Prince of Tennis: Shocking! Hyotei's Demon King is a Yukimura fangirl!

Chapter 148: Yukimura is my bottom line; whoever touches him dies.

Wang Yueling stood to the side, watching the two of them chat, and felt it was a bit surreal.

Ryoma Echizen never left.

He stood there holding Karupin, the cat already squinting in his arms, its tail swishing back and forth. His gaze darted back and forth between Mochizuki Ryo and Yukimura twice before settling on Yukimura.

"Senior Qian said you're very capable."

Ryoma Echizen's tone was still arrogant as ever, "I heard that your ability to eliminate the five senses means that your opponents can't feel anything on the field."

Yukimura smiled. "Inui-kun's data is always very accurate."

"Can you still play now?" Ryoma Echizen asked directly, without any preamble or pleasantries.

Yukimura's expression remained unchanged, but his purplish-blue eyes flickered slightly.

"Still in the recovery period."

"Oh." Ryoma Echizen nodded, then turned his gaze to Ryo Mochizuki.

Wang Yueling's heart skipped a beat. She had a feeling that this kid was about to say something very unpleasant, and she was about to stop him.

Ryoma Echizen didn't give him a chance to speak, and continued, his voice not loud, but every word carried the kind of reckless and arrogant spirit unique to young people.

"Instead of accompanying him to the art exhibition, why don't you play a game with me? He can't play basketball anyway, so what's the point of wasting your time here with him?"

The air fell silent for a moment.

Yukimura stood behind Mochizuki Ryo, and could see Echizen Ryoma's entire face. The boy was holding a cat, his eyes under the brim of his hat fixed on Mochizuki Ryo, not even glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Those words came from that mouth, and every word was clear.

Get ill.

Cannot play ball.

waste time.

Yukimura's right hand tightened slightly, his fingertips pressing a shallow mark into his palm.

It doesn't hurt, but there's something more stuffy and congested pressing on my chest.

He didn't like people bringing this up, especially in this kind of setting, and by a stranger saying it in this way.

But he didn't speak, only glanced at Wang Yueling. His eyes were indifferent, as if to say, "You're the one who cleans up the mess you made."

When Wang Yueling received that look, her heart skipped a beat.

It wasn't Yukimura's gaze that intimidated me, but rather Echizen Ryoma's words that stung me.

He doesn't have many bottom lines, but Yukimura's physical condition is the highest level.

Whoever touches it will die.

Mochizuki Ryo turned around and looked at Echizen Ryoma.

The languid look he had given Echizen Nanjiro in his azure eyes was gone, as was the gentleness he had shown when speaking to Yukimura. His eyes were now filled with a cold, emotionless scrutiny.

"Echizen, how old are you?"

Ryoma Echizen frowned. "Thirteen."

"At thirteen, can't you even distinguish basic interpersonal boundaries? Who told you it's okay to discuss other people's privacy in public? Who taught you to use someone's medical condition as a topic of conversation without knowing them?"

The voice wasn't loud, but every word sounded as if it had been pulled out of ice water.

Ryoma Echizen was so taken aback by his barrage of words that he took a half-step back. Karupin meowed in his arms and struggled to jump down, but he quickly held on tighter, his fingers gripping the cat's fur.

"Yukimura's physical condition has nothing to do with you. Whether he can play or not has nothing to do with you either."

Wang Yueling continued speaking, her voice not loud, but every word was clear and distinct. She didn't deliberately emphasize her words, but it still sent chills down one's spine.

"Do you think it's appropriate to say things you heard from someone to their face?"

Ryoma Echizen pursed his lips into a thin line, wanting to retort, wanting to say, "I just want to fight you, I mean no harm," but the words stopped in his throat.

Last week, after training at the club, Senior Inui casually flipped through his notebook and said, "Yukimura Seiichi from Rikkai University just had surgery and is still recovering."

He remembered it without much thought.

He hadn't thought much about what he said earlier. Only now, after being pointed out by Wang Yueling, did he realize how offensive his words had been.

His face felt hot, as if it were burning from within.

Wang Yueling didn't give him a chance to refute, "Who I accompany to the art exhibition is my business. Where I go is also my business. Please don't meddle."

He finished speaking in one breath without pausing.

Each character is solid; if you were to smash it on the ground, it would leave a dent.

Ryoma Echizen tightened his grip on the cat. Karupin shifted uncomfortably and quickly loosened his grip, but his gaze remained fixed on Mochizuki Ryo's face.

He didn't want to show weakness.

But he really didn't have much to say.

Echizen Nanjiro stood to the side, watching all of this unfold.

He watched as his son held the cat, his face flushed red, his eyes filled with a mixture of helplessness and resentment. He looked like a kitten whose tail had been stepped on, wanting to bristle but not knowing which way to lash out.

