When Federer and Pugu tore off their uniforms, the atmosphere in the arena instantly exploded. Federer's powerful muscles gleamed under the sunlight with a metallic sheen, while Pugu looked like a warrior carved from ancient stone. Their combined presence—pure strength and sculpted beauty—formed a scene that left the entire audience breathless.
The crowd erupted. Applause and cheers roared through the stadium, nearly shaking the ground itself. Some female spectators even whistled excitedly, eyes shining with admiration. The sight of overwhelming power wrapped in refined form—this was their idea of perfection.
But amid the excitement, unease lingered. Across the court, Date and Ishida Gin stood frozen, their expressions hardening.
They both knew what it meant for a power player to "break their shirt." When an athlete reached that level, they were unleashing every ounce of their strength—and now their opponents were about to fight seriously. For Date and Ishida, that was bad news.
Still, retreat wasn't an option.
Standing behind the baseline, Date gathered all his strength in his right arm, tossing the ball high. The crack of his serve split the air like lightning as it flew toward Pugu's back corner.
"Man's Autumn!" he shouted.
Though he'd used that move before, serving with it was a first—and it caught Pugu off guard. His reaction was just a beat too slow. He lunged sideways, but the ball flashed past the edge of his racket, landing perfectly inside before rolling out.
"ACE! 15–0!"
The umpire's call echoed through the court. Date wasted no time, tossing up the next ball and unleashing another Man's Autumn.
This time, Pugu was ready. Using his signature martial arts footwork, he barely managed to reach it. The shot had blinding speed but lacked some raw power, and Pugu took advantage—countering with a forehand drive. For an ordinary player, it would have been heavy; for someone like him, it was nearly effortless.
Ishida Gin dashed forward, crouched slightly, and gathered power in his left arm before swinging with full force. The impact roared through the air like thunder.
"Final Style—Hadoukyu!!!" Ishida shouted, his voice echoing across the court.
This was the ultimate form of the Hadoukyu—his perfected strike, born from every lesson and failure he'd faced. The moment the racket met the ball, a massive shockwave burst out, racing toward Pugu's side.
Pugu charged up to meet it, his body moving with a sinuous flow like a serpent weaving through the air. His muscles bulged like tempered steel as he planted both feet and swung with a powerful shout.
The two forces collided with a crack that sounded like glass breaking. The ball turned into a streak of crimson light, slicing cleanly between Date and Ishida before smashing into the backcourt. Dust exploded upward, and the ground cracked open where it struck.
"Shattered Star!"
"15–15!"
After scoring, Pugu's face lit up with joy. He adjusted the cap on his head, tilting it back into perfect alignment. Then, striking a bold, fluid pose, he flexed elegantly—his every movement precise and commanding. Together with Federer, this had become their trademark victory celebration.
Across the court, Date's expression darkened, his brows drawn tight. The very thing he had dreaded was happening before his eyes. They had countered Ishida's Final Style Hadoukyu—the very move that had been his partner's trump card.
He turned toward Federer, who was already moving before the ball even left the racket. It wasn't his speed—that wasn't his strong suit—but something else entirely.
Absolute Ball Sense.
Just like Akashi and Fuji, Federer possessed that rare ability—to read the ball's path the instant it was struck. Unlike Akashi, whose Emperor Eye rendered such skill nearly redundant, for Federer and Fuji it was a priceless weapon.
With that instinct, Federer could react before the opponent's shot even took shape, covering his lack of speed with perfect timing and prediction. It was that uncanny precision, paired with Pugu's martial-arts-based footwork, that made them one of the most balanced doubles pairs in the world—strength and control in perfect harmony.
At the world level, there were no players without weaknesses—but every one of them possessed something uniquely their own.
Federer's return came screaming across the net like an artillery shell, smashing toward Japan's side. Ishida instinctively stepped forward to intercept, but Date stopped him just in time.
