The next morning at Seidou, the dormitory that had been so noisy the night before was unusually quiet. Even Sawamura, who normally woke everyone with his boundless energy, seemed subdued as he trudged toward the practice field. The atmosphere around the team had shifted. The friendly competition that pushed them forward was starting to feel heavier, sharper—like blades being drawn.
The whispers from the previous night lingered. Sendo Akira's training had caught the eyes of everyone. His "Phantom God" presence on the mound was already becoming the kind of thing teammates whispered about in hushed tones. He wasn't loud like Sawamura, nor cold like Furuya. He carried himself with a calm intensity that made it impossible to look away when he pitched.
Coach Kataoka noticed it as well. His stern face betrayed nothing, but the way he surveyed his players during morning roll call made it clear—he could sense the storm brewing within the team.
"Gather up."
The team snapped to attention as Kataoka's commanding voice echoed across the field. His arms were crossed, cap low over his eyes, but his presence demanded absolute focus. "The competition within the team has reached a dangerous edge. Rivalries are natural—necessary, even—but when they grow unchecked, they can tear us apart."
No one dared speak. The silence carried weight.
"That's why," Kataoka continued, his voice firm, "we'll hold an internal test. Today. Pitchers, batters, fielders—everyone will face situations designed to push your limits. I don't care about excuses. What matters is whether you have the resolve to perform under pressure."
Murmurs rippled through the players. A test? Not just practice, but a deliberate challenge to prove who could withstand the heat? It was rare for Kataoka to arrange something like this outside of scrimmages.
Sawamura clenched his fists, eyes blazing with excitement. "Finally! A chance to show them all what I've got!"
Furuya said nothing, but his grip on the baseball tightened. He wanted the mound. He wanted to prove, with silence and dominance, that he was the strongest.
Sendo stood still, his expression unreadable. Yet inside, his thoughts burned.
(This is it. Another chance to separate myself. The system gave me strength—but I have to earn my place with results.)
The field was set up quickly. Each pitcher would face batters drawn from the team, their performance judged not only by results but by mental steadiness. Kataoka and the coaches stood at the backstop, clipboards ready, eyes sharp.
Tanba stepped onto the mound first. The veteran senior exuded calm as he delivered strike after strike, mixing his pitches with ease. The younger players watched with a mix of admiration and envy. His experience was evident; no matter the batter, his expression never changed.
"This is the gap," Kuramochi muttered under his breath as he watched. "The difference between us and them."
Next was Kawakami. While not as flashy, his steady control impressed the coaches. He lacked the overwhelming presence of Tanba, but his composure showed why he remained a trusted option.
Then came the first-years.
Sawamura bounded to the mound, practically vibrating with energy. His first pitch came with a roar, his body twisting with everything he had. The ball popped into the catcher's mitt with force—but it strayed off target. The next was better, the third wild again. His passion burned bright, but consistency wavered.
"Damn it!" he growled after a ball sailed high. "I'll get it next time!"
"Focus," Miyuki called sharply from behind the plate, his tone cutting. "Energy won't win games if you can't put it where it needs to go."
Sawamura's teeth clenched, but he nodded, forcing himself to breathe. Each pitch was a battle between fire and control. By the end of his set, he left the mound drenched in sweat, frustrated but unbroken.
Furuya followed. The tall pitcher's presence immediately silenced the chatter. His first pitch thundered into the mitt, a straight fastball with raw, terrifying power. The batter didn't even swing. The next pitch—another strike, the velocity overwhelming. Furuya didn't speak, didn't show emotion. He simply dominated. But as the sequence went on, his pitches remained fastballs. Strong, yes—but predictable.
The coaches whispered to each other, their pens scratching notes. Power unmatched, but too one-dimensional.
Then it was Sendo Akira's turn.
The moment he stepped onto the mound, the air seemed to shift. His expression calm, his steps measured, he carried none of Sawamura's noise or Furuya's intimidation. Yet every eye followed him. Even the seniors, who had seen countless pitchers, leaned forward slightly.
Miyuki crouched behind the plate, studying him intently. (Show me what you've got, Sendo.)
The first pitch came like a whisper—and then cracked into the glove with perfect precision. The batter froze, not at the speed, but at the control. The ball kissed the corner of the strike zone, untouchable.
The second pitch moved differently, tailing off at the last second, forcing a weak swing. The third—an off-speed pitch that disrupted timing completely.
Each ball seemed deliberate, each choice calculated. His mechanics were smooth, his body firm, the Kanto-level strength from the system flowing seamlessly into his motion. He didn't overwhelm with sheer velocity; he suffocated with precision, with an aura that felt unshakable.
By the time his set ended, the silence around the field was heavy.
Kuramochi exhaled sharply. "Tch… what the hell was that?"
Sawamura's jaw dropped. "No way… he's that calm even in this test!?"
Furuya's eyes narrowed, unblinking, as if etching every motion of Sendo's form into his mind.
From the dugout, Tanba watched with a frown. For the first time, he felt the stirrings of unease. This wasn't just another talented first-year. This was someone who could threaten his position as ace.
The test continued with batters, fielding drills, situational plays, but the echoes of Sendo's performance lingered. His presence was like a quiet storm, the kind that rolled in unnoticed until lightning struck.
As practice wound down, Kataoka gathered the team once more. His eyes scanned over every player, gauging not just their bodies but their spirits.
"Today showed me the truth," he said. "This team is full of raw energy, of potential that could burn brighter than any generation before. But potential alone is nothing. You will be tested again and again—not only by your rivals here, but by schools across the nation. If you can't prove yourselves under pressure, you'll be left behind."
The players stood stiff, absorbing every word.
"That's why," Kataoka continued, "our next step is clear. One week from now, Seidou will hold an official practice game against Teito High."
Gasps and whispers broke out. Teito High was no pushover. A strong opponent, known for disciplined batters and sharp defense.
"This game will decide more than results," Kataoka said firmly. "It will decide playing time. I don't care if you're a senior, a rookie, or somewhere in between. The ones who show resolve on the field will earn the right to stand in official games. The rest will watch from the bench."
The message landed like a hammer blow. Every player understood. This wasn't just a practice match—it was a battlefield to determine their place on the team.
Sawamura's heart pounded. "This is it! My chance to show them I can be the ace!"
Furuya's eyes burned with silent determination. He would crush anyone in his way.
And Sendo… Sendo clenched his fist, the phantom chime of the system ringing in his mind.
[Ding—Daily sign-in complete. Reward acquired: Kanto-level Stamina.]
Strength filled his body once more, subtle but undeniable. His path was opening wider with each day. The system's gifts were one thing, but this—this was about proving himself in front of everyone.
(Teito High… a real opponent. This is where I show them. No matter the odds, I'll stand tall. This is where my legend begins.)
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the field. Three rivals stood apart yet bound together, their fates clashing on the same path. Sawamura's fiery spirit, Furuya's icy dominance, Sendo's calm storm. Behind them, seniors refused to yield, determined to remind the first-years whose team this was.
The Civil War within Seidou was only beginning.
And in one week, the first true battle would ignite.
End of Chapter 9