One out, bases loaded.
The supporters of Osaka Kiryu High School Baseball Team found it hard to accept emotionally.
The mighty Universe Team—the nation's top powerhouse—had cast aside their pride to secure victory.
But whether they liked it or not, they had to admit it.
At this moment, winning was more important than pride. And their opponent, Seido High School Baseball Team, was worthy of forcing them into that decision.
In Seido's dugout, the players wore grim expressions.
They could feel it—the terrifying might of the Universe Team.
Osaka Kiryu wasn't just strong; they were decisive, even ruthless. When cornered, they didn't cling to honor—they did whatever it took to win.
That made them all the more dangerous.
"Fifth batter, Shimo!"
Seido's fifth batter stepped into the box. Earlier, he'd helped the team score with a bunt.
But now, standing there, he looked lost.
On the mound, Kuroda, ever since intentionally walking Azuma, looked reinvigorated.
Boom!
The white baseball exploded from his hand, sharper and faster than before.
Thwack!
The pitch cut through the air and landed in the catcher's mitt.
"Strike!"
A chill rippled through Seido's supporters.
If they were in Shimo's position, they'd be trembling too.
After being burned by his earlier bunt, Osaka Kiryu immediately shifted their defense forward.
Now, bunting was impossible. One wrong move and Seido could face a double play to end the game.
Shimo had no choice—he had to swing.
But that was easier said than done.
Even if Kuroda's speed had dipped slightly, he was still throwing over 150 km/h.
Shimo was strong, yes—but he wasn't Azuma, or Yuki, or Zhou Hao.
He didn't have their overwhelming precision or power.
So the odds of him making solid contact were painfully low.
Still, as Seido's fifth batter, he couldn't back down.
And Osaka Kiryu's bench wasn't foolish.
The moment they decided to intentionally walk, they already had a counter-plan for this exact scenario.
If they weren't confident, they wouldn't have made such a bold move.
"Damn it! Damn it!!!"
As the second pitch came flying in, Shimo gritted his teeth and swung with all his might.
Ping!
The white ball shot out—
The Osaka Kiryu third baseman lunged forward and leapt—
Thwack!
He caught it midair.
"Out!"
Two outs. Bases loaded.
Shimo stood frozen, frustration all over his face.
He thought—if only he had swung harder, maybe the result would've been different.
But no. He had already given everything he had.
The gap between them—that was the hardest wall to break.
As he returned to the dugout, he glanced at Zhou Hao standing on third base.
He couldn't understand—how did Zhou Hao manage to hit Kuroda's monster pitches so cleanly?
"Two outs!!"
"Two outs!!!"
Osaka Kiryu's players shouted, their eyes blazing.
They were just one out away from victory.
"Sixth batter, number two, catcher—Chris!"
The last hope of Seido stepped forward.
In Osaka Kiryu's dugout, Director Matsumoto Takahiro's smile crept wider.
He could admit it—Seido had exceeded his expectations.
But even so, Osaka Kiryu still stood above them.
"Chris is a fine catcher," Matsumoto said calmly. "And not bad with the bat. But against Kuroda? He won't touch that ball."
Kuroda wasn't just a pitcher of talent. He was the result of relentless, disciplined training.
He wasn't only the team's Ace, but also their third batter—a dual responsibility that Osaka Kiryu's system demanded only of their best.
Such a player didn't make mistakes.
Even after countless pitches and exhaustion setting in, his fastball still touched 150 km/h.
Zhou Hao managing to hit him earlier wasn't a sign of Kuroda's weakness—it was a sign of how absurdly powerful Zhou Hao was.
"Unless Seido has another Zhou Hao…" Matsumoto thought with a smirk, "this game ends here."
But just as that thought passed, movement erupted from Seido's bench.
Coach Kataoka had stepped forward.
"Seido requests a pinch hitter substitution!"
"Chris leaves the field—Miyuki Kazuya enters!"
A murmur spread through the stands.
At this critical, do-or-die moment, Seido replaced one of their most reliable players with a first-year rookie.
"Are they insane?" someone whispered.
"Have they given up?" others asked.
Trailing by one run, with bases loaded and two outs—no sane coach would make that call.
And yet, Seido did.
Without hesitation.
"I don't get it…" a spectator muttered, shaking his head.
As Miyuki stepped toward the batter's box, he crossed paths with Chris, who was leaving.
Chris gave him a firm pat on the shoulder.
"I'm counting on you."
Miyuki smiled faintly.
"Senior, please don't say that. I'm already under enough pressure."
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