Zhou Hao dealt with the batter cleanly and efficiently.
The score was now fixed at 6–5.
Although the score difference was narrow, few believed Seiko Academy still had a chance to turn the tables. Even their own players didn't seem to believe in that possibility anymore.
At this point, they just didn't want to give up. They wanted to fight to the end.
In Seidou High School's dugout—
Tanba, who had just been replaced, looked completely devastated.
He sat motionless on the bench, not speaking to anyone.
When he was pulled off the mound, Coach Kataoka told him it wasn't his fault.
The decision to substitute him was Coach Kataoka's responsibility, not his.
But… was that really how things worked?
No matter what others thought, Tanba himself couldn't accept that excuse.
It was clear to him: he just wasn't strong enough.
Yes, Seiko Academy's core batters were terrifyingly powerful—otherwise, Yoshida, the team's ace, wouldn't have given up two home runs earlier in the game.
From that perspective, Tanba giving up three in a row didn't seem too outrageous.
But the situation was different.
When Yoshida gave up his home runs, Seidou was behind the entire time. Yet the team never lost faith in Yoshida's ability to stabilize things.
They didn't panic.
Before Tanba was taken off the mound, Seidou was still leading by one run.
But no one—not even Coach Kataoka—was willing to take any more chances with him.
Why?
Because they didn't trust him.
The best proof of that was Zhou Hao, who took over the mound.
Seiko Academy had been energized, full of fire and momentum.
Their fifth batter took advantage of the shift and struck out aggressively.
Everything had been moving in their favor.
But once Zhou Hao climbed onto the mound, the entire game's atmosphere changed.
The fans erupted.
Even Seidou's players—who had been visibly tense—were now calm and focused.
Almost everyone believed Zhou Hao could stop the bleeding.
And they were right.
Zhou Hao unleashed a devastating spiral fastball that left Seiko's batters completely overwhelmed.
It was no exaggeration.
Just look at Seiko's fifth batter—still visibly rattled after striking out.
Even in the dugout, he sat like a broken man, unmoving.
When his teammates reminded him to take the field for defense, he moved mechanically, like a robot.
His mind was somewhere else—still stuck on Zhou Hao's terrifying pitch.
Back in the Seidou dugout, Zhou Hao was greeted like a returning hero.
"Here, drink some water. You'll need to go hit later."
Miyuki handed him a paper cup filled with water.
"Thanks…" Zhou Hao replied, a little surprised.
Even though they were both first-years, Miyuki had always carried himself with a steady, proud demeanor.
He didn't bow to seniors or flatter juniors.
And yet, he was the one offering Zhou Hao water now.
It was clear—he was impressed.
"You're seriously good," Miyuki said. "No warm-up, and you're already throwing heat like that?"
"That Seiko batter's probably rethinking his entire life right now."
It wasn't a joke.
That batter looked absolutely wrecked.
Then again, who wouldn't be when faced with a pitch like that?
Even Seiko's strongest hitters had barely kept up.
As the rest of the team continued to praise Zhou Hao like a rising star, Miyuki quietly stepped aside and watched from the edge.
At that moment, Zhou Hao still didn't realize—
his place on the team had changed.
In the most critical moment, Coach Kataoka had sent Zhou Hao to the mound—not senior ace Yoshida.
That alone said everything.
Sure, Yoshida still wore the number one jersey.
But from this game forward, Zhou Hao was the real ace.
An ace's worth doesn't show when the game is smooth and easy.
You see it when things go wrong.
When the pressure's high and the team's in trouble—that's when an ace leads.
That's when he steps up.
And Zhou Hao was beginning to show that aura.
The game resumed—bottom of the third inning.
Seidou High School was back on offense.
The new pitcher from Seiko Academy stood tall, like a giant.
But his pitches were surprisingly soft.
That contrast alone threw off Seidou's timing.
His unique rhythm and deceptive control made it hard for batters to get a clean read on the ball.
Yoshida, batting second, Yuuki at third, and Azuma Kiyokuni at cleanup—all were struck out in quick succession.
Now it was up to Shimoi Teru, Seidou's fifth batter.
As he stepped into the batter's box, anticipation swept through Seidou's dugout.
They'd just given up three runs, and their one-run lead was fragile.
This was a crucial chance to widen the gap and shift the momentum.
Shimoi Teru stared at the incoming pitch with resolve.
By now, Seidou's batters had adjusted to the pitcher's deceptive speed. They weren't rattled by his size anymore.
The ball came in.
Shimoi adjusted his swing angle, knowing the pitch wasn't powerful.
Crack!
The bat connected.
He grinned—he had read the pitch perfectly.
But then—his smile faded.
His eyes widened as the ball sailed directly into the second baseman's glove.
The second baseman didn't move an inch.
Snatch!
"Out!"
One out. No runners.
Yamamoto's pitching was still tricky and effective.
Even when you understood his technique, it was still hard to hit cleanly.
Next up was Seidou's sixth batter—their catcher, Chris.
As he entered the batter's box, the Seiko players' eyes sharpened.
They knew this was no ordinary batter.
The battle was far from over.
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POWER STONE!!!
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