"Seido High School is too strong!!"
"Looking at Azuma Kiyokuni's batting ability across the entire country, there are only a handful who can compare, right?"
"Three years of sharpening his blade—Hidezawa finally looks like a true Ace."
"Captain Tanaka is the strongest!"
"Is the guy upstairs an idiot? Forget the third-years— even second-year Yuuki Tetsuya is miles ahead of their captain."
"That's not entirely true. Tanaka is still very capable; it's just that compared to the three players in the heart of the batting lineup, there's a noticeable gap."
"Those three are just too strong!"
"The battle for West Tokyo's best newcomer—Miyuki versus Zhang Han. Will the prize go to Seido? Or will it go to… Seido?"
"The guy upstairs is confirmed to be too much!"
"Too much, sure—but it's also the truth, isn't it?"
"Of course it's the truth. Whoever says it isn't should be beaten to death…"
This was the era of information.
Any piece of news, no matter how trivial, could travel from one end of the Earth to the other in just a matter of seconds. Compared to that, spreading information within a single country was effortless.
The game between Seido High School and Ichidai Third High School had ended only a few hours ago. The moment the match footage was uploaded online, discussions erupted like wildfire. Countless clips, screenshots, and amateur analyses flooded forums and social media platforms. Rumors spread even faster than verified information.
Among all the topics, one stood above the rest.
Seido's strength.
Opinions on the Seido High School Baseball Team were sharply divided, yet strangely unified in one aspect—no one dared to underestimate them anymore. This nationally renowned powerhouse, silent for several years, had made an unmistakable return to center stage.
Although they still hadn't secured a place at Koshien, and by conventional standards couldn't yet be labeled a complete success, none of that mattered.
Not to the fans.
Not to the analysts.
Not to their future opponents.
Unlike previous Seido squads, people saw something different in this team—something far more dangerous. There was depth. There was balance. More importantly, there was growth potential that felt almost terrifying.
Even if this year's Seido were to fall short due to bad luck or unforeseen circumstances, few doubted that they would return stronger in the near future. This wasn't blind optimism; it was a rational conclusion drawn from what everyone had just witnessed on the field.
The current Seido High School Baseball Team possessed both potential and dominance.
Even if—purely hypothetically—they continued to be plagued by bad luck, as long as they maintained this level of fighting power, then when the Koshien selection tournament arrived, the organizers would almost certainly consider them for a wild card entry.
From that perspective alone, Seido's path to revival already seemed unstoppable.
What remained uncertain was not whether they would revive—but how far they would go, and what kind of legacy this generation of players would ultimately leave behind.
Under these circumstances, whether people genuinely supported Seido or secretly hoped for their downfall no longer mattered. Spectators, analysts, and rival teams alike all added fuel to the fire.
For a time, the name "Seido High School Baseball Team" dominated trending search lists across the internet.
Countless baseball teams—especially those with long-term ambitions—began collecting information, footage, and data on Seido. Everyone understood one thing very clearly: there was a strong possibility they would cross paths with this team sooner rather than later.
That went doubly so for the teams that had already reached the West Tokyo Top Four.
Among them was Nioh Gakusha.
In the past, Nioh Gakusha had been a prominent powerhouse, ruling its era with overwhelming strength. However, with the influx of capital into high school baseball—particularly during the 1980s and 1990s—renowned schools and private baseball institutions rose rapidly.
As a result, the West Tokyo Three Great Powerhouses solidified their positions, and Nioh Gakusha gradually faded into obscurity.
For more than a decade, they remained silent.
But in recent years, everything changed.
Their school administration increased investment, invited famous directors to take charge of the team, and actively recruited talented players. Their performance improved by leaps and bounds, and this year, they shocked many by advancing into the Top Four of West Tokyo.
The team was brimming with confidence.
They genuinely believed that they had risen again, and that even if they encountered one of the Three Great Powerhouses, they wouldn't be without a fighting chance.
As the saying goes, a man's reach should exceed his grasp.
Whether or not they truly possessed such strength was still debatable, but ambition itself was never a bad thing. With that mindset, Nioh Gakusha naturally paid close attention to the showdown between Seido High School and Ichidai Third High School.
They even sent staff members to record the game live.
Before the media coverage had fully circulated, Nioh's director and coaching staff were already watching the footage.
After the viewing ended, silence filled the room.
From the director to the players, not a single person spoke.
Experts see the essence; laymen see the spectacle.
To an ordinary baseball fan, watching Seido High School Baseball Team and Nioh Gakusha play might not reveal a stark difference at first glance. Both teams hit hard, defended cleanly, and played disciplined baseball.
But for experts, the gap was chilling.
They calculated on-base speed.
They analyzed swing efficiency.
They measured defensive coverage and reaction time.
The results were enough to make one's heart sink.
Take something as seemingly insignificant as the speed from the batter's box to first base.
For Seido High School Baseball Team, the average time was 4.25 seconds.
Among them, faster players like Oda could reach first base in approximately four seconds flat.
For Nioh Gakusha, the average time was 4.5 seconds.
To a layman, the reaction might be dismissive.
"It's just 0.3 seconds. What difference does that make?"
But what they failed to realize was that 0.3 seconds equated to nearly two meters.
In baseball, two meters could mean the difference between safe and out. Between momentum and collapse. Between victory and defeat.
Nioh Gakusha believed they had risen.
They had no idea that the gap between them and true national powerhouses remained terrifyingly vast.
The overall quality of the two teams simply wasn't on the same level. Nioh might contend briefly, perhaps even create pressure under ideal circumstances. But to actually win?
Unless Seido's Ace or several core players simultaneously faltered, the outcome was already determined. This was no longer a gap that effort or luck could bridge.
Another team in the Top Four, Sensen High School, found itself in a similar position. They, too, were a rising force with undeniable talent. Challenging a true powerhouse, however, was still a step too early.
That said, Sensen's director was far more optimistic than Nioh's.
After all, their confrontation with the Three Great Powerhouses wouldn't occur until the finals. By then, the powerhouses might have already exhausted each other in brutal clashes.
In that scenario, Sensen might just seize an opportunity. For now, all they needed to do was defeat Nioh Gakusha and wait.
Seido.
Nioh.
Sensen.
Besides these three, there was one final name in the West Tokyo Top Four.
Inashiro Industrial.
Among all the remaining teams, Inashiro was the only one that didn't feel intimidated by Seido High School Baseball Team.
They admired Seido's performance against Ichidai Third High School. They respected their strength. But admiration did not equal submission.
Seido was strong—but Inashiro was not weak.
More importantly, before this tournament began, Inashiro Industrial had been widely regarded as the team with the greatest chance of representing West Tokyo at Koshien.
And there was another critical factor.
From a tactical standpoint, Inashiro held the advantage.
The clash between Seido High School and Ichidai Third High School had demanded excessive exertion. Pitch counts were high. Key players were pushed to their limits.
To Inashiro's eyes, Seido was like a powerful tiger nursing a headache.
And a tiger in pain?
That was nothing to fear.
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