!!
"Senpai, your moves are dragging ass!"
On the table, Atobe winds up and slams a killer spike, sweeping his opponent clean for the W.
Over on the next table? Kawamura's flexing god-tier tech, zero-sealing his dude like it's casual Friday.
"Senpai, that forehand rush? Sloppy as hell. Tournament-level at best."
Kawamura smirks, radiating a vibe nothing like his tennis chill—pure predator mode.
Gulp~
Crowd of ping-pong hopefuls? Throats dry. This level? Straight to varsity starter, no questions.
"Are these dudes really tennis club aces?"
"Too damn strong. That pretty-boy Atobe? Acts like a diva, but his penhold grip's textbook. Balls out."
"Nah, Kawamura's the monster. National vibes. Chinese penhold, attack-style that eats souls."
…
Word spreads. Crowd swells. Even Hyotei's tennis starters roll in, catching the tail-end slaughter.
"That aura…" Ninomiya pushes up his glasses, feeling Kawamura's pressure wave.
"This is Kawamura unleashed—never drops this in tennis. Dude national ping-pong too?"
Ana swallows hard, sweat bead. First time tasting Kawamura's aggression—invasive AF.
"That Kawamura kid, and the Atobe heir—poach 'em for ping-pong? National locks. Hell, Kawamura's got Olympic shadow."
Ping-pong coach is frothing, grabbing his captain. These two? National domination guaranteed.
"Uh… tough sell," captain winces.
Coach sighs. Yeah. Hyotei tennis just bagged Kanto champs—national buzz. Who ditches that for ping-pong's shaky future?
"Kawamura. Finals, huh? Just like I called."
"Tennis? You own me right now. Ping-pong? Debatable."
Atobe's eyes flash cold, striding up. Side-glance, chin up—stare. "Can't wait to see your game."
[First drop at 101kan.com—clean chapters, no jumbles]
"Kawamura!"
Crowd holds breath. Kawamura's smile? Confident AF. Not his tennis breeze—pure "I already won" energy. Aura crushes Atobe's vibe in a heartbeat.
Huff…
Atobe dips his head, exhaling. That pressure? Real.
"This dude's locked in!"
Earlier matches weren't scrubs.
He's just that good.
Hell yeah.
Break over. Finals ignite.
Table's packed—standing room only. Not tennis, but Hyotei's hyped AF.
"Tanishi~ Tanishi, Kawamura got this?"
Kasuga bugs Tanishi, fresh off badminton.
"No clue."
He doesn't. Never seen Kawamura ping.
"Even you stumped?" Ninomiya chin-scratches, eyeing the table.
Kawamura's tech? Surgical, vicious. Atobe's a tick behind—but his insight? Cross-sport cheat code.
Winner? Coin flip.
"Match start! Kawamura serves!"
Huff—
Kawamura palms the ball, drops three cm—light bounce. Fingers grip, cradles it. Left side stance, body arched, paddle vertical, thumb locked.
"This—this is—"
Coach's pupils dilate. First-year with this serve?
"Captain, seen this on TV?"
"National feeds—China's ping-pong overlords. Their go-to. Takes years of grind, even for prodigies."
Drop.
Left hand snaps up, left foot powers—torso twists, paddle whips.
!!
"Fast!"
Atobe lunges, arm out—barely returns.
!!
White blur—pins right third, line-hugger.
"1-0!"
"That speed? Forehand rush, but insane. Hyotei varsity couldn't touch it."
Ninomiya analyzes cool, but inside? Mind blown.
"What's wrong, Atobe?"
Kawamura catches the next ball, smirks.
"Guess I underrated you."
Atobe shakes it off. One point. Whatever.
"That so?"
High toss again—nastier angle.
Atobe scrapes a return—Kawamura forehand nukes.
Serve swap.
Kawamura speed-blitzes from every angle. Atobe? Zero points. Blanked game one.
"Beast, Kawamura!"
"Dude skips tennis? Ping-pong ace easy."
"Freak, Kawamura Muzuki!"
Hyotei crew reeling. One guy, two sports, polar styles. Tennis? Baseline trapper—mind-games, errors, breakdown. Ping-pong? Steamroll. Pure aggression.
Halftime. Atobe breathes deep, steps up.
"Freeze!"
Mid-match—temp plummets. Ice wind blankets the table. Small court = low spirit drain.
Atobe waited all game—Ice World online.
Too bad: zero points = zero flaws scanned.
"I got no weaknesses right now, Atobe!"
Kawamura's eyes ice over. Ice pillars on his side? Shatter.
Atobe's eyes widen—instinct return.
Kawamura drops center, arm loose, paddle tipped.
SMACK!
Wrist flips lightning, arm arcs up—ball spins vicious, screams opposite.
Atobe? No time.
"Elite backhand twist—straight-line murder."
Coach's first time seeing it live. Flawless. National—or Olympic—one-shot killer.
Kawamura's backhand twist breaks Atobe. Momentum gone. Two games, zero points. Match over.
"Didn't think I'd nail his backhand twist. But leg drive? Miles off. Not even same league."
Kawamura shakes his head. Past life? Decade of ping-pong, talent-capped—couldn't twist. This life? Barely. Body stats + feel = forced it.
Not pro-level dominance. Just a hobbyist.
Copycats? Whatever. Past life pros watched—only national elites nailed the real juice.
"Kawamura Muzuki! Join ping-pong club! Please!"
Coach charges, gripping his hand—eyes pleading. This kid? Rewrites Japan ping-pong. Neon top—world top.
"Ping-pong's cool, but tennis is my jam. Appreciate it, coach."
Kawamura shakes off. Hell no. Japan #1 ping-pong? Who cares?
"But—"
"No buts. Tennis wins."
"Lost fair and square, Kawamura!"
Atobe scratches head, chill AF. Sucks, but ping-pong. Tennis still king.
"Pick up any tricks?"
Kawamura grins. Showed everything—twist, rush, underspin loops. Ice World Atobe? Copied mid-match.
"Tch! Like I give a damn."
Atobe bristles. How's this kid blooming in two sports?!
England? Coaches raved his ping talent. He ditched for "meh" tennis.
Atobe's fire: the harder the sport, the more he grinds—till he crushes everyone.
"Fine, fine! Fifteen minutes? Lame. Soda run."
Kawamura stretches—no sweat. Ball sports tourney done. Time for ice-cold soda, check other events.
"You want one?" Glances at Atobe.
"Hmph! Like I'd stoop to that peasant swill?"
Atobe eyebrow arches, all posh.
"Right—fancy heir. Hot tea in summer, huh."
Kawamura shrugs, vending machine bound.
"Who drinks hot tea in this heat—rich kids, man…"
"…"
Atobe's face: full black lines.
Shouldn't have signed up for ping-pong.
This dude's infuriating!