The players of Inashiro Industrial High School felt like they had wandered into a maze.
They tried everything they could to crack the code, to regain control of the game.
But no matter how hard they struggled, they kept running in circles—never finding the exit.
"We clearly figured out how to hit his Straight ball… so why are we still striking out?"
Confusion clouded the Inashiro bench.
They waited anxiously for their fifth batter to return from the plate, ready to bombard him with questions.
"What happened?"
Even Coach Kunitomo leaned forward, intent on hearing the answer.
He had believed his assumption was correct:
Zhou Hao's Straight ball could either rise or drop, depending on how it was thrown.
The odds were 50/50.
And given Kunitomo's vast experience and strategic guidance, their chances should've been even better than a coin flip.
They had guessed right once.
So why had the second pitch fooled them?
There had been no complex signals.
Miyuki and Zhou Hao had only exchanged a simple sign before each throw.
It didn't seem like they were adjusting in response.
"The ball… dropped."
That was the fifth batter's stunned reply.
The dugout fell into silence.
"A breaking ball?"
"No… it moved like a Straight ball!"
"Wait—Straight balls don't just drop like that…"
"Unless—it didn't rise."
A realization spread like wildfire.
Coach Kunitomo narrowed his eyes and stared at Zhou Hao on the mound.
The boy looked calm. Controlled.
As if he hadn't just thrown something that defied logic.
"He can control the upward angle of his fastball…"
The Inashiro players froze.
Zhou Hao's Spiral Ball was already hard enough to deal with.
Now his Straight ball wasn't even truly straight.
And if he could vary its movement—make it rise slightly or appear to drop—all while maintaining solid control…
They were in serious trouble.
Even if he didn't throw another Spiral Ball for the rest of the game, just the Straight ball alone might be enough.
The game had reached the bottom of the seventh.
Inashiro's chances were slipping away.
"Even if we have a small edge over Seido," one player muttered, "it means nothing if we can't hit Zhou Hao."
They couldn't rely on scoring off a reliever anymore—Yoshida had already been pulled.
If they wanted to win, they had to conquer Zhou Hao.
Now stepping into the batter's box was Inashiro's sixth batter.
Squatting behind the plate, Miyuki Kazuya smiled.
As he suspected, Inashiro still hadn't grasped the true nature of Zhou Hao's pitching.
If they had, they wouldn't still be holding onto the delusion that they could easily hit his Straight ball.
"Good. They're shaken. Time to press harder."
He signaled again.
Zhou Hao gave a tiny nod, then began his wind-up.
Boom!
The batter froze as the ball left Zhou Hao's hand.
"Spiral Ball…? Why now?!"
It didn't make sense.
In Inashiro's strategy sessions, they had assumed Zhou Hao would conserve energy late in the game.
His Spiral Ball clearly put strain on his arm—it wasn't something he could throw endlessly.
They'd even considered whether to drag the game out and wear him down.
But now, in this exact moment—
Zhou Hao was throwing it anyway?
That could only mean one thing.
"His stamina's still intact… completely intact."
That was bad news.
They hadn't even figured out his Straight ball yet, and now he was casually mixing in Spiral Balls again?
The sixth batter began to sweat.
This wasn't just a tough pitcher—this was a monster.
Thwack!
The ball slammed into Miyuki's glove with pinpoint accuracy.
Kazuya grinned ear to ear.
"They're rattled. That's exactly what we want."
This battle would come down to Zhou Hao's pitching.
And as long as the opponent believed he still had full command of his Spiral Ball—even if he rarely used it—
it would keep them guessing, hesitating, overthinking.
"As long as they fear the Spiral Ball, we win."
Whoosh!
Another pitch came screaming in.
This time, it was a Straight ball—but disguised behind the threat of the Spiral.
The Inashiro batter swung with confidence…
…but missed.
Completely.
"It rose again?!"
He had guessed wrong.
Zhou Hao had toyed with his expectations, and the batter couldn't adjust in time.
"Strike!"
"Strikeout!"
Another one down.
Next up: the seventh batter.
Same story.
Same result.
Strikeout.
Three batters. Three outs.
No one even came close to making contact.
The inning ended with the score still 3:3.
But the psychological advantage?
Firmly in Seido's hands.
On the mound, Zhou Hao looked invincible.
As if he could stop gods—or destroy Buddhas.
That faint edge Inashiro had gained?
Gone.
Zhou Hao's dominant performance had overwhelmed the entire stadium.
The momentum had fully shifted.
In fact, Seido was now slowly gaining the upper hand.
The game moved to the top of the eighth inning, with Seido back on offense.
In the on-deck circle stood none other than Zhou Hao himself—scheduled to bat second this inning.
The fans in the stands watched with intense anticipation.
They all knew—
This inning might be Seido's best chance to strike back.
And Zhou Hao was right in the center of it all.
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