"Ping!"
The white ball was swept out by Chris.
On the pitcher's mound, Zhang Han felt his heart sink. It wasn't simply because Chris got a hit. Zhang Han was never arrogant enough to think he could completely shut down the Seido High School Baseball Team's lineup. That was unrealistic.
What truly disturbed him was how Chris swung. Every motion felt pre-calculated. He swung confidently, cleanly, without even a hint of hesitation.
A small detail, but it revealed a lot.
Through that detail, Zhang Han sensed a dangerous possibility:
Had the Seido upperclassmen already discovered a weakness or pitching habit of his?
Zhang Han had faced similar situations before. But what weakness? What habit?
After years of training under Coach Ono at Matsukata, all his major flaws had been corrected. By his third year of middle school, although his pitching wasn't perfect, he no longer had obvious exploitable tells.
No matter how he racked his brain, he couldn't figure out what allowed Chris to swing with such confidence.
"Safe!"
The ball landed, and Chris slid cleanly into second base.
One out, runner on second. Zhang Han now had to face Masuko Toru.
This guy was tricky in another way. Although not technically refined, he had tremendous raw power. Players like that were often the most troublesome. Their instincts were sharp, and with that much force behind their swings, even an off-center hit could be blasted through the infield.
Chris, standing on second, watched everything carefully.
Zhang Han knew how to put pressure on pitchers from the bases. Chris, who understood baseball as well as a professional, knew even more.
He stayed a little off the bag, posture loose, but his very presence screamed threat. Zhang Han frequently glared at him to keep him in check, but it barely slowed him.
Chris didn't even pretend to hide his intentions. He simply stood there, daring Zhang Han to respond.
"Dream on!"
Seeing through Chris's plan, Zhang Han refused to let him take control.
He faked a pickoff—and then suddenly threw the ball to second base.
There was no way Chris would actually risk sprinting for third at that moment… right?
"Thwack!"
The ball landed perfectly in Ono's glove. Chris didn't move at all.
Zhang Han exhaled softly in relief.
Maybe he had overthought it. Maybe the seniors hadn't discovered anything after all.
If so, he could continue pitching just as he had before. Even though Chris got a hit, Zhang Han still felt in good condition. His velocity and power were above anything he had thrown before, and the thrill of pitching like this was intoxicating.
He reset his stance and threw again.
But this time, Chris didn't sit still.
The moment Zhang Han began his pitching motion, Chris bolted toward third.
His speed wasn't elite-level, but among high school players, it was absolutely top-tier.
Behind the plate, Ono's heart nearly stopped. He'd already sensed that the upperclassmen wouldn't let the freshmen dictate the pace forever and now it was happening.
Preparing to receive the pitch, Ono subtly shifted his posture. He was ready to snap up and fire the ball to third the instant he caught it.
His throwing power couldn't compare to Chris or Miyuki not even close. But that didn't mean his throw was useless.
Second base was tough, but third base? Ono had seventy to eighty percent confidence he could stop the steal.
Ono displayed remarkable mental fortitude. Unfortunately, no one saw it. Because Masuko moved first.
As the pitch came in, Masuko exhaled heavily and swung with raw force.
"Whoosh!"
The swing sliced the air with a low, heavy whooshing sound.
"Ping!"
Even though he didn't hit the center of the ball, the sheer power behind his bat launched it forward. The ball bounced off the infield grass.
The freshmen had a chance to stop it but everything happened too quickly. They reacted a moment too late and watched helplessly as the ball shot past them into the outfield.
Hit-and-run.
Chris, who started early, gained a massive advantage. By the time the ball reached the outfield, he had already passed third. Without stopping, he sprinted directly toward home.
There was no suspense as the Old-timers scored their first run off Zhang Han.
The score became 11–3.
"Well done!"
"We're not letting a first-year look down on us!"
"You're 800 years too early!"
"Why are only the second- and third-years doing well? What are you guys even doing?"
"Trash doesn't deserve First-string!"
The second- and third-years pumped each other up with explosive energy. From a neutral perspective, it was even touching the passion of teammates cheering each other on, regardless of how rough the words were.
But to the first-years?
The seniors looked like devils ready to tear them apart.
"Isn't this just a welcoming game? Why are the seniors going this hard?"
"Where do you see 'welcoming' in this? This is obviously a battle for First-string positions."
There were always people who could see the truth clearly. Even without being told, they could read the situation from both teams' desperation.
Zhang Han, who had just given up a run, didn't panic.
He felt disappointed, yes— but he didn't give up.
Just one more out. With this performance, that was all he needed to compete for a pitcher's spot. He locked his eyes on the next opponent.
Short, thin, without an intimidating body. The uniform even seemed slightly loose on him.
But Zhang Han knew better.
This was one of the second-years' core players.
Kominato Ryosuke, Second Baseman.
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