Chapter 13
The rooftop is especially quiet during lunch break.
I leaned against the shadow of the water tank, the detailed information sent by Atobe spread out on my lap. My fingertips traced the information of the Hyotei regulars, finally stopping at the page for "Hiyoshi Waka."
"Second Grade Class C... Ancient Martial Arts School: Ancient Martial Arts - Underdogs... Playing Style: Incorporating the steps and spirit of ancient martial arts into tennis, with swift and fierce movements, aiming for a single-shot victory..."
"Ancient martial arts·lower to overcome upper..."
I whispered these words, my gaze lingering on the three words "Guwudao" for a long time.
My fingertips unconsciously pinched the edge of the paper, leaving a tiny wrinkle. A long-dormant, metallic, cold fighting spirit, like a cold spring buried deep in the earth, quietly welled up in my heart.
So it's here.
I came to Japan to study, ostensibly for academic reasons, but in reality, I wanted to learn about and gain exposure to the family business. But at the same time, I also longed to compete with descendants of different schools in a foreign country.
It was just that the previous commotion caused by Hyotei and the "trouble" brought by Atobe temporarily obscured this idea.
Now, a real opponent who integrates martial arts into sports appears clearly before our eyes.
Hiyoshiwaka... I must find an opportunity to try his "overthrow of the superiors".
In the following days, the Hyotei Tennis Court became my temporary studio.
Atobe Keigo acted decisively and cleared out all unnecessary personnel in advance. The only sounds left on the huge court were the sounds of swinging rackets, my instructions, and the crisp clicks of shutters.
Professional attitude brings efficient output.
I distributed the carefully designed shooting plan to each of the selected players, clearly stating the requirements point by point:
"Feng Jun, please give your all to show the power you feel when serving. I need to capture the moment when your shoulder and back muscles tense.
"Shishido-kun, save the ball. Chase the ball as fast as you can and don't take your eyes off it. I want your movement and determination."
"Oshitari-kun, please push your glasses towards the camera, and the corners of your mouth... yes, that 'see-through' smile, very good!"
"Jiro, wake up! Now imagine the ball flying towards you at high speed, and open your eyes the moment! Right now!"
In order to facilitate flexible movement, squatting and upward shooting on the court, I completely changed out of Hyotei's elegant uniform skirt and put on a neat dark sportswear and strong-grip sneakers.
Her long, jet-black hair was tied up into a high ponytail, revealing her smooth forehead and focused eyes. She looked capable and powerful.
Professional photography requires an equally professional attitude and there can be no procrastination.
The shoot went exceptionally smoothly.
Although the main players have different personalities, they have all been "informed" by Atobe in advance and have demonstrated a high degree of cooperation.
My keen ability to capture light and shadow, my skillful choice of angles, and my unquestionable professional aura amidst my calmness gradually won the recognition of this group of gifted people.
A week of intensive filming is coming to an end, and the setting sun casts a warm golden hue on the tennis court.
"Thank you for your hard work, everyone!" I put away my camera and looked around. "Today's filming is complete. Tomorrow is the last day, and also the highlight—"
My eyes swept across both ends of the court.
"Filming of the battle between Atobe-kun and Hiyoshi-kun."
Atobe Keigo, who was wiping sweat with a towel, didn't stop when he heard the words, but nodded slightly, his eyes showing a matter-of-fact calmness. Meanwhile, on the other side of the court, Hiyoshi Wakaba's eyes were as sharp as a knife, and he replied in a deep voice, "Yes!"
"The match will simulate the intensity of a real match," I added, my tone unequivocal. "I need the most realistic confrontation, the most intense moments, and the most immersive state."
"Atobe-kun, please give it your all. Hiyoshi-kun, please display the spirit of 'the inferior conquers the superior' without reservation."
"Yeah, of course." He put the towel on his shoulders, a confident smile on his face. "There's no such word as 'letting go' in my dictionary."
"The underdog conquers the stronger!" Hiyoshi Wakaba's voice was unwavering, a fierce fire in his eyes. The opportunity to unleash his full potential in Budō Tennis before the captain, before the cameras, was a rare challenge and a testament to him.
I looked at the almost visible aura of confrontation that instantly rose between the two of them and nodded with satisfaction.
This is exactly what I wanted - the most realistic and intense collision moment.
