At that moment, both the Seidou High School baseball team and their supporters were stunned.
"Congratulations to the Seidou High School baseball team for scoring their seventh run of the game."
It was the bottom of the third inning, and Seidou was up to bat.
With two outs and no one on base, most of the players and fans had already prepared for the worst.
They had accepted that this inning might end scoreless and were already thinking ahead—What's the plan for the next round?
It wasn't because they doubted Zhou Hao's batting ability—far from it. But when even the core batters of Seidou had failed to produce, it felt too much to expect a first-year to turn the tide alone.
That kind of pressure wouldn't be fair to Zhou Hao.
And yet, this very first-year—Zhou Hao—hit the ball clean into the stands.
An unexpected home run.
The score shifted to 7–5.
For Seiko Academy, this was nothing short of a disaster.
Their rising momentum hadn't come from a surge in runs, but from the dominance of Yamamoto's pitching.
If Yamamoto could keep suppressing Seidou's hitters, they'd have a real chance. Even with difficulty scoring, they believed they could chip away with persistence.
But now?
Zhou Hao's homer shattered that illusion.
Their previous optimism now seemed laughable.
Zhou Hao had scored easily.
And that was the scary part—Was this just the beginning?
Players who had faced Seidou before understood this well:
This couldn't be the end.
Zhou Hao had clearly seen through Yamamoto's pitching style.
If he could figure it out, what's stopping the rest of Seidou from doing the same?
By the time Zhou Hao returned to the dugout, the whole team probably understood the trick behind Yamamoto's pitches.
In the stands, a tall, striking reporter smirked.
"Looks like Seiko Academy is doomed in this match."
She wasn't the only one thinking this. At the start of the game, most people already believed Seidou had the upper hand.
But a small twist occurred—when Seidou changed pitchers, Seiko Academy scored three quick runs. The score tightened, and things looked uncertain.
But now—
Zhou Hao's home run likely made Seiko realize just how big the gap was between them and Seidou.
And that kind of realization?
Fatal.
Back in the dugout, Zhou Hao received an explosion of cheers.
"Well done!"
"How'd you manage that?!"
Zhou Hao didn't hold back.
"Yamamoto's pitching uses a kind of visual deception. Because of his height and dramatic motion, it feels like he's throwing with immense power—"
"And that makes us swing harder," one teammate interrupted, catching on.
"Exactly. Subconsciously, we think we need to hit with full force or we won't connect. But when we swing with all our power, our timing is thrown off—because his pitch is actually very gentle."
Azuma Kiyokuni frowned.
"But even if it's gentle, that shouldn't stop us from blasting it, right? We've hit plenty of soft pitches during practice."
"That's not the only factor," Zhou Hao continued. "His release angle is tricky. He doesn't throw straight; he throws from a slight angle. That visual misalignment messes up our rhythm. We end up hitting fly balls or grounders instead of clean drives."
The explanation was simple but brilliant.
Everyone in the dugout nodded in understanding.
President Ota grinned from ear to ear.
"Zhou Hao's already looking like a real ace."
Of course, they all knew Zhou Hao was the best pitcher on the team right now.
But out of respect for Yoshida—and because Zhou Hao wasn't perfect—they hadn't said it outright.
Now? Zhou Hao had just delivered his best performance of the season.
To Ota, there was no better trump card.
Even Coach Kataoka nodded silently.
He had known Yamamoto wouldn't last long. That's why he'd switched out Tanba. But he didn't expect Zhou Hao to be the first to crack Yamamoto's technique.
"Did he guess it? Or really see it from 18 meters away?"
Either way, it didn't matter.
What mattered was the result. Zhou Hao blasted the ball away.
His first career home run—and a critical one in this game.
It was a clear display of both talent and mental clarity.
"Should we move Zhou Hao up in the batting order?"
Letting him stay in the seventh spot suddenly seemed like a waste of talent.
The game resumed. The eighth batter, Jun Isashiki, stepped up to the plate.
"So you've been putting on a mysterious act, huh? Let me show you how it's done!"
He raised his bat high, exuding full "uncle" energy as usual.
As the pitch came in, Isashiki swung confidently.
"Ping!"
The moment the bat connected, his face darkened.
That ball was heavy!
Instead of flying, the ball bounced off the ground and rolled to third base.
The third baseman from Seiko Academy rushed up, scooped it cleanly, and threw to first.
It should've been easy, but Isashiki Jun almost made it to the base.
"Bang!"
"Out!"
And this was Isashiki Jun—not known for speed.
That close call showed Seiko Academy's biggest problem:
Despite their size and power, their defense was still flawed.
And it wasn't just their fielders—Yamamoto was still at the center of it all.
"So this guy's not just throwing deceptive junk pitches?"
The one he threw to Isashiki was fast and packed with power.
But to Seidou's players, that was preferable.
Compared to Yamamoto's earlier deceptive lobs, this version of him was much easier to handle.
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POWER STONE!!!
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