Silence.

A deathly stillness enveloped the entire stadium.

Neither the Korean team representatives nor the spectators had expected their ace player to be so thoroughly dominated.

It was terrifying.

In their eyes, Lee Seung-bu had already broken through to a whole new level—yet against that black-haired boy, he couldn't even fight back.

"It's over..."

Park Dong-gun slumped on the bench, his legs weak, his spine drained of strength. He felt like a limp rag, barely holding himself together.

He knew.

After this humiliating live broadcast defeat, his coaching career was finished.

"Again!"

But then—

Lee Seung-bu suddenly growled, switching rackets before erupting into action once more. This time, he abandoned his usual composure, his explosive power and strength surging even higher.

Yet, despite his ferocity, he still posed no threat to Ishikawa.

Still, the Japanese player couldn't help but feel a flicker of surprise. The Korean team's ace really is different from the rest.

Boom!

Twenty minutes later—

With a sharp crosscourt shot from Ishikawa, the ball landed perfectly on the sideline. The umpire's voice rang out:

"Game and set, Japan's Ishikawa wins—6-0!"

Then, without pause:

"Match concluded. Japan's Ishikawa Kazunari defeats his opponent, 6-0, 6-0!"

[Ding!]

At the same time, a system notification echoed in Ishikawa's mind:

[Player has defeated boss-level opponent Lee Seung-bu. Reward: 12,000 EXP.]

[Player has acquired Lee Seung-bu's secondary skill: Archery.]

"Hah… hah…"

On the other side of the court, Lee Seung-bu gasped for air. He had pushed himself to the absolute limit, desperate to take even a single point from his opponent.

Yet he had failed.

"He's too strong."

Staring at the black-haired boy, Lee Seung-bu felt nothing but awe. One thing was clear—Ishikawa hadn't even used his full strength.

"Maybe…"

His eyes locked onto Ishikawa, a shocking thought struck him.

"Has he really reached that level?"

The realization washed over him like a cold wave. If that were true, then losing like this… was only natural.

Taking a deep breath, he approached the net for the customary post-match handshake.

"Ishikawa, you're incredible," Lee Seung-bu said, forcing a smile. "Even in Germany's elite training camp, you'd rank near the top."

As he spoke, he studied Ishikawa's expression.

Most players—especially those confident in their abilities—would react to such praise. Some might scoff, others might take it to heart. After all, he was comparing Ishikawa to Germany's finest.

But Ishikawa didn't react at all.

His expression remained unreadable.

"Maybe," Ishikawa replied casually. "I'm looking forward to facing those German players at the Melbourne World Cup."

"Hm?"

Lee Seung-bu's eyebrows lifted slightly.

He could tell—Ishikawa meant every word. And more importantly, the Japanese player's confidence wasn't a reaction to his comment.

This calm, unshakable resolve…

It reminded him of that person.

"Tell me," Lee Seung-bu asked suddenly, "do you know QP? Quality of Perfect?"

"The so-called 'Perfect Quality' player?" Ishikawa nodded. "I've heard of him. He's said to be the most talented high school player in the world right now."

"Eh?"

Lee Seung-bu blinked in surprise.

Most talented?

Did that mean Ishikawa acknowledged QP's superiority?

For some reason, the thought disappointed him. Though Lee Seung-bu was of mixed German-Korean heritage, he identified as Asian—East Asian.

During his training in Germany, he'd faced discrimination because of his skin color. He'd tried to rationalize it as a cultural difference—until QP appeared, shattering his confidence.

But Ishikawa's rise had given him hope—proof that talent and skill had nothing to do with race.

Now, though…

If even Ishikawa bowed to QP's reputation, then maybe he wasn't so different after all.

"By the way," Ishikawa added just as Lee Seung-bu turned to leave, "that last burst of yours was impressive. Sometimes, abandoning perfect control is the right move."

"Wha—?"

Lee Seung-bu froze.

His eyes widened as Ishikawa walked away.

That advice—it was nothing like what QP would say. Instead, it echoed the words of another player who had once tried to mentor him.

A sharp-faced, deep-eyed, bald player.

"So…"

Lee Seung-bu narrowed his gaze at Ishikawa's retreating figure.

"His insight is already on par with that guy's?"

Even QP hadn't noticed this about him.

Meanwhile, Far Across the Ocean…

New York, USA – Queens Street Training Facility

Night had fallen, and most players had moved indoors for intense practice matches.

Bam!

Wham!

Bam!

Wham!

The sound of tennis balls echoed through the courts as a towering white player and a lanky black player clashed with everything they had.

Yet, in a dimly lit corner, a lone figure sat hunched in front of a TV, his hood pulled up as if isolating himself from the world.

"That concludes today's broadcast. Thank you for watching~!"

The cheerful Korean host waved before the screen cut to commercials.

Crunch.

The hooded boy—Echizen Ryoga—bit into a bright orange, skin and all, juice dribbling down his chin.

"Interesting," he murmured, savoring the mix of sweet, sour, and bitter. "Didn't expect to find someone from the old man's list here."

"Ryoga."

A tall, handsome blond approached—Ralph Reinhardt, the 17-year-old captain of the U.S. U-17 team.

"Watching TV?" Reinhardt grinned. "Find any strong players?"

Ryoga smirked.

"Just saw a fun one in the Japan vs. Korea match."

"Oh?" Reinhardt raised an eyebrow. "That 'Eastern Pirate' from Japan?"

"Nah." Ryoga shook his head. "He wasn't even playing. Captain, I'm heading to Asia for a bit."

"Sure." Reinhardt nodded easily. "You're free to do as you please. Just show up for the World Cup."

"Got it."

With a lazy salute, Ryoga took another bite of his orange and strolled off.

"Ryoga…"

Reinhardt watched him go, a hint of unease in his eyes.

For some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that this prodigy—this wildcard he'd found a year ago—would one day vanish for good.

Back in Japan – U-17 Training Camp

With the first away match concluded, the coaching staff finalized their plans:

One day of rest in Korea. Flight to Bangkok for a friendly against Thailand. Three days later, another friendly in Sri Lanka. One week later, the second official match—against India in Mumbai.

For the lower-ranked players, these friendlies were crucial—chances to face other national aces and grow stronger before the World Cup.

"The away team's in good hands," Coach Kurobe mused. "Ishikawa's leadership is solid. No need to worry."

The other coaches agreed.

Truthfully, Ishikawa's presence wasn't even necessary. The real purpose of this trip was to familiarize him with international play.

After all, he was only a first-year.

With two more World Cups ahead of him, he was Japan's undisputed future.

"The real headache," Coach Takizawa groaned, rubbing his temples, "is dealing with these middle schoolers. Their growth is insane."

In just two days, the lowest-ranked among them had already climbed to Court 8.

At this rate, they'd surpass even the former Gatekeeper, Oni Juujiro—now training the fallen players at the back mountains.

"We need a new Gatekeeper," Coach Aito said slyly.

Kurobe and Takizawa exchanged glances.

A slow grin spread across their faces.

They knew exactly who to call.

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