The first doubles match featured Yamabuki's veteran "Potato Heroes" against Hyōtei's rising stars, Ryo Shishido and Chōtarō Ōtori—the pair destined to become the school's premier doubles team after the current third-years graduated.
Unfortunately for the Hyōtei duo, they faced opponents who had earned their national-level reputation through years of elite competition. While Higashikata Masami and Minami Kentaro lacked the supernatural synchronization displayed earlier by their opponents, their tactical coordination and individual skills had been honed to championship standards.
Shishido and Ōtori fought valiantly, showcasing the intense training that made Hyōtei a perennial powerhouse. Their combination of Shishido's aggressive baseline game and Ōtori's developing serve-and-volley style created genuine moments of pressure for the veteran team.
But experience told in the crucial points. When the final shot landed out of bounds, the scoreboard read 6-3 in favor of Yamabuki's first doubles team, evening the overall match at one game apiece.
"That brings us level," Coach Banji observed with quiet satisfaction. While Eiji and Oishi's crushing defeat had been unexpected, the overall trajectory matched his pre-match calculations. In doubles play, the teams had split honors—now everything would depend on singles competition.
This represented a dramatic reversal from Yamabuki's traditional weaknesses. Previously, drawing even in doubles would have spelled disaster, as their singles players couldn't match the elite schools' depth. But with Tezuka and Fuji anchoring the individual matches, Yamabuki's singles had transformed from liability to devastating strength.
Coach Banji felt confident that no school in Japan—save perhaps Rikkaidai—could match their current lineup's overall power.
Especially Tezuka, who would take the court next. Having achieved the deepest level of selflessness during his training journey, only the mysterious Seiichi Yukimura posed a credible threat to Yamabuki's captain.
On the opposing bench, Atobe remained blissfully unaware of the storm approaching.
The ignorance wasn't entirely his fault. Tezuka's year-long exile from competitive play had left most observers with outdated assessments of his abilities. Apart from Sanada, who had defeated him in their infamous encounter, and Yukimura, who had witnessed that match, few people understood Tezuka's true capabilities.
Tezuka's preparation ritual reflected his composed personality. He carefully removed his warm-up jacket, folded it with precise movements, and placed it neatly on his chair before collecting his racket and walking calmly toward the court.
Atobe's approach proved characteristically theatrical.
"Kabaji!" he called dramatically, tossing his expensive jacket in a high arc.
"Yes, Atobe-sama!" The towering first-year caught the garment with both hands while simultaneously presenting his captain's racket with reverent formality.
"Tsk, what a show-off," Eiji muttered with undisguised distaste.
"That's nothing," Sengoku warned ominously. "Atobe gets even more theatrical when he's performing for a crowd. Just wait."
True to prediction, Atobe strode onto the court with the bearing of a conquering general, his arrogance radiating from every gesture. The afternoon sunlight caught his perfectly styled hair as he took his position across from Tezuka's understated presence.
"Let me see your strength, Tezuka," Atobe declared with theatrical confidence.
"As you wish, Atobe," Tezuka replied simply.
Suddenly, Atobe raised his right hand high above his head and snapped his fingers with perfect timing. The sharp sound echoed across the stadium like a starting pistol.
"The winner will be me!" he proclaimed, his voice carrying to the furthest reaches of the grandstand.
On cue, Hyōtei's massive cheering section erupted with choreographed precision:
"ATOBE WINS! HYŌTEI WINS!"
"ATOBE WINS! HYŌTEI WINS!"
The thunderous chant could be heard throughout the entire tennis park, a psychological weapon designed to intimidate opponents before the first ball was even struck.
"That guy really..." Conan shook his head in amazement, genuinely impressed despite himself by the sheer audacity of the performance.
"He's just as much of a show-off as you are, isn't he?" Ai observed with pointed amusement.
"I am not!" Conan protested immediately, though the accusation struck uncomfortably close to home. During his days as Kudo Shinichi, he had certainly enjoyed being the center of attention, basking in the admiration that followed his dramatic case revelations.
Once Atobe's theatrical display concluded, the actual tennis could finally begin.
Lady Luck seemed determined to test Yamabuki's resolve. Following in the footsteps of previous matches, Tezuka lost the coin toss as well, granting Atobe the crucial first service game.
"Witness my Emperor's Phantom Serve!" Atobe announced, his voice carrying supreme confidence.
While Atobe's intelligence network remained unclear about Tezuka's current abilities, he understood that Yamabuki's captain had defeated all challengers to claim his position. Despite his flamboyant persona, Atobe possessed genuine tactical intelligence and had prepared his most devastating weapon from the opening point.
The Emperor's Phantom Serve represented Atobe's most punishing techniques—a shot that placed enormous stress on the server's wrist while creating an almost impossible return scenario, much like Oshitari Yūshi's own Tannhäuser serve.
Atobe's delivery blazed across the net with perfect execution. Upon striking the court surface, the ball refused to bounce, instead sliding along the ground at tremendous speed before skidding out of bounds beyond Tezuka's reach.
"15-0!" the referee announced.
"What?! That flashy guy can hit non-bouncing serves too?!" Eiji exclaimed in shock, his dislike of Atobe making the technical display even harder to accept.
"Don't worry, Eiji," Sengoku reassured him with a pat on the shoulder. "When it comes to spin serves that don't bounce, Tezuka is the absolute master. He'll figure it out."
For his second serve, Atobe prepared to deploy the serve technique again. His strategy was simple: defeat Tezuka quickly and decisively, building insurmountable momentum for Hyōtei's remaining matches.
Perhaps Atobe believed treating Tezuka as an equal opponent represented generous respect. For Tezuka, however, such an approach felt like complete contempt.
Atobe was undeniably powerful—against someone like Fuji, the match might require an extended battle to determine a winner. Unfortunately for the Hyōtei captain, his opponent had transcended such limitations.
When the second serve screamed toward him, Tezuka dropped his racket nearly to court level and scooped upward as if trying to strike sparks from the surface. The impossible return caught Atobe off-guard, but his reflexes responded quickly enough to send the ball back across the net.
That return marked the beginning of Atobe's nightmare.
A familiar ethereal glow began emanating from Tezuka's entire form as he activated the Limit of Tempered Understanding. Simultaneously, his Tezuka Domain pulled every subsequent shot toward his stationary position, allowing him to double the power and spin of each return while minimizing his own movement and energy expenditure.
Coach Banji's pre-match instructions had been crystal clear: end this quickly and crush Hyōtei's morale, setting up Fuji for an easier victory in the following match.
Atobe had wanted to defeat Tezuka rapidly. Unfortunately, only one player on the court possessed the ability to implement such a strategy.
After claiming the opening point with his signature serve, Atobe never scored again. Tezuka's combination of techniques created an inescapable web that absorbed every attack and returned it with doubled intensity.
The games fell like dominoes: 1-0, 2-0, 3-0, 4-0. Atobe found himself driven to the very edge of elimination, his earlier confidence replaced by desperate confusion.
Hyōtei's once-thunderous cheering section gradually fell silent as they witnessed their invincible king being systematically dismantled. Meanwhile, Yamabuki's smaller but increasingly vocal supporters filled the acoustic void, their encouraging chants for Tezuka echoing across the stunned stadium.
"Atobe, are you alright?" Concerned teammates immediately surrounded their captain as he stumbled back to the bench during the brief break.
"Atobe..."
The Hyōtei players had never seen their leader in such a condition. Sweat poured down his face despite the relatively short duration of play, and his labored breathing suggested exhaustion that should have required hours of intense competition to achieve.
Atobe couldn't bring himself to respond, his head hanging low as he struggled to process what was happening. Every ball returned by Tezuka's enhanced state had demanded maximum effort to defend against. Though only twenty minutes had elapsed, his stamina reserves were depleted as if he'd played for hours.
Even during last year's national tournament, Atobe had never encountered an opponent with such overwhelming power.
How could someone this formidable have remained hidden at an unremarkable school like Seigaku last year? The thought struck him with bitter irony—had Seigaku deliberately concealed their ace to blindside opponents like him?