Yoru and Ryoma stood on the court, dressed in crisp white tennis outfits.
Despite being only six years old, Yoru's sharp, handsome features stood out—his fair complexion, deep black eyes, and a mature aura that defied his age.
Standing by the net, Echizen Nanjirou finally took a proper look at Yoru's face and couldn't help but mutter, "This kid… looks even more unreal than his dad."
He had no idea just how lacking Yoru's original self had been.
Right now, all he saw was talent.
With proper training, Yoru could surpass Ryoma in no time—even if he'd missed two years of crucial development.
This match was meant to ignite Yoru's competitive spirit by pitting him against Ryoma.
After all, Yoru had only been playing for a week.
No way he could outperform Ryoma, who had been personally trained by Nanjirou for months.
…Or so he thought.
Unbeknownst to him, Ryoma was also planning to go easy on his big brother.
In his mind, if Yoru could just return one ball—even a weak one—he'd pretend it was an amazing shot.
If Nanjirou knew what Ryoma was thinking, he'd lose it.
Both of them stared at Yoru with different expectations.
Ryoma tossed the ball across the court and said softly, "Big bro, you serve first!"
Then, he shot a cautious glance at Nanjirou before taking his defensive stance in the receiving area.
"What a pain."
Yoru rubbed the back of his head.
To him, this match was pointless—just a waste of time that could've been spent improving.
But seeing Ryoma's eager expression, he sighed. "Alright, Ryoma… be careful."
Bounce… bounce…
Yoru tapped the ball against the ground, adjusting his rhythm.
Then—his gaze sharpened.
His entire presence shifted.
Nanjirou's eyes widened.
"This kid—!"
Whoosh!
The ball soared into the air.
A textbook-perfect serve—knees bent, body coiled, racket snapping down with flawless precision.
Crack!
The moment the ball left his racket, Nanjirou knew—Ryoma was done.
The shot tore across the court, landing sharply in the outer corner before rebounding at an impossible angle.
Ryoma was still frozen in his receiving stance.
By the time he thought to move, the ball had already bounced twice—out of reach.
1-0, Yoru.
Ryoma was stunned.
Even if he hadn't zoned out, returning a serve like that would've been brutal.
He might have gotten a racket on it… but a quality return? No chance.
Nanjirou stared at Yoru like he was looking at a monster.
One week.
That's all Yoru had been playing.
And aside from the times Nanjirou forced him to train, the kid had been slacking off the rest of the time.
Yet that serve just now?
It was better than Ryoma's.
If Yoru had been training seriously from the start… how strong would he be now?
A dark expression crossed Nanjirou's face.
"Good."
His voice was low.
"Listen up, brat. If you lose this match, you're doingtwo hoursof daily training. No exceptions. Miss a minute, and you skip dinner."
"Andtoday—you're doing* everythingI taught you last week. Finish it, or I'm tossing you into the mountains."
"But if you win? Do whatever the hell you want."
Yoru froze.
He knew Nanjirou wasn't joking.
In the original story, this man had no mercy—even for his own son.
And Yoru? He was just the adopted one.
"Guess I can't keep slacking…"
Yoru sighed internally.
"Nanjirou-san… you're therealfinal boss standing in my way."
Training? Overrated.
But if the alternative was forced labor… fine.
Ryoma, panting, picked up the ball and tossed it back. "Big bro, again!"
His eyes sparkled with excitement.
At this stage, Ryoma had never faced anyone other than Nanjirou.
Yoru caught the ball, bouncing it once.
"Careful, Ryoma."
Whoosh—!
Another perfect serve.
Identical form.
Crack!
The ball shot across the court like a golden streak.
To Nanjirou, it moved at a snail's pace.
But for Ryoma?
"Too fast!"
By the time the ball bounced, Ryoma was already scrambling to intercept.
He barely got his racket on it before the second bounce—
Smack!
A weak return.
But before Ryoma could celebrate—
Yoru was already at the net.
"This brat…!"
Nanjirou's eyebrow twitched.
From the sidelines, it was obvious—Yoru had started moving before Ryoma even hit the ball.
He knew Ryoma would return it.
He predicted the trajectory.
This wasn't a beginner's instinct.
"A natural-born player…"
Nanjirou's eyes narrowed.
The match unfolded brutally.
Ryoma attacked relentlessly.
Yoru defended effortlessly.
15-0 → 30-0 → 40-0 → 1-0.
Ryoma was drenched in sweat, gasping for air.
Yoru? Barely breathing hard.
2-0 → 3-0 → 4-0 → 5-0.
By the fifth game, Ryoma collapsed to one knee, trembling.
Yoru? Not even winded.
6-0.
A perfect shutout.
Ryoma hadn't scored a single point.
Nanjirou's face was calm.
Inside, he was reeling.
Yoru's growth was monstrous.
Some of it could be chalked up to age—Yoru was three years older, with a stronger body.
But still…
His gaze shifted to Yoru, who had already flopped back under the shade of the porch.
Nanjirou's eye twitched.
"This damn brat's talent isinsane… but hisattitude—!"*
He clenched his fists.
This wasn't over.