All eyes in the stadium were fixed on Zhang Han.

In the past, when attention gathered around him, it was often because of his appearance. His sharp features and calm demeanor naturally drew the gaze of many female fans. But now the situation was different. Even the male spectators were staring at him with intensity. At this moment, it was clear that his face was no longer the primary reason for the focus.

His performance was.

Zhang Han had become the first rookie in Koshien history to hit three home runs. That achievement alone was enough to carve his name into the tournament’s long and storied history. If he chose to pursue a professional career in the future, this record would stand as a powerful testament on his résumé.

With that accomplishment, he had already secured a place in people’s memories.

Yet many still insisted that his success was the product of extraordinary luck.

In the eyes of countless spectators, Zhang Han’s achievements were not entirely the result of skill. They preferred to believe that fate had favored him generously, and that his talent merely played a supporting role.

But was that reasonable?

If a player lacked genuine ability, could luck alone produce such consistent results? Could luck alone generate three home runs on the Koshien stage, against the best teams in the nation?

The answer was obvious.

No.

However, tens of millions of fans in the stadium and watching from home refused to admit it. Acknowledging Zhang Han’s skill would mean admitting that they had underestimated him. It was easier to cling to the idea of luck.

Even if they understood the truth in their hearts, they would not voice it.

You cannot wake someone who is pretending to sleep.

Nor can you convince those who are determined to attribute excellence to coincidence.

The players of Seido High School Baseball Team often felt that this treatment was unfair to Zhang Han. They discussed it privately, sometimes with frustration. But there was little they could do.

Arguing online was pointless. Even if the entire team joined the debate, their voices would be drowned out by the masses.

Fortunately, Zhang Han’s growing base of passionate supporters provided some protection. Few dared to openly slander him now. Still, changing entrenched opinions through words alone was impossible.

Concrete actions spoke louder.

“If Zhang Han can set another record,” Azuma Kiyokuni had once said bluntly, “that’ll shut those annoying guys up.”

Azuma’s approach was straightforward and even a little crude, but it contained undeniable logic. Records carried weight. Records silenced criticism.

The difficulty, however, was immense.

Koshien had nearly a century of history. In that time, countless prodigies had stepped onto its field. Fewer than a hundred records truly stood out in memory. Some were forged in eras with different conditions, making them nearly unreachable today.

Even if Zhang Han possessed extraordinary potential, surpassing legendary predecessors seemed unlikely.

Truthfully, even some of his own teammates harbored quiet doubts. They understood that luck had played a role in his rookie home run record. Without fortunate matchups and key moments, it might not have happened.

Unless he achieved something even greater, the whispers would never disappear.

No one expected that “something greater” would arrive so quickly.

A murmur rose from the stands.

“Is it over ten runs already?”

A fan began counting aloud. “First game, five runs with a grand slam and a timely hit. Second game, three runs with a home run and another timely hit. Today, a home run in his first at-bat, plus the two runs he just drove in. That makes eleven.”

Eleven runs at Koshien.

In previous tournaments, batters who reached double digits often contended for best hitter honors. For a rookie to achieve that number was unprecedented.

The commentator soon confirmed it.

The previous rookie record for total runs scored at Koshien stood at nine, accumulated over two games. That player’s team had been eliminated afterward, leaving his total untouched.

Zhang Han had surpassed it.

Eleven runs.

Another record.

Unlike the home run record, this one did not appear as flashy at first glance. But it revealed something deeper. It demonstrated consistency, timing, and the ability to deliver in crucial moments. It was not merely about power. It was about production.

Now, even the most stubborn critics hesitated.

One record might be dismissed as luck. Two records forced reconsideration.

If everything was luck, why did it consistently favor Zhang Han and no one else?

The game itself was far from over. Only a few innings had passed. Yet for many watching, Zhang Han’s name was already etched firmly in memory.

Some people possess an innate presence. The moment you see them, you remember them.

Zhang Han was becoming that kind of figure.

“Zhang Han! Zhang Han!”

For the first time, Seido’s supporters chanted his name voluntarily and loudly. Previously, such honor had been reserved for veterans like Azuma Kiyokuni and Hidezawa.

Now Zhang Han’s name joined theirs.

It was a significant shift.

He was no longer merely a tactical weapon. He had become a spiritual symbol in the eyes of the fans. In that moment, Zhang Han and Seido High School Baseball Team seemed inseparable.

The stadium vibrated with excitement.

Yet the inning was not finished.

Two outs. Runner on second base.

Isashiki Jun stepped toward the batter’s box.

The scoreboard displayed 6 to 4.

Seido, once trailing by three runs, now led by two.

From Tanaka to Zhang Han, six batters had come to the plate with two outs, and not one had failed. The fluidity of their offense was breathtaking. Each swing seemed connected to the next, forming an unbroken chain.

Anyone who had doubted Seido’s offensive power now had no ground to stand on.

In the Osaka Kiryuu dugout, Matsumoto Takahiro’s face had lost its composure. The calm smile he usually wore was gone. His expression twisted as frustration overtook him.

“Oh no, Director’s showing his true colors,” someone muttered nervously.

“Stop talking nonsense,” another hissed.

After two outs, six consecutive batters had reached safely. The inning refused to end. No matter how experienced Matsumoto was, he had rarely encountered such a collapse.

Beneath his anger lurked something more troubling.

Unease.

Even fear.

The flow of the game had slipped from his control.

And that was something he disliked more than anything.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep