21. Victory or Defeat Without Data

Mouri Shouzaburou, huh... Naki Matsubara really couldn’t recognize the man who bore some resemblance to Eiji Kikumaru. Though Mouri still looked quite young in the new Prince of Tennis, Matsubara couldn’t help but feel his looks had improved compared to back then. Could it be that aging genes, like those of Byoudouin Houou, were transmitted like some kind of quantum contagion, just like in TV dramas?

“So here you are, Mouri-senpai!”

While Naki was lost in thought, a boy with silver-blue hair came running up, breathless and flustered, looking at Mouri.

“Yare yare, trying to slack off again…”

Mouri sighed as he looked at the boy, then turned and smiled at Naki. “Well then, see you, Ochibi.”

“Let’s go, Nioh.”

With that, Mouri ruffled Masaharu Nioh’s hair. The latter, whose hair instantly bristled, dodged away in clear protest. “If you keep patting my head, I’ll never grow taller, Mouri-senpai. Puri.”

“Stop using such pointless catchphrases, Nioh.”

Mouri’s discomfort was obvious.

“Pupina—you snail.”

Nioh acted as if he hadn’t heard a thing, continuing on.

“How dare you…”

Mouri couldn’t help but clench his fists.

Naki watched the blue-silver-haired boy, who seemed so familiar with Mouri, and murmured to herself, “Nioh Masaharu, the Spit Boy, huh…”

She called him the Spit Boy mainly because the internet has a bizarre influence; a single spitting video isn’t catchy on its own, but after seeing countless remixes of the same person doing it, it becomes impossible to forget.

In truth, Nioh Masaharu wasn’t a bad candidate himself, but Naki had no intention of recruiting him.

Firstly, Nioh was a late-game player; in the early stages, where tennis could still be explained by science, his impact wasn’t so obvious, even if his phenomenal dynamic vision was not to be underestimated.

Secondly, Nioh’s Phantom—his ability to copy—is rare in the Prince of Tennis universe, but for Naki, it wasn’t that important. Some tasks in the bullet screen missions even rewarded abilities like the Sharingan or Byakugan, eyes of insight that allowed her to copy in person. With that, what need had she for Nioh?

Noticing Seiji Inui and Renji Yanagi emerging from the library in the distance, Naki’s heart leapt with joy. Had they succeeded? But just as she thought the two would approach her, she saw them leaving Rikkaidai altogether.

Curious, she tailed after them, and upon entering a place called Midorikawa Tennis Club, she realized why they’d left the school. It seemed they wanted to settle the unfinished match from their childhood.

But the thought made Naki realize that Inui’s persuasion must not have moved Yanagi; after this match, the two might truly stand on opposite sides, no longer best friends but—rivals.

Thwack. Thwack.

Yanagi bounced the tennis ball. “Seiji, let’s pick up from 5-4.”

“No, let’s start from the beginning,” Inui replied, gripping his racquet with both hands, knees bent, his voice even.

“Alright.” Yanagi nodded lightly and tossed the ball high, then swung quickly.

From the start, Inui took the advantage. Watching Yanagi lose point after point, Naki, perched in a tree, yawned. How long did Yanagi plan to throw this?

Yanagi was holding back out of guilt for leaving Inui without a word in elementary school. Focused as he was, Inui had no idea what Yanagi was thinking. He simply returned ball after ball, applying the data-based concepts Yanagi had taught him.

When Inui swept four games in a row, Yanagi’s guilt began to fade. He knew, after all, that all things must end. It was time to put an end to this match.

“Seiji, if you think you can beat me with mere data tennis, you’re sorely mistaken. You want to take data from Renji Yanagi so easily?”

Yanagi’s perpetually narrowed eyes opened slowly. Inui adjusted his glasses. “I’m not naive enough to think you would be so easily defeated, Renji.”

“Hmm?”

Yanagi was briefly stunned by this. In the next five games, Inui didn’t score a single point.

Only then, as Yanagi called out the score, did he realize it was identical to that unfinished childhood match.

“Seiji... You didn’t…”

Yanagi’s lips parted. “Indeed, from the sixth game on, it’s been exactly the same…”

Inui resumed his ready stance, gripping the racquet with both hands. “The score is the same as back then. From here on, the real battle begins. Come, Renji—I will abandon data and fight you with everything I have.”

“So you lost five games in a row on purpose… You were toying with me?”

Yanagi realized he’d been played. His words sounded angry, but his face showed no sign of it.

“Abandoning data… You think giving up what you have on me will win you points? If so, you’ll be even less of a match for me!”

“I’m coming, Seiji!”

Yanagi served. He knew that if he won this game, the match would finally be over.

“Come, Renji!”

Returning the serve, Inui rushed the net. Facing Yanagi’s blistering slice—the shot he’d been unable to return before—Inui roared and struck the ball back with force.

“What?!”

Yanagi’s eyes flew open in shock as his high-speed slice was returned. As Inui scored, sweat trickled down Yanagi’s forehead, and his heart pounded with turmoil. “Seiji…”

“He’s not just abandoned the data he had on me—he’s let go of his own as well…”

Yanagi realized that Inui, in letting him take five games, wanted to freeze the score at their unfinished childhood match. But what Yanagi hadn’t expected was that Inui could abandon not only his data on Yanagi but his own as well.

This meant Yanagi could no longer use his superior data tennis to predict Inui’s moves based on Inui’s data on him, nor could he anticipate Inui’s anticipation.

How… how was this possible?

Thud!

30-0.

Sweat streamed down Inui’s cheeks as he smiled. “Right now, my data tennis isn’t as refined as yours, Renji. But in the year and more since you left, I’ve trained myself hard. That’s the only reason I can stand against you now, even without data.”

“Oh? Impressive!”

Watching Inui bring the score to 5-5, Naki, now wide awake in her tree, couldn’t help but be impressed. This guy had once told her at Seigaku that he couldn’t combine data and tennis that well. Good thing she hadn’t taken all his words at face value.

Now, Inui’s data tennis was probably second only to Yanagi’s. And, even without data, his natural strength couldn’t be underestimated.

The score soon became 7-5. Naki clicked her tongue. This, truly, was the power of lifelong friendship—making a guy who quietly fetched balls and took notes at Seigaku burst forth with such energy. It seemed her decision to bring both Inui and Yanagi to Everlasting Academy was the right one.

“Now that the match is over, it’s my turn to take the stage.”

Standing up slowly, Naki looked at the two shaking hands by the net and smiled.