The umpire’s warning produced a brief, strange pause in the tension of the inning.

The fans in the stands had been watching two elite programs play baseball at a level that was making experienced observers reach for superlatives, and now the leadoff pitcher for Inashiro and the starting catcher for Seido were being formally cautioned for arguing like students in a school corridor.

Several people in the stands found this genuinely entertaining.

Narumiya accepted the warning by informing the umpire that the provocation had come from the other direction. The umpire’s expression suggested he had formed his own view on that particular claim. Miyuki closed his mouth and decided that engaging further was a waste of energy he needed for the at-bat.

On the mound, Tanba had watched the exchange and felt something ignite in him.

The commentary that had followed him throughout his career was familiar: personality not suited for an Ace, mental fragility, a player who would always be limited by something internal. He had heard it from outside the program and occasionally sensed it from within. He had made the choice to come to Seido specifically because he wanted to face that assessment and answer it on the field.

Now a first-year from Inashiro was standing in the batter’s box having a casual conversation while facing him, as though the at-bat was a minor interruption in a more interesting afternoon.

Tanba put everything he had into the curveball.

Narumiya watched it come in with the unhurried attention of a batter who had already decided not to swing. The pitch missed the zone, pushed wide by the force behind it. Ball one.

Miyuki processed this result and ran his read on what Narumiya was doing.

The first pitch had not been swung at. The question was why. Narumiya was not the kind of batter who took pitches out of patience or uncertainty. He was waiting for something specific.

Miyuki confirmed his read and signaled for the curveball again. The pitch was Tanba’s best weapon, and the first delivery had been good enough that repeating the approach with better control made sense. If Narumiya was trying to time the curveball, being shown a second one would complicate that process.

Tanba delivered.

The curveball came in with good shape, less force than the previous pitch, the drop sharper and the location better. It was a pitch that should have been difficult to do anything useful with.

Narumiya’s expression changed in the final fraction of a second before contact. The waiting had ended.

He swung.

Miyuki felt his read collapse the moment he saw the swing begin. The first pitch hadn’t been taken because it was too difficult to hit from that approach angle. The second pitch was the one Narumiya had been waiting for, a curveball with a less extreme trajectory, a hitting point that was closer to what his practice sessions had prepared him for.

“Ping!”

The contact was full and immediate, and the ball left the bat climbing steeply. The Seido players in the outfield and the dugout both tracked it with the particular stillness of people watching something that might or might not stay inside the park.

It stayed inside. Seven or eight meters from the warning track.

The collective exhale was audible.

But the ball was deep in the outfield and still rolling when Shirakawa scored from third base, and Harada followed him home from first without being challenged. Two runs crossed the plate before anyone had fully processed that the worst outcome hadn’t happened.

Two to zero, Inashiro leading.

Narumiya stood on second base and looked toward the Inashiro dugout. His expression communicated something specific to Harada, who understood it without needing clarification.

Before the game, Narumiya had made a request of his teammates: score at least two runs first. He wanted the cushion before the confrontations with Yuuki and Zhang Han arrived, because those confrontations carried uncertainty in both directions and he preferred to face them from ahead.

The teammates had agreed to try.

Narumiya had done it himself before they had the chance.

The wave toward Harada was the specific communication of a person who wanted his teammates to know they didn’t need to do anything on his behalf, that he had managed it himself and was feeling good about that.

Harada, watching from the dugout, shook his head.

In the Seido dugout, Coach Kataoka was working through his options. The two runs had not come from a pitching failure in any simple sense. Tanba’s curveball on the second pitch had been a quality pitch, the kind that retired most batters in Tokyo high school baseball. Narumiya was not most batters. The hit said something about Narumiya’s ability more than it said something about Tanba’s breakdown.

That assessment did not make the situation less difficult.

Two to zero. Two outs. Narumiya on second base. One more hit scored another run.

Yamaoka Riku stepped to the plate.

He was another player whose junior high profile had been substantial, his home run numbers placing him in the same conversation as the most recognized hitters of his generation. The batting stance he assumed was unusual in the specific way that effective unconventional stances were unusual: it looked impractical until the swing produced its result, at which point the mechanical advantage of the particular arrangement became visible.

Miyuki had already decided what he was going to do with Yamaoka Riku.

The eagerness behind the stance was the tell. A batter who wanted to do damage in this moment, with runners in scoring position and the momentum of a two-run hit just ahead of him in the order, was a batter whose aggressiveness could be used against him. Miyuki built the sequence around that eagerness, calling pitches that invited commitment early in counts that were not favorable for swinging.

Yamaoka swung.

The ball climbed.

He recognized what he had hit immediately. The trajectory was wrong for what he had intended, the contact sending the ball upward instead of outward, the kind of result that followed a swing committed too early on a pitch that had not been in the right location.

The ball came down into Kominato Ryosuke’s glove with the simplicity of a catch that required no movement.

Three outs. Change of sides.

************************************

Upto 50 Chapters In Advance At: P@treon/Vividreader123

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep