Carlos, the first-year runner from Inashiro Industrial High School, didn't just have long, powerful legs—
his reaction speed was frighteningly fast, like that of a cheetah.
The moment he saw Chris catch the ball ahead of him at home plate, he didn't panic.
Instead, while sprinting at full speed, Carlos made a sudden lateral shift.
Such a rapid change in direction would've caught most catchers off guard.
But this was Chris.
Promoted to Seidou's starting catcher as a first-year, he was known as the only harvest from a lean year.
As Carlos changed direction, Chris instinctively shifted his stance.
And when Carlos charged in, Chris blocked him at the waist with his mitt.
Carlos was moving at a terrifying speed—maybe not 10 meters per second, but easily 8 or 9.
When he saw Chris's mitt flash into his path, he tried to shift again.
But even a cheetah can't turn twice at full sprint.
Losing balance, Carlos slammed straight into Chris.
"Boom!!"
The two collapsed together. The crowd gasped.
The head umpire immediately called timeout.
Inashiro's batter, Hanaki, stopped at second base.
Coaches and players from both dugouts rushed toward the scene.
"Are you two okay?!"
Carlos sprang up like nothing had happened—no bruises, no scratches.
Like a wild animal that'd just shaken off a tumble.
Coach Kunitomo sighed in relief.
At least it wasn't serious.
Then he turned to look at Chris…
Chris stood up too—but his right arm hung limp at his side.
"What happened?"
"Let me see your arm…"
Coach Kataoka gently rolled up Chris's sleeve.
No visible injuries. Just swelling.
"It's probably a dislocation."
The stadium's medical staff had arrived by then.
A quick assessment confirmed it: dislocated shoulder.
It wasn't career-ending. A bone-setter could reset it.
But for today's game? Chris was done.
Chris clenched his teeth in frustration.
If he'd reacted just a little better, he could've tagged Carlos and avoided injury.
Why didn't I think faster?!
He wasn't upset about the pain.
He was worried about the team—about what his absence would do to their momentum.
The rest of the Seidou fielders gathered around him.
"I'm sorry… I messed everything up."
"You didn't mess anything up!"
"It's Inashiro's fault!"
"That kid did it on purpose!"
Isashiki Jun glared daggers at Carlos.
Meanwhile, Carlos—still standing at home—felt like sinking into the dirt.
He hadn't meant to hurt anyone.
But given the chance to do it again?
He probably would've made the same choice.
That's what a real ballplayer does—pushes forward, even if it means taking risks.
"Let Ota escort you back to the bench," Coach Kataoka said quietly.
"I'll notify the officials and get you cleared to leave early. As for the rest of the game…"
He trailed off.
Chris looked devastated.
Coach Kataoka could see it clearly.
Chris had carried so much pressure on his shoulders.
He trained like his life depended on it.
And just now, he'd risked injury to protect a narrow 2-run lead.
If not for that obsessive drive, he might've avoided the collision altogether.
It wasn't just Chris.
Many of the third-years were off their peak today.
Even Yoshida—despite all his preparation—was only pitching at 80% of his best.
Azuma, Shimoi—they were all feeling it.
Only two players had performed at their best so far:
Yuki Tetsuya, and...
Zhou Hao.
And just as Kataoka was thinking this—
"Chris-senpai," Zhou Hao said quietly.
"Please… leave the rest to me."
Zhou Hao's voice carried unusual weight.
His eyes were calm. Focused.
Chris looked at him—and smiled.
This rookie had become his anchor.
Without Zhou Hao, Chris knew the pressure might've crushed him long ago.
For weeks now, he had felt like he had to carry the whole team's dreams alone.
But Zhou Hao… somehow, had taken some of that burden without saying a word.
"No," Zhou Hao said again.
"We will win. Together."
"And when you come back…"
"We'll take Koshien. And we'll dominate the nation."
As Zhou Hao reached out his fist, Miyuki Kazuya stepped up.
Chris raised his left arm—the one that still worked—and bumped it.
"It's a promise."
And just like that, Chris, Seidou's starting catcher, left the field.
As if it were destined, Seidou sent out their second first-year player.
"Now batting: Number 19, catcher, Miyuki Kazuya!"
In the stands, Seidou's supporters were hit with mixed feelings.
Yes, Chris had successfully stopped Carlos and held the score at 3–1.
But losing their catcher at such a critical moment...
Was this really the time to gamble with a first-year?
Even if it was Miyuki, that kind of change mid-game could disrupt everything.
And the game was far from over.
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