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

There was all sorts of talk in the stands: some were amazed at how dangerous tennis could be, others were supporting Hyotei, some were optimistic about Seigaku, and still others were just there for the spectacle. The conversation swirled from the matches to the players, and then from the players to the coaches.

Of course, most people are still looking forward to the final match. After all, it is a showdown between the two schools’ recognized geniuses. No matter what happened before, no one can deny the value of this final match.

It drifted into the rest areas on both sides with the wind.

The faces of everyone in the Seigaku stands were not very good.

The incident with Kawamura was already upsetting enough, and now, hearing the increasingly offensive comments from the surrounding audience, Momoshiro dug his fingers into his hair, pulled out a few strands, and, his face flushed red with anger, took half a step forward to argue.

Da Shi quickly pulled him back and gently shook his head. "A Tao, don't be impulsive. What they said... never mind, after all, we're in the wrong."

It's not that he doesn't want to refute, it's just that he can't bring himself to say it.

What they said was true: Tezuka went to the hospital, Kawamura was taken away by his father, and the coach was nowhere to be seen. With all these facts laid out before them, they couldn't even bring themselves to say "we are not" with any confidence.

Momoshiro, his neck stiff, wanted to say something, but seeing Oishi's tired face, he swallowed his words. He just let out a heavy "humph," turned his face away, and his chest heaved violently.

Kikumaru squatted on the steps, hugging his knees, his hair drooping listlessly, looking rather listless. He tugged at Oishi's sleeve, wanting to say something, but in the end only sighed.

Inui adjusted his glasses, his pen hovering over the notebook for a long time before finally writing down only one line of data and then crossing it out. The data about Yuushi Oshitari was still based on the version from the Metropolitan Tournament.

Two months have passed, and no one can say for sure how much the other party has improved under Wang Yueling's guidance.

Beside him, Kaidou stood with his arms crossed, his face beneath his headscarf taut and clenched like a stone. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and he couldn't quite utter his usual "hiss."

The three first-year students huddled in a corner, none of them daring to utter a sound. Horio gripped the pole of the support flag. Katsuro, head down, fiddled with a loose thread on his sweatpants. Katsuo shrank to the very back, as if afraid of being seen.

The atmosphere was even more oppressive than when we lost the second singles match.

Just then, a figure walked out from the crowd.

Fuji Syusuke bent down and picked up the racket that had fallen to the ground. A small amount of fresh, dark red blood stained the black handle, almost painful to the eye in the sunlight. He gently ran his fingertips over the bloodstain, and his usually narrowed eyes slowly opened.

He stared at the racket for a few seconds, his brown pupils devoid of their usual smile, now cold and aloof, as if covered by a thin layer of ice.

He straightened up, took off his team jacket, and folded it neatly on the chair. The blue and white tracksuit underneath made his skin look even whiter, and although he looked thin, his back was very straight.

Fuji didn't say anything to his teammates, or even glance at them. He casually put his racket into the side pocket of his sports bag, picked up his tennis bag, slung it over his shoulder, and turned to walk towards the players' tunnel.

The steps were slow and steady.

"Fuji-senpai..." Horio Satoshi called out softly from the side.

Fuji didn't turn around, only slightly raising his hand to indicate that he didn't need to follow. His back was very straight, his chestnut-brown hair swayed gently in the wind, and he exuded an indescribable sense of aloofness.

The students from Seigaku watched his retreating figure without saying a word.

Everyone knew in their hearts that this round was truly their last hope.

I wanted to say something encouraging, to warn him to be careful with his arm, but I knew it was too late. All we could do was stand there, watching that blue and white figure slowly walk away, silently praying that he would win and that nothing else would happen to him.

Ryoma Echizen stood next to the coach's bench, his hat pulled low. He twirled a tennis ball between his fingers, seemingly distracted.

He suddenly felt a little uncertain.

I wonder if it's appropriate for me to sit here.

He's just a freshman; in terms of seniority and experience, he wouldn't be able to offer any decent tactical guidance.

In the match just now, Tezuka was supposedly a "temporary coach," but in reality, he was like a mascot, completely ineffective. He didn't even notice when Tezuka left, and now that Fuji is about to take the field, he has no idea what to say.

The more he thought about it, the more awkward he felt, and he gripped the tennis ball tighter and tighter. Just as he was hesitating... he heard footsteps behind him, very slow and light.

"Ryoma".

A wrinkled hand gently patted his shoulder.

Ryoma Echizen turned around and saw Ryuzaki Jin standing behind him. She was holding her waist, breathing a little rapidly, sweat beading on her forehead, her complexion not good, and dark circles under her eyes.

"Ryoma, leave this to me." She glanced at the field, then looked down at Echizen, her voice a little hoarse.

Ryoma Echizen nodded, saying nothing more, and simply walked towards the stands with his racket and water bottle. As he passed Ryuzaki Jin, he paused slightly, but ultimately said nothing. He quickly walked to Fuji's side, adjusted his hat brim, and uttered a soft sentence.

"Don't lose."

Fuji paused, turned his head, and a very faint smile appeared on his lips.

"Um."

