While the high schoolers were still thinking over Akashi's question, Duke slowly stepped out from the shadows. He walked up to everyone, bowed deeply, and admitted that he'd been selfish this time. He would accept any arrangement Mifune-sensei made for him.
In the end, thanks to Akashi's intervention, they didn't open the lineup sheet. But on the way back, they stumbled upon a strange scene—on a court next to the hotel, Tōyama Kintarō, in Japan team uniform, was going all out against Echizen Ryōma, who was in the uniform of the U.S. team.
The two were completely unaware of their audience, totally focused on their intense match. Akashi, however, sharply noticed Echizen Ryōga's silhouette in the trees and walked over without hesitation.
"You brought Ryōma here?" Akashi asked calmly once he reached Ryōga's side.
"Nope, the little guy insisted on coming. Said he had a promise to keep with Tōyama Kintarō," Ryōga said with a shrug after taking a bite of his orange, clearly helpless.
"Oh? So, are you really planning to stay on the U.S. team?" Akashi suddenly changed the topic, catching Ryōga off guard.
"Of course... the environment here is perfect for the kid's growth. Naturally, I'll be sticking with him," Ryōga answered matter-of-factly, but a flicker of something flashed in his eyes.
"Is that so... Then give my regards to Nanjirō-senpai," Akashi nodded slightly and dropped that cryptic line before turning away, leaving Ryōga lost in thought.
Akashi didn't bother with what happened next. But the following day, when he heard that Kintarō had slept for most of the day, he more or less figured out what had gone down last night. Ryōma was probably catching up on sleep at the hotel too.
Tomorrow was the match against France. Today, everyone was resting up—no chaos for once. After dinner, everyone gathered in the hotel lobby. Mifune and the three coaches came in holding the finalized lineup.
"Now announcing tomorrow's lineup! First, the captain—Akashi Seijurō!" Mifune said loudly to the group.
Akashi nodded calmly. He'd already known this yesterday. Although he was the captain for this match, he wouldn't be playing singles.
"Next, the players are: Duke Watanabe, Irie Kanata, Omagari Ryūji, Kaji Kazena, Yukimura Seiichi, and Niō Masaharu! And just in case, Tezuka Kunimitsu will be the reserve! Got that?" Mifune announced all the names in one go.
Reactions varied. Some were excited, others disappointed. But overall, everyone accepted the coach's selections. Even Tezuka was fine with it. Though he was a reserve, he knew the coaches weren't planning to let him play too early—not while he was still figuring out how to merge the three types of Radiance.
As for Byoudouin, Oni, and Akutsu, Mifune had already spoken to them yesterday. To conserve strength. Even if they beat France, two brutal matches still lay ahead for the Japan team.
Byoudouin and Oni understood and accepted the decision. Akutsu, though, took some convincing—Mifune had to talk quite a bit before Akashi stepped in to calm him down. In the end, Akutsu reluctantly agreed, but demanded to play in the match against Switzerland.
No one doubted that Switzerland would beat Canada. The skill gap between the two teams was enormous. Not every country could be a surprise dark horse like Japan.
On the day of the knockout stage, tons of Japanese fans had flown all the way to Australia to cheer for the U-17 team. Even Seigaku's three little ones somehow showed up—no one knew who bought their plane tickets.
With the crowd roaring in support, Japan and France entered the court almost simultaneously. Since this was now the knockout stage, they weren't playing in a small group-stage arena anymore. All the Japan team members had come to the venue.
"Up next is the first match of the U-17 World Cup knockout stage (Round of 16)! France versus Japan!" the referee announced as Akashi led the starting players to the net.
"Long time no see, Camus," Duke said, his expression a little conflicted.
"Judging by your face, I know exactly what you're thinking, Duke! Betrayal is necessary for revolution, so there's no need to apologize," Camus replied with elegance.
"Hey, aren't you short one player?" Akashi suddenly asked Camus, eyeing the French team, which had only six members present.
"Don't worry. He'll be here before the match starts," Camus replied casually, completely unconcerned about Plance's tardiness.
Just as he finished speaking, a white horse suddenly trotted out from the player tunnel. Plance sat calmly atop it, riding all the way to the court's edge. He dismounted with grace and gave a refined aristocratic bow to the crowd.
Omagari stared at the red-haired guy across from them and suddenly remembered—wasn't this the guy who was fighting with Ryōma over that girl? A few days ago, since the guy hadn't been wearing a France uniform, Omagari hadn't realized he was actually on the French team.
Once everyone finished the formal group bows, the match was about to begin. Mifune sat at the coach's seat, eyes on the two players warming up nearby, and his heart surged with pride.
"Up next is the Doubles Two match! For France—Tristan Bardot (third-year high school), Timothée Moreau (second-year high school)! For Japan—Omagari Ryūji (third-year high school), Yukimura Seiichi (third-year middle school)! Players, please take the court!"
The four quickly walked onto the court. Akashi, watching from the bench, couldn't help but twitch internally at Timothée's walking posture. 'Is that a titanic abnormality pose or what?'
And then there was the story with Tristan. Rumor had it he was nearly banned from France's tennis circles for being too handsome. If not for Tanegashima stepping in, he wouldn't even be allowed to keep playing. Akashi could swear he'd never encountered anything this bizarre in both his lifetimes.
As expected from a team led by Camus—every single one of them was a character. Let's take a look at who they had: a guy who claimed to be a ninja but constantly messed up his kanji, a cocky youth who said he was a prince (real or fake, who knew), a face-paint artist who could hypnotize teammates into changing personalities at will, a so-called data tennis player who was actually just an easily hypnotized middle schooler, and of course, Camus himself—who was basically dating his racket. Just thinking about it was exhausting.
Timothée's seductive stride made Omagari break out in stress lines, while Yukimura just smiled serenely as usual. After greeting each other at the net, they did the coin toss. France won serve.
"Best of three sets! France will serve first!"
Tristan walked to the baseline, glancing at Yukimura, who was still wearing his warmup jacket, a hint of interest in his eyes. He tossed the ball high and smashed it with a swift right-handed swing.
The ball flew toward Yukimura's left baseline with sharp spin, but twisted in mid-air just after crossing the net. By the time it bounced, it had veered sharply into the far-left corner.
"That's a wicked slice serve," Yukimura said with a smile, appearing in front of the ball in a blink.
Just as he was about to swing, Timothée suddenly sprinted left. Yukimura's eyes narrowed slightly, and he hit a straight shot down the line.
But the moment Yukimura struck the ball, Timothée twisted his feet and lunged right instead. He raised his racket with his left hand as if to hit a backhand, spun once on the spot, and ended up returning the shot with a forehand.
Omagari got caught by the fake-out and misjudged the play, watching the ball flash past him. Even Yukimura looked mildly surprised.
"15–0!"
After winning the point, Timothée struck a flamboyant pose and made an indescribable sound, making Omagari shudder, while Yukimura gave him a weird look.
"Multiple feints? And what's with the random posing? Come on, give me a break!" Omagari groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration.