The sleeping Mori Jusaburo had proven unstoppable. No matter how creatively Sengoku adapted his fighting tennis or switched between martial arts styles, nothing could penetrate his opponent's unconscious perfection.
The final score read 6-3 in Rikkaidai's favor. Apart from his opening two-game surge, Sengoku had managed to claim only one additional game through sheer tenacity, preventing a complete shutout.
"Sorry, everyone," Sengoku said quietly as he returned to the bench, his usual optimism dimmed by defeat. "I let you all down."
"You did everything you could, Sengoku," Tezuka replied with quiet authority, placing a reassuring hand on his teammate's shoulder. "Leave the rest to me."
"Tezuka..." Something in their captain's calm confidence reminded Sengoku why the entire team looked to this young man for leadership. Though Tezuka rarely handled day-to-day club management—leaving those duties to Vice-Captain Minami and Oishi—his mere presence suggested that victory was inevitable.
"Don't worry, Sengoku," Fuji added gently. "After Tezuka handles his match, I'll be ready for whatever comes next."
"Hey, Sengoku!" Gustave's voice boomed from the stands as he rose from his seat. "It's just one loss! We'll get them next time!"
"That's right!" Luffy chimed in enthusiastically. "Ace and I are still looking forward to going honey hunting with you again!"
The mention of their legendary heist broke the tension completely. Everyone from both the Bamboo Staff crew and Yamabuki's bench erupted in laughter, with Sengoku laughing hardest of all—after all, he'd been the only member of their four-man expedition to escape without bee stings.
Despite his pre-match encouragement, Gustave had harbored private doubts about Sengoku's chances. Mori Jusaburo's selection for the U-17 program during his first year of high school spoke to truly exceptional talent. While Sengoku had improved dramatically from his original timeline abilities, the gap against such elite opposition remained significant.
With Sengoku's defeat, Yamabuki now trailed 2-1. Every remaining match had become do-or-die. Whether Tezuka or Fuji faced elimination, a single loss would end their tournament dreams.
Coach Banji could only hope that Rikkaidai had also shuffled their traditional lineup. If Yukimura appeared in singles two rather than his usual singles one position, it would give Fuji a fighting chance against whoever remained. But if Fuji had to face the "Child of God" in the final match...
"Attention: Yamabuki singles two player Tezuka Kunimitsu and Rikkaidai singles two player Yukimura Seiichi, please take your positions!"
The announcement brought a relieved smile to Coach Banji's face. His strategic gamble had paid off—Rikkaidai had indeed altered their formation.
Across the court, Sanada's expression darkened with barely concealed frustration. He'd been hoping for his long-awaited rematch with Tezuka, but team victory took precedence over personal desires.
"Sanada, leave this to me," Yukimura said quietly, his gentle voice carrying absolute conviction. "For Rikkaidai's victory."
"For Rikkaidai's victory," Sanada echoed reluctantly. While his pride ached at the missed opportunity, tactical logic was undeniable. According to Yanagi's comprehensive analysis of limited footage, only Yukimura possessed realistic chances against Tezuka among their current roster.
Sanada's signature techniques remained incomplete—the final element of his Fuurin Kazan arsenal, "Still as the Forest," hadn't reached perfection. Without that foundation, facing Tezuka would likely result in decisive defeat.
For the first time in recent memory, Yukimura began removing his school uniform jacket before taking the court. In previous matches, he had dominated opponents while still wearing the weighted garment—a testament to his overwhelming superiority.
The symbolic gesture sent ripples through both teams. If Yukimura felt compelled to fight at full capacity from the opening point, this match would represent something truly special.
"Good luck, Yukimura," Tezuka said formally as they met at the net.
"Good luck to you as well, Tezuka," Yukimura replied with his characteristic serene smile.
The moment their hands touched in the traditional handshake, an almost visible aura of intensity enveloped both players. Every spectator in the 22,000-seat arena seemed to lean forward simultaneously, sensing they were about to witness history.
"The pressure is incredible!" Conan observed with wide eyes. "They're radiating this much intensity before the match even officially begins!"
"Conan, Ai, who do you think will win?" Gustave asked with genuine curiosity.
"Tezuka," both young detectives said simultaneously without hesitation.
"Oh? That's different from your prediction when Tezuka faced Fuji," Gustave noted with amusement.
"That was completely different circumstances," Conan replied, rolling his eyes at the comparison. "According to that loudmouth Eiji, Tezuka disappeared for special solo training before the Metropolitan Tournament. His strength has improved dramatically since then."
While Conan couldn't specify exactly which aspects of Tezuka's game had evolved, the overall enhancement was undeniable to anyone who'd observed both periods.
"You little smartass," Gustave grumbled, reaching over to ruffle Conan's hair in retaliation for the eye roll.
The grandstand chatter died instantly as both players took their positions. Yukimura claimed the coin toss, granting him the crucial opening service.
Both competitors gripped their rackets with laser focus, understanding that this match would determine not just tournament advancement, but their standing as the premier middle school player in Japan.
Yukimura's service preparation was methodical and precise. He bounced the ball several times, then tossed it high while coiling his body into perfect position before unleashing a devastating serve.
The target was deliberate and ruthless—Yukimura aimed directly for Tezuka's left wrist, the injury weakness identified through Yanagi's intelligence gathering. Tactical considerations outweighed sportsmanship when championship stakes were this high.
"Tezuka, for Rikkaidai's victory, I apologize," Yukimura murmured as his serve blazed toward its target.
What he didn't know was that Tom's medical intervention had completely healed the old injury, while subsequent training had actually strengthened Tezuka's wrist beyond its original condition.
Tezuka's response was devastatingly simple. As the ball bounced from the court surface, he executed a gentle slice that sent it back over the net. Upon landing, the ball refused to bounce, instead rolling slowly toward the net in defiance of physics.
The crowd's collective gasp echoed throughout the arena. They had expected elite-level tennis, but this transcended normal competition entirely.
"Impossible!" Multiple Rikkaidai players voiced their shock. "How can he use that technique on a return?!"
Their intelligence had suggested that Tezuka's zero-bounce shots were limited to his signature serve. The video evidence had shown only the Zero-Shiki serve, leading them to believe the technique couldn't be applied defensively.
What they hadn't realized was that the Zero-Shiki serve represented an advanced evolution of Tezuka's Zero-Shiki slice. By demonstrating the simpler version, he had caught their entire strategic preparation off-guard.
"I suspected your abilities extended beyond what the footage revealed," Yukimura said quietly, already preparing his second serve with increased respect for his opponent's capabilities.
"Sei!" Yukimura's next serve carried significantly more power. Despite his deceptively lean appearance, few players could match his raw strength—he was the complete package, with no exploitable weaknesses.
The increased velocity meant that attempting another Zero-Shiki slice would place enormous stress on Tezuka's wrist, even if it was fully healed. Recognizing the tactical trap, Tezuka opted for a conventional return instead.
The resulting rally showcased both players' incredible abilities as they traded shots with metronomic precision. However, observant spectators began noticing something extraordinary developing around Tezuka's position.
A perfect circle was forming on the court surface, defined by the landing points of every ball Yukimura struck. No matter where he aimed his shots, they curved inexorably toward Tezuka's racket.
Tezuka Domain had activated—and the real battle was just beginning.