The joint training camp continued.
By the evening of the second day, Sawamura, Kominato, and Furuya were already lying flat on their beds like corpses.
Neatly.
Side by side.
Not moving at all.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, also a first-year, looked at the three "salted fish" beside him and couldn't help but smile.
…What a memorable sight.
But the days didn't slow down.
Training continued.
Again and again.
Until finally—
The fifth day arrived.
Every First String player felt heavy.
Their bodies were weighed down as if sandbags were tied to their limbs.
Even Ushijima wasn't exempt.
The fatigue wasn't as obvious as the others', but it was still there.
He just had abnormal stamina.
That didn't mean he wouldn't get tired.
His recovery ability might be monstrous—
But his mind was still human.
Five straight days of hellish training…
Even without physical exhaustion, mental fatigue crept in.
And once your mind got tired—
Your performance dropped.
By Day Five, the entire First String was on the verge of collapse.
"Again! Again! I'm not tired at all!!!"
Isashiki shouted hoarsely, bent over and gasping for breath.
"One more ball!!"
Yuki Tetsuya tightened his gloves, eyes burning with determination.
"Uga! Ugaaa—!"
Masuko let out his signature battle cry.
Hearing it, Ushijima couldn't help but find it amusing.
Seido really was interesting.
Masuko's "Uga."
Isashiki's shouting.
Kuramochi's trash talk.
Everyone had their own weird catchphrases.
After staying here long enough…
Even Ushijima sometimes picked them up unconsciously.
"It's already the fifth day, and the third-years are still holding on," the club manager muttered in admiration.
"Last year we were just one step short of Koshien… everyone still remembers that," Takashima Rei said softly.
Coach Kataoka didn't respond.
He simply walked forward.
Stopped in front of Maezono.
"Switch out. I'll hit."
He picked up a bat.
The atmosphere instantly changed.
The First String starters stiffened.
First base — Yuki Tetsuya.
Second base — Kominato Ryosuke.
Third base — Masuko.
Shortstop — Kuramochi.
Right field — Shirasu.
Left field — Isashiki.
Center field — Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Even though Ushijima was primarily a pitcher, he could also play center and shortstop.
So during training, he handled both pitching and defensive drills.
Seido had plenty of pitchers anyway.
He wasn't obsessed with the mound.
Anywhere the team needed him — he'd play.
Seeing his stamina and defense, Coach naturally trusted him with center field.
"Heh… this looks fun," Ushijima muttered with a small grin.
"First-year Kominato, rest," the coach ordered.
"Everyone else—prepare yourselves."
Kominato collapsed off to the side, unwilling but too exhausted to argue.
"If you keep going, you'll get hurt, idiot," his brother scolded.
Then—
CRACK!
The first ball exploded off the bat.
It shot toward center field like a bullet.
Ushijima reacted instantly.
Sprint.
Glove up.
Catch.
But that was only the beginning.
Balls came one after another.
Faster.
Harder.
Relentless.
Some players dove.
Some leapt.
Some barely stopped them.
With the coach personally hitting, the speed and frequency doubled.
The already exhausted players were pushed even further.
From 4 p.m. onward—
Coach Kataoka didn't stop.
Two full hours.
Even after sunset.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!!
Mistakes started appearing.
Yuki fumbled.
Masuko hesitated.
Kuramochi's reaction slowed.
Even veterans couldn't keep up.
"Where did all that spirit go?!" the coach roared.
The younger players watching from the side were stunned.
Night fell.
Visibility worsened.
"Turn on the stadium lights!" someone shouted.
Kanemaru sprinted to the switch.
The field lit up again—
Revealing everyone's exhausted faces even more clearly.
"Again…" Isashiki croaked weakly.
"What? I can't hear you!" the coach barked. "When did your voice get so soft?!"
Provoked—
Isashiki roared:
"ONE MORE BALL!!!"
CRACK!
He chased it—
But his legs gave out.
He rolled across the grass.
"I don't remember teaching you to catch like that!" the coach scolded.
"Come on!!!" Ushijima shouted.
"Hit it here!"
CRACK!
The ball rocketed out—
Just before it touched the ground—
Whoosh!
Ushijima slid.
Glove stretched out.
Catch.
Clean.
He stood up calmly, pulled the ball out, and fired it back.
"Again!"
He deliberately called for more.
If the ball came to him—
The others could rest for a few seconds longer.
Coach Kataoka noticed.
Even now…
When the third-years were barely standing—
Ushijima could still sprint like this.
Still react this fast.
Still ask for more.
…What kind of stamina was that?
A monster.