What exactly is Yakushi High School's baseball team planning?
Their important starting pitcher turned out to be a first-year freshman. And this first-year freshman had never once appeared in any of Yakushi's previous official games.
Although Watanabe had previously mentioned this — that Yakushi had a first-year pitcher, and from the way he was practicing in the bullpen, there was a chance he might appear in the game.
But at the time, the Seidou players just let it go in one ear and out the other.
What a joke — would Yakushi really dare to send a first-year rookie to the mound against them?
Forget about the completely unknown Tomobe Sakito — even Igarashi, who had already played in official games, wasn't taken that seriously by Seidou's players.
Maybe he could hold out for an inning or two, but if the game dragged on, figuring him out would be as easy as flipping a hand.
On this point, the Seidou players were extremely confident.
But it turned out they had underestimated Coach Todoroki's boldness.
He actually dared to send a first-year rookie pitcher up to the mound.
As a result, it was the Seidou players who found themselves caught off guard.
If they analyzed it logically, unless Yakushi's Coach Todoroki had completely lost his mind, this had to mean the first-year rookie who had just taken the mound must have considerable skill and ability.
"Do we have any detailed information on him?"
Asou couldn't help but turn around and ask the first-year players behind him.
After all, they were from the same grade level, so they should have at least heard something.
But the next moment, the scene got even more awkward — among the newly promoted Seidou first-years, almost none of them were from Tokyo.
Yui Kaoru was a national youth player who hadn't interacted much with local Tokyo players, and he wasn't from Tokyo himself. He had almost no knowledge of Tomobe.
"The name sounds vaguely familiar, but also kind of unfamiliar."
Okumura knew even less, as he was from Kanagawa.
As for the other three newcomers — Nishiyama was from Chiba, and Lee-Hyun wasn't even from Japan, so they couldn't possibly know any Tokyo players.
Asking them was a complete waste of time.
In the end, all hope landed on Yuuki Masashi.
All the players' eyes lingered on Yuuki for a moment, before they all looked away.
"Forget it, let's just find out on the field."
With that, Kuramochi grabbed his bat and stepped up to the Batter's Box as the leadoff hitter.
Today, Seidou's batting lineup hadn't been adjusted at all.
Seidou had already fine-tuned their lineup to a near-perfect state.
Since they had already achieved such perfection, there was no need to make any unnecessary changes. Making changes recklessly might do more harm than good.
Yuuki Masashi wasn't happy about this.
'What are these Senpais thinking?'
But given his personality, even if he thought that, he couldn't actually say it out loud.
In the end, it was Toujou who, being considerate, turned back and asked again.
"Any info at all?"
"That kid's got something." Yuuki Masashi answered solemnly.
And after that…
~Silence~
Toujou looked confused and asked incredulously:
"That's it?"
Yuuki Masashi nodded.
Toujou wasn't too bothered, but the other players who overheard were all rolling their eyes.
Good thing they didn't waste time asking Yuuki — otherwise, they'd be furious.
Although Seidou's pre-game preparation was relatively thorough, they still overlooked a few things, especially regarding players who rarely saw the field.
This ended up being a valuable lesson — next time, they'd have to be much more cautious.
Hidden trump cards like this would likely reveal nothing in advance.
Yakushi's backup pitcher was a perfect example.
In fact, Inashiro's Ace Narumiya's mystery Cutball was another case.
Before the actual game, there hadn't been a single clue about it.
On the other hand, Seidou had been competing constantly — from Spring Koshiento the Spring Tournament, to the Kanto Tournament, practice games, and the American expedition...
For months, Seidou fought battles everywhere.
Their existing tactics were gradually exposed and worn down during all these games.
Any team that wanted to study Seidou probably already knew them inside and out.
Meanwhile, those who were eliminated early, like Yakushi, stayed hidden…
I'm in the light, while the enemy is in the dark.
From a strategic standpoint, Seidou started at a major disadvantage.
"From now on, we need to take this kind of preparation much more seriously!"
This incident served as a wake-up call for Seidou.
But aside from this reflection, the players still weren't too worried about their opponents.
Even though Yakushi had pulled off a surprise move, it all depended on whether this pitcher was actually any good.
If his skill was real, fine.
If not, then Yakushi was digging their own grave.
The Seidou players were far from being pushovers.
As long as the rookie showed even the slightest opening, they would crush him mercilessly — to the point he'd question his life choices.
And the one leading that charge was none other than Kuramochi.
As Seidou's leadoff hitter and a nationally recognized star player, his hitting technique, power, and base-running speed…
All of it would be a massive challenge for any pitcher.
So what exactly could Yakushi's freshman pitcher do?
They would find out soon enough.
"Hyaa-ha-haa!"
Standing in the Batter's Box, Kuramochi Youichi had no idea about his opponent's traits.
But he wasn't anxious at all — he stood firm, showing the aura of a true power hitter.
He wanted to see for himself just what kind of trick this rookie pitcher was going to pull.
With Kuramochi's ability, unless the pitcher had some truly terrifying pitch, he was confident he could get on base.
And if Kuramochi got on base, Seidou's chances of scoring would skyrocket.
After all, a first-year pitcher's overall ability couldn't possibly match a veteran upperclassman.
The gap between middle school and high school players wasn't just about pitching.
Someone like Sawamura Eijun, who had already surpassed most third-year pitchers as a freshman — there had only ever been one of him in all these years.
'Come on, kid!'
At this moment, Kuramochi was practically itching for action.
