One day in mid-August, the remote suburban woods were as usual, the sun was shining brightly, the trees were lush, the breeze blew through the lush branches and leaves, causing a rustling sound, and a few vigorous goshawks occasionally flew past the shadows of the trees.
But there is a difference, that is, the entrance to the U17 training base, which should have been deserted, was strangely lively today.
They were groups of regular teams from different schools’ tennis departments. They wore the official uniforms of their respective schools, arrived at this remote suburb at different times, and then stopped at the majestic gate of the base. forward.
Through the camera at the door, a man with medium-long hair and a mature and stern face is sitting in the control room, his calm and calm eyes locked on one of the many screens in front of him. This part of the screen is working hard to broadcast for the man in real time the things that disturbed the training base. The situation of the innocent tennis boys.
The man, Yukio Kurobe, glanced at the teenagers standing outside the gate of the base. His emotionless voice had a rare tenderness, and he said to Saito Chichi who was sitting next to him: "That girl's member Here, I advise you to let them in quickly."
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