Two Kindred Spirits

"Zero-Style... Slice..." Everyone who heard these words was taken aback, murmuring in surprise. If it had been an ordinary drop shot over the net, they wouldn’t have been so shocked. Yet the Zero-Style Slice performed by Tezuka was no ordinary drop shot—it was a miraculous stroke that, upon touching the ground, didn’t bounce but instead slid directly toward the net.

“If it’s a slice that doesn’t bounce, why is it called Zero-Style?” someone asked.

“I suppose it’s because ‘zero’ itself carries the meaning of null, nothing, or negation. So, this non-bouncing slice is aptly named Zero-Style Slice,” Renji Yanagi explained.

“The Zero-Style Slice... When Tezuka calculates the precise position, using his backhand to slice with the racket head lowered by 3.2 millimeters, he sends the ball over the net with a sharp drop. After landing, it doesn’t bounce but moves straight toward the net...” Sadaharu Inui rapidly scribbled his analysis into his notebook. “What makes it different from a typical slice is that the ball, while spinning, can also reverse its rotation... Truly a beautiful short volley. It seems the only way to counter it is to return the shot before it lands.”

“And Tezuka brings his racket up to his shoulder to create an even more powerful backspin. By the way... Didn’t you go to the same school as Tezuka, Sadaharu? Haven’t you seen this move before?” Yanagi inquired.

“Never,” Inui shook his head. When Tezuka first entered Seigaku, he could defeat seniors much older than himself with the simplest tennis strokes. Perhaps Tezuka had already mastered the Zero-Style Slice back then, but those seniors probably weren’t worthy enough for him to use it.

“Zero-Style Slice...” Fuji’s previously blank expression slowly gave way to a smile. Just as he had hoped, Tezuka really was extraordinary.

“Game, set, and match! Tezuka wins! Six to four!” In the following two games, unable to effectively counter the Zero-Style Slice, Fuji lost point after point, ultimately conceding the match.

“Hm... While returning the Zero-Style Slice before it lands might neutralize it, Tezuka’s superb fundamentals and exquisite technique meant Fuji only managed to return it once before it touched down...” Inui once more filled his notebook with observations. Unless Tezuka deliberately went easy or was overwhelmed, it was wishful thinking to return the Zero-Style Slice so easily before it landed.

“As expected of Fuji, to push me this far—it was a truly splendid match.” Tezuka walked to the net and slowly extended his hand.

“In fact, I always felt that the day I would give my all and still lose to you was bound to come,” Fuji replied, clasping Tezuka’s hand with a smile. Yes, the moment their warm, slightly damp palms met, Fuji’s intuition was confirmed—ever since their second encounter in Seigaku’s tennis club.

The day after orientation for new students.

As first-years were not permitted to become regulars in Seigaku, Tezuka could only busy himself gathering the scattered tennis balls on the court. Just as he finished packing the last box, a gentle voice called out from behind.

“Tezuka!”

Turning slightly, Tezuka saw Fuji standing with hands behind his back, a soft, gentle smile on his face. Tezuka straightened, leaning on his broom.

A gentle breeze swept through, carrying cherry blossoms from the trees above to drift around the pair.

“Fuji... Is there something you need?” Tezuka, momentarily lost in Fuji’s enchanting gentleness, caught himself and asked awkwardly.

“I just joined the tennis club today. Let me help you,” Fuji offered, hurrying onto the court and rummaging through the red cones and baskets for a broom. Tezuka quickly objected, “No, this is my punishment. If you help, you’ll get scolded too.”

“Getting scolded by the seniors just after joining? I’d like to experience that,” Fuji replied with a serene smile.

“Maybe it’s because I seem too arrogant. Not only do I boast, I also talk back,” Tezuka admitted, averting his gaze in embarrassment.

“But you were amazing yesterday. Oishi from the class next door told me that on your first day, you beat all the seniors who tried to give you a hard time,” Fuji remarked, casually sweeping as he recounted Tezuka’s achievements.

“From the moment I saw you, I could tell you were deep-thinking. I always knew you were strong, but I never imagined you were so strong that even the seniors couldn’t match you.”

“And even so, you still work hard to hone your skills.”

Faced with Fuji’s praises, Tezuka looked away again. “I’m only doing what I should.”

“Let’s hurry back. Thank you for your help, but I really don’t want to get you involved,” Tezuka urged.

“It’s fine—what does it matter? Even if we get scolded, we’ll get scolded together,” Fuji replied.

Looking at Fuji, Tezuka murmured, “We...”

Fuji’s gentle smile remained as he gazed at Tezuka, his blue eyes shining through time, just as he had when they first shook hands. From the very start at Seigaku, Fuji had thought Tezuka was the most special—and that feeling remained unchanged.

Day after day, Fuji’s trust and respect for Tezuka only deepened, even though they were no longer at Seigaku.

“You haven’t changed at all. Win or lose, you’ve never cared about the outcome.”

Hearing the implication in Fuji’s words, Tezuka replied calmly.

“No, only when I play you do I truly feel... frustrated. It’s really hard to take...” At the corners of Fuji’s smiling eyes, a hint of crystal shimmered. “Losing brings this painful feeling, doesn’t it?”

“But... I’m truly happy. When I become stronger, let’s play again.”

Tezuka was taken aback, then, uncharacteristically, smiled. “Of course, I’m always ready.”

Looking at the chestnut-haired boy who had changed so much, Tezuka felt a sudden surge of emotion. His initial impression of Fuji, since the second day Fuji joined the Seigaku tennis club, was simply that he was earnest.

Compared to Oishi’s control, Kikumaru’s agility, Kawamura’s power, and Inui’s analytical skill, Fuji seemed unremarkable among such distinctive teammates.

But on the third day, during laps around the field, Tezuka witnessed Fuji, by chance, return a tennis ball that had flown over the wire fence—hitting it perfectly back into the hand of the boy calling for it. Tezuka was utterly stunned.

Even if it had been a fluke, the accuracy and ease of that shot were comparable to Oishi’s control. From that moment, Tezuka was completely captivated by this smiling boy.

That afternoon, when gathering balls, Fuji stayed behind to help Tezuka. Suddenly, Fuji smiled and said, “Tezuka, actually... you’re left-handed, aren’t you?”

Tezuka, shocked, did not deny it. “How did you know? Not even Coach Ryuuzaki knows...”

“I noticed yesterday while we were cleaning the court together. I suppose you were accommodating the seniors who gave you a hard time. If you played seriously, you’d win too easily,” Fuji said, lifting the basket with a gentle smile.

“You’re overthinking it,” Tezuka replied, regaining composure as he continued tidying the court.

“It’s about time... We should head back. The school gates will close soon,” Fuji said, smiling as he watched Tezuka work.

As the bustle around him brought his thoughts back to the present, Tezuka saw Fuji, just as before, walking away from the court. He’d promised Fuji another match when he grew stronger, for Tezuka knew well that Fuji’s abilities went far beyond what had been shown today.

Incredibly precise ball control, the ability to gradually return Tezuka’s serves, even devising a serve that vanished, similar in effect but entirely different from Tezuka’s own, and the tennis skills that forced Tezuka to use the Zero-Style Slice...

Tezuka couldn’t help but feel excitement welling within him. He, too, wanted to witness Fuji’s true strength.

Just as he had once hidden his left-handedness from Fuji, although Fuji lost today, Tezuka understood better than anyone that Fuji still harbored deeper talents and potential, not yet fully unleashed in today’s match.