As I gathered my equipment and prepared to leave, my eyes fell on Hiyoshi Wakaba again. He was meticulously adjusting the strings of his racket, his movements steady and precise, with the rhythmic rhythm of a warrior.
Very good...Hiyoshiwaka.
Tomorrow's battle is not just about filming.
It's also the best window for me to observe the essence of your 'downfall' martial arts...
The dormant fighting spirit in my heart burned silently in the afterglow of the setting sun.
Tomorrow's tennis court is destined to be turbulent.
What the camera wants to capture is the magnificent tennis match; and what I long for deep in my heart is the sharp edge of martial arts hidden beneath the trajectory of the tennis racket swing.
The golden sunset, like molten amber, streamed across the empty tennis court. The air was filled with the gentle warmth of the rubber surface and the lingering aftertaste of the intense competition.
On the last day of filming, the battle between Keigo Atobe and Wakashi Hiyoshi was a visual feast.
Atobe's gorgeous skills and absolute control are fully displayed in every swing of the racket. His jumping smash is like thunder, and his precise backhand through ball draws a tricky and deadly arc.
As for Hiyoshi Waka, he brought his Kobudo spirit of "the inferior conquering the superior" to its fullest potential! =.
His steps were swift and strange, with the unique rhythm and explosive power of ancient martial arts. Every shot was like a sharp blade being unsheathed, with a sharp sound of breaking through the wind, tricky angles, and heavy force.
The two players passed the ball back and forth, the speed of the ball was so fast that only the afterimage could be seen. The score was deadlocked and the intensity of the confrontation reached a climax.
The sound of my camera shutter almost never stopped, like a violent storm.
In high-speed continuous shooting mode, every breathtaking moment is captured with pinpoint accuracy: the taut waist and stern gaze of Atobe as he leaps for a smash; the sharp, lowered posture of Hiyoshiwaka as he makes a desperate save, the indomitable fire burning in his eyes; the splattering of sweat as the racket collides with the tennis ball...
Everything is imprinted perfectly on the negative.
The shoot went exceptionally smoothly, and the quality of the footage far exceeded expectations.
However, at the end of a wonderful multi-shot tug-of-war, an opportunity quietly emerged.
Hiyoshi dived almost parallel to the ground to save a tricky ball that Atobe had hit toward the corner. I happened to be half-kneeling on the ground, near the extension of his route, trying to capture his movements from a very low angle.
Now is the time!
Thoughts raced through my mind.
As if to "protect" the expensive camera in my hand from being hit by the tennis ball that might get out of control, my body's center of gravity suddenly shifted to the side, in the direction where Hiyoshiruka was flying towards me, and I "fell" over without balance.
The movements seemed hasty, but were actually carefully calculated.
"Be careful!" Oshitari exclaimed.
But faster than the sound was Hiyoshiwaka's reaction.
He relied almost entirely on an instinct that transcended tennis, the keen perception and protective reflexes of a kobudo practitioner deeply ingrained in his bones.
At the moment when his body was stretched to the extreme and the racket was about to touch the tennis ball, he twisted his waist and abdomen abruptly, forcibly changing the momentum of his body.
The tennis ball that could have been saved flew out of the court, but he was like a nimble shadow. At the critical moment, he gave up the crucial scoring opportunity and stretched out his arm like lightning.
It held my shoulders and arms firmly and strongly, preventing me from making close contact with the hard ground.
"Kiriyama-senpai! Are you alright?" Hijiro's voice was a little short of breath, but more of concern. He steadied me, his movements smooth and steady, with the calm strength that only a warrior can muster.
"It's okay, it's okay." I stood up immediately, a soothing, apologetic smile on my face, as if it really was just an accident. "Sorry! I didn't stand firmly and almost bumped into you. Thank you, Hiyoshi-kun, for your quick reaction."
I cleverly avoided the key point where he gave up catching the ball, focusing on thanking him for his help, while at the same time moving the arm he was holding without being noticed.
The rough ground still rubbed the outside of my elbow, and it burned, but it was just a minor abrasion and nothing serious.
Hiyoshi breathed a sigh of relief. After confirming that I was alright, he looked at the tennis ball that had flown out of the court with some annoyance. However, there was no regret on his face. Instead, there was a sense of calmness as if he had fulfilled his duty as a guardian. "I'm glad you're alright, Senior."
Everything happened so fast.
At the other end of the court, Eribe had already stopped moving. He stood there with his racket hanging at his side, his eyes fixed on this side.
