Inside the strategy meeting room of Inashiro Industrial High School Baseball Team, the atmosphere was tense.
A group of players sat scattered around the room, their expressions restless and impatient. Some leaned back against the wall, others drummed their fingers against the table unconsciously. They had originally planned to watch the match in person, but time constraints made that impossible. Instead, they had rushed back to the baseball club, waiting anxiously for news.
After what felt like an eternity, the door finally creaked open.
The chubby man who stepped inside hadn't even managed to take a breath before someone abruptly stood up and asked, "Who?"
The question consisted of just one word, vague and almost meaningless.
Yet everyone in the room—including the chubby man himself—understood exactly what it meant.
"It's Seido," the chubby man replied without hesitation. "The final score was six to four. In the last inning, Ace pitcher Hidezawa successfully held off Ichidai Third High School's offense and didn't concede a single run."
For two full seconds, the entire room fell into silence.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
"It looks like they're quite capable this year," someone finally muttered, breaking the stillness.
"Where's the game footage?" another player asked immediately. "Let's watch it first."
An assistant coach of Inashiro Industrial voiced his agreement. "Yes. Watching the footage should come before anything else."
That suggestion was unanimously supported.
Under normal circumstances, directly watching footage of an unfamiliar opponent was not ideal. It was far more effective for professional analysts and coaches to study the footage first, extract key points, and then explain those points to the players. Only then would watching the game footage become truly productive.
After all, every player's understanding of baseball was different.
Some relied on their brains.
Others relied on instinct and muscle memory.
If they watched footage without guidance, many crucial details would inevitably be overlooked.
However, Seido High School Baseball Team was different.
They weren't strangers.
Inashiro and Seido were sworn rivals from the same district. Over the years, they had clashed countless times, both on the field and indirectly through tournaments. Inashiro's players had already watched Seido's games more times than they could count.
Their understanding of Seido was, in some ways, no less thorough than their understanding of their own teammates.
That was precisely why they chose to watch the footage directly.
They weren't looking to learn who Seido was.
They wanted to see what had changed.
The full game footage—one hour and thirty-five minutes long—played in silence.
No one spoke.
No one joked.
No one looked away.
When the final scene ended and the screen went dark, the players of Inashiro Industrial remained frozen in place.
It took a long while before anyone recovered.
They had been overconfident.
Before this, they believed Seido's matches didn't need close scrutiny. They thought it was enough to simply note a few changes and move on.
But now, that belief felt laughable.
Some even questioned whether the Seido shown in the footage was truly the same Seido they remembered.
And it wasn't just Seido. Ichidai Third High School's performance shocked them just as much.
Compared to their Spring Tournament form, Ichidai Third High School had undergone a complete transformation. Their batting approach, defensive coordination, and pitching rhythm were all vastly different.
It could even be said that the Ichidai Third High School in this match was an entirely different team.
If Ichidai San had improved to this extent, then Seido—who defeated them—was naturally even more terrifying. At this point, the word "improvement" no longer felt adequate.
"Summer Tournament is when every team reaches peak adjustment," Director Kunitomo said calmly as he rotated his stiff neck, producing a series of faint cracking sounds. "Ichidai Third High School is like this. Seido High School is like this. I believe you are no exception."
The room froze again. The usually stern and sharp-tongued Director had just praised them?
Several players subconsciously straightened their backs. Director Kunitomo didn't give them time to dwell on it.
"Don't fixate on how much stronger they've become," he continued. "Focus on what has changed."
That statement stunned the head of the Inashiro Industrial Baseball Club.
Director Kunitomo had previously told him that Seido's overall strength had surpassed theirs, and that victory would require targeting Seido's weaknesses precisely.
Yet now, instead of emphasizing pressure, he had praised the team.
Could it be that the current Seido High School Baseball Team had already reached such an overwhelming level?
Unlike the club head, the players didn't overthink it.
Following Director Kunitomo's guidance, they quickly shifted into analysis mode.
Strictly speaking, Seido High School Baseball Team's changes weren't as numerous as expected.
There were only four major points.
The first was the catcher position.
After Chris's injury, Miyuki had stepped in, allowing Seido High School to overcome what was once their greatest crisis. However, contrary to popular belief, this change did not strengthen Seido. If anything, it slightly weakened them.
The outside world praised Miyuki endlessly, but compared to Chris during the Spring Tournament, there was still a gap.
The gap wasn't huge—but for teams like Inashiro Industrial and Ichidai Third High School, both long-time rivals, it was noticeable.
The second change was Yuuki Tetsuya. Yuuki's growth rate was frightening.
As the Summer Tournament progressed, discussions about the next generation of leaders became unavoidable. Prestigious schools, due to their visibility, had begun these evaluations early.
Initially, the rankings among second-year leaders were clear.
Omae of Ichidai San ranked first.
Harada Masakatsu of Inashiro Industrial ranked second.
Yuuki Tetsuya of Seido ranked third.
But by spring, things had already shifted. Harada failed to secure a starting uniform number, causing his ranking to drop.
Yuuki rose to second place.
Then came the Summer Tournament.
Yuuki's strength skyrocketed.
Now, when compared to Omae, it was impossible to definitively say who was stronger. From a team contribution standpoint, Yuuki had already surpassed him.
In just half a year—without even stepping onto the Koshien stage—Yuuki Tetsuya had caught up to Azuma Kiyokuni, becoming the most prominent batter among West Tokyo's next generation.
That fact alone defied common sense.
One Azuma Kiyokuni was manageable. Even if he reached base, it didn't guarantee runs.
But with Yuuki added to the equation, the pressure doubled instantly. That was why Yuuki's growth was something Inashiro Industrial took extremely seriously.
The third change—and the most troublesome one—was pitcher Hidezawa. Previously, Seido's instability came from the mound. Now, their pitcher had awakened. Compared to Kameshima, Hidezawa showed no obvious disadvantage.
For Inashiro, that realization was infuriating.
And finally, the fourth change—the one Inashiro Industrial had least expected.
Zhang Han.
He had only been moderately well-known in middle school. Yet after entering Seido High School, his growth was explosive.
Combined with Azuma Kiyokuni and Yuuki Tetsuya, the three formed the strongest core batting lineup not just in West Tokyo, but arguably in the entire country.
This directly elevated Seido's overall offensive power.
To put it bluntly, the current Seido High School Baseball Team was at least twice as strong as it had been in spring.
"Narumiya," someone suddenly spoke up, turning toward the young man seated at the very back of the room. "Didn't you play against Zhang Han often in middle school?"
Narumiya lifted his head slowly.
"So," the player continued, eyes sharp, "what was Zhang Han like back then?"
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