[Do you want to open the Novice Gift Pack?]
At that moment, about to step onto the field, he realized he had no choice.
"Open!"
No matter what skill the system granted, he felt it would be enough to transform him. This was a leap across dimensions!
[Novice Gift Pack opened. Congratulations, Host, on acquiring the S-rank skill: Sharingan!]
Sharingan?
His heart trembled at the sight. Could his eyes really turn into spinning pinwheels?
With high-definition cameras everywhere, if anyone saw this, would he be locked up and dissected?
Feeling uneasy, he quickly activated his Sharingan.
[Sharingan activated. The host has no chakra in his body and can only rely on will and physical strength to sustain its use. Based on the host's will and physical strength, the Sharingan can be used for sixty seconds. Countdown begins: 60! 59...]
As the Sharingan flickered to life, the world before his eyes warped strangely.
But there was no time to get distracted.
Knowing he had only sixty seconds, he grabbed Yōichi urgently and demanded, "Look at my eyes—have they changed?
Not to mention the advanced Mangekyo Sharingan, even the initial forms—one tomoe, two tomoe, three tomoe—were enough to make him look like a freak.
Yōichi studied him intently.
Then his pupils suddenly widened in shock.
It was over.
His heart sank.
Had his eyes already transformed into some bizarre shape?
"Didn't you sleep well last night? You've got a huge eye booger!" Yōichi joked, breaking the tension.
He glared fiercely at his friend, then let out a relieved sigh, glad his fears were unfounded.
Without chakra, he could only activate the Sharingan through physical and mental effort—so his eyes wouldn't morph into anything strange.
"Deactivate!"
He had only sixty seconds total—and five had already passed.
Although the energy consumption wasn't overwhelming, he still felt a slight fatigue creeping into his body.
Was the power from the anime Naruto: Shippuden truly as formidable as he had imagined?
He didn't know.
But the toll it took was definitely more than he had anticipated.
The game was still underway. The batter who had just been substituted out sat dejectedly on the bench.
Being replaced at such a critical moment made it clear that this young man probably wouldn't see many opportunities in the future.
Seidō, a nationally renowned powerhouse, had nearly a hundred members.
Each player got only a few chances at most. Sometimes, if you missed one, you might never get another.
This wasn't just true for that young man—it was true for him as well.
Takashima Rei had solemnly invited him to play at this crucial moment.
If he made a mistake, he would be sidelined—likely without another chance until autumn.
Taking a deep breath, he gripped his bat and stepped into the batter's box.
One out, runner on second base.
He had no impression of the runner.
He wasn't a freshman from their year; he must be an upperclassman, either second or third year.
This unknown upperclassman had earlier cleanly hit a double off Kawakami.
Yet, such an upperclassman couldn't even make Seidō's Second String.
This was Seidō!
"Yamamoto Takumi is up!" the announcer called.
"Who's Yamamoto Takumi?"
"He's that good-looking exchange student who's useless on the field."
"Baseball isn't about looks; it's about results."
"What a waste, fighting so hard until now, thinking we could tie or even take the lead. Now there's no hope."
"What nonsense! The game's outcome isn't the point; the key is to see how each player performs."
"No matter what, players on the winning side always get favored, right?"
The players chatted animatedly, especially those on his side.
They were already down by one run, and with him stepping up to bat, it felt like all hope had vanished from their side.
Inevitably, complaints echoed from the dugout.
In truth, his batting had little to do with them at this point.
The only person it concerned was the upperclassman on second base. If he hit well, he could seize the opportunity to shine.
Yet, unlike the others' grumbling, this unknown upperclassman showed a friendly attitude.
"Go for it!" he encouraged with a smile, cheering him on while also putting pressure on Kawakami from the base.
He burst off second base, feinting a steal toward third.
This forced Kawakami, standing on the mound, to split his focus.
"As expected of an upperclassman—what a headache!" he muttered with frustration.
In today's game alone, he had already surrendered three hits.
The pressure weighed heavily on him.
Thankfully, it was Kawakami on the mound now—not Maezono, Kuramochi, or Shirasu from their year.
Otherwise, Kawakami's burden would have been even greater.
"Sorry, Yamamoto-san, but I have to make it into the Second String no matter what!" Norifumi declared firmly, determination burning in his eyes.
Pitcher promotions were entirely different from other positions.
All pitchers trained in the bullpen, so their rankings were crystal clear.
Norifumi felt he was close to securing a spot as a Second String pitcher.
Some rookies from their year had already been promoted to the First String, and he refused to fall behind.
Having left his hometown at a young age to pursue baseball at Seidō, he was determined.
He raised his leg high, completely ignoring the runner on base.
Kawakami's pitching was confident and precise.
This was a far cry from Takumi's previous impression of him.
Of course, that impression came from seeing Kawakami face second- and third-year upperclassmen.
As a practice pitcher, Kawakami had always appeared timid and lacking confidence when pitching to his seniors.
Now, facing these rookies his own age, Kawakami exuded the aura of an Ace from his middle school days.
Whoosh!
As a sidearm pitcher, Kawakami's throws came from the side of his body, sending the baseball on a trajectory unlike any other pitcher's.
Watching it, a shiver ran down his spine.
'Is it going to hit me?' he wondered anxiously.
The ball seemed to be heading straight for his head.
But just before it reached him, it curved sharply, narrowly missing him and sliding perfectly into the strike zone.
Thwack!
"Strike!"
One strike, zero balls.
The rookies who had been grumbling moments ago grew even more dismissive.
"No reaction at all—could he be scared?" one sneered.
"You're one to talk; you weren't much better when you were up there," another shot back.
"Who said that? At least I made contact with the ball," retorted a third.
Ōta Kazuyoshi, the club president, nodded with satisfaction, his belly jutting out proudly.
Even Takashima Rei from the opposing side smiled knowingly.
"Kawakami-san is in excellent form. Facing players his own age likely eases his pressure, allowing him to showcase his true strength. In this relaxed state, he can definitely compete for a key role in the Second String. Once the third-year players graduate, he might even become a relief pitcher for the team," she remarked thoughtfully.
"Yamamoto-san is quite unlucky. This level of pitching is a bit too advanced for him right now," she added with a hint of sympathy.