Alexis Lebrun and the Challenge of Defending Two European Titles in Ljubljana

The racket bag was set down on the bench neatly. Every movement Alexis Lebrun made in his first training session in Ljubljana was slow, as if planned long in advance. Two years ago in Linz, people remembered him for the ferocious forehand loops of a young player with nothing to lose. Now, at 23, he enters the European Championships with two titles to defend — men's singles and men's doubles — and the status of being one half of the world No. 1 doubles pair alongside his younger brother Félix.

People look at the scoreboard; I look at the worn shoes and the eyes that still hold fire. And in Lebrun's eyes in Ljubljana there is something different from Linz: weight. In table tennis, once you have won, every match afterwards is no longer a chance to prove yourself but a chance to lose something. He admits as much himself, saying that winning a title as the higher-rated player "is never easy."

The European Championships in Ljubljana fall in the middle of the Olympic cycle — after Paris 2026 closed and before the road to Los Angeles 2028 truly takes shape. It is a tournament with meaningful ranking value for European players, though still below the WTT Grand Smash system and the three biggest stages in world table tennis: the Olympics, the World Championships and the World Cup.

In that picture, Lebrun does not stand alone. European table tennis in recent years has seen the simultaneous rise of a new generation: Sweden's Truls Moregard, France's Lebrun brothers, and the growing depth of German table tennis. Lebrun himself, in a pre-tournament statement, ranked Truls and his own brother above himself on the list of contenders.

The most notable context lies in how he prepared. Rather than building up inside the European club system, Lebrun went to China for a training camp with his full staff. It is a strategic choice: the French coaching team treats facing the quality and density of Asian table tennis as the season's most important lever. He said he played a great many tournaments to prepare, and called Ljubljana the most important event at the start of the season.

Based on my experience following matches, this is a peak-for-one-target preparation model: front-loading volume and arriving sharp rather than tapering. It works when the body can take it, and backfires when it cannot.

Looking at Lebrun's résumé, a pattern emerges more clearly than people assume. His major honours skew heavily toward team and continental events: Olympic team bronze at Paris 2026, World Team silver at Busan 2026, World Team bronze at London 2026, and European Team gold at Zadar 2026. At the highest individual level, the only medal cited is a men's doubles bronze at Doha 2026 — with no individual men's singles medal at any of the three majors.

That is the most important data point, and it is hidden behind the glow of two European titles. Lebrun's real strength lies in doubles, where he and Félix hold the world No. 1 ranking. The probability of defending the doubles title is therefore considerably higher than defending the singles title, where he must face the very players he ranks above himself.

Technically, Lebrun belongs to the shakehand two-winged power-loop school with a fast backhand — the direct counterpart to Félix's left-handed penhold style. The complementarity between these two different styles is the foundation of the world No. 1 pair. But in singles, his simultaneous entry in three events — singles, doubles and mixed doubles — raises a physical-allocation problem that no data in my hands can precisely quantify.

There is something suspicious in the story Lebrun tells about himself. He is both the reigning champion in two events and one half of the world No. 1 doubles pair, yet he calls himself not the favourite. This may be genuine humility, or it may be a psychological shield — lowering outside expectation to reduce internal pressure. For a man who once won as the hunter, shifting into the role of the hunted is a greater challenge than any loop.

Alongside that is the story that European table tennis has improved a lot. It is true, but it is also a familiar pre-tournament template: it both raises the value of winning and softens the image of any loss. I am not saying Lebrun is looking for an exit. I am only saying that a writer must read both the text and the blank spaces.

I do not write about matches; I write about the people the matches are carving. And Lebrun, at 23, is being carved by his own glory.

Every star was once a doubted glimmer in a dark corner of an academy. The harder thing is not to shine, but to keep shining once the whole world has turned to look.

So what will decide Ljubljana? Not the racket, nor the physical base, but Lebrun's ability to live with a new role. The odds of defending the doubles title are higher than the singles. The biggest risk comes not from opponents but from the weight of status itself. At 23, he is in exactly the peak band: mature enough to carry pressure, young enough not to be worn down by it. The rest, time will answer.