The morning sun blazed down on Seidou High's baseball field, painting the diamond in shades of gold. The air carried a heavy tension that had little to do with the weather and everything to do with the day's opponent—Teito High. Known for their discipline, sharp batting lineup, and a pitcher who had already made a name across Kanto, they weren't just another practice match opponent. They were a measuring stick.
The Seidou players gathered by the dugout, uniforms crisp, gloves freshly polished. For first-years like Sendo Akira, Sawamura Eijun, and Furuya Satoru, this wasn't simply another game. It was their chance to prove themselves—to the coaches, to the team, and to each other.
Sawamura was already bouncing with energy, throwing mock pitches into the air while shouting, "I'll shut them down with my moving fastball! They won't even touch it!" His loud declaration earned a chorus of groans.
Kuramochi smacked him on the head with a glove. "Idiot, don't go shouting like that before the game even starts. Save your barking for the mound."
"Who's barking!? This is the confidence of a future ace!" Sawamura snapped back, puffing out his chest.
Furuya stood silently beside them, tall frame casting a shadow across the dugout. His expression didn't waver, but his grip on the ball was tight, his eyes locked on Teito's players warming up across the field. He didn't need to speak—his intent was clear.
And then there was Sendo. Unlike Sawamura's bluster or Furuya's quiet intensity, Sendo sat calmly, lacing up his cleats. He glanced at Teito's dugout, his sharp eyes narrowing as he recognized their ace, Takigawa Ryo—a second-year pitcher already considered one of Kanto's best.
(A powerhouse team… and a powerhouse pitcher. Perfect. This is the kind of game I've been waiting for.)
The system's faint chime still lingered in his memory. His body felt stronger, sharper, the Kanto-level improvements subtly flowing into every movement. But this wasn't the time to rely blindly on the system. Against an opponent like Teito, execution mattered more than potential.
"Alright, everyone!" Coach Kataoka's voice cut through the chatter, firm and commanding. The players fell silent, eyes fixed on him. "Teito won't give us anything for free. They're disciplined, fast, and they punish mistakes. That means no lapses, no taking it easy. Play Seidou baseball. Play with pride."
"Yes, sir!" the team answered in unison, voices echoing across the field.
The lineup was posted. Seniors held the core batting order, but Sendo's name appeared among the substitutes. He wouldn't start, but he knew what that meant—Kataoka was watching, waiting for the right moment. If an opportunity arose, he had to be ready.
The game began.
Teito's batters were quick to show why they were feared. Their leadoff hitter sent a sharp grounder past third base, testing Seidou's defense right from the start. But Kominato Haruichi, calm and precise, scooped it cleanly and rifled it to first for the out. The cheers from the Seidou bench rang loud, but no one relaxed.
By the third inning, the game was locked in a tense battle. Seidou's starting pitcher, Tanba, worked carefully around Teito's batters, while Teito's ace struck out one Seidou hitter after another with a mix of fastballs and biting sliders. Every swing, every cheer, every shout carried weight.
Sendo watched intently from the bench, eyes never leaving the field. His heart raced with every pitch.
(So this is the gap between ordinary teams and the real powerhouses. Their precision… their patience. If I stand on that mound unprepared, I'll be crushed instantly.)
But beneath that thought, his determination only deepened. He didn't fear the gap. He welcomed it.
By the fifth inning, the score remained 0–0. The air was heavy with pressure. Sawamura, practically vibrating with energy, grabbed Miyuki's sleeve. "Senpai! Put me in! I can handle this! My moving fastball will tear through them!"
Miyuki gave him a sidelong glance, smirk tugging at his lips. "You say that, but pitching isn't just about guts. You'll get your turn eventually. Don't rush it."
Furuya spoke then, voice low but steady. "I want to pitch too."
His words carried no exaggeration, no bluster—just raw, simple confidence. The first-years locked eyes, sparks flying between them even from the bench.
Sendo said nothing. He didn't need to. His silence spoke louder than Sawamura's shouting.
The breakthrough came in the sixth inning. Teito's cleanup batter smashed a double to deep left, then advanced on a sacrifice bunt. A sharp single to center brought the first run of the game. 1–0, Teito.
The Teito bench roared with approval, their discipline and execution on full display.
Coach Kataoka crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. He called for Furuya to warm up. The tall right-hander immediately rose, his warm-up pitches sharp and powerful, the thud of each ball into the catcher's mitt echoing like a drumbeat. Sawamura gritted his teeth, fists clenched.
And Sendo? He stood quietly, stretching his shoulders, rolling the ball in his hand. He didn't need to be told. He would be ready, whether Kataoka called him or not.
The seventh inning began with Furuya taking the mound. His first pitch blazed past the batter, a fastball that drew gasps from the crowd. Miyuki's smirk widened as he caught it. "Nice. With this kind of heat, you'll turn the game around."
But Teito wasn't shaken. Their batters adjusted, fouling off pitch after pitch, forcing Furuya to work harder. By the time the inning ended, the score remained 1–0, but sweat already glistened on his forehead.
In the dugout, Sendo studied him carefully.
(That's the reality of Kanto's top hitters. Even a weapon like Furuya's fastball won't dominate forever. To stand against them… you need more than talent. You need persistence. Control. Strategy.)
The game dragged into the eighth. Seidou still trailed by one. Every pitch, every swing carried the weight of the game. Sawamura shouted encouragement from the bench, unable to sit still. The seniors gritted their teeth, desperate to break the silence of the scoreboard.
And then Kataoka's voice rang out. "Sendo. Get ready."
For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Sawamura's jaw dropped. Furuya glanced over, expression unreadable. Even Miyuki raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Sendo rose slowly, nodding once. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, but his steps were steady as he walked to the bullpen. Each warm-up pitch felt sharper, stronger. The Kanto-level power from the system surged quietly in his veins.
(So this is it. My chance. The moment I prove I belong on this stage.)
The eighth inning was nearing its close when Kataoka finally made the signal. The umpire called time. Seidou's bench stirred as Sendo Akira jogged onto the mound for the very first time in an official practice game.
The murmurs spread through the crowd. "A first-year? At this point in the game?"
Miyuki adjusted his mask, a grin tugging at his lips as he crouched behind the plate. "Alright then, Sendo. Show me what you've got."
Sendo stood tall on the mound, gripping the ball tightly. Across from him, Teito's batter dug in, eyes sharp with anticipation. The field was silent, the weight of expectation pressing down.
He drew in a breath, feeling the steadiness in his legs, the strength in his arm, the rhythm of his body.
(One pitch. That's all it takes to begin proving myself.)
He wound up and delivered.
The ball left his hand like a streak of white lightning.
The game against Teito had truly begun.