Two outs. Runners on first and third base.
At this moment, the players of Osaka Kiryuu High School Baseball Team felt as if they were about to collapse. Everything had been under control just a short while ago. Starting from Seido's first batter, Tanaka, they had successfully recorded two outs. Only one more out was needed to end the third inning's defense cleanly and maintain their lead with authority.
Yet that final out seemed cursed.
No matter what they did, they could not secure it. Instead, Seido seized the opportunity, stringing together consecutive hits and steadily closing the gap. The scoreboard now read four to three. What had once been a comfortable advantage had shrunk to a single run. The entire situation on the field had shifted dramatically.
It was not as if Osaka Kiryuu lacked ideas. Director Matsumoto Takahiro had already disrupted his previous rotation plan and sent their ace pitcher, Komochi, to the mound earlier than scheduled. The intention behind that decision was obvious. He wanted to use the ace to extinguish Seido's growing momentum and restore order.
However, the outcome had not matched his expectations.
Even after Komochi took the mound, Seido's offense did not halt. Instead, it continued to threaten, exposing weaknesses in what had seemed like a carefully controlled strategy.
Only after making the substitution did Matsumoto realize the flaw in his own thinking. The two teams were sister schools with a long history. They played numerous practice games each year. If one were to ask which pitcher Seido understood most thoroughly from Osaka Kiryuu, the answer would undoubtedly be Komochi.
Compared to Nakata or Tachi Hiromi, Komochi was practically an open book to them. They had faced him repeatedly. They had studied his tendencies, his pitch sequences, his habits under pressure. In this context, replacing Nakata with Komochi did not intimidate Seido. On the contrary, it may have made them feel more comfortable.
Their most recent official clash had been only two months ago. Komochi, already a mature pitcher, could not have undergone a radical transformation in such a short time.
"I actually lost my composure," Matsumoto thought, his expression stiffening slightly.
Outwardly, he had always downplayed Seido. But perhaps deep down, he no longer saw them as a minor threat. Unconsciously, he had begun to regard Seido as a genuine rival. That realization created pressure, and that pressure led to haste.
Why send the ace so early?
The answer was simple.
Because he no longer felt completely in control.
He disliked that uncertainty. To suppress it, he acted decisively. But decisiveness born of unease often carried risk.
Across the field, Coach Kataoka's eyes shone sharply. As sister schools, Seido and Osaka Kiryuu shared one of the closest relationships in high school baseball. They were not like the fierce West Tokyo rivals who only met in official matches. Between Seido and Osaka Kiryuu, there was familiarity and history.
To say Kataoka harbored no competitive feelings toward them would be dishonest. For years, he had quietly measured his team against Osaka Kiryuu. In the past, Seido lacked the strength to challenge them openly. His ambition had to remain hidden.
But now things were different.
Seido had risen.
They no longer feared anyone.
Kataoka no longer needed to conceal his competitive spirit. He could challenge Osaka Kiryuu head on.
When he looked toward their dugout, the intensity of his gaze was unmistakable.
Matsumoto noticed.
"The little kid from back then dares to challenge me now," he thought silently. Just a few years ago, Kataoka had been a rookie coach, inexperienced and untested. Now that same young man stood opposite him with unwavering confidence.
Matsumoto responded immediately, signaling to his players on the field. The message was clear. Do not underestimate Seido. They possessed not only strength but also intelligence. From this point forward, there would be no routine pitching patterns. They had to rely on pure ability and execution.
Even if Seido knew their scouting information, it did not matter anymore. The battle had shifted from strategy to performance.
Komochi stood on the mound, receiving the signal. Something within him sharpened. His posture straightened. His eyes focused intensely on the batter before him.
Yuuki Tetsuya.
One of Seido's three core hitters.
Komochi did not dismiss him. On the contrary, he welcomed the challenge. Over the years, he had faced countless powerful batters. Weak opponents bored him. Only strong hitters made his blood surge.
The pitcher's mound was a solitary battlefield. In that space, nothing else existed. Just the duel.
He exhaled and delivered the pitch.
The white ball tore through the air.
The electronic scoreboard displayed a speed slightly above 140 kilometers per hour. But the sensation was far more explosive. The pitch felt heavier and faster than the number suggested, slicing through the atmosphere with force.
Yuuki did not move.
From start to finish, he remained still, eyes wide and steady, watching the ball pass.
The catcher's glove snapped shut.
"Strike!"
The pitch was powerful and precise.
The Osaka Kiryuu supporters, who had felt a flicker of unease moments earlier, regained their confidence. They began cheering loudly, unable to restrain themselves despite being on defense.
"Keep pressing!"
"Finish this inning!"
They seemed to have forgotten that two runs had already been conceded. All they saw was their ace asserting dominance again. In their minds, Yuuki's strikeout was inevitable.
The more Seido struggled, the more satisfying it would be.
However, what the audience did not know was that Komochi himself felt something was off.
Yuuki's stillness unsettled him.
If the opponent had been someone else, Komochi might have assumed fear or hesitation. But Yuuki was not that type of player. If he stood motionless, it was intentional.
That meant he had a plan.
But what was it?
Yuuki offered no visible clues. No shift in stance. No adjustment of grip. Nothing.
"This way of waiting for the ball is irritating," Komochi thought.
It was precisely because he respected Yuuki that the stillness made him wary. Familiarity did not eliminate tension. If anything, it intensified it.
When Komochi began his motion for the second pitch, a subtle stiffness crept into his body. His arm path was fractionally tighter. The ball left his hand with a trace of unnatural tension.
The duel had entered a new phase.
And the smallest hesitation could decide everything.
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