amusing... There's already a King of Hyōtei, after all."
"The next match—Singles No. 2—will now begin! France—Leprince Ludovic Chardard (First Year)! Japan—Akashi Seijurō (Third Year)! Players, please enter the court!"
As the referee's voice echoed through the stadium, both players stepped onto the court. When they reached the net, neither bowed nor greeted each other. Leprince stared at Akashi with a smug expression, a teasing smile curling his lips.
"I've noticed you Japanese players like to wear jackets during matches. Is that some kind of weird habit?"
"You talk too much. Soon, your French team's World Cup journey will be over," Akashi said flatly, his tone cold and dismissive.
"Heh~ You sure can brag. But it doesn't matter. You'll be completely crushed here anyway!" Leprince chuckled, then turned away from Akashi and blew a kiss toward the French supporters.
"Hey, who was the last guy that talked to Akashi like that?" Tachibana Jippei muttered from the sideline, lips twitching as he looked at Leprince with pity.
"Oh? Let me think... wasn't it Byōdōin?" Irie replied with a playful smile.
Byōdōin's brow twitched slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. He didn't deny it—he knew better than anyone that this French kid was about to have a rough time.
On court, the air between the two players grew tense. The referee quickly called for the coin toss, and the result left the Japan bench stunned—Akashi, for once, had actually won the serve.
"Best of three sets! Japan to serve first!"
Akashi walked calmly to the baseline. Across from him, Leprince had already dropped his playful demeanor, his expression hardening into sharp focus. His earlier arrogance was partly his nature—but also a deliberate attempt to rattle Akashi's composure.
Ever since the exhibition match against Germany, Akashi Seijurō's name had become a major topic of study for every national team. And after his victory over Zeus—who had once held an unbroken record of ninety-nine consecutive wins—Akashi's reputation had only grown more terrifying.
So even though Leprince was full of pride and confidence, he knew this opponent was not one to underestimate. He couldn't relax for a single moment. This wasn't just about his personal honor—France's survival in the World Cup depended on him. He had to win.
Akashi, however, paid no attention to Leprince's look. He tossed the ball lightly into the air, swung his racket casually, and sent the serve flying like an arrow released from a bowstring, piercing straight toward the opposite court.
Leprince reacted instantly, sliding left and rotating his waist in one smooth motion. Channeling all his strength into his right arm, he unleashed a powerful counter. The ball streaked past Akashi's side like a yellow blur and flew clean out of bounds.
"0–15!"
Akashi glanced at the ball without expression. The next second, he tossed another ball upward and served again—a fast, ordinary serve. Leprince darted to the spot and unleashed another powerful return. A streak of light shot across Akashi's court, vanishing from sight.
"0–30!"
"A return winner?! Are you kidding me?!" Momoshiro exclaimed from the stands, disbelief written all over his face. "That's Akashi he's returning against!"
"Calm down, Momo," Oshitari said coolly, adjusting his glasses with a smirk. "Look closely at Akashi-kun's eyes. I can guarantee you—the French prince is about to experience the biggest humiliation of his life."
Indeed, the Japan bench was unusually calm. Leprince's returns were impressive, sure—but for Akashi, they were nothing. Everyone was only waiting to see how Akashi would respond.
Soon, Akashi served again—a third time. Once more, Leprince used his strong physique and extraordinary balance, honed from horseback tennis, to intercept the serve and score another return point.
"0–40!"
After scoring three consecutive points, Leprince's lips curled into a smirk. So this was the famous Akashi Seijurō? Maybe those previous matches were all hype. Perhaps his opponents hadn't even been serious.
"Hey, that jacket you're wearing really annoys me," Leprince called out loudly across the court. "So on the next shot, I'll knock it right off your back!"
But before his voice had even faded, a sharp hum split the air. A blinding streak of white light cut past his ear, the sound exploding like a gunshot.
"ACE! 15–40!"