"Thwack!"
The baseball landed cleanly in the glove.
Azuma, like a victorious general returning from battle, raised his glove high—
a symbol of triumph for the Seidou squad.
"Out!"
The announcer's voice rang out.
From the stands, Seidou's supporters erupted in cheers.
"Seidou!"
"Seidou!!"
It was just a routine out, yet their cheers rang with the intensity of a ga-winning play.
Inashiro's fans, on the other hand, murmured bitterly among themselves.
"What's the big deal?"
"You'd think they've already won the ga…"
But even as they complained, their eyes were tinged red with frustration.
They knew exactly why Seidou's fans were so hyped.
They had felt the sa way earlier, back when Zhou Hao was pulled from the mound.
That first-year phenom had almost single-handedly dominated the entire Inashiro lineup.
The truth was hard to swallow.
If Zhou had stayed in the ga…
…Inashiro might never have recovered.
So when he was taken out, Inashiro's fans felt a wave of relief.
"This… might be our chance."
As long as they could get back on the field and spark a rally, maybe—just maybe—they could turn the tide.
But Seidou had other ideas.
Switching pitchers is always a gamble.
Done well, it can shift montum.
Done poorly… it can collapse a team's morale.
At first, Seidou's players and supporters were understandably nervous when Zhou Hao was subbed out.
But then they saw Yoshida's pitching.
And those worries? Instantly gone.
Yoshida was sharp. Calm. In control.
At that mont, he looked every bit like one of the top pitchers in the country.
With Yoshida on the mound, Seidou felt secure.
"We've got this."
"We're going to win this!"
Across from them stood their longti rival—Inashiro, the West Tokyo powerhouse that had dragged Seidou into countless nail-biters before.
It would be dishonest to say there was no fear, no hesitation.
But this ti—Seidou wasn't backing down.
They were facing the beast head-on.
And they believed:
"No matter who they send in—we can handle it."
Now stepping up: Inashiro's second batter.
Yoshida was still firing on all cylinders, but Inashiro's players didn't flinch.
They ca to this ga treating Seidou as a national-level opponent—with all the pressure and seriousness that ca with it.
"Your form's impressive," the second batter thought.
"But don't think we'll fold that easily."
His aura was striking—calm, but fierce.
Behind the plate, Chris narrowed his eyes.
He could tell—Inashiro wasn't bluffing.
Even now, even behind by three runs, they still believed they could win.
Chris nodded inwardly, respecting that fighting spirit.
But he also saw a small crack.
"He's pressing. He'll swing at the first pitch."
He gave the signal: low and fast.
Yoshida saw it and grinned.
This was the kind of challenge he was waiting for.
"Whoosh!"
The pitch exploded from Yoshida's hand, flying toward the plate with force and purpose.
The Inashiro batter was surprised—not by the speed, but by how decisive the pitch was.
Still, he didn't hesitate.
He was known for his aggressive swings.
"Ping!"
The bat connected—but not cleanly.
The ball flew high.
It had more tail than expected.
The batter grimaced.
"Off-balance…"
The infielders didn't hesitate.
One of them raced forward, glove raised—
"Thwack!"
"Out!"
Even though it was a foul ball, Seidou's fielder caught it with ease.
Another out.
And with it, a clear signal:
This wasn't just Zhou Hao's team.
This was Seidou.
And every one of them was a weapon.
The third batter ca up next.
This was no ordinary hitter—he was Inashiro's ace slugger, a feared power hitter not just in West Tokyo, but across the country.
And today?
He was furious.
First, a first-year had made him look foolish.
Now, with two outs and no one on base, he was back at the plate.
"Too much bullying!"
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