"Silver Radiance of Olympus, huh? As expected of one of Greece's trump cards. Didn't think it'd push Kiko this far~" Dodo spoke lazily from the U.S. bench, his tone playful, clearly unconcerned about the current state of the match.
"Hercules's strength was never something to take lightly," Hopkins said seriously. "And we've got to admit—their middle schooler's power far outclasses Rocky's."
"Maybe we pushed our middle school training too fast. It's something worth reflecting on," Rhinehart murmured, his gaze deep in thought. "Still, having Ryōma with us this year… makes a world of difference."
At that moment, Ryōma wasn't paying attention to the match at all. His mind drifted to Ryōga's words from the day before—words that had planted a heavy sense of unease in his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling that something big was coming. He just didn't know what.
"Yare yare~ Looks like Greece won't be winning this one. 'The shapeshifting weirdo'—that nickname's spot on!" In the stands, Ryōga sat with his hood up, grinning as he watched the game unfold.
Moments after he spoke, the timeout ended and play resumed. To everyone's surprise, Kiko completely turned the tables. Gone was his earlier struggle—he was now pressing the attack with bizarre, unpredictable shots that left Hercules and Evangelos completely off balance.
Kiko flashed forward to the net, blocking Hercules's Tail of Innocence with a light tap before flipping his racket for a sharp backhand. The ball shot forward with rapid spin, striking the top of the net.
The Greek duo thought it was done for—until the ball began spinning rapidly atop the net cord, then slowly crawled upward. Under the stunned gaze of the crowd, it bounced once and dropped gently into the Greek half.
"0–15!"
"Wow~ Looks like my luck's pretty great today," Kiko said cheerfully, twirling his racket with a bright grin.
'He's already adapted to the rhythm of Silver Radiance of Olympus?' Hercules frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing on the young American.
Evangelos tossed the next ball high and sent a blazing serve toward Kiko's left corner. It was fast—sharp placement, solid power, an excellent diagonal serve.
But before the serve even left Evangelos's strings, Kiko was already sprinting toward the left baseline. The moment the ball bounced, he met it cleanly, slamming a passing shot straight down the line.
Hercules's figure flashed forward, intercepting it with a fierce forehand strike. The ball roared back across the net like a cannonball.
"Hey~ Called it again. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket after this match!" Kiko's figure was already at the net before anyone noticed, his body perfectly positioned in the ball's path.
He raised his racket vertically, tilting it just enough to create a reflective angle. The ball struck the frame and deflected sharply toward the left sideline. Evangelos sprinted at full speed but failed to reach it—the ball bounced once and went out.
"0–30!"
"Rocky-boy! Don't just stand there—move, OK?" Kiko shouted over his shoulder with a grin.
"S-sorry! Got it!" Rocky stammered, nodding quickly, clearly nervous but fired up.
"That's the spirit! Bring your energy back—let's go!" Kiko laughed, his tone full of confidence as he launched into an all-out rally against the Greek pair.
From then on, Kiko seemed unstoppable. Every time, he read the Greeks' shots perfectly, as if he already knew where the ball would go. Hercules and Evangelos were driven mad. It didn't even feel like prediction—nor like Zeus's Sixth Sense. It was worse. It was as if Kiko's sheer luck was controlling the match.
"0–40!"
"Game! United States! 3–1!"
"Lord Zeus, what do you think?" Hermes asked, glancing sideways at the glowing figure beside him on the bench.
"I see now. Taranta and Evangelos's every thought—their intent, their rhythm—has been completely seen through. Remarkable ability indeed... Kiko Balentien of the U.S., was it? I'll remember that name." Zeus's golden aura shimmered faintly as he spoke, his voice carrying a hint of admiration.
"Our thoughts shape our actions, our actions form our habits, our habits define our character, and our character determines our destiny," Vulcan said quietly, brows furrowed. "Right now, those two Americans are in full control of their destiny—at least for this match."
"That middle school kid's obviously their weak link. Just focus the attack on him—cripple him first, and the match is ours. Don't you think, brother?" Orion said with a cold smirk, clearly displeased with Hercules's approach.
