The momentum on the court shifted a full 180 degrees.
Despite Hayato Hayama serving a perfectly routine, easy-to-read ball, Yukino Yukinoshita didn't move an inch. She stood frozen as the ball bounced harmlessly past her, handing the opposing team an effortless point.
"Yukino-chan? What's wrong?" Yui asked, her voice laced with worry.
Yukino let out a long, heavy sigh. Her shoulders slumped as she spoke with a voice full of uncharacteristic bitterness. "I... I've always been someone who could learn anything immediately. The result is that I've never stayed with anything for very long."
"What? What does that mean?"
"Someone once taught me tennis. I beat them after only three days of practice. It's the same with most sports. No—not just sports. Music, academics... I only ever need three days to master the fundamentals."
"That sounds amazing, but... what are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying that while I am 'skilled' at tennis, I have never persisted in it. Because I master things so quickly, I never had to build up the stamina required to sustain that mastery. My body is weak because my talent made effort unnecessary."
It was the tragic irony of Yukino Yukinoshita. She was a polymath who could master eighteen different arts, yet she possessed no true depth in any of them because she lacked the obsession to continue once the challenge vanished. Her physical endurance was lower than that of an average student because she had never been forced to train her body to its limits.
This was her greatest vulnerability. She had never focused on a single domain, never poured her soul into one path. Her innate genius was a vast, shallow ocean, brilliant to look at but easily drained.
In this regard, Haruki Aizawa was her polar opposite.
Haruki was a man who funneled every spark of his consciousness into a single point: the sword. He ignored everything else, sacrificing a "normal" life for the sake of his obsession. Ironically, this extreme focus had allowed him to accidentally master other things—like the guitar—simply by applying the principles of his path.
One was a genius who master everything and held nothing. The other was a man who mastered nothing but his blade, and in doing so, gained the world.
They were two sides of the same coin, and it was the fundamental reason why their souls could never harmonize.
With Yukino's stamina hitting zero, the match turned into a slaughter.
"Looks like you're finally out of gas," Yumiko Miura sneered. Seeing Yukino's dominance crumble, she wore a predatory grin. Beside her, Hayama's expression sharpened, his eyes reflecting a desire for "revenge" after being humiliated by Yukino's earlier technical perfection.
The result was predictable. With Yukino unable to run and Yui being a complete amateur, the Hayama-Miura duo caught up in minutes. The score was leveled, and then they pulled ahead.
Yui and Hachiman watched from the sidelines, their anxiety mounting, but they were powerless to interfere.
"You were so talkative before. What happened?" Yumiko mocked, firing a shot right past Yukino's ankles.
Yukino didn't respond. She was too busy gasping for air, her legs trembling. She knew her weakness was on full display, and the frustration of her own physical limits was a bitter pill to swallow.
Just as the Service Club was about to face a humiliating defeat, Haruki Aizawa stepped forward. He walked past the fence and looked at Yui.
"Swap with me."
"Huh? But you said you weren't playing!" Yui blinked in surprise.
"I changed my mind."
Haruki was still a member of the Service Club. Seeing his "President" cornered and his club's reputation on the line, he decided to end the farce. Yui didn't argue; she was more than happy to let the "Sword Ghost" take her place.
On the court, Yukino let out a sharp click of her tongue as Haruki took his position beside her. She hated needing his help, but she knew that without him, they had already lost.
"If you want to prove your 'persistence' is superior to my 'talent,'" Yukino whispered, her voice ragged, "then do it with your actions."
"Watch and learn," Haruki replied flatly.
The atmosphere in the stands shifted instantly. Haruki Aizawa was as famous as Hayama, but while Hayama was loved, Haruki was feared. The students of Sobu High wouldn't even dare to speak to a delinquent if Haruki was in the room. They had seen what happened to those who crossed him.
However, many were skeptical. This was tennis, not a street fight. Haruki's combat prowess was legendary, but would that translate to a racket?
Hayama looked at Haruki, his gaze wary. "Have you ever played before, Aizawa-kun?"
"Never."
Haruki had spent his life holding a sword; he had never entertained a hobby that didn't involve cutting something. He was a complete novice. The crowd murmured in confusion—how could a beginner hope to challenge the class elites?
