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

The audience hadn't even reacted yet.

With his head wrapped in thick bandages, Mukahi jumped up from the bench the moment he saw the ball, his mouth agape and his elbow nearly hitting Kirihara's face.

"Great shot! Yuushi, well done!"

As soon as the cheers subsided, he felt a gaze sweep over him.

It was cool and chilly, lacking any fierce or malevolent aura, yet its intimidating power was sufficient, landing directly on him.

Xiang Ri subconsciously turned his head and met the gaze of Coach Wang Yueling from the coach's bench. The other man leaned back in his coach's chair, glancing at him with a detached look, yet it sent a chill down Xiang Ri's spine.

Xiang Ri's throat tightened, and the cheer that was about to come out of his mouth was abruptly swallowed back down his throat.

The next second, two hands reached out at the same time, one covering the mouth and the other pinching the back of the neck. The two cooperated even better than doubles players.

Jiro pressed his palm against Xiang Ri's face, his fingertips sinking into his cheek, while Kirito gripped the back of his collar and shook him vigorously. The two of them also shook their heads vigorously toward the coach's bench, Mochizuki Ryo, their body language very energetic, as if desperately trying to convey the message: "There was no sound just now, this person didn't say a word."

Wang Yueling withdrew her gaze and continued wiping her trophy.

Xiang Ri was covered up tightly, struggling desperately with his hands and feet, and making muffled whimpering sounds from his nose.

Niou leaned on Yagyu's shoulder, laughing so hard he was shaking, his silver braid slipping down his shoulder and swaying back and forth.

He reached out and patted Kirihara and Jiro, then pointed at Mukahi, who was rolling his eyes and kicking his legs, laughing so hard he could barely breathe: "Cough cough... If you two keep covering him up like this, he'll really be going to heaven. Not a concussion, he'll suffocate."

Kirihara and Jiro then realized what was happening and quickly let go of each other's hands.

Xiang Ri gasped for breath, glaring at the two of them: "You...you're trying to murder your best friend!"

"Ling's eyes are terrifying," Cilang said, scratching the back of his head. "Look at the way he smiles, it's exactly the same as before he was punished last time."

"You can't cover my mouth!"

Yagyu handed Mukahi a glass of water from the side, his gaze falling on the layers of gauze on his head. He spoke in a low, gentle voice, "Mukahi-kun, although you only have a mild concussion, strenuous activity and emotional excitement can affect intracranial pressure. It's best to stay calm."

Xiang Ri took the water, took a sip, and leaned back dejectedly in his chair. Just as he was about to retort, he heard a voice drifting over from the front row.

"Hiyoshi, keep an eye on him. If he causes any more trouble, send him back to his ward immediately."

Atobe had just been teasing Luna, the little black cat on his lap, with his fingertips repeatedly stroking the kitten's soft, fluffy black belly. Hearing the commotion, he didn't even raise his head, maintaining his seated posture, his chin slightly raised, and he spoke a calm warning.

Hiyoshi stood in the back row, arms crossed, a slight smile playing on his lips: "Yes, Minister."

Xiang Ri's face fell instantly, and he wanted to plead for mercy.

Kirihara and Jiro maintained the pressure of their hands covering Mukahi's mouth, while their other hands gripped the back of Mukahi's neck, and they even helped Mukahi nod forcefully, making it look like "we have fully conveyed the warning to him".

Niou, watching from the side, twitched his eyebrows. His silver braid fell to his shoulder. Fearing that the two guys might not be careful and suffocate Mukahi again, he quickly reached out and pried Jiro and Kirihara's arms apart.

Xiang Ri took deep breaths of air, getting away from the two guys who wanted him dead.

Niou looked away, rested his elbow on the bleachers railing, and looked down at the field with his narrow eyes. He saw Shinobu walking back to the baseline to prepare to receive the serve, his posture as relaxed as if he were taking a stroll.

He chuckled, resting his chin on his hand, and nudged Yagyu beside him with his elbow: "Oh dear, is our Yuushi trying to emulate Atobe's swift victory? Looks like he's determined to get that sparkling crystal trophy. Puppina~"

Liu Sheng didn't reply, but simply adjusted his glasses, his gaze falling on the gleaming trophy on the coach's bench. Sunlight fell on the crystal facets, refracting into a small, shimmering patch of light that flowed along Wang Yueling's fingertips.

