Even after returning to the dugout, Kitamura's face was pale.
He still couldn't explain it.
"How… how could the ball just disappear?"
His teammates immediately crowded around, alarmed. That kind of reaction was rare for Kiryu's hardened sluggers. Yet today, against Seidou—against Zhou Hao—they had huddled like this more times than they could count.
Kitamura gave a bitter smile.
"It was just gone. Nothing there."
The others stared at him in disbelief.
"Disappeared?!"
"And what about that Illusion Ball earlier—what's going on?"
Confusion rippled through the bench. Their gazes slid toward Zhou Hao, equal parts wary and shaken.
Director Matsumoto Takahiro stayed silent. His sharp eyes narrowed as though he'd already guessed something—but he let the game play on.
Two outs, bases empty.
Next up: Kujo, the number two batter.
The veteran hitter deliberately widened his stance, standing back from the plate.
Chris, crouched behind the mask, immediately caught it.
Backing up to spot the Invisibility Ball, huh?
He smirked. Then let's see you chase this.
He flashed the signal. No trick pitch—just a clean fastball, outside corner.
Zhou Hao lifted his leg, aura hardening, and fired.
Whoosh!
The roar of the Straight Ball was unmistakable. Kujo's lips curled; a breaking ball could never carry that force. He stepped in and swung with all his might—
Thwack!
The ball snapped into Chris's glove.
"Strike!"
Kiryu's players blinked. They had forgotten—Zhou Hao's fastball was every bit as dangerous as his breaking balls. Deceptively ordinary in speed, yet so heavy and untouchable it had already broken Inashiro and Ichidai's confidence.
"We even switched to heavier metal bats for this!" one muttered. But even their preparations looked meaningless now.
In the stands, a frustrated Kiryu fan shouted:
"Is this guy pitching or performing magic?!"
The words hit home. Zhou Hao's every pitch carried a different face, a different trick. No patterns, no guarantees. He was less a pitcher and more a magician weaving illusions on the mound.
Kujo tried to stay composed, but inside, his chest tightened. He replayed Zhou Hao's arsenal in his head: Spiral Ball, Illusion Ball, Invisibility Ball, even that monstrous Straight Ball.
No matter how he calculated it, every option spelled trouble.
Even if he guessed right—he might still swing through.
That realization gnawed at his pride. The fangs he bared toward Zhou Hao were nothing more than a mask.
Whoosh!
Another pitch came. Kujo swung—
Thwack!
The ball dipped under his bat and buried itself in Chris's mitt.
"Strike! Strike two!"
Zhou Hao didn't let up. One more pitch. One more whistle through the zone.
"Strike three! Batter out!"
Kujo froze, then trudged off, fists clenched.
Three outs. Side retired.
Bottom of the third. Seidou back on offense.
The scoreboard still read 1–1.
But the mood in the stands was no longer equal.
Kiryu's supporters looked grim, shaken by their team's inability to solve a first-year pitcher. But Seidou's side—though the score was tied—was buzzing with joy. They weren't watching a stalemate. They were watching their ace rise higher.
Zhou Hao had always been seen as a fastball pitcher. Now he had breaking balls—terrifying ones. And against the Kiryu High, no less, he was still in control.
Up in the press box, Fujio adjusted his cap and smiled.
"Zhou Hao's pitching is as dazzling as a magician's show. From now on… we should call him the Magician on the Field."
The words lit a fire in his mind. He had once written an article about Seidou that shook the baseball world. Now, they had given him his next headline.
"The Magician on the Field."
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