He couldn't wait to smash the first pitch he saw.
Even if bullying underclassmen wasn't exactly honorable, Kuramochi had never minded such things.
In fact, he kind of loved it.
As long as the kid threw the ball, Kuramochi was going to send it flying.
After much anticipation, the first-year pitcher on the mound finally threw the first pitch.
Tall and lanky, with plain, unremarkable facial features —
Yakushi's rookie pitcher looked completely ordinary.
But his pitch placement was extremely sharp, to the point that even Kuramochi hesitated to swing.
Kuramochi had intended to observe this first pitch, so he didn't swing at all — just letting the ball pass.
The ball zipped through a nasty corner and into the catcher's Mitt.
Snap!
"STRIKE!"
Kuramochi fell behind 0-1.
Small signs reveal the big picture.
Even though they had only seen the opponent's first pitch, the data bank inside the Seidou High School baseball team's players' minds was already starting to fill up.
'The pitch speed wasn't exactly slow, but it wasn't particularly fast either — around 135 km/h, which is considered decent for a high school pitcher.'
If the opponent plans to deal with Kuramochi using just this level of pitching, that would be pretty tough.
As the catcher, Miyuki noticed even more. His sharp eyes detected a slight stiffness in Kuramochi's body.
For a pitch that, to them, didn't seem particularly hard to handle, why would Kuramochi's body stiffen up?
Although it only lasted for a brief moment — so short that most people wouldn't even catch it — Miyuki knew Kuramochi far too well. Even though the stiffness was almost imperceptible, Miyuki still picked up on it immediately.
"There must be something in that pitch that's hard to detect from the outside."
Miyuki said to himself quietly.
For Sawamura, things were even simpler.
Ever since he started entering Zone, Sawamura's vision had undergone significant improvement.
Even at a distance of nearly 30 meters, he could faintly make out the type of pitch.
'It was a straight ball!'
And it wasn't even particularly fast.
If the pitch location was good, someone like Kuramochi — no matter what his initial plan was — definitely wouldn't let it go.
Since Kuramochi did let it go, it could only mean one thing: the pitch was extremely hard to handle.
"Control pitching, huh?"
Vaguely, Sawamura had already sensed the pitcher's unique trait. At the very least, this was likely one of his specialties.
Pitchers with this type of trait are not uncommon across the country.
Even within Tokyo, there are two pitchers who have taken this style to the pinnacle.
They are Yoh Shunshin and Mukai Taiyou.
Seidou High School's team had faced both of them before. And they had to admit — these two had developed their control to an unparalleled level.
Even for Seidou's batters, it was extremely difficult to get hits off them.
Of course, having a similar style doesn't mean having the same skill level. Across Japan, there are countless pitchers who rely on control pitching.
But only a small handful ever manage to truly make a name for themselves with it.
The vast majority ultimately fade into obscurity.
The truth is — no matter what type of style a pitcher relies on, as long as they push that style to its absolute peak, they will inevitably become powerful.
But the problem is: that not every pitcher can actually reach that level.
And what about this young pitcher standing before them now?
Sawamura asked himself that question, but he couldn't come up with an answer.
Before his regression, this guy was completely unheard of. Maybe he never even joined the professional leagues — much like Nanami Haruka.
If they hadn't both been from Nagano, and if Sawamura hadn't been the team captain, it's very likely he never would have heard of Nanami Haruka either.
Or perhaps this guy did enter pro ball, but he just never made a name for himself.
After all, Sawamura spent most of his life in the Major Leagues. As for Japanese pro ball, aside from a few famous stars, he only had a vague knowledge of most players.
As for those who never became famous? Sawamura probably wouldn't even know their names.
For a baseball player to achieve fame — to the point where their name reaches all the way across to the Major Leagues — it takes more than just skill. They need honors, achievements, and sometimes, even a bit of luck.
You need all of those — none of them can be missing!
While Sawamura was lost in thought, the battle on the field already reached its conclusion.
On the second pitch, Kuramochi swung his bat.
Ping!
The baseball was struck, flying directly toward an open gap in the defense.
"Hyaa-ha!"
Successfully pulling the ball into that spot, Kuramochi was in a great mood.
The Cheetah-sama fully unleashed his speed, transforming into a streak of blue, and sprinting madly toward first base.
It looked like the ball was about to land and break through the defense.
Suddenly, a nimble figure rushed forward and snagged the ball out of the air.
Snap!
Without even bothering to fully straighten up, the player immediately fired the ball to first base.
Snap!
By the time the ball arrived at first, Kuramochi had almost arrived simultaneously.
Although the fielder wasted absolutely no time in his throw, Kuramochi's speed was just too fast. Thanks to his quickness, he practically reached the base at the exact same moment as the ball.
This left the first base umpire in a tough spot.
To be honest, the umpire himself wasn't sure — did Kuramochi touch the base first, or did the ball arrive first?
At first, just like Kuramochi, the umpire thought that the ball had already passed through the defense — so most of his attention had been focused on Kuramochi's running. It wasn't until he heard the sound of the ball smacking into the mitt that he realized the fielder had made the play.
'What now?'
After hesitating for a moment, the umpire raised both hands and spread his arms apart.
"OUT!"
This decision naturally triggered discontent from Seidou's fans.
But since the game had just started, the crowd held back — at least for now.
If something like this happens again later, though, the fans might not be so polite.
What the fans didn't know was — the first base umpire's decision was actually influenced by their presence.
One Out, bases empty.
"Second batter, second baseman, Kominato-kun!"
...