"Wooooaahhh!!"
As the ball sailed into the outfield stands, Inashiro Industrial High School's supporters erupted in wild celebration.
Players and fans alike raised their arms, waving, shouting—some screaming "Inashiro!", others chanting "Overlord!"
The entire scene descended into chaotic euphoria.
The dugout was a frenzy. The stands were electric.
It was a full-blown riot of joy.
But in the face of all this chaos, no one from Seidou High mocked their opponents.
Because the scoreboard told the truth.
3–3.
Despite Seidou High's dominant performance for most of the game…
Despite them having held the lead from the early innings...
Inashiro had clawed their way back.
Even the reporters in the stands, who had shown up expecting a Seidou win, were left shaking their heads.
Seidou had played excellently—pressing Inashiro, rattling their rhythm.
They made the mighty West Tokyo Overlords look human.
But when Inashiro bared their fangs—
everyone was reminded exactly why only they were called the "Overlords of West Tokyo."
It wasn't an empty title.
Inashiro was that strong.
If Inashiro had been locked out of the game completely, it would've been one thing.
But give them a single crack, a brief lapse, even just one run—
and they would lunge through it like beasts, tearing apart their opponent's momentum in seconds.
One pitch. One swing.
That's all it took to kill the rhythm—and the game.
Now, Seidou looked stunned.
And who could blame them?
Even those not on the field, just watching, could feel the psychological blow of that equalizing home run.
In the stands, the Ichidai Third High School team, attending as spectators, exchanged looks.
"So, it's still going to be Inashiro in the finals, huh?"
If Inashiro hadn't caught up, maybe it'd be different.
But they did.
Ichidai knew this story too well—
Seidou always fought hard, but in recent years, they'd often collapsed in the final innings.
Semifinals. Finals. Pressure games.
They'd lose their grip just when it mattered most.
And today... was shaping up to follow that pattern.
Ichidai's players could almost visualize how this would unfold—
they had battled Seidou enough times to know how their rhythm could shatter.
And then—
Coach Kataoka stood up in Seidou's dugout.
The entire stadium stirred.
Everyone's eyes turned.
Even with Yoshida's pitch blasted into the stands, he was still Seidou's ace.
His overall form hadn't been poor. That home run had been the result of momentum, mindset, and a little bad luck.
Was Kataoka really about to pull him out?
"Time!"
"Seidou requests a pitcher change!"
He was.
But it wasn't a simple switch.
From the outfield, Zhou Hao sprinted to the mound.
Meanwhile, Yoshida remained on the field, joined by Miyuki Kazuya and several infielders as they formed a loose huddle around him.
He hadn't left.
He was just... swapping roles.
Yoshida was moving to the outfield. Zhou Hao was taking the mound.
"What's Coach Kataoka planning?" Miyuki asked the runner delivering the message.
"Coach said—calm down," the messenger replied.
"With Inashiro's strength, it's not strange for them to score two or three runs."
Then he turned to Yoshida.
"Coach also said: Senior Yoshida is carrying too much pressure. He needs to relax in the outfield first. Just being tense won't help us win—in fact, it could give Inashiro more chances."
The players nodded silently.
They knew it was true.
Yoshida's problem wasn't his skill—it was the mental weight crushing him.
The more he tried to will himself into pitching well, the more off-balance he became.
"Senior, go change your gear and get your head straight.
Director said—be ready to return in the last two innings."
Because the opponent was Inashiro, no one knew how long Zhou Hao could last.
His stamina drained fast in intense games.
Yoshida understood immediately.
Coach Kataoka still trusted him.
Even now, he was being reserved for the final, most critical moments.
After Yoshida jogged off, the messenger turned to Zhou Hao.
"Zhou Hao, Director said: He's counting on you to take care of the rest."
The tone was completely different.
Back with Yoshida, the words were calming.
Here, they were firm—expectant.
Azuma Kiyokuni, listening quietly, smirked.
Even as Zhou Hao's friend, he wouldn't dare repeat what Coach had really implied.
Still, Coach wasn't lying—having Yoshida on standby was a wise insurance policy.
This next stretch would be brutal.
They had to shut down Inashiro, or the game would slip away for good.
Miyuki glanced at Coach Kataoka in the dugout, full of respect.
As expected of Director Kataoka...
With just a few words, he'd inspired both pitchers, lifting the team's spirits in the face of chaos.
"Two outs. No runners on base."
But standing in the batter's box now was Inashiro's cleanup hitter.
"Their morale is sky-high," Miyuki muttered.
"Even with the bases empty, we can't take this lightly."
One hit, and everything could tilt.
"Can you still throw your Spiral Ball?" Miyuki asked.
Zhou Hao shook his head.
"If I'm pitching the rest of the game, I shouldn't use it yet."
"Got it," Miyuki nodded.
"Then let's surprise them a different way."
Though Zhou Hao was known for his Spiral Ball,
he wasn't a one-trick pitcher.
He still had more weapons in his arsenal.
And now, it was time to use them.
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