2–2.

The match had reached the decisive fifth game—Singles 1.

Under normal circumstances, the atmosphere should have been electric, given how intense the competition had been. But instead, the entire tennis court was shrouded in an oppressive, uncomfortable tension.

Even the broadcast studio had fallen into an eerie silence.

"Uh… Mr. Kim, Kim Geon-yoon," the female host stammered, her voice slightly strained, "what are your thoughts on the upcoming match?"

She had no choice but to shift the topic, trying to ease the awkwardness in the air.

"Well…" Kim Geon-yoon snapped out of his daze and nodded. "From Japan's perspective, they probably think they've already won."

But instead of brushing past the earlier incident, his expression darkened. "That was extremely disrespectful. Unfortunately for them, they've miscalculated."

"Huh?" The host froze for a second, worried the broadcast was about to take a disastrous turn. But then, curiosity got the better of her. "What do you mean?"

"It's simple," Kim Geon-yoon said, a faint smirk breaking through his grim expression. "Our Singles 1 player is a graduate of Germany's elite training camp—a world-class high school player!"

"Y-you mean… Lee Seung-bok?" The host turned to look at the screen, where the broadcast had shifted to focus on a striking young man with purple hair.

His features blended East Asian refinement with a wild, almost European boldness—a perfect fusion of two distinct temperaments.

"Oh?" The host's heart fluttered as she asked, "Is Lee Seung-bok mixed-race?"

"Correct," Kim Geon-yoon confirmed. "From what I know, his father is Korean, and his mother is German. He grew up in Germany but chose to represent Korea as a naturalized player."

Germany?

The viewers at home immediately perked up.

Kim Geon-yoon continued, "In the U17 circuit, Germany is the undisputed king. They've won the Tennis World Cup nine times in a row—an unprecedented streak!"

"Nine?!" The host gasped.

Nine consecutive championships? That meant for nearly two decades, no team had been able to topple Germany. That level of dominance was terrifying!

"And from what I've heard," Kim Geon-yoon added with a smile, "when Lee Seung-bok had to choose his nationality at 18, he turned down Germany and returned to Korea. Even Coach Latreu of the German team tried to persuade him to stay, but he refused."

Whoosh!

The viewers' eyes lit up.

As they watched the purple-haired player stride confidently onto the court, an indescribable surge of pride and excitement swelled within them.

This was a prodigy who had willingly chosen to represent Korea!

All the humiliation they'd suffered earlier now transformed into a burning desire for revenge. Many clenched their fists, already envisioning Japan's crushing defeat.

"Now, beginning the Singles 1 match."

"Representing Korea—Lee Seung-bok (3rd year high school)."

"Representing Japan—Ishikawa Shin (1st year middle school)."

"Both players, prepare."

As the announcement echoed, most of the crowd's attention fixed on the purple-haired player stepping onto the court.

Even Korea's No. 2, Kim Tae-woo, and No. 3, Park Geon-soo, watched their captain with deep respect.

After all, Lee Seung-bok had fought his way to the top of Korea's U17 rankings, defeating every challenger in his path.

Whoosh!

But Lee Seung-bok's gaze locked onto the black-haired boy sitting calmly in the coach's seat.

"Senior Munehiro," Ishikawa said, standing up with a smile, "would you mind taking over as match supervisor?"

"Mm." Munehiro nodded and took the coach's seat, his towering frame immediately casting an intimidating shadow over Park Dong-gun beside him.

This kid… He's really playing mind games.

Park Dong-gun suppressed his irritation. He hadn't expected such a psychological tactic from the Japanese team.

But as an experienced coach, he wouldn't be rattled so easily.

…Or so he told himself.

In reality, Ishikawa had simply chosen Munehiro over No. 3 Tokugawa out of sheer mischief.

To outsiders, the decision seemed ordinary. But to Munehiro and his teammate Marui watching from the sidelines, it felt strangely nostalgic—as if they'd been transported back to their middle school days at Hyotei Academy.

A faint smile tugged at Munehiro's lips.

At the Net

The two players faced each other.

"As you wished," Lee Seung-bok said coldly, "I'll defeat you in front of everyone."

Though he was a naturalized player, Japan's two forfeits had been a blatant insult. And as Korea's No. 1, he intended to erase that humiliation with absolute dominance.

"Impressive," Ishikawa remarked. "You actually have manners—unlike the others."

Lee Seung-bok remained silent.

Another Korean player might've lashed out, but his elite training had drilled restraint into him.

"You were curious about what happened to Byoudouin, weren't you?" Ishikawa continued, amused by his opponent's stoicism. "If you win, I'll tell you everything."

