In the top of the fourth, Ichidai's ace Kimura had already abandoned the dream of hitting.
At this point, even making contact felt like salvation — just one foul ball to prove Zhou Hao wasn't untouchable.
But his bat never touched leather. Zhou Hao's straight ball cut him down effortlessly for the first out.
The crowd buzzed. A lone fan shouted over the noise:
"Wait—what's Zhou Hao's record for consecutive strikeouts?"
"Eight! Against Inashiro!" someone answered instantly.
Eight in a row — not just impressive, but terrifying. That kind of streak wasn't luck. It was domination.
And now? Including Kimura, Zhou Hao was already at seven.
The realization spread like wildfire through the stands. Seidō's supporters leapt to their feet.
"One more and he ties it!"
"Two more and he breaks it!!"
"NEW RECORD!! ZHOU HAO!!!"
At the plate, Ichidai's slugger Omae stepped in. His power had been compared to Seidō's Yūki — a pure core hitter with the strength to crush any mistake.
But Zhou Hao gave him no mistakes.
"Whoosh!!"
The ball screamed forward. Omae swung with raw instinct, bat cleaving the air with a boom — but the pitch slid past, untouched.
Slap!
"Strike!!"
Omae blinked in shock. He hadn't even been aiming for placement — he just wanted to connect, anything at all. And still he missed.
Zhou Hao fired again. This time the ball tore across the zone diagonally, a bullet on rails.
Slap!
"Strike two!!"
Now Omae was cornered. His teeth clenched, muscles tightening as he threw his whole body into the third swing.
"Boom!!"
Another monstrous cut — and another complete whiff.
Slap!
"Strike three!! Out!!"
Two outs. Eight in a row.
Omae staggered back to the dugout clutching his helmet, muttering to himself. He couldn't understand how he'd failed to touch a single ball.
But Seidō's supporters understood.
"Eight!! He's tied it!!"
The stadium roared. One more and Zhou Hao would set history.
Ichidai's cleanup hitter, Gotou, stepped in. His name carried weight — one of Tokyo's top five sluggers, the anchor of Ichidai's lineup.
He had watched Omae's failure closely. Twice Omae's bat missed clean. Once it passed under the ball entirely.
That was no coincidence. Zhou Hao's straight ball wasn't just fast — it had unnatural lift, riding up through the zone in ways that defied muscle memory.
If I adjust… if I swing higher, I can beat it.
Gotou narrowed his eyes, body loose, waiting.
"Whoosh!!"
Zhou Hao delivered. Gotou adjusted, swung above where instinct told him — and still missed.
Slap!
"Strike one!!"
The next pitch came blazing in. Gotou adjusted again, meeting it just enough to foul it back.
"Foul!!"
He grinned. I've got it now. I'll crush the last one.
But Zhou Hao had already moved on.
"Boom!!"
The third pitch ripped through the strike zone — faster, sharper, crueler. Gotou froze. His swing never left his shoulder before the ball had already landed in Miyuki's glove.
Slap!!
"Strike three!!!"
"NINTH!!"
The stadium detonated.
"NEW RECORD!!!"
"ZHOU HAO!!!"
Nine consecutive strikeouts. Against Ichidai. Against some of Tokyo's best hitters.
Zhou Hao had just written his name into the record books.
Gotou stood paralyzed in the box, mind blank. He had prepared for the lift, adjusted his swing, even fouled one off.
And still… he hadn't come close.
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