The second pitch came in—a low, outside four-seam fastball.
Clang!
The ball was fouled off, flying dangerously close to an extra-base hit.
He really does have power…
Miyuki clicked his tongue inwardly.
The ease of the past two innings had made him slightly careless.
Can’t afford that anymore.
The third pitch was a moving fastball aimed just off the outside edge.
“Ball.”
Tachi Hiromi didn’t chase it.
The fourth pitch came low and inside—a straight four-seam fastball.
Clang!
Another foul.
The fifth pitch was a high inside fastball, aimed straight at his chest.
Clang!
Tachi Hiromi barely managed to spoil it again.
Miyuki narrowed his eyes.
I thought that would finish him… but he’s tougher than expected.
Then he exhaled lightly.
Alright… Sawamura.
End it with your winning pitch.
A faint smile formed on his lips as he set his glove dead center.
Sawamura felt it too.
A slight thrill ran through him.
This is it.
It was his first time throwing this pitch in a real game.
Without hesitation, he took a deep breath and subtly adjusted his grip inside the glove.
The ball left his hand with the exact same form as his fastball.
No change in motion.
No change in release point.
For a moment, Tachi Hiromi saw it exactly as he expected.
A fastball… right down the middle.
He committed fully to the swing.
But the moment the bat came through—
The pitch vanished from his timing.
The ball dropped into Miyuki’s mitt untouched.
“Strike!
Batter is out—strikeout!”
“Nice one, Sawamura!”
“Good job, Sawamura-chan!
I’ll give you pudding later!”
“If you keep pitching like that, the upperclassmen are going to lose their coaching job!”
“Nice pitch.”
Miyuki’s eyes gleamed as he looked at the ball in his mitt, then at Sawamura.
So that’s his changeup…
For an instant, it had looked identical to a fastball.
That difference in speed—hidden within identical mechanics—was exactly what made it lethal.
With this changeup, plus his four-seam fastball that refused to slow down—and even seemed to accelerate—and his moving fastball…
Just those three alone already formed a complete weapon set.
And Sawamura was only a first-year.
This guy… how many more weapons is he going to develop?
Miyuki let out a quiet laugh, half impressed and half thrilled.
As a catcher, his eyes looked almost frighteningly sharp—like someone who had just found an irresistible talent and couldn’t look away.
From that point on, Miyuki fully entered his rhythm.
His pitch calling became sharper, more aggressive, almost relentless.
And Sawamura responded without hesitation.
Every pitch matched Miyuki’s intent perfectly.
The remaining batters were shut down cleanly.
“Miyuki looks really happy.”
“Well, of course he is.
What catcher wouldn’t love a pitcher with that kind of control?”
“And Sawamura doesn’t hesitate at all with Miyuki’s calls.”
“Yeah.
If it were Tanba, he’d probably shake his head a few more times… haha.”
“It’s been a long time since Seido had a pitcher who could sync with Miyuki this well.”
Even the dugout could feel it—the strange, rising chemistry between them.
Chris watched quietly from the bench.
A faint smile formed.
A good catcher draws out a pitcher’s strength…
And a good pitcher also allows the catcher to reach even greater heights.
In the ninth inning, both teams turned to their lower-order batters.
By then, the outcome had already been decided.
11–7.
Seido High School lost the game.
At twilight, players and coaches from both sides mingled casually after the match.
“Excuse us—these are rice balls.
Please take them for the road,” Seido’s managers said, handing out neatly packed bags.
“Thanks.
You made these yourselves?”
“Yes… if they don’t taste good, please bear with us.”
“They’re great.
Your team even has four cute managers,” one of Kiryu’s third-years said with a grin.
The managers immediately flushed red, lowering their heads in embarrassment.
“Are you still in training camp?” another Kiryu player asked casually.
“The last few innings were frustrating, but we still won,” he added with a hint of pride.
“Hey, cut it out.
Next time we meet, we’re definitely winning,” Jun shot back.
“We’ll win next time too.”
“Hmph.”
Sawamura, Furuya, and Kominato watched their upperclassmen bicker with Kiryu’s players from a short distance.
Then a voice called from the bus.
“I don’t really know why… but seeing how hard you all are trying reminds me of myself.
It was Kiryu’s ace.
His expression was calm now—far from the intimidating presence he had on the mound earlier.
“…Yeah, we’ll keep—”
Before he could finish, the window slid shut.
Sawamura stared blankly.
What’s with that guy… so arrogant.
One of Kiryu’s players laughed and walked over.
“Don’t mind him.
He’s actually really shy.”
The trio—Sawamura, Furuya, and Kominato—looked at each other.
None of them could imagine that pitcher being shy.
The bus engines started up.
Coaches from both sides exchanged a final handshake.
“Today’s game was truly interesting,” Coach Kiryu said.
“The feeling is mutual,” Kataoka replied.
Then Kiryu added with a grin, “But I have to say—I’m jealous.
Your team has two completely different types of first-year pitchers.”
“The pitcher who stabilized things in the middle innings has strong fastballs, and the left-handed one who followed has excellent movement, control, and even a changeup.
If you develop them properly, they’ll both become incredible pitchers.
No wonder you’re treating them like secret weapons.”
Behind them, Director Ota stood frozen, mouth slightly open.
He had known both Sawamura and Furuya were talented—but hearing such praise from an opposing coach hit differently.
Even within Seido’s staff, it was clear the coaches had leaned more toward Furuya at times.
Yet Kiryu’s evaluation felt… heavier toward Sawamura.
Takashima Rei, however, remained calm.
From the moment Sawamura took the mound in the sixth inning to the end of the game, he hadn’t allowed a single hit or run.
No matter how raw the talent, results spoke the loudest.
“However,” Coach Kataoka said modestly, “they’re still too inexperienced.”
“Haha, you’re strict as always.
Still, we gained a lot from this game.
Let’s meet again at Koshien.”
“Agreed.”
“Alright, we’re heading to Kanagawa tomorrow.
Everyone, stay focused.”
With final farewells exchanged, the Kiryu bus pulled away into the evening.
That night, in the cafeteria, the first-years sat together.
“Strange… why aren’t you eating much?” Koharu asked, glancing at Sawamura and Furuya.
Furuya didn’t touch his food.
His expression was heavy—today’s performance still weighing on him.
As for Sawamura, he sat quietly, lost in thought.
He had done well after coming in—no hits, no runs—but…
Kiryu hadn’t been at full strength when he faced them.
And more importantly…
He had already used almost all of his current weapons.
Is this really enough?
His grip tightened slightly around his chopsticks.