Ishiguro had poured every last drop of his strength into the plate, holding nothing back. Yet the surging pressure coming at him felt like Mount Tai bearing down on an egg — every swing, every parry was a struggle he could barely keep up with.
Just as he gritted his teeth, ready to squeeze out one final burst of power to nudge the ball toward third base, an overwhelming, sudden weakness flooded his arms. His hands, which had clamped tight around the bat only moments before, went limp, the weight of the wood suddenly impossible to control.
Clang.
The bat slipped from his fingers and clattered to the dirt at his feet, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
But Ishiguro's effort hadn't been for nothing. The ball, which had torn through the air like a bullet, slowed sharply against his defense, drifting weakly toward third base like a deflated balloon.
It fell just short of the mark.
"Foul! Batter out!"
The umpire's call rang cold and clear across the stadium.
Ishiguro lifted his gaze to the pitcher's mound. Kitamura Kou stared back, eyes sharp with scorn — looking down at him like an emperor judging a fool, like he was nothing more than an ant trying to shake an ancient oak. That gaze burned: mocking, unyielding, absolute.
A surge of raw, burning unwillingness rose in Ishiguro's chest, nearly swallowing him whole. Then the throbbing ache in his hands hit him like a hammer, driving home the truth he couldn't outrun: he'd lost. Completely.
Slowly, he lowered his head — the same head he'd held high all this time — his hands trembling as he turned and dragged his feet back toward the Kaidou dugout.
With Ishiguro retired, Kusano, who'd reached third just moments earlier, had to halt his advance. He retreated back to second base, jaw tight with frustration, but his eyes never wavered. They stayed locked on Kitamura, bright and burning, waiting for the smallest crack in the wall.
Kaidou's carefully built rally had stalled, crushed under Kitamura's overwhelming fire.
One out. Runner on second.
They still had every chance to strike — next up were their cleanup hitters.
"Third batter, catcher — Sato Toshiya!"
"Sato, bring it home! Hit it hard!"
"Last time you almost broke them — don't let them slip away this time!"
"Go get 'em, Sato!"
The Kaidou bench didn't let the out dim their fire; if anything, their cheers grew louder. The stands roared right along with them — everyone had seen how Sato had matched Kitamura's pace last time, and they were hungry for more.
Kitamura watched Sato step out of the on-deck circle, stride steady and unhurried as he settled into the batter's box. A low, sharp laugh broke from him.
"Last time you were the only one who could keep up," he murmured, excitement sparking bright in his eyes. "Wonder what you'll show me today? I've been waiting for this."
His fingers curled so tight around the ball his knuckles blanched, veins bulging against his skin. His whole arm trembled, barely holding back the force coiled inside him.
First time up, Sato was the only one who timed my pitches clean, Akaishi thought, flashing signs from behind the plate. Now there's a runner on second — he'll be looking to take the next base, and one mistake could wipe out three innings of work. Play it safe. Start high and outside.
He set his glove.
"Play ball!"
Kitamura didn't hesitate. He drew back, motion smooth as breathing — then unleashed everything he had.
Crack!
The ball tore through the air like a cannon shell, humming with raw speed, heading straight for the very edge of the strike zone.
Akaishi's eyes went wide. That's the spot I asked for… but he threw it so close to the line it's practically flirting with a ball!
Ugh — whenever he sees a batter he actually respects, he stops listening to the calls and does whatever he wants! he grumbled internally, holding his breath.
Sato didn't flinch. He stood perfectly still, watching the ball slam into Akaishi's glove with a heavy thud.
Akaishi exhaled, relief washing over him. He shifted to throw quickly toward third — to catch Kusano trying to steal — and that was when everything went sideways.
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