"Third batter, shortstop, Onishi-kun!"
"Keep your eye on the ball, Daishi!"
"The pitcher's struggling with his control!"
Miyuki Kazuya kept calling for the quick forkball.
"Again?" Furuya Satoru was even more puzzled.
Miyuki only looked at him firmly, as if to say, Don't worry about it. Just throw what I call.
He remembered their pitching practice from the night before. Back then, Miyuki had noticed that Furuya's arm angle became much more relaxed whenever he threw the quick forkball. But when he threw a fastball, he unconsciously put too much power into it, almost as if he were trying to live up to all the expectations placed on him at Seidou High.
"That pitcher's control should start settling down soon."
From the Yakushi bench area, Kitamura Kou suddenly spoke.
"Huh? What did you say, Kou?" Nakanishi Daiki asked.
Kitamura didn't answer. Instead, he stared deeply at Miyuki behind home plate.
At almost the same moment, both of them murmured the same name.
"Miyuki Kazuya…"
The more force a pitcher puts into his shoulder, the harder it becomes to control a breaking ball. Miyuki's plan was simple: have Furuya throw several breaking pitches first and let his shoulders loosen up. Once he relaxed, he would stop muscling every fastball, and his command would naturally improve.
Sometimes, throwing harder makes the ball faster.
Sometimes, throwing at only eighty percent produces even more velocity.
As someone who belonged firmly to the power-pitcher camp, Kitamura Kou understood that point better than most.
And just as he predicted, the situation began to change.
"Strike!"
Snap!
"Nice pitch!"
"That's it! Great ball!"
"Your arms are opening up much better now!"
When Furuya's teammates saw him finally throw a proper strike, they immediately cheered him on.
His body had finally started to loosen up.
Miyuki, seeing the change, set his mitt in the most demanding spot.
"Strike!"
Snap!
"Nice pitch!"
"Ball!"
Snap!
"Strike three! Batter out!"
The atmosphere in Akikawa's dugout was no longer as relaxed as it had been at the beginning. Even You Shunshin now understood why Miyuki had insisted on calling for so many quick forkballs.
Good. His delivery is getting looser and looser, Miyuki thought with a faint smile.
"Fourth batter, right fielder, Shiratori!"
Standing in the batter's box, Shiratori looked toward Coach Ogata for instructions.
Keep waiting. Drag this out to the very end, Ogata signaled.
At the same time, You Shunshin changed into his batting gear and stepped into the on-deck circle. He was up next.
"Strike!"
Snap!
"Nice pitch!"
Seeing Furuya's pitching improve with every throw, Seidou's players didn't hold back their encouragement.
"Good one!"
"Just keep attacking the zone!"
"Stay with it! He doesn't even want to swing!"
On the mound, Furuya Satoru took a deep breath.
My teammates… this mound… they're giving me strength. I'm not alone out here.
With that thought in mind, he threw again.
"Strike!"
Snap!
"Nice pitch!"
"Strike three!"
Furuya had found his rhythm.
"After issuing two walks, he suddenly strikes out two batters in a row. How did he stabilize so quickly?" Owada Akiko asked, completely baffled by the sudden turn of events.
"That makes two outs with runners on first and second. Akikawa originally planned to wear Furuya down by forcing up his pitch count, but now the question is—what do they do next?" Mine Fujio said, watching the field with growing anticipation.
"Fifth batter, pitcher, You!"
You Shunshin stepped into the batter's box. As he smoothed the dirt beneath his feet, he said to Miyuki:
"You're deliberately making him throw more breaking balls so he can relax, aren't you? Having a useless pitcher for a partner must be exhausting for a catcher."
He was clearly trying to shake Miyuki, even if only a little.
Miyuki only laughed.
"No way."
Then he fired back just as casually.
"Your team isn't much help either, so there's nothing to be afraid of. Though I've got to say—your Japanese is pretty good."
At once, alarm bells rang in You Shunshin's mind.
This battery is dangerous.
I can't let that pitcher settle down any further.
He made his decision immediately.
I'm swinging, Coach.
You Shunshin judged that the opposing pitcher absolutely could not be allowed to stabilize.
So he's going to attack for real… Miyuki read from the subtle change in his stance as You settled in. Fine. Then I'll meet him head-on.
He gave Furuya the sign.
You locked onto the incoming white ball, read the timing and location perfectly, and unleashed a sharp swing.
The timing was flawless.
But just before the bat could connect, the pitch suddenly appeared to rise.
Snap!
"Nice pitch!"
"Great ball, Furuya! Beautiful pitch!"
His teammates shouted encouragement at once.
From Akikawa's dugout, someone muttered,
"From the batter's box, his pitch trajectory really does create the illusion that the ball is rising. Even Shunshin won't find it easy to deal with."
Behind the plate, even Miyuki was a little surprised.
He hadn't expected You Shunshin to grasp Furuya's timing on his very first swing.
It's not as fast as I expected. If it comes to a fixed spot, I can hit it. Don't watch with your eyes—feel it with your body, You Shunshin murmured softly in Chinese before resetting in the box.
Miyuki set his glove high.
If he chases another high one, that'll make things easy.
"Ball!"
Snap!
You Shunshin didn't budge.
Miyuki's plan failed.
Furuya could probably feel it too—the batter in front of him was completely different from the ones before, far more dangerous, far more oppressive. Without realizing it, he started putting too much strength into his pitches again.
Feel it with your body. Don't just watch. Feel it, You Shunshin repeated to himself in Chinese, his presence growing sharper and sharper.
From behind him, Furuya's teammates shouted their support.
"This is only the first game, Furuya!"
"Don't rush! Just pitch like you always do!"
"We've got your back!"
"Come on, finish him!"
"Let him hit it if he can!"
"Don't worry about the runners!"
There are so many people supporting me, Furuya thought, his expression hardening with determination. I have to pitch well. I can't let them down.
You Shunshin's eyes sharpened.
Then I'll hit whatever comes.
Don't muscle it. Let your arm come through naturally, Miyuki told himself as he watched.
But on the mound, Furuya poured everything he had into the throw.
The baseball screamed toward the plate.
It should have dropped as it entered the strike zone.
But because Furuya had put too much strain into his shoulder, the pitch failed to break.
You lost, Furuya Satoru.
Crack!
The baseball slammed into the metal bat with a sharp, ringing sound.