Are you sure this drink is actually safe to consume?

The conclusion of the match between Tezuka and Fuji also marked the end of the school's ranking tournament. As for the three non-regular players who advanced, according to the rules, they would be given priority to challenge Renji Yanagi and Shusuke Fuji.

Facing the invincible data analyst Yanagi and the prodigiously talented Fuji, the two designated non-regular players quickly exposed significant weaknesses, losing miserably with scores of 6-0 and 6-1, respectively!

"Sorry, developing a new special move took a bit of time."

A gentle breeze drifted by, causing Fuji's chestnut hair to sway gracefully. Gazing at the defeated non-regular, Fuji squinted his eyes with a gentle smile.

That single game taken from him was not due to Fuji's carelessness, nor was it because the non-regular player possessed any remarkable skill. Rather, when confronted with an ordinary spinning return, Fuji conceived a way to utilize and counter it with a special technique.

The counter technique he invented was not simply to neutralize spinning shots. Even tricky topspins and underspins could be easily controlled and exploited for counterattacks.

After all, any return hit by a person, more or less, carries spin—apart from Narumi Matsubara’s spinless serves and returns, which are exceptions.

Fuji’s “Swallow Return,” a shot cut sharply from high to low, traces a half-circle arc after being struck and, upon bouncing, skims the ground at high speed, barely a centimeter above it. This was not something easily handled.

Then, his second counter technique, the “White Whale Return,” used the incoming wind to execute a powerful strike, allowing him to counter the opponent’s shot. Unlike Swallow Return, it didn’t require a spinning ball.

In theory, as long as there was wind, the White Whale Return could be performed. And the shot, once it crossed the net, would soar dramatically into the air, then, upon landing in the opponent's court, spiral back into Fuji’s hand.

Compared to the Swallow Return, which had a fixed path, the unpredictable trajectory of the White Whale Return was impossible to counter with conventional logic.

“White Whale Return… Swallow Return…”

The non-regular player recalled those miraculous techniques that appeared during the match, standing frozen as if he’d seen a ghost.

…

The official roster was announced. Besides Kunimitsu Tezuka, Shusuke Fuji, Narumi Matsubara, Jin Akutsu, Ryo Shishido, Sadaharu Inui, and Renji Yanagi—seven regulars—there was also a player renowned for his miraculous power plays.

This player’s technical style could be described as “just swing hard and let miracles handle the rest”—in short, a laid-back, almost Zen-like approach to tennis.

With three days left until the regional qualifiers, thanks to Matsubara’s recommendation, Tezuka and Fuji agreed to appoint Inui Sadaharu and Yanagi Renji as team coaches, jointly overseeing the training regimen.

Tennis Club Lounge.

“Clack!”

As the door opened, Inui and Yanagi entered together. Those about to start training, including Matsubara, noticed and Shishido Ryo laughed, asking,

“Is the new training menu ready?”

“No, Renji and I need to analyze your physical data before drafting the menu. Write your measurements on these sheets first.”

Adjusting his glasses, Inui glanced at Yanagi, who nodded and handed a sheet to Shishido, then to Matsubara and the others.

“Measurements?”

Hearing this, Matsubara looked puzzled. Inui nodded earnestly, “Height and weight must be absolutely accurate.”

“Oh… I see.”

Matsubara understood, relieved it wasn’t some other kind of measurement, and began filling in the sheet.

When the others had left, Matsubara remained seated, pondering something, as if plagued by a concern.

Watching Inui and Yanagi diligently compiling data, the youth seemed to wrestle with his thoughts, eventually rising and approaching them.

“Is something the matter, Matsubara?”

Inui noticed the faint shadow on the paper and looked up.

“Um… you’re working on the training plan, right?”

The boy eyed the dense black script on the sheet, raising his brows.

“Yes, Sadaharu is analyzing the data, and I’m organizing the records.”

Yanagi handed him a sheet covered in writing.

“So detailed…”

The paper listed comprehensive training content, quantifying each player’s regimen, along with several assessment items.

“Why? Do you have something to add?”

Yanagi looked at the thoughtful youth, who shook his head with a smile and casually asked, “What happens if someone fails the assessment?”

“Fails?”

Inui and Yanagi exchanged glances. Inui pondered, “Nothing much. We haven’t established a reward and penalty system yet. But a well-defined system could improve the regulars’ commitment to training.”

“Ah… I don’t think that’s necessary…”

A shiver ran down Matsubara’s spine. This was exactly what he’d been worried about: punishments during training. He’d hoped to glean some reassurance from their response, but now it seemed his casual question had inadvertently sealed his fate.

“It’s definitely necessary. At Rikkai, anyone who failed training or lost a practice match would face penalties, like increased training volume. We could adopt something similar. What do you think, Sadaharu?”

Yanagi calmly dismissed Matsubara’s objection. Inui nodded, “But how should we implement it? Double the training for those who pass? Or triple it for those who fail?”

Watching Inui and Yanagi’s scheming expressions, Matsubara swallowed in distaste. Perhaps pairing these two was not wise.

He was relieved, however, that Inui hadn’t suggested his infamous vegetable juice or penalty tea. Scratching his head, Matsubara forced a laugh.

“Haha… I think your idea’s fine, Inui. As long as it’s not something else… You guys take care, I’m off to train.”

Inui, slow on the uptake, was about to ask what “something else” referred to, but the lounge door, swayed by the breeze, now stood wide open—Matsubara himself had already vanished.

“Clatter.”

Drawn by the sound, Inui saw his water bottle had fallen to the floor. A bold and novel punishment scheme was quietly taking shape in his mind.

“Renji…”

“What is it, Sadaharu?”

Yanagi, rapidly jotting down notes, looked up to see Inui’s glasses reflecting a white gleam, his lips curled into a peculiar smile.

“I think we can temporarily abandon the normal penalty of increased training volume. Perhaps just a small incentive will significantly boost the players’ pass rate.”

Adjusting his glasses, Inui flashed a broad grin. Yanagi, unnerved by his sinister look, asked with a nervous laugh, “What… incentive?”

Gesturing for Yanagi to lend an ear, Inui confided his idea. Yanagi, upon hearing it, was stunned. “Inui’s special juice?”

“Just call it Inui Juice. What do you think—doesn’t it sound exciting?”

Inui adjusted his glasses with two fingers, a glint flashing across them as he boasted.

“Um… your beverage… is it even drinkable?”

Yanagi’s expression grew even more anxious, clearly worried.