In a flash, Zhang Han and the others had already been with the team for more than two weeks. Every day during those two weeks, their lives were crammed full of sweat and exhaustion.

Compared to the other newcomers who could only do basic drills and weren’t even allowed to touch a ball, Zhang Han and his three companions were lucky. At least they got to participate in real defensive practice. But during that process, they were crushed repeatedly by the second-team seniors.

This crushing came in two forms: physical endurance and appetite.

No one knew how the second-team members had trained over the past year or two, but every one of them was absurdly strong. Almost inhuman. Even Zhang Han, who had trained at a top junior program, struggled to keep up.

And then there was the appetite issue.

At the entrance of the Baseball Club’s private cafeteria, a large sign announced boldly:

You must eat at least three bowls!

Zhang Han wanted to cry. Not everyone was a glutton. Not everyone could consume ridiculous amounts of food. Yet they were forced to eat at least three bowls under the supervision of Isashiki Jun.

Isashiki Jun—second-team outfielder, little beard, delinquent aura. Newcomers were nervous enough around seniors, but facing Isashiki was pure pressure. They already couldn’t eat well. Now they couldn’t even swallow.

Miyuki, ever cunning, often handed his extra food to Maezono, another newcomer. Maezono had a strong presence among the freshmen—not because he was talented, but because he could eat. He was the only freshman who could finish four bowls.

He was also passionate and good at rallying people, earning him a natural leadership role.

Zhang Han also felt three bowls was too much. He used to think his digestion was solid. Now he didn’t dare make that claim. He simply couldn’t eat anymore.

It took nearly two weeks before his stomach finally adjusted to the constant overload. And with all those calories, he had to burn them off somehow. To avoid gaining weight, Zhang Han practiced swinging for an extra hour every day.

Otherwise, he was afraid he might grow over 1.8 meters… and exceed 100 kilograms.

Meanwhile, the First-string continued to win. Zhang Han learned of this from his third-year roommate, Kusunoki. Kusunoki was a First-string substitute with jersey number 15. The team had smoothly advanced to the quarterfinals and was about to face Ichidai Third High, a powerhouse in West Tokyo.

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The team was treating this game with extreme seriousness. Not only were the First-string players preparing intensely, but even the second and third teams had special cheering practice.

“Is it really necessary to go that far?” Kuramochi muttered.

For previous games, the school also organized the lower teams to watch, but mostly on a voluntary basis. No special rehearsals. No forced mobilization.

Why was today so different?

“Seido and Ichidai,” said a senior, “think of them like Real Madrid and Barcelona. Their matches are battles between mortal enemies.”

Being in the same region, both competing for the single Koshien slot every year, the rivalry was inevitable. The feud wasn’t new. Compared to the rising Inashiro, Seido and Ichidai’s hatred went back decades.

Players hated each other. Fans hated each other. Alumni hated each other. Entire families hated each other. In daily life they might be coworkers, classmates, even lovers. Once Seido and Ichidai met on the field, it was a miracle they weren’t throwing punches thanks to Tokyo’s strict laws.

Slight exaggeration or not, that was the atmosphere surrounding this matchup.

Zhang Han and his group rarely hung around the other freshmen anymore. They stayed with the second team. After two weeks, the second team had accepted them. That acceptance, of course, came from strength.

“Why couldn’t Kominato-senpai make the First-string?” Kuramochi wondered out loud.

He could understand the situation with the others. But after practicing with Kominato Ryousuke every day, he felt Ryosuke was stronger than several current First-string seniors. Even if Kataoka was strict, he wasn’t blind.

His question earned him a cold glare from Kominato.

“Do you have an opinion?” Ryosuke asked, smiling in a way that wasn’t a smile.

Zhang Han saw the two of them interact and instantly walked away. These two were trouble. He couldn’t afford to provoke either.

The school arranged three large buses to transport all players and cheer squads to Hachioji Stadium. For free.

As expected of a private elite school—it radiated wealth in every detail.

Zhang Han often sighed at how rich Seido was. At first, he thought the buses were rented, but later, after chatting with Takako-senpai from the baseball team, he realized poverty had truly capped his imagination.

The school owned more than a dozen buses.

The Baseball Club alone had three dedicated ones.

The rest belonged to other clubs or were reserved for school events.

When Zhang Han heard this, his jaw nearly hit the floor.

“What about when they’re not being used?”

“They just sit in the school parking lot.”

Zhang Han realized he didn’t understand the world of the wealthy.

By the time Seido’s buses arrived at Hachioji Stadium, Ichidai Third High’s bus had also pulled in.

Zhang Han felt something complicated stir in his chest about today’s opponent.

“Are you regretting not joining them?” Takashima Rei whispered behind him. Her breath brushed his ear and stirred a few strands of hair.

Zhang Han turned and looked at her seriously.

“I’ll make them regret it.”

He nodded to her, then quickened his pace to join his teammates.

“Tokyo Spring Baseball Tournament, Quarterfinals, Game 2. The match between West Tokyo Seido High School and Ichidai Third High School officially begins!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep