The referee priest's arm dropped.
"Play!"
Toru Minase tossed the ball high. His motion was clean, compact. The racket cracked—PAAK!—and the ball became a streak of yellow fire.
Ren's eyes widened. Too fast—!
The ball struck glass, ricocheted, and thudded against the wall behind him before he even swung.
"Fifteen–Love."
The stadium roared. Some laughed. Some booed. Some just watched with cold eyes, as if cataloguing his weakness.
Ren's knees trembled. He forced a grin. "O-okay... that was... quick."
The second serve came. Minoru this time. Same toss. Same speed. The ball nicked the line and exploded off the wall.
Ren swung late again, racket cutting only air.
"Thirty–Love."
"Ehhh?! He can't even touch it!"
"Substitute? More like Sub-par!"
"Give us a real Messiah!"
Ren's ears burned. His throat closed. I knew it. I don't belong here. This is insane...
The third serve screamed toward him. He panicked, flinched, and stuck his racket out blindly. The ball ricocheted off the frame and bounced limp into the net.
"Forty–Love."
The crowd's laughter was thunder.
This isn't a game. It's an execution.
Then—
A flicker in his vision. A translucent window.
[Weak Spot Vision Lv.1 — Activated]
Opponent: Toru Minase
Serve Power: 67
Rally Control: 60
Reflex Speed: 72
Stamina: 58
⚠ Weakness: Predictable toss timing.
Ren blinked hard. Wh—what?! A... status screen?
The racket pulsed faintly in his grip, cracks glowing.
Another serve. Toru's again. Ren stared, heart hammering. Predictable toss...?
He watched closer this time. The ball always left Toru's hand a fraction too low before rising. He had a tell.
The serve rocketed forward. Ren swung early—too early. The ball clipped his racket edge and flew sideways into the wall.
"Game, Minase twins. One–Love."
The scoreboard blared. The crowd laughed louder. But Ren's chest thumped differently this time.
I touched it. Not clean... but I touched it.
Changeover. Ren shuffled to his chair, shaking hands gripping the racket. His lungs dragged air like buckets from a well.
Across the net, the twins smirked, tossing the ball lazily between them. Wolves playing with meat.
The announcer's voice thundered again: "The Substitute Messiah trails by one! Will he even win a single point?!"
The crowd jeered. "Pointless! Hopeless! Substitute Trash!"
Ren's jaw clenched. Sweat ran down his temple. Pointless... Hopeless... Substitute... He had heard those words before. At school. At work. From his own mirror.
The racket glowed once, faint. The status window blinked again.
[EXP +5] (for failed attempt)
Condition: Growth through loss.
Ren's lips parted. Then curved into a shaky grin. "So... I get stronger when I lose, huh?"
He pushed himself up. His knees wobbled. His breath was shallow. But he walked back to the baseline.
"Fine," he muttered, voice low enough only the racket could hear. "If losing is how I grow... then watch me lose better than anyone ever has."
The referee priest raised his hand.
"Second game. Play!"
The serve came again, faster than lightning.
This time, Ren's eyes locked—not on the ball, but on the subtle flick of Toru's wrist.
His grip tightened.
And his racket started to move on time.