One out, runner on Third Base.
Zhang Han's advance to Third once again pushed Seido High School Baseball Team closer to scoring. In this situation, they did not even need a clean hit. A deep fly ball to the outfield, a well-executed squeeze bunt, even a grounder to the right side could be enough. As long as there was a reasonable opportunity, Zhang Han could charge home and cut the deficit further.
On the mound, Komochi was no longer as composed as he had been earlier in the game. His breathing grew heavier, and the rhythm of his heartbeat no longer matched the calm exterior he tried to maintain. Just moments ago, Osaka Kiryuu High School Baseball Team had seized the momentum and taken a three-run lead. Yet in the blink of an eye, Seido had placed a runner ninety feet away from scoring.
"He really puts the pressure on us."
That thought flashed through Komochi's mind as he glanced toward Third Base. Zhang Han stood there quietly, but his presence was overwhelming. Even without moving, he created tension. Seido High School Baseball Team had already been evaluated highly before this game, but it was obvious now that Osaka Kiryuu had still underestimated them. They were stubborn, resilient, and dangerously creative.
Even their lower-order hitters were capable of surprising moves.
With a runner on Third and one out, the possibilities multiplied. A squeeze bunt. A safety squeeze. A hit-and-run variation. A simple sacrifice fly. A walk to set up a double play. Every option carried risk and reward. Komochi had to consider them all in the span of a few seconds.
"Eighth batter, catcher, Miyuki."
The announcement echoed through the stadium. The batter stepping into the box was another first-year, Miyuki Kazuya.
Komochi narrowed his eyes.
Miyuki's hitting numbers did not shine like Zhang Han's. He had not shattered records or dominated headlines. If someone only glanced at the stat sheet, they might assume he was merely average. That assumption would be fatal.
During the West Tokyo Regional Tournament, Miyuki had delivered key hits more than once. He was not flashy, but he was reliable when it mattered. More importantly, his batting average with runners in scoring position was frighteningly high. It was as if the presence of runners triggered something inside him. Under pressure, instead of shrinking, he grew sharper.
Komochi felt as if he were facing a hedgehog. There was no obvious place to bite. Every angle seemed protected.
He studied Miyuki's eyes.
There was no hesitation. No visible strain. No trace of fear.
Instead, Miyuki looked almost… excited.
Komochi trusted his instincts. He had faced countless batters. He could read tension in shoulders, doubt in posture, panic in breathing. Miyuki had none of that. The first-year catcher was completely immersed in the confrontation. He looked like someone eager for the challenge.
"What kind of freaks are these?"
That thought slipped out of Komochi's control.
In Seido High School Baseball Team's dugout, Coach Kataoka gave a signal. Miyuki saw it clearly. Komochi also noticed it, though he could not decipher its exact meaning. Still, he could guess. In this situation, the most logical choice was a bunt to secure the run.
A squeeze play offered the highest probability of success.
Seido was desperate to close the gap. A three-run deficit required two successful offensive sequences to tie. A two-run deficit could be erased in a single inning with one big swing. As the game progressed into the later innings, each run grew heavier.
From a strategic standpoint, securing this run was crucial.
Yet Miyuki showed no intention of obeying the signal.
He raised his bat high and adopted a long-hit stance, clearly preparing for a full swing.
In the dugout, Seido's players grew tense. Some shifted restlessly. Others stared, fists clenched. The contrast between Coach Kataoka's stern expression and Miyuki's confident posture only deepened Komochi's conviction.
Coach Kataoka wanted the bunt.
The batter wanted a head-on duel.
"It's a pity," Komochi thought coldly. "You're still too green."
Miyuki's ability made him cautious, but not helpless. If the bunt was off the table, then Komochi could attack more aggressively. He took a breath and began his motion.
At Third Base, Zhang Han lowered his center of gravity.
Komochi lifted his leg.
The instant his weight shifted forward, Zhang Han exploded.
"He's running!"
Catcher Shibata reacted immediately, signaling frantically. But by then, Komochi had already committed to the pitch. His arm whipped forward. The ball left his fingers.
There was no turning back.
He could only pray Miyuki would swing and miss.
But reality shattered that hope.
At the last moment, Miyuki pulled back his bat and squared around.
Bunt.
Komochi's eyes widened.
He had thrown a Changeup. If he had known this was coming, he would have chosen a fastball. A Changeup lacked velocity and carried less force. It was easier to deaden with the bat, easier to control.
"Ping!"
The sound was sharp but soft. The ball trickled forward. It was not a perfect bunt. The angle was not ideal. It did not die dramatically in front of the plate.
But it was enough.
Zhang Han had broken early. His first step had been explosive, and he never hesitated. By the time Osaka Kiryuu's infielders recovered and the ball was fielded, he was already charging down the line.
The throw came home.
Zhang Han slid.
"Safe!"
The umpire's call cut through the stadium noise.
Seido High School Baseball Team had scored.
The scoreboard shifted to 10–8.
From the bottom of the order, they had pieced together a meaningful response. It was not flashy. It was not overwhelming. But it was steady and deliberate, and it reopened the game.
On the field, Osaka Kiryuu's players wore grim expressions. They had just regained control of the match. They had forced Seido's ace into exhaustion and believed the tide had permanently turned. Yet Seido refused to collapse.
In the dugout, Seido's players exhaled as one. The tension that had coiled around their chests loosened slightly. Two runs down was manageable. Two runs meant possibility.
Miyuki stood at First Base after completing his bunt, glancing briefly toward the dugout. Coach Kataoka's expression remained stern, but he did not signal displeasure. The result justified the risk.
Zhang Han rose from the dirt, brushing off his uniform. He did not celebrate wildly. He simply returned to the bench with a steady gaze.
The game moved into the seventh inning.
Despite scoring, Seido's situation was still precarious. Their ace, Hidezawa, had been pushed beyond his limits. His stamina was nearly spent. A pitching change had become unavoidable.
The question now was whether the new pitcher could endure the pressure that Osaka Kiryuu High School Baseball Team would unleash.
Because no one doubted what was coming next.
Osaka Kiryuu, known as the Cosmic Team, would not quietly accept a narrowed lead. They would counterattack with everything they had. Their lineup was deep. Their hitters disciplined. Their experience vast.
The score read 10–8.
Two runs.
In a game like this, that gap felt both small and enormous at the same time.
Seido had clawed back one run. They had proven they would not go down easily. But whether they could continue resisting the relentless assault from Osaka Kiryuu remained uncertain.
The seventh inning loomed, heavy with consequence.
For Seido High School Baseball Team, this was no longer just about strategy or execution. It was about endurance, composure, and belief.
The game was far from decided.
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