"Fifty percent?!"
"You've got to be kidding me!"
The middle schoolers—especially those from Hyotei—instinctively shook their heads.
There was no way that insane rally had only been half of Tohno's strength. This guy had to be lying, right?
But as the match progressed, even Hirakoba and Kai started doubting themselves.
This was U-17, after all—a world they hadn't fully grasped yet. And when it came to the Elite Ten, who could say if what they'd seen was truly their limit?
Boom!
The second game began.
Tohno served, the ball streaking low and fast before abruptly skidding along the court.
"You think this'll work on me?"
Atobe's eyes turned icy.
He wasn't some amateur. Cheap tricks like this meant nothing to him.
Whoosh!
But just as he bent to return it—
The ball changed direction mid-bounce, rocketing straight at his face.
"What—?!"
Atobe barely managed to raise his racket in time.
BANG!
The impact sent him stumbling back. Meanwhile, Tohno smirked, his racket slicing downward like a guillotine.
Crack!
A flash of yellow light exploded between Atobe's legs.
"15-0!"
"Whoa—"
The crowd gasped.
Tohno had scored in seconds. His rhythm was brutally efficient—nothing like his earlier, sluggish play.
"So this is the real level of the Elite Ten?" Yanagi murmured.
"Hey, brat." Tohno tilted his head, grinning. "Don't hold back now. Show me those fancy tricks of yours."
"Gladly."
Atobe wiped sweat from his brow, his smile sharp. "I'll give you exactly what you asked for."
Boom!
Tohno served again.
This time, Atobe charged forward, eyes flashing—
SHING!
—and unleashed Big Bang with zero hesitation.
The ball tore through the air like a meteor, obliterating Tohno's spin.
"He broke it?!"
Some high schoolers stiffened.
"Not surprising." Mitsuya, watching from the stands, shrugged. "Tohno-senpai was just testing him. The real match hasn't even started."
Boom!
Atobe's return was ruthless—but Tohno caught it effortlessly.
"Too predictable." He scoffed. "Your 'tricks' are transparent after the first try."
Whoosh!
The ball shot back, faster than before.
"Already figured me out?"
Atobe's smirk didn't waver.
Fine. If Tohno wanted variety, he'd give it to him.
CRACK!
His next swing sent the ball twisting through the air like a viper, its path impossible to track.
"The Great Cobra?!" Hyotei's players gasped.
Even some high schoolers swayed, dizzy just from watching.
"Pathetic."
Tohno didn't even blink.
One step. One swing.
BAM!
The "unreadable" shot was blasted back like it was nothing.
"Tch."
Atobe's grip tightened.
He'd underestimated this guy. Time to switch tactics.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The next eight rallies were a blur.
Atobe's footwork—Shukuchi—made him a ghost on the court. Even injured, his movements were flawless.
"That's our captain!" Hirakoba crowed. "With his balance, Shukuchi is unstoppable!"
BANG!
Atobe forced Tohno into a weak lob—
—then leaped, smashing it down like a hammer.
"High schoolers? Elite Ten?"
Mid-air, Atobe's eyes gleamed cold.
"Overrated."
SMASH!
But as the ball descended—
"You're adorable."
Tohno's grin turned feral.
"Now you can't run."
WHAM!
His counter smashed straight into Atobe's right foot.
"AGHH—!!!"
A scream echoed across the court.
Atobe collapsed, clutching his ankle. His face contorted in agony, sweat pouring down his temples.
"Execution No. 6: Cement Shoes."
Tohno loomed over him. "Feels like running in concrete, doesn't it?"
"…!"
The middle schoolers paled.
They'd known U-17 was brutal—but this?
"You bastard!" Kai roared. "Using dirty tricks in an official match?!"
"Dirty?"
Hiyoshi (Hyotei) and the Rokkaku players burst out laughing.
"Says the guy who tried to break an old man's glasses?"
Even kind-hearted Oishi winced. "This is too much. The coaches should stop this."
But when he looked over—
The staff, the high schoolers, even Ishikawa (seated among the Elite Ten)—all watched in silence.
"Heh."
Atobe forced himself up, leaning on his racket.
"U-17… truly is my kind of place."
His grin was bloody but exhilarated.
"Oh?"
Tohno raised a brow.
Most players crumpled after one Execution. This brat was… enjoying it?
"Interesting."
He pulled out another ball.
"I've got thirteen Executions. Let's see how many you can take."
"T-Thirteen?!"
Hyotei's team turned ashen.
Even Atobe's confidence flickered—
—but Tohno didn't wait.
BOOM!
Another serve.
Atobe lunged, compensating with his left foot. His returns grew sharper, more desperate.
Yet Tohno's precision was inhuman. Every shot aimed at Atobe's weak points, every spin calculated to maximize pain.
CRUNCH!
"Execution No. 1: Seppuku."
Atobe's own racket slammed into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs.
THUD!
He barely stayed upright, wheezing.
"This… is pro tennis?"
The middle schoolers trembled.
No rules. No mercy. Just survival of the fittest.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Tohno didn't let up.
By the time the first set ended (6-1), Atobe was a mess—bruised, bleeding, but still standing.
"Can't even last two sets?" Tohno taunted.
"Shut up!" Hirakoba shouted—then froze under Tohno's glare.
"Don't… worry…"
Atobe's voice was ragged but steady.
Slowly, he straightened—
—and his hair turned blood-red.
A sinister aura erupted, swirling around him like a storm.
"The match…"
His eyes glowed with eerie calm.
"...is just getting started."
"That's—?!"
Marui and Jackal (Rikkai) recoiled.
"Devil Mode?!"