The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a fiery orange glow over the rundown courts nestled at the foot of the Ishioka mountains. The only sounds were the occasional rustling of leaves in the breeze, and the distant chatter of the town, oblivious to the legend that was about to stir the tennis world.
Ren Kazama stood at the edge of the court, gripping his worn-out vintage racquet. He had been coming to this spot for years, ever since his father, a former tennis champion, had brought him here to practice in isolation. The cracked concrete, the faded lines, and the rusty net were all remnants of a life that seemed distant now, but for Ren, this court was home.
He adjusted the grip on his racquet, the same racquet that had seen him through every one of his training sessions — hours spent perfecting his serves, honing his footwork, and above all, practicing his signature shot. The Phantom Serve.
Ren had always played for himself. There was no audience here, no sponsors, no ranking. Just him, the ball, and the court. He didn't need the validation of the tennis world. He was content in his solitude. But that was about to change.
A car screeched to a halt outside the gates, and Ren glanced over his shoulder. A tall man stepped out, his posture straight, his gaze sharp. Tatsuo — a talent scout for the nation's biggest tennis leagues — had been tracking Ren for months. Everyone in the underground tennis scene knew who he was. But Ren? He had no interest in the system. The rules. The spotlight. All of it seemed pointless to him.
Tatsuo approached, his eyes scanning the court. He was wearing a well-fitted suit — completely out of place in this worn-down corner of the world.
"You've got talent, Kazama," Tatsuo said, his voice smooth and calculated. "I've been following your games. Your technique is unorthodox, but… unique. Why waste your potential out here?"
Ren didn't respond, instead bouncing the tennis ball on the cracked asphalt, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
"I'm not interested in tournaments," Ren replied, his voice calm, but firm. "I don't need the system."
Tatsuo chuckled, stepping closer, clearly amused. "You think you can just keep playing in obscurity forever? The pro world won't wait for you to decide when you're ready. People like you, with talent this raw, don't just fade into the background."
Ren's eyes flashed with a quiet intensity. "I'm not interested in fame. I'm not interested in rankings. I just want someone who can challenge me."
Tatsuo paused, studying Ren for a moment. His eyes narrowed. "I thought you'd say that. But that's exactly why I'm here. I can get you into the National Selection Tournament. You'll have every opportunity to prove yourself — if you think you're good enough."
Ren's face hardened. "I don't need to prove anything. I've already made my name in the underground leagues."
"Underground leagues? That's where you want to stay?" Tatsuo said, almost mockingly. "Don't get me wrong, there's respect in the streets, but if you want to make a real impact, you have to play where the world can see you. Real competition. The National Selection Tournament will decide the future of tennis in Japan. But if you don't step up… you'll fade into obscurity."
Ren didn't flinch. He didn't care for the system. He didn't care for the recognition. But deep down, there was a small flicker of something else — something he couldn't quite define. The challenge. The need to test his limits.
He raised an eyebrow. "What's the catch?"
"Simple," Tatsuo said with a grin. "You're in. But if you fail, I'll make sure you're never seen again. You'll be washed up, and your name will disappear faster than you can blink. And believe me, I'm not bluffing."
Ren took a long pause, considering his options. He wasn't afraid of failure. He wasn't afraid of Tatsuo. But the idea of real competition, of facing players who could push him to his limits… that intrigued him more than anything.
"Fine," Ren said, finally breaking his silence. "But on one condition."
Tatsuo raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"
"I don't do this for the system," Ren said, his voice hardening. "I do it for myself. To find someone who can beat me."
Tatsuo studied him, as if measuring his every word, before nodding in agreement. "You've got a lot of arrogance for someone who hasn't played in a real tournament. But I like that."
Without another word, he turned and walked back toward his car. "I'll be in touch. The tournament is soon. Get ready."
As the car drove off, Ren stood silently in the middle of the court, his gaze distant, yet focused. The Phantom Serve had always been enough to get by. But now, it seemed there was something more at stake.
And for the first time in a long while, Ren felt something he hadn't experienced in years: excitement.