After the eting ended, Takashima Rei, worried that Zhang Han might be discouraged, sought him out to offer so reassurance.
"Do you think Coach Kataoka is strict? He's actually a very gentle man at heart."
When Zhang Han heard this, cold sweat almost broke out. With his limited perception, he truly couldn't connect the everyday Kataoka with the word gentle.
"He's only strict with the players he values highly," Takashima continued.
Whether Zhang Han believed it or not, he nodded on the surface.
The next day, before the ga began, the starting lineup was announced. At that mont, Zhang Han felt that what Takashima Rei said might actually be true.
Kataoka had clearly said earlier that the main players wouldn't need to play. But in reality, not all of them were benched. Aside from Zhang Han—the starting shortstop—two more single-digit players appeared in the lineup.
They were Miyuki Kazuya, Number 2 and Azuma Kiyokuni, Number 5 .
Zhang Han couldn't refute Kataoka calling him "not a main player." Although his performance was better than the other shortstop on the team, it wasn't at a level that crushed the senior. It wasn't unreasonable to say the third-year was the main shortstop.
But Miyuki and Azuma were a different story. Both held rock-solid positions on the team. Kataoka had other reasons for sending them out.
Zhang Han and Miyuki were in similar situations. Their skills were excellent, but their experience in high school gas was still lacking. Kataoka wanted to use every minute and every second to help them adapt to high school baseball as quickly as possible, preparing them for tougher challenges ahead.
As for Azuma Kiyokuni, the situation was different. Kataoka put him on the field for one purpose: to let him break records.
Seido had many strong third-years, but the only one with a real shot at professional baseball—and possibly a bright future—was Azuma.
Perhaps Takashima Rei was right. Maybe Coach Kataoka was gentle at heart.
He gave rookies experience, gave Azuma opportunities, and still considered the desire of the substitutes to play. Against a public school opponent who posed no major threat, he believed this distribution of chances was appropriate.
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To be honest, from a team-performance standpoint, this arrangent wasn't the optimal competitive strategy. But from each individual player's perspective, while still preserving the team's interests, it was probably the best approach.
The ga between Seido and tropolitan Third High School began.
As soon as it started, a large crowd of unfamiliar faces appeared in the opposing stands. They wore different school uniforms and carried all kinds of photography equipnt.
Clearly, Seido's first-round performance had changed how West Tokyo viewed them.
Before, Seido was seen as a declining powerhouse. Aside from future opponents and a few rivals, few paid attention to them. But after the Musashi ga, people realized that the supposedly fading team had reawakened.
Seido had beco a spoiler—dangerous enough to cripple or even knock out teams aiming for deep runs. No powerhouse, and no potential opponent, could ignore them anymore. So teams sent scouts to watch.
In modern high school baseball, gathering information had beco increasingly important. That was one major reason the stands were so crowded.
However, once the ga began, the spectators were surprised—and many disappointed.
Seido seed to be completely disregarding the opponent. Most main players had been benched, and a large group of substitutes went on the field. Only Azuma and the two first-year rookies joined them.
"This is way too arrogant! Using substitutes against a team that made it to the third round in West Tokyo?"
"It's still Seido. Even their subs shouldn't be weak."
Spectators whispered back and forth.
On the field, Third High's players were furious.
When they first learned they were facing Seido, they had almost accepted defeat in advance. Their earlier gas were narrow wins; their strength could only take them so far. They knew beating Seido was nearly impossible.
They had ntally prepared themselves for a loss. But accepting it themselves was one thing—being dismissed by the opponent was another.
People have dignity. No one likes being ignored.
Fueled by that humiliation, Third High reignited their fighting spirit. They ca out aggressively from the first inning.
They launched a fierce attack against Tanba, Seido's second-year pitcher.
Tanba started steadily, working with Miyuki to get two quick outs. But when facing the third batter, a small mistake allowed the runner to reach first base.
Two outs, runner on first.
As soon as a runner got on base, Tanba's condition clearly wavered.
At third base, Azuma's expression darkened.
"Useless!"
If Azuma had frustrations with the younger players, it was most often with the pitchers.
Hidezawa was unreliable—dominant when in form, a disaster when out of it. What Seido needed most right now was a stable middle reliever.
Tanba was being cultivated for that role. But Azuma clearly wasn't satisfied.
In his eyes, Tanba was too soft. Despite good pitches and talent, he couldn't fully use them in a ga.
To Azuma, he didn't even compare favorably to Kawakami, who had only just been promoted to the second team as a first-year.
Azuma and Tanaka still had confidence that Seido could reach Koshien. But the pitching… the pitching was the one thing that made them uneasy.
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