Bottom of the ninth. Two outs. No runners.
In the batter's box stood the Fourth Batter of Inashiro Industrial High School— their ace hitter.
Normally, his appearance would light a spark of hope in the stands.
But not now.
The Inashiro players and supporters couldn't muster even a forced smile. This situation was too cruel.
Their second and third batters had gone down without even making contact. They'd pressed close to the strike zone, gambling everything on shaking Zhou Hao's control. It was a bold plan—high risk, high reward.
If they'd rattled him, the payoff could have been huge. But they hadn't. And now, they were paying the price.
From the dugout to the farthest bleacher, Inashiro's people were asking themselves the same thing: If it were me up there, what would I do? Keep pressing in, or abandon the gamble and face him head-on?
The Fourth Batter made his choice.
He stepped into the box with a lowered stance but kept his body square—no leaning toward the plate. His grip on the bat was measured, almost cautious. The most notable change was the weapon in his hands: a larger, heavier metal bat.
This was no longer intimidation. This was a straightforward duel.
Not because of some sudden revelation, but because at this point, it was the only way he might have a chance to hit the ball.
"From Inashiro's director all the way down to the players—they've all been convinced by your control. Truly amazing."
Miyuki Kazuya's eyes shone with admiration as he glanced at the man on the mound.
Among their generation, Narumiya Mei had always stood out to him as an elite Ace—one of the few who could dominate on a national stage.
But Zhou Hao… a classmate who, until recently, had never even played baseball… was proving, pitch by pitch, that he could stand alongside Narumiya Mei. That he could surpass him.
"A journey of a hundred miles is only half complete at the ninety-mile mark. The last out deserves my full strength."
On the mound, Zhou Hao reminded himself not to get carried away. Just because his straight ball had leveled up didn't mean he could relax.
Whoosh!
At Miyuki's signal, Zhou Hao set and fired. Since the upgrade, his mechanics had shifted in subtle ways—changes so small the casual observer might not notice. But they made every ounce of his strength count.
The pitch came like a sword drawn in a flash—almost too fast to see.
The Fourth Batter's eyes widened as the white blur screamed past. For a split second, it felt as if a leaf before him had been sliced clean in two.
Thwack!
"Strike!"
He blinked. What the hell am I thinking at a time like this?
Then he heard the murmur swell into gasps in the stands. He glanced up at the stadium's giant screen.
138 km/h.
For high school baseball, it was quick, but not unheard of—Narumiya himself could hit 140.
But this was Zhou Hao.
Before today, his fastest straight ball had topped out at 133. And now, in the final inning when fatigue should be dragging him down, he'd added five kilometers.
A leap in velocity this late in the game wasn't just stamina—it was evolution.
The Fourth Batter's back prickled with cold sweat. Not only has he not worn down… he's gotten stronger.
In the Seidō dugout, no one breathed. It felt like even a stray exhale might disturb the balance.
Whoosh!
The second pitch came before the batter could shake the thought. He swung with everything he had—empty.
Thwack!
"Strike!"
Two strikes. No room to retreat.
The third pitch was different—low and away, far from the last one's path. The Fourth Batter lunged to make contact and barely managed to tip it.
Clang!
The ball floated upward in a lazy arc. On the mound, Zhou Hao tracked it calmly, stepped forward, and closed his glove around it.
Thwack!
"Out!"
Three outs. Game over—at least for the ninth.
The scoreboard read 3–3.
The Seidō bench erupted. When they'd failed to score in their last turn at bat and watched the opponent push them to the brink, their hearts had been lodged in their throats.
Now, they could finally breathe.
"Extra innings!"
For Seidō's supporters, this wasn't just survival. It was a sign.
They believed, with unshakable certainty, that if the gods had spared them here, they wouldn't take this game away now.
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