One out, no runner on base.
Kuroda—the ace, the pride of Osaka Kiryu, and one of the most feared batters in Japan—had just been struck out cleanly by Zhou Hao.
It wasn't a fluke. It wasn't luck.
It was domination.
As a top-five player in the nation and a mainstay of the national youth team, Kuroda's reputation was unquestionable. Even Seidou's cleanup, Sato, hadn't reached that level of recognition. And yet, in just three pitches, Zhou Hao had reduced him to nothing.
He hadn't swung at the first two.
He completely whiffed on the third.
The result? Total suppression.
The entire stadium froze. Osaka Kiryu's supporters were stunned into silence, their cheers stuck in their throats. Even Seidou's dugout momentarily forgot to celebrate, staring in disbelief at what had just happened.
A long ten seconds passed before Seidou's bench erupted.
"That's incredible!!"
"One out!"
"Zhou Hao has overcome his fear!"
Behind the plate, Chris allowed himself the faintest smile. Fear? Zhou Hao had nothing to fear. They had simply been cautious, saving their weapons for the right moment. Osaka Kiryu's sluggers may have been terrifying, but that didn't mean Zhou Hao couldn't handle them.
The fewer cards exposed, the stronger they remained. But now that the inner slider had been revealed, it was time to unleash something far nastier.
"Fourth batter, Sato!"
Osaka Kiryu's cleanup strode into the box. A hulking powerhouse with sharp vision and monstrous strength, he was the very definition of a cleanup hitter. Against him, there was no holding back.
"First pitch, inside straight," Chris signaled.
Zhou Hao nodded and delivered.
"Whoosh!"
Sato didn't move. As expected, he was watching for the so-called disappearing pitch.
"Thwack!"
"Strike!"
The next pitch came outside.
One in, one out—painting the edges.
"Thwack!"
"Strike!"
Sato was already backed into a corner. Now came the real weapon. The invisible ball.
"Whoosh!!"
Sato's instincts screamed at him to swing. He unleashed his full power—only for the ball to vanish into his blind spot. His bat cut through empty air.
"Thwack!"
"Strike three!!"
The cleanup hitter went down swinging. Two outs. No one on base.
The camera cut to Osaka Kiryu's dugout. Director Matsumoto's face flushed purple with rage. With a snap, his folding fan broke in his hand.
"Damn it!" he roared, while his assistants frantically tried to calm him.
The truth was clear. This was no supernatural trick. Zhou Hao's pitch slid perfectly into the batter's blind spot. But knowing it and hitting it were two very different things.
Kuroda knew it.
Sato knew it.
And yet, both had been led around like amateurs.
Kuroda clenched his jaw. "It's not just the pitcher. That catcher… he's reading us like an open book."
Matsumoto slammed his fist down. "It doesn't matter now! There are over a hundred scouts and reporters watching this game live. Thousands more will see the replays. That kid is already famous across the nation!"
That was what stung most. Zhou Hao's rise wasn't just spectacular—it was happening at Osaka Kiryu's expense.
And Zhou Hao wasn't done yet.
The fifth batter made contact, but only managed a weak grounder to second.
"Thwack!"
"Out at first!"
Three up, three down.
Seidou had just dismantled Osaka Kiryu's three core batters in order.
The broadcast camera zoomed in on Zhou Hao's calm, focused face. Across millions of TV screens nationwide, a new star was born.
"Wow, this kid is so handsome!" a girl's voice squealed from the stands.
In that instant, Zhou Hao's name was etched into Koshien's history—
not just as a promising rookie, but as the pitcher who had shaken the entire country.
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