50. Each One’s Own Service Game

“A high, mid-range lob meticulously controlled to land just above the baseline, carrying a slight topspin—when executed, it arcs through the sky like a crescent moon stretching across the heavens.” Upon hearing the term ‘Crescent Volley,’ Sadaharu Inui analyzed it inwardly.

“It’s as precise as threading a needle, lurking silently like an assassin waiting for the perfect moment to deliver a fatal blow,” Fuji lavished praise upon Oishi’s remarkable skill.

On Oishi’s third serve, he consistently placed the ball where Fuji was least adept at returning. If Fuji’s form faltered and resulted in an error, Eiji Kikumaru would suddenly spring forward at the net for a swift attack. With his unpredictable, dance-like movements, even Inui—prepared as he was—couldn’t always cover for Fuji’s mistakes.

“Forty-fifteen!”

“One to zero! Seigaku leads!”

Once again, Inui was undone by Oishi’s Crescent Volley. Staring at the precisely placed, topspin slice that kissed the baseline, the pale reflection in his glasses hinted at silent contemplation.

“Those two from Evergreen are in deep trouble.”

“They don’t stand a chance. Even with Inui’s data tennis, what can he do when he can’t collect the necessary data? Without it, he’s just a fish on the chopping block.”

“Besides, Kikumaru’s athletic reflexes are exceptional—he handles every net ball with ease. Even if one slips through, Oishi is always there at the baseline. Evergreen is destined to lose.”

“Sadaharu…”

From the sidelines, Renji Yanagi’s voice betrayed his concern. As a fellow master of data tennis, he knew all too well its apparent strength concealed a glaring weakness: without complete intelligence on the opponent before the match, the slightest unexpected element could spell irreversible disaster.

With data-driven tennis, once the rhythm is disrupted and the data no longer aligns, the entire chain collapses. At best, the opponent snatches a few games; at worst… you lose the match.

“They’re truly formidable,” Fuji murmured, his turn to serve. Gazing at Oishi and Kikumaru, he smiled with narrowed eyes.

“Fuji, can you buy me a little time?”

“Oh?” Catching the earnest look in Inui’s eyes, Fuji quickly understood. “You want to gather data first?”

“Exactly.” Inui nodded. Oishi’s Crescent Volley had severely disrupted his analysis—he had to recalibrate and update his data, or he’d be a heavy burden to Fuji.

“This match determines whether we reach the finals. I’ll return every shot until your analysis is complete. But first, they’ll have to return mine.”

Though Fuji’s words were soft and his smile gentle, Inui inexplicably felt a wave of reassurance.

In that instant, Fuji’s eyes snapped open, revealing brilliant sapphire irises. He lowered his open hand, his fingers moving with fluid precision—and suddenly, the tennis ball spun counterclockwise!

Smack!

The racket swept upward from below. Unlike a regular serve, Oishi’s expression tightened briefly before he regained composure, preparing to return. Fuji, still smiling, warned quietly, “That ball… will disappear.”

The ball bounced off the court and soared, its path so erratic from the rapid spin that it defied prediction. At the net, Kikumaru’s mouth hung open as he saw not one, but four or five balls flash before his eyes!

Oishi, at the baseline, swung at a point he’d calculated, but instead of the expected impact, a crisp whoosh cut the air—and he missed.

Thud… thud.

The ball struck the wall and rolled back. The umpire called out, “Fifteen-love!”

“What kind of serve was that? It vanished mid-flight!”

“I swear I saw several afterimages…”

“Did that serve even stay in bounds?”

“Inoue, did you see that? The ball… disappeared!” Saori Shiba exclaimed as she realized her camera had failed to capture Fuji’s serve.

“Yes, it’s the first time I’ve witnessed such a bizarre serve…” Mamoru Inoue was just as astonished. If he wasn’t mistaken, Fuji had added a reverse spin and sliced up from beneath the ball…

“Ah, so that’s it!” Inoue’s eyes widened as he watched Fuji’s pose, arm bent and raised. “It’s a slice serve!”

“Huh? What’s a slice serve?” Saori asked, puzzled.

“As the name suggests, a slice serve involves hitting the ball with the leading edge of the racket, applying a slicing motion. It’s far more demanding technically than a standard sliced shot.”

“I see… but would an ordinary slice serve make the ball disappear like that?”

Saori was quick to grasp the explanation and immediately countered.

“No, that’s impossible. Honestly, I’ve never seen a serve vanish like that before. Fuji’s technique must be an extraordinary variant—his slice serve is anything but ordinary, which is why it disappears.”

Even Inoue couldn’t explain the mechanics behind the vanishing slice serve. Perhaps the severe oscillation caused a visual illusion, but for the ball to disappear entirely… it was simply beyond belief.

“This Fuji Syusuke—he’s a genius. Only another genius could truly comprehend the sophistication and mastery he displays,” Inoue murmured in awe.

“A genius…”

Saori, still holding her camera, echoed the words softly.

“Oishi, I just saw five balls trembling and flickering in the air…” Kikumaru’s exceptional eyesight caught the ball’s erratic path during Fuji’s serve. As the ball launched, it shivered unpredictably, and by the time it bounced and crossed the net, four or five afterimages had appeared. Beyond that, the trajectory was too fast for him to follow.

“Four or five balls?” Oishi repeated, stunned. His eyesight was good, but nothing compared to Kikumaru’s. If he was honest, all he saw was a blurred line passing by, prompting an instinctive swing—yet he missed.

“As expected of Fuji… keeping his true strength hidden.” Oishi’s understanding of Fuji was limited, but he knew Fuji’s control rivaled his own. Still, a serve that could disappear must involve more than just ball control—it had to be some advanced slicing technique.

“It’s no exaggeration to see four or five balls. Fuji’s slicing method is anything but normal. He manipulates the ball’s contact point with his hand before striking, causing it to accelerate and oscillate wildly after bouncing. The speed of this oscillation is so great that the ball appears to vanish,” Inui observed silently, motionless.

“Let’s see you handle this one.”

Fuji unleashed the vanishing serve again. This time, Kikumaru, having tracked the trajectory, moved to intercept at the net—but his racket swished through empty air.

“How can this be? I saw the path, but still couldn’t hit it…”

Swish!

Oishi clenched his jaw as he watched the ball roll back near the baseline—another miss.

“Thirty-love!”

“Even if you can track the ball, it’s impossible to return. The ball’s movement is erratic; no matter how sharp your reflexes, you can’t position your racket precisely during such high-frequency vibration,” Narue Matsubara commented, arms folded. Unless someone like Jirou Akutagawa—an absolute genius at net volleys—was playing, dynamic vision and control alone were not enough to handle Fuji’s vanishing serve. And even Akutagawa, on the rare occasions he managed to return it, never succeeded in sending it back effectively.

“Forty-love!”

“One all!”

“Fantastic! They didn’t break the opponent’s serve, but at least they held their own!” Saori cheered excitedly.

“That’s true, but now it’s the opponent’s turn to serve. Evergreen still hasn’t found a way to counter Seigaku’s Golden Pair,” Inoue said, his expression grave.