Bottom of the ninth inning. Two outs.
The difference between the two teams was two runs.
As the trailing side, Seido High School Baseball Team had reached their final opportunity.
Just a few minutes earlier, almost everyone believed the game was already decided. Even if Seido's players were strong, overturning such a situation against Osaka Kiryuu High School Baseball Team had seemed impossible.
But now, although opinions had not completely reversed, they had shifted significantly.
The three-run deficit had become two. More importantly, the next two batters were the very super sluggers who had dragged Osaka Kiryuu into this precarious position.
Yuuki Tetsuya.
Zhang Han.
They carried overwhelming presence. They carried crushing power. They gave boundless hope to their supporters and equally boundless despair to their opponents.
"Fifth batter, first baseman, Yuuki Tetsuya."
When the stoic Yuuki stepped into the batter's box, the atmosphere in the stadium changed instantly.
The air still felt thick, as if charged with invisible sparks. It was like standing before an explosion that had not yet happened but was certain to.
The Seido supporters began to cheer wildly, but the noise quickly faded.
They wanted to shout. They wanted to applaud Azuma Kiyokuni's earlier hit. Yet they were unwilling to miss even a single second of the duel unfolding before them.
Such a scene might appear only once in several years, perhaps once in a decade.
If they missed it, they would regret it forever.
Tens of thousands of spectators fell silent.
The silence itself was suffocating.
It felt unnatural, almost eerie, yet no one found it strange. Fans of both teams shared the same thought.
Do not disturb this moment.
On the television broadcast, even the commentary fell away. The camera focused solely on the mound and the plate.
Komochi looked visibly fatigued. His movements carried the weight of accumulated innings. He was close to his limit.
No one could confidently predict how this game would end.
Compared to the visible strain on the pitcher, Yuuki appeared calm.
His expression did not change. His eyes were locked firmly onto Komochi. The bat rested high above his shoulder, but his body was still, like a statue waiting for the precise instant to strike.
"That stance is too irritating."
Behind the plate, Shibata felt a headache forming.
Azuma and Zhang Han had produced more dazzling performances throughout the game, but strangely, Shibata would rather face them than Yuuki.
Against Azuma and Zhang Han, at least there were strategies. There was data. Their strengths were obvious, but their weaknesses, however small, existed. With careful pitching, it was possible to aim at those flaws.
Yuuki was different.
The accumulated data revealed nothing.
His habits revealed nothing.
His stance betrayed nothing.
It was as if he had no weakness at all.
Facing such a batter meant gambling.
If the pitch succeeded, it was correct. If it failed, even the most exquisite execution would be judged harshly.
It was an unreasonable reality.
Shibata felt the pressure mounting. Facing Yuuki was like confronting a blank wall. There was no reference point.
Komochi's condition was far from ideal. How could they neutralize this opponent now?
Shibata considered multiple possibilities, but none felt reliable.
In the end, he made a decision.
If they could not target a weakness, they would amplify their own strength.
He gave the signal.
The decisive pitch.
When Komochi saw the sign, it felt as if half of his remaining stamina drained instantly.
He had already pushed himself to the edge. Throwing such a demanding pitch now was painful. Yet there was no alternative.
This was Yuuki Tetsuya.
"Swoosh!"
The white ball tore through the air, covering more than ten meters in the blink of an eye.
Even at the edge of exhaustion, Komochi's pitch retained the quality of a true ace. It was sharp. It was powerful. It was placed with precision.
Komochi and Shibata both felt satisfied the moment it left his hand.
Even if Yuuki did not swing, the pitch would establish dominance. With this as a foundation, the next sequence would become easier.
But Yuuki did not wait.
Two outs. One mistake, and the game ended.
He did not consider the external pressure, the silence of the stadium, or the weight of expectation.
He swung.
"Ping!"
The crack resounded like a gunshot.
The white ball shot forward in a straight, blazing line.
Osaka Kiryuu's fielders barely had time to react. In an instant, the ball had traveled dozens of meters and struck the outfield grass.
If the ball had landed deeper or toward the gap, Yuuki might have reached Third Base, perhaps even attempted to score.
Fortunately for Osaka Kiryuu, it fell directly in front of the outfielder.
Even so, the impact was immediate.
Azuma Kiyokuni, who had been on base, moved like a bulldozer unleashed.
He rounded Second and charged toward Third.
For a moment, it looked as though he intended to continue home in one continuous surge.
However, the third base coach crossed his arms firmly across his chest.
Stop.
Azuma's expression tightened with reluctance, but he obeyed.
Seido could not afford reckless risk.
With two outs, they had to balance aggression with survival. If a gamble guaranteed victory, they would embrace it. But if it merely added uncertainty, it could not be justified.
Two outs.
Runners on First and Third.
The tension climbed higher.
Now it was Zhang Han's turn to bat.
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