"What are Coach's orders?"
Zhang Han asked, covering his mouth with his glove.
It had become habit. He remembered when he first started learning baseball, three or four years ago. He had shown talent quickly and became a key player on the team in short order. The day before that happened, Ono Binchi had pulled him aside with a specific instruction.
"From now on, when you're on the mound discussing tactics or receiving orders, cover your mouth with your glove when you speak."
At the time, Zhang Han was a beginner. He didn't understand.
"Why?"
"To prevent the opponent from reading your tactics based on your expression and the shape of your mouth."
"Isn't that too mysterious? Does it actually work?"
"Not at all exaggerated. Try saying 'stolen base,' 'hitting,' 'hit and run,' 'scoring,' 'pickoff' without making a sound."
Zhang Han tried it. Ono Binchi guessed every one.
"That's incredible!"
"Where would I have the time to learn lip-reading? But even without it, the shape and size of your mouth when you say these words are all different. Pay a little attention and you can guess roughly. For some top directors and players, the accuracy rate is over ninety-five percent."
Ono Binchi wasn't someone Zhang Han would have associated with high intelligence. But those words had sent a chill down his spine. Even now, years later, he remembered them as clearly as if they had been spoken yesterday.
Everything is difficult for those who don't take it seriously. When someone truly dedicates themselves to baseball above all else, the depth they can reach becomes unimaginable.
"The Director says not to put too much pressure on yourself. Pitch with the mindset of giving up this run."
That's it?
Zhang Han was completely thrown. In half a year of observation, he had come to see Coach Kataoka as someone who never compromised. If Inashiro forced a fight, you fought. You didn't give ground voluntarily.
He looked toward Seido's dugout in confusion, half-wondering if the messenger had gotten the order wrong.
But Coach Kataoka gave him a firm, deliberate nod.
Pitch with the resolve to give up one run.
Today's game was not Zhang Han against Inashiro Industrial alone. Every player on Seido, including Kataoka, was competing together. They didn't need to stake everything on stopping this one run.
Given Carlos's speed and Yoshizawa's hitting, the honest assessment was that the chances of holding them were very small. But even giving up a run was not a reason to panic. The priority was ending the inning as quickly as possible. The true outcome of this game would be decided by Seido's offense in the bottom of the ninth.
Holding this inning by a miracle wouldn't change that math.
The Director's position was firm.
Zhang Han didn't like it.
But rationally, he understood. Against this level of coordination from the opponent, moving the infielders in gave him almost no real chance of stopping the ball.
"Whew."
Reluctantly, Zhang Han stopped thinking about getting Carlos out and focused entirely on Yoshizawa.
The moment he pitched, Carlos moved. Yoshizawa laid down a bunt simultaneously. Carlos ran like a sprinting leopard, covering the distance and touching home plate before anyone could intervene.
"Safe!"
"Snap!"
"Out!"
Seido's execution was clean. They got Yoshizawa out.
The score became 7:5.
Seido's chances of winning had narrowed further.
In the stands, some fans were puzzled.
"It feels like Seido gave up that run on purpose to get the out."
"There's no way. Giving up another run at this point makes it almost impossible to come back."
"The order was relayed from the dugout, so it must have been the Director's call. I really don't know what he's thinking."
An older spectator nearby shook his head.
"It's not that Seido's Director wanted to do this. He had no choice."
"What do you mean?"
"Seido's first-year pitcher can only throw fastballs from a fixed stance. He has no way to change the ball's direction mid-delivery, and no breaking ball with a wide enough angle. That makes him completely helpless against a bunt. If Seido had committed to getting the runner on third, they likely would have ended up with nothing."
This man understood Coach Kataoka's thinking well.
Forcing a play on Carlos wasn't just likely to fail. It could easily have cost them the out they already had in hand. They would have given up a run and been left with one out and a runner on first base.
Kataoka Tesshin. Becoming director of a prestigious program like Seido at his age had drawn plenty of criticism. But moments like this one showed why he was there.
As the saying goes, know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be defeated. By that measure, what Coach Kataoka had done was beyond reproach. He understood clearly the strengths and weaknesses of both sides, and he made the decisive call to cut his losses. That kind of director was rare even across all of high school baseball.
Two outs, no runners on base.
Inashiro Industrial's fourth batter, Harada Masatoshi, stepped into the batter's box.
This was his fifth plate appearance. Aside from the lucky hit he had gotten off Tanba in his first at-bat, he hadn't contributed anything else. Now, facing Zhang Han a second time, he wanted to make up for it.
Don't think that because Seido compromised earlier, everything is settled. It wasn't.
Harada gripped the bat long, a sign he was looking for a full swing. He wanted a long hit. Preferably a home run.
Behind him, Narumiya Mei was fully locked into the game and said nothing. That quiet made Harada feel even steadier.
Miyuki raised an eyebrow, sizing up the large opponent in front of him, running through his calculations.
Just one more out. It wasn't going to be easy.
The placement had to be precise.
After a few seconds, Miyuki gave the signal. Zhang Han received it and nodded.
All the frustration he had been holding in had built to a point. He had used a lot of energy, but at this moment Zhang Han felt completely renewed.
"Whoosh!"
The pitch startled even Harada.
He wondered if it was his imagination, but Zhang Han's speed seemed to have gone up.
"Snap!"
"Strike!"
It wasn't his imagination. A stir had already spread through the stands. Knowing Narumiya Mei was pitching, many spectators had brought radar guns. Someone had just clocked the pitch.
145.3 km/h.
Zhang Han's pitching speed had gone up.
Only by less than one kilometer, but the number carried weight. Crossing the 145 km/h threshold was a different realm for a fastball pitcher.
"Has it gone up?"
Harada heard the commotion and understood what it meant. He wasn't particularly troubled by it. If the speed was still within what he could handle, he could still hit it.
"Ping!"
The white ball was driven foul.
Harada was now at two strikes, but no one watching felt he had lost ground. If anything, he gave the impression of having the upper hand.
Zhang Han on the mound had the look of someone who had burned his bridges. Without much of a pause, he threw the third pitch.
It felt unusually smooth. He hadn't put in much extra effort.
Harada saw his moment and swung.
His bat found nothing. The white ball had risen noticeably just before reaching home plate.
"Snap!"
"Strike!"
"Strikeout!"
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