"Have those guys from Seidō High School completely lost their minds?"
The coach of Kōhoku High School's baseball team couldn't make sense of it.
If there was nothing wrong with his own thinking…
…then the coach of Seidō, along with every single one of their players, must have gone insane.
Otherwise, how could they possibly make a decision like this?
It was absurd!
They had actually chosen to switch pitchers at a moment like this.
Did they even understand what that implied?
For Seidō, this was no different from throwing away a massive advantage and walking straight into a dead end.
The Kōhoku coach understood very clearly just how big of an opportunity this was for his team.
And yet, that very realization made him uneasy.
The opportunity was there but what if his players couldn't seize it?
That would be an even more devastating outcome.
Opportunity and danger always went hand in hand.
At this moment, the Kōhoku coach felt like he was on the verge of losing his mind as well.
He turned to his players and spoke through gritted teeth:
"The score gap is only one run. Whether Seidō has gone crazy or not has nothing to do with us. Go—teach that first-year rookie a lesson!"
It wasn't just the coach.
The players of Kōhoku also felt a fire ignite in their chests.
The gap was only one run.
Even if they had already acknowledged that they weren't a match for Seidō…
…that didn't mean they could tolerate being treated like this.
They were still a nationally recognized powerhouse.
Were they really going to be treated like pushovers?
"Give it everything you've got—hit it out!"
"We'll make them pay for underestimating us!"
The first batter up for Kōhoku in this inning was their seventh hitter.
His strength was nothing to scoff at.
After all, anyone who could secure a starting position on a national-level team was no ordinary player.
If their opponent were Zhou Hao…
…then yes, the gap would be undeniable.
They wouldn't even dare hold expectations.
But now?
Now their opponent was just a first-year rookie.
No matter what tricks Seidō might be planning…
…one thing was certain.
They had to make them regret this decision.
Stepping into the batter's box, the seventh batter raised his bat high.
He stared at the youthful pitcher standing on the mound.
"I'm sorry… we didn't want it to come to this."
"But you chose to take the mound at a time like this."
A sharp glint of killing intent flashed in his eyes.
In the stands, Kōhoku's supporters had also lost their restraint.
"Crush it!"
"Sending out a first-year? Seidō isn't all that!"
"Arrogance brings disaster—just wait and see!"
The frustration they had been holding back finally erupted.
They didn't want to act like this—
…but they had been pushed too far.
Now, they only wanted Seidō to pay the price for looking down on them.
Amid the storm of boos and shouts…
Furuya Satoru stood calmly on the mound.
He raised his arm high.
Then, just like in his usual practice—
he released the ball.
Boom!
Everything had seemed normal—
until the ball left his hand.
In that instant, the Kōhoku players felt their voices vanish.
That overwhelming presence…
…was something they recognized all too well.
They had seen it countless times before—
when Zhou Hao stood on the mound.
Their hearts pounded wildly.
For a split second, they even doubted their own eyes.
Had they been mistaken?
Had Seidō's terrifying ace never left the mound?
Of course, that was impossible.
The one standing there now was undeniably the first-year rookie.
And yet—
the pitch he threw was anything but ordinary.
By the time they realized it…
…it was already too late.
The ball tore through the air with a sharp whistle.
The batter, who had confidently raised his bat just moments ago—
now looked like a scolded child.
All the resolve in his eyes vanished.
Pop!
The ball slammed cleanly into Miyuki Kazuya's mitt.
"Strike!"
The Kōhoku supporters fell silent.
It was as if an invisible hand had seized their throats.
Not a single word came out.
"Look—what's that?"
From the Seidō stands, someone suddenly pointed toward the big screen.
Almost instinctively, everyone looked up.
151 km/h.
The moment they saw the number—
the Seidō supporters erupted.
Their excitement surged instantly.
It wasn't just their ace—
even their relief pitcher was this dominant.
Compared to that…
their gazes slowly shifted toward Kōhoku's ace.
Before this, they had thought he was impressive—
after all, he had managed to keep Seidō's score low.
But now?
In comparison, his performance seemed… ordinary.
He couldn't compare to Zhou Hao.
He couldn't even match Seidō's relief pitcher.
"This is what they call comparison killing pride."
"Didn't they have a lot to say about the pitching change?"
"Well? Say it again now!"
"Why isn't our ace pitching? Isn't it obvious?"
"You're not worth it!"
The Seidō supporters stood tall, their confidence overflowing.
Even though the score was still just 1–0…
…they could already feel it.
The gap between the two teams—
was about to widen.
And once it did—
it would be massive.
The game continued.
Kōhoku High School's seventh batter stepped back into the box, raising his bat once more.
But the shock in his eyes hadn't faded.
Even if he were given another chance, it would be extremely difficult for him to hit that pitch.
