"Hm? Just now, you aimed straight at my blind spot? Seems your vision is sharp, Japanese middle schooler," Bismarck said calmly. He didn't mind losing the point at all. In fact, he even praised Atobe's sharp eyes.
After this year's U-17 World Cup, Bismarck was planning to turn pro. Right now he could only be called a pre-professional, but he already possessed the most vital trait of a true pro—stability.
Almost every top-ranked professional had that quality. Whether it was Volk, Amadeus, even Bertie or Dankmar, they rarely showed emotional swings during a match. Their mental state was steady as a rock.
In contrast, Byoudouin and Oni, though their strength was already pro-level, still let emotion shake them in matches. That sometimes became the point an opponent could exploit.
Of course, strong emotions weren't always bad. The Spain team, trained by Nanjirō, was full of fiery players. Intense emotions could also push someone to break through in desperate situations. Japan's players happened to excel at that kind of match.
On court, Bismarck ignored Siegfried for now. He knew if they wanted to win, he had to start taking things seriously. Losing here would be disgraceful.
He stepped to the baseline, tossed the ball, and hammered a blistering serve, far faster than before. Across the net, Irie couldn't even track it and just sprinted randomly in panic.
By sheer luck, his racket happened to block the serve mid-run. The force knocked him off balance, and he stumbled backward, falling hard in a ridiculous mess, drawing laughter from the crowd.
The ball shot high into the air. Bismarck was already at the net, leaping to smash it down into the front court.
But Atobe's figure appeared as well. Before the ball could land, he cut it off with a half volley, his right arm bursting with power. The ball streaked like a blur beneath Bismarck's feet.
Siegfried, positioned in the back, wanted to move but found himself frozen. By the time Bismarck landed, the ball had already slammed onto the sideline and bounced out.
"40–40! Deuce!"
"Another blind spot, huh? So that's your style," Bismarck said as he glanced at the ball outside the lines.
"Not bad, that smash had power. Looks like you're stronger than that piece of trash," Atobe sneered. He already knew Bismarck's data from Mitsuya, but he still mocked him anyway.
"What did you say?! Damn Japanese brat!" Siegfried lost control instantly. He charged to the net, hand outstretched to grab Atobe's face—only for Bismarck to yank him back.
"Siegfried's mindset is still too green. To be led around so easily by the opponent's words… this needs serious training," Volk remarked from the bench to Q.P.
"I've already started working on it. I thought this would just be a normal exhibition, but I didn't expect their middle schooler to be this strong. Not having collected intel on him was my failure," Q.P. admitted, his expression growing heavy.
On court, under Bismarck's scolding, Siegfried calmed down a little. But his eyes still burned with rage, glaring at Atobe like he wanted to devour him. Bismarck could only shake his head.
Siegfried hadn't always been this hot-tempered. In the previous middle school team selection, he had suffered a humiliating loss to Frankensteinerer, ending up second once again. He couldn't accept it. That's why he had planned to vent his anger here.
But who would have thought he would be completely powerless against Atobe? His mental defenses had collapsed. Volk and Q.P. didn't fully grasp his feelings, but Bismarck did—that's why he only scolded once.
Seeing Siegfried calm slightly, Bismarck served again. It was blazing fast, but since his mind was still partly on Siegfried, the angle was too direct, heading straight at Irie.
Irie beamed as he managed to return it. Bismarck didn't care. His eyes locked on Atobe, and he launched a fierce assault. Atobe didn't retreat. The two clashed in rapid exchanges.
In the rally, Atobe noticed the ice spears around Bismarck had all shattered. Clearly, the German had eliminated his blind spots. Atobe wasn't surprised. After all, he was a nine-time champion of Germany. If Ice World alone could suppress him, that would have been absurd.
Atobe unleashed his all-out offensive stance, hammering down smash after smash at Bismarck, who answered with equal force. Irie and Siegfried had been reduced to mere spectators.
"Both are skilled at smashes. Let's see who cracks first," Byoudouin said seriously from the sideline.
"From overall strength and data, Atobe isn't favored. But the other side also doesn't seem to be going all out," Mitsuya observed quietly, eyes fixed on the fierce exchange.
After more than a dozen rallies, Siegfried couldn't hold back anymore. When Atobe sent a sharp crosscourt pass, Siegfried rushed toward the landing spot, hoping to catch him off guard.
Bismarck frowned. Bad move. But it was too late to stop him. The moment Siegfried's racket touched the ball, he felt a crushing weight. Switching to a two-handed grip now was impossible.
He barely managed to return it, but it floated up high—the very kind of ball Atobe loved. Sure enough, Atobe leapt skyward, slamming down a brutal smash.
The ball spun violently as it struck near center court. Bismarck clicked his tongue and sprinted after it. But instead of bouncing, the ball spun on the ground, then shot forward, skidding quickly out of the court.
"Rondo Towards Despair!"
"40–40! Japan leads!"
"Cheer for ore-sama's dazzling brilliance!" Atobe landed, brushing back his hair with arrogant flair.
The crowd erupted into cheers. Atobe's flamboyant play had won them over, their bias fading as attention shifted toward Japan.
Bismarck's face remained unchanged, though his eyes grew heavier. Siegfried, on the other hand, looked utterly dejected. He knew that point had been his fault.
"You need to regain your rhythm quickly, Elmar. Normally you wouldn't be this impatient," Bismarck muttered after a glance.
"I understand. From here on, I'll match your pace completely, Michael," Siegfried finally set aside his pride and nodded.
Bismarck patted his shoulder, then returned to the baseline. He grabbed a ball, tossed it high, and smashed down with force.
At that instant, Atobe shouted, "Right side!" Without hesitation, Irie bolted right, intercepting the ball at the last second.
"Hmm, seems like Atobe and Irie-senpai have some chemistry," Yukimura said with a smile, watching the coordination.
"I wonder if I'll get the chance to partner with Atobe sometime, puri~," Niō added with a sly grin.
Akashi already knew Irie's plan. Irie had always wanted to resonate with Atobe's ability, their styles so similar. Atobe, for his part, never minded Irie's theatrics—he even admired them.
Unfortunately, in the original matches, Irie never got his wish. Even after unlocking Atobe's potential, he missed the finals and could only cry on Oni and Tokugawa's shoulders. That had been the first time he ever broke down.
On court, Atobe and Bismarck clashed again in a fierce rally, forcing each other into lobs from tricky angles. This time Siegfried stayed out, unwilling to interfere.
It was supposed to be doubles, but their duel created a single-match spectacle. The crowd roared for both Germany and Japan alike.
Amid the rally, Irie drifted closer to the center, wearing his usual dazed look, body moving subconsciously with the ball. He looked useless—but Atobe noticed.
Seizing the chance, Atobe pushed Bismarck back to the baseline. With Siegfried still holding back, the moment arrived.
Bismarck returned a heavy topspin, sending a beam straight at Atobe. But Atobe suddenly sidestepped, exposing Irie behind him.
Flustered, Irie stuck his racket out. The impact shoved him back several steps, but he managed to keep it in play.
The ball lost most of its speed, deflecting at a sharp angle toward the sideline. Bismarck, stuck at the baseline, couldn't reach it. Siegfried sprinted desperately, stretching his racket—but he missed.
The ball struck the sideline and bounced out.
"Game! Japan leads 2–0!"