THWACK!
"Damn it… He had the chance!"
Another return shot, another grimace from Sanada.
For nearly two uninterrupted minutes of rallying, Tezuka had countless opportunities to end the point with Zero-Shiki Drop or an inside angle drive—yet he deliberately placed every return just within Sanada's desperate reach.
If this were a battle between equals, grinding down stamina might make sense.
But Tezuka wasn't struggling. He had clear, easy ways to score—yet chose the hardest path. To Sanada, it could only mean one thing:
He's toying with me.
THWACK!
Another return from Tezuka, this one landing slightly farther away.
"You bastard—are you looking down on me?!"
Sanada's roar echoed across the court, startling both the audience and Tezuka.
Veins bulged on his forehead, his eyes burning with fury. "Are. You. Looking. Down. On. Me?!"
The same question, spat out a second time.
Tezuka blinked, uncomprehending.
"Is that kid insane?"
"He's only lost one game so far…"
"Didn't he just score earlier?"
"Kids these days have such short tempers…"
The crowd murmured in confusion. From the scoreline alone, there was no glaring gap between the two.
Yoru, however, smirked. "If you don't know Tezuka, this would feel infuriating."
Kirihara shrugged beside him. "I felt the same way yesterday. But once you understand, it's different."
"What do you mean?" Yamato frowned.
"Sanada thinks he's being humiliated."
"Humiliated?"
"Mm. Tezuka already revealed his inside angle control and Zero-Shiki Drop."
"In a rally like that, he had dozens of chances to score with either—but held back. If you were Sanada, what would you think?"
"I'd be furious."
The instant Yamato answered, he understood.
Because they knew what Tezuka was planning, the match's flow made sense.
But to an outsider? It looked like arrogance. Like mockery.
In reality—Tezuka was laying the groundwork for the Zone.
Kirihara grinned, watching Sanada's seething figure. "He'll realize soon enough… Tezuka isn't toying with him."
He's breaking him.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
On the court, Tezuka remained unfazed, maintaining his rhythm despite Sanada's outburst.
"Wait…"
Yukimura's eyes narrowed. Something had felt off earlier, but now—
As Tezuka's movement radius shrank further, a horrifying realization struck.
"Sanada! WATCH OUT—IT'S THE ZONE!"
THWACK!
Sanada seized an opening, unleashing Swifter Than the Wind at a sharp cross-court angle—
Yet Tezuka didn't move.
He glanced at the ball's trajectory… and stayed rooted.
"What—?!"
Yukimura's blood ran cold. It's really that technique…!
Even pro players struggled to master it!
Before Sanada could react—
A massive vortex erupted across the court, centered on Tezuka.
The ball, moments from flying out of bounds, was wrenched back mid-air as if caught in a whirlpool.
Tezuka Zone.
Sanada's mind blanked.
Now he understood—Tezuka hadn't been mocking him.
The Zone required setup. Precise control, relentless data-gathering, and psychological manipulation to steer an opponent's returns.
Once activated?
It was a death sentence.
SWOOSH!
The ball spiraled into Tezuka's strike zone.
A brutal forehand lashed out, targeting the farthest corner from Sanada.
"Tch—!"
Sanada scrambled, barely returning it—
Only for Tezuka to fire it even wider.
Again.
And again.
Tezuka didn't rush to end the point.
The Zone was torture—forcing the opponent to exhaust themselves chasing hopeless returns while the user conserved energy.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
After a grueling rally, Sanada's legs gave out. He collapsed, watching helplessly as the ball sailed past.
"Tezuka Kunimitsu scores! 40–15!"
Despair coiled in Sanada's chest.
He tried "Ferocity of the Forest" next—a technique designed to dissipate spin, one he'd envisioned as part of his "Wind, Fire, Forest, Mountain" arsenal.
In the original timeline, Yanagi Renji would later call it "the ultimate spin-negator."
But the Zone wasn't just spin.
It was prediction.
Unless Sanada countered with perfect reverse spin, the ball would only fly straighter into Tezuka's grasp.
The score climbed mercilessly.
"Tezuka Kunimitsu scores! Game, 2–0!"
"Tezuka Kunimitsu scores! Game, 3–0!"
...
"Tezuka Kunimitsu scores! Game, 5–0!"
The first two games had taken ten minutes.
The next three? Less than five.
Sanada's condition deteriorated—drenched in sweat, breath ragged, errors multiplying.
THWACK!
"Tezuka Kunimitsu scores! Game and set, 6–0!"
As the final return hit the net, Sanada dropped to his knees, eyes hollow.
"Why… How…?"
His voice was a whisper, sweat dripping from his chin.
Before this match, he'd been dreaming of facing Yukimura in the finals. Tezuka hadn't even been a blip on his radar.
"Next time, warm up properly before a match."
A cool voice cut through his daze.
Sanada looked up.
Tezuka stood at the net, hand extended. His forehead was barely damp, his expression unreadable—as if this victory meant nothing.
And that—more than anything—ignited Sanada's rage.
In that moment, Tezuka's image seared into his mind like a nightmare.
He'd lost before. To Yukimura. But never like this.
This was humiliation. Body and spirit crushed.
"Damn it… DAMN IT!"
Sanada's vision swam red, his cap long discarded, veins throbbing at his temples.
When no response came, Tezuka retracted his hand and turned away.
At the same time—
A chime echoed in Yoru's mind.
[Ding!...]