"Game! Greece! 4–2!"
Inside the arena hosting the Greece versus America match, Ryōma and the others watched in disbelief. Their captain, Reinhardt, was completely on the defensive—almost every return he made was perfectly predicted by Hermes.
The seventh game was Hermes's serve. Standing behind the baseline, he quickly tossed the ball and, at the moment of impact, gave a slight twist of his left wrist. The ball shot forward at incredible speed toward America's half.
Seeing it was an ordinary flat serve, Reinhardt immediately rushed toward the landing point. But when the ball hit the ground, it suddenly rebounded horizontally at a sharp right angle, leaping high into the air. Reinhardt froze for a split second, unable to react in time.
"The cunning thief!"
"Ace! 15–0!"
Hermes wasted no time. He tossed the ball again—another blisteringly fast flat serve. When it landed, it bounced forward toward the net instead of upward.
This time, however, Reinhardt was ready. Concentrating fully, he took a quick step forward and sliced across the ball. The shot that had been heading for the net gained a little lift, clearing the tape and dropping softly inside Greece's half.
"15–15!"
'To find the counter that quickly… as expected of America's captain,' Hermes thought as he looked at the ball lying on the court.
"Looks like the captain's finally getting serious," Rocky said with a sigh of relief from the American bench.
"Seriously, every time I see the captain's ability, it's insane," Kiko said with a grin. "One mistake, and he turns that same mistake into his best weapon the next time. That's straight-up cheating!"
Ryōma, sitting nearby, chuckled. "Fixing his flaws mid-match and turning them into strengths… not bad." He'd already recovered from his earlier loss to Zeus. To be fair, Ryōma's indomitable spirit had been forged by countless beatdowns from Japan's middle school players.
In this timeline, thanks to Akashi's presence, Ryōma's willpower far surpassed his original counterpart. After all, in the original story, just one practice match with Sanada had shattered his confidence completely—he'd had it too easy up to that point, having never lost an official match.
On court, Hermes still seemed to predict all of Reinhardt's shots with ease. But he soon noticed something strange—whenever he aimed for a "weak spot" based on his data, Reinhardt now returned the ball flawlessly.
'What's happening? Is this that so-called "weakness correction" ability from the reports? But it's still during the match—how can he adapt so fast?!' Hermes's thoughts raced, stunned that someone could change their entire hitting habits and fix their weaknesses in such a short span.
"30–15!"
"30–30!"
"30–40!"
"Game! America! 4–3!"
As Reinhardt kept correcting his flaws, the match began to turn around. In the last two points, Hermes's predictions started to slip—his data-analysis system was beginning to show cracks.
"Normally, data tennis targets an opponent's weak points," Zeus said from the Greek bench, eyes narrowed. "But Reinhardt can repair those weak points mid-match. In that sense, he completely counters data tennis itself."
"Lord Zeus," Vulcan said calmly beside him, "I think Hermes now faces a game of probability—and the cost of that gamble. A match is like solving an equation. Each step may seem trivial, but every one is essential to reach the final answer. People crave the result, but I find the process itself far more fascinating—because within it lies the mystery of the result."
"It's now a race between Hermes's analysis speed and Reinhardt's rate of self-correction," Hercules said, face tense. "If it comes down to pure strength, Hermes doesn't have the edge."
At that moment, Hermes sat quietly in the coach's chair, muttering to himself in a low voice. No one could make out his words, but the rest of the Greek team was already used to this—they knew he was reorganizing the data he had just gathered.
On the American team's bench, Reinhardt wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. After the last few games, he had a good grasp of his opponent's strength. Clearly, the other side had studied him in incredible detail—even the smallest habits he never noticed himself had become weapons for the opponent's attacks.
"Maybe I should be thankful to the Greek player. He's making me realize just how many flaws I still have," Reinhardt murmured softly. He then picked up his water bottle, using the straw to moisten his lips and throat. After all, drinking water directly after intense play was not advisable.
The break ended quickly. Reinhardt picked up his racket and returned to the court, while Hermes walked forward muttering under his breath, clearly still analyzing his freshly gathered data as he moved.
——————
In the arena where Japan faced Switzerland, the tension was thick enough to cut through. Every spectator's gaze was locked on the two players who had just stepped onto the court. The result of this match would decide which team advanced—and which would be eliminated.
When they met at the net for the pre-match handshake, Tatsuta glanced at Oni's face—calm, stoic, and far more mature than his age suggested. His brow lifted slightly, hesitation flickering in his eyes, as if something was on the tip of his tongue.
Kuraraga Tatsuta — according to the official records, said to be the strongest player on the Swiss team.
"What is it? You've got something to say?" Oni asked curiously when he noticed Tatsuta's look.
"Uh… this might sound rude, but I have to ask—are you really only seventeen?" Tatsuta finally voiced the question he'd been holding back.
"To be precise, I'm already eighteen," Oni replied bluntly. He was clearly used to this kind of question and didn't mind it at all.
For context, the reason eighteen-year-olds like Oni and Byoudouin were still eligible for the U-17 World Cup was because players were registered at the beginning of the year—when they were still seventeen. The tournament itself took place in December, meaning that most third-year high school players were now eighteen. Practically every country took advantage of this not-quite loophole.
"I see. Then I apologize for my earlier rudeness," Tatsuta said quickly, bowing his head slightly after getting his answer.
Seeing that the two seemed ready to keep chatting, the umpire stepped in, signaling for the coin toss. The result came soon after—Japan's luck held strong, and Oni won the right to serve first.
"The match will be best of three sets! Japan to serve first!"
Standing behind the baseline, Oni's presence radiated like that of a fierce beast ready to strike. He grabbed a tennis ball from the side, didn't even test the bounce, tossed it high, and brought his racket down with a thunderous swing.
Bang!
A deafening crack echoed from his racket. The next instant, the ball rocketed forward like a fired cannon shell, blasting toward Switzerland's half with immense force.
"Hmm… that weight… it's heavier than I expected," Tatsuta muttered as he stepped into position, intercepting the ball with a fluid swing. At the moment of impact, his tone remained calm, almost casual.
With barely any visible effort, he sent the ball cleanly back across the court. Oni's eyes narrowed in surprise. He hadn't held back on that serve—it was strong enough to knock the racket from most players' hands.
But there was no time to think. The ball, spinning sharply, sped toward Oni's backhand corner. Without hesitation, he sprinted after it.
Planting his feet, Oni gripped his racket with both hands, leapt slightly, and unleashed a full-power backhand swing. The ball compressed under the sheer force, the air around it misting into white vapor as it shot straight toward Tatsuta.
"Black Jack Knife!"
Tatsuta's lips curved into a faint smile. As he swung, there was a barely perceptible tremor in his right hand—so subtle that only he himself noticed it.
The powerful Jack Knife was returned effortlessly once again. Even the Japanese bench was visibly stunned. They all knew just how monstrous Oni's strength was.
The ball sliced through the air like an arrow, piercing the lingering haze and darting toward Japan's baseline. Another clean passing shot.
Oni's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't dwell on it. He moved instantly to counter, swinging hard. Yet, the moment the racket met the ball, a strange vibration pulsed through his wrist, followed by a surge of explosive force.
'Not good!' Oni thought, alarmed—but before he could react, his racket was ripped from his grip and sent flying. His expression hardened. He hadn't expected his opponent's power to match his own so completely.
"0–15!"