Prince of Tennis: Shocking! Hyotei's Demon King is a Yukimura fangirl!

Luna seemed to understand, and twisted her body to crawl into the cat carrier, rummaging through her favorite things inside: a small cloth fish, a baby bottle, freeze-dried kitten food... picking and choosing as if she were selecting a gift to give away.

The little paws scratched at the cat carrier, making a rustling sound, but in the end, they still couldn't choose anything, so they simply put all the items on the opening of the carrier.

Niou leaned closer, reached out and touched the tip of Luna's tail, and smiled slyly, "Look, it actually went to pick one out. It's quite polite."

Liu Sheng gave him a helpless look. "Stop teasing it. It'll scratch you again."

Yukimura watched the kitten's busy little back and smiled. His gaze then returned to the audience and landed on Mochizuki Ryo.

The boy was talking to Atobe with his head tilted to the side, a slight smile playing on his lips. Sunlight fell on his eyelashes, casting a small shadow. Despite being in the noisy crowd, he exuded a relaxed and languid air.

Yukimura gently stroked the edge of the cat carrier's mesh with his fingertips.

This guy is clearly happy too, but he insists on pretending to be calm.

By the railing on the east side of the stands, Irie hadn't said much throughout the game. The intensity of that last ball definitely needed some time to process.

He stared at Atobe's back for a long time before turning his head to look at Tokugawa standing next to him.

Tokugawa, who had been with his hands in his sweatpants pockets, had somehow clenched them into fists. His jawline was taut, and his cold gaze fell on the field, his expression solemn.

"That Ice Throne attack just now already had the beginnings of 'another dimension'." Irie's voice was very low, only the two of them could hear it, "Only a third-year junior high school student, this talent... to be honest, I'm a little surprised."

He chuckled softly, a hint of感慨 in his voice, "Now you understand what Taneshima said before, right? If we don't step up our game, we high school students will be overtaken by middle school students."

Tokugawa remained silent for a few seconds.

The wind carried the cheers over, and his gaze fell on the tall, upright young man in the center of the field, his eyes darkening slightly.

"Um."

"We'll definitely see him when the U-17 program expands." Irie put his sunglasses back on his nose, his tone tinged with anticipation. "It should be quite interesting when they actually start fighting."

Tokugawa didn't reply, but simply nodded slightly, his eyes revealing an uncontrollable fighting spirit.

Senior Irie was right.

The growth rate of this group of junior high school students will definitely far exceed the expectations of the camp staff.

The stands at Seigaku were as if they had been muted.

All around were cheers and applause, but this area was quiet, as if it were isolated in another world.

Momoshiro slowly lowered his hand, which was holding the support flag. He lowered his head, his lips were tightly pursed, and his eyes were a little hot. He muttered to himself, "The captain had already given it his all. Why did he still lose?"

Kaidou stood beside Momoshiro, his eyes deep and somber beneath his headscarf. He didn't speak, but clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking.

"The minister lost."

Kikumaru's usual smile vanished completely. He stood listlessly with his back to everyone, his shoulders trembling slightly. He covered his face with his hands, a few reddened corners of his eyes peeking out from between his fingers, and he didn't make a sound.

Oishi stood beside him, gently placing his hand on his back. He opened his mouth, but didn't know what words of comfort to say.

Inui stood beside them, his pen flying across his notebook. The paper was covered with dense data: Tezuka's load, Atobe's serve speed, the duration of his boundary... As he wrote, his pen paused.

The data will not lie.

The gap in this match was larger than expected.

Fuji opened his eyes.

Brown pupils swept across the crowd and landed on Atobe in the center of the field. After a moment, they moved to Mochizuki Ryo, who was chatting and laughing with his teammates not far away.

His eyes were deep, concealing emotions that were hard to discern.

I originally thought that Hyotei was only strong on paper.

Today's battle made it clear that the opponent's tactical arrangements, skill refinement, and on-the-spot adaptability were all superior to theirs.

