The fifth game revealed a dramatic shift in momentum. While Tezuka and Yukimura continued their intense baseline rallies, the advantage no longer belonged to Yamabuki's captain.
"What's happening to Tezuka?" Eiji and Sengoku's earlier cheers died in their throats as they noticed something troubling. Since the fifth game's opening points, their captain's movements had grown increasingly unsteady—and the coordination problems were becoming more pronounced with each exchange.
"Yukimura has finally begun," Sanada observed grimly from the Rikkaidai bench. His own painful experience with their captain's ultimate technique made him the most qualified observer of Tezuka's deteriorating condition.
Suddenly, the court dynamic shifted catastrophically. Tezuka swung his racket at empty air, his timing completely off as the ball sailed past untouched.
"How could Tezuka make such a basic error?" Oishi stared in bewilderment at his captain's uncharacteristic mistake.
"Something's wrong with him," Fuji said quietly, his analytical mind racing to understand the sudden change. Tezuka's behavior had grown increasingly erratic since the fifth game began.
But the missed swing was only the beginning. Every subsequent return attempt resulted in the same outcome—Tezuka's racket cutting through empty space while Yukimura's shots found their marks uncontested. The score shifted to 4-1 with brutal efficiency.
The sixth game brought even worse deterioration. While Tezuka could still execute his serves normally, every return from Yukimura found him completely unable to respond. Another game slipped away, making the score 4-2.
By the seventh game, Tezuka had stopped attempting to swing his racket entirely. He stood motionless at the baseline, staring straight ahead without any acknowledgment of the ball's approach.
"Tezuka, swing your racket!" Eiji shouted desperately.
"Tezuka, what's wrong with you?!" Sengoku's voice cracked with worry.
The Yamabuki bench erupted in confused panic. How could their captain simply allow Yukimura to score freely without making any attempt to compete?
"Look at Tezuka's eyes!" Fuji's sharp observation cut through the chaos.
"His eyes? What about them?" The team members focused on their captain's face with growing alarm.
"There's no light in them," someone whispered in horror. "His pupils aren't moving at all. It's as if... he's blind."
"And when we called his name just now, he showed no reaction. He can't hear us either."
The terrible realization dawned on the entire Yamabuki delegation simultaneously. Their captain had somehow lost both his vision and hearing during the match.
"What's happening to Tezuka?" Conan demanded urgently.
"This is Yukimura Seiichi's ultimate technique," Gustave explained with grim knowledge. "It's called Five Senses Deprivation. By precisely targeting specific nerve clusters with his returns, he can gradually numb his opponent's sensory functions. The effect spreads systematically—first touch, then vision and hearing, eventually even smell and taste. The victim becomes trapped in absolute darkness and silence."
"That's impossible!" Conan's scientific mind recoiled from the concept. "Depriving someone of their five senses through tennis shots—that can't be humanly possible!"
"You're asking the wrong person about what's possible in this world," Gustave replied with a helpless shrug. "I can tell you what's happening, but explaining the mechanism is beyond anyone's understanding."
"Whether it's scientifically possible or not," Jun interjected pragmatically, "if Tezuka can't find a way to recover, he'll lose this match."
Having witnessed countless supernatural phenomena in his own world, Jun possessed greater acceptance of impossible situations than the others.
"Coach, maybe we should forfeit," Minami suggested desperately to Coach Banji. "Tezuka's condition is extremely abnormal. I'm worried something permanent might happen to him."
"Coach?" Fuji and the others turned expectant eyes toward their mentor, hoping for guidance in this crisis.
"Don't panic," Coach Banji said calmly, though concern flickered in his expression. "This is indeed Yukimura's signature move—Five Senses Deprivation. While it appears devastating, the effects are temporary. Tezuka will recover gradually after the match ends, regardless of the outcome."
The explanation provided some relief, but nervous tension still gripped every Yamabuki supporter as they watched their captain standing motionless on court.
"Tezuka," Coach Banji murmured under his breath, his eyes intense with expectation, "show us the results of your pre-tournament special training."
Yukimura claimed the seventh game unopposed, bringing the score to 4-3. Tezuka's commanding early lead had evaporated with shocking speed.
The eighth game required Tezuka's serve, but he remained completely still at the baseline.
"Player Tezuka Kunimitsu, please serve immediately!" the referee announced through his microphone.
"Player Tezuka Kunimitsu, please serve immediately!" The second warning carried the implicit threat of default if no response came.
"Tezuka, wake up!" Yamabuki voices called desperately from the sideline.
"Tezuka, please!" Their captain showed no reaction to any encouragement.
"Player Tezuka Kunimitsu..." The referee raised his microphone for what would likely be the final announcement.
At that critical moment, Tezuka moved.
Multicolored light erupted from his entire body—not the familiar glow of his previous techniques, but something far more radiant and complete. The illumination seemed to emanate from his very soul, transforming him into a beacon of pure competitive spirit.
"TEZUKA!" The Yamabuki bench erupted in relieved celebration.
"TEZUKA!" Even neutral spectators found themselves cheering for the dramatic recovery.
"Your Five Senses Deprivation is truly formidable, Yukimura," Tezuka said clearly, his voice carrying complete composure despite his recent ordeal.
"You're equally impressive, Tezuka," Yukimura replied with his characteristic gentle smile. "You're the first person to break through my ultimate technique. Moreover, if I'm reading the situation correctly, you've achieved the final level of selflessness—the Limit of Perfection."
The observation carried both admiration and strategic concern. Yukimura had anticipated that someone of Tezuka's caliber would eventually overcome the sensory deprivation, but attaining the deepest selfless state represented an unexpected development.
As someone who had mastered the first two selfless levels—the Limit of Tempered Understanding and the Limit of Brilliance—Yukimura understood better than anyone how extraordinarily difficult it was to achieve the Limit of Perfection. Tezuka had now surpassed their entire generation in philosophical tennis understanding.
"Let's finish this match with the purest form of tennis," Tezuka announced, shocking everyone by deliberately dispersing the radiant light of his awakened state.
The decision stunned both teams. With the Limit of Perfection active, Tezuka could have ended the match in minutes with overwhelming superiority.
"As you wish," Yukimura responded with genuine appreciation, recognizing his opponent's desire for a complete, fair confrontation between their fundamental skills.
Both players simultaneously abandoned all supernatural techniques and special abilities. What followed was tennis in its most essential form—two masters testing their basic technical capabilities, court positioning, shot selection, and mental fortitude without relying on enhanced powers.
The extended battle showcased pure athletic artistry. Every point required maximum effort, every game demanded perfect execution, and every moment carried the weight of their schools' championship dreams.
In the end, fundamental technical superiority made the difference. Tezuka's slightly more refined shot-making and tactical awareness allowed him to claim victory in the tiebreaker by the narrowest possible margin: 7-6.
"It was an honor to compete against you, Tezuka," Yukimura said as they met at the net for the traditional handshake.
"The honor was mine, Yukimura," Tezuka replied with equal respect. "I've rarely faced an opponent who pushed me to discover new depths in my own abilities."
Both players had experienced something transcendent in the match's final stages—tennis elevated beyond mere competition into pure expression of skill and will. The result mattered less than the journey they had shared.
As they walked back to their respective benches, mutual appreciation replaced any disappointment. They had just participated in what many spectators would remember as the finest middle school tennis match they had ever witnessed.
The stage was now set for the final, decisive encounter that would determine the Kanto Tournament championship.