Time passed quickly, and soon it was game day for Seidou High School.
By the time Sawamura and the others arrived at the stadium by bus, the stands were already packed with spectators.
Today’s matchup was between West Tokyo’s Seidou High School and Kanagawa’s Yokohama High School.
Both teams were known nationwide for their powerful batting lineups, so the outcome would likely depend on the performance of the pitchers.
In that regard, Yokohama held a slight advantage—their ace was known for his consistency and stability.
The game began with Yokohama High School batting first and Seidou taking the field on defense.
On the mound stood Seidou’s third-year ace, Tanba.
In the top of the first inning, Tanba relied on his signature curveball to strike out Yokohama’s batters one after another.
A clean start.
In the bottom half of the inning, Seidou’s offense responded immediately.
Led by the speed of leadoff hitter Kuramochi Yoichi, they built momentum quickly and scored two early runs, striking first against Yokohama’s ace before he had fully settled in.
In the stands, spectators murmured in approval.
“Seidou’s batting lineup is really cohesive.”
“They’re up against Yokohama High School too… this is looking promising.”
But not everyone was convinced.
“It’s too early to get excited,” said a fan who had followed Seidou for years.
And indeed, that warning proved accurate.
After allowing runs in the first inning, Yokohama’s ace gradually found his rhythm.
Backed by solid defense, he shut down Seidou’s offense inning after inning.
On the other side, Tanba also managed to recover, stringing together outs and keeping the game under control.
But in the top of the fifth inning, things began to change.
With a runner on base, Tanba’s command suddenly wavered.
A hit.
Then another.
Then a walk.
Yokohama High School capitalized immediately, scoring two runs to tie the game.
Seidou’s defense stepped up just in time, turning a double play to escape the inning and prevent further damage.
In the bottom of the fifth, Seidou managed to reclaim one run.
But that was all they could get.
In the sixth inning, Coach Kataoka sent Tanba back out to the mound, hoping he could overcome the struggle himself.
But the results did not improve.
Instead, Yokohama’s cleanup hitters broke through, scoring four more runs.
Once again, Seidou’s defense managed to limit the damage—but the momentum had clearly shifted.
In the bottom of the sixth, Seidou’s top of the order tried to respond.
They managed to start an attack, but Yuki’s powerful hit was caught directly by the third baseman.
Yokohama’s momentum surged again, and Seidou was shut down.
The game entered its final stages with the score at 3–6.
Anyone watching could clearly see it—Yokohama High School had taken control.
A heavy, oppressive atmosphere settled over Seidou’s dugout.
Even the cheering squad in the stands felt the tension.
Sawamura frowned as he watched Yuki and the seniors repeatedly try to reassure Tanba.
He understood their intentions well.
The seniors weren’t playing badly—they were trying too hard.
They wanted to support Tanba by scoring more runs, but that very urgency disrupted their rhythm.
And once the offense became rushed, even Seidou’s powerful batting lineup fell into Yokohama’s defensive pace.
Coach Kataoka stared at Tanba sitting on the bench, his expression unreadable—but there was a faint trace of disappointment in his eyes.
Third year already… and still unable to stand firm?
But now wasn’t the time for reflection.
With a three-run deficit, they couldn’t afford to give up any more runs.
However, in Tanba’s current condition, stopping Yokohama’s batting lineup any further would be extremely difficult.
Then—
“Kataoka-sensei…”
“I’m sending Sawamura in from this inning,” Coach Kataoka said firmly. New chapters come out on g.com first.
“Understood,” Sawamura replied immediately.
He had already been warming up since the end of the fifth inning.
Director Ota’s eyes widened.
“Coach… there are still three innings left.
Isn’t this too early?
He should at least go in during the eighth inning…”
Around them, the third-years—including Yuki and Isashiki—couldn’t hide their shock.
Some even began to voice objections, unable to accept Tanba being pulled in this situation.
But Kataoka did not waver.
After all, this was their final summer as third-years.
They wanted Tanba—also a third-year—to fight alongside them until the very end.
“Coach, I believe Tanba can still recover.
Please give him one more chance.”
“That’s right, Coach.
We’ll definitely score runs to support him!”
But Coach Kataoka’s voice cut through the dugout.
“That’s enough.
This is a game for the entire team.
Haven’t you realized your offense over the past few innings has become too rushed?”
The seniors fell silent.
Lowered heads said everything—they already understood.
In their desperation to support Tanba, they had broken their own rhythm.
Top of the seventh inning.
The stadium announcer’s voice echoed across the field.
“Seidou High School makes a pitching change.
Pitcher No.
1, Tanba, is replaced by No.
18, Sawamura Eijun.”
A wave of shock spread through the stadium.
And it only grew louder when the crowd realized the pitcher being sent in was a first-year.
“No way… even if Tanba’s struggling, they’re sending in a first-year?”
“What about Kawakami?
Why not him?”
“Is Seidou giving up on this game?”
“Or are they just letting a first-year gain experience?”
Murmurs turned into chaos.
Even Yokohama High School’s dugout burst into laughter.
“So they really gave up, huh?
Leaving Kawakami on the bench and sending in a first-year instead.”
“He looks green.
Let’s show him the harsh reality of high school baseball.”
Their coach and players exchanged confident smiles.
This wasn’t the Seidou they had expected to struggle against.
Instead, it looked like their opponent’s ace had simply collapsed mid-game—just as their scouting report had suggested.
On the field, Seidou’s infielders quickly gathered around the mound.
Miyuki led the group.
“Didn’t expect the coach to send you in here, ya-ha!” Kuramochi said with a grin, giving Sawamura a quick kick of encouragement.
“You don’t look nervous at all,” Kominato Ryosuke added calmly, delivering a light chop.
“Miyuki-senpai,” Sawamura looked over.
Miyuki narrowed his eyes.
“Listen carefully. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
The situation is simple.
If possible, get the batter out with one pitch.
I don’t want to get dragged into a long battle with them.”
“Hmph.
That’s exactly what I was planning to do.”
Miyuki blinked once.
“…Brat.
Just pitch properly.”
“Of course.”
Satisfied, Miyuki turned away.
“I was worried for nothing.”
The players returned to their positions.
Sawamura stood alone on the mound.
The stadium stretched wide before him—countless eyes, noise, pressure—but there was no trace of hesitation in his expression.
Then he turned toward his teammates.
“Everyone behind me—just let them hit it!
I’ll pitch so they can put it in play.
I’m counting on your defense!”
For a brief second, silence.
Then—
“Just throw it for them to hit!” Isashiki’s voice rang out first.
“If you throw a wild pitch, I’ll deal with you myself after the game!”
“Pitch to contact, Sawamura!”
“Trust your stuff!”
“Good luck!”
“Uga!”
“Ya-ha!
Don’t embarrass us!”
One after another, the seniors responded.
Even the tension in the stadium seemed to shift slightly.
Across the plate, the Yokohama batter glanced at Miyuki and smirked.
“He looks energetic.
I heard Seidou’s training is intense, but he doesn’t look fully polished yet.”
Miyuki adjusted his stance slightly.
“Then… please enjoy the show.”
He lowered his glove.
Middle of the plate.
A moving fastball right down the center.
“Come on.
If you can hit it, hit it.”
Sawamura closed his eyes.
He took a deep breath.
The noise of the stadium faded.
When he opened them again—
Everything changed.
His playful expression was gone.
What remained was absolute focus.
Cold.
Sharp.
Unshakable.
The mound belonged to him now.