“What a shame!” “Yeah, but that first-year already did really well.
He forced Tanba and Miyauchi to go that far with their pitch selection!” “Overall, he looks like a prospect worth developing.” “That depends on how Coach Kataoka sees him.” The spectators outside the field began discussing animatedly.
Personally, many of them had hoped to see Kanzaki Yuto get a hit—but they also knew how slim that chance was.
Even if Tanba wasn’t particularly famous in Japan, or even in Tokyo, he was still a pitcher who had endured two full years of high school baseball.
He was Seidou High’s ace.
There was no way a mere first-year could casually hit off someone like him.
“Safe!” “PANG!” After Kanzaki Yuto was struck out, the bottom of the third inning began—once again the seniors’ offensive showcase.
Just like the first two innings, even with a new first-year pitcher on the mound, they were completely suppressed.
Kanzaki Yuto wanted desperately to contribute, but what could he do from the outfield?
The upperclassmen already knew that among the first-years, Kanzaki Yuto was the most stable fielder.
So there was absolutely no chance—ten thousand percent none—that they would hit the ball in his direction.
As for switching him to pitcher or catcher?
Forget it.
Substitutions were entirely in Coach Kataoka’s hands.
Even if the coach allowed it, Kanzaki Yuto might have the desire—but not the ability.
Letting him pitch or catch right now would just be a joke.
Unlike other defensive positions, the pitcher and catcher formed the team’s first line of defense.
The requirements for these two roles were completely different—far more demanding, bordering on talent-based.
Not just anyone could squat behind home plate.
Not just anyone could stand on the pitcher’s mound.
Powerless, Kanzaki Yuto could only watch from left field as hits piled up one after another.
Perhaps because of Kanzaki Yuto’s performance in the previous inning, the second- and third-years’ anger had fully ignited.
Third-year Kusunoki Fumiya smashed a grand slam with the bases loaded.
That guy?
The one Kanzaki Yuto remembered only as Seidou’s “good-looking representative” could actually hit a home run?
Well… it could only be said that Kanzaki Yuto was still too naïve.
Anyone who could make the first team at Seidou—even a bench player—was not to be underestimated.
And besides… the first-year pitcher’s balls were simply far too weak.
In an inning where two runs had already been given up, the scoreboard now displayed a glaring “7”—and there were still no outs.
Just three innings in, the score gap had already reached fourteen runs.
Five runs in the first inning.
Two in the second—slightly mitigated thanks to Kanzaki Yuto’s fielding.
And now?
This inning alone matched the total of the previous two.
Seven runs surrendered without recording a single out.
The first-year pitcher—whose name Kanzaki Yuto didn’t even know—stood on the mound in a daze, staring blankly at the seniors running the bases.
His face was pale.
Even from the outfield, Kanzaki Yuto could see the pitcher’s body trembling slightly.
Kanzaki Yuto shook his head and let out a helpless sigh.
What could he do right now?
The only thing he could do was fulfill his own responsibilities.
He even expanded his defensive range, covering part of center field’s territory—just to reduce the chances of extra-base hits from these bloodthirsty seniors.
After all, if it was just an infield hit… Getting an out was still relatively easier.
There were more chances for lucky breaks.
But seniors were seniors.
And, of course, the first-year pitcher’s lack of ability played a major role.
When the second- and third-years noticed Kanzaki Yuto expanding his coverage, they became even more deliberate about hitting toward right field instead.
Kanzaki Yuto could only feel helpless.
What else can I even do at this point… The seniors quickly seized on the pitcher’s shaken state.
In the blink of an eye, runners were on first and second again—still no outs.
The lineup has already gone around once, hasn’t it!?
An entire rotation in a single inning without recording an out—this isn’t how it was supposed to go!
Hey!
Director!
This isn’t what the script said!
Kanzaki Yuto stared at the situation on the field, dumbfounded.
This development was far beyond his expectations.
According to his memories from his previous life, a fundamental shift was supposed to happen in the third inning—but not like this.
Little by little, the match was starting to feel completely different.
And it wasn’t over yet.
When the next batter smashed another extra-base hit, Kanzaki Yuto realized the seniors had absolutely no intention of holding back—in fact, they were going even harder.
Because the ball was flying straight toward left field.
A vicious liner, a cruel angle.
Even though Kanzaki Yuto judged the landing point the instant the ball left the bat, it was simply too fast.
Before he could react, it dropped near the left-field foul line.
The runner on second sprinted home.
The eighth run.
Still no outs.
Runners on second and third.
Third-year Masuko Tooru stood on second base.
His gaze—calm yet carrying an unmistakable will—swept toward Kanzaki Yuto in left field.
Kanzaki Yuto bit down hard.
He understood.
This was intimidation.
Don’t think your catching skills mean we won’t hit it to left field.
That was Masuko Tooru’s answer.
Veterans are not something you rookies can look down on.
Coach Kataoka glanced at the situation and shook his head slightly.
Among these first-years, there was almost no one else who possessed the right kind of presence or fighting spirit.
“All right.
Substitution!” “Sawamura Eijun, you—” “YES!
Finally my chance to shine!” The instant he heard his name, Sawamura leapt up, grabbed his glove, and happily sprinted toward the pitcher’s mound.
“Hmph.
Where do you think you’re going?” Coach Kataoka’s icy voice rang out.
His cold stare made Sawamura’s breathing hitch, embarrassment flashing across his face.
“Huh?
Aren’t I pitching?” “Right field.” Coach Kataoka’s tone remained chillingly flat.
Sawamura froze, utterly dumbfounded.
After moving his lips a few times, he could only trudge toward the outfield in frustration.
Kanzaki Yuto shook his head.
Yep… this part of the script stayed the same.
Sawamura in the outfield?
Oh man.
With this score gap, it’s only going to keep widening.
Double digits are unavoidable now.
“Pitching change—Furuya Satoru enters!” Coach Kataoka’s next command rang out immediately.
Eh?
Furuya’s coming in already?
Kanzaki Yuto froze slightly.
Now this was different.
If he remembered correctly, Furuya wasn’t supposed to come in until the fourth or even fifth inning.
But after glancing at the field again… he sighed inwardly.
The script’s been wrong for a while now anyway.
Even the third inning wasn’t supposed to bleed this many runs.
From afar, Kanzaki Yuto watched the tall, slender figure with a cold expression—Furuya Satoru—walk out from the dugout toward the mound.
Meanwhile, the substituted first-year pitcher looked as though he had finally been released from hell, collapsing the moment he reached the bench.
Furuya Satoru.
Sawamura Eijun.
One generation.
Two aces.
In the end—who would become the true ACE?