Top of the fourth inning.
Osaka Kiryu's vaunted core sluggers had just been shut down—three up, three down. The score remained locked at 1–1.
But in that instant, the atmosphere shifted.
The way the crowd looked at Seidou was no longer the same. Respect flickered in their eyes, tinged with admiration.
Seidou had a good reputation coming into Koshien, but no one dared to say how far they could go. After all, this was their first true run in years—they lacked experience on the grand stage. If fate had given them weaker opponents, maybe they could have survived a few rounds. But against Osaka Kiryu, the "Universe Team"? Everyone thought their fate was sealed.
Even Inashiro, the unshakable titan of West Tokyo, had known the bitter sting of a first-round exit. Seidou, with worse luck, facing Osaka Kiryu immediately? Most wrote them off before the first pitch.
But now—halfway through the game, tied score, and with Seidou batting second—the narrative was changing. They weren't just surviving. They were fighting toe-to-toe with the kings.
Bottom of the fourth inning.
"Third batter, number 3, first base—Yuki!"
Yuki strode into the batter's box. His presence alone made Osaka Kiryu's battery grimace.
Other Seidou batters, Kuroda could handle. But Yuki? Even now, Kuroda and his catcher felt a chill. His previous at-bat had shaken them deeply. Kuroda prided himself on his 155 km/h heater, more than Zhou Hao did on his Spiral. But Yuki had crushed it. For a pitcher who lives by velocity, that was a dagger to the heart.
"If it's too risky, maybe we should just pitch around him…" the catcher muttered.
Kuroda shook his head sharply. This wasn't about pride—it was about survival. If they backed down now, they'd lose control of the entire game.
"When rivals meet, the brave win. I don't believe he can hit it every time!"
Taking a deep breath, Kuroda unleashed his best.
"Boom!"
The ball screamed in, thundering into the mitt.
"Thwack!"
"Strike!"
The scoreboard lit up.
155 km/h!
Osaka Kiryu's fans roared in approval. Their ace was back, untouchable. That earlier hit? Just an accident.
Fueled by their cheers, Kuroda wound up again, firing another bullet as if to split the earth.
Yuki tightened his grip. As the ball blazed toward the plate, he swung with all his might—like a storm ripping through the diamond.
"Boom!"
The catcher's heart lurched. Even for a team as battle-tested as Osaka Kiryu, Yuki Tetsuya's swing carried a terrifying aura. It was as if his bat could shatter the very concept of pitching.
"Ping!"
The ball rocketed off the bat, skipping into the field. The Osaka Kiryu fielders scrambled, but it shot past them before they could react.
"It's through!!"
The Seidou dugout exploded.
"Yuki-senpai!!"
Even Zhou Hao's eyes widened. He had always known Yuki was strong. But this? This was overwhelming.
An ultra-fastball at 155 km/h gives a batter less than 0.4 seconds from release to contact. Accounting for human reaction time, there should barely be any time at all. For every 5 km/h of added speed, the difficulty of hitting doesn't just increase—it multiplies.
And yet, Yuki had done it twice. In a row.
No outs, runner on second.
"Fourth batter, number 5, third base—Azuma Kiyokuni!"
Azuma stepped into the box, a sharp grin twisting his lips.
"Jie jie jie…!!"
The momentum had shifted. For the first time, the game's rhythm belonged to Seidou.
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