I am merely a passing Prince of Tennis.
“A grade-schooler deliberately hiding his strength? Don’t make me laugh…” The red-haired young man’s face was clouded with gloom as he stared at Akira Matsubara. It was just a slightly faster return, after all. With his own height of 180 centimeters, there was no way a mere elementary school student could defeat him if he played seriously!
Yet, the red-haired youth had still underestimated Akira Matsubara. Not only did the boy return both of his serves, but each return was even faster than the last!
“Damn it… I can’t return it!”
Gritting his teeth, the youth realized that although his racket was already poised where the ball would bounce, he was still a step too slow.
“A ball with applied traction and no spin isn’t so easy to return.”
Akira Matsubara took the game. Winterka Oda lifted her face and called out sweetly, “1-0!”
At this point, the red-haired young man was utterly stunned. Over the course of an entire game, he hadn’t managed to return a single ball!
He didn’t fly into a rage; instead, he quickly calmed down. Even though he’d lost his service game, as long as he played flawlessly for the next six games, there would be no problem!
“Let me… break your serve, then!”
As Akira Matsubara prepared to serve, the red-haired youth gripped his racket tightly with both hands. But by the time he swung at the right moment, the tennis ball had already flashed past him and shot out of bounds!
“15-0!”
Winterka Oda announced.
“Hey… did you guys notice? That grade-schooler hasn’t made a single mistake since losing a point in the first game.”
“With those skinny arms and legs, he’s beating an adult with ease. It’s incredible!”
“Whether he’s serving or returning, those non-spinning balls just keep getting faster…”
Sara’s mouth hung open in disbelief. She never imagined that Evergreen Academy, not known for tennis, would harbor a student with such natural talent!
Not to mention her and Kaede—even the third-year seniors who graduated in March didn’t have this level of skill at his age. If given enough time, this boy would surely make a name for himself and become a sensation!
Whoosh!
Once again, using Universal Pull to neutralize the spin from his serve, Akira Matsubara’s movements were fluid and unhurried. The yellow-green streak flashed by, shooting directly between the red-haired youth’s legs!
“2-0! Matsubara leads!”
Seeing Akira Matsubara take the lead, Winterka Oda’s delicate face was radiant with joy. Her beautiful blue eyes sparkled with excitement. The strength Akira suddenly displayed only deepened the budding affection in her heart.
From the moment she first saw Akira Matsubara today, Winterka Oda had felt a certain fondness for him—purely because of his handsome, elegant looks. For a girl inexperienced in the ways of the world, attraction rarely requires much reason; it is often appearance that draws one in.
It wasn’t until now that Winterka realized she was even more captivated by his tennis skills.
Once uninterested in tennis due to a long hiatus, she now found her passion rekindled—all thanks to Akira Matsubara. She wanted to join the tennis club!
“Watching your tennis is like having a fishbone stuck in my throat, or sitting on pins and needles, or being pricked by thorns. I thought you might be even more of a challenge than that Baiyu guy, but it turns out you’re just as weak.”
Looking at the red-haired youth, gasping for breath, Akira Matsubara taunted him once more. Only now did he remember who Baiyu, injured by Jin Akutsu, was—a character from Akutsu’s childhood flashback in the anime. It was a vivid reminder that not every narrow-eyed character is a monster.
The red-haired young man, stung by Akira’s mockery, was shaken. He not only failed to break Akira’s serve but couldn’t even hold his own. Who on earth was this boy?
Demoralized and losing his fighting spirit, the red-haired youth soon made a string of basic mistakes. Akira Matsubara easily won the next four games, and when Winterka Oda’s lively announcement rang from the referee’s seat, the final score was 6-0.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Someone in the crowd started to applaud, and soon a tidal wave of cheers and applause surged through the air. Everyone paid their respects to the brilliant performance Akira Matsubara had delivered.
As for Akira himself, he wasn’t overly pleased. With his special powers, victory was only natural. Besides, the red-haired youth’s strength was far below that of Hajime Mizuki. If he’d even lost a game to this guy, he’d have had no business staying here.
Just as the red-haired youth and his companions, realizing their defeat, were about to slink away, Akira Matsubara called out to them.
