Amid the tense atmosphere, the members of the American Team quietly arrived at the spectator entrance. Ryōma's eyes immediately turned toward the scoreboard, and upon seeing the score, a faint look of surprise crossed his face.
"Oh? So it's a match between Camus and Duke? Former teammates now standing on opposite sides—must be a complicated feeling," Ryōga said with a knowing smile.
"From the looks of it, the Japan Team seems to be falling behind. Guess that's just what you'd expect from Camus," Kiko remarked casually. Given Camus's strength, even Reinhardt wouldn't dare say he could win against him for sure.
"Actually, what surprises me more is that the French Team placed Camus in Singles Three. That didn't even happen in the last World Cup!" Dodo said curiously, clearly intrigued by the lineup.
"That only shows how seriously France takes Japan this year," Hopkins said in a deep tone.
"Enough talk. The match is starting again—let's watch quietly," Reinhardt reminded, his eyes narrowing as Duke and Camus returned to the court.
The sixth game began with Duke's serve. Facing Duke, who now radiated a demonic aura, Camus instinctively raised his guard. He could tell—the real match was about to begin.
Duke stepped to the baseline, tossed the ball without hesitation, and swung. His right arm muscles bulged as the racket connected with a thunderous crack. The tennis ball turned into a blast wave, ripping through the air like it could pierce the heavens.
Camus sprinted toward the landing point, but for just a brief moment, his steps faltered. Maybe others didn't notice, but from the sidelines, Akashi caught it clearly.
When Camus reached the spot, a brilliant radiance erupted from his body. A massive heart-shaped aura enveloped him completely. The moment his racket met the ball, dust exploded into the air behind him.
The force behind Duke's shot slammed into the racket repeatedly, vibrations surging through every fiber. Camus twisted his wrist rapidly to absorb and disperse the impact, while the glowing aura of love around him worked to neutralize the destructive power rippling from the ball.
In the end, he managed to return the shot—but his expression darkened. The strings of his racket had loosened slightly. It wouldn't affect play much, but to Camus, it was something intolerable.
Yet Duke wasn't done. He charged forward with several heavy steps, muscles in his right arm tightening like coiled steel. Lowering his stance, he let out a deep roar. The ball transformed into a gigantic black palm that slammed down toward Camus with terrifying force.
Camus's brow furrowed. His racket whispered that he could take the shot—but for the first time, he hesitated to trust that voice. He could feel the sheer destructive might within Duke's strike.
The next instant, the ball crossed the net. There was no time left to think. Camus clenched his teeth, trusting his beloved weapon once more, and gripped the racket with both hands as he swung to meet it head-on.
But almost instantly, regret flashed across his face. The moment the racket met the ball, a faint cracking sound reached his ears.
Even though his aura of love neutralized most of the destructive force, it wasn't enough. The racket strings shattered, the frame splintered with tiny cracks, and the ball ripped through, flying straight out of bounds.
"Destruction Homerun!"
"15–0!"
As Duke scored the point, a massive, indistinct shadow appeared faintly behind him. The crowd gasped, but before they could get a clear look, the apparition vanished into the air.
Camus looked down at his broken racket, holding it gently in his arms, his face filled with sorrow—as if he blamed himself for not being able to protect his beloved partner. Slowly, he walked to the bench, setting the damaged racket carefully into his bag, his fingers brushing over it tenderly.
Then he drew a new racket and returned to the court. The calmness on his face was gone, replaced by an icy composure. A chilling aura began to emanate from his body.
But Duke paid no mind to the change. As soon as Camus stepped back onto the court, Duke tossed the ball up again and unleashed another heavy, thunderous serve—its power already rivaling that of a Homerun.
But this time, Camus was ready. Countless flower petals began to fall rapidly from the air, merging with the light radiating from his body. In an instant, they formed a massive glowing heart that enveloped the tennis ball the moment it hit the ground.
A second later, Camus swung with incredible speed, his racket slicing through the air as the countless petal illusions surged forward like a storm, engulfing Duke completely. Watching the scene unfold, Akashi couldn't help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu. If the timing weren't so serious, he might have asked Camus whether he happened to know someone named Kuchiki Byakuya—because this looked exactly like a Bankai!
Just as the flood of petals was about to swallow Duke whole, two enormous black hands suddenly burst through the sea of flowers. With a violent tear, they ripped the flowery curtain apart, leaving a massive void in its center. The hands then merged into one, forming a colossal palm that came crashing down toward Camus like the strike of a divine being.
Yet right before the giant hand could touch him, it vanished into thin air. At the same time, a sharp sound echoed from Duke's baseline—the ball had already landed behind him.
"15–15!"
"I told you two years ago," Camus said coldly, eyes fixed on Duke, "even your destructive power can't completely hide the flaw in your swing. I didn't expect that after two years, you still haven't overcome that weakness, Duke."
"No, you're wrong, Leopold!" Duke replied in a low, powerful voice. "If you can still see my flaw, that just means my destructive force isn't strong enough yet!"
As Duke turned back toward the baseline, Ryōma's gaze suddenly shifted away from the court. His expression changed instantly—shock flickered across his face. Standing near the edge of the audience were two figures in Germany's national team uniforms, accompanied by an older man in a suit.
"That's… Germany's Q.P. and Volk! They're here watching the match too!" Ryōma said in surprise.
"And not just them—Germany's coach, Ken Lendoll, is with them," Hopkins added, his tone serious. "Looks like this match is drawing a lot of attention."
"As expected," Reinhardt said calmly, glancing once toward the German trio before turning back to the court. "Either France or Japan could be our opponent in the semifinals. And let's not forget, there's also the Swiss Team led by Amadeus."
By now, the air around the court was completely filled with mist. Though Camus's shots weren't focused on sheer power, it didn't mean he couldn't stand against overwhelming force. As for Duke, his destructive might filled the center of the court, where a vast sea of petals clashed violently against shadowy black palms.
The match had reached a boiling point. Duke held a slight advantage—his unparalleled destructive force made Camus hesitate. He couldn't bear the thought of damaging his beloved racket again.
The audience was utterly stunned by the exchange. Even the middle school players from Japan sat frozen, speechless. Not even the match between Akutsu and Duke had reached this level of intensity.
As their battle raged on, Camus suddenly noticed something strange—the sound coming from the tennis ball was fading. It was becoming faint, as though something was interfering with it. After a moment's thought, Camus realized what it was. It had to be Duke's destructive power.
Duke's ability didn't just damage rackets—it could also sever the emotional link between Camus and the tennis ball, disrupting the flow of love that guided his play. The balance on court was slowly beginning to shift.
"Game! Japan! 4–2!"
In the end, Duke's sheer destructive power allowed him to claim the sixth game. But there was no relief or satisfaction on his face. Across the court, he could sense something familiar—an energy wave radiating from Camus's body, one he knew all too well.