And... the variable of Wang Yueling is even more unfathomable than expected.

I initially thought he was just a privileged young nobleman, but his tactical planning was terrifyingly accurate. From the order of appearance to the rhythm of each game, it all seemed to be within his calculations. Tezuka fought to this extent, but still couldn't break through his trap.

The upcoming match is going to be troublesome.

Kawamura stood at the very back of the crowd. His right hand hung at his side, the bandage bulging slightly through his hospital gown, tinged with a faint red. He had been frozen in place ever since the match ended, his mind a jumbled mess.

Looking at Tezuka's left arm hanging limply in the center of the field, his mind was buzzing.

The minister lost.

His arm was also badly injured.

Is this the end of the Kanto Tournament?

The wound on his right arm throbbed with a dull ache, like needles pricking him, but the aching pain in his heart was far more pronounced. He remembered what the doctor had said, and a wave of heaviness washed over him. He clenched his left hand, his throat tightening, unable to speak.

Ryoma Echizen stood up from the coach's bench, staring at the scoreboard without moving, clutching the yellow tennis ball in his hand, his knuckles exerting pressure.

The fluff on the surface of the ball was rubbed into a mess.

"It's still a long way off."

He uttered a soft sentence, it was unclear whether he was referring to Tezuka or himself. His voice was very soft, blending into the cheers around him.

His amber pupils peeked out from under the brim of his hat, fixed intently on the direction of Hyotei across the street, burning with an indomitable spirit.

On the court, Kunimitsu Tezuka was still standing in the same spot.

His left arm was limp and completely powerless, the muscles were still twitching involuntarily, and a dull pain came from his elbow, which even made his fingertips numb. There were dark stains on the hem of his clothes, making it look rather gruesome.

He looked for a few seconds, then slowly pulled his arm back to his side, the movement was very slow.

His face was expressionless, and his eyes behind the glasses were calm, showing neither frustration nor pain.

Atobe pushed aside his teammates who were surrounding him and walked towards the net.

A few strands of his short, purplish-gray hair were soaked with sweat and clung to his neck. The front of his team uniform was drenched, but he didn't look disheveled at all. Instead, it accentuated his tall and straight figure, like a drawn sword, sharp and dazzling.

Atobe walked over step by step, his shoes making a very soft sound as they stepped on the rubberized surface.

He slowed his pace as he approached the net.

His gaze swept over Tezuka's left arm, lingering for a moment on that dark spot, and his icy blue eyes darkened.

He didn't speak.

Simply extend your right hand, palm up, and place it above the net.

This is the closing salute of the match.

Tezuka looked at him for two seconds, then raised his right hand and reached it across the net.

The warmth of my palms seeped through my skin, carrying a touch of sweaty heat.

He didn't say he played well, nor did he say anything polite.

I just gave it a quick shake and then withdrew it immediately.

Atobe withdrew his hand, turned around, and walked back to his own half of the field.

The moment he turned around, the usual flamboyant smile on his lips faded, and his brows furrowed slightly, revealing a more serious expression.

Only he knew how surprised he was after that game.

The Seigaku group always manages to pull out something unexpected from dire situations. Kawamura's "Dash Wave Ball" and Tezuka's "Double Realm" are both on the verge of going out of control, yet they manage to unleash tremendous power.

This counterattack is a bit too strange.

He subconsciously turned his head to look at Wang Yueling.

The other person was leaning against the edge of the fence, talking to Shishido, their profile appearing soft in the sunlight.

Atobe suddenly understood.

No wonder the opponent insisted on placing him in the second singles position.

No wonder the lineup was revised several times, and even the order of substitutes was carefully considered, with Jiro placed last to match the first-year student from Seigaku.

It turns out that from the very beginning, they had anticipated that the Seigaku would launch such a strange counterattack.

Just how many secrets does this guy still have to reveal?

After discussing the warm-up arrangements for the next match, Mochizuki Ryo turned around and saw Atobe standing there with a frown, looking preoccupied.

They assumed the other person was concerned about Tezuka's injury.

