Two days of practice passed in the blink of an eye, and soon it was time for the match against Kurotsuchi.
Furuya took the mound as the starting pitcher, with Miyuki behind the plate.
Seeing that the pitcher was only a first-year, Kurotsuchi’s players immediately showed disdain.
“So they really sent out a first-year?”
“I wanted to see that Sawamura Eijun guy instead.”
“Hmph.
Fine.
I’ll crush this kid then.”
The first batter stepped into the box, rolling his shoulders as he casually took a few practice swings.
Miyuki glanced at him and smirked faintly.
“Don’t come crying later.”
Miyuki gave the sign.
Furuya raised his glove high.
The moment his arm came down—
BOOM.
A sharp crack of air echoed across the field.
“Strike!”
The batter froze.
His eyes widened in shock.
“What… was that pitch?”
It wasn’t just speed.
It felt like the ball was charging straight at him.
That single pitch erased Kokushikanearly confidence.
The relaxed atmosphere vanished instantly, replaced by tension.
From that moment on, Furuya and Miyuki controlled the game completely through the first five innings.
By the bottom of the fifth inning, the score was 7–2.
However, fatigue finally began to show.
Furuya’s control wavered as his stamina dropped, and he issued several walks, allowing Kokushikanto scrape together two runs.
Then came the sixth inning.
A change was made.
Sawamura took the mound.
Chris replaced Miyuki behind the plate.
The rest of the defense remained unchanged.
On the mound, Chris and Sawamura quickly confirmed their approach.
“Sawamura,” Chris said calmly, “since the coach wants to preserve your stamina, we’ll use the same strategy as before.
Just your moving fastball and four-seam fastball.
Can you handle that?”
“Yes, Chris-senpai!” Sawamura replied without hesitation, eyes burning with confidence.
“I’ll throw every pitch straight into your glove.”
Chris studied him quietly.
He hadn’t expected this.
Off the field, Sawamura was usually loud, carefree, even a little reckless.
But the moment he stepped onto the mound—
His expression changed completely.
Cold.
Sharp.
Focused.
Like a lion locking onto prey.
Chris narrowed his eyes slightly.
He’s a lot like Miyuki in that regard.
Even after a year away from high-level catching, he could still feel it—
This pitcher had something dangerous inside him.
Something worth drawing out.
Sawamura seemed to sense his gaze.
“Chris-senpai,” he said with a grin, “don’t worry.
In my heart… you’ve always been the best catcher.”
WHOOSH.
The ball tore through the air.
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“Strike!”
The sound of the ball settling cleanly into Chris’s mitt gave Sawamura an almost addictive sense of satisfaction.
If Miyuki was like a sharp, teasing partner…
Then Chris was like a white moonlight in his memory—steady, reliable, irreplaceable.
Just standing on the mound with him behind the plate made everything feel stable.
Even if he was limited to only fastballs today, Sawamura threw every pitch with full force.
And each time the ball landed safely in the mitt, his rhythm sharpened further.
His pitches grew stronger.
Heavier.
More confident.
“Strike!”
WHOOSH.
“Swing and miss—strikeout!”
In the sixth inning, Sawamura recorded:
Two strikeouts
One ground ball
A perfect shutdown.
In the seventh inning, his momentum only grew.
Although the fourth batter, Zaizen, managed to make contact, the ball was quickly smothered by Kominato Haruichi at second base.
Out.
Even more impressively, despite not relying on his moving fastball, Sawamura still retired the heart of the lineup three up, three down.
He jogged off the mound, clearly pleased with himself.
“Chris-senpai!
How was that?”
Chris smiled faintly.
“You did well.
Keep it up.”
“Hai!” Sawamura replied immediately, energized once again.
Hearing Sawamura’s reply, Chris felt a complicated emotion rise in his chest.
Sawamura was in excellent form—but he was also too excited.
A pitcher needed fighting spirit, yes.
But at the same time, he also needed calm judgment.
Chris glanced at him again.
That said, he didn’t immediately step in to correct him.
If there truly was a problem, it would be better to identify it early rather than suppress it too soon.
And right now—
Sawamura was pitching well enough that it was hard to interrupt him.
Fueled by his momentum, Sawamura’s pitching intensity continued to rise.
And in response, Seidou’s batting lineup broke through, scoring four runs in the inning and giving him solid support.
In the eighth inning, Sawamura faced the bottom of the order without hesitation.
He retired them efficiently— two infield pop-ups and one ground ball.
A clean shutdown.
Back in the dugout, Chris watched Sawamura cheer loudly for his teammates.
His brow tightened slightly.
Over the last few innings, he had clearly felt it.
Sawamura was becoming too emotionally charged.
And more importantly— he was starting to focus too much on striking batters out.
That was a subtle shift from his usual pitching style.
Chris didn’t act yet.
But he kept watching.
Then came the ninth inning.
If they could shut down the heart of the lineup here, the game would be over.
The first two batters—the second and third in the order—were quickly retired by Sawamura’s strikeouts.
And then came the fourth batter.
Zaizen.
Chris looked toward the batter’s box.
For a moment, his expression changed slightly. The source of this chapter is g.com.
He and Zaizen were from the same generation.
Back in middle school, Zaizen had once approached him.
“If we team up, we can go to Koshien and dominate the country.”
At that time, Zaizen had been one of the most talented players of their generation.
So it wasn’t surprising that he had become Kokushikan ace and cleanup hitter in his first year.
But fate had been cruel.
During the summer qualifiers of his first year in high school, Zaizen suffered a left knee ligament tear.
A devastating injury for any athlete.
Back on the field—
Sawamura’s four-seam fastball from earlier had already been read.
Zaizen had managed to make contact.
Chris watched carefully.
First pitch:
Outside four-seam fastball.
Crack.
Foul.
Second pitch:
Inside four-seam fastball.
Clang.
Barely saved—another foul ball.
Two strikes.
The battle intensified.
Zaizen adjusted immediately.
He stopped chasing clean hits and began fouling off everything, refusing to go down easily.
“Bang.”
“Foul.”
“Bang.”
“Ball.”
“Bang.”
“Foul.”
Pitch after pitch, the duel stretched on.
Zaizen was clinging on with everything he had.
Chris narrowed his eyes.
Enough.
He set his glove firmly and signaled with his eyes.
Let’s finish this.
Sawamura saw it immediately.
And for a moment—
He hesitated.
Then he shook his head.
“This is the last inning I’ll be pitching with Chris-senpai,” he thought.
“I want to end it with my best pitch.”
Chris had originally planned to mix in a high inside pitch as a decoy—breaking Zaizen’s timing and forcing a mistake.
Because Zaizen had already locked onto Sawamura’s fastball pattern.
He was betting on one thing:
That Sawamura would not break character.
That he would stay predictable and resolve it with a strike.
But Sawamura had already made his decision.
No matter what—
He would use his best pitch.
An inside four-seam fastball.
To finish it.
To repay Chris.
And Chris understood immediately.
This was no longer just a tactical situation.
It had become something personal—for Sawamura.