The second game was Omagari's service game, but Timothée still stood there blankly, unmoving. Since his position didn't interfere with play, the umpire didn't say anything, only gesturing for Omagari to continue serving.
At the baseline, Omagari casually tossed the ball upward and swung his racket in one smooth motion. The ball shot past Timothée without any reaction from him, then flew out of bounds.
"Ace! 15–0!"
"Ace! 30–0!"
The second serve went the same way. But this time, the worried expression on Tristan's face slowly eased. He noticed Timothée's pupils regaining focus as he braced his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.
"He broke free in less than one game?" Yukimura's gaze deepened slightly.
Omagari had already thrown the ball again, leaping into the air along with it. The two rackets in his hands crossed sharply as he swung horizontally. The next instant, the ball split into two trails, flying toward Tristan's left and right sides.
"Abare Jishi!"
Tristan didn't panic at the sight of the double balls. He quickly identified which one was real and rushed toward the bounce point. But the moment he made contact, he realized the serve carried far more force than expected.
Though he managed to return it, the rebound shot uncontrollably high. Timothée, still recovering, didn't even have time to question what was happening—he sprinted to the front court, ready to smash it down.
Then a shadow fell over him. Looking up, he saw Yukimura—coat fluttering, eyes cold—descending like a phantom. His powerful smash made Timothée react purely by instinct, raising his racket to block.
But the instant his strings met the ball, Timothée regretted it. That all-too-familiar numbness spread through him again. This time, Yukimura had only taken away his sense of touch. The impact tore the racket clean out of his hand.
"40–0!"
Even after losing the point, Timothée struck another exaggerated pose, earning shrill cheers from the girls in the stands shouting "Paris Fashion Show!" Buoyed by their screams, he shook off Yukimura's five-sense nullification once more, regaining his sense of touch.
"You okay, Moreau?" Tristan asked, walking up beside him.
"Don't worry. I already know how to deal with it now," Timothée replied, his face unusually serious.
"Looks like our opponent's found a way to counter your Five-Sense Nullification. So, what'll you do next, Yukimura-kun?" Omagari asked playfully.
"It's fine. The match has only just begun, hasn't it, Omagari-senpai?" Yukimura said calmly, completely unfazed.
"Well... can't argue with that. Guess I'll keep going!" Omagari replied, tossing up the next ball. This time, he didn't use Abare Jishi—just a normal high-speed diagonal serve.
Tristan sprinted to the spot, gripping his racket with both hands and slamming the ball with full power. It rocketed toward Yukimura, but before it even crossed the net, Omagari's figure appeared up front—his earlier "normal" serve had been a setup for a quick net rush.
Because Omagari held two rackets, his strike angles were nearly impossible to predict. Timothée focused intently, but still failed to read him in time. Fortunately, Tristan covered and returned a sharp crosscourt shot.
The next second, Omagari stretched his left arm backward, blocking the ball effortlessly. He began exchanging rapid volleys alone against the two French players. Yukimura stayed calmly in the backcourt, showing no intention of stepping in.
Even though it looked like Omagari was holding off both opponents by himself, the Japan team remained completely composed on the bench—as if they already knew what Yukimura was up to. Omagari wasn't the focus here; he was merely the support.
Tristan didn't understand why the Japan team was playing like this, but since things were in their favor, he didn't overthink it. He rushed forward and returned the incoming ball—but as he did, a fleeting image flashed through his mind. Ignoring it, he struck firmly toward the open gap between Omagari and Yukimura.
Seeing the ball's trajectory, Yukimura immediately dashed forward, but both Tristan and Timothée realized he wouldn't make it in time.
Then, Omagari suddenly slammed both rackets against the ground. A faint invisible ripple burst outward toward the ball. The ball froze midair for a fraction of a second—and in that instant of delay, Yukimura arrived in time and swung, sending the ball cleanly back across the net.
"Three-Inch Demon Smash!"
"Game! Japan! 2–0!"
"Sorry, Moreau! That one's on me—I didn't expect them to have a trick like that!" Tristan said first, his voice steady despite the loss.
Just moments earlier, Tristan had spotted a familiar figure among the audience. He knew what that presence meant, and from that moment on, he was determined to give everything alongside Timothée to win this match.
Timothée, though flamboyant on the outside, was not a talkative man. He simply shook his head lightly, signaling that the fault wasn't Tristan's alone. His expression turned serious, eyes sharpening with focus.
The third game was Timothée's serve. He sent the ball flying with a sharp motion and dashed straight to the net. Omagari mirrored his move, charging forward right after the return. The rally heated up instantly, and this time, Yukimura joined in as well—the ball flashing like lightning between the four players.
However, Tristan and Timothée's coordination exceeded even Omagari and Yukimura's expectations. As the rally dragged on, the Japan pair's rhythm faltered first. Tristan caught the opening and finished with a clean corner drive, claiming the point.
"15–0!"
After scoring, Tristan struck a pose. Unlike Timothée's earlier show, his action set the crowd ablaze—fans screamed wildly, and a few girls even tried to rush onto the court before security restrained them.
"So that's why he got banned from French tennis," Kimijima sighed helplessly from Japan's bench.
"Because he's too handsome? The audience can't focus on the match—and might even riot?" Mitsuya commented, glancing up from his data notes with mild amusement.
"Probably has something to do with the atmosphere in France," Irie said thoughtfully. "At least, you don't see this sort of thing back in Japan."
"Is this really the time to discuss that? Omagari and Yukimura look like they're being pushed back!" Kaji interjected, his tone strained.
On court, things indeed seemed as Kaji described. Omagari and Yukimura were under pressure. Though the exchanges remained fierce, they were the ones showing gaps first—and the French duo's posing performance grew bolder with each play.
"30–0!"
"30–15!"
"40–15!"
"Game! France! 2–1!"
Not long after, France claimed the third game. The match entered a short timeout. But when Omagari and Yukimura returned to the bench, their faces stayed calm and composed.
"This level's enough, right, Yukimura? I could still keep up with them, though~" Omagari said with an easy grin.
"Thank you for your support, Omagari-senpai. Honestly, this is my first time using that move in doubles. It's a good chance to experiment," Yukimura replied sincerely, his eyes glittering with resolve.
Soon the break ended, and the four returned to the court. The fourth game was Yukimura's serve. Standing at the baseline, he tossed the ball high and unleashed a fast serve before sprinting toward the front.
Tristan moved swiftly to intercept, analyzing Yukimura and Omagari's positions before striking with full force. The ball sped toward Yukimura's feet—but with a single half volley, Yukimura calmly returned it.
"Changing tactics? Or are you planning to use that strange ability on me too?" Tristan asked, watching Yukimura approach the net.
"Maybe~" Yukimura replied vaguely, then dove into rapid-fire exchanges with the two Frenchmen while Omagari supported from behind.
At first, Tristan didn't think much of the change. But as the rallies grew longer, something strange began to happen—an image kept flashing through his mind: a moment where he failed to reach a drop shot.
Before he could make sense of it, Timothée smashed the ball toward Omagari's left. Omagari slid sideways, swinging both rackets in what looked like a strong counterattack motion. Tristan and Timothée instinctively stepped back.
But then Omagari abruptly stopped his motion and pivoted aside, letting the ball pass. Yukimura emerged from behind him, slicing the ball with a smooth backhand. The spinning shot curved over the net and dropped sharply toward the ground.
Tristan lunged forward but was a fraction too late. The ball bounced weakly a few times before dying completely. And as it did, Tristan realized—the image in his head had matched this exact moment.
"15–0!"
"Looks like it worked. From here on, you'll have no future left in this match," Yukimura said coldly, his voice calm but final.