"This kind of sacrifice is something every revolution must face! Compared to a few points in a match, what truly matters is standing together on the path of revolution—with your beloved and your comrades. Don't you agree?" Camus said, his tone full of conviction as he gently ran his fingers along his racket.
For a moment, Duke was speechless. Then he exhaled, realizing that when it came to eloquence, no one could match Camus—except maybe Kimijima.
But unlike Kimijima's calm negotiations, Camus's words carried an emotional force that could sweep people along. Spend too much time with him, and you'd start to get pulled into his ideals, walking beside him on that so-called path of revolution.
So Duke didn't bother arguing. He simply turned and walked back to the baseline. As he prepared for his fourth serve, the golden light around Camus began expanding, spreading across his entire half of the court. The sight made a faint unease rise in Duke's chest.
There was no time to think about it. Duke tossed the ball and swung with full strength, his right arm bursting with power. The serve shot forward, transforming into a yellow shockwave that blasted across the net. He knew his destructive power was useless against Camus, so he focused everything into pure force instead.
The ball had barely cleared the net when Camus was already waiting at the exact landing spot, as if he had predicted the serve's direction. The ball slammed into the ground, the immense energy warping its shape before bouncing toward Camus again.
Camus met it smoothly, stepping back just slightly as he absorbed the impact. The ball became wrapped in pale golden light, morphing into a massive glowing heart before it shot back toward Duke.
Duke lunged forward, sliding a few steps to the net. With a quick backhand, he blocked the ball and let it drop softly over the net, falling toward the ground like a feather.
"Duke's drop shot!"
But before it could land, dozens of glowing flower petals drifted past Duke's shoulders. His expression froze—he turned to chase the ball, but it was too late. The petals merged midair, forming a tennis ball that struck the sideline and bounced out of bounds.
"30–30!"
"Trying to use a drop shot to avoid the influence of my light… not a bad idea. But my beloved already told me the moment you thought of it. If you still can't understand the power of love, then this match is already decided!" Camus said in a deep voice from the net, the heart-shaped radiance behind him glowing even brighter.
Duke watched silently as Camus turned and walked back to his baseline. His chest tightened with a mix of emotions, all of which faded into a single quiet sigh. He reset his stance and unleashed another powerful serve.
Camus's aura flared instantly. Every return he made was wrapped in heart-shaped light, forcing Duke to split his focus—he couldn't swing with full strength and had to control each shot's trajectory manually.
That distraction was fatal in a match like this. After only four or five rallies, Duke's timing slipped for just a second, and Camus seized the opening without mercy, scoring another point.
"30–40!"
"Come on… spare me! This is the first time I've seen Duke-senpai look so beat-up even after going full power!" Ōmagari groaned, rubbing his forehead in disbelief from Japan's bench.
"Normal Ten'i Muhō no Kiwami can be resisted for a short while with enough focus," Fuji said gravely, eyes narrowing. "But Camus's ability doesn't even allow Duke-senpai to concentrate. There's no way to counter it. So this is the strength of France's captain, huh?"
"Of course. Why else do you think he's called the man who can usher in a new era of tennis?" Byoudouin replied evenly, glancing at Fuji.
"Camus is strong, no doubt. But Duke's not himself today. He's slower—less sharp than usual," Tanegashima murmured, brow furrowed as he watched Duke intently.
As the others spoke, Duke faltered again. In a flash, Camus appeared at the net and sent the ball toward Duke's left blind spot.
Duke reacted, spinning and lunging desperately to intercept. He barely got his racket on the ball—but a massive glowing heart enveloped him at once. The next moment, his return slammed into the net.
"Game! France! 2–0!"
It was Camus's turn to serve in the third game. He stepped to the baseline, glanced at Duke across the court, then slowly raised the tennis ball to his face and pressed a tender kiss on it. With his voice swelling in passion, he declared,
"The road of revolution is bound to be filled with thorns! To strengthen my conviction, I now proclaim a vow of love to tennis itself! With this serve, I will score directly!"
As soon as he finished speaking, Camus tossed the ball high. Illusory petals drifted down from the air, blanketing the court in a dazzling, dreamlike scene that seemed almost unreal.
But Duke wasn't in the mood to appreciate it. His eyes locked on Camus's every movement. The moment he heard the crisp sound of the racket, he predicted the general direction of the serve and dashed to the landing point.
Surrounded by a flurry of falling petals, Duke swung hard without hesitation—but froze the next instant. His racket had cut through empty air.
"Ace! 15–0!"
"It's useless, Duke! Once a vow is made, it must be fulfilled! A revolution can accept failure, but never lies!" Camus declared solemnly, pressing his left hand to his chest while holding his racket high with his right.
"Your tennis… it's evolved to this level already, Léopold," Duke murmured softly, staring at his opponent.
"Camus! Camus! Camus! Camus!"
As his vow came true, the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers, their voices merging into a unified chant of his name. Camus responded with an elegant bow, a perfect display of noble grace.
Unfortunately, the ever-unmoved head umpire broke the moment, signaling for Camus to resume play. The serve clock was running. Still poised, Camus picked up another ball and smoothly tossed it skyward.
"Damn, this move… Camus just placed a huge psychological burden on Duke. It's going to mess with his focus even more!" Irie said from the sidelines, his tone suddenly tense.
With his sharp insight into people's hearts, he could already sense Duke's growing emotional turmoil. Concern flickered in his eyes, and without thinking, he turned toward Akashi.
But Akashi remained perfectly calm, expression unshaken. Byoudouin too stayed silent and composed. Both of them understood—this was Duke's wall to overcome, and no one else could help him now.
On the court, Duke finally managed to return the serve. The two clashed in a lightning-fast rally. Learning from his earlier mistakes, Duke no longer obsessed over precision angles. Instead, he stepped up to the net, body leaning forward, returning each shot with raw, direct power.
Every return was a clean, flat strike—no spin, no hesitation. It was a pure power duel, dragging Camus into a rhythm where strength ruled over finesse. And each time the glowing heart-shaped aura tried to envelop Duke, it shattered on contact, scattering like glass.
"As expected," Akashi said evenly, eyes glinting as he watched. "Love and destruction don't suppress one another. They simply oppose each other."
A tremendous boom echoed across the court. Duke launched another Homerun, the ball exploding into a shockwave of destructive force that roared toward Camus. Camus's eyes narrowed—after a brief moment of hesitation, he sidestepped the blast.
"15–15!"
"Looks like you've finally cleared the fog in your heart. But even so, you still have no chance of winning this match," Camus said coolly as he stepped back to the baseline, his aura flaring sharply upward like a golden storm.