"Tiebreak begins."
"Byoudouin to serve."
The umpire's voice was tense after witnessing their explosive exchange.
Whoosh!
Byoudouin tossed the ball—sa motion, sa form—but the mont his racket connected, a blazing yellow streak shot across the court.
A professional-grade serve.
The high schoolers held their breath, eyes snapping to the silver-glowing figure on the opposite side.
Flick!
Ryoma moved.
His reflexes, honed by third-level swordsmanship intent, allowed him to track the ball's trajectory instantly. His swing—invisible to most—connected with a thunderous crack!
Boom!
The collision unleashed violent shockwaves. A stray gust sliced into the ground, carving a two-finger-deep trench.
"Tch!"
Spectators scrambled backward without prompting, retreating to the stands.
Yet around Ryoma, the turbulent winds parted like obedient servants.
"Incredible control!"
The top U-17 mbers watched in awe.
Byoudouin's serve demanded respect—even Ryoma had to dissipate so force. But the precision? Flawless. The way those razor-edged gusts avoided him entirely before he channeled the remaining energy into—
Flash!
A silver streak tore through the dust cloud.
From Byoudouin's perspective, a colossal tennis ball erged like a teor, bathed in eerie blue-green light.
"Good!"
He stepped forward, swinging with brutal force.
The Duel of Dinsions
In the ntal realm, the skeletal pirate captain—now bulkier—swung a cutlass that seed to shear space itself.
Clang!
A blade intercepted it.
A cloaked swordsman, bamboo hat shading his eyes, stood calmly on the deck.
"...Dangerous."
Byoudouin's voice carried rare wariness.
He'd thought this boy had potential. But now? This was no ntor-student match.
It was a death battle between equals.
Shing!
The pirate's cutlass blurred—only for the samurai to deflect and counter in one motion.
Slice!
The captain's coat split open.
Reality
Thud!
The ball whizzed past Byoudouin, his left sleeve fluttering to the ground.
"Ryoma leads, 1-0!"
The tiebreak rules were simple: First to seven points (with a two-point lead) won. Players alternated serves—one initial, then two each.
"Yes!"
Marui and Ohmagari cheered. If Ryoma held his serves, victory was within reach.
"Byoudouin slipped up," muttered Tokugawa.
A costly error. Now Ryoma would unleash his Stardust Serve—a shot rivaling Mouri's Mach. Could Byoudouin even return it?
Boom!
The answer ca instantly.
A shimring streak, dotted with cosmic light, seed to disconnect the audience's minds from their bodies. Even Byoudouin's vision distorted—the ball appearing to accelerate away.
"Speed Dinsion?"
His aura flared.
Crack!
He bludgeoned the serve back.
"He returned it?!"
Duke exhaled sharply. That serve would dominate pro circuits. Yet Byoudouin shattered its illusion through sheer willpower.
The Tides Turn
Slice!
In the ntal realm, the pirate's cutlass nicked the samurai's cloak.
Bam!
Reality mirrored it—Byoudouin's riposte shot past Ryoma as his own coat tore.
"1-1!"
The crowd shuddered.
This was it. The true battle—where predictability died.
Boom! Crack! Bam!
Dust swirled as the two traded world-class techniques:
Byoudouin's Asura Path amplified his destruction. Ryoma's analytical precision and multi-disciplinary skills kept pace.
"Ryoma, 6-5!"
"Byoudouin, 12-11!"
"Ryoma, 21-20!"
The score climbed relentlessly.
"How... long can this go on?" A trembling Akutsu whispered.
"Indefinitely," Mitsuya said grimly. "But if I had to bet—Byoudouin's stamina wins out."
Murmurs of agreent followed. Best-of-three matches favored endurance.
Yet—
Boom!
Ryoma showed zero fatigue.
Byoudouin's brow glistened. This wasn't just a match anymore.
It was a war of attrition.
And his instincts scread: He might outlast .
The Ultimate Technique
Whoosh!
Byoudouin's aura shifted—crimson darkness erupting around him.
Then—
Six Byoudouins appeared.
"Muga no Kyouchi?!"
The coaches paled.
The ultimate technique—No-Self State—where all possible swing trajectories beca real. Only at impact would the illusions collapse into one true strike.
Unreadable. Unstoppable.
Crack!
Yet—
Thud!
Ryoma sprinted along the baseline and swung at empty air—
Bam!
—intercepting the ball cleanly.
"He... predicted it?!"
Even Duke gaped. This defied pro-level logic.
"Strong technique," Ryoma panted, sweat dripping. "But not enough."
"Monster," soone breathed.
Byoudouin's eyes narrowed.
Then—
Nine afterimages split from him.
Ten total.
"That's not Muga..." Kurobe's voice shook. **"It's Arayashiki—the pinnacle that reduces all to dust."**
The final gate.
The Consciousness of Ruin.
And it was here.
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