His handsome face, which usually showed an expression of control over everything, now had a strange expression.
Extremely complex emotions were swirling in the depths of his eyes: there was a flash of stern scrutiny of Hiyoshi's unauthorized abandonment of the key ball; there was displeasure at the sudden situation that interrupted the rhythm of the game; but more importantly, there was something deeper that he himself had not even noticed.
His eyes first fell on Hiyoshi's arm that was supporting me. His eyes were as sharp as a knife, with an indescribable coldness.
Then, his gaze moved downwards, accurately capturing the glaring, bloody abrasion on the outside of my elbow.
Even though I had a relaxed smile on my face and said "It's okay", Atobe's brows instantly furrowed and his thin lips were pressed into a cold, hard straight line.
An inexplicable, oppressive low pressure quietly spread with him as the center.
"Hua Di." The voice sounded, so low that it was impossible to tell whether it was happy or angry, but it carried an unquestionable command.
"Yes." A tall figure immediately appeared behind him.
Without even glancing at Hiyoshi and me, Atobe gave a brief instruction to Karaji: "Take Hiyoshi to a cold compress. His movements just now were very strong on his knees."
His tone was businesslike, as if he was dealing with a player's routine sports protection.
"Yes." Huadi responded and walked towards Hiyoshi.
Hiyoshi was a little surprised, but he still obediently followed Karachi to the rest area on the sidelines.
Yuushi Ozuki pushed his glasses up, and his gaze behind the lenses subtly shifted between Atobe, me, and Hiyoshi who was walking towards the sidelines, and the corners of his mouth curled up in a thoughtful arc.
Only then did Atobe stretch out his long legs, step by step, and walk straight towards me with an invisible sense of oppression.
He stopped in front of me, his tall figure blocking the light of the setting sun, casting a shadow. He didn't say anything, but stretched out his hand, and his slender fingers pointed precisely at the small scrape on my elbow.
His eyes were no longer the arrogant gaze of a court king, nor were they the complex scrutiny from before, but were filled with dissatisfaction and a hint of imperceptible anxiety.
It seems to be saying silently: Is this your “it’s okay”?
I subconsciously tucked my elbows behind my back, the smile on my face fading a little. Meeting his eyes, which were filled with unknown emotions, I calmly repeated, "It's just a few scrapes, it's really nothing. Can we continue filming?"
Atobe Keigo's gaze lingered on my face for a few seconds, as if judging the truthfulness of his words.
In the end, he said nothing, just looked at me deeply, then he turned around abruptly and walked towards his golf bag with a deliberate and stiff indifference.
The setting sun stretched his shadow very long, and the air was filled with a silence that was even more tense than the fierce confrontation just now.
I looked at his back, then looked down at the insignificant wound on my elbow, and recalled Hiji's lightning-fast rescue reaction.
Hiyoshi's reflexes...are indeed excellent.
The instinct of martial arts is already ingrained into my bones.
Today... had a good harvest.
As for Keigo Atobe's strange look and sudden low mood, I frowned slightly.
What's going on again?
Atobe Keigo walked back to his golf bag, bent down and accurately took out the exquisite box with foreign logos that looked very familiar to me from an inconspicuous small compartment on the side of the bag - it was the box of high-end Band-Aids that I had not been able to give away before.
He held the box, without a word, without even looking at me, but simply extended his arm and handed the small box directly to me. His movements were crisp and decisive, with a firmness that brooked no refusal, as if he were completing a necessary handover procedure.
I was slightly stunned.
He actually still carries this with him?
And...at a time like this?
Looking at his handsome face that was still tense and with a hard profile, I didn't refuse and took it: "...Thank you."
Her fingertips touched the cold box, and she felt him retract his fingers quickly when he handed it to her, as if he was avoiding something.
He made an almost imperceptible "hmm" as a response, but his eyes were still not focused on me, as if he was not the one who handed me the Band-Aid just now.
The filming was apparently over.
I took the Band-Aid box and walked to the bench at the side of the field to sit down. I took the heavy professional camera off my neck and handed it to Atobe who was walking over. "Would you like to see today's results?"
Atobe silently took the camera, his slender fingers deftly operating the replay button. His gaze fell on the small screen, flipping through the images of the intense moment he had just captured. His expression remained stern, revealing no apparent emotion.
