The final match between Seido High School and Nioh Gakusha was held at Jingu Stadium.

From early morning, crowds streamed into the stadium, filling the stands with noise and excitement. Banners fluttered in the breeze, and the sound of drums and cheers echoed through the wide concrete structure. However, a quick glance at the audience made one thing obvious. The overwhelming majority of spectators were here for the Seido High School Baseball Team.

Nioh Gakusha had once known glory. Back in their prime, they were a name spoken with respect across the region. But that era had long since passed. Their original die hard supporters were now mostly elderly, many of them watching quietly from the shaded seats with memories rather than expectations.

As for new fans, Nioh Gakusha had little room to grow. Under the shadow of the West Tokyo Three Great Powerhouses, there was simply not enough attention left for them. Success in modern high school baseball demanded constant results, and Nioh had been absent from the spotlight for too long.

In the end, fewer than a thousand people had come to support Nioh Gakusha. Most of them were students from their own school, wearing matching uniforms and waving handmade signs. Compared to Seido’s massive cheering section, their numbers did not even reach one tenth.

And yet, their voices were anything but weak.

“Nioh! Nioh! The King Must Win!”

The chant rang out with surprising force, repeated again and again with unwavering enthusiasm. It was an old fashioned slogan, the kind that felt like it belonged to another era. No one knew exactly how old it was, but that only made it stand out more.

The Seido players could not help but blush when they heard it.

“That is just embarrassing,” Azuma Kiyokuni muttered, his face red with a mix of secondhand shame and irritation. He turned toward Coach Kataoka and spoke up loudly. “Why don’t we shout a slogan too?”

When it came to cheering power, Seido was second to none. Not just in Tokyo, but across the entire nation, few high school teams could match their momentum. Their chants were sharp, unified, and intimidating. During televised matches, those cheers often became highlight clips on their own.

Compared to that, Nioh Gakusha’s chanting really did sound like children playing house.

Coach Kataoka shot Azuma an annoyed look.

That single glance carried a clear message. Do you even see who our opponent is? Is this really worth responding to?

Do you want to lose face?

Azuma instantly shrank back, scratching his cheek with an awkward smile. To be fair, he understood the point. Responding seriously would feel like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut. It would be giving Nioh Gakusha far more credit than necessary.

On the opposite side of the field, however, Nioh Gakusha’s director and players had a very different mindset.

They had already made it to the finals. That alone was proof of their ability. With that achievement came dreams, ambition, and a burning desire to go even further.

Any team that reached this stage would want the championship. Nioh Gakusha was no exception.

Stolen novel; please report.

“There is nothing to fear about Seido High School,” the director said firmly, his voice steady and confident. “Do not let the outside hype fool you. Yes, they beat Ichidai Third and Inashiro Industrial. But the so called powerhouses of today are not invincible.”

He paused, letting his words sink in.

“The gap between high school teams is shrinking every year. Especially between strong teams and top teams. The difference between us and Seido is nowhere near as large as the media claims.”

The director of Nioh Gakusha was an experienced veteran. He had coached many teams over the years and maintained a solid record. If not for a streak of greed earlier in his career, his name would likely carry far more weight in the high school baseball world. He might even have landed a position with one of the major powerhouses.

His large frame and imposing presence added authority to his words, and he knew exactly how to speak to his players.

The Nioh players, who had been tense and subdued moments earlier, slowly lifted their heads. Their eyes burned red with renewed determination. Their backs straightened, and fists clenched.

Everyone here had two legs and one stomach. They were not missing arms or muscle compared to Seido’s players. There was no reason they had to lose.

If you wanted to know whether you were a mule or a horse, you had to pull it out and see.

“Go! Go! Go!”

All twenty Nioh Gakusha players gathered together, shouting the word in perfect unison. Their roar surged across the field, briefly overpowering even the cheers from the stands.

The Seido players glanced at one another.

It seemed their intelligence reports had been a bit off.

This was not a soft persimmon. This was a team full of fire.

Against opponents like this, there would be no need to hold back.

“They are ready,” someone muttered.

“Then let’s take the field too,” Captain Tanaka said, stepping forward decisively.

He had only taken two steps before Yamada grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back.

“What are you thinking?” Yamada said flatly. “We are batting first today.”

Tanaka froze, then blinked. “Ah. Right.”

It really was strange. In most of their important matches, Seido had been the visiting team, batting second. This time, the order was reversed.

“You are the crazy one,” Tanaka added. “I am the first batter.”

“Does being the first batter mean you don’t have to wait for them to warm up?”

Tanaka paused, then sighed. “I completely forgot.”

Before the game officially began, the team fielding first always went through a period of field familiarization. Both teams technically did it, but it mattered far more to the one starting on defense.

Nioh Gakusha took the field, running drills with sharp focus. There was no trace of inferiority in their movements. Every catch was clean. Every throw snapped through the air with speed and precision.

Their recent victory over Sensen had clearly boosted their confidence.

“They are serious,” someone whispered from the Seido dugout.

“They are not to be underestimated.”

As Nioh’s practice continued, the mood among the Seido players gradually shifted. Smiles faded. Jokes stopped. Eyes narrowed with concentration.

“No matter what,” Zhang Han said while stretching his shoulders, “they made it to the West Tokyo finals.”

Everyone nodded.

Luck might carry a team through one or two games, but not all the way here. Without real strength, no amount of fortune could push a team this far.

“Strength or luck doesn’t matter,” Azuma Kiyokuni said loudly. “We only have one goal.”

“To win,” the team replied in unison.

The game finally began, with Seido batting first.

The first player to step into the batter’s box was Seido’s captain and second baseman, Tanaka Kakuei.

Although Yuuki and Zhang Han had stolen much of the spotlight in previous matches, Tanaka’s reliability had never been in question. He was still one of Seido’s pillars.

When he stood at the plate, no opponent could afford carelessness.

Tanaka adjusted his stance, gripping the bat tightly. Despite his calm exterior, unease stirred in his chest.

Before the game, he had heard plenty about Nioh Gakusha’s reputation.

Dirty play.

Underhanded tactics.

Even their ace pitcher carried the nickname “Killer Pitcher.”

In this tournament alone, the man had hit four batters.

Any other pitcher would have been warned or ejected. Somehow, he had escaped without serious consequence.

Opinions outside were split. Some believed it was deliberate, meant to instill fear and disrupt a batter’s rhythm. Others accepted the official explanation that his control was simply unstable.

Tanaka exhaled slowly.

Intentional or not, he would find out soon enough.

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