"What are you thinking about? You look so serious." He walked over, his voice low. "Are you feeling guilty about Tezuka's injury?"

Atobe glanced at him sideways, his tone arrogant, "Do I look like the kind of person who's sentimental?"

"Doesn't it seem like it?" Wang Yueling's azure eyes crinkled with laughter. "Let me tell you, his hand injury has absolutely nothing to do with you. He chose this path himself, and he has to bear the consequences. Anyway... with his arm covered in old and new injuries, the chances of it fully healing are basically zero. But with some treatment, maybe he can still play recreational golf in the future."

He raised his hand and patted Atobe's shoulder lightly. "I've already had Harano take the medical staff over to see him. Dr. Laurent and Dr. Andrew are both in the medical building and will have a consultation later. In addition, all the resources of our sports medicine platform are open to Japanese junior tennis players, including specialist appointments and rehabilitation programs. We've helped them in every way we can."

"Hey, anyway, you don't need to feel bad about this, and you don't need to run around doing favors. Just leave it to me, the substitute coach, to handle. Got it!"

Atobe's ears burned slightly as he retorted, his neck stiff with arrogance. "Who would feel bad about it and run around doing favors?! Tezuka's injury has absolutely nothing to do with me. The match was based on skill, so why should I feel bad or take it to heart?"

"Yes, yes, you don't care." Wang Yueling went along with him, but her eyes swept over him from head to toe, focusing on his wrists and knees. "Since you don't care, why don't you go to the medical building for a full check-up? That little German old man Laurent is the best at sports injuries. Let him take a look at your wrists and knees, so that you don't have any problems during training later."

"Need not."

"Stop being stubborn. Come here and let me check your wrist. Is it okay? Those smashes you made earlier were pretty powerful."

As Mochizuki Ryo spoke, she reached out to pinch Atobe's wrist, but he slapped her away.

"Enough with the nagging." Atobe cracked his knuckles as he stretched his wrists. "I already told you I'm perfectly fine. I just sweated a little and used up some energy."

As he spoke, he added a pointed remark.

"I would never do something as stupid as trading my body for victory."

"I know you know what you're doing." Wang Yueling withdrew her hand and nodded, not pressuring her further. "After today's match, the whole team will go to the medical building next door for a full medical check-up. You have to lead the way; don't try to slip away. Is that alright?"

Atobe snorted, not refuting, which was taken as an agreement.

Seeing his tense face, Wang Yueling couldn't help but laugh and began to skillfully flatter him, going along with his wishes.

"But seriously, Minister, you played beautifully today." His eyes switched to admiration, and his tone was as sincere as could be. "Your dance combo in the eighth game was so smooth and fluid, and your 'Ice Throne' on the last point was executed with perfect control. Your Tannhäuser with its complex spin was breathtaking. You controlled the entire rhythm of the game. Even though Tezuka broke through to the second level, he couldn't disrupt your rhythm even a fraction."

"And that last smash, the power and angle were just right, it scored the point without hitting the opponent's racket. The sense of proportion was absolutely perfect."

He counted on his fingers, praising her one by one, sentence by sentence, speaking sincerely and naturally.

"His tactics were executed flawlessly, his rhythm was perfectly controlled, and his mentality was incredibly stable. Our Hyotei's emperor is truly amazing; the moment he stands there, all the lights in the arena are focused on him."

Atobe, who had been keeping a straight face, unconsciously raised his chin as he listened, his tailbone radiating a smugness. His entire aura brightened, like a peacock whose feathers had been stroked, exuding a sense of comfort.

He pretended to straighten his team uniform collar, but his tone betrayed his excitement.

"Ah, of course. It's your honor to be captivated by my exquisite skills."

Wang Yueling almost couldn't hold back her laughter when she saw his proud little face with his tail practically wagging in the air.

Handling this peacock is very simple.

He thought to himself that he was complaining, but on the surface he remained serious and continued to praise.

Anyway, praising someone doesn't cost money. You have to flatter your own "founding disciple".

