I had intended to compete with you simply as an ordinary person.

“All your data is within my grasp, Matsubara.”
Yanagi Renji watched as Matsubara Mei’s expression shifted ever so slightly, and spoke in a voice only he could hear.
From the very beginning, when he’d devised a physical training plan for the boy, Yanagi had already begun running simulations in his mind, calculating every aspect of Mei’s body. After these six days of personal observation, Yanagi’s understanding had deepened considerably.
Moreover, every move and technique Matsubara displayed in these six days was engraved in Yanagi’s memory; the nickname “Rikkaidai’s living encyclopedia” was no empty boast.
Matsubara tossed the ball high and served. The moment Yanagi again returned the ball to an unreachable corner, Matsubara realized without a doubt—he was already caught in Yanagi’s data net.
Forty–love!
“No wonder Ryoma Echizen and Sadaharu Inui never wanted to play him again after facing him once…”
Matsubara muttered inwardly. Now he felt just like Ryoma: this sensation of watching the ball bounce all over his court and still being unable to reach it was truly exasperating.
“One–nil! Change sides!”
From the umpire’s chair, the referee called out loudly.
As they passed each other at the net, Matsubara, racquet slung over his shoulder, said calmly, “I’d hoped to play you as an ordinary opponent, but you’ve targeted me with data tennis.”
Yanagi smiled at the boy’s expression. “Because I cannot afford to lose—not a single match.”
Since his first day at Rikkaidai, imbued with the philosophy of perpetual victory, Yanagi had set himself an unbreakable rule: to never lose a match.
It was this resolve, coupled with his astonishing ability to absorb information, that made Yanagi not just a data specialist, but a solitary master whose skills far surpassed any mere collection of facts.
As Yanagi readied himself, Matsubara tightened his grip on the racquet. Since you chose to bend the rules first, don’t blame me for doing the same.
Bang!
Reflected in his eyes, the yellow-green tennis ball whistled across from the opposite court. With a fluid swing and applied force, Matsubara returned it at a speed several times faster than before. Yanagi, caught off guard, watched as the ball landed out of bounds with a dull thud.
Fifteen–love!
Yanagi, frozen mid-step, looked at Matsubara in disbelief. What just happened? His speed increased so suddenly…
“That was lightning fast…”
Akutsu, startled, spoke up.
“It’s Matsubara’s no-spin shot,” Fuji said gravely.
“No-spin?” Sadaharu Inui was surprised, but Fuji nodded, explaining, “When Matsubara first joined the tennis club, he hit no-spin balls against Atobe. Whether serving or returning, he can pull it off.”
Akutsu glanced at Fuji, his fair skin almost translucent, his thoughts roiling.
He distinctly remembered that in their own match, the kid hadn’t used no-spin shots, but rather an intensely spinning strike. As for serves, Fuji was right.
“So he’s finally getting serious.”
Akutsu could tell Matsubara was done playing around and was now facing Yanagi in earnest; at last, Akutsu allowed himself to relax.
“No-spin serves and returns…”
Inui adjusted his glasses and murmured, “The conclusion is clear—Matsubara’s control over the ball has reached a phenomenal level. That’s the only way to explain how he can prevent any spin.”
He hurriedly jotted down this new data about Matsubara in his notebook. It was a crucial detail.
On the court, Yanagi’s expression grew grave as he heard about Matsubara’s exquisite technique. “No-spin, is it?”
The high-speed slice Yanagi mastered could only be used effectively against spinning balls. Matsubara’s no-spin returns neutralized him completely.
As Matsubara continued to return the serves with no-spin shots, he was not only catching up in points but also suppressing Yanagi’s high-speed slice.
Indeed, both the high-speed slice and the Kamaitachi required sufficient friction between the racquet face and the ball to produce powerful, unexpected spin.
It wasn’t that Matsubara underestimated Yanagi, the so-called “master,” but he was sure Yanagi lacked Fuji’s innate genius.
Yanagi dropped point after point. Just as Matsubara predicted, faced with no-spin returns, Yanagi failed to counteract by adding spin with his racquet face. Before long, the boy broke Yanagi’s serve!
One–all!
Now it was Matsubara’s turn to serve. His no-spin serve streaked across the court in a flash of yellow-green light. Yanagi chased it down with all his might, but since Matsubara first used the no-spin shot, each one was faster than the last. At this rate, he would soon be unable to keep up.
Yanagi managed to return the ball. Seeing the unusually low bounce of the reply, Matsubara grinned.
“A powerless slice like that… have you given up?”
Just as Matsubara thought he could easily return the ball, his racquet sliced through empty air.
“The ball… bounced up?”
He whipped his head around, watching as the tennis ball ricocheted off the wall and dropped to the ground, stunned.
Fifteen–love!
“It’s almost like a weakened version of the Swallow Return or the White Whale…”
Matsubara recalled how Yanagi’s shot hugged the ground before suddenly leaping up—what kind of move was that?
“Using speed and an extremely closed racquet face to generate spin on the return. Impressive as ever, Renji.”
Inui was the first to notice the trick; Fuji nodded in admiration, “Matsubara’s balls are fast since they’re not spinning, but no matter how fast, if there’s friction with the racquet face, a faint spin can still be produced.”
“Exactly. Renji relies on the ball’s speed, letting it linger on the strings a moment longer, using a low racquet angle to create spin—that’s how he managed that seemingly ground-hugging, yet bouncing shot.”
Inui adjusted his glasses and quickly filled his notebook with notes.
“Who would’ve thought my speed advantage would become a stumbling block…”
Matsubara clicked his tongue, then applied even greater force to his next shot. The ball, upon reaching Yanagi’s feet, didn’t bounce immediately, but instead began spinning rapidly!
Bang!
The spinning ball shot up the moment it left the ground, heading straight for the net. Yanagi lunged but missed completely!
Fifteen–all!
With a light smack, Matsubara caught the ball and smiled, “Sorry, I’ve run out of balls in my pocket—this way, I can recycle a bit.”
“First no-spin, now powerful spin?”
Yanagi analyzed calmly, readjusting his mental data every time Matsubara revealed something new. Since it was strong spin, there should be a move to counter it…
Staring intently at Matsubara’s serve, Yanagi anticipated the ball’s spin just before it bounced, and leaned forward, drawing back his racquet and bending his knees.
“That posture…?!”
Matsubara suddenly remembered that Yanagi had a trick called “Utsusemi”—the vanishing short ball.
Unlike the zero-shiki drop shot, this one would skim just above the ground after crossing the net, but either way, if it didn’t bounce, Matsubara would have no chance to return it!
“Utsusemi!”
Unleashing his signature move, Yanagi broke Matsubara’s serve, the ball skimming right along the ground as it came back.
Buzz!
But Matsubara used Universal Pull to draw the ball in, and in the next instant, with Yanagi’s eyes wide in disbelief, he drove the ball right past him with a flat shot.
The crowd fell utterly silent. Fuji’s sapphire-blue eyes opened in surprise—he’d seen Matsubara use this move once before, in his match against Atobe, when he pulled the ball close to himself. This time, it seemed to be the same…
Thirty–fifteen!
The umpire, unmoved by the supernatural duel unfolding before him, called the score in a steady, booming voice. For him, there was only one purpose: to announce the score, loud and clear, every single time.