"It's coming!"
The white baseball whistled through the air.
Zhou Hao had already anticipated this pitch.
Both hands tightened around the bat as his gaze swept across the entire field.
From the perspective of his Three-Tomoe Sharingan, Shirazawa pitch slowed by more than ten times.
The ball's rotation, trajectory, and drop point unfolded clearly before his eyes.
At this moment, hitting the ball was effortless.
More than that—Zhou Hao could even see the empty gaps on the field.
If he simply wanted a hit, he could swing right now.
But Zhou Hao didn't move.
He calmly watched the baseball pass by.
Snap!
The ball landed cleanly in Oishibashi's glove.
"Strike!"
One strike.
The Seibo High School supporters felt the urge to erupt—but quickly restrained themselves.
They had seen this scene too many times.
As long as Zhou Hao was still standing in the batter's box, nothing was decided.
Shirazawa, however, felt no such ease.
Having already faced Zhou Hao three times, no one understood his terror better than the pitcher himself.
Shirazawa had even considered an intentional walk.
But that thought was crushed almost immediately.
Walking Zhou Hao with no one on base would completely destroy Seibo high morale.
Their relief pitcher, Yoshida, was solid—but Seidou's batters were exhausted as well.
If this game dragged into extra innings, stamina would become the deciding factor.
This was a battle of wills.
And morale mattered more than anything.
Shirazawa couldn't afford to retreat.
I won't let him hit a home run.
That was his only objective.
Even if Zhou Hao got on base, even if he gave up a hit—
as long as it stayed inside the park, Seibo could still survive.
With that resolve, Shirazawa pitched again.
Whoosh!
Outside corner.
Zhou Hao didn't swing.
"Strike!!"
Two strikes.
A wave of restrained excitement rippled through the Seibo stands.
One more strike.
If Shirazawa could truly put Zhou Hao away here—
even a weak out would shake Seidou to its core.
Bottom of the ninth.
Score tied at 0–0.
The dream of a championship loomed just one step away.
Then—
Shirazawa threw his third pitch.
Whoosh!
The instant Zhou Hao saw the ball, his heart sank slightly.
Still cornering me…
Even after two strikes, Baize didn't get greedy.
The pitch speed dropped. The power eased.
Every change was crystal clear under the Sharingan.
If this ball drifted even slightly inward, Zhou Hao would obliterate it.
But Shirazawa didn't waver.
He stuck to his plan.
Seeing this, Zhou Hao knew—
I can't wait anymore.
He stepped forward.
The ball, which should've been barely reachable, suddenly entered his hitting zone.
Oishibashi's pupils shrank violently.
He stepped in?!
That pitch should've been dangerous—possibly a hit-by-pitch.
Then realization struck.
He already saw it…
Before the thought finished—
Ping!
The bat struck the ball dead center.
Despite the awkward stance, the baseball rocketed outward.
Shirazawa let out a bitter smile.
Even that pitch…
"Outfield!!"
The ball soared over the infield, screaming toward deep right.
Seventy… eighty meters—
It bounced and slammed hard against the wall.
"It went through!"
"Super long hit!"
"Only ten meters short of a home run!"
Zhou Hao had already dropped the bat and sprinted.
First base.
Second.
Third—
Originally, he'd planned to attempt an inside-the-park home run.
But the third-base coach's arm came down sharply.
Stop.
No chance.
Against Seibo, this was already the limit.
"Safe!"
No outs.
Runner on third.
The Seidou stands exploded.
A triple.
In this situation—
the possibilities were endless.
A squeeze play.
A sacrifice fly.
Even a wild pitch.
Seidou's small-ball tactics were among the best in the nation.
Meanwhile, Shirazawa stood on the mound, breathing heavily.
Sweat streamed down beneath his cap.
Zhou Hao, standing on third, was tired—but steadier.
For the first time since this duel began, doubt crept into Shirazawa heart.
Are my strategies really working?
Or… is he the one who'll outlast me?
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
Shirazawa clenched his fists.
No.
He couldn't allow himself to waver now.