I Became an All-round Artist

Writing about tennis?
Sports competition?
Yang Feng could swear he wasn’t the type to hold contradictory views, but when faced with a manuscript about tennis competitions, he instinctively furrowed his brow.
Sure, it’s innovative, but isn’t it a bit too innovative?
In the realm of sports novels, at least if you were writing about soccer, basketball, or even table tennis, most people have some level of familiarity with these sports. They have plenty of fans. But why choose tennis, a sport with a relatively high barrier to entry?

It was unique, no doubt.
But it was also undeniably niche.
Still, as a professional editor, despite his internal musings, Yang Feng wouldn’t dismiss the submission outright. If the author showed promise, he would be more than happy to connect with them.
This is a common practice in the publishing world.
When encountering a promising author, even if their submission doesn’t make the cut, editors often try to nurture them. Many successful novelists have been shaped under the guidance of an editor, although the process often involves numerous rejections along the way.

He opened the first page on his computer.
Yang Feng began reviewing the manuscript.
Regardless of the story itself, he already had a favorable impression of the author for daring to write a tennis-themed novel. Yang Feng appreciated this defiance of market trends. If more authors had this kind of spirit, the novel market wouldn’t be plagued with such homogeneity.

The story began.
On a train heading to Seishun Academy, a young member of the school’s tennis team was arrogantly lecturing his new teammate. As he demonstrated how to hold a tennis racket, he swung it carelessly and accidentally hit a nearby girl in the face.

“Sorry,” he said with a glance at the girl before continuing his lesson with enthusiasm.
But as he gestured and spoke with growing fervor, a cold voice interrupted: “You’re really noisy, you know?”
The speaker was a boy.
The older player was about to get angry, but before he could, the younger one, carrying a tennis bag, casually corrected him: “The proper Western grip is to pick up a flat racket from the top. For the traditional Eastern grip, hold it upright, like you’re shaking hands.”
“You…”

Being corrected by a younger boy, the older player’s face flushed with embarrassment. He glared at the boy, but before he could respond, the boy had already stepped off the train.

“Is this the protagonist?”
Yang Feng nodded.
The opening seemed promising. Even though he didn’t know much about tennis, the basics of racket grips were easy to follow. It seemed that while the protagonist was correcting the older boy, he was also subtly standing up for the girl who had been hit.

The scene shifted.
A group of boys gathered around a list, discussing it. One of them said, “This year, a new freshman joined the tennis team, and he’s already in the starting lineup without having to be a substitute.”
“No way!”
“How is that possible?”
“There must’ve been a mistake in the records.”

One of the boys seemed skeptical. “A first-year student who just graduated from high school, directly joining the school’s tennis team as a starter? That’s hard to believe, especially since our school’s tennis team members are all candidates for professional players.”

On the list, the name of the freshman who made the starting lineup was Ryoma, a 16-year-old who was even younger than the average age of the tennis team, where the youngest starters were at least sophomores.
As they discussed this, Ryoma appeared with his tennis racket on his back.
The boys from the train were there too, and they immediately caught the attention of the students. It turned out they had come to the school for a challenge match. But when the leader spotted Ryoma, he couldn’t hold back his irritation. Pointing his racket at Ryoma, he sneered, “Do you even realize you were just lecturing a main player of the Lanton Academy tennis team about how to play tennis?”

Ryoma looked at him quietly.
That gaze made the older boy uncomfortable, and he swung his racket towards Ryoma’s head—not intending to hit him but just to scare him. To everyone’s surprise, Ryoma didn’t flinch, as if he knew the racket wouldn’t actually strike him.

“Let’s go, we’ve got bigger things to do,” one of the older boy’s teammates chuckled, trying to defuse the situation.
The older boy snorted and turned to leave, but Ryoma casually flicked up an empty drink bottle with his racket, sending it straight into the trash can. Then he looked back and asked, “Did you learn how to hold the racket yet? Want me to teach you how to actually play tennis?”

The crowd was stunned.
These boys from Lanton Academy were here to challenge Seishun Academy, meaning they were strong players. Yet here was a young, seemingly inexperienced boy making such bold claims—it left everyone baffled.

“Is he crazy?”
All eyes were on Ryoma.
Meanwhile, at his computer, Yang Feng flipped through the pages with growing interest. Despite expecting tennis to be too niche, he hadn’t found the story dull or overly technical. In fact, he was genuinely intrigued.

The older boy accepted the challenge.
What happened next shocked the gathered students. This young, unassuming boy absolutely crushed the older boy—who claimed to be a main player for his school’s team—in a landslide victory!

