Prince of Tennis: Shocking! Hyotei's Demon King is a Yukimura fangirl!

Chapter 47 Please be our substitute coach

After Feng left the field, all eyes on the court fell on Atobe.

Atobe stood there with his arms crossed, his face expressionless. He glanced at Mochizuki Ryo, then at his dejected teammates on the sidelines, and remained silent for a few seconds.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

"Birch Field".

Kabaji Takahiro emerged from behind him, his tall figure casting a long shadow in the setting sun. He held a tennis racket in his hand, his face expressionless, and stood opposite Mochizuki Ryo.

"yes!"

A low commotion finally broke out again on the sidelines.

"It's on the birch ground..."

"Could he replicate Mochizuki Ryo's moves?"

"Maybe there's a chance..."

The club members, who had been suppressing their feelings for so long, finally had a glimmer of hope. Kabaji's ability to imitate was recognized as the strongest at Hyotei; he could copy something after seeing it only once. This was their last hope.

Wang Yueling's lips twitched as she listened to the whispers.

He sighed inwardly, wondering if these people had some misunderstanding about Kabaji's abilities.

Copy?

He hasn't used a single special move yet; he's only been using the most basic techniques. What's the point of copying basic moves?

That's ridiculously naive.

But he didn't say anything, he just looked at the birch field across from him.

Kaba stood there, half a head taller than him, his expression as calm as a still lake.

"Come on," Mochizuki Ryou said earnestly.

Game start.

Kabaji watched Mochizuki Ryo's every move closely, mimicking her serve, return, and footwork. Their movements were almost identical, making it look like a mirror match.

The difference is obvious at a glance.

With the same serve, Mochizuki Ryo's is more stable and the landing point is more accurate; with the same volley, Mochizuki Ryo has better rhythm and more power; with the same footwork, Mochizuki Ryo is lighter and more energy-efficient.

Kabaji tried his best to imitate, but he couldn't even get a single ball. Every return was easily neutralized, and every effort he made landed on empty air.

The game ended after three minutes.

"game, Mochizuki Ryou".

Kabaji hung his head, a rare look of dejection on his face. He picked at the edge of his racket with his fingertips, looking completely listless. He didn't immediately leave the court, as if waiting for Mochizuki Ryo to scold him.

This operation stumped Wang Yueling. After a two-second silence, considering that the boy was a junior and still young, she hesitated for a while before speaking.

"You have a strong ability to imitate."

Huadi looked at him.

"But tennis isn't just about imitation." Mochizuki Ryo walked over and patted his arm. "You can copy someone's moves, but you can't copy their practice. You can see someone's movements, but you can't see how much sweat they shed behind the scenes."

Kabaji's expression remained blank, but his hand gripped his racket tightly.

"Your childlike enthusiasm is a talent, but it can't replace your training. Go back and solidify your fundamentals. Only when your skills improve will your imitation truly be effective."

Kabaji was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

"Yes."

Wang Yueling watched his retreating figure and sighed inwardly.

Birchland is a rough gem.

His childlike innocence, talent for imitation, and physical abilities are all top-notch.

But what he lacks is a solid foundation and creativity.

Once he has a solid foundation, and learns to add his own elements to the imitation, that will be truly terrifying.

It's still early.

Wang Yueling put away her racket, gently flicked her wrist, and her knuckles made a slight cracking sound.

More than two hundred people, from ordinary members to near-regulars, and then to Hyotei's proud regular lineup, took turns in a series of matches, but not a single one of them managed to score a single point against him.

The stadium fell into a deathly silence.

As the sun sank completely below the horizon, the high-mast lights around the golf course suddenly illuminated. In the stark white light, everyone's shadow was stretched long and thin, like drooping, defeated flags.

The boys hung their heads, sweat mixed with frustration splattering on the ground, and even their breathing was extremely soft.

Mochizuki Ryo slowly walked back to the coach's bench, picked up the sports drink that Sakaki Taro handed her, unscrewed the cap, and took two gulps.