I ignored him and opened the exquisite Band-Aid box and took out one.
One-handed operation was a bit awkward, so I leaned slightly sideways, lowered my head, and used my teeth to tear open the package. I carefully applied the waterproof, breathable dressing to the small scrape on my elbow. My movements weren't particularly graceful, but they were focused.
At the other end of the bench, Hiyoshi was quietly applying an ice pack to his knee, following Karaji's instructions. His posture was straight, even while resting, maintaining the upright posture of a warrior.
The opportunity is right in front of you.
As I adjusted the edge of the Band-Aid, I casually spoke, my voice casual and chatty, "Hiyoshi-kun, thank you so much for that. It was like a reflex."
I looked up at him, my eyes filled with genuine gratitude and just the right amount of curiosity. "Have you practiced any special sports? You seem like a master in a Kung Fu movie?"
Upon hearing this, Hiyoshi straightened his back slightly, and a glimmer of pride belonging to a martial arts practitioner flashed in his eyes.
He put down the ice pack and answered seriously, "Senior, you're too kind. This is the ancient martial arts training passed down in my family. I've been practicing since I was a child. Reaction speed and body coordination are the basic requirements."
"Kobudo?" I expressed just the right amount of surprise and intense interest. "Is it one of those ancient martial arts schools? I've only seen it in books. It sounds impressive. Does your family... run a dojo?"
Hiyoshi nodded seriously, "Yes. My father runs a traditional martial arts dojo, and it's quite famous locally. 'Underdog' isn't just my style; it's also one of the core philosophies of our school."
His tone was calm and steady, full of respect for the family heritage.
Dojo. As expected.
The spark of exploration in my heart was instantly ignited. It was effortless to get it.
The smile on my face became much more sincere, with undisguised admiration: "I see. No wonder it feels different. It's really amazing to be able to integrate the spirit of martial arts into tennis. I really want to see the real Kobudo if I have the chance." My tone was full of yearning, yet I maintained a polite distance.
Hiyoshi seemed a little embarrassed by my sincere praise, but his eyes brightened. "You are too kind, Senior. If you are interested, you are welcome to visit the dojo anytime."
"Okay." I replied with a smile, feeling that I had gained a lot today.
Not only was the shooting mission successfully completed, but the most important target information was also obtained smoothly. I couldn't help but feel happy, and I didn't even feel the pain from the slight scratch on my elbow.
However, this ease and joy seemed to add fuel to the fire in the eyes of someone who was "checking photos" not far away.
Atobe's fingertips rested on the camera screen, and the picture was frozen at the moment when Hiyoshi Waka flew to save the ball - of course, what he saw was not the save, but the frame when Hiyoshi Waka gave up the ball, turned around and held me steadily.
In the picture, Hiyoshi Waka's arms were supporting me strongly when I "fell". We were very close to each other. I had a "frightened" expression on my face, while Hiyoshi's eyes were focused and concerned.
Oshitari had unknowingly moved closer to Atobe, also looking at the photo. He pushed his glasses up, a fox-like glint flashing in his eyes behind the lenses. In a voice only the two of them could hear, he whispered slowly and with a hint of sarcasm:
"Hey, Atobe...looking at Hiyoshi-kun's reaction speed, you're really reliable in critical moments, right?"
He deliberately emphasized the word "reliable", dragging out the ending tone, and glanced meaningfully at the two people who were chatting happily in the rest area.
The fingers holding the camera tightened imperceptibly, and the photo on the screen seemed to turn into a red-hot needle, piercing into his eyes.
reliable?
Of course it’s reliable!
He gave up the key ball to help others on the court, inherited the family tradition in the dojo, and now he can make Kiriyama Haku, who is usually distant and indifferent to everyone, smile so sincerely and brightly.
A nameless anger mixed with indescribable irritation surged in his chest like boiling magma, and he suddenly pressed the delete key.
“Click!”
A crisp deletion sound was heard, and the photo on the screen that recorded the moment of "hero saving beauty" disappeared instantly.
Atobe stuffed the camera back into Oshitari's arms with an expressionless face, his voice as cold as ice: "Filming is done. Time to call it a day."
After saying that, he no longer looked at anyone, grabbed his golf bag, and strode towards the exit of the court. His back carried a cold and chilling aura that kept strangers away.
