By the tranquil edge of the mountain pond, Gustave and Coach Banji sat in comfortable silence, each holding a handcrafted bamboo fishing rod. The lines disappeared into the crystal-clear water, where wooden hooks—sharpened to metal-like precision through Gustave's electromagnetic enhancement—waited patiently for curious fish.
"Coach Banji," Gustave said eventually, his eyes following the gentle ripples across the water's surface, "I meant to ask you last time we spoke—what's been happening at Seishun Academy since Tezuka and the others transferred?"
The older coach's expression grew thoughtful, his weathered hands adjusting his grip on the bamboo pole. "Seishun Academy..." he repeated slowly, as if the name itself carried weight. "That's a complicated story, Gustave."
He paused, watching a dragonfly skim across the pond before continuing.
"Initially, the mass transfer had little impact on Sumire Ryuzaki. She'd been coaching the Seishun tennis program for decades—her reputation and seniority provided substantial protection. The school administration trusted her judgment, and she managed to suppress most questions about why six promising players had left simultaneously."
Gustave nodded, having expected as much. Institutional inertia was powerful, especially when it came to established figures like Ryuzaki.
"But then," Banji continued with a heavy sigh, "Yamabuki won the Kanto Championship."
The simple statement hung in the air between them, laden with implication.
"The tennis world took notice when they realized that four of Yamabuki's six starters were former Seishun students," Banji explained. "Only Sengoku, Minami, and Higashikata remained from the original Yamabuki lineup. Essentially, the team that had abandoned Seishun had just claimed one of the most prestigious tournaments in middle school tennis."
"And then Tezuka defeated Yukimura," Gustave added quietly.
"Exactly." Banji's voice carried a mixture of pride and sadness. "Before Tezuka's emergence, Yukimura was widely considered the undisputed number one player in middle school tennis. The 'Child of God' had never lost a significant match. For Tezuka to defeat him so decisively... it raised uncomfortable questions about what kind of player Seishun had allowed to slip through their fingers."
The pressure on Ryuzaki must have been enormous, Gustave reflected. To have trained someone capable of defeating Japan's most celebrated young tennis prodigy, only to have never given him a chance to play—it would be professional humiliation on a national scale.
"Ryuzaki was beginning to crack under the scrutiny," Banji continued. "Colleagues were questioning her methods, parents were demanding explanations, and she was starting to doubt her own philosophy. But then Takei Kenshi—the boy who had deliberately injured Tezuka's hand—made a public statement."
"What did he say?"
"He claimed that Yamabuki's success was pure luck, and that their 'true colors' would be exposed at the national tournament." Banji shook his head with disgust. "The arrogance was breathtaking. Here was a student who had never achieved anything noteworthy, dismissing a team that had just defeated the defending Kanto champions."
"And Ryuzaki believed him?"
"Desperate people cling to any explanation that absolves them of responsibility," Banji replied sadly. "Ryuzaki seized on Takei's theory because it offered her a way to avoid confronting the magnitude of her mistakes. The school administration, despite their growing concerns, couldn't easily dismiss a 'meritorious' coach who had once trained a professional player like Echizen Nanjiro."
Gustave could picture the toxic environment that must have developed—doubt, denial, and mounting pressure creating a powder keg waiting for a spark.
"The explosion came when Yamabuki won the national championship," Banji continued, his voice growing grim. "Suddenly, every sports journalist in Japan wanted to understand how a team eliminated in the first round the previous year had claimed the ultimate prize. It didn't take long for them to uncover the truth."
The media coverage, Banji explained, had been merciless. Headlines screamed across sports pages nationwide:
"The Hidden Champion: How Kunimitsu Tezuka Was Silenced at Seishun Academy"
"Bullying Scandal Rocks Prestigious Tennis Program"
"Six Future Stars Abandoned Their School—Here's Why"
"Sumire Ryuzaki: Coaching Legend or Institutional Failure?"
"Seishun Academy Loses a Second Echizen Nanjiro"
"Every detail of Tezuka and his teammates' treatment came to light," Banji said, his anger barely contained. "Their entire freshman year without playing opportunities, Takei's deliberate injury of Tezuka, Ryuzaki's refusal to address the bullying—all of it was documented and published for the world to see."
"The public reaction must have been intense."
