At first, Kanzaki Yuto’s unusual state was noticed by only Coach Kataoka.
Perhaps it was due to distance or experience.
But after Kanzaki Yuto swung and missed twice, the situation started to change.
Something seems off… Hmm, this kid must be getting a little nervous.
Look at his stance.
Yeah, he’s stiffening up.
There’s no way he can swing at full strength like that.
Even though Kawakami is just a substitute pitcher, he’s not at a level that a half-hearted player could hit.
A bad pitch!
He had swung at a clear ball.
Of course, swinging at a borderline ball wasn’t unusual—many batters do that when it’s hard to tell balls from strikes.
But what he had done just now?
He had swung at an obvious bad ball.
Any player with even a modicum of baseball sense would know better.
How absent-minded had he been?
Kanzaki Yuto bit his lip, cursing himself silently.
“Yuto-kun!
You can do it!
Go for it!” Kominato shouted from first base.
The first-year bench erupted with cheers, nearly straining their voices.
For the first five innings, they had been swept aside by their seniors without a single runner reaching base.
Even Kanzaki Yuto, the only one with hope, had been struck out after a few extra swings.
And now, in the top of the sixth, bases loaded with no outs, here came this showdown—a tonic for the nearly defeated and mentally exhausted first-years.
Among them, Kanemaru Shinji cheered the loudest.
Seeing Kanzaki Yuto already with two strikes tightened his chest—he wished he could become Kanzaki Yuto’s bat and drive a perfect hit himself.
“Hey!
You’ve been talking so seriously, so now show me what you’ve got!” Sawamura Eijun roared from third base, ready to dash home even on a ground ball.
Yes, this was a match.
A battle to decide the loser.
But wasn’t it also the first step in chasing one’s own ideals?
Why had he come here?
A small scene shouldn’t make him falter.
Come on, man—he was thirty-something, two lifetimes under his belt.
Kanzaki Yuto took a deep breath, steadying his mind.
No matter the outcome, doing his best was already the perfect answer.
Three points are heaven’s will, right?
Then the remaining ninety-seven points would be carved out by his bat.
Coach Kataoka’s eyes shifted slightly.
He nodded inwardly.
Kanzaki Yuto’s stance, though still slightly stiff, had largely returned to normal.
This was the player Kataoka wanted to see.
One who could face anything calmly.
Not those talented but mentally weak players—Kataoka had no interest in playing family comedies with them.
The first pitch was an inside slider.
He wanted a strong opening attack but noticed my state wasn’t good.
Then he threw an outside ball to confirm it.
Miyauchi is too cautious.
If it were Yuki Kazuya, I’d already be struck out.
He never wastes a single pitch!
Kanzaki Yuto thought.
The next pitch won’t be a test.
Outside?
Inside?
Hoo… let my bat, let my body, answer perfectly.
His expression relaxed, his mind clear.
As a batter, the only thought while standing in the batter’s box was: Hit the ball.
“No more testing.
Even if he adjusts his stance, he won’t react in time.
Let’s finish him with the decisive pitch!” Miyauchi signaled.
Though he noticed Kanzaki Yuto improving slightly, he assumed a shaken mindset couldn’t recover so quickly.
Time for a fast, aggressive strike.
No breathing room for Kanzaki Yuto.
Take him out, and this inning ends.
One out already?
Who in the first-years is worth their notice anyway?
This was the key moment of the match.
The decisive battlefield.
The first-years’ counterattack had to end here.
“Still the inside slider!
Slightly wider angle, steady release!
Throw your perfect pitch—this kid can’t hit it!” Miyauchi ordered Kawakami firmly.
Kawakami inhaled deeply and nodded.
Akaya, Sawamura Eijun, Kominato Haruichi, and now Kanzaki Yuto—this first-year class truly seemed like a golden harvest, a crop of surprising talents.
But Kawakami wouldn’t give up.
Not one bit.
He would never surrender the mound.
Kanzaki Yuto didn’t know how much he had already changed others’ minds—perhaps Sawamura, Kominato, or even Kawakami, who often appeared timid.
Feeling the first-years’ fighting spirit stirred something within Kawakami—the unique will of a pitcher.
He was a pitcher!
Pressure?
Threat from the batter?
Those were only fuel to pitch harder, stronger.
Kawakami wouldn’t give in easily.
Pitcher’s will—it’s an abstract, ethereal thing.
When discussing games practically, one may dismiss it, but sometimes this mindset is the key to victory.
Right now, Kanzaki Yuto could feel the pitcher’s will radiating from the mound, enough to make a batter shiver.
Heavy, as if every pitch contained all of himself.
Kanzaki Yuto shivered.
Could Kawakami really have this presence?
He was astonished.
But that made it exciting, didn’t it?
Come on!
“WHOOSH!” The ball left the pitcher’s hand.
Kanzaki Yuto, relying on instinct and the sharp eyes he trusted, swung with everything he had.
This swing… at least left no regrets.
Hit or miss, he would feel no remorse.
The answer, the result—only the goddess of fate knew.