Holding the camera, Oshitari looked at his boss's almost flaming back, then looked at Kiriyama Gakure who was in a good mood and was completely oblivious to the situation in the lounge area, and Hiyoshi Wakaba who looked righteous. He shrugged helplessly and muttered to himself:
"Tsk... this strength... I guess an ordinary 'Band-Aid' won't work..."
With the final promotional photo in the archive, my brief but highly effective "work experience" with the tennis club officially came to an end. Life returned to its peaceful rhythm of going between the classroom, the library, and the photography club.
The Hyotei campus is very large, and after finishing the filming, I had very few opportunities to meet with Atobe-san.
Occasionally, they would catch a glimpse of that dazzling silver-gray from afar in the corridor, and they would just nod to each other in an extremely restrained manner, and then quickly look away, as if they were really just ordinary acquaintances.
However, the pursuit of ancient martial arts did not cool down after the filming ended.
On the contrary, Hiyoshi Wakaba's words, "You are welcome to visit the dojo at any time," were like a stone thrown into the lake of his heart, causing ripples that continued to expand.
I took advantage of the photography club's field trips, or chatted with classmates in Class C intentionally or unintentionally during class breaks, quietly collecting information.
The location of the Hiyoshi family's ancient martial arts dojo, which embodies the spirit of "the lower class rising from the upper class," quickly became etched in my mind: a lush, ancient neighborhood on the edge of the city.
Timing, you need to wait for the right time.
I closed my notebook and thought to myself that a sudden visit would be rude and it would be better to find a more natural opportunity.
The school bell had just rung and I was packing my bag when a lazy, yet smiling, voice rang out from the classroom door:
"Kiriyama-san, wait a moment."
Looking up, I saw Oshitari leaning against the door frame, pushing his iconic glasses. The look behind the lenses was filled with understanding and a subtle sense of "mission accomplished".
"Something?" I stopped and said calmly.
"Tomorrow is the Kanto Tournament," Oshitari walked over, his voice not loud but clear enough, "Hyotei's first match will be against Kaidai, and the location will be the central court of the Tennis Park."
He paused, observing my expression, and then revealed his true purpose. "The publicity department has been working overtime to turn those photos you took earlier into large-scale support posters. They'll be hung all over the stadium tomorrow."
"As the 'official photographer,' why don't you go to the site to inspect the finished product? And see what your masterpiece will look like hanging in the support area?"
His reasons were quite convincing, even with a bit of a high-sounding excuse of "work needs".
I raised my eyebrows slightly. Inspection results? That was a hard-to-refuse reason.
not to mention……
The image of Hiyoshi Wakaba's sharp, knife-like Kobudo steps on the court flashed through his mind.
What kind of power will his "lower-ups" spirit unleash in the high-pressure environment of a formal competition? This is undoubtedly the best window to observe his actual martial arts combat state, which may be more real and more intense than what we see in the training ground or dojo.
After just a few seconds of thought, I simply nodded: "Okay. I'll go."
A hint of "as expected" flashed in Oshitari's eyes, and he immediately took out his phone: "Then add my contact information? The stadium will be crowded tomorrow. If you can't find our Hyotei's support area or a good seat, feel free to contact me."
He shook the screen of his phone and saw a LINE QR code on it.
"Yeah." I didn't refuse. I took out my mobile phone, scanned the code, and added the contact "Oshizuka Yuushi".
"OK, done." Oshitari put away his phone, his smile deepened, and he said meaningfully, "See you tomorrow. Oh, by the way..."
He seemed to suddenly remember something and added, "It seems that Atobe has prepared some 'special viewing seats' for you from the photography club... although he didn't mention it explicitly. You'll find out when you go there tomorrow."
Special spectator seats? Prepared by Atobe?
A hint of doubt flashed through my mind, but my expression remained calm. I simply replied, "I understand."
Oshitari waved his hand and turned away gracefully.
Watching his back disappear at the end of the corridor, I looked down at the newly added contacts in my phone, and then thought about the Kanto Tournament that would begin tomorrow, and the brilliance that Hiyoshi Waka might show on the field.
Beneath the calm lake of heart, undercurrents are quietly surging.
Tomorrow is not only the day to inspect the poster results.
It is also an excellent opportunity to observe up close the "lower-ups" martial arts blossoming on a real battlefield.
As for Atobe's so-called "special viewing seats", I frowned slightly.
What is he up to?
Forget it, you’ll know when you go there.
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