In that instant, the baseball came within seven centimeters of Zhang Han’s chest.

Standing in the batter’s box, Zhang Han looked stunned. He didn’t move an inch.

“As expected, he’s a hothouse flower. Not weathered by storms. High school baseball isn’t child’s play,” Musashi’s catcher thought smugly.

Without actually stepping into high school baseball and experiencing high school games firsthand, it was impossible to truly understand the difference. Talented high school graduates could even enter pro baseball directly. Elementary and middle school games couldn’t compare.

The top level of high school baseball was already close to professional level. The players weren’t as polished, the techniques not as refined, but the overall strength was worlds apart from youth baseball.

This foreign exchange student on Seido’s team, who seemed to have some talent, had probably never faced anything like this.

Being stunned was normal.

“Let’s just crush him in one go…”

Dealing with a first-year rookie like this felt a bit cruel, but he was wearing Seido’s uniform. If he had the ability to represent Seido in a game, he had the obligation to receive this baptism.

Kuriyama, however, wasn’t as confident as his partner.

From his point of view, Zhang Han hadn’t flinched at all. He hadn’t moved even a centimeter in response to a pitch that nearly hit him. His reaction was too calm.

This gave Kuriyama a very bad feeling.

But since his catcher insisted the rookie had been scared stiff… then maybe it was fine?

Kuriyama took a deep breath, focused, and threw the second pitch. He had already thrown a ball, and throwing two in a row to a rookie would be ridiculous.

So he aimed at the strike zone.

The pitch dropped in a smooth arc and fell neatly into the catcher’s mitt.

Zhang Han still didn’t move.

He stood exactly as he had before, not reacting at all.

“Thwack!”

“Strike!!”

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The count was one ball and one strike.

The Seido supporters in the stands fell silent. Many of them looked at Zhang Han with worry. Was this newcomer, promoted by Coach Kataoka and the coaching staff, having trouble?

Even in Seido’s dugout, the atmosphere was the same.

“This kid isn’t scared silly, is he?” a third-year substitute muttered.

Although Zhang Han struggling might give him a chance to take over the starting position, watching Seido’s shortstop freeze at the plate left him with complicated feelings.

“No matter what, you’re representing Seido in the batter’s box. Don’t embarrass us…”

Nearby, warming up, Hidezawa overheard the comments and rolled his eyes.

If they said someone else got scared silly, sure, he could believe it. But Zhang Han? That kid? Nervous? Afraid?

Ridiculous.

If that kid had wings, he’d probably fly. This was someone who dared to challenge Tanaka and Azuma the moment he joined the first string. Nervousness wasn’t in his vocabulary.

Just as Hidezawa thought, Zhang Han wasn’t scared at all.

He understood exactly what the Musashi battery was trying to do. For some reason, they didn’t take him seriously. They treated him like a child they could intimidate.

Interesting.

Did they really think a mix of inside pitches and psychological pressure would frighten him?

The first pitch was a ball. Zhang Han didn’t move. The second was a curveball. Zhang Han didn’t move again.

He could hit that pitch. But the risk of error wasn’t small.

In months of practice with Seido, Zhang Han had learned his strengths clearly. His greatest skill was reading pitch trajectories. His favorite pitch to hit was the fastball.

Even with Hidezawa’s fastball, Zhang Han was eighty to ninety percent confident he could hit it. But with breaking balls, the success rate dropped significantly.

So unless he had no other choice, he wouldn’t swing at breaking balls easily. He would always wait for the fastball.

From his perspective, he was simply lying in wait.

But the Musashi battery seemed to misunderstand entirely.

Whatever mental journey they went through, they became even more careless next — they actually threw him a fastball.

When Zhang Han saw the third pitch coming, he froze for a fraction of a second.

A fastball! It was actually a fastball!

What was its direction?

Since joining the first string, Zhang Han had received guidance and training. He had assumed Seido valued him because of his predictive ability — that he could foresee where the pitch would go.

He had never felt that was true, but he couldn’t think of a better explanation.

Later, Takashima Rei and Coach Kataoka corrected him. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t prediction.

It was reflex.

“After enough practice, the body moves before the brain. Many hitters say they didn’t even see the ball clearly, yet still hit it out.”

“My practice level isn’t that high, is it?” Zhang Han asked.

He wasn’t being humble. Plenty of players around him trained just as hard, yet didn’t show this level of instinct.

“This is your talent. Some people practice ten thousand times and see little improvement. Some do it once and get it right. And you, among people like that, are at the highest level.”

“Maybe you can do what only true baseball superstars can do — see a few tenths of a second into the future.”

See the future.

Outside corner.

Zhang Han stepped out, swung, and connected cleanly.

“Ping!”

“Thwack!”

“Second run!”

Azuma, on second base, burst into loud laughter as he rounded third and headed home.

Yuuki advanced to third, and Zhang Han, with his long hit, ran all the way to second base.

The score became 2–0.

Two outs, runners on second and third.

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

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