Quasi-homology!

It was now Sadaharu Inui and Renji Yanagi’s turn to serve, but after the Mikami brothers unleashed their unpredictable shots, the pair continued to lose points.

“Fifteen–love!”

“Thirty–love!”

No matter where Renji tried to send the ball, Mikami Yusuke in the back court always managed to cover for Mikami Kosuke’s mistakes, thanks to his prompt reactions right after Kosuke moved. As a result, any ball Kosuke couldn’t reach or that might have become a scoring opportunity for the opponents simply ceased to exist.

“Two–one! Yamabuki Middle leads! Change sides!”

“This isn’t good. The Mikami brothers’ telepathy completely suppresses Inui and Yanagi’s data tennis…” said Mamoru Inoue from the sidelines.

“Inoue-senpai, can telepathy between siblings really be that accurate? Isn’t this almost like cheating?” Saori Shiba couldn’t help but feel this kind of ability was a bit of a glitch in the system.

“You could say that. But it’s exactly because of this that Yamabuki’s doubles team is the strongest trump card in the boys’ team tournament. Unlike the national tournament, where singles and doubles matches are mixed, the priority given to two doubles matches allows Yamabuki to secure a huge advantage against other schools,” Inoue explained, watching the four players walk to their respective sides.

“It looks like it’s time to use that move, isn’t it?” Sitting on the bench, Kan’ya Bantada broke into a gentle smile as he watched the Mikami brothers.

“They’re not ordinary opponents, Bantada-san…”

“I’d hoped to save it for later, but they know our data inside and out…” The Mikami brothers dared not let their guard down—after all, Inui’s high-speed serves combined with their data tennis made them difficult to contain without telepathy.

“Then why not capitalize on your own weaknesses and speed up the rhythm of the match?” Bantada suggested with a slight smile.

“Our own weaknesses…”

“Speed up the tempo…”

The Mikami brothers repeated the words in their hearts, and suddenly, a flash of understanding crossed their minds at the same moment.

“So that’s it, of course!”

“As expected of Bantada-san—using our awareness of our own weaknesses…”

“Letting them see our flaws more clearly, and then countering with tennis that’s even harder for them to respond to…”

At that moment, sitting on the bench, Tezuka gazed at Inui and Yanagi. “No matter what, don’t lose your composure. That will only limit your thinking,” he said.

“Yes, of course.” Inui and Yanagi paused, then nodded in unison. Though Tezuka’s words sounded like encouragement or comfort, for players who relied on data and intellect, it was a stabilizing force—a reassurance.

Indeed, if they lost their composure, they’d be unable to analyze their opponents’ data and respond accordingly. Failure would become inevitable. Only by keeping true to themselves and adapting could they find a way to win.

However, even with both coaches offering advice, the Mikami brothers’ momentum was not stifled. Following Bantada’s instructions, the two, fully aware of their own shortcomings, no longer tried to cover them up or improve them. Instead, they exposed their flaws openly to Inui and Yanagi.

For the two who relied on playing by the book, it was as if they were applying a universal formula to every problem. Their attacks grew more aggressive and intense, but Mikami Yusuke, playing in the back, always managed to cover for Mikami Kosuke’s errors.

Even when Kosuke made no mistakes, he would deliberately let balls go through to Yusuke in the back. In this way, the two, amid a mix of real and feigned errors, continued to rack up points against Inui and Yanagi.

“Five–two! Yamabuki Middle leads! Change sides!”

Despite their relentless data-driven attacks on their opponents’ weak spots, Inui and Yanagi were left battered by the Mikami brothers’ relentless counterattacks. The returned shots often defied all data predictions. Even with the correct analytics, the pair could barely eke out any advantage, and the one game they won was thanks to Inui’s high-speed serve, delivered with over 120% of his strength.

“Why is this happening? Inui and Yanagi can see through all their attacks, yet they’re still being overwhelmed…” Odaka Fuyuka, standing beside Mei Matsubara, voiced her confusion, her tone anxious.

“The Mikami brothers’ telepathy is like a real-time special ability. Whenever Kosuke makes an error, Yusuke instantly knows how to cover seamlessly. It’s as if two people are playing as one. Their vision and reaction speeds are doubled. Of course, that’s just a metaphor; their dominance isn’t as simple as one plus one equals two,” Matsubara replied.

“I noticed they always start with the older brother in front and the younger in back. If we target the younger brother, could there be a reversal?” Yuna Iwamura mused, touching her chin thoughtfully.

“I doubt it makes much difference. That’s likely just a random formation. Even if Kosuke is at the net, Yusuke still takes most of the shots. It’s not about front or back—whichever one you target, the other is always ready to cover and counter,” Matsubara shrugged.

“We’re attacking their increasingly obvious weak points, but they always anticipate our moves and return the ball to completely unpredictable spots…” Inui said wearily.

“Our data isn’t wrong. The problem is they’re predicting our predictions and then acting in direct opposition to them. That’s why we keep losing points,” Yanagi added, slightly out of breath.

“It’s not my service game now. We might lose, Renji…” Inui admitted, drained from using his high-speed serve in every service game. If he had the chance, he’d rely on his willpower to keep going, but with the current score and the serve in the opponents’ hands, there was little he could do.

“Sadaharu, do you remember what you asked me before I first taught you data tennis?”

Yanagi’s expression didn’t change much; his eyes narrowed as he spoke.

“You mean…” Inui suddenly recalled their childhood.

…

“Sadaharu, I want you to master data tennis just like me. It’s an incredible skill, and with it, our doubles can become unstoppable.”

His thoughts drifted back to a day after they’d first met in fourth grade. Renji, sporting a pageboy haircut, looked at him with hopeful eyes, wishing that they could use data tennis as their ultimate weapon in doubles, making them invincible.

“Yes, it’s a remarkable technique. Using data to attack the opponent’s weaknesses guarantees victory. But what if one day the data stops working? Wouldn’t our doubles lose much of its strength?” Inui, though amazed and eager to learn, was rational—data required that all possibilities be accounted for. Otherwise, there would always be hidden risks.

“We’re just building data tennis as the roof; the foundation—our teamwork and harmony—can’t be neglected. With our solid skills as the backbone, data tennis will make our little home complete.” Renji flashed a bright, sunlit smile.

“Renji…”

“The moment you agreed to play doubles with me, you understood why, didn’t you?” Renji smiled gently, answering his own question. “We clicked right away and formed a deep bond, displaying chemistry far beyond our peers. That’s something other doubles teams don’t always have. That’s why I say data tennis is our ultimate edge.”

Back in the present, Inui heard Yanagi’s voice. “Sadaharu, you haven’t forgotten those uncanny feelings when we play doubles, right? The ones that let us sense each other’s thoughts—as if we could predict each other!”

“Of course not. In fact, our reunion has only made that feeling stronger!”

As he spoke, a faint glow seemed to emanate from both Inui and Yanagi. Their eyes deepened, becoming unreadable.

“What… what is that…” Matsubara was the first to react. Identical grips, identical stances… Could it be synchronization?

“No, the light isn’t strong enough, and their gaze isn’t pure enough—proto-synchronization, perhaps?” She quickly dismissed her own speculation, whispering again.

Purple Pen Literature