On the other side, Luna, feeling wronged, took advantage of the distraction and darted back to Yukimura's side with her tiny paws.

The kitten's black fur bristled slightly as it nestled its rear end into Yukimura's arms. Its two front paws were raised, one little paw pointing directly in Atobe's direction. Its little mouth opened and closed, meowing incessantly. Each meow was pitiful, as if it were earnestly accusing and complaining.

It was lying peacefully on Atobe's lap, but that "fragrant two-legged beast" kept poking its belly with its fingertips. It finally managed to stand up, only to be gently pushed down again, and this happened repeatedly.

Later, he would tug at its ears and pinch the tip of its tail. As soon as it turned its head, he would stop, with an innocent expression that said, "I didn't do anything."

Luna's heterochromatic eyes were wet, filled with a mixture of grievance and anger. Her little paws clung to Yukimura's sleeve, pulling it out bit by bit, as if to say, "Daddy Yukimura, look at that two-legged creature! It bullied me, poked my belly, and pushed my head. It's so mean!"

Yukimura smiled and hugged the kitten tightly, then reached out and gathered the little paw that was pointing at Atobe into his palm, gently squeezing the kitten's soft paw with his fingertips.

Luna's paw pads were warm and soft, and the downy hair between his toes brushed against his fingertips.

His gaze passed over the railing and landed on the basketball court below, where players were battling it out. The kitten in his arms was still meowing softly, its little body twitching in his arms.

Yukimura lowered his head and nuzzled the kitten's ear, his voice soft enough for the kitten in his arms to understand, "Yes, I saw it. When Ling comes back, I'll help you file a complaint, and then we'll get revenge for you openly and honestly. Okay?"

Luna meowed contentedly, hooking the tip of her tail around Yukimura's wrist, burying her little head in his palm and rubbing against him, purring softly.

Atobe's fingers were still suspended in mid-air, the sensation of petting the cat still lingering on his fingertips. He subconsciously rubbed them, as if savoring the soft, furry touch.

Hearing Yukimura's words, he glanced at Yukimura, who was holding the cat, and raised an eyebrow. "Hmph, Jiro and the others are cowardly and afraid of Mochizuki Ryo, but I'm not afraid at all."

He spoke arrogantly, his chin slightly raised, as if to say, "How could I possibly be afraid of him?"

Yukimura lowered his eyes, his long eyelashes trembling slightly, a faint smile spreading across his lips. He looked up at Atobe, said nothing, and only chuckled softly.

The laughter was soft, yet it sent a faint warmth creeping into Atobe's ears, and a surge of inexplicable embarrassment and annoyance welled up within him.

What are you laughing at?!

He stiffened his neck, his tone three degrees harsher than before, "What I'm saying is the truth."

Upon hearing this, Yukimura's eyes curved into a beautiful smile. He lowered his head, his fingertips tracing the back of Luna's body. The kitten squinted comfortably, purring softly, "Really?"

Just two words, light and airy, yet carrying a hint of inexplicable teasing.

Atobe's face flushed, his ears burned even hotter, and he was about to retort when a sudden burst of gasps and shouts erupted from a large area of ​​the stands, a flood of sound that swept over him and drowned out his words.

"Wow!!!"

"What is that?!"

Atobe immediately composed himself and turned his gaze back to the center of the court.

The first game has now reached a crucial point where they need to hold serve.

Shinobu leaped high, his body stretching out in the air, and delivered a powerful high-pressure smash that was smashed out by Chongzhong.

"Bang!"

The yellow tennis ball, accompanied by a whooshing sound, crashed into the court like a cannonball.

Everyone thought this ball was a sure score.

But at that moment, instead of retreating, Fuji took a half-step forward. He quickly adjusted his stance with small, quick steps, then leaned back and pressed down sharply, twisting his shoulders as he rotated his body, using the rotation to build up power.

The ball, falling at high speed, hit the racket face.

He pressed down even harder, completing the interception the instant the ball had not yet touched the ground.

The entire movement was natural and fluid; it was one of his triple return shots, and the brown bear swished through the net.

