classifiedscript Chapter 43 Monster-Level Substitute Coach 2
Chapter 43 Monster-Level Substitute Coach 2
Upon hearing this, Kenichi Sato, the first boy to challenge, turned pale, gritted his teeth, and walked into the court.
He was tall and muscular, clearly the type who trained quite hard. Standing at the baseline, he glared fiercely at Wang Yueling, his voice laced with suppressed anger: "One game to decide the winner! I don't believe you're so arrogant as to not give away a single point!"
Wang Yueling raised her chin, lightly tapped her racket with her fingertips, and said in a tone so indifferent it was almost perfunctory: "If you get one point, you win."
As soon as he finished speaking, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd at the stadium.
Hearing this, Xiang Ri couldn't help but click her tongue in amazement. She secretly tugged at Ren Zu's sleeve, her eyes wide with shock: "Hey, hey, hey, Ling is too... too arrogant! Doesn't he mean that he has about 200 people under his control and can't take a single point?"
Shinobu pushed up his glasses, put his hands in his pockets, and looked calm. The reflection in his lenses concealed the seriousness in his eyes. He only said in a low voice, "Just watch, he has the confidence to say that."
The others automatically retreated to the sidelines and formed a circle. The more than two hundred people completely surrounded the area, and the main players also stood in the front row to watch the game.
Jiro ran to the front, staring intently at the arena, his curiosity burning. He wanted to know just how strong Mochizuki Ryo really was.
Sakaki Taro sat expressionlessly on the coach's bench, clearly having absolute confidence in Mochizuki Ryo's abilities.
Atobe stood beside him, his fingertip lightly touching his beauty mark, his icy blue eyes fixed on the boy on the field. Yesterday's crushing 6-1 victory was still fresh in his mind; he knew better than anyone just how deep the strength of the person before him was.
The outcome of this challenge was obvious, but he still wanted to see how long Mochizuki Ryou could withstand such a relentless attack from so many people.
The referee was Taki Oginosuke, and the whistle blew.
Game start.
Wang Yueling stood at the baseline, racket in his right hand and ball in his left. He glanced at the boy opposite him, tossed the ball up, and swung his racket.
The movement was still textbook perfect, without any fancy spins or exaggerated power; it was just a basic serve.
The ball landed in the opposite service area, bounced up, and Sato swung his racket to catch it. His racket touched the ball, but the ball flew directly out of bounds.
"15-0".
It's not that I didn't receive it, it's that I received it but couldn't control myself.
Sato paused for a moment, glanced at his own racket, and then at Mochizuki Ryo on the other side.
Mochizuki Ryo didn't say anything and served the second ball.
Same action, same landing point, same jump height.
Sato moved his position ahead of time, gripped his racket with both hands, and returned the ball forcefully. The moment the racket touched the ball, he felt a jolt in his wrist, and the ball flew out of bounds again.
He gritted his teeth.
"30-0".
"40-0".
Ryo Mochizuki hits the last ball.
The ball landed in the exact same spot as before, and even the height it bounced up was the same.
Sato didn't hesitate this time, rushing forward and unleashing a powerful forehand smash. The moment the racket made contact with the ball, he heard a crisp "snap," and then the ball flew directly towards the net behind him.
He didn't encounter it.
"game, Mochizuki Ryou".
The entire process took no more than three minutes. Sato stood there, his face ashen, his hand gripping the racket trembling slightly, unable to utter a single word. He walked back to the team with his head down, the faces of his teammates behind him even more somber.
Mochizuki Ryo twirled her racket a few times on her wrist, glanced at the crowd, raised an eyebrow, and said with a hint of nonchalant sarcasm, "Next. Hyotei doesn't have that much time to waste."
"I'll do it!"
"I'll go!"
Anger spread like wildfire, and members rushed onto the field one after another.
One game decides the outcome, one point determines victory or defeat.
But no matter who stands on the other side, no matter how hard they serve or how desperately they return the ball, it all seems like child's play in front of Mochizuki Ryo. Her returns are simply the most basic of simple techniques, without any advanced skills or fancy moves, just the most basic block, slice, smash, and drop shot.
Even so.
They couldn't return Mochizuki Ryo's serves, nor could they return hers. Even if Mochizuki Ryo stood still and simply pushed the ball towards them, they would still make a mistake.
It's not that the ball is so fast, it's that the ball's landing point and spin are too precise and tricky.
Every ball lands precisely in your most uncomfortable spot, and even if you guess where the next ball will land, you can't return it at all.
