"Woooahhh!!!"
"Zhou Hao is unreal!!!"
Seidō's cheering section was on fire.
In the top of the third, Zhou Hao's sudden burst of blistering straight balls hadn't just crushed Ichidai — it had ignited his own fans like never before.
They had marveled at his Spiral Ball before. It was fast, sharp, devastating. But it didn't stir the same primal thrill as this. This was different. This was speed. Pure, overwhelming speed.
And to a baseball fan, nothing was more romantic.
From the start, Seidō's supporters had given up on dreaming Zhou Hao could become a true power pitcher. His frame was too ordinary, too slim. They knew what kind of monsters threw 150+ km/h fastballs — towering arms, bulging physiques. Zhou Hao didn't fit the mold.
Yet somehow, impossibly, the radar gun now read 147 km/h.
Not just faster than any first-year in Tokyo. Faster than any pitcher in Tokyo. Period.
He had already seized the title of fastest. And he was only a freshman.
"Next year he'll definitely hit 150!"
"No — I swear he'll touch 160 someday! Just like Ohtani!!"
"Why stop there? What if he pushes 170?!" (LOL)
The chants bordered on madness, but Seidō's fans didn't care. Zhou Hao had already defied common sense again and again. Who dared say he couldn't do it?
The inning ended. Three outs. Change.
The scoreboard showed 6–0. Ichidai's ace Kimura was unraveling, giving up five runs in the first and another in the second. Their deficit was a canyon.
Despair had only two paths: collapse, or explosion.
Kimura chose the latter.
Pitching like a cornered animal, he carved through Seidō's third inning with precision and fury, even striking out Miyuki. For the first time all game, Ichidai walked off the field with a flicker of pride.
But the scoreboard hadn't changed. Still 6–0. And as they trudged to the dugout, no one was smiling.
Top of the fourth.
Ichidai's second batter stepped in — none other than their ace Kimura himself. His grip on the bat was white-knuckled, veins bulging.
Forget a hit. Just make contact. Show him we won't be erased so easily.
But Miyuki read it instantly. His glove slid to the very edge of the zone, daring Zhou Hao.
"You can hit it, right?"
Zhou Hao nodded once. His weight shifted, arm snapping forward.
"Whoosh!!"
The pitch screamed like a bullet through the air. It wasn't just speed — it was speed beyond comprehension.
"So fast!!" Kimura's pupils shrank as the ball arrived almost before he could react. His bat never even moved.
Thwack!
"Strike!"
Zhou Hao didn't pause. The second pitch flew.
[145 km/h] lit up the board.
Kimura swung late, hopelessly behind.
Thwack!
"Strike two!!"
The third ball cut through him the same way.
"Strikeout!!"
One out. No one on base.
Ichidai's dugout slumped. It wasn't that they didn't want to fight back. They simply couldn't.
Facing Zhou Hao now was like facing a different species.
"Third batter — Omae!"
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