“Hey, which tennis club are you from?”
Akira was already considering who to recruit as the third official member of the tennis club. Jin Akutsu seemed a fitting choice—a natural talent who could overpower ninety percent of players with sheer ability alone.
Since these guys had come to avenge the insincere Baiyu, that meant they were all from the same tennis club. If he hung around their club, maybe he’d run into Akutsu.
“That’s none of your business!”
The red-haired youth thought this “Jin Akutsu” was planning to seek revenge later, so he muttered something and hurried off with his companions. Seeing this, Akira Matsubara could only shrug helplessly.
“Right, Akutsu should be in his first year at Yamabuki Middle School now, right?”
Akira suddenly remembered that most schools started their new term in early April. That meant the Golden Generation, who would become third-years, should all have joined their respective schools about a month ago.
In that case, he could go looking for Akutsu first. Only three spots remained for the seven regulars on the team. Akira had already decided he’d pick Ryo Shishido, Seiichi Yukimura, and Genichiro Sanada.
He had hesitated between Jiro Akutagawa and Ryo Shishido. After all, once Jiro dropped his “sleepyhead” act, even “King” Keigo Atobe was wary of his true strength. But Jiro had lost to Syusuke Fuji, and since Evergreen Academy already had Fuji, Akira decided to pick Shishido instead, who possessed extraordinary willpower and mental fortitude.
Stability over volatility: Akira preferred a player like Shishido, whose performance was more consistent.
He chose Yukimura and Sanada over Atobe and Oshitari because he didn’t want a monkey king like Atobe stirring up too much drama on the team.
With all of them setting Tezuka as the benchmark to surpass, Sanada was the more rational type, and Yukimura was an easy-going person. These two pairings would get along well.
Besides, in the Japan-U.S. Junior Selection Tournament, Atobe was undeniably both skilled and admirable in his indomitable spirit—but, well, Akira couldn’t think of what else to say; truthfully, he was simply captivated by Yukimura’s beauty.
If Syusuke Fuji embodied gentle elegance, then Seiichi Yukimura was that breathtaking, fleeting glance—a paragon of grace. Behind every gentle, supportive partner, there is a serious, dedicated man holding up the sky. Yukimura and Sanada were like another version of Tezuka and Fuji.
Rubbing his chin, Akira Matsubara mused to himself, “Come to think of it, when Sanada wears his cap, he does look a bit like a mix between Kenji’s hairstyle and Ryosuke Takahashi’s face…”
After his penalty run, Akira Matsubara went to the boys’ tennis club to collect his official team uniform: the summer version was a blue short-sleeved shirt with white shorts, and the autumn version was a blue-and-white long-sleeved shirt with blue long pants.
Strolling through the city on his way to Yamabuki Middle School, Akira passed a narrow alley and heard a commotion inside. Instinctively, he glanced over.
“So things like this really do happen…”
He saw several burly young men surrounding a scrawny, short boy and bullying him. Akira looked away, not intending to get involved.
“Wait a minute… Have I seen that boy somewhere before?”
A flash of memory crossed his mind. He stepped back to the alley’s entrance. There, hugging his head and trembling, was a cute boy with deep blue hair and a green sweatband on his forehead. Akira instantly remembered who he was—these punks were picking on “Child of God” Seiichi Yukimura!
“Hey!”
A righteous voice rang out. The ruffians turned to see Akira Matsubara idly tossing a few pebbles in his hand, his chin raised in challenge. “Let the boy go. Face me instead!”
“Who the hell are you?”
One of the thugs demanded. Akira spread his fingers, covering his face with feigned melodrama. “Just a passing Prince of Tennis. Remember me!”
“What the hell? Prince of Tennis?”
“Where’d this brat come from, messing with our fun?”
“You must be tired of living, kid. Get lost, or we’ll take care of you too!”
The three thugs strode toward Akira, cracking their knuckles menacingly as they approached. Watching their shadows loom over him, Akira called out confidently, “Yukimura, run! I’ll hold them off!”
“Yukimura… Who’s that?”
Hearing this, the boy with his head down looked up at the slim, righteous black-haired youth, and said blankly.