"Just got the news! In the match between France and Japan, France has already lost two straight games!" In the American team's stadium, Kiko announced the update in disbelief, turning to share it with the rest of the team.
"Heh~~~~ looks like they're putting up a decent fight," Ryōma said, a faint gleam of battle spirit flickering in his eyes.
"Based on the intel Ryōga and Ryōma brought back earlier, this result isn't exactly surprising," Hopkins said in a low, analytical tone.
"Our match is almost over anyway. How about we head over and watch theirs after this?" Dodo suggested casually, glancing toward the court where Ryōga was still playing.
No one objected to Dodo's proposal. Meanwhile, on court, the Czech team's captain, Simon Havlik Brovsky, was facing what might have been the most terrifying match of his life.
In the first set, he had gone toe-to-toe with the young Asian opponent, each game tightly contested. But when the second set began, Simon suddenly found himself lost—his body sluggish, his instincts fading.
For years, Simon had prided himself on his overwhelming explosive power and unmatched ball sense. Yet now, for some reason, both had abandoned him. He couldn't even read a simple straight shot anymore.
"Simon's done for," said Reinhardt quietly from the sidelines, his tone complicated as he watched.
"Was he off his game today or something? He doesn't look anything like the guy in the scouting report," Kiko muttered, sighing softly.
Among the American team, only Reinhardt and Ryōma knew the truth—Ryōga possessed a special ability. The rest of the team was unaware, as Ryōga had never played seriously against them before.
"Don't you think Ryōga's explosive power right now fits that scouting data on Simon better than Simon himself?" Hopkins remarked, narrowing his eyes at the court.
"Game! 6–1! Match over! Total score 2–0! Winner—America!"
With that, the American team wrapped up their first elimination match and began heading toward the court where Japan and France were still playing. By now, the French team members all wore grim expressions.
"They lost both doubles matches? Is Japan really about to pull off a major upset?" one French spectator asked nervously from the stands.
"This year's Japan team is fierce—they're on a rampage. Honestly, I'm excited to see how far they'll go!" another spectator said, clearly not French—nor Japanese either, judging by his tone.
Jonathan stood staring blankly at Kaji. According to his calculations, Kaji should have needed at least five more minutes to partially recover his stamina. Yet the man had forced himself through it, defying logic.
"To think we actually lost because of data... how ironic," Jonathan muttered with a bitter smile. His once-tied hair loosened and fell around his shoulders, as though his usual composure had melted away.
"So we lost, huh? Maybe every country underestimated Japan this year. Their main lineup... is full of middle schoolers," Edgard said softly, pressing his right shoulder and lifting his gaze toward the sky.
Meanwhile, on Japan's bench, Niō was helping Kaji back. In truth, Kaji hadn't completely recovered his stamina—the last shot had been executed by forcefully entering Godspeed through sheer willpower. Now, he could barely stand.
"Hmph. At least he didn't collapse on court," Byōdōin said calmly, glancing at Kaji. But in his eyes flickered a faint glimmer of approval.
"Well then, boss... looks like it's my turn," Duke said with a faint smile before his face hardened with focus.
"Go and secure this win for us, Duke," Byōdōin replied simply, his tone flat yet resolute—no encouragement needed.
When Edgard and Jonathan returned to the French bench, Camus offered them a few gentle words of consolation. Then, rising from his seat, he walked to the barrier, resting his racket lightly against the wall, one hand pressing beside it in a playful kabedon pose.
"I really have to thank you, my dear. Seems our earlier premonition was spot-on. Now then... let's go out there together," Camus said softly to his racket, his tone calm yet laced with quiet confidence.
"The next match will now begin—Singles Three! Representing France: Leopold Camus de Charpentier, third-year high school! Representing Japan: Duke Watanabe, third-year high school! Players, please enter the court!"
Hearing the referee's announcement, Duke froze in disbelief for a second, then quickly turned toward the bench, looking at Akashi. Akashi met his gaze calmly and gave a small nod.
'Eyes that can see the future, huh? Maybe you really are the one more suited than the captain to lead Japan forward...' Duke chuckled softly to himself, a trace of admiration flashing through his mind before his expression hardened as he stepped onto the court.
In that instant, the stadium erupted in thunderous cheers. The applause was far louder and wilder than it had been during Niō's illusion earlier. Several girls screamed so hard from excitement that they fainted from lack of oxygen, but the staff quickly rushed over to help.
"Camus-sama!!!" Countless shrill voices echoed from the stands, but Camus didn't so much as glance at them. With graceful steps, he entered the court, and as he did, a cascade of illusory flower petals drifted down, following his every move.
When Duke and Camus met at the net for the pre-match bow, neither had expected to face the other in Singles Three. Yet while Duke's eyes gleamed with a hint of excitement, Camus remained calm. He knew Duke had long wanted this match to settle things once and for all—so today, he would grant that wish.
They didn't exchange a single word. It was as if everything between them had already been said long ago. At the referee's signal, they moved to decide the serve. Camus won the toss.
"The match will be best of three sets! France to serve first!"
"My beloved told me there's no need for testing when it comes to you. So let me see if your strength has grown since joining Japan, Duke~," Camus said softly as he took position at the baseline.
He kissed the ball lightly, tossed it high, and as it rose, a glowing heart-shaped aura bloomed behind him—far brighter than any illusion Niō had conjured earlier.
The next instant, the tennis ball itself transformed into a massive glowing heart, streaking toward Duke's court. Duke's expression didn't change; as though expecting it, he moved quickly into position and swung hard at the heart-shaped ball.
But the moment his racket connected, Duke's face suddenly tensed. The ball he hit back seemed oddly soft, lacking all power—it floated forward, brushed the net, and dropped weakly to the ground.
"Ace! 15–0!"
"Love is the power that can move and transform everything—even destruction is no exception, Duke!" Camus called out, his voice ringing across the court.
"Love... huh? Maybe so~," Duke muttered, shaking his head as he refocused his gaze.
Camus tossed up the second ball right away. The massive heart reappeared, soaring toward Duke's side. But this time, instead of swinging immediately, Duke rotated halfway and struck the ball with a clean backhand return.
"To see through it in just one shot? You really are the perfect comrade for the path of revolution... such a pity~," Camus murmured with a faint smile. He glided across the court, left leg extended back in a graceful arc, his body leaning forward as his right foot twisted slightly against the court. Then, with effortless beauty, he intercepted the ball.
The ball burst apart into a storm of petals that scattered across Duke's side like a sea of flowers. Hidden among them, the real ball was impossible to distinguish.
But Duke clearly knew this move. His right arm muscles tensed, and without hesitation, he swung his racket at empty air in front of him. A thunderous crack echoed as the real ball, struck with immense power, shot straight back the way it came.
"Duke Homerun!"
"Oh? You can handle it? In that case... let's meet it head-on~," Camus replied softly, his smile unfading. He swung without hesitation. Instead of being blown away, his return sliced through the air like a yellow flash, streaking past Duke's court before smashing into the left baseline and bouncing out of bounds.
"30–0!"
"As I told you before, there's no need for apologies. Just give it your all, Duke," Camus said gently, cradling his racket as he looked across the court.