Huff... Huff...
Kominato Ryosuke breathed heavily as a sharp pain shot through his right foot.
The agony was intense enough to make him want to cry out.
But he endured it.
Now was not the time.
If Inashiro realized something was wrong with him, their morale would immediately skyrocket.
A substitution was possible.
Someone else could replace him.
But the replacement wouldn't have the same chemistry with Kuramochi.
That defensive partnership was too important.
From center field, Isashiki watched Kominato's back and silently cheered him on.
Hang in there, Kominato.
The guy standing in front of you won't let you down.
Among everyone on the field, Kuramochi was probably the most worried.
His eyes never left Kominato.
If anything happened, he was prepared to cover for him immediately.
Meanwhile, Ushijima stood calmly on the mound.
He wasn't overly concerned about the defense behind him.
Because as far as he was concerned—
This inning could still end without allowing a runner to advance.
Even if Hirai Tsubasa had reached first base, it wasn't a major threat.
"Tch."
Ushijima glanced toward first.
"Standing that far off the bag?"
A faint smile appeared on his face.
There was no need to hold the runner.
No need for pickoff attempts.
No need for distractions.
Hirai immediately noticed.
"...Not even paying attention to me?"
"You don't think I'm a threat at all?"
A vein appeared on his forehead.
"Damn it. I've been underestimated."
The moment Ushijima began his pitching motion—
Hirai exploded toward second base.
"STEAL!"
Yuki immediately shouted a warning from first.
But Ushijima didn't react at all.
Instead, he sped up his delivery.
WHOOSH!!!
The baseball rocketed toward home plate at incredible speed.
The batter never swung.
Partly because Hirai was stealing.
Partly because the pitch was simply too fast.
THUMP!
The ball smashed into Miyuki's glove.
155 km/h.
The instant the ball arrived, Miyuki sprang into motion.
He ripped the ball from his mitt and fired toward second.
WHOOSH!
The throw was a laser.
At the same time, Ushijima immediately lowered himself, clearing the throwing lane above the mound.
Everything happened perfectly.
SMACK!
Kominato received the throw and dropped the tag instantly.
SWISH!
Hirai slid desperately toward the base.
But Kominato had already caught the ball.
The glove touched Hirai before his hand reached the bag.
"OUT!"
The umpire's voice rang across the stadium.
"Tch!"
Hirai slammed a fist into the dirt.
So close.
Yet still out.
His decision hadn't been wrong.
If the pitcher wasn't paying attention to him, why not steal?
A successful steal would pressure Ushijima.
It would force him to think about the runners.
It could disrupt his rhythm.
And once a pitcher's rhythm was disturbed, mistakes became much more likely.
The strategy itself was sound.
The problem was—
Inashiro had underestimated Ushijima and Miyuki.
Ushijima's quick delivery took barely 1.1 seconds.
Miyuki's throw to second required only 1.89 seconds.
Combined, that was less than three seconds.
For most runners, that was almost impossible to beat.
Even someone as fast as Ushijima himself would struggle against that timing.
"YEAHHH!!"
The Seido supporters erupted in celebration.
Ushijima turned toward Hirai and smirked.
"Stealing?"
"Who told you stealing bases was allowed?"
Hirai nearly exploded.
"What an annoying brat..."
As he returned to the dugout, he muttered:
"He's even more punchable than Mei."
"Grrr..."
Narumiya puffed up his cheeks immediately.
Clearly, he was still bitter about being teased earlier.
Meanwhile, Harada leaned against the railing, deep in thought.
"The sinker's been revealed too..."
"But what's going on with that four-seam fastball?"
"It's already the third inning."
"And we've barely seen any true four-seamers."
"The only real one was the pitch used to control the runner."
Harada frowned.
Something didn't add up.
Normally, a pitcher's four-seam fastball was their foundation.
Their strongest weapon.
So why were Ushijima and Miyuki using it so rarely?
Carlos rubbed his forehead.
"Even though he isn't throwing many four-seamers, he's still throwing plenty of fastballs."
"Every pitch looks like a fastball."
"That's the problem."
"They all move."
Shirakawa nodded.
"The first inning caught me off guard."
"But in the second inning, I started adjusting."
"Next time, I'll definitely make solid contact."
Harada sighed.
"Making contact isn't the issue."
"The problem is identifying the pitch type."
Then he began breaking down Ushijima's arsenal.
"The four-seamer travels straight."
"The two-seamer moves arm-side."
"The cutter breaks glove-side and drops."
"The sinker runs arm-side and sinks."
"Four pitches."
"Four completely different trajectories."
"And they all start from almost the same release point."
Everyone listening developed headaches.
Because Harada was right.
That was exactly what made Ushijima so difficult to face.
The ball looked identical coming out of his hand.
Only after release did the movement reveal itself.
And by then—
It was often too late.
What nobody outside Seido knew was that Ushijima possessed even more weapons.
The opposing teams still believed he only relied on power fastball variants.
They had no idea he could also throw slower breaking pitches capable of disrupting timing completely.
Yet even without those hidden pitches—
The current arsenal was already a nightmare.
After all, the purpose of moving fastballs wasn't necessarily to strike hitters out.
It was to ruin their timing.
Force weak contact.
Generate easy outs.
And so far—
It was working perfectly.
Harada finally looked around the dugout and gave his teammates a simple instruction.
"Stop trying to hit home runs."
"Just get on base."
"Like Hirai did."
"And once you're on base, don't get greedy."
"Miyuki throws out nearly eighty percent of base stealers."
"With Ushijima's delivery speed helping him, successful steals are incredibly difficult."
"Get on base."
"Stay patient."
"Wait for opportunities."
"Don't keep swinging for the fences."
While they were discussing strategy, the inning continued.
The eighth batter stepped in.
Three pitches later—
Strikeout.
The ninth batter followed.
A weak grounder.
Out.
Just like that, the bottom of the third inning ended.
"Six strikeouts already..."
Shirakawa muttered as he picked up his shortstop glove and jogged onto the field.
Narumiya cracked his neck and marched toward the dugout entrance.
"That bastard is really full of himself."
Carlos smiled.
"Maybe."
"But he won't stay arrogant forever."
"The next time through the lineup..."
"We'll make him pay."