It bounces up to a height that makes it impossible for you to swing comfortably.
The more effort you put in, the more mistakes you make.
The more you try to control it, the less obedient the ball becomes.
The second, the third, the tenth...
Fifty team members took to the field, each one full of confidence, believing they could score at least one point.
Without exception, the results were all the same.
Not a single point was scored.
Meanwhile, Mochizuki Ryo, who was playing opposite them, had been playing for almost an hour and had changed rackets twice, yet her breathing remained steady, and her forehead was clean and dry, without even a trace of sweat.
He still stood gracefully in the center of the court, as if he hadn't just played fifty games in a row.
"P'tit faiblard (A bunch of newbies)"
He clicked his tongue, glanced at the pale-faced crowd, and made no attempt to hide his disdain. "What happened to your training? Did you just feed it to the dogs?!"
The people on the sidelines looked at each other in bewilderment upon hearing his blunt words, falling silent except for their heavy breathing.
On the sidelines, Mukahi gripped his racket, watching the incredibly relaxed player on the court, and muttered under his breath, "This is too exaggerated... Is his stamina a bottomless pit?"
Shinobu's Adam's apple bobbed; the situation had far exceeded his expectations.
He hadn't expected Mochizuki Ryo to be this terrifyingly strong. Atobe Kuniichi had only played against the regulars and some of the team members at the time, unlike this guy in front of him, who was directly fighting 200 people at once. Moreover, the current situation didn't seem like a competition at all; it was more like playing house with children.
Atobe leaned against the fence, watching, his finger unconsciously touching the beauty mark at the corner of his eye.
He had already experienced it firsthand yesterday and knew that Wang Yueling's physical fitness was unbelievably good. But seeing it now, he still couldn't help but marvel in his heart: Just what kind of monster level is this guy's physical fitness? He's been fighting for almost an hour, going through more than fifty opponents, and he hasn't even been out of breath much.
This is no longer a matter of physical ability. It's about an alarmingly precise allocation of physical energy. He calculates exactly how much force to use in each stroke and how far to run in each step, without expending an extra bit of energy.
……
The hundredth member walked off the court dejectedly, his racket almost slipping from his grasp.
Wang Yueling put down her racket and sat on the steps next to the referee's chair for a few seconds. She took a sip of water, stretched her wrists, and then looked up at the remaining hundred or so players who hadn't yet taken their turn.
"You guys are really too weak."
His voice wasn't loud, but the sidelines were quiet, and everyone could hear him clearly.
"Out of about a hundred people, not a single one of them got a small score from me."
He paused, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile, but that smile was unsettling to look at.
"Are you really a seeded team for the national tournament? Is this all you've got?!"
The sidelines were deathly silent.
Some clenched their fists, some bit their lips, and some had tears in their eyes. It wasn't resentment, it was anger—the kind of anger that comes from having one's sore spot touched and being powerless to refute it.
They wanted to refute it, but didn't know how.
Because what he said was true; none of the more than one hundred of them received a single penny.
Wang Yueling picked up her racket from the chair, twirled it in her hand, frowned slightly, and became impatient: "You guys are taking too long going up one by one. You're completely wasting my time. The rest of you, go up in pairs, then in groups of three, all at once."
Upon hearing this, the faces of all the team members turned ashen.
Two or three people going in together is considered saving time—what utter contempt! But with a hundred crushing defeats just now before their eyes, no one dared to object; they could only grit their teeth and team up in pairs.
Two against one, three against one, and some people even secretly formed groups of four.
Their thinking was, if one person can't beat them, surely a few people can? If one person can't catch the ball, surely a few people can catch it together?
But the result remained unchanged.
The tennis ball seemed to come alive in Wang Yueling's hands, precisely controlled and maneuvered in all directions. Two people could run themselves ragged and still not reach the ball, and even three people surrounding it couldn't stop a single soft drop shot.
No matter how many players were on the field, he remained relaxed and composed, never conceding a single point or giving away a single goal.
The challengers came on in groups, and lost group after group.
Towards the end, even the regular players were speechless.
Jiro stared at the court, his mouth agape. He had now fully witnessed just how terrifying his deskmate was. It wasn't just about beating one or two people; it was about playing for almost two hours, going through nearly thirty groups of players, and barely breaking a sweat.
This is no longer a technical issue; it's a problem at a different level than theirs.
Xiang Ri stood beside him, unusually quiet, watching without jumping around. He was thinking about something: If I were to go up there, could I get a point?
He thought about it, but couldn't come up with an answer.