The next evening.
Yoru boarded the Echizen family's private jet, heading for Berlin.
Earlier, he had considered traveling to Germany with Schneider's group. Unfortunately, they weren't leaving until a week later, which would conflict with his schedule—he'd likely miss the Kanto Tournament finals.
Besides, Nanjiroh's acquaintance, Lendert L. Raitlair (雷特鲁), happened to be the very person Yoru was looking for, so going alone was enough.
After half a day of smooth flying with no turbulence, Yoru arrived in Berlin the following morning, well-rested.
A car was waiting for him at the airport, its door emblazoned with German text:
"German Tennis Training Center."
A middle-aged man stepped out from the driver's seat and hurried over. "Hello, Mr. Yoru. I'm Amos, your driver for this trip," he said in slightly awkward but understandable Japanese.
"You can speak German. I understand and can speak it," Yoru replied.
"Ah, that's wonderful!" Amos beamed. "Please, get in. I'll handle your luggage."
Yoru nodded, handing over his backpack—his only luggage.
Thanks to Nanjiroh's generous funding, he'd traveled light, packing just a change of clothes and his tennis bag.
As the car left the airport, a brief conversation revealed something surprising: Raitlair had become the principal of the German Tennis Training Center.
In the original Prince of Tennis storyline, this was where QP (Quality of Perfect) had grown up.
An orphan with a naturally aloof personality, QP had decent tennis talent. Under Raitlair's guidance, he transformed from Quark Puppe ("insignificant puppet") into Quality of Perfect—a being of flawless skill.
Did Raitlair become the principal because he nurtured QP? The so-called 'genius effect'?
No wonder they sent a car just for me.
After about an hour's drive, the car entered a walled compound, a sign at the gate reading "Tennis Training Center."
Once parked, a knock came at the window.
Yoru looked out to see a kind-faced foreign man—undoubtedly Raitlair, who looked exactly like his manga counterpart, radiating an oddly familiar warmth.
Yoru stepped out and extended his hand. "Uncle Raitlair? I'm Yoru."
Since Raitlair was Nanjiroh's old friend, the familial address was fitting—and a good way to break the ice.
Raitlair studied him closely. "Rin's son has grown so much."
"Your father and I worked together for years. After Nanjiroh retired, we went our separate ways… I never imagined that would be the last time."
Yoru's resemblance to his father seemed to stir old memories, a touch of nostalgia crossing Raitlair's face.
"Enough of that," Raitlair said, shaking off the past. "Nanjiroh mentioned you came to Germany to visit the Elite Club?"
"Yes."
"I'll arrange your lodging first. Rest up, and we'll go to the Elite Club tomorrow."
Normally, Raitlair would've refused outright—the Elite Club was an exclusive hub for prodigies, nearly impossible to enter without connections.
But Yoru was different.
Not only was he the son of an old friend, but he also had Echizen Nanjiroh's personal guarantee.
Yoru shook his head. "No need to rest—I slept plenty on the plane. Can we go now?"
Raitlair hesitated. "The Elite Club has strict rules. Outsiders can't enter unless escorted by a member. I'd need to contact one of my students first."
QP, perhaps?
Yoru pondered.
QP should be a year or two older than him, around Yamato's age. By now, he'd have already left the training center and joined the Elite Club.
After a moment, Raitlair nodded. "Wait here. If he's free, we can go today."
"Understood."
Raitlair stepped aside to make a call while Yoru gave him space.
A few minutes later, Raitlair returned. "Good news, Nan. He'll be here in about an hour."
"Great."
"We've got some time. I'll handle some work in my office and arrange your stay. Feel free to look around if you're not tired."
Raitlair waved to Amos. "Show Nan around."
"Yes, Boss!"
---
Meanwhile, at the German Elite Club...
A handsome young man was returning balls fired relentlessly by five serving machines simultaneously.
On the court were five small numbered circles—each barely large enough for a single ball to land. The young man methodically returned each shot into its designated circle.
Despite the high-pressure drill, he was also talking on the phone, multitasking effortlessly.
As the call ended, the machines ran out of balls.
The circles on the court were scorched black, smoke rising faintly.
Clap clap clap—
Applause came from the sidelines.
An assistant coach walked in. "Excellent training today."
Seeing the young man barely sweating, the coach couldn't help but marvel—natural talent truly was unfair.
Ever since the club's former strongest genius left for a professional career, this young man had taken his place as the undisputed top player.
"Today's drills are done. Should I arrange your usual matches?" the assistant asked.
By habit, the young man played five matches daily after training, pushing himself relentlessly. Most would've crumbled under such pressure, yet he'd kept this routine for two straight years without rest—unless he was away for tournaments.
The young man shook his head. "No. I'm heading back to the training center."
"To see Mr. Raitlair?" The assistant's tone was respectful.
"Yes. I'll visit my teacher."
As he turned to leave, the young man paused at the court's exit.
"One more thing," he said without looking back. "Any progress on finding players with 'Aura of Love' or 'Aura of Fortitude'?"
The assistant stiffened. "N-Not yet..."
Though he held a high position, this young man was no ordinary member.
He was the club's greatest genius in history—someone even the previous top player had called "a potential God of Tennis." His influence rivaled the head coach's.
"Keep searching."
Without another word, the young man left.
Meanwhile, something interesting was unfolding at the German Tennis Training Center...
---