Staring at Yukimura and Omagari across the court, then glancing at the current score, Tristan and Timothée's faces turned pale at the same time. Only now did they realize—they'd been completely hypnotized, trapped in an illusion.
Even after understanding what had happened, both still couldn't believe it. They were no strangers to hypnosis—after all, their team included a teammate who could hypnotize with color patterns, and even Timothée's ballet tennis carried a faint hypnotic effect.
But Yukimura's illusion was something else entirely. This wasn't mere hypnosis—it was an illusionary world so real that even top hypnotists might not replicate it. That was what shook Tristan and Timothée the most.
In truth, Yukimura's dream state only looked similar to hypnosis, but it was a completely different concept. Dream illusion was essentially a manifestation of Yips. When an opponent fell into that condition, the brain's defense mechanisms would activate, leading to sensory deprivation. That same mechanism allowed the illusion to form.
The principle behind it was simple: while the brain tried to protect itself, it subconsciously built the most comfortable illusion possible. In other words, Yukimura didn't actively create the dream with mental force—the illusion was constructed by the victim's own mind.
Volk's Wirbel Taufe worked on a similar basis, though his wasn't Yips—it was sheer mental oppression that forced the opponent's brain to sever its memory chain. That was why Akashi believed this technique might give Yukimura new inspiration.
The sixth game was Omagari's serve. Watching Yukimura enter his Alternate Dimension state, he sighed softly and muttered, "Seriously, give me a break! I thought we'd wrap this up easily. Guess I'll have to get serious now, or they'll say I'm slacking off. What a pain~"
He tossed the ball high. In a flash, he leapt into the air, every muscle in his arms tensed as he crossed his two rackets and slashed horizontally. The ball spun violently, packed with explosive force, and rocketed into the opposite half.
"Abare Tora!"
Timothée still couldn't quite accept losing five games in a row so inexplicably, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. He rushed toward the landing point. He had already analyzed this high schooler's shot in the last set—he knew exactly how to handle it.
Yet, the instant his racket met the rising ball, a fierce tearing pain shot through his wrist—it felt like a tiger had bitten down hard on it. The next second, his racket flew from his hand.
"ACE! 15–0!"
"I never said that earlier Abare Tora was my full power," Omagari said, spinning both rackets once before gripping them in reverse, his tone losing its usual laziness.
Rubbing his aching wrist, Timothée walked to the sideline to pick up his racket, his face darkening. Facing this kind of overwhelming power, he couldn't think of a single way out.
Seeing him retrieve the racket, Omagari didn't give him time to recover. He tossed the ball again and unleashed another fierce Abare Tora. The ball spun wildly and streaked toward the back right corner.
Timothée barely had time to think. He dashed to the landing spot, gripped the racket with both hands, and struck with all his might. The familiar tearing pain came again, but since he was using both hands, the racket didn't fly out this time.
With a roar, he finally managed to return the ball. Up front, Tristan was already in position to intercept, but the moment Yukimura appeared at the net, a wave of unease washed over him.
As Yukimura swung his racket, countless images flashed through Tristan's mind—points lost, matches thrown, even France being eliminated.
"Nightmare Descent!"
Frozen by the vision, Tristan couldn't move. Luckily, Timothée rushed forward just in time, blocking the ball and hiding the point of contact with his graceful ballet-like motion.
But Omagari never took his eyes off him. The instant the ball crossed the net, Omagari reacted instantly, completely unfazed by Timothée's deceptive rhythm.
Both rackets swung from behind his body—no one could see his motion clearly. A blur streaked across the court, and the ball turned into a ray of light, slicing past the stunned Tristan and landing sharply in the far-left corner.
"Double Dragon Slash!"
Timothée gritted his teeth and chased after the ball. He managed to save it just before it bounced out of the baseline, but Omagari was already at the net. With a soft slice, he brushed the ball lightly, sending it floating gently over the net and dropping toward the court.
