“Please guide us!”

“Please guide us!!”

The players from both baseball teams saluted each other, voices ringing out clearly across the field. With that formal exchange, the game officially began, and the tension that had been simmering since morning finally snapped tight.

Top of the first inning.

Inashiro Industrial stepped up to bat.

The first batter to enter the batter’s box was Kobayashi.

Despite his delicate-sounding name, there was nothing delicate about him. He stood close to 180 centimeters tall, weighed well over eighty kilograms, and carried himself with the heavy confidence of someone who knew exactly how much damage he could do with a bat. Players like him were usually planted firmly in the heart of the lineup, the kind meant to clean up the bases and crush a pitcher’s spirit.

In Inashiro Industrial High School’s previous games, Kobayashi had never been a leadoff hitter. He was their fifth batter, a core piece of their offense. Today, however, his position had been moved forward.

And it wasn’t just him.

Every core batter in Inashiro Industrial’s lineup had been rearranged. Their strongest hitters were packed tightly into the first five spots, forming a wall of pressure from the very first pitch. Even Harada Masakatsu, who had not appeared earlier in the tournament, was suddenly placed at third base and slotted in as the fifth batter.

On the surface, Inashiro’s strategic choices might have looked careless, almost as if they were underestimating Seido. But tactically, there was no trace of contempt at all.

If anything, they were taking Seido extremely seriously.

“They’re going all out from the very first inning,” Kataoka muttered from the Seido dugout, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the sharp edge in his voice. “They’re trying to crush our pitcher before he can settle in.”

Today’s match wasn’t just a battle between players. It was a clash of philosophies, a silent confrontation between him and Coach Kunimoto.

Kataoka had prepared himself mentally for that. What he hadn’t expected was how quickly and decisively Inashiro would make their move.

In the opposing dugout, Coach Kunimoto rolled his shoulders and rotated his neck, joints cracking audibly. His expression was calm, almost bored, as if the outcome were already written.

Just yesterday, in Inashiro Industrial’s meeting room, he had laid everything out.

“In Seido’s last game, their stamina took a serious hit,” Kunimoto said, his voice low but commanding. “Especially their pitcher. There’s no reliable replacement for Hidezawa on the bench.”

No one interrupted him.

“That’s their biggest weakness,” he continued. “Exploit it immediately. Don’t bother with breaking balls. He won’t have the stamina to throw many of those. For the first two rounds, ignore everything else and focus only on the fastball.”

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Back in the present, standing in the batter’s box, Kobayashi felt a flicker of dissatisfaction.

He knew Hidezawa. Or at least, he thought he did.

Seido’s ace had skill, sure, but Kobayashi had faced him before, more than once. In his mind, Hidezawa wasn’t someone who could truly threaten Inashiro Industrial. That wasn’t arrogance. It was a conclusion drawn from experience.

If not for the director’s strict order to swing only at fastballs, Kobayashi would have welcomed a proper showdown. He was confident he could win.

Winning against Ichidai Third High didn’t mean much. In West Tokyo, there was only one king, and it wasn’t Seido.

Behind the plate, Miyuki glanced sideways at Kobayashi, his eyes sharp and calculating.

As expected of Inashiro. Every batter radiated power. Against hitters like these, even a moment of carelessness could turn into disaster. One clean connection was all it took to send the ball sailing deep into the stands.

That alone was dangerous enough.

But what worried Miyuki more was the pitcher on the mound.

The game had barely begun, yet Hidezawa-senpai’s breathing was already uneven. Sweat glistened faintly on his forehead under the harsh sunlight.

Today was hot. The forecast had predicted a high of thirty-one degrees Celsius. In weather like this, even standing still for too long would make sweat pour down your back.

But that took time.

For sweat to appear the moment he stepped onto the field was a terrible sign.

Yesterday’s game must have drained him far more than anyone realized.

Miyuki swallowed, tightening his grip on his mitt.

Worrying wouldn’t change anything. At this point, Seido had no other pitcher they could truly rely on. No matter how uneasy he felt, Miyuki had to trust Hidezawa.

Because if Seido showed even the slightest crack, Inashiro would tear it open without mercy.

A team like Inashiro Industrial trained beyond ordinary imagination. Once they sensed weakness, they would hunt it relentlessly.

And if Inashiro got an early lead, it wouldn’t matter how many runs Seido might score later. The damage would already be done.

Miyuki suddenly understood, more clearly than ever, why Seido had failed to reach Koshien time and time again.

It was a vicious cycle.

They lacked strength, so they couldn’t achieve results. Without results, they never earned seeded positions. Without seeds, they were forced to face powerhouse teams back-to-back in the tournament.

Under those conditions, how could anyone break through?

Only by standing out once. Only by winning when it mattered most.

Come on.

With that silent resolve, Miyuki opened his mitt.

On the mound, Hidezawa took his stance. Despite the lingering fatigue from yesterday, there was no hesitation in his movement. His arm came down smoothly, and the ball left his hand.

“Whoosh!”

The baseball cut through the air like an arrow, crossing the distance to home plate in a blink.

So fast.

Kobayashi froze.

He had faced Hidezawa before, including a practice match more than two months ago. Back then, Hidezawa’s fastball was good, but it wasn’t like this.

This speed was on an entirely different level. What did this guy do in two months? What did he eat? Before Kobayashi could react, the ball was already past him.

“Thwack!”

“Strike!”

A ripple of noise surged through the stands.

“Wait, wasn’t Hidezawa slower in the last game?”

“Did his speed jump that much?”

“Does anyone have a speed gun?”

This was Jingu Stadium. West Tokyo semifinals. Of course someone had brought one. Heads leaned in, eyes locked onto the small screen.

“How fast?”

“How fast was it?”

“143 kilometers!”

Gasps followed instantly.

“That’s already faster than his previous top speed.”

“For a first pitch fastball, that’s insane.”

“So it’s not just our imagination.”

The news spread like wildfire. Within moments, the entire stadium knew. Players on both teams stared, stunned. Fans buzzed with disbelief.

The Inashiro Industrial’s Baseball Club President rubbed his thinning scalp, eyes narrowed.

“When he pitched against Ichidai Third, he should’ve been exhausted,” he muttered. “So why does he look fine? Why is he throwing even faster?”

On the mound, Hidezawa exhaled slowly.

The game had only just begun.

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

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