“How can a first-year regain their form like that?” “Why can’t anyone hit that pitch?” “Sorry!” A third-year upperclassman removed his cap, a trace of apology on his face, yet a shadow of confusion lingered, stubbornly refusing to vanish.
He had timed it perfectly—so why didn’t the ball come as expected?
At the last moment, had it changed course?
But… it seemed as if it hadn’t.
The upperclassman hesitated, unsure whether to voice his doubt, yet he couldn’t be certain.
“This first-year pitcher…” Among the spectators, there were not only casual baseball fans but also those with professional insight.
“A quirky pitch, huh?
Seems like this kid’s an interesting one,” commented a man his thirties, stroking his chin with mild curiosity.
Those who recognized the quality of Sawamura’s pitches looked at him with a new kind of interest.
After all, a quirky pitch—a pitch with unusual, unpredictable movement—is in some ways rarer than a blazing fastball like Furuya Satoru’s.
Some believed you could train other skills, but raw pitch speed?
That’s innate talent.
Not that velocity can’t be improved, but reaching the pinnacle is nearly impossible—human limits are a factor.
Furuya’s blazing fastball was obviously natural, with potential to improve—maybe even surpass 160 km/h someday.
But ordinary pitchers?
Even reaching 140 km/h was considered impressive.
And the difference between 140 km/h and 150 km/h?
To a batter on the field, it’s a world apart.
Compared to Sawamura’s quirky pitches, even those blazing fastballs seemed somewhat inferior.
Of course, opinions vary—some argue a fastball is better; others think a quirky pitch has greater potential.
In Kanzaki Yuto’s eyes, Sawamura’s raw gem surpassed Furuya.
This wasn’t favoritism—it was undeniable.
Flexible joints, a naturally unusual pitch—Sawamura’s skill rivaled Furuya’s fastball.
In the original story, Coach Kataoka even remarked that Sawamura might have higher potential than Furuya.
Experienced veterans like Matsumoto Takahiro from Osaka Kiryuu also believed Sawamura could be Kataoka’s secret weapon in the summer tournament, even after seeing Furuya’s speed.
This showed that Sawamura’s potential exceeded Furuya’s.
Kanzaki Yuto interpreted it this way: Furuya developed faster, but Sawamura required refinement to truly shine.
Considering the limited timeframe of high school baseball, plus Furuya’s exceptional batting, Kataoka naturally prioritized Furuya.
The two main reasons Kanzaki Yuto noted: Sawamura started slower in development and had batting limitations.
In high school baseball, if a pitcher’s batting isn’t reliable, a slight slump means stepping off the mound permanently.
Sawamura fit this mold.
Furuya, however, could step aside to the outfield if pitching form faltered and then return to the mound later.
That was the fundamental difference.
But these were merely reasons Furuya took the lead—they didn’t mean his potential surpassed Sawamura’s.
As a pitcher, Kanzaki Yuto firmly recognized Sawamura as an ace in the making.
He was Kanzaki Yuto’s ace.
“Great pitching, Sawamura!” Kanzaki Yuto said during the changeover, patting Sawamura on the back with a faint smile.
The first-years might think it was luck, but Kanzaki Yuto knew otherwise.
“Oh!” Sawamura, slightly slow to react, replied, then immediately snapped back into focus.
“Of course!
I’m going to be an ace!
Ahahaha!” His exaggerated laughter rang out again.
Kanzaki Yuto shook his head with a slight smile, returning to the bench.
His turn would come next… but for now… “Alright!
Let me hit a big one!
The counterattack starts now!” After leaving the mound, Sawamura quickly grabbed his cap, put on his glove and gear, and headed to the batter’s box with his bat in hand.
At that moment, an idea flashed in Kanzaki Yuto’s mind.
A sly smile curved his lips.
“Wait a moment, Sawamura-kun!” Sawamura paused, slightly startled, turning to look at Kanzaki Yuto.
He jogged over and whispered a few words in Sawamura’s ear.
Sawamura’s eyes widened as if he might shout out loud.
“Shh!
Sawamura-kun, it’s just a trial, isn’t it?
Don’t you want to see the look on the upperclassmen’s faces when they’re shocked?” Kanzaki Yuto said with an amused grin.
Sawamura reluctantly glanced at him and muttered, “Hmph, fine… I’ll give it a try.” He stepped into the batter’s box, bowed slightly, and said loudly, “Please watch over me!” Then, he assumed his batting stance.
The moment he did, everyone on the field paused in surprise.
Even the pitcher, Kawakami, and catcher, Miyauchi, were baffled.
What is this?
“Hey, nobody’s on base, right?” “A bunt?” “Is this kid really fast running the bases?” “Well, who knows… second-year Kuramochi is known for high success with bunts, isn’t he?” “Maybe this kid will give us a new spectacle!” Indeed, Sawamura was in a perfect bunt stance.
Kanzaki Yuto believed firmly: in this world, there was no ball Sawamura couldn’t bunt.
He remembered seeing this in a past chapter—there was no harm in letting Sawamura try.
If Sawamura got on base, it would be hilarious.
Kanzaki Yuto stroked his chin, a sly smile forming.
Nearby, a certain shy pink-haired first-year felt a chill run down his spine and instinctively stepped back a few paces… “Yuto-kun, sometimes you’re scary…” From that moment, the timid pink-haired kid gave Kanzaki Yuto a lifelong label.