It was rather amusing to observe the looks on the tennis players' faces, all gathered around Hyotei's entranceway. Some amused, some infuriated, some excited—but most with a resigned look of resentment.

"We feel we should explain the rules first," said Yukimura, and the three other captains nodded. "First of all, as I'm sure your respective captains have all explained, this is a friendly competition between schools. Friendly." He paused to let the other students contemplate this for a moment. "This, however, does not mean—under any circumstances—that you shouldn't do your best to win. And if that means psychologically scarring your opponents, so be it. It'll be fine entertainment for the captains."

"Wait!" Marui protested. "The captains aren't participating?"

A chorus of complaints rang from the crowd.

"Atobe-buchou! What are we going to do without you?"

"Shiraishiiiiii! You're the stupid Bible, damnit! Bibles don't drop out of competitions!"

"Bibles aren't stupid, either . . ."

"Tezuka, what are we going to do without your Tezuka Zone?"

"Mura, you own, like, everybody. If you drop out, we're screwed."

Atobe snapped his fingers, and the crowd instantly fell silent. "Ore-sama shall deign to respond to your questions," he announced. "The captains will be participating in a final face-off, but will not be participating in the first round."

"There are rounds? I thought this was just a contest!"

"It's a tournament," Shiraishi corrected. "And I realize that this is completely out of the blue and random, but c'mon. It's an irresistible idea. Ecsta—"

"It's a tournament? How much time is that going to take?" Shishido demanded. "We have a tennis tournament in a few weeks! We can't waste any time on a stupid talent tournament!"

"Well, why not?" Fuji inquired. His voice was soft and velvety. "Are you saying you have no talents to showcase, Shishido?"

"Excuse me?"

A self-satisfied smile. "Saa . . ."

Atobe snapped his fingers so many times, his fingers threatened to fall off. "You will each be randomly paired with another player," he continued. "That player will be your partner for the remainder of the tournament. You will both share the victory—or the loss. In each round, we will provide you with a prompt or a theme; you will follow that prompt to the best of your ability. For example, the theme might be "culinary arts." How you decide to interpret or incorporate the prompt is entirely up to you, but it must be relevant. We might tell you to dance, and we might tell you to sing. We could tell you to jump off a cliff. And you'd have to do it."

"Le gasp!" the regulars chorused.

Atobe seemed disappointed. "Stop trying to be French," he ordered. "Your French is a disgrace to ore-sama's ears."

Tezuka cleared his throat. "In any case, the two winners of the tournament will be granted unlimited access and free membership to any tennis club in Japan, courtesy of Atobe Keigo."

The regulars' faces brightened at the mention of tennis.

"However," Tezuka continued, "no tennis is to be incorporated in this tournament."

"No tennis?" Ryoma looked like he'd just seen his cat die, then come back to life, only to get hit by a car and die all over again.

"No tennis," Tezuka repeated firmly.

"The tournament won't last longer than a week," Shiraishi added. "So it's okay."

"ONE WEEK OF NO TENNIS?" everyone except the captains sobbed. "How is that okay?"

"But you get to dance," Shiraishi tried. "And sing! And . . . stuff . . ."

Everyone (including the other captains) gave him a disappointed you-fail-at-life glare. "Just stop talking, Shiraishi."

"You know, this isn't really a talent show," Ryoma said suddenly. "If we have to go by prompts and all, then it's really just a question of who can BS something on the spot better than other people. Besides, tennis counts as a talent. Some of us are better than others. Namely me."

Everyone contemplated this for a moment.

"Regardless," Atobe said, because he didn't want to be wrong, "you have to abide by these rules. And this is a talent show whether you say so or not. You're just a freshman."

"Correction," Ryoma . . . corrected. "I'm the Prince of Tennis."

"Technicalities," said Atobe. "MOVING ON. All expenses will be covered by me—within reason, of course. Ore-sama will not give you twenty-million yen just so you can demonstrate your spectacular helicopter-riding abilities, or something (which pale in comparison to ore-sama's helicopter riding abilities). You have to actually demonstrate a talent."

"The three captains and I will be the judges of the competition," Yukimura continued. "Therefore, you are completely at my mercy."

"Our mercy," said Atobe, offended.

"Wait, that's not fair!" Kikumaru interrupted. "Won't you just give your own team a higher rating?"

"The teams are going to be mixed," Shiraishi explained. "You'll be assigned a random partner—and the odds that your partner will be a regular from your team are very low. So it's impossible for us to be biased."

Yukimura smiled tenderly, and everybody who'd made eye contact with him felt a little dizzy. "Besides, a player from our team winning wouldn't necessarily benefit the entire team—only the person on the team."

"But as judges, you're not going to get anything out of it," Zaizen noted.

Yukimura looked blank. "Excuse me, but who are you?"

"One of my players," Shiraishi said dismissively. Zaizen went to sulk in a corner while Shiraishi added, "It's a long story, but—let's just say Atobe, Yukimura, Tezuka and I ended up winning six of those unlimited-access tickets. We have two extra—why not host a tournament?"

"Why not do a raffle or something?" Jackal asked dubiously.

"Because," Yukimura replied, "this is so much more amusing."

"If you're not going to get anything out of it, why participate in the final round at all?" Ryoma challenged.

Yukimura gave him an annoyed look that blatantly said stop-doubting-me-or-I-might-hurt-you. "Well, why not?" he demanded. "I like showing off just as much as the rest of you."

"I'm confused," Momoshiro decided.

"When are you not confused?" Kaidou muttered.

Yukimura put a hand on his hip and frowned. "You know, if you'd let me explain the rules, you wouldn't be confused."

RikkaiDai turned their how-dare-you-offend-my-captain glare on Momoshiro and Kaidou, who backed away collectively.

Tezuka gave a long-suffering sigh and said, before a fight could break out, "In the semi-final, each captain will be assigned a duo, and will be assigned to assist that duo in their performance. The eliminated players will act as judges."

"Don't worry about it yet," Atobe said condescendingly. "Most of you plebeians won't make it that far, anyway."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Atobe," Yuushi said sarcastically.

"We'll be organizing the pairs, now," Atobe announced, ignoring him. "How many people do we have?"

"Exactly thirty," Tezuka replied, doing a quick head count. "Seven from RikkaiDai, seven from Hyotei, eight from Seigaku, and eight from Shitenhouji."

Atobe nodded. "Good, we have an even number. I was afraid I'd have to bring Taki into this."

"Who's that?"

"Exactly," said Atobe.

"I feel like most of this chapter has just been the captains insulting the lesser known regulars," Fuji commented.

Akaya gave him an odd look. "Did you just break the fourth wall?"

"Taka-san broke a wall, once," Fuji said pleasantly. "He was in his Burning Mode."

"Anyway," Shiraishi said, "Yagyuu, Niou, Yanagi, Kirihara, Mukahi, Shishido, Akutagawa, Inui, Kikumaru, Kawamura, Oishi, Kin-chan, Chitose, Koharu, and Zaizen—write your names on this slip of paper. When you're done, fold the paper in half and put it in—wait, do we have a hat or a box we can use?" Shiraishi asked.

Ryoma took off his cap and held it protectively to his chest, daring anyone to come within a ten meter radius of his hat.

Yukimura went ahead and lifted Sanada's cap from his head. "Use this," he offered brightly.

Sanada's head felt awfully naked, but he refrained from protesting.

"Now, the rest of you, form a line. Each of you will pick a name from Sanada's sacred hat, and that person will be your partner for the rest of the tournament," Yukimura finished.

The remaining regulars looked at each other warily. ". . . who wants to go first?"