No outs, runner on second base.
At this moment, Seidou's seventh batter, Miyuki Kazuya, stood in the batter's box.
Originally, both Seidou supporters and neutral fans had high hopes for Miyuki's performance. After all, in the game against Osaka Kiryu, he had cleanly sent the ball flying—a hit that left a deep impression on everyone and firmly established him as a dangerous batter.
Logically, when he stepped into the box, Seidou's fans should've been thrilled.
However—
His recent plate appearances had been disappointing.
Because of that, not many still believed Miyuki could deliver. The cheers this time were noticeably subdued.
But unlike the hesitant crowd, the Seidou bench was burning with anticipation. Coach Kataoka and the players were all watching with eager eyes, full of belief.
On the mound, Akahoshi's breathing had grown slightly uneven. Yoshida's hit earlier clearly caught him off guard, forcing him to reevaluate Seidou's lineup.
Aside from their three core batters, even Seidou's lower order was starting to show its fangs.
"As long as my pitch is fine, I won't give up a run!"
Even though the score was already 5–0, even though Ikeda's chances of a comeback were all but gone—Akahoshi still refused to give up.
His gaze burned with defiance.
He wanted an out.
He needed an out.
He lifted his leg high, stepped forward, and unleashed the pitch.
Whoosh!
The white baseball cut through the air like a bullet.
Miyuki, in the batter's box, didn't flinch. He simply watched the ball pass by, wide-eyed.
Thwack!
"Strike!!"
The Ikeda bench exhaled in relief.
"That was just a fluke earlier."
"Akahoshi's pitch isn't something anyone can hit."
"Get him out first!"
To them, Yoshida's earlier hit was nothing more than an accident. Now that Akahoshi was pitching seriously, these mid–lower order batters would surely be handled with ease.
"Take them down!"
"One strike! One strike!!"
Amid the loud chants, Akahoshi's pitches became even sharper.
Whoosh!
The pitch sliced straight through the air like a blade. Even though Miyuki swung with full force—
Thwack!
—he missed.
"Strike!!"
Two strikes.
Even Seidou's supporters began to relax. They were already up by five runs.
They could tell Akahoshi wasn't an ordinary pitcher—his pitches left Seidou's batters helpless more often than not. But with a five-run cushion, that was fine.
"The victory's already ours."
At that moment, Akahoshi wound up and threw his third pitch.
Whoosh!
His pitching grew even fiercer as the game went on.
The ball hurtled toward the plate, and Miyuki's lips curled into a confident grin.
Indeed.
"His cut fastball… that's his lifeline. He'll definitely use it to finish me off."
He swung.
Ping!
The bat met the ball squarely.
The sound echoed through the field.
For a split second, everyone froze.
Akahoshi's pitches had been hit before—but those hits always ended up in his teammates' gloves.
Not this one.
This time, the ball flew along a completely different trajectory—one unfamiliar to every Ikeda fielder.
"He hit it?"
"That guy with glasses actually hit it?"
"Isn't he a first-year rookie?"
Their thoughts were cut short as the ball landed and bounced away.
The Ikeda fielders scrambled to adjust, sprinting toward the ball—
—but they were far too late.
By the time they retrieved it, Yoshida had already sprinted home from second base.
Miyuki calmly stopped at first.
Even so, the Seidou supporters erupted with joy.
"Sixth run!"
As Yoshida crossed home, Seidou extended their lead to 6–0.
The commentator's voice echoed through the stadium:
"Congratulations to Seidou High School! The score is now six to zero!"
No matter what others might say, the commentator refused to belittle Ikeda's strength.
Their team wasn't weak.
The simple truth was that Seidou was just too strong.
Their ace, Zhou Hao, had crushed Ikeda's confidence early on with his terrifying Spiral pitches, leaving the so-called "nation's strongest dark horse" unable to show their true power.
And after that—came Seidou's relentless offense.
Even though they only scored two runs in the early innings, that was more than enough to break Ikeda's rhythm.
Ikeda's playing style relied on tight defense and winning by small margins. Once they fell behind by two runs, they were already on the ropes.
Then Seidou introduced Yoshida, whose pitching was no less frightening.
Against him, Ikeda couldn't even find a foothold.
Now, aside from Akahoshi himself, none of their players could mount any sort of resistance.
The result was simple—and cruel.
The gap between the two teams was just too wide.
For Ikeda, the only words that could describe their feelings at this moment were—
"We can't hold on."
It wasn't because they weren't trying. It wasn't because they were weak.
The difference in strength was simply insurmountable.
Ikeda was strong—but Seidou was stronger.
On the mound, Akahoshi stared blankly as Yoshida crossed the plate.
For the first time since developing his pitching system, he had surrendered more than five runs in a game. In fact, he hadn't even given up three runs in a long time.
He knew Seidou was strong. He expected to allow a few runs.
But six?
Never.
And the game wasn't even over yet.
No outs. Runner on first.
Seidou's eighth batter stepped into the box, looking every bit as determined as his teammates.
"Seidou…"
Akahoshi took a deep breath, forcing himself calm.
He raised his leg and delivered another pitch.
Whoosh!
Right down the center.
The batter didn't hesitate.
"Are you underestimating me?!"
Ping!
The ball was hit—but went straight into Akahoshi's glove.
He spun, throwing to second.
Thwack!
The shortstop fired to first.
Thwack!
"Out! Double play!!"
The Ikeda bench roared.
For a moment, they had come up for air—two outs in a flash.
It wouldn't change the final outcome, but to Ikeda, it was a small victory worth fighting for.
And fight, they would.
Even if it was hopeless, struggling was still better than surrendering.
Soon, three outs, change of sides.
Top of the eighth.
Ikeda's batters took the field, unwilling to yield.
"This time, I'll hit him!" their cleanup hitter growled, gripping his bat tight.
Ping!
But before the ball could even reach the outfield, Azuma Kiyokuni calmly intercepted it with his glove.
Thwack!
"Out!"
One out. No runners.
The next two batters met the same fate.
Thwack!
"Out!"
Thwack!
"Out!!"
Three up, three down.
The Ikeda supporters' hearts turned cold.
The later the game went, the fiercer Yoshida became—while their own swings grew weaker.
"The outcome's already decided."
"Powerhouses like Seidou aren't afraid of desperate opponents."
"The more they rush, the more openings they expose—and Seidou never misses those."
Fans who understood elite baseball sighed in awe.
This was what defined a true powerhouse.
It wasn't just talent—it was training, discipline, and preparation for every possible scenario, even ones that only happened once in ten games.
And now, that difference was on full display.
The more frantic Ikeda became, the calmer Seidou grew.
Without even realizing it, Ikeda had completely fallen into Seidou's rhythm.
They were being led by the nose.
A comeback was no longer possible.
Bottom of the eighth inning.
Seidou's leadoff batter, Matsumoto, stepped into the box.
He narrowed his eyes.
Whoosh!
As the ball left Akahoshi's hand, Matsumoto suddenly shifted—
A bunt!?
The crowd was stunned.
"They're up by six runs—why bunt now?"
They couldn't understand.
But Matsumoto did.
Coach Kataoka had given them the green light: play freely.
Seidou was far ahead—this was their chance to loosen up and go all out.
Every other player had made an impact today. Matsumoto, their leadoff man, hadn't yet done anything.
That ate away at him.
He refused to stay silent.
Even if it meant bunting—he'd reach base.
Ping!
The baseball bounced away, and Matsumoto dashed forward like an arrow released from a bow.