Whoosh!

The tennis ball spun violently, emitting a eerie blue-green glow that cast strange shadows across Lee Seung-bok's face.

"This pressure…"

He hadn't expected his surefire technique to be dismantled so easily—let alone countered with something far more terrifying.

But as Korea's captain, Lee refused to just surrender. He had to fight back.

Yet the moment he tried to move—

"What?!"

His body froze.

BOOM!

A deafening impact echoed as a figure was sent flying through the dust cloud.

"CAPTAIN!!!"

The Korean team lunged forward, some even attempting to rush onto the court.

"Don't… come closer."

A hand emerged from the smoke, followed by Lee Seung-bok staggering to his feet. "This is an official match. No one interferes."

His sharp glare silenced them.

"Y-yes…"

They backed off, but their eyes remained glued to him as he trudged back onto the court, his jacket now caked in dirt.

"You're stronger than I imagined," Lee admitted, his voice gravelly. "Now I believe it—you really did defeat Byoudouin Phoenix."

"WHAT?!"

The Korean team's jaws dropped. Even Coach Park Dong-gun paled.

"No way…"

His mind rejected it instantly. If true, this match was already over.

But Lee's deadly serious expression sent a chill down his spine.

Was it really possible?

Lee exhaled sharply, steadying himself. "I thought missing Byoudouin was a shame. But I'm lucky—Japan's leader is someone like you."

His gaze hardened. "You're the second player who's ever pressured me this much. This move was meant for him… but you'll do."

HUM!

A surge of energy erupted from Lee—dense, razor-sharp, and magnitudes beyond Kim Tae-woo's Mach Breaker.

"He was hiding this?!"

Coach Park's confidence surged. With Lee's elite training and this trump card, victory wasn't impossible.

BANG!

Lee served.

[Meteor Drive]—enhanced by his newfound power—blurred past at inhuman speed.

"I can't see it?!"

Kiyosumi's pupils shrank. Ochi and Mashiro were equally stunned. Only Munehiro, from the coach's seat, caught a faint trace.

"Impressive," he mused. "80% of my Mach Serve's speed. Against anyone else, this would be a guaranteed point."

Then his lips curled slightly.

"Too bad you're facing the 1%."

POCK!

The ball rebounded—and Ishikawa's racket met it effortlessly.

"How?!"

The Korean team gaped. Even Kim Tae-woo and Park Geon-soo were floored. Lee's enhanced serve was faster, deadlier—yet this kid had countered it without looking?

"Is he a monster?!"

Lee, however, remained calm. "Just like him," he muttered, recalling the [Perfect Quality] prodigy he'd faced in Germany.

His fighting spirit burned brighter.

This wasn't just a match anymore—it was revenge.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Lee attacked relentlessly, each strike carrying the force of a finishing move. Yet Ishikawa returned everything—speed, spin, power—without faltering.

Then—

SWOOSH!

Lee's figure split into two.

"What?!"

"An illusion?!"

"Does he have a twin?!"

The crowd erupted.

"Incredible!" Commentator Kim Geon-yoon leaned forward. "This isn't a trick—it's a high-level technique merging footwork and swing paths. Two real possibilities coexisting!"

He grinned. "My guess? An evolution of his [Chain Shot]!"

The implications were terrifying. In elite matches, split-second decisions decided points. But if both choices were real—how could anyone react?

CRACK!

Lee's dual forms swung—collapsing into one devastating strike.

"Too strong!" a Korean player cheered.

Even Kim and Park felt awe. This skill was beyond them—maybe even beyond Ishikawa.

"Two-form domain?" Mitsuya chuckled. "For him, that's child's play."

The Japanese team smirked. After witnessing 14-form domains at U-17, this was barely noteworthy.

THUD!

Ishikawa returned it casually.

Lee's brow furrowed. Facing Ishikawa felt like hitting an indestructible wall—worse than [Perfect Quality] ever had.

"That can't be all," Ishikawa said, spinning his racket. "Show me your best."

SWISH!

His next return vanished mid-air.

Lee's blood ran cold.

How did he know?

He did have one final card—a match-ending move saved for the climax. Yet Ishikawa had sniffed it out like it was obvious.

"Is he bluffing?!"

Lee's eyes darted up—meeting Ishikawa's amused gaze.

No.

This was real.

Gritting his teeth, Lee embraced his resolve. Regardless of tactics, he had to win—for Korea.

WHOOSH!

As he swung, a colossal phantom materialized behind him—a warrior clad in furs, mounted on a warhorse, bow drawn.

"T-Tennis Phantom?!" Kim Geon-yoon gasped. "He's reached that level?!"

The broadcast zoomed in. Coach Park's voice trembled.

"Dongmyeong… the Sacred King?!"

The legend—a ruler, strategist, and peerless archer—was Lee's manifestation.

Korea's morale skyrocketed.

TWANG!

Lee's shot became an arrow, screaming toward Ishikawa.

In the phantom realm, the scene shifted—a desert battlefield, war cries echoing. Ishikawa stood alone as the mounted archer charged.

"HYAH!"

The arrow loosed—a kill shot aimed between Ishikawa's eyes.

Yet he simply raised his sword.

SHINK!

The arrow split cleanly, harmlessly flying past.

The rider reared back—

SLASH!

—only for horse and warrior to be bisected mid-stride, collapsing into golden dust.

REALITY

A silver flash lit the court.

CRUNCH!

Half of Lee's racket embedded itself into the wall, sliced with surgical precision.

The ball rolled to his feet.

Silence.

Lee stared at the remains of his racket, then at Ishikawa—finally understanding the insurmountable gap between them.