Ping!
The bat carved through the air, splitting the breeze.
It was as if the mont had beco the eye of a storm.
Harada, crouched behind the plate, suddenly felt it—his breath catching, his chest tightening.
His eyes locked on the batter in disbelief.
Yuki Tetsuya.
They were in the sa year, yet Harada had never imagined Yuki's swing could be this frightening.
No—frightening wasn't even the right word. At this instant, it felt like the second-year third batter for Seido had already surpassed even the "monster" in Inashiro's own lineup.
The thought barely ford before—
Crack!
The bat connected. The baseball flashed white and shot forward.
Every Inashiro fielder snapped to attention.
They had drilled for this exact kind of mont countless tis, their reflexes honed to respond without conscious thought.
But this ball—
It was fast.
Two fielders broke into full sprints toward the landing spot, but the ball was already bouncing on the turf before they even got close.
"It's through!"
The words rang out, and Seido's dugout exploded with energy.
They were already ahead by one run, but not a single player was satisfied. If anything, the scent of victory only made them hungrier.
The first-year pitcher for Inashiro had been sharp—every Seido player respected that—but fatigue was creeping in. The zip in his pitches had dulled just enough, and Seido's batters were ready to pounce.
Yuki tossed his bat aside and bolted for first base.
When he realized the fielders were still chasing the ball, he didn't hesitate—he stretched it into a double.
"Safe!"
No outs. Runner on second.
"Fourth batter, number five—third baseman, Azuna Kiyokuni!"
The announcent sent another ripple of anticipation through the stands.
Faces in Seido's dugout twisted with pure adrenaline. Their fans were on their feet. The mont was thick with history—
Inashiro Industrial.
The perennial West Tokyo powerhouse.
The team that had knocked Seido out of semifinals and finals more tis than they cared to count.
The team that had denied them ticket after ticket to Koshien.
And even today, Inashiro had threatened them over and over again, tying the score, pressing hard, looming like a shadow that refused to fade.
But now—now it was Seido's turn to swing the hamr.
"Inashiro, tremble all you want!"
"Ti for you to taste the bitter fruit!"
Yet Inashiro didn't call a tiout. They didn't change pitchers.
Narumiya i—rookie, fiery, proud—was still on the mound. His tank was nearly empty, but his spirit burned hotter than ever.
"Whoosh!"
The fastball ca in—a straight arrow, thrown with everything he had left.
Azuma Kiyokuni stepped into it like a warlord on the battlefield, his bat a general's sword.
Boom!
The sound was heavy, different from Yuki's clean slice.
If Yuki's swing was a blade, Azuma's was a gilded warhamr, smashing through anything in its path.
Ping!
The connection wasn't perfect—he didn't square it up—but the sheer force still sent the ball rocketing away.
Harada's eyes went wide.
Narumiya's straight ball had nasty late life. To still drive it like that… what kind of raw strength did this man have?
By the ti the Inashiro fielders reacted, the ball was already down.
Azuma shed his bat and charged down the line like a runaway freight train.
"Stop him!!"
The cry from Inashiro's supporters cut through the air, but it was too late. Despite his stocky fra, Azuma's legs churned like pistons, and he was safe at first base—roaring, hands on hips.
"Who's next?!"
anwhile, Yuki blazed past third and stomped ho plate.
"Run scored!"
"5–3! Seido leads by two!"
The announcer nearly leapt from her seat, her voice carrying the weight of a ga that would be rembered for years.
Seido's fans? They were losing their minds.
"Two runs!"
"Two runs!!"
The deadlock was gone.
The initiative belonged to Seido now—
And there were still no outs. Runner on first.
The attack wasn't over.
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