It's a simple word, but it carries a lot of weight.

Ryuzaki Jin slowly sat down on the coach's bench, watching Fuji's approaching figure with a complex expression.

The boy walked up to her and stopped, nodding slightly in a polite manner.

"coach."

Ryuzaki Jin looked at him.

She had been taking care of this child for three years and could never truly understand him. He was always smiling, playing ball purely out of interest, seemingly indifferent to everything else. But when he got serious, he was more skilled than anyone else.

She was silent for a few seconds, and finally said only one sentence.

"Zhou Zhu, this will be a tough battle, so be careful in everything you do."

Fuji stopped at the warm-up area on the sidelines, looked at her, and a faint smile appeared on his lips.

"I know."

He didn't say much, just nodded, turned around and walked into the court, starting to swing his racket to warm up.

At Hyotei, when the announcement came over the loudspeaker, everyone stopped joking around.

Wang Yueling turned around and walked to the coach's bench, bent down and took something out of her sports bag, and casually placed it on the armrest of the coach's chair.

It is a crystal trophy.

It's not large, about the height of an adult's palm. The entire piece is made of highly transparent crystal, with extremely finely polished facets. When sunlight falls on it, it refracts into tiny, colorful spots, the brilliance dazzling to the eye. The trophy base is sterling silver, engraved with the Hyotei Academy crest, its smooth lines clearly indicating its high value.

The base appears to have a line of small characters engraved on it. The characters are exquisite, and it is not clear what is written from a distance, but the shimmering texture alone is enough to attract everyone's attention.

Wang Yueling didn't say anything, but simply straightened the trophy, then stood up and patted off non-existent dust from her hands.

He slowly and deliberately glanced at the Hyotei group.

He didn't say anything.

But the Hyotei team members behind him all took a half step back in unison.

It’s over.

This is for real.

This is a great trophy, but the price behind it is too high. If we don't play well and don't meet the standards of our acting coach... the consequences are terrifying to even think about.

"Wow... Ryo actually brought this out." Jiro clung to Atobe's arm, resting his chin on his upper arm, staring at the crystal trophy for several seconds, then stuck out his tongue and whispered, "...Who's it for?"

Shishido crossed his arms and said in a flat tone, "Hyotei will win their next match beautifully."

Cilang paused for a moment: "What if it wasn't played well?"

Shishido didn't speak, but glanced at Mochizuki Ryo's retreating figure, then patted Shinobu's shoulder with a light touch, his tone carrying a hint of feigned sympathy, "Brother, good luck. Ryo, this is clearly putting a tighter rein on you, isn't it?"

Feng nodded, her voice soft and tinged with worry, "Ninjitsu-senpai, good luck. Senior Ling specially prepared this trophy, so the requirements must be very high."

Xiang Ri squatted beside the bench, the gauze on his head glaringly white in the sunlight. He leaned closer and whispered, "What do you think Ling will do if Yuu-shi doesn't do what he wants? He probably won't actually hit him... right?"

Hiyoshi gripped his racket, his expression unchanged: "Based on previous experiences, he's more terrifying when he's not attacking than when he is."

Taki opened his tactics notebook and wrote two words on a blank page: "Mourning".

"Wow, what a sparkly trophy! You win and get a prize, or you lose and risk your life? Pupina~" Niou suddenly appeared by the railing and shouted across the aisle, "Shinobu, I won't come to the hospital to see you if you don't win gracefully."

Liu Sheng stood beside him and helplessly tugged at his sleeve.

"Yaji, don't make things worse."

Shinobu stood on the outskirts of the crowd, his lips twitching slightly.

He looked down and adjusted his wristband, his fingertips brushing against the edge of the strap, then looked up at the trophy. Sunlight streamed through the facets of the crystal, casting small, flowing patches of light on his face, like ripples spreading across water.

"Such a grand display. So..." he began slowly, his tone carrying a hint of the languidness characteristic of his Kansai accent, "Is this a trophy for me?"

Wang Yueling turned her head, her azure eyes curving slightly, her smile as warm as the three o'clock afternoon sun: "Well done, it's yours."

"What can you do to me if I don't play well?" Shinobu asked.

Wang Yueling tilted her head slightly, as if seriously considering the answer to the question, her smile unchanged: "I'll have Keigo order a wreath for you."

Jiro immediately raised his hand: "I want yuri!"

Sunflower raised its hand: "Sunflower! I like sunflowers!"

"Carnations, I guess," Taki said, resting his chin on his hand. "Carnations are more dignified."

Shishido crossed his arms, his face stern: "Chrysanthemum. Tradition."

Feng thought for a moment, then whispered, "...Rose?"

Hiyoshi glanced at him, expressionless: "That's for celebrations."

The tips of her phoenix-shaped ears turned slightly red: "Then, let's keep the chrysanthemum."

Shinobu stood there, watching them discuss which flowers to use for their memorial service, a twitch running down his spine. He adjusted his glasses, took a deep breath, and said, half-annoyed and half-amused, "Have you even considered that I'm standing right here?"

"I know," Jiro blinked, "that's why I asked in advance, so we don't end up scrambling around."