He took advantage of the immense force of his opponent's smash, and by rotating his body, he prolonged the contact time between the racket and the ball, converting the opponent's power. Without expending much of his own strength, he changed the direction of the tennis ball and slammed it into a wide-angle position in Oshitari's backcourt.

A cheer erupted from the Seigaku stands. Momoshiro jumped up, waving his fist and shouting, "Fuji-senpai, that was awesome!"

Kikumaru clung to the railing, yelling, "So cool! So cool! The brown bear is caught!"

The cheers surged upwards in layers.

On the Hyotei coaching bench, Mochizuki Ryo glanced at the actions on the court.

After Fuji finished his shot, he maintained his wide, sweeping, and heavily back-down stance, his eyebrows twitching almost imperceptibly. A warm breeze ruffled his blond hair, and a thought silently crossed his mind.

A formal competitive arena is not a bodybuilding show on stage. There's absolutely no need to freeze in such a flashy, exaggerated pose after hitting the ball.

Quel ridicule. (That's hilarious!)

Fortunately, two months ago, he repeatedly watched over Shinobu to correct these kinds of problems, making sure that after each return of the ball, he had to immediately return to his original posture and not put on such a flashy but impractical air.

If Hyotei's players finished their game and stood on the court looking like that, I, as the acting coach, would feel ashamed just sitting here.

He looked away, his fingertips continuing to trace the edge of the trophy, his face expressionless.

On the field, the ball that the brown bear had just hit the net was still flying in mid-air.

The sneakers on Shinobu's feet scraped against the scorching rubber surface with a sharp, shimmering sound. He had anticipated this move and instantly shifted his foot to the side, precisely positioning himself where the ball would land.

With arms extended naturally, the racket is swung out cleanly and crisply.

No fancy moves, no unnecessary body movements, just a simple return of the ball. The tennis ball, spinning powerfully, slammed into the corner of the sideline in Fuji's half of the court.

Fuji's body hadn't had time to recover from that wide-open back posture.

His left arm was still raised in mid-air, his posture as graceful as a crane spreading its wings, the movement itself was simply beautiful.

But the opponent's ball had already landed.

"Bang!"

The ball landed and bounced high into the air.

The referee's megaphone blared again, its clear broadcast piercing through the clamor of the stands.

"Game, Hyotei, 1-0."

The first game ended faster than anyone expected.

With his comprehensive dominance and precise shot placement, Shinobu easily won his service game. Fuji's rhythm was completely disrupted from start to finish, and he didn't even manage to score a single point.

The cheers of support for Seigaku were abruptly cut off, as if someone had choked them.

The spectators on the sidelines were buzzing with discussion.

"That's way too fast..."

"What's wrong with Fuji? He seems completely out of sync."

"Aren't all the players at Hyotei in an abnormally good state today? Even Fuji's signature move, 'Brown Bear Trap,' was completely neutralized?"

The entire Seigaku stands remained eerily quiet. Momoshiro clenched his fists tightly, the muscles in his arms slightly tense. Kikumaru pursed his lips, his head slightly lowered. Oishi breathed softly, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper. Inui finally placed his pen on the notebook page, writing swiftly, the pen tip making a soft scratching sound as it glided across the paper.

Ryuzaki Jin stood by the coach's bench, watching Fuji, who was staring blankly on the sidelines. He was gripping the water bottle tightly in his hand, his face expressionless, but his eyes had darkened.

I felt increasingly uncertain.

It's only the first game, and it's already this difficult.

Fuji stood still, slowly lowered his arm, and turned around. His expression didn't change much, but his eyes, which were usually squinted, were now fully open. The yellow tennis ball that had rolled out of bounds was reflected in his brown pupils, and he seemed to be thinking about something.

He previously thought that even if Shinobu made progress, it would be limited.

In hindsight, he underestimated it.

Not only had his strength increased significantly, but his opponent was also frighteningly familiar with his moves. That movement just now wasn't a spontaneous reaction at all; it was more like he had already deciphered the legal logic behind the move and calculated the landing point.

Fuji closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, the smile in his eyes had deepened, but a hint of seriousness had crept in.

He switched the racket to his left hand and gently flicked his right wrist.

I imagine things will get even more interesting from here on out.