"Brutal. Reporters camped outside Seishun Academy, demanding interviews and explanations. When news broke that Yamabuki had won the national championship, the feeding frenzy reached its peak. Ryuzaki..." Banji paused, his expression pained. "She collapsed that day. Vomited blood, lost consciousness, and was rushed to the hospital. She's been in a coma ever since."
The weight of that image settled over both men—a proud coaching veteran destroyed by the consequences of her own rigid thinking and institutional blindness.
"Seishun Academy launched a comprehensive investigation," Banji continued. "They had no choice with the media scrutiny. The findings confirmed every allegation: systematic neglect of talented players, tolerance of bullying behavior, and administrative failure to address obvious problems."
"What happened then?"
"Ryuzaki was immediately dismissed as tennis coach, though they allowed her to retain her teaching position due to her years of service and current medical condition. As for Takei Kenshi..." Banji's voice hardened. "He received a severe disciplinary warning and was permanently expelled from the tennis program. Having 'expelled from club activities' on his academic record will follow him for life—no respectable high school tennis program will touch him."
"And he couldn't handle the pressure?"
"The media attention was relentless. Reporters tracked down his family, interviewed his classmates, dissected every match he'd ever played. Within two months, he'd dropped out of school entirely and disappeared from public view."
They sat in contemplative silence, processing the dramatic fall from grace. Finally, Banji spoke again, his voice heavy with complicated emotions.
"Sumire Ryuzaki was one of the few coaches from my generation still actively working. Despite her flaws and stubborn methods, seeing her lying unconscious in a hospital bed..." He shook his head. "I don't know how to feel about any of this."
Gustave understood the conflict. Ryuzaki's treatment of Tezuka and his teammates had been inexcusable, and her dismissal was entirely justified. But witnessing the complete destruction of a longtime colleague's career and health was sobering regardless of the circumstances.
"I hope that when Seishun rebuilds their program, they'll learn from these mistakes," Gustave said thoughtfully. "Maybe next year's team will have a completely different culture—one that actually develops talent instead of suppressing it."
"From your mouth to heaven's ears," Banji agreed. "Though I suspect the changes will be gradual. Institutional cultures don't transform overnight."
This conversation sparked another thought in Gustave's mind. With Seishun Academy in chaos and Ryuzaki hospitalized, what would happen to Echizen Ryoma? In the original timeline, Nanjiro had sent his son to Seishun specifically because of his connection to Ryuzaki. Now that she was gone...
"I wonder," Gustave mused aloud, "if this will affect Echizen Nanjiro's plans for his son's education."
"You know about young Ryoma?" Banji asked with surprise.
"I've heard Nanjiro mention him. Last I knew, the boy was still training in America."
Banji nodded thoughtfully. "If Nanjiro does send Ryoma to Japan for middle school, his options are actually quite limited. The top programs like Yamabuki and Rikkaidai operate on pure meritocracy—with Ryoma's current skill level, he'd be competing against players like Tezuka and Yukimura for starting positions. He'd likely spend his entire first year on the bench."
"What about Hyotei Academy?"
"Possible, but Atobe's leadership style wouldn't suit Ryoma's personality at all. Too much emphasis on flashy presentation over substance. Fudoumine has potential under Tachibana's leadership, but their reform process is still ongoing. St. Rudolph has Coach Mizuki, who's tactically brilliant but..." Banji made a face. "Let's say Nanjiro wouldn't appreciate Mizuki's manipulative tendencies."
"So Seishun remains the most logical choice?"
"Ironically, yes. It's Nanjiro's alma mater, and with the coaching change, they'll be desperate to rebuild their reputation. A player with Ryoma's potential and family connections would be guaranteed a starting spot and plenty of opportunities to prove himself."
Gustave smiled at the thought. "It might work out well for everyone involved. Seishun gets a talented player with a famous name to help restore their credibility, and Ryoma gets a chance to develop without the intense competition he'd face at the top schools."
"Plus," Banji added with a slight grin, "players like Momoshiro Takeshi and Kaidou Kaoru will be entering their second year. With some fresh talent and proper coaching, Seishun might actually field a competitive team again."
The conversation was interrupted by a sudden commotion from the forest behind them—crashing branches, shouting voices, and what sounded suspiciously like panicked screaming.
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