The stadium lights cut through the evening haze, a thousand spotlights converging on the central court.
Ren stepped onto the floor alone. No Daigo at his side. No gravelly "focus, brat" in his ear. Just the roar of Aurelia's crowd, hungry for spectacle.
"Messiah without his master!"
"Top 99—will he survive naked?"
"Coachless wonder!"
The jeers burned, but some cheers broke through too. The chant he'd half-doubted was real:
"Messiah! Messiah! Messiah!"
Ren tightened the strap on his 「Fallen Star」 racket. His HUD trembled, glitching at the edges, then steadied:
[Coach Guidance: Disabled]
[Autonomous Trial Active]
Across the net, two mid-ranked players warmed up. Ranked #142 and #147—both tall, broad-shouldered, practiced synergy. They whispered quick formations to each other, deliberately ignoring Ren.
Shizuka and Maria sat in the stands—unusually quiet, watching with sharp eyes. Mio clasped her hands tightly, lips moving like a silent prayer.
First Rally
The whistle shrieked.
Ren's opponent served deep, slicing toward his backhand. Instinct screamed for Daigo's barked advice: "Step left, cut the angle!" But no voice came.
Ren swung late—thwack!—ball scraped high, bouncing easy for a smash.
"Pathetic start!" the crowd jeered.
His opponents lunged forward, slamming the smash past him. 0–15.
Ren exhaled. Alright. No coach. Just me.
Next point: he crouched lower, breathing steady. "Weak Spot Vision... focus." The HUD faintly lit, tracing their stance. He read the server's shoulder tilt—predicted crosscourt. Ren cut early, surprising himself with a clean counter-lob.
The crowd gasped. Shizuka's lips curved faintly. Maria clapped once, smirking.
By the fifth game, sweat drenched Ren's shirt. His chest heaved. Every instinct screamed for Daigo's tactical orders. Instead, the silence forced him inward.
What would he say? ... Don't chase glory. Buy time. Force errors.
Ren dropped into defense, using chiquitas and lobs, refusing to play their power game. Slowly, the match rhythm bent.
Score climbed: 3–3.
Crowd noise shifted—doubt turning into awe.
"Messiah's still standing?"
"No coach, no problem?!"
Ren's HUD pulsed:
[Survival Pattern Recognized → Autonomous Focus +3%]
Seventh game. Opponents at net, hammering volleys at Ren's feet. He dove, scraping one last desperate save off the glass wall.
Ball ricocheted up—higher than it should have. His opponent smirked, raising racket for the kill.
But something sparked. Ren's body moved faster than thought. He leapt, intercepting with a reflex smash.
BOOM!
The ball clipped the tape—then died just over the net.
Winner point. Crowd erupted.
Shizuka stood halfway, eyes wide. "That idiot..."
Maria laughed, fanning herself with her shopping bag. "Our idiot."
Mio whispered, smiling through tears: "Ren..."
By the end of the set, Ren had clawed his way to 6–4. Not flawless. Not Daigo-level polished. But his.
As the whistle ended, his HUD flashed once more:
[Trial Complete → Passive Gained: Self-Sync Lv.1]
You can stabilize without external guidance.
Ren bent over, hands on his knees, heart pounding. Then he straightened, staring at the crowd.
They weren't jeering anymore. They were chanting.
"MESSIAH! MESSIAH! MESSIAH!"
Ren smiled, breath ragged.
"For once... I think I hear them for me."