Date was already preparing to unleash Man's Winter. He took a deep breath, his aura surging as power gathered in every muscle. Stepping up to meet the ball, he swung without hesitation, blasting out a Man's Summer. Then, as the rally continued, his breathing quickened—deep, heavy, almost as if he was inhaling all the air around him.
Federer intercepted the strike head-on. Feeling the weight pressing down on his racket, he smiled faintly. The veins on his right arm bulged as he twisted his wrist, compressing the ball between two opposing forces until it flattened from the pressure.
In the next instant, sparks and smoke erupted from his racket like an explosion. The ball rocketed across the net, crashing down on Japan's right backcourt like a cannon shell.
"Heavy Cannon Bombardment!"
Ishida Gin immediately moved, his body vanishing in a blue blur under the Arrival of the Myōō state. He reached the baseline in a flash, channeled all his strength into his left arm, and swung hard to meet the shot.
The instant the racket met the ball, an overwhelming weight surged through his arms. His expression darkened, but he didn't back down. Clenching his teeth, he gripped the racket with both hands and forced it upward, barely managing to resist the crushing impact.
He managed to block Federer's Heavy Cannon Bombardment, but he no longer had the strength to launch another Final Style Hadoukyu. Instead, he returned a two-handed Hadoukyu—still powerful, but far from threatening to players like Federer and Pugu.
As expected, Pugu darted forward, showing no hesitation. With a sharp swing, he unleashed another Shattered Star. The crimson light streaked through the air, cutting toward Japan's right baseline.
Ishida tried to intercept again, but before he could, Date roared and flashed in front of him. His sleeves were completely shredded, revealing bulging, hardened muscles.
Veins stood out across his arms as he gripped the racket tightly with both hands and swung down with everything he had. The ball was instantly sent flying back, the contact so clean it didn't even stall for an instant.
"Finisher—Man's Winter!!!"
Pugu's eyes widened in surprise as his Shattered Star was returned straight back. A flicker of excitement—and a deeper flush—rose on his face. He shouted and rushed forward to meet it head-on.
But the moment the ball met his strings, Pugu realized something was wrong. The sheer force contained in Date's strike far exceeded that of his Shattered Star. He could have countered it—if he'd had time to prepare. But now, he didn't.
In less than a heartbeat, the ball blasted through his defense, bursting past his racket and flying out of bounds before slamming into the back wall. Though Pugu managed to hold onto his racket, the impact forced him several steps backward.
"30–15!"
"Damn! Date-senpai actually used Man's Winter this early! Based on his wrist endurance, the probability of lasting until the end of the match is 98.9% impossible!" Mitsuya muttered from Japan's bench, his brows knitted in worry.
"No… look at his eyes," Byoudouin said seriously. "That man's already decided—he's ready to stake everything."
On court, Date ignored the pain and strain in his wrists, repeatedly striking out Man's Winter again and again. Federer and Pugu both grimaced; with Ishida's constant pressure, they had no chance to build up power for their counters.
"40–15!"
"Game! Japan! 2–0!"
Thanks to Date's ultimate technique—Man's Winter—Team Japan took the second game. Yet the players on the bench didn't look relieved. They all knew it—if Date's wrist gave out before the match ended, their momentum would collapse completely.
———————
Meanwhile, in another stadium, the United States team was in serious danger. Greece's Hercules had activated his Silver Radiance of Olympus right from the start, clearly intent on ending the doubles match swiftly.
On the American side, Kiko was barely managing to hold on, while Rocky was showing cracks under pressure. Against Hercules's relentless power and Evangelos's flawless coordination, Team USA was being completely overwhelmed.
"Game! Greece! 3–0!"
As the umpire's voice rang out, the Greek players on the bench cheered in delight. But Zeus and Hermes didn't share their joy—they both sensed something off.
Across the court, the two Americans showed no panic. No frustration. Their faces were calm, almost too calm.
"Could it be… they're hiding a trump card we don't know about?" Zeus muttered, narrowing his eyes at the American pair.