Summer Koshien.
First round.
Game three.
Seidou High School vs. Osaka Kiryu High School.
The scoreboard read 1–1.
Through the first three innings, both teams had displayed overwhelming strength. The tension was so thick that fans in the stands — and viewers glued to their televisions — barely dared to blink, terrified of missing even a single thrilling pitch.
Now, the game moved to the top of the fourth. Osaka Kiryu was back on offense.
Leading off — their Ace, Kuroda.
It was Kuroda who had ignited Osaka Kiryu's earlier run, and as he stepped into the box again, every one of his teammates and supporters rose with expectation.
The cheers crashed down like waves, both to inspire Kuroda and to heap crushing pressure on Seidou's first-year pitcher.
For Zhou Hao, this was the fiercest test yet.
Osaka Kiryu was not just any powerhouse. They were the powerhouse — the school with the most Koshien titles in history, two championships in recent years, and a presence that loomed even in the seasons they didn't win. Their players, coaches, and fans all carried the weight of experience. They knew how to apply pressure.
And now their voices rolled like thunder, shaking even the most iron-willed.
Faces in Seidou's dugout stiffened. Some players bit their lips. Even the supporters in the stands felt a tremor of unease.
But on the mound, Zhou Hao lifted his leg calmly and let the ball fly.
Whoosh!
The white blur cut through the air.
Kuroda's eyes narrowed. He had expected cracks to appear in Zhou Hao's composure by now. Under this storm of pressure, even seasoned players could falter.
But this rookie — this first-year — pitched as though untouched by the roar of thousands.
Kuroda followed the pitch carefully, tracking its path, and exhaled slowly. Seeing it from the batter's box felt different than watching from the dugout. For the first time, he felt he had grasped it.
"Thwack!"
"Strike!"
The umpire's call rang out before his thoughts could settle.
Zhou Hao's second pitch was already on its way.
Whoosh!!
Kuroda had wanted one more moment to observe, but he knew better. Fall behind any further, and Zhou Hao would seize complete control. If the ball entered the zone, he had to swing.
But the pitch didn't move inward as he anticipated. It cut straight through.
A fastball?!
By the time Kuroda realized, it was too late. His bat didn't move.
"Thwack!"
"Strike!"
Two pitches. Two strikes.
Kuroda hadn't even swung.
And now the count was 0–2.
Zhou Hao wasted no time. His aura surged, stronger with each motion. The Seidou supporters felt it instinctively — this pitch was going to end it.
They couldn't explain why, but they believed.
Kuroda braced himself, teeth clenched. He was sure now. The last two pitches had set him up. The next one had to be a straight fastball.
The ball came screaming in. Kuroda threw everything into his swing.
"Go!!"
But the moment he connected, the image of the ball shattered like a soap bubble.
The real ball had already landed in Chris's mitt.
Thwack!
"Strike!"
"Strikeout!!"
Clean. Swift. Ruthless.
Kuroda — Osaka Kiryu's star, one of the most feared batters in the entire nation — had gone down on three pitches.
The Seidou supporters erupted. The fans in the stands, and even those watching from their living rooms, were stunned into silence before the cheers broke out.
Zhou Hao had just struck out Kuroda.
And the entire stadium was shaken.
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