Timothée, standing in the backcourt, couldn't reach it in time. At that split second, Tristan snapped out of his dazed state, sliding sideways in a quick motion and scooping the ball up just before it hit the ground.
But in the next instant, a streak of fire flashed before his eyes. The ball smashed hard onto the center line, rebounding out of bounds. Omagari had already anticipated Tristan's movement—the shot was his finishing technique, Double Dragon Petal Slash.
Unfortunately, the shot didn't end the point. Timothée suddenly appeared in the ball's path, gripping his racket with both hands as he returned the powerful smash.
Then, something shocking happened. Countless silhouettes of Yukimura appeared across the opposite court, each representing a different ball trajectory. The scene paralyzed Tristan and Timothée's thoughts instantly.
"Dream Whisper Incantation!"
Under the chant of the Alternate Dimension—Morpheus, the ball streaked between Tristan and Timothée, struck the ground, and shot out of bounds before either of them could react.
"30–0!"
In the French team's player seats, Camus let out a faint sigh. He knew clearly—France had already lost this Doubles Two match. Though Tristan and Timothée were a world-class doubles pair, individually, they were still half a step below true world level.
Their opponents from the Japan Team were clearly world-class in strength. Even if their coordination wasn't perfect, their overwhelming power made up for it. Especially that middle schooler's technique—it was the type professional players dreaded most: mental-force tennis.
"As expected, the road to revolution won't ever be smooth. Maybe only after tasting defeat can one truly savor the joy of success," Camus murmured to himself.
By now, Omagari had launched a third Abare Tora. Tristan, being stronger than Timothée, managed to return it, but Yukimura suddenly unleashed an immense surge of mental energy. Behind him, Morpheus's phantom shimmered with a holy radiance.
Before everyone's astonished eyes, Morpheus's form began to change. The enormous butterfly wings dissolved, replaced by a pair of crystal-colored angelic wings. A massive, multicolored halo slowly appeared behind Morpheus's head.
"Second-Stage Alternate Dimension—Morpheus!"
Inside the spiritual realm, Tristan and Timothée both fell into eternal sleep. A golden light then descended from the heavens, erasing their dreaming forms completely.
"40–0!"
As the umpire's announcement echoed, the two snapped back to reality. They turned toward Yukimura—his jacket rippled without wind, and the Alternate Dimension behind him blazed with dazzling brilliance.
Even Omagari was shaken. From his match with Oni until now hadn't been long, yet Yukimura had already mastered a Second-Stage Alternate Dimension. Were all middle schoolers monsters now?
Still, Yukimura's extraordinary talent was undeniable. Perhaps only someone like Akashi could suppress him completely for three straight years. With that thought, Omagari sighed, then tossed the ball and unleashed a blazing fast serve.
Even at match point, Tristan refused to give up. He sprinted toward the landing spot and sent back a diagonal shot. This time, Yukimura didn't even bother to return it—both Tristan and Timothée were already trapped in a complete loss of all five senses.
Expressionless, Yukimura flashed to the net and struck the ball casually. In their Yips state, neither Tristan nor Timothée could move. The ball landed squarely on the baseline, then bounced out of bounds. At that moment, France's first match of the round came to an end.
"Game! 6–0! Match over! Winner: Japan Team! Total score 2–0!"
Japan claimed the first victory in Doubles Two—a perfect opening that no one had expected. Before the match, most of the audience had believed France would easily sweep the round of sixteen with a clean 3–0.
Now, however, the stunned spectators could only stare at Omagari and Yukimura. But the match was already over—no amount of surprise could change the outcome.
"That's quite a thorough defeat, huh~" Tristan said with a wry smile. He walked over to the still-dazed Timothée and patted his shoulder reassuringly.
When Timothée finally came to, he looked toward the stands where his father sat. To his surprise, the older man was smiling proudly, clapping and even giving him a thumbs-up.
Seeing that, and remembering his father's unconditional support for his tennis career, Timothée's eyes began to blur with tears. Fortunately, Tristan slung an arm around his shoulders and led him off the court—saving him from breaking down in front of the crowd.