APTnovel Chapter 197 Kawamura's Choice: He Can't Afford to Lose
Chapter 197 Kawamura's Choice: He Can't Afford to Lose
The referee's whistle was still reverberating in the air when the stands fell into an eerie silence for more than ten seconds.
There were no cheers, no applause, only the wind blowing in from the east side of the court, swirling up a few grains of red clay from the sidelines, which hit the net posts with a soft rustling sound.
Saori Shiba held her camera in front of her face, the viewfinder showing the rest areas of Hyotei and Seigaku: Takashi Kawamura sat on a bench, his right hand resting on his knee, palm up, with a patch of red and swollen skin on the outside of his wrist, the color already turning slightly purple. Standing next to him was Jin Ryuzaki, bending over and saying something to him, his lips clearly forming the words "Don't fight."
Kawamura didn't look at her. He lowered his head, stared at his hand for two seconds, and then shook his head.
Shiba Saori put down the camera; her palms were slightly sweaty.
"Kawamura-kun..." she said softly, as if afraid of disturbing something, "His hand looks really bad."
Inoue Mamoru sat beside her, pen in hand, turning a page of his notebook. The papers rustled, but he didn't look up, his gaze fixed on the densely packed shorthand notes: "The counter-impact of the fluctuations is already great, and three consecutive high-intensity exchanges... the body is completely overloaded. The accumulated damage to the arm is more severe than in the last inning."
Shiba Saori bit her lower lip and raised the camera again, pointing the lens at the Seigaku rest area.
Kawamura had already stood up from the bench, stretching his right shoulder slightly, as if afraid of hurting something. Ryuzaki Jin said a few more words beside him, but Kawamura shook his head after listening, picked up his racket, and walked out.
"He won't listen to advice..." Shiba Saori said softly.
Inoue did not respond.
The quiet atmosphere in the stands lasted only a short while. The scoreboard was still shimmering in the sunlight when someone suddenly gasped, and then, as if a switch had been flipped, the entire stands erupted in a cacophony of voices from all directions, carried by the scorching sun and wind that swept across the field.
The camera shutters clicked away incessantly, and the flashes were blindingly bright.
Immediately following, the shouts of the Hyotei supporters came crashing down, and the golden support fans fluttered in unison, the crisp sound of the fans colliding mixed with the slogan "Hyotei will win!" as wave after wave pressed onto the court.
The lively atmosphere in the stands finally dispelled the stagnant air from before.
"These last few games have been so intense, haven't they? They're just smashing the ball back and forth like that! Did you guys see that shot in the last game? Kabaji just ripped through Kawamura's racket face! He ripped it through! When the ball bounced back, there was a hole right in the string! The power..."
"I took pictures, you can watch the replay later... I even saw the fragments when the last ball flew out, it was terrifying. Kawamura's wave ball was already powerful enough, but Kabaji's replica was even more powerful. When that ball hit the ground, it left a mark on the rubber surface."
"...Kawamura's arm looks really off."
"You could tell from the first few sets that Kawamura used every kind of serve, from the burning serve to the dunk, and Kabaji replicated them all, even adding more. In the later sets, Kawamura relied on that 'wave ball' to get points."
"But look at those two games just now, Kabaji has also learned the wave shot. They rallied so many times, Kawamura's arm is shaking like crazy. Tsk, Kabaji's hand is shaking too, both arms are really tough. They'll both need to go to the infirmary after this game."
"That goes without saying. Eight games of that kind of heavy ball, whose hand could possibly be in better shape?"
"I think Seigaku definitely won't let Kawamura continue."
"It's hard to say. Didn't you see the look on the Seigaku coach's face? She tried to persuade him, but will Kawamura listen?"
"He's leading 5-3, how could he give up? That red-haired guy from Hyotei only went to receive that ball because he was down by one point, and he ended up being carried off, but even in that situation he didn't say he wanted to give up; the coach had to force him to. Kawamura, at least he's still standing, he has to fight to the very end."
"He can barely hold his racket, how can he compete?"
"You have to hold on, whether you can or not. Think about it, you fought hard for eight rounds, and you were just two points away from winning. Would you back down?"
"I don't know... but he went on stage again."
"Are you crazy?"
"You don't understand, this is called willpower..."
"That's called stupid."
On the left side of the stands, a middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap shook his head and said in a low voice to the person next to him, "This kid's wrist is injured. His follow-up shot after returning the ball was completely off-center; he couldn't even find the balance point of the racket."
The person next to him leaned closer, frowning: "You mean he shouldn't have continued fighting?"
"What right do I have to say whether it's right or wrong?" The man in the baseball cap leaned back, his eyes still fixed on the field, his tone indifferent. "But if you asked me, if it were my kid, I would have called him off the field long ago. Is it worth risking your life for a game?"
