Meanwhile, in the Summer Tournament, Seido High School defeated Ichidai Sankou with a score of 13–9.
Both teams’ ace pitchers were heavily targeted by the opposing batters, constantly giving up runs under the pressure of powerful lineups.
Ichidai Sankou’s ace, Manaka, had already shown signs of decline after finishing the Spring Koshien.
As for Seido High School’s ace, Tanba, he suddenly collapsed in the first half of the game, forcing Kawakami to take over and barely stabilize the situation.
In the spectator stands, two people dressed as reporters observed the match.
“So Seido High School finally pulled off the win relying on their batting lineup,” the woman said.
“Their offense is unpredictable,” the man beside her replied, adjusting his cap.
“If they keep playing like this, Seido’s summer run will be in danger.”
At that time, Coach Kataoka, Takashima Rei, and Director Ota were walking through the tunnel beneath the stadium.
“Tanba has returned from injury,” Takashima Rei said seriously.
“While we hope for his recovery, there are only three months until the Summer Tournament.
Coach… to be safe, we need to rebuild the pitching staff—including the first-year players.”
The coach did not respond immediately.
But his expression was grave.
He understood the situation better than anyone.
That night, in the Seishin Dormitory cafeteria, the team gathered for dinner.
“I heard Senior Tanba has been removed as the starting pitcher… is that true?”
“But didn’t we win the game?”
“We only won because Kawakami barely held things together…”
“There’s less than three months until summer.
If Tanba-senpai can’t start, what are we going to do about our pitching?”
The room was filled with murmurs and uneasy discussion as the players ate.
Everyone knew Tanba was talented.
But they also knew the truth—he sometimes collapsed under pressure during games.
Even though Coach Kataoka had high expectations for him, this was already his third year.
If he still couldn’t overcome that weakness, what would become of Seido’s pitching staff?
The next day, in the bullpen.
BOOM.
A loud impact echoed from inside.
A catcher was knocked backward and fell to the ground.
A white baseball rolled nearby, and faint smoke seemed to rise from his glove.
The power behind that pitch was unmistakable.
Furuya Satoru.
Nearby pitchers froze, staring at him in shock.
“A graduate of Tomakomai Middle School, Furuya Satoru… he entered Seido through general admission.
During the freshman tryouts, he was the only one who recorded a 120-meter long throw.”
“120 meters…?” Director Ota muttered in disbelief.
Outside the bullpen, Takashima Rei held a record book as she introduced him to Coach Kataoka and Director Ota.
Sawamura had also been drawn over by the commotion.
“Damn it… he’s already in the bullpen,” he muttered under his breath.
“I want to pitch too.”
For a moment, envy flashed in his eyes.
His biggest challenge right now was stamina.
Kariba Wataru would be helping him with night pitching practice.
He couldn’t rush.
He had to take things step by step.
With that thought, Sawamura turned away and returned to his running—still dragging his beloved tire behind him.
“Let the first-years form a team,” Coach Kataoka said.
“Are you planning a match?” Takashima Rei asked.
“Yes.
I want to see how many players can actually be useful in a real game.”
The coach’s gaze shifted toward the first-years in the bullpen.
Behind his sunglasses, a faint trace of tension and helplessness flickered across his expression.
He understood better than anyone.
The pitching staff… was still far from complete.
For the Summer Tournament, the coach had no choice but to test his luck with the first-years and see if any of them could be developed into usable players.
That night, everyone gathered in the cafeteria as usual.
Miyuki, carrying his tray, spotted Sawamura and casually sat down beside him.
“It’s nice being young.
You can really eat,” Miyuki said lightly.
“But don’t overdo it.
It’s not good for your body.”
“Cut the chatter.
What do you want?” Sawamura replied immediately, showing zero goodwill.
He had no intention of dealing with Miyuki.
Who knew what kind of trouble this guy was plotting?
Miyuki smirked.
“Hey, you’re Sawamura, right?
The one who got hit for a home run by Azuma-senpai last year?
Why did you still come to Seido?”
That sly grin made Sawamura click his tongue.
“That pitch getting hit was clearly your fault.
If you hadn’t called such a bad pitch, it wouldn’t have been smashed.”
He stood up right after speaking, clearly planning to move to another seat.
“Hey, hey, hey!
Don’t just leave!” Miyuki reached out as if to stop him—
But at that moment, Furuya Satoru walked over with his tray and sat directly between them.
Sawamura used the opening without hesitation and relocated to an empty seat nearby.
The scene didn’t go unnoticed.
“Furuya Satoru… that guy’s pretty bold,” someone muttered.
“Senpai Miyuki.
In tomorrow’s game, I won’t let anyone hit my pitch.
When that time comes… will you catch for me?”
The cafeteria went silent.
Even the seniors paused mid-bite.
A heavy atmosphere spread instantly.
One by one, the upperclassmen stood up and walked over.
“Rookie… what did you just say?”
“You won’t let anyone hit your pitch?”
“Do you even know where you are?”
“A first-year talking like that already?”
The pressure in the room thickened as several seniors surrounded him.
Sawamura watched from the side, feeling like he had wandered into a yakuza movie.
Yet Furuya—the natural airhead at the center of it all—didn’t seem to feel anything unusual at all.
Then a voice cut through the tension.
“What are you all doing?
This is pathetic.”
The crowd parted.
Standing there was Senior Tanba, wearing a camouflage vest, his expression sharp.
“At Seido… we only let performance do the talking.”
“Right!”
The seniors immediately responded and dispersed, returning to their seats.
However, even as they sat down, a heavy pressure still lingered in the air.
Tanba and the third-years clearly shared the same unspoken resolve—
They would prove themselves on the field.
No words needed.
Miyuki glanced around the cafeteria and let out a small smile.
So that was it.
The coach wasn’t just evaluating the first-years.
He was using them to shake the third-years awake—to reignite their fighting spirit.
That night, Sawamura did something unusual.
For the first time in a while, he didn’t go for pitching practice with Kariba Wataru.
Instead, he briefly discussed tomorrow’s game with him, then went back to his room to sleep.
The next morning, the Red and White match finally began.
Around the field, a large crowd had already gathered—graduates of Seido High School, current students, and fans alike.
A match between first-years and third-years wasn’t something they would miss.
The first-years’ starting pitcher was Toujou.
From the very first pitch, the game tilted heavily.
The third-years attacked without hesitation, fully aware that this was their final opportunity to prove themselves.
They showed no mercy toward the freshmen.
And just like that, the defense of the first-years was immediately put under immense pressure.