Somehow, Coach Kataoka’s words spread.

When the third-year players of the Seido High School Baseball Team heard about them, they were furious. They hadn’t even graduated yet, and the first- and second-year players were already thinking about stepping up?

They could keep dreaming.

That night, several third-year players discussed it among themselves and unanimously decided to rest and adjust their condition. Ichidai Third High School had scored 25 runs, hadn’t they? Then tomorrow, Seido would score at least 30.

They would show Ichidai San who truly had the strongest batting lineup in Tokyo.

This wasn’t just the thinking of Seido’s players. Media outlets and self-media platforms felt the same way. Online and in newspapers and magazines, countless reports appeared debating which team possessed the most powerful offense in Tokyo.

Azuma Kiyokuni was undeniably terrifying and was now being hailed as Tokyo’s strongest hitter. But Sai from Ichidai Third was no weakling either. He was already well known throughout Tokyo and even nationwide, and several professional teams had taken notice of him.

There was one more crucial point: Sai was slightly stronger than Azuma in one regard. He had played in Koshien during his first year and had performed exceptionally well.

He was a genuine Koshien player.

That fact alone added countless points to his reputation.

In addition, Ichidai Third had other powerful hitters of the same generation, such as the second-year Omae, as well as first-year standouts Hoshida and Miyagawa, who had just been promoted.

In terms of lineup configuration, Ichidai Third was evenly matched with the Seido High School Baseball Team. When strong teams clashed, who would emerge victorious was still completely unknown.

That night, Seido’s first-string players gathered to study their opponent for the next day’s game.

Their quarterfinal opponent was Aoyama High School. Coincidentally, this was also a school with a unique history. It had been an all-girls school until two years ago, when it transitioned into a co-ed school.

The team consisted entirely of first- and second-year students and had only been established for a little over a year. They didn’t even have a formal director. Instead, the team was led by their number 2 catcher, Nishi Kaze Retsu.

When Zhang Han heard the name, he scratched his head slightly. For some reason, it sounded extremely familiar, yet he couldn’t immediately place it.

As more players were introduced, the source of that familiarity became clear.

Looking at Aoyama High School’s core players, the pattern was obvious: Ichien, Nijo, Sanjo, Nanajo, Kujo, Nishi Kaze, Hakuhatsu.

“Is this intentional?” Zhang Han blurted out almost subconsciously.

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At first, he thought they had deliberately named their roster after a set of mahjong tiles. Only after Miyuki explained did he realize that wasn’t the case at all.

Names like Nijo, Sanjo, Nanajo, and Kujo were actually common Japanese surnames. Whether by coincidence or because of the area around the school, they had come together to form what looked like a genuine “mahjong team.”

“It’s too distinctive,” Zhang Han muttered. “You can’t forget it even if you try.”

Aoyama’s core figures were their captain and catcher, Nishi Kaze Retsu, and his partner, pitcher Kujo Hitochika.

Kujo’s name sounded gentle and unthreatening. But for a team with almost no history to reach the top 16, it was impossible to say they lacked ability.

Kujo Hitochika’s pitching style was particularly distinctive. He was a left-handed sidearm pitcher. For left-handed batters, he was an extremely troublesome opponent.

Standing in the batter’s box, it felt as if the ball was coming from behind their heads.

And Seido’s lineup, aside from Azuma Kiyokuni, Zhang Han, Yuuki Tetsuya, and Isashiki Jun, was dominated by left-handed hitters.

In other words, Seido’s batting lineup was naturally countered.

Even right-handed hitters wouldn’t feel comfortable against those wide-angle, diagonal pitches.

“Ball speed averages around 135 kilometers per hour,” someone reported, “with fluctuations of about five kilometers. His slowest pitch drops to around 110.”

Powerhouse teams often lacked pitchers. Dark horses often lacked hitters.

Aoyama High School fit that rule perfectly.

Their batting lineup wasn’t impressive, but their pitcher possessed an unusual delivery and excellent control over pitch speed. He was exactly the type of pitcher Seido desperately wanted.

As they listened to the scouting report, many Seido players shared the same thought.

If our team had a pitcher like this, what would Inashiro and Ichidai San even be?

Hidezawa seemed to sense something. His gaze swept over his teammates until one by one, they lowered their heads.

Seido’s ace not only had unstable performance but also a notoriously bad temper. If truly provoked, no one could predict what would happen.

The third-year seniors still swore that they would score more than 30 runs against Aoyama.

At that moment, Zhang Han quietly wished he could sit on the bench.

He knew even with his toenail, that Aoyama High School wasn’t as weak as they looked. Especially as a defense-oriented team centered around their pitcher.

Scoring 30 runs against a team like that? It sounded like a joke.

If he weren’t worried about giving Coach Kataoka the wrong impression, he would have applied to rest in the dugout himself.

He was genuinely afraid that when they failed to score that many runs, the blame would fall on him. After all, he was just a junior. The third-years’ fighting spirit wasn’t his responsibility—so why should he be dragged into it?

“The semifinals are next week, so stamina won’t be an issue,” Coach Kataoka said calmly. “Everyone, give it your all.”

Kataoka’s thinking actually aligned with Zhang Han’s. He also believed that Aoyama High School, while unremarkable on the surface, was fundamentally different from Seido’s first two opponents.

This was a team that could genuinely threaten them.

Against such an opponent, there was no reason to hold back.

“But Ichidai San will definitely be watching in person,” Takashima Rei said worriedly. “If we expose too much of our strength…”

“If we’re worried about hiding our strength,” Kataoka replied flatly, “then we’re not a powerhouse—we’re challengers. Thinking about that now is meaningless. We must deal with the opponent in front of us before we even qualify to think about what comes next.”

When directing a game, Kataoka was a completely different person.

As a director, he was meticulous, even to the point of checking players’ diaries, giving off a somewhat fussy impression. But once a game approached, his decisions were decisive and carried an unquestionable authority.

“Yes!!”

The Seido High School Baseball Team stood tall and answered in unison.

The next day, the fourth round of the West Tokyo Tournament began.

The match between Seido High School Baseball Team and their third opponent, Aoyama High School, officially kicked off.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep