Chapter 20 – Extreme catch
Damn!
The moment Gao Wen saw Giron quickly adjust his footwork and forcefully step around to hit a forehand, he realized exactly what was coming—a body-rotation forehand for a lethal strike. Before his brain could even finish processing it, his feet were already reacting, launching him laterally from his forehand side toward his backhand side to cover the court. By anticipating early, he tried to buy himself precious time.
Why?
First, he had just hit a down-the-line shot, leaving his backhand side completely exposed—half the court was basically wide open.
Second, Giron wasn’t the type to win by sheer power. His forehand wasn’t overwhelming; what made his step-around forehand dangerous was its speed. He always played to the open court—wherever the gap was, that’s where he’d strike. And right now, that opening was obvious. He didn’t even need to think. He just had to follow his instincts.
Thud, thud, thud.
Thud, thud, thud.
Gao Wen pushed off hard with his right foot and sprinted sideways to the left. The rushing wind tore past him, but he had already shut out everything else. His focus was locked entirely on Giron across the net, studying his movement and the direction of his next step, relying solely on his instinctive awareness of the court’s geometry to guide his own positioning.
Huff… huff…
Huff… huff…
The entire world blurred into a swirl of brilliant colours—gold, blue, green, all smashing together like a wild painter’s palette. But in Gao Wen’s eyes, there were only two things: Giron and the incoming tennis ball streaking toward him like a bolt of lightning ripping through that kaleidoscopic haze, racing toward the left sideline.
Giron was clearly going all-in, aiming straight for the line, hitting an inside-out forehand—a ball travelling from the inside of the court toward the outside. It was a direct attempt to remove Gao Wen from the court completely. His sprinting steps had already carried him beyond the singles lines and were on the verge of spilling out of the doubles alleys.
The ball’s pace and weight were far beyond what he expected—like a fireball, streaking toward him as if it meant to collide with the earth itself.
Thud, thud, thud.
Thud, thud, thud.
His powerful strides felt like they were igniting the ground, as if he was racing on wheels of fire. But Gao Wen had no time to notice anything else. His gaze locked on the ball, trying to read the spin on its high, skidding flight—
There was no spin. Just a flat bullet.
So—
He extended his two-handed backhand far out to his side. As the ball threatened to fly past his position, he crossed his right and left feet once more, pushing off violently, his body throwing itself past the edge of balance as he stretched to the limit, pulling his arms back to prepare for the swing.
The ball had already flown past his position and was still rising, climbing beyond any normal hitting range. The ideal contact point was long gone.
Even players like Thompson and McDonald would already have given up on a ball like this. Even if they somehow managed to make contact, it would most likely catch the frame or slip off the strings—hitting the sweet spot with accuracy was nearly impossible.
And it wasn’t just “laziness” in a practice match. It was smart energy management. On a ball with no real chance, there was no point wasting your stamina. Attempts to save it were usually futile.
But Gao Wen did not waver. His eyes burned, locked tightly onto the ball. Even as his balance was slipping away, he maintained absolute focus in this extreme position, completing his backhand take-back and swinging toward the ball that had bounced impossibly high.
Bang!
Ssshh!
His backhand swing accelerated sharply at the moment of contact, whipping the racket head to its maximum speed in an instant. He could even hear his muscles and bones crackle like popping beans as every ounce of strength and speed poured into the racket.
And at that very instant—
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Giron, who had already finished his shot and was sprinting forward at full speed, preparing to plant himself near the net. Like Spider-Man casting a web, Giron was ready to seal off every angle. But clearly, he hadn’t expected Gao Wen to actually reach this ball—his approach steps were noticeably slower.
He saw it!
A path—right down the backhand line!
Almost simultaneously, Gao Wen felt the ball press and scrape against the strings. The friction transferred through his fingers, palms, and wrists as he unleashed all his strength into the counterattack.
Left foot braced.
Right foot pushed off.
Both hands swung!
His torso whipped around at high speed!
Like a ballerina spinning at full extension, he completed a full-body rotation. The racket head carved through the air at its absolute limit, finishing in a rapid, sweeping follow-through. His entire body threw itself into generating massive topspin—more power on the strike, more speed on the finish—so much that the motion practically launched him forward, forcing the ball to change its flight path even at high velocity and shoot off like a missile.
Bang!
The tennis ball spun violently on the strings, its fuzz bursting apart as it was crushed between the crosshatch. Tiny fibres spiralled through the air, and the ball itself deformed under the sheer force. Even the air around it seemed to spark as it tore forward.
Whoosh!
The tennis ball transformed into a streak of motion, gliding effortlessly over the net in a straight line, carving out an outside-in curve that started from the outer sideline and bent back toward the inside of the court. It rocketed forward with a force and speed even greater than a serve, like a bolt of lightning, almost too fast to see. All one could catch was the faint trail of light behind it.
Boom!
In.
Bounced.
Point.
Clean. Sharp. Perfect.
Giron, standing near the middle of the court, tried to launch himself into a diving save, but it was hopeless. He barely managed to stretch out his racket before watching helplessly as the ball whirled past him and slammed into the court behind him like a miniature cyclone.
His footwork faltered; he dragged himself sideways for a few more steps, eyes wide with disbelief as he followed the ball’s impossible trajectory. At last, unable to contain the disappointment, he tilted his head back and let out a long, frustrated sigh.
“Point! Game!”
Grant Chen, serving as the score announcer and umpire, couldn’t suppress his own excitement. His voice rose with youthful energy as he called out the score—
First game and Gao Wen had taken four straight points, holding serve with a love game!
Even though Giron had rallied at the last moment and launched an aggressive attack, boldly carving the angle open during their standoff, Gao Wen’s extreme defensive counter was even more dazzling. A full-stretch reach, a backhand, a clean line—Giron could only stare after the ball in despair. For a moment, there was even a faint hint of Rafael Nadal in the shot.
From the inside-out blast flying from the inner court to the wide outside, to the outside-in boomerang sweeping back toward the centre, it was a head-on collision of angles—extreme versus more extreme—producing sparks worthy of a top-tier duel. The exchange was nothing short of exhilarating, showcasing the raw thrill of tennis offence and defence at full intensity.
Beautiful.
Brilliant.
From the opening serve winner to the final all-out defensive masterpiece, Gao Wen didn’t just display fierce fighting spirit and unyielding grit—he showed remarkable intelligence and nerves of steel under pressure. Again and again, he turned the impossible into the possible through relentless movement. And with this opening love game, he sent a surge of adrenaline through his team’s No. 2 singles prodigy, setting the match ablaze right from the start.
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