34. Kunimitsu Tezuka vs. Syusuke Fuji (Part One)

“What a spectacular match. I lost.”
Yanagi Renji and Matsubara Mei walked together to the net and shook hands. The young man smiled lightly, glanced at Yanagi’s still slightly trembling hand, and said, “You’d better go see the school nurse as soon as possible.”
“Ah, yes, but it should be nothing serious.”
Only then did Yanagi notice his own hand was still trembling slightly. He nodded with a smile.
“Renji!”
The first to rush onto the court was Inui Sadaharu, who anxiously asked about Yanagi’s condition, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, no need to worry, Sadaharu.”
Seeing his good friend’s anxious expression, Yanagi felt a warm current surge in his heart and answered nonchalantly.
That morning, apart from the match between Matsubara Mei and Yanagi Renji, only Shishido Ryo among the regular players faced a third-year. As for the other two matches, where non-regulars fought each other, the level was so low that it was hardly worth watching.
Leaving the tennis court, Matsubara Mei spotted Tezuka standing with his arms folded and Fuji with a gentle, amiable smile. He nodded at them with a smile.
“Amazing, Matsubara! Your tennis really opened my eyes,” Fuji said with heartfelt admiration.
“Oh… It’s just a few simple tricks,” Matsubara replied modestly. Now was hardly the time to show off, after all—he played supernatural tennis. If Fuji started probing, he wouldn’t have any way to explain himself and would likely be exposed soon enough.
In truth, Matsubara was overthinking it. Fuji, though surprised at his ability to draw the ball without touching it, simply assumed it was a domain technique akin to Tezuka’s own.
Tezuka’s Domain involved imparting subtle spin to the ball so that, no matter how hard or skillfully the opponent returned it, the ball would always end up within a single step of where Tezuka had applied the spin.
After some consideration, Fuji concluded that Matsubara’s domain probably relied on manipulating the wind to draw all kinds of shots into his strike zone.
The theory sounded plausible, but was in fact highly unreliable. Of course, genius minds always think a little differently from ordinary people—just as Fuji’s fondness for Inui Juice was incomprehensible to most.
As for Tezuka, he maintained his usual poker face. Unlike Fuji, he was not surprised at all by Matsubara’s display. After all, just over a month ago, when he was uninjured, his own strength had been at the very same level—perhaps even a bit higher.
Yet what puzzled Tezuka was that, although Matsubara’s ball-drawing technique resembled his own domain, it appeared to attract the ball without movement, suggesting there might be room to develop Tezuka’s Domain beyond its current limits.
Not only that—those powerful shots and rapid, spinless strokes also bore a striking resemblance to the Pinnacle of Hard Work that Tezuka had mastered.
But why, when Matsubara entered that state, was there no sign of the faint colored glow that would appear when one’s condition and spirit peaked in the Pinnacle of Hard Work?
Unable to make sense of it, Tezuka decided not to dwell on it. He looked back at the boy, nodded gently, and said with rare approval, “Well done, Matsubara.”
“Yes, Captain!”
Matsubara responded crisply.

After Tezuka and Fuji departed, Matsubara took a towel from his tennis bag and wiped away his sweat. Then, a delicate, clear voice as crisp as wind chimes drifted over.
“That was an amazing match!”
It was Oda Fuyuka and Iwamura Yuna. The young man accepted a sports drink from the former and smiled in thanks.
“Thank you.”
“By the way, Matsubara, would you like to join us for lunch?”
Watching him drain the drink in a single gulp, Fuyuka asked expectantly.
“Ah… I’m afraid not—I have something to take care of. Maybe next time.”
Matsubara scratched his head and gave a sheepish laugh.
“I see… Well, all right then!”
Fuyuka was a little disappointed at first, but quickly masked her emotions and smiled.
Watching the two girls leave the tennis court, Matsubara let out a sigh of relief as if he’d narrowly escaped disaster.
In truth, whether in looks, manner, or temperament, Oda Fuyuka was flawless. She was loyal, never clingy—she’d make a perfect girlfriend, and no one would disagree. It was just that she wasn’t Matsubara’s type.
“Sigh… Tachibana An must be in elementary school in Kansai by now, right?”
Matsubara vaguely remembered that Tachibana Kippei, when he was in second grade, had transferred with his first-grade sister An from Shishiraku Middle School in Kansai to Fudomine Middle School in Kanto.
It was strange, really—Tachibana An’s general outline resembled Suzuki Sonoko’s, but Matsubara was fond of the former and completely uninterested in the latter.
No point overthinking it. After all, he subscribed to a certain absolute truth: tennis doesn’t need women!
He bought two yakisoba buns in the school cafeteria and snuck up to the rooftop to enjoy them alone. The gentle breeze and perfect sunshine made for an exquisite lunch break.

Afternoon.
With the morning’s intramural ranking matches concluded, those eliminated included Yanagi Renji, two second-years, and one third-year.
The matches featuring Akutsu and Inui against the upperclassmen were equally uneventful. The main event of the afternoon was the match between the captain of Evergreen Academy, Tezuka Kunimitsu, and the vice captain, Fuji Shusuke. That these two would put on a spectacular show was a foregone conclusion.
Matsubara arrived early at the boys’ tennis court. Unlike the morning, the crowd was now several times larger—hundreds more people, most of them girls, whose reasons for spectating were not entirely pure.
In the corridor of the academic building, Tezuka and Fuji walked one after the other in their long-sleeved uniforms. Fuji glanced at Tezuka’s arm and, after a moment, asked softly, “Tezuka… are you really all right?”
“Mm. Don’t worry, Fuji. It’s nothing serious.”
Tezuka’s body tensed almost imperceptibly, but he quickly brushed it off.
“But just a week ago, you said your arm felt odd.”

Fuji was not so easily reassured.
Tezuka stopped in his tracks, and the distracted Fuji bumped right into him.
“Ah.”
With a soft exclamation, Tezuka caught Fuji as he recoiled, and apologized, “Sorry…”
“I was the one not paying attention…”
Fuji rubbed his reddened nose and smiled gently.
“Don’t worry. Even if I can’t use my left hand, I still have my right. For a man, using only one hand is simply not acceptable.”
Tezuka knew Fuji was worried, but he also knew his left arm was only bruised; the discomfort came from overexertion, nothing more.
Seeing the reassurance in Tezuka’s eyes, Fuji smiled wryly, then confidently declared, “But if you don’t use your left hand, I don’t think you can beat me.”
“Don’t be so sure, Fuji.”
For once, Tezuka allowed himself a rare smile in response.

Court Number One.
As Tezuka and Fuji entered together, a tidal wave of cheers erupted, instantly raising the atmosphere to a fever pitch. They stood at either end of the court, exchanging glances. Fuji’s pale face grew solemn, while Tezuka’s remained inscrutable.
“One set to decide the winner. Tezuka to serve!”
The umpire, perched on the ladder, called out and gestured.
Tezuka planted his feet, tossed the ball, and as it fell, a glint flashed on his glasses. His dark brown eyes sharpened in an instant!
Bang!
His left hand gripped the racket and swung down with tremendous force. The tennis ball traced a brilliant arc through the air!
Whoosh!
At that moment, Fuji’s eyes, usually narrowed, flew open. A blurred afterimage whooshed past his ear, his chestnut-brown hair fluttering in the wind. The umpire’s voice echoed in his ears—
“Fifteen–love!”