"Big bro."
Noticing the shift in his brother's expression, Ryoma frowned. "What's wrong?"
"N-Nothing."
Ryoga waved it off, forcing his usual easygoing smile.
After suppressing the shock still lingering in his chest, he turned to Ryoma and asked, "So, what's your plan for the future?"
In the original timeline, Ryoma had lost his memory during the Nationals, and their conversations had revolved solely around tennis.
But now—
Ryoga was more interested in his little brother's long-term goals.
After all, his reasons for coming to Japan's U-17 weren't just to crush Ishikawa and Byoudouin. He also wanted to take Ryoma with him.
Frankly, Japan was too small.
The overall level of U-17 here paled in comparison to top-tier teams abroad—let alone the monstrous Big Four.
For someone like Ryoma, staying in Japan would only waste his potential. With the blood of the Samurai running through his veins, he belonged on a far grander stage.
"My future?"
Ryoma blinked, caught off guard by the question. After a pause, he nodded. "I want to go pro."
If his original goal had been surpassing his old man, then later, it became defeating Tezuka and Ishikawa. Now, with a more mature mindset, he knew one thing for certain—he could never walk away from tennis.
Going pro, facing the world's best—that was the path he truly wanted.
"Pro, huh?"
Ryoga smirked. "Not a bad dream. But at your current level, you've still got a long way to go."
Before Ryoma could respond, Ryoga added, "By the way, the old man mentioned you've mastered Samurai's Aura?"
"Yeah… something like that."
Ryoma nodded.
Normally, he wouldn't answer this kind of question—not even for his Seigaku teammates. But Ryoga was different. Plus, he could tell his brother didn't seem too impressed by Samurai's Aura.
"Not bad."
Ryoga grinned. "Mastering it at 12? You're way ahead of the old man. But the world's a big place. Samurai's Aura alone won't cut it."
"I know."
Ryoma's grip on his racket tightened.
He'd learned that lesson the hard way during the Nationals, against Ishikawa. That guy wasn't just strong in one area—he was overwhelming in every aspect.
At times, Ryoma had even wondered if Ishikawa could crush him using just footwork or just swing technique.
"Which is why," Ryoga said, his tone turning sly, "it's about time I taught you something new. Ever heard of the Sweet Spot?"
"Obviously."
Ryoma rolled his eyes.
The Sweet Spot—the optimal contact point on a racket's strings. Any decent coach drilled that into their players early on.
And Ryoma? He was a natural at it.
After mastering Samurai's Aura, he'd even realized that Ishikawa's so-called "Deep Impact" theory relied heavily on perfect Sweet Spot strikes.
Hum.
Suddenly, Ryoga loosened his grip—and a glowing golden ball materialized in his palm.
"This is—?!"
Ryoma's eyes widened.
Boom!
With a casual swing, Ryoga sent the ball flying. A violent gust of wind erupted as the spinning orb—shaped almost like an elongated egg—streaked across the court.
CRASH!
The next second, the chain-link fence shattered on impact. The ball didn't stop there—it tore through the ground, leaving a crater in the concrete walkway.
"Gulp."
Ryoma's throat went dry.
The last time he'd seen a shot like this was in the indoor match against Byoudouin. That glowing ball had crushed his spirit mid-game. Seeing it again now made his pulse spike.
"No way…"
But then he shook his head. "A Sweet Spot strike can't be this powerful!"
He'd mastered the technique himself—even refined it into Deep Impact. Yet even with Samurai's Aura active, he couldn't produce a shot half as destructive.
And Ryoga?
He wasn't some hulking power player like Oni or Duke. There was no way pure Sweet Spot mechanics could explain this.
"Of course not."
Ryoga smirked. "Regular Sweet Spot won't do this. To create a Glowing Ball, you need the next level—Super Sweet Spot."
"Super… Sweet Spot?"
Ryoma's eyes narrowed.
Then, without hesitation, he bowed slightly. "Teach me."
He needed to get stronger.
Oni and Byoudouin had refused to train him further. With Ishikawa pulling further ahead, Ryoma couldn't afford to pass up this chance.
Ryoga nodded.
This was part of his mission anyway.
But for the first time in his life, the ever-confident Ryoga felt a shadow of doubt.
After learning Ishikawa's true age, his usual swagger had dimmed—replaced by something darker.
---
### Later That Afternoon
Explosive booms echoed from a secluded court, drawing curious stares.
Inside Court 5, Byoudouin glanced up, eyes sharp.
"That new guy's got some power."
"Yeah."
Duke, who'd wandered over from Court 3, nodded. "Word is, he took down Fuwa—No. 11—in one shot back in Macau."
"One shot?"
Byoudouin's brow lifted slightly.
Impressive, sure. But compared to Ishikawa—who'd annihilated Enjou with a single serve—it wasn't that shocking.
"What's his take on this guy?"
"Ishikawa?" Duke chuckled. "They had a one-shot duel. Ishikawa won."
"Hmph."
Expected. With Ishikawa's insane serves, few high schoolers worldwide could return them.
"But," Duke added, his tone dropping, "Ishikawa called him a 'dangerous person.'"
"Oh?"
Now that got Byoudouin's attention.
He knew Ishikawa's personality well. For him to label someone dangerous? This Ryoga Echizen wasn't just some random talent.
And yet—
Byoudouin had never heard of him in the international scene.
"Tch."
His instincts flared. Something about Ryoga's sudden appearance felt… off.
---
### Court 2 – Oni vs. Kintarou
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Oni, wielding his regular racket (not the crossed-strings practice one), traded blows with Kintarou.
They'd sparred at the Back Mountain, but never like this—full power, no holds barred.
And Kintarou?
He fought like a wild beast, unfazed by Oni's reputation. The watching high schoolers gaped.
"Are all these middle schoolers monsters?!"
First, the Losers' Squad had steamrolled Court 2. Now this red-haired kid was going toe-to-toe with Oni—the former No. 1 of U-17!
"W-Well…"
One senior sighed. "Don't forget, he's also a middle schooler."
"…Oh. Right."
The others winced, suddenly remembering Ishikawa.
Defeated, they scattered back to their drills.
---
### Elsewhere in the Camp
- Inoue and Shiraishi observed from the sidelines, the latter whistling. "Oni's disciple? Lucky bastard."
- Irie sighed. "I envy him." Finding someone who matched his eccentric tastes was impossible.
- Tokugawa trained relentlessly—three-finger handstand push-ups—his pride stung after learning Ishikawa's true status.
- Mouri and Hara dueled fiercely, refining their techniques for the coming battle.
As night fell, the camp grew eerily quiet—a calm before the storm.
---
### Next Morning – The Shuffle Battle
At dawn, players from both sides gathered at the central court.
A plane buzzed overhead, dropping a package of red-and-black jackets—the official uniform of Japan's representatives.
After changing, the middle schoolers took their places in the stands.
Opposite them stood the U-17 Elite Ten, clad in their black-and-red uniforms. Even Byoudouin and Oni were present—but neither stood at the center.
That spot belonged to a raven-haired boy with a No. 1 badge pinned to his collar.
Seated atop the highest platform like a king, he gazed down at the challengers below.
"…"
Tezuka, Atobe, and the others tensed.
For some reason, this scene felt like something out of a fantasy game—where they were the heroes, and the figure before them…
Was the final boss.
"Attention."
Kurobe's voice crackled over the speakers.
"By the head coach's orders, this year's Shuffle Battle will be a free-for-all—no fixed brackets. Middle schoolers or high schoolers may challenge."
A pause.
"Only the top 14 will earn the right to represent Japan."