"What you're saying... Seigaku and Hyotei are so close, only two matches apart. If they win singles match three, and then bring in a strong opponent for singles match two, Seigaku will advance directly. Winning or losing this match makes a huge difference."
"Can the difference be as big as an arm?" The man in the baseball cap scoffed and didn't say anything more.
The discussion among the crowd continued to spread.
Some felt that Kawamura's effort was worthwhile, that youth should be this passionate; others felt it was not worth it at all, that even if he won, what difference would it make if he was injured like that?
The various voices were mixed together, and it was impossible to tell which one was louder than the other.
The atmosphere on the Seigaku coaching bench was a completely different world from the noise in the stands.
Kawamura Takashi sat in a chair with his right hand on his knee. Ryuzaki Kin squatted in front of him and reached out to touch his forearm. Kawamura hissed and pulled back.
She didn't press hard; she just gently stroked along the tendon on the inside of her forearm with her thumb, and her brows furrowed more and more as she stroked.
"It's all swollen. Aaron, you can't hit this hand anymore."
Long Qijin straightened up, trying to keep his tone calm, but the worry in his eyes was undeniable. "You could feel it yourself, right? You started to slip when you gripped the racket for those few balls, and there are signs of a moderate strain in the tendons on the inside of your wrist. Right now it just hurts, but if you continue to exert force at a high frequency, the situation will get worse."
Kawamura didn't look up; sweat dripped from his chin onto his sweatpants, leaving a small, dark circle. He raised his left hand to wipe his face, shook his head, and his voice was a little hoarse.
"Coach, I know."
"Knowing you still..."
Long Qijin looked at him, waiting for him to finish speaking.
Kawamura looked up and smiled. The smile was forced; the corners of his mouth tugged upwards before falling back down, but there was a stubborn light in his eyes.
"Coach, it's 5-3 now. Just two more games and we'll win. If we give up now, all the progress we've made will be for nothing." He took a breath, his voice low but each word clear. "Kabaji has already mastered the wave shot. I know the next game will be tough. But I... I finally made it to this court..."
He paused here, his Adam's apple bobbing, his voice lowering, "We've come this far, I want to finish it."
"What do you mean by 'this step'? Don't you remember the terrible state Hyotei suffered this morning?" Ryuzaki Jin frowned disapprovingly. "You're in much worse shape than him right now. If you keep fighting, it's hard to say whether you'll even be able to exert normal force in the future. What's the point of winning this round?"
Kawamura still didn't look up.
His mind was a jumbled mess, filled with images of Echizen leaning against the railing before the match, chin raised, saying, "You're the one who pushed me off the official roster, we have to win." He also remembered Fuji and Momoshiro patting him on the shoulder, saying, "This match is crucial, it's up to you." And then there was Akutsu, standing at the court entrance the day he left the Yamabuki Tennis Club, waving goodbye with his back to them.
So many contestants want to compete but don't have the chance. I'm standing here, how can I easily give up?
Moreover, after graduating this year, he will have to go home to take over the sushi restaurant, and from now on he will be wielding a sushi knife, not a tennis racket. This Kanto Tournament might be the last time he stands on the official court.
If they lose this singles match, all the pressure will fall on Tezuka and Fuji. He can't help with anything else, but at least he wants to win this point.
If he loses, he will have let everyone down.
"Coach, I'm fine." Kawamura stood up, picked up a spare new racket from the side, and wrapped the grip tape around his fingertips twice. His right hand trembled slightly as he wrapped it, but he quickly pressed it down with his left hand.
Ryuzaki Jin opened her mouth, but swallowed the words back. She straightened up and looked back at the Seigaku group in the stands.
The stands of Seigaku were packed with people.
Behind him in the stands, Kikumaru clung to the railing, his eyes red, his fingers gripping the paint on the edge of the railing, not even noticing a small piece chipped off.
"Aaron...stop hitting me!"
He shouted, his voice cracking slightly, then turned to look at Da Shi, lowering his voice, "Da Shi, Aaron's hand is like that, why didn't the coach stop him?"
Daishi took half a step forward, his lips moved as if he wanted to say not to force himself, but he swallowed the words back. He knew Kawamura's personality; once he made up his mind, he couldn't be persuaded.
In the end, he only said one sentence: "...He himself doesn't want to give up."
"You think you can just not come down?" Kikumaru's voice grew urgent. "Have you forgotten what happened to Mukahi this morning? He didn't want to come down then either, but Hyotei still managed to hold him down, didn't they?"
Daishi paused for a moment, his right hand unconsciously clenching the edge of the bandage. He didn't respond to that, but instead turned his gaze back to the field, his voice so soft it was almost a soliloquy: "...Aaron has his own principles."
"But how can I play with an injured hand?" Kikumaru muttered, his ears drooping. "The Wave Ball is so hard on the hand, if we keep playing like this, something bad will really happen."
