Sawamura Eijun finished his warm-up pitches and stood firmly on the mound.
In the dugout, Director Ota glanced at Takashima Rei.
“I didn’t expect your favorite player to be the one taking the mound.”
Takashima Rei did not respond immediately.
Her gaze remained fixed on Sawamura, filled with quiet anticipation.
The infielders gathered around the mound, asking how he planned to handle the seniors.
Sawamura laughed loudly.
“Don’t worry.
I’m not going to run or dodge anything.
I’ll throw everything right down the middle.
Just hit it—and leave the rest to you guys.”
A beat of silence.
“…This guy’s an idiot.”
Dark lines appeared on the fielders’ faces as they stared at him.
“Begin.”
Coach Kataoka’s voice cut through the field.
The senior batter stepped into the box, hearing what the first-year pitcher had just said.
Straight down the middle?
You’re asking for it.
He tightened his grip on the bat.
Then I’ll crush it.
Behind the plate, Kariba Wataru stayed focused.
He didn’t fully understand why Sawamura spoke like that—but as a catcher, he trusted the pitcher’s intent.
If this was Sawamura’s fighting spirit, then he would respond to it.
On the mound, Sawamura adjusted his cap.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
When he opened them again, his expression had changed completely.
Gone was the usual goofy grin.
In its place was a sharp, almost dismissive gaze.
Bottom of the lineup.
No outs.
No need to go all out.
Seventy percent.
A moving fastball is enough.
Enough to control the rhythm.
Even those watching—Coach Kataoka included—noticed the shift in his aura.
The usual carefree first-year pitcher now looked completely different.
Interest deepened across the field.
Sawamura lifted his leg high and completed his motion.
The batter never saw the release point.
The white ball simply appeared.
Right down the middle.
The batter swung with full force.
CRACK!
It felt perfect.
A home run.
The ball soared high into the air.
But halfway through its flight—
It dropped.
The left fielder calmly positioned himself and caught it.
Out.
A stunned silence followed.
Everyone had seen the same thing:
The batter had squared it up cleanly.
And yet it didn’t carry.
“That was… luck?” someone muttered from the dugout.
The batter stood frozen in disbelief.
“I clearly got all of it…”
Even Coach Kataoka narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses.
No… that wasn’t luck.
The pitch speed was only around 120 km/h—
But the hidden release point, the late movement, and the deception created by his left-handed angle…
That wasn’t ordinary pitching.
That was talent.
The next batter stepped in.
Sawamura threw again.
A moving fastball.
Out.
The dugout erupted.
“Two pitches, two outs!
Lucky break!”
But the energy in their voices was already changing.
It didn’t feel like luck anymore.
The third batter stepped in.
One pitch.
A tricky location—but the second baseman, Kominato Haruichi, handled it cleanly.
Out.
Three pitches.
Three outs.
Coach Kataoka watched silently as Sawamura walked off the mound, back to his usual relaxed expression.
Something didn’t sit right.
That wasn’t everything.
Three pitches was too few to judge him.
Too controlled.
Too deliberate.
Sawamura, meanwhile, was already relaxed.
Easy.
But then—
“Hey, Sawamura.”
Coach Kataoka’s voice stopped him.
“You didn’t use full power just now, did you?”
Sawamura froze.
“…Huh?”
“You will continue pitching until the ninth inning.
No pitcher changes.”
The air in the field shifted instantly.
Sawamura slowly turned his head.
And saw it—
The opposing seniors were staring directly at him.
Cold.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
They had thought it was just bad luck.
Three outs in three pitches.
But now they knew.
This first-year—
Had been holding back.
The meaning of that realization hit them hard.
It wasn’t just disrespect.
It was an insult.
In the opposing dugout, eyes sharpened.
We’ll make him pay for that.
In the bottom of the seventh inning, the first-years’ offense ended quickly once again.
Sawamura returned to the dugout and immediately tried to lift the mood.
“Everyone, you’re already making contact with the ball, right?
The game has only just started.
Let’s show the seniors the spirit of first-years!”
“Yeah!”
Unknowingly, the first-years had begun gathering around him.
Their voices were getting louder.
More confident.
In the dugout, Director Ota quietly observed the shift.
“It looks like Sawamura’s pitching is setting the rhythm for the defense… and boosting their morale as well.”
Takashima Rei adjusted her glasses.
“That student… Sawamura… his pitch does have significant movement.”
“But that’s not the only reason I noticed him.”
She paused slightly.
“I once observed him during a regional middle school tournament.
His team was… frankly, disorganized.”
“A catcher dropping balls.
Fielders making errors at critical moments.
Constant breakdowns in support.”
“In a normal situation, any pitcher would collapse.”
“But he didn’t.”
Takashima Rei’s tone sharpened slightly.
He kept pitching.
Kept holding the team together.”
“It was like watching a real ace.”
Director Ota was slightly taken aback by her evaluation.
He said nothing more, simply turning his gaze back to the field.
Sawamura was already standing on the mound again.
Against the top of the order this time.
The strategy remained unchanged—Seventy percent power moving fastball.
However, the quality of the batters forced slightly longer at-bats.
Even so—
Three outs.
Two grounders.
One fly ball to the outfield.
Clean.
Once again, he escaped the inning without damage.
And once again, confusion spread among the fielders.
“Seriously… this guy is just lucky.”
“That might’ve worked last inning, but now it’s the top of the order.
Luck can’t last this long.”
“More than luck… that pitch is weird.”
In the first-year dugout, Tetsu Yuki folded his arms.
“This is getting troublesome… is that a fastball that moves just before reaching the batter?”
As expected of Tetsu—he noticed it immediately.
Miyuki, sitting casually, watched the mound.
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Hmm?” someone beside him asked.
At that moment, Senior Masuko stood quietly in the upperclassmen’s dugout, watching the field with a thoughtful expression.
“Out.
Three outs.
Switch sides.”
The game entered its final inning.
Top of the ninth.
First-years on defense.
And now—
Sawamura would face the heart of the order.
Pure power hitters.
The first batter stepped out.
Masuko.
He stretched his neck slightly and smiled.
“Sawamura-chan.
I’m taking back my starting position.
Throw everything you’ve got.”
“Ya-ha!
A dorm room showdown!
This is getting interesting!”
Kuramochi laughed loudly from the side.
“Hey Miyuki, how’s Senior Masuko’s batting lately?”
Miyuki answered casually, eyes still on the field.
“He’s in great form.
Three hits, six RBIs.”
Then his gaze sharpened slightly.
“So, Sawamura… how are you going to handle him?”
“He’s not the kind of batter you can fool easily.”
Sawamura knew that too.
In his previous life, Masuko had been one of those batters who crushed anything even slightly off.
A pure power hitter.
And now—
He was standing in the batter’s box.
Behind the plate, Kariba Wataru adjusted his stance.
Masuko was too large, too aggressive—already positioned to swing the moment the ball entered the zone.
A straight fastball down the middle wouldn’t work anymore.
He knew it.
And so did Sawamura.
Alright…
Sawamura narrowed his eyes slightly.
Let’s test them.
Masuko.
And the two batters after him.