bookrebus Chapter 738: The Devil's Team, the Devil's Son, the Audience in Silence
Chapter 738: The Devil's Team, the Devil's Son, the Audience in Silence
"It's the team of that master-level young man..." A middle-aged man lowered his voice and said to his wife beside him, with a barely perceptible tremor in his voice.
"Keep your voice down! Are you trying to kill yourself?" His wife's eyes widened immediately, and she covered his mouth with her hands, her voice practically piercing through her teeth. "If you make a sound and that bastard devil hears you and hits us in the face with a tennis ball, I won't die with you!"
"That's right, when disaster strikes, everyone runs for their own lives..." A young man in the front row wearing a British team cheering uniform shrank his neck and agreed in a low voice, but his eyes were fixed on the aisle.
"No way... I really can't believe this guy would do such a thing in such a large occasion..." Another audience member who tried to remain rational muttered to himself, but his tone had lost confidence.
"..."
In the audience, whispers spread like an undercurrent, but no one dared to raise their voices.
Everyone spoke as if they were sharing a deadly secret, their voices hushed and their lips barely moving.
They were like a group of travelers wandering on the edge of a wild beast's lair, fearing that the slightest noise would bring about a catastrophe.
This is not an unfounded fear.
The Swiss U-17 team, especially their core player, Kitagawa, crushed their opponents in an almost brutal manner during the tour in the UK.
In that game, when his serve hit the tennis ball directly against the concrete wall, the speed and power of the ball were so fast that everyone gasped.
What is even more frightening is that when the concrete wall exploded, Beichuan just stood there coldly with no expression on his face, as if it was not a wall but a target that was blown to pieces.
The incident was hyped by the media and quickly spread around the world, and the Swiss team's nickname "the Devil's Team" spread like wildfire.
In the earlier Sydney Cup Professional Challenge, when he faced adult professional players, he also crushed them with overwhelming force, sending several people to the ICU. The video of that game is still used by some coaches as a "danger demonstration".
Furthermore, the number of fans that Kitagawa has accumulated during his Free Country Tour is terrifying, spread all over the world.
No one knows whether the seemingly ordinary audience member next to you is a fanatical "Beichuan believer".
An unintentional ridicule or an inappropriate boo may lead to an attack from fanatical fans.
As the saying goes, "Fans follow the master." If the master is so cruel, how can the believers be gentle?
This invisible deterrent filled the entire venue with repressed violence.
The stadium staff looked at each other in confusion. Wearing uniforms and holding walkie-talkies, they tried to maintain order, but they could not understand the sudden silence.
They saw the audience whispering to each other but not daring to make a sound, and saw the German team members' faces showing vigilance and solemn expressions, but they didn't understand the reason.
They are just cogs in the wheel of mission, unable to perceive the fear hidden deep within people's hearts.
In this suffocating silence, movement finally appeared in the shadows of the passage.
First came the sound of footsteps, slow, heavy, and rhythmic, each step seeming to step on the hearts of the audience.
Then, a figure walked out first - Beichuan.
He is tall and slender, wearing the Swiss team uniform, with straight shoulders, like a sword drawn from its sheath.
His face looked particularly cold in the dim light of the passage. His skin was pale and almost transparent, his brow bones were prominent, his eye sockets were deep, and his eyes were like cold pools, deep and bottomless, but under the light they flashed a sharp light that made people dare not look directly at him.
His hair is dark black, and even though it is a little patchy, it is full of unique charm.
He didn't look at the audience, but looked straight ahead and walked straight towards the court.
His pace was not fast, but it carried an unquestionable sense of oppression, as if the entire space was making way for him.
The tennis racket in his hand, with its black frame and white strings, looked ordinary, but in the eyes of some people, it looked like the scythe of the Grim Reaper.
Behind him, the rest of the Swiss team filed out.
They are completely different from the German team's flamboyant style. They are silent, introverted, and even a little gloomy.
Their steps were in unison, their movements were mechanical, and their eyes were downcast, as if they were just an extension of Beichuan's will.
They don't have the kingly aura of the German team, but they are filled with a cold, inhuman sense of order.
The silence in the audience was broken, but not by cheers, but by suppressed commotion.
"Oh, the devil... the devil has finally come out..." an old man murmured, his fingers tightly gripping the armrests of the chair, his knuckles turning white.
"Hero Wang Beichuan? Haha... I think he is the devil Beichuan." A young man next to him sneered, his voice was very low, but full of sarcasm.
"The situation in England is fine... But back in the Sydney Cup Pro Challenge, he sent so many pro players to the ICU..." Another middle-aged man recalled those shocking scenes, his voice trembling. "That ball speed... that power... there's no way a human could withstand it..."
"..."
With the precedent of British spectators being expelled and intimidated, and the bloody lessons learned by professional players in the Sydney Cup, almost every spectator in the German National Tennis Stadium subconsciously covered their mouths tightly with their hands.
Their eyes followed Beichuan's figure in horror, as if he was not a human, but a giant beast crawling out of the abyss.
Some people even closed their eyes, not daring to look directly; some people shrank back slightly, trying to hide themselves in the crowd; and some people quietly hugged their children in their arms, blocking their view with their bodies.
The lights were still bright and the dome was still high, but the temperature of the entire venue seemed to have dropped ten degrees.
The red, black and gold flag that once symbolized glory and passion now seems so fragile in people's eyes.
The players of the German team stood at the other end of the field, looking at the silent and cold team. The confidence and pride on their faces had been replaced by a trace of solemnity.
They knew that what they faced today was not just an opponent in a game.
Beichuan finally walked to the center of the court. He stopped, slowly raised his eyes, and scanned the entire court.
There was no provocation or anger in that look, only an almost indifferent scrutiny, as if he was looking at a group of insignificant ants.
He moved his wrist slightly and tightened his grip on the racket.