"Zhou Hao!!!"
In the stands, Seidō's faithful — and even many neutral fans — rose to their feet. The stadium roared as thousands of palms clapped in unison.
Clap! Clap! Clap-clap-clap!!
The ovation rolled like thunder through Jingu. Tokyo TV's cameras captured every angle, ensuring the entire country would soon see the birth of a phenomenon.
There was no question now. Zhou Hao wasn't just a strong pitcher. He was a star.
For an athlete to explode into stardom, two conditions were usually enough. Three was unstoppable.
First — undeniable skill. Without results, no one cared.
Second — something extraordinary. A feat so rare it seared itself into memory.
Shohei Ohtani's 163 km/h fastball in high school. Unforgettable.
Third — appearance. It shouldn't matter, but it always did. Just ask David Beckham. His "Bend" was brilliant, but what catapulted him into global fame wasn't skill alone — it was skill and the look of someone born to be on billboards.
Zhou Hao had it all.
As a freshman, he had seized Seidō's ace role, bulldozed through opponents, and carried the team straight to the West Tokyo final. His Spiral Ball was already infamous. His looks? More than enough to stand out.
And now — twelve consecutive strikeouts. An absurd record, the kind that might never be touched again.
No walks. No balls in play. Not even a foul to break the spell. Just pure, crushing dominance.
Other pitchers would brag for half a year over ten strikeouts in a game. Zhou Hao had strung together twelve in a row.
No wonder the press box was in chaos. Cameras flashed like fireworks, shutters clicking nonstop as they hunted for the perfect shot of Zhou Hao's face.
"This is tomorrow's headline," one reporter muttered, eyes shining.
Even Seidō's dugout felt it. At first, they hadn't grasped the weight of the record. They were used to seeing Zhou Hao rack up Strikeouts. But now, looking at the fans losing their minds, and the gloom choking Ichidai's bench… it hit them.
Their junior wasn't just a strong pitcher anymore.
He was a superstar.
"It's really you, Zhou Hao!!"
"Limitless future — his future is limitless!"
The teasing didn't faze him. Zhou Hao only nodded, calm as ever.
"The bottom of the fifth, Seidō batting."
The PA announcement pulled everyone back. For a moment, some players had even forgotten it was their turn to hit.
"Whose spot is it?"
"Hey, focus!"
Kataoka's sharp gaze cut through their chatter like a blade.
"The game isn't over yet. Don't relax."
His voice was cold, heavy with years of frustration. Four years without reaching Koshien. For the players, high school careers ended in two or three short years. For Kataoka, every missed chance added to a weight that never left.
He would not let them falter now.
"Yes!!"
The players lowered their heads in unison, chastened.
"It's your turn, Zhou Hao," Miyuki said.
Zhou Hao nodded. Of course he already knew.
He rose, steady as ever. The cheers, the shouts of admiration, the voices crying his name — none of it rattled him. His eyes stayed fixed ahead.
Miyuki smiled inwardly. This is what it means to be an ace. To carry yourself as if the storm doesn't touch you.
Zhou Hao had the skill. He had the heart. And he had the presence.
Now he was stepping in against Ichidai's pride — Kimura, Tokyo's top pitcher, who had finally regained his sharpest form.
Could Zhou Hao shine at the plate as brilliantly as he had on the mound?
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