The fifth inning ended, and the scoreboard still displayed 2–1.
Kawakami Norifumi, the rookie pitcher in his first year, had managed to hold his own against one of West Tokyo's top four teams to this extent.
He gave up four hits and one RBI over five innings.
Coach Kataoka nodded approvingly.
"Although he's not overpowering, he's already a competent pitcher," he observed with quiet confidence. "Once the Summer Tournament is over, we'll promote him to the First String."
Kawakami Norifumi was perfectly suited for a relief pitcher role.
The deeper a baseball team advances in the tournament, the heavier the pressure becomes.
To achieve good results—especially to make it to Koshien, or even win the championship—relying solely on one ace is not enough.
Therefore, the team needs at least one backup starting pitcher, preferably two.
One more thing worth mentioning: the team's strong performance wasn't just due to him. Another player's contribution was even greater.
That was Miyuki Kazuya, who was responsible for calling the pitches.
If they continued at this pace, even if they couldn't win the game, they should still be able to hold their own in a back-and-forth battle.
The sixth inning began under these circumstances.
Ping!
Right at the start, a Nanamori player cleanly got a hit.
Miyuki, crouched in the catcher's position, immediately frowned.
He had a feeling that things were not looking good.
In the previous inning, Kawakami Norifumi's pitching had been solid, but now he seemed to be struggling.
After several innings, the Nanamori players had gradually adapted to his pitching.
The combination of these factors led to the current predicament.
Coach Kataoka, positioned as umpire, narrowed his eyes. He knew in his heart that Kawakami Norifumi had probably reached his limit.
Although he had pitched well earlier, Nanamori was now applying immense pressure.
Furthermore, Kawakami Norifumi himself was just a first-year rookie. His stamina and endurance clearly hadn't yet reached the average level of Seidō's veterans.
"Substitution!" Takashima Rei, the assistant coach in the dugout, called out sharply, clearly recognizing the problem as well.
Earlier, they had seen Kawakami perform so excellently that they had almost forgotten he was a first-year rookie.
With no outs and a runner on first base, Seidō brought in their former Second String ace.
This was originally the safest move.
However, this very decision stunned the Seidō players.
The Second String ace, barely settled into the game, was immediately hit by a high fly ball to the outfield.
"Score!"
The game was tied at 2–2.
And that wasn't all; the Nanamori players seemed unstoppable, hitting ball after ball.
Despite Seidō's desperate defense, they gave up four runs in one inning.
The scoreboard now read 2–5.
Seidō went from leading by one run to trailing by three.
The Second String ace was visibly dazed.
But with no other pitcher available in Seidō's Second String, he had no choice but to keep pitching.
The score remained 2–5, and Nanamori's offense showed no signs of slowing down—until their second batter blasted a long hit to the outfield in one powerful swing.
Ping!
The white ball soared high into the sky.
Seidō's players in the dugout stared at the soaring ball, their hearts hammering in their chests.
If this ball cleared the fence, the opponent wouldn't just score four runs—it would be six.
With runners still on base, Seidō's hopes seemed all but dashed.
They watched breathlessly as the ball sailed nearly a hundred meters before descending from high above.
It was over.
Though not a home run, it was an incredibly long hit.
Just as doubts settled in, they spotted a small figure about a hundred meters away, glove raised high.
"Why is he there?" someone whispered in disbelief.
The Nanamori players were utterly baffled. That position was so far back—there shouldn't have been anyone there.
Meanwhile, the Seidō players in the dugout felt as if they'd been handed a new lease on life.
"Yamamoto-san!!" they called out, voices filled with admiration.
Not only the first-year teammates but also many second- and third-year seniors addressed him with deep respect.
Takumi, who had moved to the very back of the field early on, steadily caught the ball in his glove.
Thwack!
"Out!"
Three outs, side retired.
The sixth inning ended, with the scoreboard reading 2–5.
Seidō's offense had once again been neutralized.
The seventh inning was about to begin, and the game was entering its final stages.
The seventh inning was about to begin, and the game was entering its final stages. The Second String ace, who had given up four consecutive runs, insisted on pitching, though his words were brave.
But everyone could see he wasn't in good form.
If he were sent to pitch now, the game would likely be lost.
Pitchers are strange creatures.
Sometimes they're full of fighting spirit, but when they're off their game, they just can't throw good pitches.
Just like their current ace—he simply didn't feel right.
Takashima Rei could only consider making a substitution.
The first person who came to mind was Kawakami.
But Kawakami had already pitched earlier, and his stamina was depleted. Even if he took the mound again, he probably wouldn't perform well.
Looking around, she was surprised to find that despite several rounds of adjustments and an excess of players in the Second String, there were very few pitchers capable of actually taking the mound in the game.
The First String ace Tanba, the Second String ace, and Kawakami were all that remained.
Seidō's pitching staff had already faced criticism. Compared to their formidable offense, their pitchers seemed weak.
Now, having used their top four pitchers, how easy would it be to find another player who could stand up to Nanamori?
Normally, it wouldn't be a problem.
But today might be the last game for many third-year seniors, their eyes burning with determination.
So much so that many pitchers who doubted their own strength didn't dare to volunteer.
She frowned.
Although she could call on the First String pitchers to save the day, doing so would defeat the purpose of this game.
"Is there anyone else among you who can pitch?" Rei finally asked, deciding to choose someone from the remaining players.
Even if it meant losing, she was determined to give these Second String players a chance.
At her question, many who had pitched in junior high hesitated, shrinking back, unwilling to step forward.
The weight of responsibility was too heavy; they simply couldn't bear it.
Not a single brave soul volunteered.
This realization struck her sharply—once again, she saw just how deeply their team lacked quality pitchers.
If this were any other team, it definitely wouldn't be like this at this stage.
Just as this thought settled, someone she hadn't expected raised his hand.
"Is it possible that I'm a pitcher?" Takumi offered quietly, his voice uncertain but hopeful.