"Congratulations to Seidou High School for scoring their third run of the game!"
"A flawless collaboration—smooth, efficient, and terrifying in its execution. Seidou's lineup isn't relying on Zhou Hao alone anymore; the others are starting to find their rhythm too."
"Akahoshi will be facing a serious trial in the innings to come."
The commentators' words echoed through the stadium, and the fans understood them perfectly.
Most nodded in wholehearted agreement.
As expected of a professional commentator—sharp insights and impeccable judgment.
But not everyone was impressed.
Some fans exchanged knowing smiles, their gazes turning toward a calm-looking man seated among them—Fujio, a senior reporter for Baseball Kingdom Magazine.
They had already heard those exact words from him long before the commentators said them.
Now, the fans sitting around Fujio couldn't help but look at him with newfound admiration.
"That's incredible! How did you know?"
Fujio smiled faintly. "Watch more of Seidou's games, and you'll understand."
Seidou High School's batting style was almost indistinguishable from a professional team's.
In fact, not just their offense—their entire playstyle mirrored that of a pro squad.
Except, of course, for one thing—their pitching rotation.
That was the biggest difference between a high school powerhouse and a professional team.
Pro teams have deep rosters, a stockpile of talented pitchers they can rotate to keep batters guessing.
That constant rotation prevents opposing sluggers from finding rhythm or exploiting weaknesses.
It's not that Seidou doesn't want to copy that model.
They just can't.
Even if they wanted to, Seidou doesn't have enough top-tier pitchers.
Before Zhou Hao's meteoric rise, they didn't even have a true Ace.
A powerhouse team without an Ace—unthinkable, yet true.
But that wasn't just Seidou's problem; many elite high schools struggled with the same issue.
It's just that Seidou's pitching department had been particularly unlucky—filled with hardworking but ordinary talents who couldn't quite hold their ground.
Unlike their two greatest rivals in West Tokyo—Inashiro and Ichidai Third—who could always produce nationally ranked pitchers.
Seidou's Ace from previous years hadn't even cracked the top ranks of West Tokyo.
And yet… even with such a glaring weakness, Seidou had held its own.
Sometimes, they even managed to pull those powerhouses down with them.
That, in itself, spoke volumes.
Offense. Defense. Team chemistry.
Seidou was elite in every other aspect.
So once a true Ace finally emerged…
Their strength would evolve to an entirely different level.
And now, with Zhou Hao's rise, that transformation had finally arrived.
Against even a powerhouse like Osaka Kiryu, Seidou had proven they could stand toe to toe.
And now, facing the most dangerous dark horse—Ikeda High—Seidou was displaying that full potential once again.
The scoreboard said it all.
3–0.
Seidou led by three runs.
Ikeda was no weakling. Their strength was undeniable—after all, they had taken down several top-tier schools to reach the Top 16 at Koshien.
Even then, they still hadn't revealed their trump card—Agawa.
Fujio glanced up at the giant scoreboard.
3–0.
The score wasn't overwhelming, but the difference in momentum was crystal clear.
Even though Ikeda's players hadn't committed a single mistake and had performed brilliantly, Seidou had still managed to score three runs—while keeping them scoreless.
That said everything about Seidou's terrifying form.
"Seidou observes in the first round," Fujio murmured. "Tests the waters in the second. Then, by the third rotation through the lineup… they strike."
Akahoshi, Ikeda's Ace, was no ordinary pitcher—tough, skillful, and incredibly composed.
But no matter how strong he was, some realities couldn't be changed.
The gap between the two teams was widening—not because of mistakes, but because of endurance.
The only thing keeping the score respectable so far was Akahoshi's pitching.
He had fought like a demon on the mound.
But at a heavy cost.
To silence Seidou's lineup for two rounds, he'd had to use every trick in his arsenal. Every pitch, every variation—already exposed.
And the fatigue was catching up fast.
No matter how resilient he was, he couldn't maintain that same level forever.
As the game entered the bottom of the sixth, about to head into the seventh, even casual fans could tell—Akahoshi's stamina was fading.
"Seidou won't let this chance slip away," Fujio said gravely, eyes narrowing. "This next inning might decide the game."
Bottom of the Sixth Inning
Two outs. Runner on first.
One more out, and Ikeda could escape unscathed.
Akahoshi's performance so far had been impeccable, even dominant.
But Fujio's eyes gleamed with conviction—he knew the storm was coming.
"Fourth batter, number five, third baseman—Azuma Kiyokuni!"
As Azuma stepped into the batter's box, his trademark laugh echoed across the stadium.
"Jie jie jie!!!"
Like a boss entering the battlefield.
"Azuma!!"
"Blast one out!"
"It's all up to you, senpai!"
The fans roared with excitement, full of faith in their clean-up hitter.
Even if they couldn't analyze the game like Fujio, they could feel it in their bones—Seidou's offense was about to explode.
Behind the plate, Ikeda's catcher hesitated.
"Should we walk him?" he whispered.
Akahoshi frowned.
There was logic in that—except for Zhou Hao, no one had truly gotten to him yet. Why risk it?
But Akahoshi shook his head.
"No. Avoiding him won't solve anything."
He clenched his fist tightly around the ball.
They had already avoided Zhou Hao once, and it left a bad taste—not just for the fans, but for their own team's morale.
If they ran away now, it would look like Ikeda had already given up.
"The more critical the moment, the harder we fight!" Akahoshi growled. "Losing by one run is no different from losing by ten!"
His catcher exhaled deeply and nodded. "All right. Let's go for it."
He still had a bad feeling in his gut, but there was no turning back now.
Akahoshi lifted his leg high, shifted his weight, and unleashed the pitch.
Whoosh!
The ball cut through the air like a bullet.
For a split second, the crowd roared—Akahoshi still had fire left in him!
But in the batter's box—Azuma moved.
He took a step forward, just a small one.
But that tiny shift changed everything.
Ikeda's catcher's pupils shrank.
A step forward?
The realization hit him like a thunderbolt.
He's countering the cut fastball!
A cutter's break doesn't happen instantly—it veers sharply only at the last moment. By stepping forward, Azuma was attacking before the break.
"How could he figure that out mid-game?!" the catcher thought, his mind spinning.
Even if Azuma guessed right, his timing and swing precision would be off—right?
Then came the sound.
Boom!
The air cracked as Azuma's bat sliced forward.
And then—
Ping!!!
The unmistakable sound of solid contact.
The ball rocketed into the sky.
Twenty thousand people collectively held their breath, eyes tracking the white arc as it soared higher, farther—past the outfield wall—
And disappeared into the stands.
Home run.
The ball ricocheted off a seat with a loud thud, still brimming with force.
The stadium erupted.
"HE HIT IT OUT!!!"
"A TWO-RUN HOMER!!!"
"Seidou seals the game with another home run! And congratulations to Azuma Kiyokuni—this marks his 50th career home run!!!"
The commentator's voice boomed across the stadium as if it were shaking the heavens.
Even Seidou's own fans were stunned for a moment—then exploded with cheers.
"Fifty?! That's insane!"
"And Seidou didn't even have this many games before this year!"
"With this home run rate, no one else can even come close!"
"Monster! He's a monster!!!"
The stands roared, the name Seidou echoing from every direction.
And on the field, Azuma lowered his bat, a confident smirk on his face as he began his slow trot around the bases—
The very image of dominance.