Bang!
Bang!!
The sound of the ball striking the racket rang out without pause. Around the court, a terrifying silence had fallen. The Seigaku players, who had traveled all this way for a practice match, clenched their fists and gritted their teeth, as if they wanted to tear the man on the court to pieces.
The two players on court had changed dramatically.
Sweat had nearly soaked through the shirt Fuji was wearing, and the score displayed on the glaring scoreboard—
—was already warning that the match was nearing its end.
0–5!
Since Fuji had served first, his score came first, with Kamikawa's following.
The match had lasted only ten minutes, yet Fuji was drenched in sweat. His condition had deteriorated badly, much like Yamato's during the match just before.
He was at an absolute disadvantage. More than the drain on his stamina, it was the mental strain that was wearing him down.
Was Fuji weak?!
Not at all. At least, no one thought he was weak.
Even Yamato believed Fuji had Kanto-level ability. On any team, Fuji could have been a regular, and was even good enough to lead the entire tennis club forward.
Only someone capable of leading a team through the Kanto Tournament, among the hundreds or even thousands of tennis schools, could be called Kanto-level.
Even Yamato had only barely reached the threshold of Kanto-level in his second year, just before entering his third.
As for Fuji, he had only just started his first year of middle school. He still had plenty of time to grow.
His talent was so terrifying that even Yamato couldn't help but marvel at it.
And yet Fuji, despite being so capable, was struggling this badly.
Bang!!
Just then, while Fuji was distracted, a gleaming yellow ball struck the other side