"Deal."

Lee Seung-bok's eyes sharpened, a fierce glint flashing within them.

A suited referee stepped forward, flipping a coin to determine serve.

"The winner of the toss is Ishikawa Shin."

"I'll take this side," Ishikawa said casually. "Feels more comfortable."

"Uh… very well." The referee blinked before nodding. "Players, prepare for the match."

Once both were ready, he announced:

"Match start! Best of three sets. First set, Korea's Lee Seung-bok to serve!"

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Lee Seung-bok bounced the ball, his gaze icy.

"I know you're trying to provoke me," he said. "But it doesn't matter. I won't hold back."

Whoosh!

He tossed the ball high and unleashed a blistering serve—

Bang!

The shot landed perfectly on the service line.

"A super-fast serve!"

"That precision… As expected of our captain!"

"That's the kind of control you develop competing against the world's best!"

The Korean players swelled with pride.

Their team might've been outmatched overall, but Lee Seung-bok was different. He'd trained overseas, facing elite opponents daily. His experience was on another level.

Bang!

But just as they were marveling, an all-too-familiar sound cut through their admiration.

"He returned it?!"

Ishikawa's counter shot streaked toward Lee Seung-bok's backhand, landing just as precisely on the baseline.

The Korean team's expressions stiffened.

Fortunately, Lee Seung-bok's footwork was impeccable. He reached the ball in time and fired back a sharp crosscourt shot aimed at the far corner.

It was clear—he wasn't just cold and composed anymore. He was attacking with full force.

"Not bad." Ishikawa nodded in approval before returning another flawless baseline shot.

"This level of control…"

Lee Seung-bok's eyes narrowed.

In the middle of such a high-speed rally, Ishikawa's precision was unreal. Just this skill alone made him a formidable opponent.

The intensity reminded Lee Seung-bok of his battles in Germany—where every shot was fast, ruthless, and efficient. No flashy techniques, just relentless pressure.

Gritting his teeth, he chased the ball down and twisted his wrist mid-swing—

Bang!

The ball rocketed forward, spinning violently as it crossed the net. The rotation warped the air around it, kicking up a swirling dust storm that barreled toward Ishikawa.

"That's… advanced kinetic manipulation?!"

The Japanese players—Akutsu, Hirakoba, and Hakamada—exchanged glances.

Their opponent's No. 1 was already pulling out high-level techniques in the opening game?

"Now we're talking."

Ishikawa grinned as the dust storm swallowed him whole—

Bang!

A second later, the whirlwind split apart as his return shot exploded outward, carrying crushing momentum.

Boom!

The ball hadn't even landed yet, but the sheer force of its trajectory sent another cloud of dust erupting from the court.

The Korean players paled.

Their captain's powerful shot had been countered so effortlessly?

Lee Seung-bok's brow furrowed.

Not only had Ishikawa matched his technique, but the return had also landed perfectly on the baseline.

"To maintain that level of precision while using advanced kinetics…?"

This wasn't just skill—it was mastery.

No wonder he'd replaced Byoudouin.

"If that's how it is…"

Lee Seung-bok adjusted his grip, pulling his racket back like a drawn bowstring.

At the last possible moment—

Crack!

A meteoric shot ripped through the air, leaving a blazing afterimage in its wake.

"It's here!"

"Captain's signature move—Meteor Drive!"

"Meteor?"

The Japanese side glanced at Mitsuya, who quickly explained, "Lee Seung-bok is also a top-tier archer. This technique amplifies shot speed to extreme levels—most people can't even see it!"

Bang!

But then—

Another crisp impact echoed as the "meteor" reappeared, soaring back over the net.

"He returned it?!"

Even Lee Seung-bok was stunned. His signature move had been countered so casually?

"Fast," Ishikawa admitted, emerging from the dust. "But only by ordinary standards."

"Arrogant bastard!"

The Korean players who understood Japanese scowled. The rest didn't need translation—the dismissive tone said it all.

Lee Seung-bok's expression hardened.

"Oh?"

Ishikawa smirked. Then, in one fluid motion, he slashed his racket forward—

Bang!

The dust cloud split apart—but this time, no one saw the ball at all.

Not even Lee Seung-bok.

All he sensed was a sharp gust of wind—

Thud.

Before the ball materialized at his feet.

"When did it—?!"

He swung desperately, but it was too late.

On the other side, Ishikawa lowered his racket like a sheathed sword.

Iaido Slash: Mind Shift.

After his mental breakthrough, he no longer needed a formal stance. He could execute this technique anytime, anywhere—effortlessly.