Inside the Seido High School Baseball Team's indoor practice facility, Zhang Han was working through his pitching with Ono's help.
His right-handed pitching had already been declared effectively finished by Coach Kataoka and the coaching staff. After a thorough analysis of his ball speed, control, ntality, and breaking ball, they had scored it sowhere above sixty points. In a prestigious high school, that ceiling made him a rotating pitcher at best, and as for future developnt potential, there was almost none to speak of.
If Zhang Han tried to build a professional career on that pitching, he would land at the very bottom of the salary structure. A ten-million-level player, they had estimated. Not a disgrace, but nowhere near what he was capable of.
Because the truth was, pitching was not where Zhang Han's real value lay. Whether he played as an infielder or outfielder, his hitting ability placed him firmly in top-tier territory. His salary potential there was asured in billions, not tens of millions.
The entire coaching staff had reached the sa conclusion unanimously: Zhang Han's future was as a fielder, and that path offered a hundred tis more promise than the pitching mound ever would.
It said a great deal about the Seido coaching team that they had made this call even while the team desperately needed pitching depth. They could have pushed Zhang Han in that direction anyway and called it practical. Instead, they chose not to, unwilling to gamble with his long-term future for short-term convenience.
Then, a little over a month ago, everything shifted.
Soone noticed that Zhang Han was naturally left-handed.
The hope that had quietly gone dormant ca back to life. The coaching staff tested his left hand, and what they found was raw in every sense of the word. Compared to his polished right hand, left-handed pitching was like an uncut stone sitting beside a finished piece of work. Rough, uneven, and nowhere near ready.
And yet, they saw sothing in it.
The speed gun reading had reached 143 kiloters per hour. That was a full level above his right-handed pitching, and it arrived without any real refinent behind it.
Too violent. Too raw. But unmistakably real.
Even if his left hand showed no further talent beyond pure velocity, that number alone was enough justification to develop him seriously. Coach Kataoka quietly told the staff not to rush. Even if Zhang Han's left-handed pitching wasn't ga-ready by the following sumr or autumn, that was fine. If it reached the level it needed to reach by the sumr of his third year, that would be more than enough.
And if his pitching truly grew into sothing capable of carrying great responsibility, then the player standing on that mound might one day beco sothing genuinely legendary.
The coaches found themselves investing in the process with real enthusiasm. Before the team had even officially begun training camp, two assistant coaches were already accompanying Zhang Han through his sessions.
Absorbed in the rhythm of practice, none of them were paying any attention to what was unfolding on the field outside.
"Smack!"
Zhang Han released a pitch. Ono caught it cleanly, and one of the assistant coaches made a note in his notebook without looking up.
"Very good. Seven or eight out of ten pitches are hitting the strike zone now. You've only been at this for a few days, and even accounting for your right-handed foundation, that's not a small thing. Your left hand seems to have a natural feel for the ball. Down the line, you might develop so real potential in terms of control as well."
Ball speed and control. If Zhang Han could bring those two weapons under his command, he would have everything he needed to establish himself on the mound.
Having already thrown sixty pitches, Zhang Han let out a slow breath and dropped onto the bench to drink so water.
That was when the door burst open.
"Why are you still in here? Sothing big is happening outside!"
Zhang Han and Ono both looked up, equally confused.
The team hadn't officially gathered yet. What could possibly have happened?
They exchanged a glance, both finding the sa question written on the other's face.
"What's going on?"
"Azuma-senpai, he..."
Zhang Han was on his feet before the sentence finished. "What happened to Kiyokuni-senpai?"
Whatever sharp edges Azuma Kiyokuni carried in conversation, the man had consistently looked out for Zhang Han since they beca teammates. Hearing his na brought up in a tone like that put Zhang Han's nerves on edge imdiately. Azuma-senpai had already submitted his draft application. If sothing went wrong now, the consequences could follow him for the rest of his career.
"Relax, he's fine. He just got struck out. By so kid who ca to visit."
Struck out.
Azuma Kiyokuni, struck out by a visiting kid.
Ono Hiroshi's eyes went wide enough that they looked liable to roll right out of his head. It wasn't that he startled easily. It was that this particular piece of news was simply too much to absorb without a visible reaction.
Azuma Kiyokuni had hit six ho runs at Koshien Stadium. He was a monster by any reasonable definition of the word. And soone had struck him out?
Zhang Han's reaction, however, took a different direction entirely. His attention went straight to the kid.
A visiting kid. Could it be that boy from Nagano Prefecture, the one Takashima Rei had quietly asked him to help look after?
If it was him, then striking out Azuma Kiyokuni, while still extraordinary, wasn't completely impossible. For soone to earn that level of confidence from Takashima Rei, he would have to have sothing real backing it up.
Zhang Han gave a quick word to the assistant coach overseeing his session, and then the three of them headed out to the field.
By the ti they arrived, the situation had already reached a certain tension.
"That was a strikeout, wasn't it?"
Miyuki said it the way he said most things, with an air of complete indifference.
The color draining from Azuma Kiyokuni's broad face was sothing to witness. It cycled through several shades before settling sowhere between red and a deep, unhappy purple.
"That doesn't count. We're starting over."
"Senpai, are you going back on it now? Three foul balls, and then a clean swing and miss on a good pitch. By any asure, you lost this one."
"Why you little..."
Azuma Kiyokuni looked very ready to demonstrate exactly what being on the receiving end of a senpai's anger felt like.
"Let's settle down." Takashima Rei's voice cut through before things could escalate further. She glanced toward the pitcher's mound as she spoke. "Azuma was caught off guard just now. There's no harm in giving them another round."
She kept her expression neutral, but her attention was fixed on Sawamura.
The strikeout had been real, but it hadn't been clean in the way that would silence all doubts. Two of those foul balls had been hit by Azuma with enough force to carry them clear over the fence. That kind of power, directed back at a pitcher, carried its own ssage. It had to weigh on anyone standing on that mound.
Takashima Rei wanted to see what Sawamura would do with that weight. Would he hold his ground and accept the challenge again? Or would he read the situation, take the win he already had, and step back while he was ahead?
"Bring it on! Who's afraid of who?!"
Sawamura didn't take even a second to think about it.
Sothing about pitching with Miyuki behind the plate had settled into him like a key finding the right lock. He had almost forgotten what this felt like, throwing with everything he had and not holding back.
Back in Akagi, his teammates had always complained that his pitches went everywhere and were impossible to track down. After enough of that, he had learned to pull back, to dial down the power just enough to keep things manageable for the people trying to catch him. It had beco habit without him even fully noticing.
But here, he didn't need to do any of that. Wherever the ball went, the person crouched behind that plate would find it. He was certain of that now.
He had never wanted to throw a pitch more than he did in this mont.
Miyuki, for his part, quietly bit back a sigh.
Why couldn't this kid read the room even a little?
The strikeout had worked because Miyuki had fed him exactly the right information from behind the plate, and because Azuma-senpai had underestimated an unknown pitcher from the countryside. That combination had opened a window, and Sawamura had thrown himself through it without a second thought.
But a real match against Azuma Kiyokuni was sothing else entirely.
Miyuki glanced sideways at the broad, imposing figure standing at the plate and felt the weight of what Sawamura was cheerfully walking back into.
Do you have any idea who you're really facing right now?
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