"Azuma, Azuma, Azuma!!!"
Azuma Kiyokuni stepped into the batter's box, radiating an aura like a towering villain.
The Seidou dugout, instead of feeling embarrassed by his overbearing presence, felt proud.
"That's it—blast it out!"
"Bring in another run!"
Zhou Hao had already been flawless on the mound, but no one on Seidou wanted to rely solely on him. Baseball was a team sport, and they needed insurance runs.
Zhou Hao would be out of the game within two innings. And while Osaka Kiryu's ace would also likely be replaced, no one could guarantee whose bullpen would prove stronger. Too many uncertainties hovered over this game.
And in baseball, just like in life—nothing eased anxiety like a bigger cushion.
The more runs they had, the safer they would be.
"Come on! Bring it!!!"
Azuma's presence crushed down like a storm.
Kiryu's catcher instinctively considered an intentional walk. Facing a monster head-on carried too much risk. But he quickly shook his head.
As Kuroda always said:
Their power was in their identity as the Universe Team. They never backed down.
If they avoided a duel—even if they eventually won—the fans, the teammates, and even their own pride would feel betrayed.
"It's only a tie. No retreat. Take him head-on!"
The ace reared back and unleashed his pitch.
"Boom!"
The ball came screaming toward the plate.
Azuma, standing tall like a wild bear on the hunt, unleashed a brutal swing.
"Fly in to the SPACE!!"
"Ping!"
The crack of the bat sent the ball soaring high into the outfield.
Gasps rippled across the stands. The ball carried nearly a hundred meters before finally beginning to drop.
Kiryu's outfielder, already playing deep, steadied himself.
"Snap!"
"Out!"
Azuma was retired, but the sheer distance forced the outfield to chase. By the time the ball returned to the infield, Yuki had tagged up and sprinted to third base.
"Safe!"
One out. Runner on third.
Kiryu's dugout scowled, but they could live with the result.
"At last, that monster's gone."
"As long as we strike out the next guy, they won't make a dent!"
Confidence surged again. With Kuroda on the mound, scoring a runner from third was far from easy. Not everyone had Azuma's raw strength.
"Fifth batter, Shimoi Teru!"
As Shimoi walked up, Kiryu's players and fans grinned. To them, this was a free out.
Kuroda wasn't someone just anyone could hit.
Even Zhou Hao, Seidou's golden batter, had been neutralized. Compared to him, Shimoi's bat looked insignificant.
The crowd relaxed.
But inside the box, Shimoi's grip tightened until veins popped. His eyes blazed.
He knew better than anyone that his odds of making contact were slim.
He wasn't Yuki. He wasn't Azuma.
Those two weren't just "talented"—they'd hammered fastballs from pitching machines day after day, training themselves for this very moment.
Shimoi hadn't. Against Kuroda, his bat felt heavy. Against this velocity, his chances were close to zero.
But zero chance to hit didn't mean zero chance to score.
Even if I can't swing it out—I won't give up.
"Boom!"
The pitch tore in.
And Shimoi suddenly dropped his stance—bunting at a 150 km/h fastball.
"What!?"
"Is he insane!?"
Gasps filled the stadium.
"Ping!"
The ball skipped off the bat, spinning unpredictably across the dirt.
The realization hit Kiryu in unison.
"A squeeze play!!!"
Shimoi's strength wasn't only power—it was precision. A cleanup hitter's duty wasn't just home runs, but executing when it mattered.
This was his moment.
By the time the fielders scrambled forward, Yuki was already charging home.
"Snap!"
They barely had time to throw to first for the out. But it was too late for the plate.
"Safe!!!"
The stadium exploded.
"Seidou takes the lead!!!"
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