Atobe felt incredibly comfortable after being praised, and even the energy he had used up in the match seemed to return. He raised his chin, gesturing for Ootori to hand him the water.

Feng rushed over, handed over the sports drink with the cap unscrewed, her eyes sparkling, "Minister, you've worked hard today!"

"Hmm." Atobe took the water and drank it elegantly. "Just basic stuff."

Shishido scoffed from the side, but didn't contradict him.

Oshitari walked over, leaned against the fence, and interjected with a smile, "Speaking of which, we ran into Kawamura's father when we came over earlier. He seemed to be in a hurry to find his child; it looks like Kawamura ran away from the hospital."

Mochizuki Ryo raised an eyebrow. "I know. I saw him over at the Seigaku stands just now. His parents have already been notified, and they should be coming to pick him up later."

Upon hearing this, Atobe frowned slightly. "Run away from the hospital?"

"Yeah." Shinobu shrugged. "I guess he's worried about the competition. I heard from his dad that his arm injury is pretty bad, and surgery was originally scheduled."

Atobe didn't speak, but his expression darkened.

Playing games with your body is just stupid.

The wind blew in from the court, carrying the smell of sweat and the high spirits of the young men after their victory.

Atobe turned his head to look in the direction of Seigaku's half of the court.

On the other side of the field, the butler led two medical staff to Tezuka.

Tezuka was about to walk towards the Seigaku rest area when he took only two steps and felt a wave of dizziness. He stopped, closed his eyes, gently supported his left arm with his right hand, and stood there for a few seconds to recover.

Cold sweat dripped down his jawline from his forehead, hitting the scorching ground and disappearing instantly.

"Tezuka-kun."

A steady male voice sounded beside him.

Tezuka opened his eyes and saw several people in white coats walking over. The one in the lead was the butler of the substitute coach from Hyotei.

"Tezuka-kun, it's nice to see you again." The butler bowed slightly, his tone polite. "Would you mind doing a preliminary check-up first?"

Tezuka glanced at them but did not refuse.

Two medical staff stepped forward, their movements very gentle. One of them carefully lifted Tezuka's left arm and slowly rolled up half of his sleeve on his shoulder.

The sight of her exposed arm sent a chill down one's spine.

His shoulders and elbows were severely red and swollen, with visible bruises beneath the skin. The boy trembled slightly with each touch.

The on-site doctor also rushed over and joined the medical team. They examined the patient for a long time, their expressions grave.

They originally wanted to talk to the Seigaku coach about the situation, but when they looked up and glanced around, the coach was nowhere to be found, and the other Seigaku members were all standing in the stands, far away.

Only a first-grade boy wearing a hat was standing on the coach's bench, kicking pebbles with his head down, as if he were in a daze.

The doctors sighed.

Finally, he could only turn to the butler and explain the situation in a low voice, "The situation is not good. An old injury to the lateral epicondyle of the humerus has acutely worsened, accompanied by a small tear in the tendon and signs of nerve edema. He needs to be taken to the hospital immediately for further examination, and surgery may be necessary. Delaying it will be detrimental to his recovery."

The butler nodded and turned to signal to the staff behind him.

Two uniformed staff members carried the stretcher over and gently placed it on the ground. The metal frame made a very soft sound as it touched the ground.

"Tezuka-kun," the butler said calmly, with a reassuring tone, "you heard what the doctor said. We have internationally renowned specialists consulting with you in our medical building. Shall we go over for a thorough examination now?"

Tezuka stood there, not answering immediately.

He glanced towards the Seigaku stands. The team members were all absorbed in their dejection, and none of them noticed him.

He looked away and nodded slightly.

"it is good."

The sound was soft, yet steady.

Medical staff helped him slowly sit on the stretcher.

Tezuka leaned back on the cushion, his left arm lying flat at his side, motionless. He looked up at the sky above, the sunlight dazzling, and he squinted slightly, his eyes behind his glasses so calm that no emotion could be discerned.