"The outcome will be decided soon?"
It was only the top of the sixth inning. The tension was undeniable, but when the fans heard someone say the game would soon be decided, many frowned in confusion.
"That fast?"
Just then, Osaka Kiryu made their move.
A pinch hitter stepped up to the plate—massive, built like a bodybuilder.
"Wow!"
The crowd gasped, especially the female fans, surprised by the sheer bulk hidden within Kiryu's lineup. His uniform barely contained the muscles stretching beneath.
"Someone that big… his defense probably isn't flexible."
Players with hulking physiques usually lacked agility. This one looked like Rikio from the movies. Some even whispered whether his uniform might tear if he dove too hard.
But the sharper eyes among the crowd knew better.
"You don't need to worry about his defense. Kiryu isn't lacking in players. Sending him now shows they're betting everything on his bat."
Suddenly, the man in the baseball cap who had spoken earlier didn't sound so foolish. He was a real expert.
Director Matsumoto knew exactly what he was doing. Their backs were against the wall—this was a life-or-death at-bat.
On the mound, Yoshida's heart wavered.
That frame, that swing—it brought back memories of Seiko Academy in the West Tokyo Tournament. Their muscle-bound sluggers had taken him deep twice.
He clenched his jaw. Not again.
Taking a full wind-up, Yoshida delivered.
"Whoosh!"
The ball hissed through the air.
The pinch hitter's bat roared like a storm.
"Boom!"
"Ping!"
Contact!
Chris's eyes narrowed.
Good—he missed the sweet spot. The ball should drop in play.
And with Seidou's defense, that meant over ninety percent chance of an out.
But Chris's confidence evaporated in the next instant.
Even off the handle, the sheer power behind the swing carried the ball deep—too deep.
"Damn it!"
Isashiki Jun sprinted back, but the ball was already sailing into the gap, seven or eight meters beyond his reach. It was bound for the wall.
The slugger would at least reach second base. Maybe even third.
Despair clawed at Isashiki Jun's chest.
But then—
A shadow blurred across the outfield.
"Zhou Hao!!"
The Seidou supporters surged to their feet, tears in their eyes. Their tireless genius had appeared again.
Still, it seemed impossible. No matter how hard he ran, Zhou Hao couldn't make it in time.
Or so they thought.
At full speed, Zhou Hao suddenly launched himself forward—diving, glove outstretched to the very limit.
"Thwack!!"
The stadium froze.
Then, rolling hard on the grass, Zhou Hao rose shakily to his feet. He lifted his glove high.
Inside—was the ball.
"He caught it!!"
The commentator's voice cracked, spittle flying, unable to contain his excitement.
A monster swing from Kiryu's pinch hitter, one of the nation's strongest sluggers, had been erased.
The momentum swung violently back to Seidou, all thanks to one miraculous catch.
"Why? How?!"
Manager Matsumoto's mind broke. He couldn't fathom it. That ball was supposed to be untouchable.
The stadium didn't care for answers. It thundered with one name.
"Zhou Hao! Zhou Hao!!"
Not just Yoshida—his teammates felt the pressure too.
Isashiki Jun, who had been closest to the ball, stared in disbelief. By rights, he was faster. By position, it was his play.
So how had Zhou Hao beaten him to it?
"You… are you even human?"
Zhou Hao's answer was plain, honest.
"Ah Jun-san, you did really well. But the world I see through my eyes… is different."
He wasn't boasting. He was speaking truth.
Through the Sharingan, the field unfolded differently—every angle, every trajectory clearer than reality itself.
But to Isashiki Jun, it only sounded like arrogance. He muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Would it kill you not to brag?"
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