"Agreed, brother. There's no need to show mercy to enemies. Crush them completely, and victory will follow naturally!" Apollon replied, his tone sharp with confidence.
But before their words even faded, a crushing pressure washed over them—emanating from the man beside them. Both could feel it clearly. The suffocating presence of Zeus.
"Game! United States! 3–2! Change ends!"
As the Greek players argued, Kiko had already led Rocky to take another game. The American smiled, sunlight bright on his face, his easy grin radiating warmth that somehow reached the entire arena.
"Game! Japan! 3–0!"
"Game! Japan! 4–0!"
Unlike the cheerful atmosphere of the American team, the Japan team's bench was tense and silent. Though the score stood at 4–0, every player wore a grim expression. Danji Date's wrist had clearly reached its limit; the strain was becoming unbearable, and it was only a matter of time before it gave out.
Across the court, the Swiss duo looked composed despite losing another game. In the final rally, Randy Pugu had actually managed to return Danji Date's Man's Winter—the ball hadn't cleared the net, but the fact he could even touch it showed the technique's power was already weakening.
"Guess it's about time we got serious, huh, Albert?" Randy called from the net, his tone cool.
"I was planning to hold off a bit longer… but since you said so, let's end this properly, Randy." Federer smirked lightly, his eyes narrowing in focus.
"Tch! Bluffing, are we? You'll have to do better than that to fool me," Danji Date muttered, disbelief flickering in his tone. His wrist throbbed with dull pain, but he was confident he could still close out this first set.
Yet the moment he spoke, Federer suddenly roared. A pale mist spread across the court, swirling around him, wrapping his whole body in a ghostly haze. The sight sent a chill down Danji's spine.
"Power—100%! Haaah!!"
With Federer's shout, a deafening blast echoed through the arena. A shockwave ripped through the air, scattering the mist completely and leaving a long vacuum trail between the two sides.
Danji's pupils contracted sharply. Instinctively, he gripped his racket with both hands, ready to block—but the instant the ball collided with his strings, there was no time to react. The force blew through him like a cannon shot, launching him backward across the court.
"Ace! 15–0!"
"So, they're finally showing their true strength? Then let Japan witness what it means to face the Red Storm of Bern!" Amadeus's cold voice cut through the crowd from the Swiss bench.
As Danji steadied himself and returned to position, Federer was already tossing up another serve. The explosive crack of impact echoed again as the ball tore through the air. Danji crouched low, muscles straining, every fiber in his arms tense as he met the serve head-on.
A harsh screech rang from his strings as the ball spun violently. Danji's veins bulged, his teeth clenched—his entire body trembling from the pressure—but after a short struggle, he managed to send the ball back across the net.
The ball barely cleared the tape before Randy Pugu lunged forward, twisting midair. His racket spun with tremendous torque, smashing into the ball in a wide arc. A blazing red beam erupted instantly, slamming toward Japan's side like a meteor.
"Full Power—Shattered Star!"
Ishida Gin's eyes sharpened. His body swelled as his muscles bulged like iron, tightening under the surge of strength. He pulled his left arm back, gathering power in a single explosive motion.
The ball's trajectory curved slightly, dropping straight toward Ishida's baseline. Without hesitation, he swung forward, striking with all his might.
"Reverse—Final Hadoukyu!" Ishida roared, his face twisted with raw intensity, all calmness gone.
The energy burst from his racket was monstrous. The sound of impact made the audience flinch and cover their ears as dust and debris exploded across the court, turning it into a war zone of smoke and thunder.
Then came a sharp crack from within the haze. Everyone on the Japanese bench froze—the sound was unmistakable.
A split second later, Ishida's body was flung backward out of the smoke. His left hand still clutched a racket—broken clean in half. He rolled across the ground several times before crashing hard against the back wall.
"30–0!"
"Sensei!!" Shiraishi shouted, his voice shaking with alarm.
"To take on such a powerful shot with the Reverse Hadoukyu—that's insane!" Duke growled, his brows furrowed in frustration. Though worry filled his tone, anger burned deeper. "If I'd been the one on court today… they wouldn't have to push themselves this far!"