Zhang Han stood at the batter’s box, looking timid.

No matter how anyone looked at him, he appeared frightened. Or perhaps crushed under an invisible weight of pressure. At this moment, he behaved exactly like a complete rookie, the kind who had already been shaken by intimidation or a hard hit. His posture was stiff. His grip looked uncertain. Even his eyes carried a hint of hesitation.

Whether anyone believed it or not did not seem to matter.

Zhang Han continued his clumsy performance, unwavering and stubborn, as if fully committed to the act.

Inside the dugout of Seido High School’s baseball team, frustration was spreading.

Several teammates clenched their fists. Some frowned openly. Others looked away, unwilling to watch. No one liked seeing their batter stand there looking so powerless, especially not in such a critical moment.

Only Miyuki Kazuya was different.

As he slipped on his glove and prepared to step onto the field, his expression gradually grew serious. His eyes stayed locked on Zhang Han, not with anger, but with suspicion. The longer he watched, the stronger the strange sense of familiarity became.

He had seen this before.

But when?

Miyuki frowned slightly, searching his memory.

That timid stance. That deliberate hesitation. That awkward, almost exaggerated nervousness.

It felt wrong.

Very wrong.

“Zhang Han… Matsukata…”

The name surfaced in his mind, and with it came a sudden flash of clarity. Miyuki’s eyes widened slightly. He remembered.

Three years ago.

Back when both he and Zhang Han were still first-year middle school students.

At the time, Miyuki was already the main catcher of his team, trusted to lead them through official games. Their opponent that day had been Matsukata. Zhang Han had been there too, but not as a main player. He was just a substitute, someone barely worth noting.

Until that at-bat.

Zhang Han had come in as a pinch hitter.

Back then, he had worn the exact same expression. Nervous. Awkward. Almost foolish. His stance had looked unstable, his movements stiff, as if he might freeze at any moment.

Miyuki remembered clearly how everyone on his team had reacted.

They had all assumed Zhang Han was simply too nervous.

It made sense. No one had heard of him before. He had no reputation, no experience worth mentioning. A new player making his debut in an official Little League tournament was bound to feel pressure.

Even Miyuki himself hadn’t suspected anything.

And then, that unremarkable substitute had delivered the decisive hit, scoring the winning run and ending the game.

At the time, it had felt like a coincidence.

Now, looking back, it felt calculated.

So much time had passed that Miyuki thought he had forgotten the incident entirely. Yet now, the memory replayed in his mind with startling clarity. Every detail resurfaced, sharp and vivid, as if he were watching a scene from a movie.

Stolen novel; please report.

Despite recalling it so clearly, Miyuki still couldn’t understand Zhang Han’s intention.

Back then, the success had come from surprise. No one had guarded against him. No one had taken him seriously.

But this time was different.

Ichidai San would not underestimate Zhang Han. Not now. Not with the situation on the field as tense as it was. With a runner already on base, and the score hanging in the balance, Kameshima would surely pitch with everything he had.

One hundred and twenty percent.

In that case, what was the point of pretending to be weak?

What did Zhang Han gain by showing fear now?

Miyuki couldn’t figure it out.

Still, there was one thing he knew for certain.

Zhang Han had not given up.

There was no way someone like him would surrender at a moment like this. If he was acting, then he had a reason. Miyuki just hadn’t seen through it yet.

On the other side of the field, Ichidai San’s pitcher and catcher were equally cautious.

Zhang Han’s weak posture did not make them careless. If anything, it made them more alert.

They treated him with the same seriousness they reserved for Higashi Kiyokuni or Yuuki Tetsuya. Their focus was sharp. Their resolve firm.

But resolve alone didn’t make decisions easier.

When Kameshima actually faced Zhang Han, he hesitated.

Pitch selection was never simple. A pitcher had to consider countless factors. The number of outs. The runners on base. The score. The flow of the game.

Then there was the batter.

What pitches was he good at hitting? What did he struggle with? What was he aiming for? Was he waiting for something specific? All of this went into choosing a single pitch.

Kameshima had handled these calculations smoothly against other Seido batters.

But now, his mind felt blank.

Zhang Han had only played a few games so far. From those appearances, only his strengths were visible. No obvious weaknesses had been exposed. Every hit looked clean. Every swing looked deliberate.

As for Seido’s intentions, the answer seemed obvious. With a runner on second base, they wanted a hit.

And yet, Zhang Han’s posture told a completely different story.

He looked helpless. Passive. As if he wouldn’t swing no matter what came his way.

Kameshima felt strangely unsettled. Zhang Han’s cowardly waiting stance gave him nothing to work with. At that moment, the catcher leaned in and made a suggestion.

“If we don’t know what he’s planning,” he said quietly, “why not just throw your best pitch?”

After all, Zhang Han was only a first-year freshman.

Kameshima’s straight ball was heavy and fast. There was a good chance Zhang Han wouldn’t even make contact. And even if he did, the hit wouldn’t be solid.

The logic was sound.

Kameshima gave a slight nod.

He felt like a headless fly, unable to find direction. The catcher’s suggestion offered a way forward, simple and direct.

He trusted his straight ball. It had worked against Higashi Kiyokuni. It had worked against Yuuki. It wasn’t unbeatable, but it carried undeniable destructive power. Using it now would at least test Zhang Han’s limits.

In just over ten seconds, Kameshima made his decision and set it into motion. He believed himself decisive.

What he didn’t realize was that this pitch took nearly three times longer to prepare than his usual ones.

“Whoosh!”

The ball shot forward.

Despite the extended preparation, its speed and power did not diminish. If anything, the pitch carried even more force than usual. The white ball tore through the air, leaving behind a blurred trail as it screamed toward home plate.

In that instant, Zhang Han’s foolish expression vanished. It was as if a switch had been flipped.

His eyes sharpened. His stance stabilized. He raised the bat high and swung without the slightest hesitation.

The movement was clean, decisive, and fierce.

Kameshima and the catcher froze.

In that split second, they realized what they had forgotten.

Before the game, they had held an internal meeting. Hoshida, Zhang Han’s former teammate, had spoken clearly. Zhang Han was best at hitting straight balls. He hit them almost every time. Breaking balls, on the other hand, were his weakness.

And more importantly, in a situation this critical, with so much on the line, why hadn’t they thought of using a gyroball? Either option would have been safer. Smarter.

Instead, they had chosen the worst possible pitch.

A straight ball.

Right down the strike zone.

“Ping!”

The sound was sharp and heavy.

The bat collided with the ball, sending a violent shock through Zhang Han’s arms. The recoil traveled straight into his hands. Half a year ago, he might not have been able to hit this pitch cleanly. He might not have even made contact.

But half a year had changed everything.

For nearly six months, Zhang Han had eaten three full bowls of rice every meal, trained relentlessly, and strengthened his body beyond recognition. The weak freshman from before no longer existed.

“Go!”

The muscles in his arms bulged as power erupted from his body. With a single, forceful sweep, he sent the ball flying.

“It went through!”

A clean hit.

The very first pitch.

Yuuki Tetsuya, waiting on second base, reacted instantly. He sprinted forward, rounded third base, and charged home without hesitation.

The crowd erupted.

“Zhang Han!”

“Zhang Han is a hero!!!”

The score changed, and the field fell silent for a brief moment, as everyone tried to process what they had just witnessed.

Zhang Han lowered his bat, expression calm, as if this outcome had been inevitable all along.

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

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