The players of Osaka Kiryu High School were shaken.
Every confrontation with Zhou Hao left them drowning in despair. When the ball screamed past, it wasn't just a pitch—it was a cannonball.
And who in their right mind would stand in front of a cannon?
No one. Not even with a bat in hand.
The eighth batter clenched his teeth, forcing himself to stay in the box. His instincts screamed to flee, but reason reminded him—it wasn't a cannonball. It was "just" a baseball, thrown by Zhou Hao.
Still, facing it head-on felt like standing before a natural disaster.
"Boom!"
On the second pitch, he finally swung. But his bat lagged nearly half a second behind.
Thud!
"Strike!"
The stadium erupted in laughter. Tens of thousands of fans couldn't contain themselves—some chuckled, others outright howled.
"The Universe Team's batters look like amateurs!"
"They've been completely crushed by Zhou Hao!"
"My elementary school kid swings faster than that!"
Of course, that was pure exaggeration. Any child standing against Zhou Hao's Spiral Ball would be bawling by now. At least Kiryu's hitters stayed in the box, even if powerless.
"Strike!"
"Strike!"
"Strikeout!"
One out, bases empty.
Even Kiryu's own supporters furrowed their brows. They knew Zhou Hao was strong—but this strong? Against them? Against the team hailed as the strongest in the nation?
It felt unreal.
From the outside, it looked as if the Universe Team had been reduced to little leaguers. But on the field, the reality was different. Kiryu wasn't broken. Their fighting spirit still burned.
They weren't just flailing blindly; they were searching. Searching for flaws, for timing, for a chance to wear Zhou Hao down.
Because stamina—that was the key. No pitcher could last forever. And the fiercer Zhou Hao burned now, the quicker he would collapse.
Or so they believed.
"Boom!"
The ninth batter, a pinch hitter renowned for his power, stepped in. He had crushed pitches before—just not for luck, the ball never dropped for a hit. Against Zhou Hao, he planted his feet, determined to blast one into the stands.
Then the Spiral Ball came.
And for the first time, that power hitter felt genuine dread.
Too fast. Too heavy. Too sharp.
The ball tore through the air, spinning like a weapon, and slammed into Chris's mitt.
Thud!
The sound echoed like a hammer to the chest.
"Damn it!" the batter cursed, swinging wildly at the next pitch.
"Boom!"
"Boom!"
Air. Nothing but air.
"Strike!"
"Strike!"
"Strikeout!"
Two outs. Nobody on.
Now the Kiryu supporters truly fell silent. This wasn't the Universe Team they knew. The batters before them—were these really Osaka Kiryu's sluggers?
It wasn't just the stadium that was stunned. Millions of fans across Japan, glued to their television screens, felt the same suffocating helplessness.
The "strongest team in the nation" looked like a soft persimmon, squeezed and shredded in Zhou Hao's grip.
Reporters scrambled to find words. Finally, Fujio, a veteran writer for Baseball Kingdom, spoke up:
"It's not that Osaka Kiryu's batters are weak. It's that Zhou Hao is too strong."
He adjusted his glasses, his voice steady.
"Make no mistake—their hitters can read his Spiral Ball. They can see it. But seeing and hitting are different things. Against that speed and that spin, even they are powerless. This isn't just skill. It's raw, overwhelming power."
And as Fujio's words carried over the broadcast, one chilling thought spread across the nation:
If even Osaka Kiryu, the country's top powerhouse, couldn't withstand Zhou Hao—then who could?
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