Crouching behind the plate, Miyuki Kazuya was very satisfied with this reaction.
He gave a small nod toward Furuya Satoru on the mound.
Zhou Hao's earlier performance had left too deep an impression on Kōhoku's players…
…pushing them into a state of urgency, desperate to prove themselves.
If the batter could calm down, there might still be a chance.
But clearly—
he couldn't.
And once that happened, the outcome of this duel was already decided.
"Come on… let's keep going."
Receiving the sign, Furuya raised his arm and delivered the pitch once again.
Boom!
This time, as the ball came screaming toward him, the seventh batter told himself he had to stay calm.
He knew now—
this first-year pitcher was far more dangerous than they had imagined.
If he wanted to hit the ball, he had to observe carefully.
Stay composed.
But the moment the pitch was released…
his resolve shattered.
He couldn't hold back.
The sheer force of the pitch felt like it was swallowing him whole.
If he didn't act—
he felt like he would suffocate.
And that was something he simply couldn't accept.
Anyone pushed to the brink would struggle desperately.
And he was no exception.
With a roar, he swung with all his strength.
In Kōhoku's dugout, their coach's eyes filled with disbelief.
"Why swing at that? That was a ball!"
It was clearly outside.
How could his player not see it?
But the batter on the field couldn't hear him at all.
All he felt was pressure—overwhelming, suffocating pressure.
As the ball approached, his body moved on instinct.
"Strikeout!"
He didn't touch it.
Not even close.
One out. Bases empty.
Kōhoku's eighth batter stepped up next.
Before he went in, the coach grabbed him and gave repeated instructions:
"Don't underestimate that first-year. His velocity is incredible—but his control isn't stable. Drag the at-bat out. Wear him down. Don't swing recklessly!"
A veteran coach's judgment was sharp.
He had already pinpointed Furuya's biggest weakness.
And he made sure his player understood it.
But—
understanding and execution were two completely different things.
The moment the eighth batter stood in the box and faced Furuya…
those instructions vanished from his mind.
Boom!
The pitch tore through the air.
It was simply too overwhelming.
If he didn't swing—
he felt like he wouldn't even be able to breathe.
His body reacted on its own.
The bat cut through the air with a sharp whistle.
From the dugout, the coach watched in despair.
Why?
He had explained it so clearly.
Why wouldn't they listen?
Why swing at a pitch they had no chance of hitting?
He couldn't understand.
All he could do was watch as his players fell one after another.
"Strike!"
"Strike!!"
"Strike!!!"
"Strikeout!"
"Strikeout!!"
Three outs.
Side retired.
It wasn't that Kōhoku's players weren't trying.
Nor was it that they didn't want to change the situation.
They simply—
couldn't.
All they could do was watch helplessly as pitch after pitch blurred past their eyes.
Furuya Satoru was like a raging beast on the mound.
With nothing but raw velocity—
he cut down Kōhoku's national-level batters one by one.
When the top of the third ended and the players returned to their dugout…
Seidō's bench erupted in praise.
"Nice pitching, kid!"
"Keep it up! You might not match that monster Zhou Hao yet, but you've got what it takes to be our future ace!"
Zhou Hao was already a second-year.
Furuya, on the other hand, was just a first-year rookie.
As long as Zhou Hao remained, the ace number would never fall to him.
But once Zhou Hao graduated—
the future was wide open.
"I'm the team's future ace!"
Unable to hold himself back, Sawamura Eijun jumped up again.
Right in front of Coach Kataoka, he started warming up enthusiastically.
Seeing this, Seidō's players could only shake their heads with wry smiles.
That attention-seeker…
Wherever Sawamura was, he would always find a way to stand out.
And yet—
no one could deny his ability.
Behind that noisy personality was genuine strength.
And his constant efforts to prove himself were slowly influencing the coach's thinking.
Coach Kataoka looked at him thoughtfully.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Before the game, he had already planned the pitching rotation carefully.
But now—
he was wavering.
That was Sawamura's unique charm.
Even if he wasn't the strongest—
he naturally became the center of attention.
The game moved on to the bottom of the third inning.
Furuya's overwhelming pitching had left Kōhoku completely disoriented.
To put it bluntly—
they had been beaten senseless.
If their opponent had been Seidō's ace or some hidden trump card…
they might have been able to accept it.
But this?
This was just a first-year relief pitcher.
By all logic, he shouldn't even have been on the mound at this stage.
And yet—
he had crushed them so thoroughly they couldn't even tell up from down.
As the bottom of the third began, Kōhoku was still reeling.
For Seidō—
this was the perfect chance to widen the gap.
At that moment, Coach Kataoka suddenly spoke.
"Seidō High School requests a pinch hitter!"
After already sending in a first-year pitcher…
he wasn't done yet.
Now, he was sending in a batter as well.
And just like before—
this player was also a first-year rookie.