The crowd fell into a hush as Sendo Akira stood tall on the mound. His fingers gripped the seams of the baseball tightly, the leather familiar against his skin, but the atmosphere was heavier than anything he had felt in practice. Every eye — teammates, opponents, coaches, spectators — was on him.
From the dugout, Sawamura leaned forward so far Kuramochi had to grab his jersey to keep him from tipping over. "Tch! Why him!? Why not me!?"
"Shut it, idiot," Kuramochi snapped, though his eyes were locked on the mound too. "Watch carefully. This is Sendo's moment."
Furuya didn't say a word. He sat with his glove resting on his knees, but his gaze never left the field, cold and focused.
Behind the plate, Miyuki crouched, mask glinting under the stadium lights. His smile curved sly and sharp as he raised his glove. "Alright then, first-year. Show me if you've got what it takes."
Sendo exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his chest as he locked onto Miyuki's target. The system's enhancements pulsed faintly in his muscles, but he didn't let the thought distract him. This wasn't about probabilities or rewards now. This was about execution.
He wound up. His motion was smooth, deliberate, honed from countless repetitions under the night lights. His foot struck the mound, torso twisting, arm whipping forward in a single fluid motion.
The ball exploded from his hand.
Boom!
The catcher's mitt popped like a gunshot as the ball landed squarely in Miyuki's glove.
The umpire's voice rang out. "Strike!"
The Teito batter froze for half a second before stepping back, eyebrows furrowing. That speed — it wasn't overwhelming like Furuya's fastball, but it carried a sharp heaviness that made it difficult to track.
Miyuki chuckled low behind the mask. "Heh… not bad for your first pitch."
The Seidou bench erupted. "Nice one, Sendo!" "Keep it up!" Even the seniors leaned forward, eyes widening at the crispness of the delivery.
In the dugout, Sawamura slammed his fist against the railing. "Damn it! That should've been me!"
Furuya finally spoke, his voice quiet but cutting. "If he's this good… I'll beat him myself."
On the mound, Sendo ignored everything but Miyuki's signals. The next pitch came — a fastball aimed low and away. His mechanics flowed like water, and the ball snapped into the glove again before the batter could react.
"Strike two!"
A murmur spread through the Teito dugout. Their hitters, disciplined and sharp, weren't used to being overwhelmed this early.
The batter tried to adjust on the third pitch, fouling it away, but Miyuki was already one step ahead. He signaled for a breaking ball — not too much movement, just enough to disrupt timing. Sendo trusted him, snapping his wrist as he delivered.
The ball curved off its axis, diving just as the batter swung.
"Strike three! Batter out!"
The Seidou side erupted in cheers.
Sendo exhaled, lowering his glove. His first opponent — handled. He didn't pump his fist or shout like Sawamura would have. He simply walked back to the mound, expression steady, as though he had done nothing more than practice.
Miyuki smirked as he tossed the ball back. "Not bad at all. You've got guts, first-year. Let's keep raising the bar."
But Teito wasn't a team to fold easily. Their next batter stepped in, a lefty with a reputation for patience. He let two pitches go by — one ball, one strike — before swinging. The crack of the bat sent the ball bouncing down the first-base line. Masuko dove, smothered it, and flipped it to first for the out.
Two down.
The pressure shifted. The Seidou crowd was roaring now, the energy palpable. Even Coach Kataoka's stern face softened ever so slightly in approval.
Yet the inning wasn't over. Teito's third batter was their captain, a player with calm eyes and steady presence. He dug in, adjusting his helmet. This was the kind of opponent who wouldn't be rattled by a first-year pitcher.
Sendo felt the weight of that gaze.
(So this is their leader…)
The first pitch — a strike, fouled off with ease. The second — a ball, just outside. On the third, the captain swung, sending a sharp grounder past short. Haruichi lunged, glove scraping the dirt, but the ball zipped into left field for a clean single.
The Teito bench roared back to life. Their captain stood confidently at first, clapping his hands as he called encouragement to the next hitter.
Miyuki jogged to the mound, tossing the ball lazily in his hand. "Not bad. He's their captain, so don't beat yourself up. But don't give him too much credit either. Pitch like you always do. Sharp, steady, and don't let the pressure in."
Sendo nodded once. The words didn't inflate him or calm him—they simply aligned with what he already knew.
The next batter stepped in, eyes sharp, clearly aiming to capitalize on the runner. Sendo delivered a fastball. The batter swung—contact! The ball shot into the gap between third and short.
But Kuramochi was lightning. He dove, snagging the ball mid-air, and in one fluid motion whipped it to second. Haruichi pivoted, firing to first.
"Out at second! Out at first! Double play!"
The inning ended. The Seidou bench exploded with cheers, players rushing to the field to greet their pitcher.
Sendo jogged calmly off the mound, glove tucked under his arm. He hadn't shouted, hadn't grinned, but the steadiness in his step spoke volumes. This wasn't luck. It was proof.
From the bench, Sawamura's fists trembled. "Damn it… Sendo's really…"
Furuya stood, grabbing his glove. His voice was low, but the intensity was unmistakable. "I'll take the mound back."
Miyuki caught the exchange as he passed by, smirk widening. "Heh. Looks like our little civil war is heating up."
As the game moved into the ninth, the score was still 1–0. Teito clung to their lead, but the momentum had shifted. Sendo's presence had steadied Seidou, given them the fire to push back.
Every player felt it — the quiet determination radiating from the first-year pitcher who had stepped onto the mound and refused to be shaken.
And in that moment, deep down, the rest of Seidou began to realize—
Sendo Akira wasn't just another freshman.
He was someone who could change games.
He was someone who could chase the ace number.