Kansai—some random airstrip. Bunch of gray-white Hyotei-uniformed teens hopped off the plane.
Faces screaming holy shit excitement. Real talk: none expected their first flight to be middle school—and on a private jet.
"Yo, Atobe—you extra as hell! Private plane?!"
Hiyoshi whipped around, jaw dropped at the sleek beast. First flight ever—and private? Felt like owning the damn sky.
"Chill, Hiyoshi. We ain't here to vacation—we're scouting."
Jirou played cool, but micro-expressions snitched: first private flight too.
Godchuan and crew? Ice cold. Godchuan bounced Germany with Tezuka years back—Tezuka scaled Matterhorn with pops; Godchuan pigged on Deutsch grub. (Chinese/Japanese food stan—German? Mid.)
"Atobe, trekking from Kanto to Kansai just for finals? Overkill, dude."
Godchuan side-eyed. Atobe heard "Kansai finals" and demanded full starters roll deep. Know thy enemy—especially with Kansai beasts.
Last year's four Kansai squads? Crushed Nationals—one snagged the whole crown.
"Finals: Osaka's Shitenhouji vs. Hyogo's Makinofuji. Makinofuji's legendary."
Oshitari recalled cousin Kenya's call—dude wanted Nationals smoke. Oshitari: lol.
Beat Kenya senseless every time. Speed god, but balance/control? Trash.
"King Makinofuji—lost Kanto last year to some no-name school, snapped their streak. Nationals? Finals again, bounced our Yuechi-led Hyotei… then lost to that no-name in finals."
Oshitari fuzzy, but Kansai exploded when the underdog dethroned 'em twice.
"No-name in Kansai this year?"
Atobe perked—knew Hyotei hit Nationals semis last year.
"Yeah—Kenya said semis loss to Makinofuji, grabbed fourth. Still Nationals-bound."
Oshitari nodded, half-remembered.
"Okatama Oku, right?"
Godchuan casual. Watched last Nationals finals—Okatama bruted Makinofuji into submission. Post-Byoudouin exit gutted 'em.
Led by current HS #1: Oni Jujiro!
"Yup! Okatama Oku!"
Oshitari lit up—name matched.
"You watched?"
Atobe asked, then facepalmed. Lazy-ass Godchuan ditching training for naps? No way.
But—nod. "Okatama's third-years were monsters. Captain Oni Jujiro? Peak."
"Oni Jujiro?"
Name dropped—silence.
Nationals mid-August to late. Last year's heat wave pushed semis to early September—Kyushu. Sweltering hell. Tokyo crew? Hard pass. Even Osaka's Oshitari skipped—too hot, too annoying.
"Relax—Oni-senpai's in HS. This year's Makinofuji and Okatama? Gutted. Bet Shitenhouji takes Kansai."
Godchuan grinned at the tense squad.
Okatama's glory? Oni's last middle. Post-that? Nationals maybe, but no repeat.
Kansai dual capitals: Osaka, Kyoto. Tourney alternates—Kyoto this year.
"Millennium old capital"—gardens, art, festivals, Kyoto cuisine.
Soon—Atobe's pre-booked bus rolled into Kitayama Tennis Park. Scale rivaled Kanto's Northwind—no slouch.
Ball smacks echoed pre-arrival.
Close-up: Singles 3 underway.
Makinofuji: grizzled third-year power beast. Shitenhouji: first-year.
"Wild—Shitenhouji stacked with babies!"
Atobe brow-raised. Two old-looking vets, rest? Freshmen city.
"More: Doubles 2—1-1 split."
Oshitari clocked board: D2 Shitenhouji 4-6 loss; D1 6-3 win. Singles 3? 5-2 lead.
"That's Kenya's 'Shiraishi Kuranosuke'."
Oshitari eyed textbook perfection—form, power, returns optimal.
"Solid fundamentals."
Tezuka cool eval. Shiraishi? Quasi-national. Not quite national yet.
"Hm?"
Court-side—Shiraishi snagged a bouncing ball mid-air, head swivel to them. Clocked the gray-white squad.
"Shiraishi—what's up?"
Kenya worried—Shiraishi's first Singles, Kansai finals. He'd be shaking.
"Dunno—staring somewhere."
Hara Tetsuya frowned, followed gaze. Instant ID: "Hyotei!"
"Hyotei?"
Hirasho blinked, spotted familiar faces—last Nationals doubles: Genichiya and Kawatani Satou. Burned in memory.
"Didn't expect Kanto's new kings—Hyotei starters—trekking to Kansai for finals. Fresh off the plane."
Watanabe Osamu tipped straw hat, surprised.
Never pegged Hyotei for the haul—clutch timing.
!!
Shiraishi ripped a pristine slice—ball kissed service line.
"Game, Shitenhouji's Shiraishi—6-2!"
Makinofuji's Singles 3 collapsed, gasping. Back half? Rhythm wrecked.
"No way—Makinofuji choking?"
"Shiraishi who? Never heard."
"First-year popping off harder than vets."
"This year's riser: Osaka Shitenhouji!"
Sideline tennis nerds + tourney squads watched live.
Shiraishi's style? Pure. Basics slaying. Every stroke textbook—zero boredom.
His tennis.
"Up to you, Hara-senpai."
Shiraishi deep breath. Singles 3 pressure? Turned fuel—unleashed full power late-game.
"Ayy, Shiraishi—nailed it. Singles > your doubles, no cap."
Hara racket slung back, dead serious.
"N-Nah, senpai."
Shiraishi head-scratch, humble.
"Not praise—Kenya drags you down in doubles, hides your shine."
Hara's beady eyes locked Kenya.
Kenya, mid-gawk: "EXCUSE?! I'm key in doubles—Osaka's Speed Star!"
"Yup—taught you to run myself."
Hirasho joined chaos, baby-holding pose.
"Yeah! Couldn't even walk steady without—"
Kenya mirrored—then realized. Face crimson. "WHAT BULLSHIT?! YOU NEVER BABY-RAN ME, IDIOTS!"
"CALLING SENPAI IDIOTS?!"
Hirasho racket up—lesson time.
Hara fake-serious too.
"Enough!"
Watanabe sighed. "Hara—your stage."
"Hide strength, coach?"
Hara snapped straight.
"Flash some—show 'em Shitenhouji bite!"
Watanabe hat tilt, eyes sharp.
Kanto kings? Whatever. We're Kansai's this year!