After Timothée struck his pose, countless French spectators started shouting "Paris Fashion Week!" turning the entire stadium into what looked like a fan meet rather than a tennis match. Many of the Japanese spectators were clearly at a loss for words.
"Ah, I really don't want to remember my days as a world-class fashion designer~" Mifune-sensei muttered with a hint of smug nostalgia, holding up an old photo of himself winning an award. The Japan team players all turned to stare at him in disbelief.
On court, Tristan tossed the ball high again. This time, he aimed it toward Yukimura's right sideline. But just like before, the ball's trajectory changed the moment it bounced, curving sharply in the opposite direction.
Yukimura sprinted to the spot, but his eyes were locked on Timothée. As expected, the French player began to move early again. A faint glint flashed through Yukimura's eyes as he feinted a baseline shot, only to switch directions at the last second.
However, Timothée seemed prepared. Unlike before, he didn't turn around immediately. The ball passed right by his side—straight into Tristan's waiting racket behind him. Tristan intercepted it cleanly and sent a gentle drop shot floating over the net.
Omagari dashed forward and barely lifted the ball back up with a sliding step. Unfortunately, Timothée was already midair, slamming the return straight down. The ball hit the front court hard and bounced out of bounds.
"30–0!"
Watching Timothée strike yet another ridiculous pose, Omagari felt his patience wearing thin. Even with his endurance, he'd never faced something this absurd. The French team had seemed normal enough last World Cup—what the hell happened this time?
"What's wrong, little Japanese pretty boy? Don't you want to have a pose battle with us?" Tristan called out teasingly.
"A pose battle, huh? I see... so that's your tennis style?" Before Omagari could respond, Yukimura spoke first, his tone calm but sharp.
Just as Omagari was about to add something, Timothée suddenly bent low, assuming an attack stance—only for Tristan to stop him with a gesture. Omagari blinked, dumbfounded.
"Ne, Omagari-senpai. I think it's about time we get serious, don't you think?" Yukimura said firmly, his smile fading.
"What a pain... fine, I get it!" Omagari sighed. He walked to the side, pulled a second racket out of his bag, and returned to the court wielding both.
Tristan blinked in surprise. He'd seen plenty of ambidextrous players—he was one himself—but this was the first time he'd ever seen someone literally holding two rackets.
But the serve clock was ticking, so Tristan didn't dwell on it. He quickly tossed the ball and sent it toward Omagari's back-right corner. The ball curved after bouncing, but Omagari's coverage area was simply too wide—he returned it easily.
Timothée moved to the net, throwing out a flurry of dazzling feints before suddenly smashing the ball toward the open space between Yukimura and Omagari. But in a blur of motion, the Japan team uniform flashed—Yukimura was already there.
As Yukimura hit the return, a surge of mental energy rippled through him. Timothée intercepted and countered crosscourt toward Omagari, but Omagari swung both rackets at once. Before Timothée could even react, the ball whizzed past his side—Omagari had mirrored his own trick, returning feint for feint.
Tristan had retreated to the baseline at some point. It was a rushed shot, but he managed to block Omagari's drive. The ball soared high into the air.
Without hesitation, Omagari leapt upward, both rackets raised behind him, and smashed the ball with full force. It blazed through the air like a fiery comet, streaking straight between Tristan and Timothée.
"30–15!"
"Double Dragon Slash!"
After scoring, Omagari twirled both rackets around his arms, then spread them apart—one forward, one back—striking a pose of his own. It wasn't quite the same style as the French team's, but the Japanese fans in the stands roared in approval.
"Uh... did Omagari just get infected by them?" Kaji said dryly from the bench, staring at his teammate in disbelief.
"The Japan team must not lose this beauty contest! Omagari! Use your manly charm to conquer them!" Mifune-sensei suddenly shouted from the coach's seat, his voice booming across the court.
"Yare yare~ things really turned out this way after all," Kimijima muttered helplessly.
"Then... Yukimura! You can't let your beauty go to waste either! Win this match no matter what!" Sanada suddenly shouted too, feeling an inexplicable surge of passion, joining Mifune in the madness.
But the moment Yukimura heard Sanada's words, a sharp glint flashed in his eyes. In the next instant, an overwhelming surge of spiritual energy erupted from within him, and to everyone's shock, Sanada's pupils suddenly lost focus.
Akashi sighed deeply, exhausted just watching the absurdity unfold. He'd known that any match against the French team would go off the rails, but he hadn't expected their own head coach, Mifune-sensei, to be the first one swept up into the chaos.
Tristan soon served again, and the game finally returned to a normal exchange. This time, Omagari didn't rush the net—instead, he focused on covering Yukimura, allowing him to take full control of the counterattack.
Yukimura's performance was flawless. No matter how many feints Timothée threw out, none could confuse him anymore. Even Tristan's powerful drives were calmly deflected with ease.
Gradually, both French players began to feel an illusion—an unshakable sense that the calm, jacketed figure before them was beyond their reach. Then, Yukimura suddenly poured his mental energy into the ball and aimed it straight at Timothée.
The instant Timothée's racket made contact, a wave of numbness ran through his entire body. His sight and hearing began to fade, until all that remained was a silent, colorless void.
"30–30!"
"You're stronger than I thought... but it's about time I stripped you of your five senses!" Yukimura said coldly. As he activated the Five-Sense Nullification, waves of dark emotion flowed through his mental power, making his expression turn distant and icy.
"What's wrong, Moreau?! Answer me!" Tristan called out, panic rising as Timothée stood frozen in place.
"Eh~ don't bother shouting, buddy! He can't hear or see anything right now! Our middle schooler's kind of terrifying, you know~" Omagari shrugged with a helpless smile, as if apologizing for his teammate's overwhelming power.
"You've... gotta be kidding! What kind of ability is that?!" At the French bench, Jonathan blurted out in alarm, his voice trembling slightly.
"Calm down! Didn't you already collect his data?" Edgard said, trying to steady him.
"Could this be... the legendary Japanese ninjutsu?" Auguir's eyes sparkled with admiration, completely missing the point.
"Five-sense nullification, huh? An impressive technique indeed~ But with my beloved by my side, such tricks won't work on me!" Camus murmured affectionately, gently stroking his racket.
On court, with Timothée completely trapped in his void of lost senses, Tristan was left struggling alone against the combined assault of Omagari and Yukimura. Despite his best efforts, he soon began to falter—after all, he wasn't strong enough to take on two opponents by himself.
"30–40!"
"Game! Japan! 1–0!"
Under the crushing power of Yukimura's Five-Sense Nullification, Japan broke France's serve and claimed the first game. Meanwhile, Timothée still stood motionless, unable to escape from the nothingness that had swallowed his senses.