Renji was both amused and exasperated. He pushed up his glasses and glanced at everyone sideways. "Oh dear, you guys have so little faith in me, don't you? I've never let you down."

"I'm confident," Shishido said, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him. "But whether he's satisfied or not is up to him; it's not up to us."

Jiro lunged forward, grabbing Shinobu's arm and shaking it, his curly hair bouncing with each swing. "Yuushi, you have to win beautifully! Then we'll have an excuse to ask Ryo to give us another victory celebration! If you don't play well, Ryo will definitely make us practice extra every day!"

He tilted his head and whispered, "Ling is terrifying when he's angry. Remember how you were punished for being late to training last time, and he made you write a week's worth of tactical analysis reports?

Shinobu: "..."

I haven't forgotten.

He wrote a full sixty pages of handwritten tactical analysis, and didn't go to sleep until three in the morning.

Xiang Ri nodded vigorously beside him, his bandage still askew, his tone exceptionally sincere, "That's right, that's right! Yuushi, don't let me down. We believe you can win, but whether you can satisfy Ling is another matter. You'd better do your best, otherwise none of us can save you!"

Kabaji stood to the side and nodded in agreement, saying succinctly, "Good luck."

Shinobu glanced around at everyone.

Everyone nodded in unison, their expressions remarkably consistent.

"When did I become so terrible? I'm so sad!" Wang Yueling pretended to wipe her eyes, tapping the crystal trophy with her fingertips, making a crisp sound. "Never mind, I'm kind-hearted, so I'll skip the wreath. If you didn't play well, I'll just put this trophy by your bedside, so you can see it first thing every morning when you open your eyes. You can take it down when you feel you deserve it."

Upon hearing this, the people around him gasped.

Xiang Ri shivered and whispered to Ci Lang.

"A belief attack. That's ruthless... even more ruthless than physical punishment."

Cilang nodded vigorously, his curly hair swaying with it. "It's terrifying to have to reflect on yourself in front of the trophy every day."

Atobe stood at the front, listened to everyone's comments, and raised an eyebrow.

He took two steps toward Oshitari, stopping as he passed him. He glanced at the crystal trophy, then gave Oshitari a sidelong look, uttering only a single sentence with his usual arrogance and a subtle threat in the last syllable.

"Ah, I've reserved the singles number one spot for you. If you don't play fancy enough... hmph! You'll be in for a world of hurt."

After speaking, he raised his chin, turned around and walked towards the stands, his back straight, his short purplish-gray hair gleaming softly in the sunlight.

Shinobu pulled his sunglasses down a little, revealing his deep blue eyes:

"Understood, Minister."

"You know that much." Atobe snorted and turned to walk towards the stands. After taking two steps, he stopped, turned his shoulder slightly, and added, "I won't be cheering for you this time. Focus on the game, don't get distracted."

Renji watched his retreating figure, shook his head helplessly, but a smile played on his lips.

He certainly knew the significance of this game.

Two months of grueling training, newly refined techniques, and Ling's special cultivation of his character—all of this was waiting to be tested today.

What's more, standing opposite him is Fuji Syusuke.

Both are hailed as geniuses, but he wants to see whose genius carries more weight.

The others followed and walked toward the audience seats, turning back to wink at Shinobu and making "good luck" and "take care" gestures as they went.

"Go Yuushi! We're cheering you on from up there!"

"Don't let the trophy down!"

"We don't want to attend your memorial service!"

Renji waved at them irritably.

"A bunch of heartless people."

The sidelines gradually quieted down.

Only Mochizuki Ryo remained, leaning against the coach's chair, with Shinobu standing beside him warming up.

Wang Yueling leaned back in the coach's chair, her fingertips gently tracing the words "Best of Geniuses" on the bottom of the crystal trophy, the cool touch traveling up her fingertips.

Ryo Mochizuki's gaze swept over the net and landed on the Seigaku coaching bench not far away.

Ryuzaki Jin finally appeared, standing by the fence talking to Fuji. Fuji stood in the center of the field, slowly wrapping his hands with glue, his movements unhurried, still looking as gentle as ever.

Wang Yueling withdrew her gaze and landed on the empty court in front of her. The netting cast neat shadows on the ground, swaying gently in the wind.

After finishing his leg stretches, Shinobu straightened up and turned to look at Mochizuki Ryou.

"Aren't you going to give me any tactical guidance?"

Wang Yueling didn't turn around; her gaze remained fixed on the field.

"I won't say a single word about tactics in this match."

His voice was soft, yet firm, "You should know how to fight."

Shinobu looked into his eyes, paused for a moment, and then suddenly smiled. It was a different smile from his usual casual one, which carried a thin layer of aloofness.

He lowered his head, tapped the toe of his shoe lightly with his racket, and when he looked up again, the lazy shell in his expression had thinned a bit.

"Okay. Then I'll try my best to prevent you from using those flowers. I really like this trophy."

The wind carried the smell of plastic, along with the tense atmosphere unique to the pre-race period.

He watched for a while, then said something softly, his voice low but clear, like a sound landing on thin ice.

"Those who don't take this game seriously will lose."