The next afternoon, during regular club activity hours, Tezuka made his way toward the tennis club's administrative office where he expected to find both the current captain and Coach Sumire Ryuzaki. However, when he approached the small building adjacent to the courts, he discovered they weren't alone.
"Tezuka," the club captain called out, noticing his approach, "I'd like you to meet the coach from Yamabuki Junior High School."
Standing beside the captain was a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a knowing smile—someone who clearly possessed years of coaching experience.
"Good afternoon," Tezuka said with a respectful bow.
"Hello there, young man," Coach Banji replied warmly, returning the greeting with genuine interest. As Yamabuki's head coach, he was always on the lookout for exceptional talent, though his school had struggled for years to find a truly elite singles player. Despite this limitation, Yamabuki had managed to maintain their national tournament streak through superior doubles play and strategic team deployment—a testament to Coach Banji's tactical acumen.
"What brings you here today, Tezuka?" Coach Ryuzaki asked, her tone carrying its usual hint of skepticism when dealing with the second-year players.
"Captain, Coach," Tezuka began formally, his posture straight and expression serious, "with the regional qualifiers approaching, I would like to request permission and funding to take Oishi and four others for intensive special training. I believe this preparation will significantly improve our chances in the upcoming tournament."
"Special training? With school funds?" Ryuzaki's frown deepened, her conservative instincts immediately rejecting the proposal. "You second-years have only just been promoted to the regular team, and already you're making demands for expensive training camps?"
"Coach, I have personally verified the effectiveness of this training program," Tezuka replied with unwavering conviction. "I believe that through this preparation, Oishi and the others will experience substantial improvement in their abilities."
His teammates had placed their complete trust in his judgment without question—the least he could do was advocate for them with equal determination.
"Tezuka," a harsh voice suddenly interrupted their conversation. "You second-years have barely been regulars for a few weeks, and you're already acting like you run this club? Don't you have any respect for us third-year seniors?"
The speaker was Takei Kenji, one of the few third-year regulars who had managed to retain his position despite the younger generation's obvious superiority. More significantly, he was the same player who had deliberately injured Tezuka's left hand during their first-year confrontation—an incident that had derailed what should have been rapid development of Tezuka's game.
"Takei-senpai," Tezuka responded with measured calm, refusing to rise to the obvious provocation, "I believe this special training represents our best opportunity to strengthen Seishun's chances of advancing to the Kanto tournament. That benefits the entire school, regardless of grade level."
"Kanto tournament?" Takei's laugh was bitter and mocking. "Are you delusional, Tezuka? Do you have any idea how long it's been since Seishun made it that far? Countless seniors have tried and failed—what makes you second-years think you're so special?"
He pulled his tennis racket from his bag and pointed it directly at Tezuka, the gesture clearly threatening.
Notably, neither Coach Ryuzaki nor the captain intervened in the escalating confrontation. Their silence spoke volumes about where their sympathies lay.
"You want funding?" Takei's voice carried a dangerous edge. "Fine. Beat me in a match, and I'll personally support your request. Lose, and you forget this ridiculous special training nonsense forever."
The challenge hung in the air like a tangible thing. Takei had harbored resentment against Tezuka ever since the first-year had dared to challenge the established hierarchy, and his subsequent promotion on Yamato's recommendation had only intensified that animosity.
Tezuka didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned toward the captain and Coach Ryuzaki, waiting for their official position.
"How about we let the match decide the funding question?" the captain suggested, looking to Ryuzaki for confirmation.
"Acceptable," she agreed with a curt nod.
Seeing both authority figures endorse Takei's proposal, Tezuka walked silently to where his equipment bag sat, withdrew his racket, and headed toward the nearest court without a word.
"Damn right," Takei muttered, following with obvious satisfaction. "This time I'll show everyone exactly where you second-years belong."
He was convinced that his intensive training over the past year would finally allow him to put the uppity underclassman in his place.
The impromptu match quickly drew the attention of nearly every tennis club member, including Tezuka's closest teammates.
"Why is Tezuka playing that bastard again?" Eiji's voice shook with barely controlled anger. The memory of Takei's deliberate injury was still vivid, and the fact that the perpetrator had not only avoided expulsion but been rewarded with a regular position made his blood boil.
"Keep your voice down, Eiji," Oishi cautioned, glancing nervously toward the adults who might overhear.