Fuji stood behind the two, his eyes half-open, sunlight falling on his eyelashes and casting a small shadow. He looked at Kawamura's tense profile, his fingers resting on the railing, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the metal surface back and forth.
He said in a very soft voice, "Aaron... has made his decision. We should respect that."
Tezuka Kunimitsu stood at the very front, his back ramrod straight. A few strands of his short, brown hair were damp with sweat and clung to his temples. His left hand was hidden at his side, his fingertips unconsciously curling, and the old injury on his elbow felt dull and heavy, as if a thin needle was slowly pricking into the bone.
He knew the consequences of stubbornly persisting.
But seeing Kawamura's tense back, he swallowed back the words that were on the tip of his tongue.
Because... I have no right to advise you.
After all, he himself had also persevered through this process.
He flipped through his notebook, his pen hovering over the line for "arm strain," hesitant to write anything further. The data didn't lie; given Kawamura's current arm condition, playing two more games of high-intensity, volatile ball play would essentially cause irreversible damage.
But he also knew that speaking out at this time would only affect morale and serve no other purpose.
Momoshiro stood to the side, clenching his fists, his heart filled with both anxiety and anger. He slammed his fist on the fence, causing the iron bars to vibrate. He gritted his teeth, forcing out the words, "Are we really just going to stand by and watch?"
Kaidou stood beside Momoshiro, his brows furrowed beneath his headscarf. He hissed and turned away to look at the field. He was never one to admit defeat, but looking at his senior's expression, he couldn't bring himself to say something like, "Let him fight to the bitter end."
He stood on the far end of the railing, his hat brim pulled low, his hands in his pockets. He listened to Kikumaru and Oishi's conversation without interrupting.
But the amber eyes beneath the hat kept watching Kawamura's back for a long time.
Three first-graders were clinging to the front of the railing.
Satoshi Horio leaned forward, glanced at Kawamura's arm, then pulled back, his voice trembling slightly: "Kawamura-senpai's hand... looks badly injured. I just saw his right hand shaking when he changed rackets."
"Idiot Horio, you've played so many games with that kind of ball, how could you not get injured?" Katsuro Kato muttered under his breath, his fingers gripping the support handkerchief until they turned white. "But... but senpai doesn't want to forfeit."
Katsuo Mizuno looked at him without saying anything, but simply gripped the support flag tighter.
Arai stood a little behind them, arms crossed, his expression complex: "Kawamura-senpai has always been like this. As long as he holds the racket, he'll never give up."
He spoke softly, and it was impossible to tell whether his tone was one of admiration or concern.
On the field, Kawamura had already stood up.
He glanced down at his right wrist and tried to clench his fist. He didn't say much to his teammates, just nodded, picked up his new racket, and turned to walk onto the court.
Kikumaru finally couldn't hold back any longer. He lunged forward, gripping the railing, and his voice was forced out from his throat: "Aron! Stop hitting me! Your hand..."
Kawamura paused for a moment.
He didn't turn around, just glanced to the side, his voice carried by the wind, not loud, but everyone in the back could hear: "It's alright, Eiji. Only two innings left."
"Ah-Long..." Da-Shi took a half-step forward upon hearing this, his words stuck in his throat. He was used to being a nice guy, and at this moment, saying "Stop fighting" felt like pouring cold water on him, while saying "Keep going" felt like forcing him to fight desperately. After holding it in for a long time, he could only utter one sentence: "Be careful."
"It's alright, Oishi." Kawamura smiled at him, his face a little pale. "I can still fight."
"Kawamura," Tezuka said, his voice as cold and hard as ever, "Act within your means."
Kawamura glanced at him and nodded emphatically: "Don't worry, Minister, I know what I'm doing."
Ryoma Echizen quickly walked to the fence, glanced at Kawamura's arm, then turned his gaze back to the field, his voice still arrogant: "Just don't lose too badly."
Kawamura simply gripped his racket tighter, raised it slightly, turned, and walked onto the court, shouting, "I'm burning! I'm on fire! Even if there were a few more Kabaji, they wouldn't be enough to beat me..."
Ryuzaki Jin stood behind Kawamura, her knuckles white as she gripped the tactical board tightly. She opened her mouth slightly, her voice low: "Aron..."
"Coach," Kawamura said without turning around, his voice a little steadyer than before, "Just let me finish."
As he strode onto the court, his right wrist, gripping the racket, bent at an unnatural angle. His school uniform was soaked with sweat, clinging to his back and outlining the contours of his shoulder blades.
Long Qijin watched his retreating figure, her fingers gripping the edge of the tactical board tightening and loosening, but ultimately she didn't utter another word.
They didn't stop him anymore.
Fuji stood towards the back of the crowd, his eyes fully open. The wind ruffled the stray hairs on his forehead as he gazed towards the Hyotei's rest area across the street, his fingertips lightly tracing the edge of his racket.
There was no smile in his pupils, as if they were covered with a thin layer of ice.