Although the confrontation was not yet over, the critical damage had already been done.

Azuma Kiyokuni’s missed swing cast a heavy psychological shadow over the Seido High School baseball team. Smiles vanished from their faces, replaced by guarded, tense expressions.

In the stands of Ichidai Third High School, a young man in an Ichidai uniform noticed this change immediately. His dyed blond hair and arrogant grin stood out.

“Heh. Tremble before Senior Kameshima’s pitching, Seido.”

Kameshima. Manaka.

Ichidai Third High School was undoubtedly a place where hidden talents gathered.

Even so, the blond-haired youth firmly believed that he, too, deserved a place among them.

After all, his strength and talent were outstanding.

“I really envy that big gorilla for getting promoted to the first string so early. It’s completely unfair. In terms of ability, I’m clearly better, right? The director must be blind…”

This young man was Amahisa Kousei.

A year ago, he had participated in Ichidai Third High School’s private tryouts alongside Zhang Han. His performance had been exceptional, earning him instant recognition. He was admitted directly and placed into priority training.

Yet life’s path was often unpredictable.

Back then, Amahisa’s tryout performance had clearly surpassed Zhang Han’s, and Ichidai Third High School had valued him more as well. Even so, he failed to secure a spot on the first-string team immediately.

This wasn’t due to a lack of talent or effort, nor because the school didn’t appreciate him.

The real reason was simple.

Ichidai Third High School’s pitching mound was already overcrowded.

There was the stout and steady Kameshima. Manaka Kaname, who had begun to reveal his immense potential. And a third-year pitcher who specialized in changeups.

The mound was stacked with talent.

Meanwhile, Zhang Han—whose performance at the tryouts had been inferior—flourished after joining Seido. He had already become a recognizable name in the Tokyo baseball scene.

As a rookie, he, Miyuki, and Ichidai’s own Hoshida were competing for the title of West Tokyo’s strongest newcomer.

Naturally, a sense of unfairness lingered in Amahisa’s heart.

But it hadn’t yet turned into bitterness.

He could still see his future. He was waiting patiently for the third-years to retire and for his chance to step onto the first string.

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That, however, was a story for later. For now, the focus returned to the field.

After Azuma Kiyokuni’s missed swing, his mentality wavered.

As the team’s fourth batter, he understood his responsibility better than anyone. If his batting faltered, it would inevitably affect everyone behind him.

They would subconsciously begin to believe that the current Kameshima was unbeatable.

For Seido High School, that belief was fatal.

Azuma Kiyokuni appeared simple and honest, but in truth, he was soft-hearted and deeply cared for his juniors. His methods could be rough at times, but his sincerity was never in doubt.

Once he realized he had shaken the team, regret consumed him.

He desperately wanted to make up for it. No matter what, he wanted to hit Kameshima’s Gyroball. But with that obsession taking root, his batting lost its purity. And that wasn’t even the most dangerous part.

The most fatal mistake was that Ichidai Third High School saw right through him. The pitcher and catcher exchanged glances, their eyes gleaming. They saw their opening.

Fastball.

Another Fastball.

Azuma Kiyokuni was waiting for the Gyroball, but Ichidai deliberately refused to throw it.

Forced into a corner with two strikes, Azuma could only grit his teeth and swing.

But he was geared for the Gyroball. What came instead was a standard fastball.

The result was inevitable.

Azuma Kiyokuni sent a high fly ball into the outfield, where it was caught cleanly.

“Pop!”

“Out!”

No one found this outcome surprising.

In a battle between pitcher and batter, one side always gains the upper hand. From the moment Azuma missed his swing, the result had already been decided.

Only the Seido players felt unwilling to accept it.

Compared to the earlier roar after his swing-and-miss, the crowd’s reaction was muted.

One out. Bases empty.

Seido High School was now facing a serious crisis in the bottom of the second inning.

Strategically, they needed to score this inning. Any out carried tremendous weight.

Morale-wise, their fourth batter being shut down was devastating in itself.

Azuma Kiyokuni returned to the dugout with his head lowered, nearly colliding with Yuuki Tetsuya, who was heading toward the batter’s box.

“I’m counting on you, kid.”

For Azuma to say something like that spoke volumes about his regret.

Yuuki was momentarily surprised, then nodded firmly. Whether for the team or as a junior, he had no choice but to respond.

Yuuki stepped into the batter’s box but didn’t immediately take his stance. He stretched his arms with the bat, then stood still, lifting it slowly into position.

“That way of waiting for the pitch is really irritating.”

Kameshima disliked Yuuki intensely.

Although he held a clear advantage in their past encounters—two games, seven or eight plate appearances, only two hits allowed—Yuuki still unsettled him.

Every time they faced off, Kameshima felt his skin prickle, as if something bad was about to happen.

This batter could not be taken lightly.

Ichidai’s pitcher-catcher duo shared that sentiment.

They believed the earlier Gyroball had already served its purpose. It was enough to warn the entire Seido lineup.

From here on, the Gyroball couldn’t be thrown casually. As long as it remained unused, it would hang over Seido’s batters like the Sword of Damocles.

Once it was thrown too freely, that psychological pressure would disappear.

Unless they were facing Azuma Kiyokuni again, there was no need to reveal it. That was only part of the reason.

The more important reason was physical.

The Gyroball went against the body’s natural inertia and placed immense strain on the pitcher.

Unless someone was exceptionally gifted, it was like the Seven Wounds Fist—injuring the enemy severely while hurting oneself almost as much.

Kameshima was not that kind of freak talent.

He wouldn’t use the Gyroball unless he had no other choice.

“Whoosh!”

Having made up his mind, Kameshima delivered the pitch.

A test ball.

Outside the strike zone.

Yuuki didn’t move.

He stood in the batter’s box like a statue, eyes locked coldly onto Kameshima on the mound.

That feeling—

That oppressive calm—

It was incredibly annoying.

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

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