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

As Kawamura thought about it, he subconsciously raised his right hand.

A dull pain shot through his wound, but he seemed oblivious. He reached into the side pocket of Fuji's sports bag and pulled out his blood-stained racket.

The moment the cool handle touched my palm, a familiar sensation shot up my arm. That familiar feeling welled up again, like a fire, burning through my entire body.

He forgot the pain, forgot the injury, and forgot the doctor's advice not to exert himself.

Holding the racket, he raised his arm high, and despite the difficulty of the movement and the sharp pain from his wound, he still shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Come on, baby!"

"Burning!"

The sound was loud, slightly distorted, yet remarkably powerful.

"Fuji! Get fired up! Take down Hyotei in the next round!"

"Qingxue will win!"

He shouted so hard that sweat beaded on his forehead, and his right arm throbbed with pain, but he was completely oblivious. He felt as if he had been set on fire, his whole body radiating a surge of passion.

The surrounding Seigaku members were stunned for a moment, but then they were caught up in the excitement and started shouting along.

"Good luck, Fuji-senpai!"

"Qingxue will win!"

Shouts rose and fell, and the frustration and unease from before seemed to be swept away by this energy. Everyone waved their support scarves, their faces regaining their radiance. Even the matter of Kawamura's injury and Tezuka's trip to the hospital seemed to temporarily become unimportant.

No one advised Kawamura to put down his racket.

Nobody told you your hand is still injured, so don't move it.

Everyone was immersed in the anticipation of a comeback, feeling that Kawamura's "burning" spirit would bring good luck to Fuji.

On the other side of the stands is the Yamabuki viewing area.

Akutsu Jin was leaning against the railing, casually glancing at the field. Hearing Kawamura's shout, he turned his head sharply.

At a glance, you can see Kawamura holding a racket with his arm wrapped in bandages.

His hand was swollen so badly that the bandage was almost soaked through with blood, yet he was still waving and shouting.

Akutsu's face instantly darkened.

He stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a screeching sound.

"Takashi Kawamura! You idiot, what are you doing?!"

A roar, not loud, but full of anger, exploded like a stone thrown into water.

His voice wasn't loud, but it was extremely penetrating, clearly reaching the ears of everyone at Seigaku even across several rows of seats.

Kawamura was enthusiastically swinging his racket and shouting when he heard the shout, and his movements suddenly stopped. He turned his head blankly and saw Akutsu standing not far away with a dark face and a fierce look in his eyes.

The racket in his hand drooped down, hanging in mid-air.

The burning intensity from just now vanished instantly, as if extinguished by a bucket of cold water.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but didn't know what to say.

The other Seigaku members also quieted down and all looked at Akutsu, wondering what had gotten into him.

Momoshiro frowned, about to say something, when he heard hurried footsteps coming from the entrance of the stands.

A middle-aged man rushed over quickly, his steps long and hurried, his shirt collar askew, his forehead covered in sweat, and his jawline taut.

He rushed to a spot three or four steps away from the river village and suddenly stopped.

The area around the stands suddenly fell silent.

The shouts and discussions from just now seemed to have been paused, and all of them disappeared at once.

All eyes turned to the middle-aged man, and then to Kawamura.

Hiroshi Kawamura stood there, his eyes red and his lips trembling uncontrollably.

He just stared at his son, at his son's right hand hanging by his side, still holding the racket, at the blood-soaked bandage, without saying a word.

Her eyes showed the haste of rushing over, the worry she couldn't hide, and then, as she saw her son swing his racket, her anger slowly turned into barely suppressed rage, and a deeper, almost overflowing disappointment.

His chest heaved violently, as if he was desperately suppressing his temper.

It was eerily quiet; you could hear even your own breathing.

Kawamura's heart skipped a beat when he saw his father suddenly appear, and he panicked instantly.

He guessed that his father knew about his injury and that the other party was there to take him back to the hospital. He took two steps forward, forcing a smile on his pale face, a smile that seemed somewhat forced.

"Dad...Dad, what brings you here?"

He scratched his head, pretending not to care, and hid the hand holding the racket behind his back. "It's nothing, why did you make a special trip? It's just a minor sprain, I'll be fine after a few days of rest, don't worry."

As he spoke, he raised his injured hand again and shook it, trying to prove that he was really alright. The movement aggravated the wound, causing his mouth to twitch in pain, but he quickly covered it up.

"Isn't today a day off? The shop must be very busy. You should go home first." He tried to make his tone sound relaxed. "I'll go home after I finish the last game. It's okay."

Hiroshi Kawamura remained silent.

I just watched him, his pale face, the bandages he couldn't hide, and his forced composure.

Her eyes grew increasingly red, with tears welling up inside.

His lips moved several times, as if a thousand words were stuck in his throat, anger, heartache, and disappointment all mixed together, making him feel suffocated.

In the end, he uttered only one sentence, trembling. His voice was soft, yet it struck everyone's heart like a heavy hammer.

"How am I supposed to explain this to your mother?"

After saying that, he turned his face away, took a deep breath, as if he was suppressing some emotion.

Kawamura's smile froze completely. The racket fell to the ground with a "thud," rolled twice, and came to a stop at his feet.

He panicked, took a big step forward, and reached out to grab his father's arm. "Dad, listen to me... it's not what you think, I..."

Before she could finish speaking, her wrist had just touched her father's sleeve when it was gently flung away.

The force wasn't strong, but it carried a sense of utter disappointment.

Kawamura Hiroji didn't look at him again, nor did he say another word. He turned around and walked quickly off the field. His back was very straight, but his steps were a little unsteady, and he walked very fast, as if he couldn't bear to stay for even a second longer.

Kawamura's outstretched hand froze in mid-air, and he stood rooted to the spot.

The surroundings were deathly silent.

The entire stands, and even the spectators in the nearby rows, were quiet and no one spoke.

The air felt frozen, making one's chest feel tight.

Disappointed looks in a parent's eyes are always the most hurtful weapon.

No one could explain why. It was clearly someone else's family matter, but looking at the middle-aged man's lonely and disappointed back, and at the boy who stood frozen in place, at a loss, everyone felt as if something was stuck in their heart, heavy and unsettling.

The Seigaku team members were also frozen, looking at each other, none of them knowing what to say.

She wanted to comfort Kawamura, but didn't know where to begin.

The lively atmosphere of the cheering instantly turned cold, chilling to the bone.