The confusion lasted until Haruki gripped the racket. He didn't hold it like a tennis player; he gripped the handle as if it were the hilt of a katana. Even in his gym clothes, he began to radiate a bone-chilling pressure.
"I've never played," Haruki said, his voice echoing in the sudden silence of the court. "But this is no different from swordsmanship. The tool is irrelevant. The intent is the same."
"The tool is irrelevant?" Hayama repeated.
"In the domain of the blade, speed is the ultimate advantage. If I apply that logic here, the result is simple."
Haruki tossed the ball into the air. Simultaneously, he flared his Highland Soul and activated the intent of the Wuju Style.
His body became a blur that defied the human eye. To the onlookers, Haruki didn't even seem to move. There was only a sudden, violent crack—the sound of the strings screaming under the tension—and then, in the absolute silence that followed, the ball vanished.
It didn't just cross the net. It became a yellow streak of light that hit the ground on the opposing side with the force of a cannonball.
BOOM!
The ball slammed into the pavement, skipped, and continued its trajectory with terrifying momentum.
CRAAAASH!
The ball didn't stop at the baseline. It hit the heavy chain-link fence surrounding the court and tore straight through the metal mesh, leaving a jagged hole before bouncing off into the distance.
"..."
The entire school stood in frozen, wide-eyed silence. Yumiko and Hayama stared at the hole in the fence, their rackets hanging limp in their hands.
Hayama was the first to speak, his voice bitter and hollow. "I guess... we really can't win against you, Aizawa-kun. You're just... outside of common sense."
Haruki lowered his racket, his expression as flat as ever. "People call things 'outside common sense' because they refuse to understand the effort behind them. Talent is a gift, but mastering a path requires time and obsession. Most people waste the gifts they're given on meaningless distractions. They master nothing and wonder why they're weak."
Yukino flinched. Haruki's words felt like a direct indictment of her life. She glared at him, but she had no rebuttal. In that one serve, Haruki had shown her the difference between masterly skill and raw, focused power.
The tennis match ended with a serve that no one in the school would ever forget. The crowd dispersed with a strange, unsettled feeling—like they had just watched a protagonist set out on a journey only to be stepped on by the Final Boss in the first scene.
Only the Service Club remained on the court.
"Well," Haruki said, looking at Yukino. "The debate on who trains Totsuka is over."
"Hmph..." Yukino was still annoyed, but she was a woman of her word. She conceded.
Haruki took over Saika's training immediately. He scrapped Yukino's "Spartan" muscle-building drills. Instead, he focused on something much more fundamental: Mindset and Rhythm.
"Improving technical skill is a long, painful process," Haruki told Saika. "Trying to 'level up' in a week is a delusion. If you want to lead your club, you don't need to be the best player on day one. You need to be the one who refuses to stop. Your determination must be the anchor for the others."
"Y-Yes! I understand!" Saika nodded fervently.
Haruki also began teaching Saika about team dynamics. Drawing from his experience as a Corps Commander in the Black Bullet world—where he had led a group of murderous Promoters against a literal god—he explained how to use social pressure, rewards, and shared goals to forge a group of individuals into a single unit.
"Leadership isn't just about being strong," Haruki noted. "It's about setting a bar so high that the lazy have to jump just to see it."
Hachiman and Yui watched in awe. They hadn't realized Haruki had such deep insights into leadership. Only Yukino remained distant, her expression becoming more severe. Haruki's presence was a constant challenge to her worldview, and it was starting to grate on her nerves.
The next day, Haruki arrived at the Service Club earlier than usual. To his surprise, Yukino was already there, sitting in her usual chair by the window.
Under normal circumstances, Haruki wouldn't have minded the quiet company. When they first started the club, it had just been the two of them. But back then, they had maintained a facade of polite indifference.
Now, after the tennis match, the air between them felt different. It was heavy, charged with an unspoken tension that made even Haruki's Sense of Fluctuation ripple with unease.
He took his seat and closed his eyes, intending to meditate, but he could feel Yukino's gaze on him—sharp, cold, and searching. It was as if she was trying to cut through his skin to see what made the "Sword Ghost" tick.
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