Zhou Hao pulled back his arm and fired.
Whoosh!
One out, nobody on base.
The scoreboard still read 1–1.
Kitamura stepped into the batter's box for his second face-off against Zhou Hao. Unlike the ninth batter, who had been utterly helpless against the Spiral Ball, Kitamura wasn't just anyone. Alongside Kujo, he was one of Osaka Kiryu's best hitters—leadoff only because their lineup overflowed with sluggers.
He had already seen the Spiral Ball once. Now, his beast-like eyes locked onto Zhou Hao with bloodthirsty intent.
I'll hit it. Spiral Ball, Illusion Ball—whatever he throws, I'll crush it.
Zhou Hao's motion gave nothing away. To the untrained eye, it looked identical to every other pitch. But Kitamura wasn't fooled. Kiryu had studied him in detail—down to the tiniest quirks in his delivery. They knew when he was loading the Spiral Ball.
That was the flaw in Zhou Hao's arsenal: to generate that wicked spin, his motion shifted just enough to be spotted. Other teams hadn't picked it up, but the Universe Team had.
If it's a Spiral Ball, I'll attack it head-on, Kitamura thought.
But as the ball left Zhou Hao's hand, relief surged through him.
A Straight Ball. Perfect.
Even if he couldn't fully punish the Spiral Ball, he had no doubts about a heater. All he had to do was get on base—then the heart of Kiryu's lineup would take care of the rest.
Kitamura gritted his teeth, coiled, and unleashed a mighty swing—
Buzz!!
He was sure. He felt it. He had it.
And then—
The ball vanished.
Not an illusion. Not a trick of the light. One instant, the pitch was there; the next, it simply disappeared from his sightline.
Kitamura's body spun in a full 360, his bat cutting only air. The umpire even staggered back in shock before calling:
"Strike!"
Kitamura froze, his mind blank.
Where… where did the ball go?!
Behind the plate, Chris's lips curled into a satisfied smirk.
Perfect. Better than expected.
Zhou Hao's second breaking ball had awakened.
Until now, his only real breaking pitch had been the Slider—a devastating ball he could manipulate with uncanny precision. With his control, even a stick thrown by him could boorang back. The first ti teammates saw it, jaws had literally dropped.
But Miyuki and Chris had taken that raw ability and forged it into weapons. Together, they crafted four variations:
The Illusion Ball, low and deceptive, ssing with timing.
And now, the second: the Invisibility Ball.
This inside-sliding pitch disappeared into the batter's blind spot right before contact, erasing it from sight. Not just Kitamura—even spectators would lose it mid-flight.
Chris's eyes glead. Continuous use will weaken the effect, but right now… it's lethal. Let's finish them.
He signaled. Zhou Hao nodded and let another pitch fly.
Whoosh!
Kitamura swung again—
Ping!
This ti, contact! Relief flooded him for a split second—until he realized the ball had died, skidding only a few ters before rolling weakly forward.
Azuma Kiyokuni charged in, scooped it up, and fired to first.
Pop!
"Out!"
Two outs. Bases empty.
Kiryu's dugout darkened. The director's face was tight, the players' jaws clenched.
They had studied Zhou Hao. They had spotted his tells. And still, they couldn't touch him.
This first-year pitcher was too strange.
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