After hearing Camus's words, Duke fell silent. He didn't know how to respond, so he simply stepped back to the baseline, waiting for Camus to serve again.
Watching Duke's expression, Camus sighed quietly. He knew that no matter what he said, Duke's guilt wouldn't fade easily. His eyes sharpened with resolve—words were useless now. Only tennis could decide this. That was Camus's path of revolution.
Once Duke readied himself, Camus tossed the ball high and unleashed an ordinary super-speed serve, immediately rushing toward the net. Out of the corner of his eye, Duke caught the movement but didn't pay much attention. He stepped forward, met the ball cleanly, and drove it forward with a powerful forehand.
The tennis ball tore through the air like a shockwave, but Camus was already at the front. With graceful ease, he intercepted it, the immense force on the ball seeming to have no effect on him at all.
Seeing the ball float gently over the net, Duke sprinted forward a few steps and scooped it up just before it landed, returning a high lob in the process.
But Camus was already back at the baseline, as if he had known exactly how Duke would react. As the ball began to descend, Camus stood on one leg and started to spin in place, his movements filled with artistic beauty.
Then, with a sharp whip of sound, the ball transformed into a streak of yellow light, flashing past Duke's side before slamming into the backcourt and bouncing out of bounds.
"40–0!"
"The ball just told me—you lost focus, Duke," Camus said firmly, his gaze blazing like fire.
"I…" Duke couldn't find the words, but the lost point helped clear the haze in his mind. He pushed aside the distracting emotions, his eyes now heavy with focus as he faced Camus again.
Camus served once more, another super-speed shot. Duke reached the ball and exploded with full strength, the massive sound of impact echoing through the court as the tennis ball transformed into a roaring yellow shockwave, hurtling straight toward Camus.
Camus didn't hesitate for even a moment. He moved forward to meet the ball, his racket already telling him—this one could be caught. When the ball struck his racket, he absorbed the momentum, his body twisting gracefully like a gymnast mid-routine. The ball clung to his racket throughout, never once losing contact.
In a seamless motion, Camus returned it. The terrifying power that had filled the ball vanished completely. Duke frowned slightly, his right arm muscles bulging until it looked like his uniform might tear at any second.
As he prepared to unleash his Duke Homerun, a glowing heart-shaped aura enveloped his entire body. Duke roared in defiance, swinging with full power, his racket cutting through the air with a deafening boom.
"No matter how hard you struggle, it's useless. My beloved already told me—this ball won't cross the net. That's the power of love," Camus said calmly, turning his back as he began walking toward the baseline.
Just as he said, Duke's Homerun slammed into the net. The raw power behind it was enough to make the net quake, nearly tearing free from its posts—but the ball still didn't cross.
"Game! France! 1–0!"
"You're kidding me! Duke-senpai didn't even score a single point!?" Kirihara shouted from Japan's bench, eyes wide with disbelief.
"This is the Light of Pride fused with Camus's power of love," Akashi said evenly, his tone analytical as he explained what his Omniscient All-Star had revealed. "Ordinary Light of Pride slows reaction speed. But his love nullifies the opponent's control over the ball to the greatest extent."
"I see… love's a double-edged sword. It can bring joy—but it can also make you lose yourself," Irie muttered, his expression serious.
'Duke's destructive power stands on the same level as Camus's love. The problem is, he's still lost within himself,' Coach Mifune thought silently, his sharp gaze locked on the court.
The second game began with Duke serving. He stepped up to the baseline, took a deep breath, and then suddenly roared. In that instant, his Japan team jacket ripped apart, the shreds fluttering down like confetti.
"So you're finally getting serious, Duke," Camus murmured softly, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Exposed muscle gleaming under the lights, Duke tossed the ball high. As he struck it, an invisible, sinister force wrapped itself around the ball. It shot toward Camus's left corner at incredible speed.
Camus moved in a blur, appearing right at the drop point. But the moment his racket met the rising ball, his balance suddenly faltered, as if his body was about to collapse.
"Balance disruption, huh? Unfortunately for you, with my beloved's support, I won't fall that easily!" Camus said calmly, sending the ball cleanly back across the court.
In the next instant, Duke's eyes flashed red. A deafening boom exploded across the court as his racket connected, releasing a massive shockwave that tore past Camus, lifting his golden hair in the blast.
"Duke Homerun!"
"15–0!"
"Now that's more like the King of Destruction! From here on, I won't hold back anymore. Even if I must sever the bond of our revolutionary friendship with my own hands, I'll claim victory—for France!" Camus declared, his body glowing brighter as his aura shifted into a pale golden light.
At first glance, it resembled the divine radiance of Zeus from Mount Olympus—but this was something else entirely, a unique power that belonged only to Camus. Seeing that light, Duke's expression grew grim. He knew exactly how formidable Camus truly was.
Without hesitation, Duke tossed the ball again. The serve once more carried his destructive force, shooting toward the right baseline on Camus's side. But Camus's figure seemed to vanish completely within the brilliance, leaving no trace of movement to follow.
A second later, Duke caught a glimpse of flower petals drifting past his right side. Instinctively, he stepped back and swung at the empty air in front of him. The crowd gasped as countless petals fused into a spinning tennis ball right on Duke's racket.
With a powerful motion of his arm, Duke smashed the ball back. But Camus suddenly appeared at the net. Spinning in a perfect 180 degrees, he swung a graceful backhand downward. The ball hit the ground sharply and shot past Duke before he could reach it, flying out of bounds.
"15–15!"
"The Niō Masaharu you saw only copied the me from two years ago. And the version of me you know, Duke, is also from two years ago. But I've continued walking the path of revolution since then—there's no way I'll lose this match~," Camus's soft voice drifted across the court as Duke prepared for his next serve.
"Yeah, it's been two years all right. But you're not the only one who's kept moving forward, Léopold," Duke finally replied, his tone low but steady.
He launched his next serve, and Camus immediately returned it. The two traded rapid volleys, their movements almost impossible to follow. Camus intercepted every shot with impossible grace, while Duke's speed defied his heavy frame, darting across the court with explosive agility.
A storm of petals once again filled Duke's side of the court. Duke tightened his focus, his eyes tracking every shimmer. With a sudden push of his legs, he lunged left, unleashing a massive yellow shockwave that tore straight toward Camus.
Camus's light flared brilliantly. He stepped forward as if to intercept—but then abruptly stopped. His brows furrowed slightly as the shockwave skimmed past his body, smashing into the baseline and flying out of bounds.
"30–15!"
"That last Homerun—you could've returned it easily with your strength. But you held back to keep your racket from breaking. That hesitation… that's your greatest weakness, Léopold," Duke said in a deep voice, still holding his follow-through stance.