The cool liquid slid down my throat, suppressing the last trace of restlessness in my heart.

He looked up and his gaze fell on Atobe Keigo, who was always standing at the front of the group. His blue eyes were filled with undisguised teasing.

"Keigo, you're the last one left. Want to give it a try?"

Atobe coughed lightly, tucking away his fingers that had been rubbing his cuffs. His icy blue eyes met Atobe's directly, his tone frank and undisguised: "No need. The outcome was decided yesterday; we lost 6-1."

The moment those words were spoken, the entire room erupted in uproar.

Keigo Atobe, the emperor of Hyotei, personally admitted his defeat.

The elected members looked up abruptly, their faces filled with disbelief.

Oshitari's hand, adjusting his glasses, froze in mid-air, the lenses reflecting the light and concealing the shock in his eyes. Mukahi's movements stiffened, his eyes wide as he stared at Atobe. Ootori gripped his racket tightly, his mouth slightly agape, clearly not expecting his captain to lose.

Even the usually composed Kabaji was taken aback, his gaze towards Atobe filled with surprise.

"The minister...lost?"

Someone murmured something, and it instantly spread throughout the entire venue.

The last line of psychological defense collapsed completely.

Atobe glanced at the dejected members, his brow furrowing slightly, and his aura returned to its former strength. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, the sound crisp and carrying an undeniable authority.

"I lost, and that's that. There's nothing wrong with admitting it."

He paused, his eyes regaining their usual sharpness, and his voice deepened.

"But I will win back."

Wang Yueling looked at him, a slight smile curving her lips, but said nothing.

He turned and swept his gaze over the dejected boys in the arena, scoffing as he spoke, each word like a whip lashing at their hearts: "Two hundred-plus people ganging up on me, and I couldn't even get a single point. Hyotei Tennis Club, you're really something."

The members lowered their heads even further.

"The top tier of the national competition, stagnating year after year." Wang Yueling took a step forward with a cold smile, her voice icy and merciless: "You deserve to lose. With your current level, losing is normal when you go out to compete; winning would be an accident."

"Simple-minded and not particularly well-developed physically."

"His basic skills are terrible, his mentality is so fragile that it breaks at the slightest touch, he keeps his special moves to himself, and his desire to win is inconsistent."

"Of all the players I've encountered, even the ones who just retrieved the ball were better players than you guys!" (This is true!!!)

"You have good family backgrounds, good talent, and good resources, but you've wasted them all. You've become numb to losing games, and you shut down after being scolded a couple of times. You don't even have the courage to raise your heads. You've disgraced Hyotei from the court to the school gate, completely and utterly."

"Hyotei's pride? To me, it's all a joke!"

Every word is venomous and hurtful, yet there's not a single fault to be found in them.

The entire stadium was shrouded in a low-pressure atmosphere, and everyone was so badly criticized that they began to question their existence.

They had never imagined just how bad they really were. Hyotei was a prestigious school, and their tennis team was a nationally seeded team; they had grown up being praised. No one had ever said they were bad, no one had ever called them incompetent.

But today, Wang Yueling used three hours, more than two hundred matches, and a score of zero to tell them one fact: you are really not good enough.

This fact is so cruel that they don't even have the strength to refute it.

Some people had red eyes, some were trembling all over, and they were all wondering if they were really worthless, if in Wang Yueling's eyes they were not even as good as paramecia.

The regulars also had their heads down, their shoulders drooping, their fingers gripping the racket handles tightly; Shinobu leaned against the net, his glasses reflecting the light, making it impossible to see his expression; Hiyoshi clutched his racket, his face pale; Feng's eyes were red, his face full of self-reproach; Jiro had lost his usual playful demeanor, his curly hair drooping, and he looked completely listless.

Their minds were in turmoil, and they were constantly reflecting on their actions.

Just when everyone was on the verge of self-doubt and collapse.

A small voice emerged from the back of the line, abruptly breaking the silence.

"Please be our substitute coach!"

The sound wasn't loud and was a little shaky, but it was very clear.