Unbeknownst to Kanzaki Yuto, Kominato Haruichi had already labeled him in a way that would stick for life.
If Kanzaki Yuto had known, seeing that mischievous grin that made the shy, timid Kominato think he was a terrifying person, he probably would have cried… What a huge misunderstanding!
At that moment, several figures appeared outside the field—the main members of the first team.
“Hey, what’s going on?!
Only one and two runs in the fourth and fifth innings?
Why not over 200 points?!” a brown-haired boy shouted, looking like a delinquent.
“Haha, Jun-san, 200 points is impossible!” came the mocking laugh of Kuramochi on the side.
He was the third batter of Seidou’s first team.
Isashiki Jun!
A fierce-eyed “bad boy” type.
Rumor had it that the highest score difference was only 122–0.
Scoring 200 points in any game?
Impossible.
“Eh!?
What’s that kid doing?
A safety bunt?
Hey, Kuramochi, that kid’s from your dorm, right?” Isashiki said with a displeased look.
“Wasn’t he the one who struck out Yuuki-senpai back then?” “I don’t know.
I think the kid’s just an idiot, haha!” Kuramochi laughed loudly again.
Yuuki Tetsuya crossed his arms, watching with a calm expression—the aura of a first-team captain unmistakable.
Honestly?
A naturally clueless adult version of Furuya.
Kominato Ryousuke, as usual, smiled cheerfully as he watched the field.
“Hmph, I want to see what that kid can pull off!
Hey, Kawakami!
Don’t let anything slip!
If you dare give away a single run… hmph!” Isashiki shouted towards the field, emphasizing the last words.
The instant Kawakami heard that voice from outside, he shivered all over, nearly dropping the ball from his hands.
Raising his head slightly, he caught sight of Isashiki outside and forced a bitter smile.
If Kawakami had to name the upperclassman he feared most, it would undoubtedly have been Yuuki Tetsuya, Seidou’s fourth batter back then.
After Yuuki, Isashiki, almost a carbon copy in personality, became Kawakami’s new nightmare.
That roar from outside had made Kawakami tremble.
Miyauchi glanced at Kawakami on the mound, then at Sawamura Eijun in his bent-over bunt stance, exhaling two sharp breaths through his nose.
“Hmph!” Every first-year was getting cockier by the moment.
They mustn’t be allowed to find their rhythm!
Miyauchi signaled Kawakami, who gave a slight nod, tightening his grip on the ball in his glove.
He glanced at Sawamura on the field, looking calm and confident, seemingly certain he would hit the ball.
“No changes… just like six months ago.
Still fearless in front of the upperclassmen, hehe,” Kawakami thought, a trace of admiration in his mind.
But this is exactly what makes it fun.
His expression hardened.
On the mound, he didn’t want to lose to anyone—not even himself.
He still dreamed of wearing the number “1.” Coach Kataoka, noticing the change in Kawakami, nodded slightly.
To most, this game seemed to be just a test for the rookie first-years, but Kataoka had another layer of observation: the state of the second- and third-year first-team members.
The focus: ace pitcher Tanba Kouichiro and cleanup batter Masuko Tooru, both sent to the second team for recovery after poor form or mistakes.
Even as a backup, Kawakami’s performance was important.
In Seidou’s system, without an absolute ace, a pitcher’s role was critical—hence the early promotion of Furuya to the first team.
Kanzaki Yuto?
Kataoka had other plans, unknown to outsiders.
Back on the mound, Miyauchi instructed Kawakami: no more test pitches, just go all out.
The first pitch would be Kawakami’s signature slider.
They needed to crush the first-years’ inflated confidence.
First-years should know their place—cheer from the stands, not dream of first-team positions!
“Hoo!” Sawamura puffed out a breath, his focus sharpening.
“Sawamura-kun!” Kanzaki Yuto’s eyes flickered as he whispered softly to Sawamura in the batter’s box.
You were born to shine, but this isn’t enough.
I’ll make you shine even brighter.
No one can block your path to ace.
Starting with this game, I’ll score for you with my bat.
You’ll become a true ace pitcher.
“Just take a bunt stance, right?
You can bunt?” “Yeah… but what does that mean?
Why bunt?
I’ll hit it anyway!” “No, I mean, take the bunt stance, then at the moment Kawakami releases the pitch, switch to a normal swing.
The fielders will instinctively think it’s a bunt and be unprepared for a long hit.
Isn’t that interesting?” “Hmph!” Sawamura replied with a tsundere-like tone but ultimately followed Kanzaki Yuto’s advice.
The pitch came.
“What!?” Miyauchi’s expression changed as Sawamura quickly shifted stance.
“Here we go!” BAM!
A crisp, harmonious sound!
Everyone’s eyes widened—Sawamura perfectly connected with Kawakami’s slider.
The infielders, guarding against a bunt, changed color, especially second and shortstop.
The moment the ball flew, they instinctively turned back, but it was too late.
The ball sailed over the second baseman’s head!
Center field hit!
By the time the center fielder retrieved the ball, Sawamura had slid into second base!
The first hit for a first-year: a double!
The field erupted in cheers.