"Why should I be quiet? Am I wrong?" Eiji shot back. "Everyone knows what kind of person Takei is!"
"The match is starting," Fuji said quietly, his usually sleepy eyes showing the first hints of alertness. "We should watch."
Eiji reluctantly focused his attention on the court as the two players prepared to begin.
They decided serve order with a coin toss, and unfortunately, Tezuka called incorrectly. Takei would serve first—a development that brought a nasty smile to his face.
"Just watch how I destroy you, kid," Takei taunted, clearly pleased with this early advantage.
He threw the ball high into the air and struck it with vicious intent, aiming directly for Tezuka's left wrist. The targeting was deliberate and obvious—Takei knew exactly where Tezuka's old injury remained vulnerable.
"That bastard!" Eiji's exceptional dynamic vision immediately caught the malicious intent. "He's going straight for Tezuka's injured hand!"
"Don't worry," Fuji said calmly, though his eyes were now fully open and watching intently. "Tezuka can handle this."
Among all of Seishun's players, only Fuji truly understood the extent of Tezuka's capabilities. Even with his left hand injury limiting development over the past year, players like Takei posed no real threat to someone of Tezuka's caliber.
Tezuka's response was almost casual—a simple, economical swing that sent the ball back across the net with perfect placement and devastating effect.
"What? He returned my power serve like it was nothing!" Takei stared in disbelief. He'd spent months perfecting that technique, and Tezuka had neutralized it effortlessly.
But Takei had indeed trained hard during his time as a regular, and he managed to reach the return, sending it back with desperate intensity. However, his efforts were ultimately futile—merely the struggles of someone already drowning.
No matter what kind of shot Takei attempted—sharp angles, heavy topspin, slice that hugged the net—Tezuka responded with calm precision. More telling was their court positioning: while Tezuka remained planted near the center of his baseline, completely motionless, Takei was running frantically from corner to corner like a dog chasing its own tail.
"Interesting young player," Coach Banji observed from the sidelines, genuinely impressed. "It's a shame he doesn't attend Yamabuki. With talent like that, we might actually reach the semifinals this year."
"Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!" Takei was beginning to realize he was being systematically humiliated, but found himself completely powerless to change the dynamic.
The score quickly reached 5-0. One more game, and Tezuka would complete a perfect shutout victory.
"Don't you dare humiliate me like this!" Takei roared, desperation finally unlocking something within him.
Whether through pure adrenaline or the release of previously hidden potential, his next shot actually managed to break through Tezuka's court control, landing in an area that forced movement.
A flicker of surprise crossed Tezuka's eyes. He hadn't expected Takei to produce anything capable of challenging his zone control.
For the first time in the match, Tezuka began moving toward where the ball would land. However, in his concentration on tracking the shot, he failed to notice that Takei's racket was swinging in a completely different direction—not toward the ball, but directly toward him, just as it had during their first-year confrontation.
Tezuka had been unconsciously guarding against such dirty tactics throughout the match, but Takei's unexpected breakthrough shot had diverted his attention at the crucial moment. By the time he registered the incoming racket, it was too late to avoid it completely.
"Tezuka!" multiple voices cried out in alarm.
Under the horrified gaze of everyone present, Takei's racket struck Tezuka's left hand at exactly the same spot where the original injury had occurred.
"That son of a bitch!" Eiji exploded, sprinting directly toward Takei without any thought of consequences.
"Eiji, wait—" Oishi started to call after him, but stopped short when he saw Fuji rise from his position, his normally gentle eyes now blazing with cold fury as he followed Eiji's charge.
"You bastard!" Eiji grabbed Takei by the collar and drew back his fist. "It wasn't enough that you injured Tezuka before—now you do it again!"
"Damn brat!" Takei hadn't expected the second-years to directly confront him, and his pride wouldn't allow him to back down. He swung his own fist toward Eiji's face.
Just as the punch was about to connect, another hand intercepted it—Fuji had arrived to block the attack, his usual serene expression replaced by something genuinely dangerous.
Seeing the normally gentle Fuji glaring at him with unmistakable menace, Takei felt a chill of genuine fear. But he was too committed now to retreat, meeting Fuji's stare with defiant hostility.
The tension between the three players escalated rapidly, violence seeming inevitable, when other club members finally arrived to physically separate them before the confrontation could escalate further.