The older boy was furious.
He had underestimated Ryoma at first, but after losing so many points, his pride was on the line. He pulled out his special move—something he had intended to reserve for the main team at Seishun Academy—but Ryoma had forced his hand.
Finally, the older boy managed to win a point back.

At that moment, the coach of Seishun Academy’s tennis team appeared, immediately spotting Ryoma on the court. A smile curled at the corner of her lips. “He arrived sooner than I expected.”
“Grandma, do you know him?”
The girl who had been hit earlier was there too—she was actually the coach’s granddaughter. But the coach didn’t explain, simply watching the match with a knowing look.

Thwack, thwack, thwack.
Ryoma began losing a few points.
The game was becoming more evenly matched.
Yang Feng frowned. The story had spent a lot of time building up Ryoma’s genius, but so far, his performance wasn’t living up to the hype. It confirmed Yang Feng’s suspicion that writing a tennis novel wasn’t going to be easy.

Shaking his head, he continued reading.

The high-octane action that got his adrenaline pumping was just about to begin. Under the astonished gaze of everyone around, Ryoma switched his tennis racket from his right hand to his left!

"He's left-handed."

The tennis coach smirked slyly, like a fox.

Yang Feng was completely caught off guard—he never expected Ryoma to be a lefty. It was like watching someone who had always eaten with their right hand suddenly use their left hand to hold chopsticks. The two actions were fundamentally different. And yet, Ryoma had been dominating his opponent, who wasn’t weak by any means, with just his right hand. What would happen now that he was using his dominant left hand?

He couldn’t wait to find out.

The story didn’t disappoint. If Ryoma had been merely suppressing his opponent earlier, now, with his left hand in play, he was toying with him. It wasn’t even a contest anymore. The opponent could barely return Ryoma’s serves, let alone put up any real fight.

The score became a brutal blowout.

As the sound of people gasping filled the air, the tennis coach of Seishun Academy narrowed his eyes and said, "Ryoma, sixteen years old. In just one year, he’s swept through every youth tennis tournament in Qinzhou, winning every single title. Eighteen matches, all decisive victories. The principal personally invited him to enroll as a tennis scholarship student."

"Ryoma!"

"Sixteen!"

The crowd finally snapped out of their daze.

Then came the uproar. This was the boy who had just joined the tennis club and immediately secured a spot on the starting lineup? His achievements were that remarkable?

"Interesting," Yang Feng’s eyes gleamed.

He was totally hooked on the story, so much so that he ignored the notification signaling the end of his workday and kept reading.

The match wasn’t over yet.

Ryoma’s biggest disadvantage was his age—he was only sixteen, and his height was no match for the older player. The opponent adjusted his tactics, using his height to dominate at the net. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t make much of a difference; Ryoma continued to apply terrifying pressure.

Laughter erupted from the crowd.

Enraged, the older player suddenly put all his strength into it and hurled his racket at Ryoma. No one saw it coming—the racket struck Ryoma square in the face, leaving a bloody gash on his forehead.

Yang Feng was furious.

The crowd was outraged, too.

But the older player just laughed, claiming he had accidentally lost grip of his racket. Yet, just when everyone thought Ryoma might not be able to continue, he simply wiped away the blood and said calmly, "Looks like you haven’t learned how to hold a racket properly."

"You!"

The match continued.

This was Ryoma’s counterattack. Every shot he played was fast, sharp, and incredibly skillful, with several even hitting his opponent’s face, leaving him yelping in pain. Yang Feng couldn't help but slap his thigh in delight—it was so satisfying.

Justice was served. Sweet, sweet justice.

Serves him right for having no sportsmanship!

This kind of face-smacking comeback was exactly what young readers love. With each of Ryoma’s returns, he announced the score mercilessly: "Fifteen-love... thirty-love... forty-love..."

"What kind of serve is that?"

The older player’s teammates were dumbfounded.

Seishun Academy’s coach responded calmly, "It’s a twist serve. The friction between the rubber court and the ball generates spin. When it hits the opponent’s racket, the ball doesn’t follow a normal trajectory—it curves. This is one of Ryoma’s signature moves that helped him dominate the youth tournaments in Qinzhou. His opponent has no chance of returning it."

The older player was completely crushed.

For the final serve, he didn’t even try to resist. Ironically, Ryoma’s last shot was just a light tap, and the ball landed humorously close to the older player after a gentle bounce.

End of chapter one.

Yang Feng took a deep breath.

He never thought he, someone who didn’t understand tennis at all, could become so absorbed in a tennis sports novel.