He understood.

Longma, that kid, doesn't just want to play ball with people.

He had a kind of obsession with this blond boy that he couldn't quite explain. It wasn't simply "wanting to challenge the strong," but something more complicated... the more the boy ignored him, the more he wanted to be noticed.

The less the other person cares about him, the more he wants them to care.

Echizen Nanjiro sighed inwardly.

That kid, just like him.

The blond boy's tough attitude wasn't a challenge to Ryoma; it was a shield for the boy behind him from all unfriendly things.

He had done the same thing when he was younger, protecting his own.

"Ryoma." He spoke, his tone still casual, but a little more serious than before.

Ryoma Echizen turned his head to look at him.

"What you just said was indeed impolite." Echizen Nanjiro scratched his chin, shifting his gaze from his son to Mochizuki Ryo's face, then to Yukimura's face, and finally back to his son.

"Why are you asking so many questions about their private matters? If you want to play ball with them, just say so properly. With your attitude, I wouldn't play with you either."

"Shouldn't you apologize?"

Ryoma Echizen bit his lip and remained silent.

After a few seconds of silence, he switched Karupin to his other hand, lowered his head, and said in a muffled voice, "Chief Yukimura... I misspoke. I'm sorry."

Yukimura looked at him, his violet-blue eyes devoid of emotion. He simply nodded, very lightly, "It's alright."

Seeing that Yukimura had said that, Mochizuki Ryo's attitude softened.

Echizen Nanjiro glanced at his son, then turned to Mochizuki Ryo, a meaningful smile curving his lips.

"Young man, my kid may not be the nicest person to talk to, but he did say one thing right."

He paused, then pulled his hands out of his sleeves and interlaced his fingers in front of him. The gesture looked casual, but for some reason, it gave the impression that his aura had changed.

It's gotten deeper.

Like rip currents at the seaside, they appear to be ordinary water surfaces, but when you look down, you can't see the bottom.

"This art exhibition, well, there's really nothing to see. It's all just paintings that don't move."

He went over the scene of Wang Yueling's protection in his mind several times, and then glanced at the slightly faded wristband on Wang Yueling's wrist and the hairband in her hair, and he understood what was going on.

He had lived in the United States for many years and had seen this kind of thing many times, so he didn't think it was a big deal.

He looked away, his smile deepening. "If you're pursuing someone, playing a great game in front of them would definitely score points. How about it, give it a try?"

Yukimura's cheeks flushed slightly, but his expression remained gentle, and he said nothing.

Wang Yueling frowned slightly.

He's using reverse psychology.

Moreover, the approach was very cleverly chosen; instead of challenging his abilities, it tempted him by promising to "perform in front of someone he likes." This tactic might actually work on an ordinary fifteen-year-old boy.

But he is not an ordinary fifteen-year-old boy.

"Senior," Mochizuki Ryo's voice turned colder, "Do you think I need to prove anything by playing tennis?"

Echizen Nanjiro raised an eyebrow.

"Or do you see tennis merely as a tool for showing off?"

The atmosphere froze for a moment.

Echizen Nanjiro looked at him, the smile on his lips unchanged, but something more was in his eyes. This kid wasn't susceptible to provocation, and he immediately threw the topic back at him.

Make it clear to him that it's not "I won't fight," but "your starting point is problematic."

"I just think," Echizen Nanjiro slowly replied, "that playing more sports when you're young is more interesting than browsing boring art exhibitions. Of course, I don't mean any harm, it's just a suggestion."

Mochizuki Ryou looked at Echizen Nanjiro, a hint of surprise flashing in her azure eyes.

Because of the other person's scrutinizing gaze.

This person was joking, but his eyes weren't. Those cloudy, smiling eyes were constantly watching his posture, breathing, the position of his fingers, and where his gaze fell.

He is evaluating.

This is a professional habit of top players.

Echizen Nanjiro is indeed making an assessment.

He had been watching from the moment he first saw the blond boy.

Look at his posture.

With relaxed shoulders, a slightly left-leaning center of gravity, and hands in pockets, the person looks elegant and poised, yet every joint is ready to exert force at any moment.

Look at his breathing.

It was steady, deep, and the rhythm was as stable as meditation.

Look at his fingers.

Long and slender, with distinct knuckles and neatly trimmed nails. These weren't pampered hands; they were hands that had been holding a racket for a long time, with thin calluses on the fingertips and thicker skin on the web of the thumb than other parts of the hand.

Look at his eyes.

Calm, unwavering, and devoid of awe. When he looked at himself, it was as if he were looking at a... fellow competitor.

No...not at the same level.

He is a subordinate.