he bus hummed steadily along the road back to Seidou. Outside the windows, Tokyo's lights flickered like restless stars, but inside, the atmosphere was heavy with exhaustion and relief. The players slouched against the seats, their bodies still vibrating with the aftershocks of adrenaline. Victory had been theirs, but it hadn't come easily.
Sawamura Eijun hadn't shut up since they left the stadium.
"Did you guys see that!? That was insane! Our lineup crushed them at the end—bam! Just like that!" He threw a dramatic punch into the air, nearly hitting Kuramochi in the face.
Kuramochi caught his wrist mid-swing, scowling. "Oi, idiot! You trying to knock me out on the bus?"
Sawamura yanked his arm free and puffed out his chest. "I'm just saying, Seidou's aura is unstoppable right now! With me, Sendo, and Furuya, our first-years are the strongest in history!"
That got a few laughs from the seats nearby, but it also drew side-eyes. Sawamura always talked big, and after Sendo's strong performance earlier, the comparison stung more than usual.
Miyuki, leaning back two rows behind, smirked lazily. "Strongest in history, huh? Try earning the ace number first, loudmouth."
"Wha—!?" Sawamura whipped around, glaring. "Don't underestimate me! I'll take that number one sooner or later, just you wait!"
Miyuki chuckled, resting his chin on his palm. His glasses caught a glint of passing streetlight. "Sure, sure. Just remember—the mound only has room for one."
The words slipped through the bus like a ripple, silencing some of the chatter. Everyone knew it was true. No matter how many pitchers Seidou carried, the ace was only one person.
At the back, Sendo Akira sat quietly, earbuds in but no music playing. He wasn't ignoring the noise—he was listening. Every word, every boast, every laugh. Sawamura's noisy determination, Furuya's silence, Miyuki's taunts… he absorbed it all. His eyes stayed fixed on the window, the reflection of streetlights flickering across his calm face.
(It won't be words that decide it. Only results.)
His fingers tightened around the baseball resting in his palm. Even in moments like this, he couldn't let go.
The bus rolled into Seidou's campus. The night air was cool when the players disembarked, a welcome contrast to the heat still clinging to their bodies. Their dormitory lights glowed softly, waiting for them.
Inside, chaos immediately resumed. Sawamura collapsed onto his futon, groaning dramatically. "I can't move… my body's broken!"
"Shut up already." Kuramochi hurled a pillow at him, smirking when Sawamura yelped.
Furuya sat at his bunk polishing his glove, as methodical as ever. His tall frame seemed carved from stone, his focus unbroken even amidst the noise. The quiet intensity about him made some of the first-years uneasy—they couldn't tell if he was calm, or simply distant.
Miyuki leaned against the doorway, glasses off now, rubbing at his temples. "Honestly, this dorm is noisier than the stadium."
Sawamura sat up immediately. "You say that like it's a bad thing! Energy's important for baseball, you know!"
"Mm. Shame energy doesn't win games by itself." Miyuki's smirk cut deep.
Before Sawamura could explode again, Sendo rose from his seat. He slipped on his shoes, picked up his glove, and headed for the door without a word.
"Oi, Sendo, where you going?" Kuramochi called after him.
"Practice," Sendo replied simply. His tone was calm, almost casual, but his eyes were sharp.
Sawamura gawked. "Wha—practice!? After a full game!? You'll collapse, idiot!"
But Sendo didn't turn back. The door clicked shut behind him.
The practice field was quiet, save for the soft buzz of the remaining stadium lights. The dirt crunched beneath his cleats as Sendo stepped onto the mound. He breathed in deeply—the night air was crisp, sharp with the scent of grass and earth.
He set his glove, drew back, and pitched.
Boom!
The ball smacked against the net. Strong, but not strong enough. Not yet.
His muscles ached from earlier innings, his arm heavy, but he refused to stop. Every pitch was another step forward. Every throw, another reminder.
(If I slack, even for a day, I'll fall behind.)
That was when it came—the familiar chime in his mind.
[Ding—Daily Sign-In Complete.][Day 14 reward acquired: Kanto-level Physical Strength.]
The moment the system's words echoed in his head, Sendo froze. His heart pounded.
Then it hit him.
A wave of heat rushed through his body—not a burn, but a surge of power. His legs braced against the dirt with new steadiness. His shoulders felt broader, his arms firmer, as though every fiber had been rewired to endure more. Even his breathing came easier, fuller, stronger.
He clenched his fist, marveling at the new solidity of his grip.
(This is… different from before.)
He wound up and threw again.
Boom!
The ball screamed into the net, the ropes shaking violently. The sound carried heavier, sharper, than anything he'd thrown earlier.
Sendo exhaled slowly. (Kanto-level strength. This is what the system meant.)
But the voice wasn't finished.
[Upcoming Rewards]Day 15: Kanto-level StaminaDay 16: Kanto-level Reflexes[System prompt: Probability system in effect.]
The text scrolled again before his eyes.
99% chance: Kanto-class0.9% chance: National-class0.1% chance: World-class
The words etched themselves into his mind, branding him with both hope and weight.
(National… World-class…?)
Images flickered in his thoughts—pitchers who dominated on television, legends whose names carried across Japan, rivals he hadn't yet faced. His breath caught.
If even one of those rewards landed…
He tightened his fist around the ball, his knuckles pale under the moonlight.
(I can't stop. No matter how far I've come, it's not enough. If I want to stand at the top, if I want that ace number, I have to keep climbing until luck and persistence finally break open that door.)
Unbeknownst to him, Miyuki stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed. His eyes tracked every pitch Sendo threw, the sharp cracks echoing in the quiet night.
"That guy…" he murmured, half a chuckle in his voice. "He doesn't even know how to rest."
From the dorm window above, Sawamura pressed his face against the glass, eyes wide. "Sendo's still out there!? No way—I can't let him get ahead!"
He turned, already scrambling for his shoes.
But Furuya's calm voice cut him off. "Don't bother. You'll only wear yourself out."
Sawamura froze, glaring at him. "Hah!? What's that supposed to mean!?"
Furuya didn't look up from his glove. His tone was quiet, steady. "You can't catch him by chasing his shadow. If you want to beat him… stand on the mound and prove it."
The room went silent. Sawamura's mouth opened, then shut. His fists trembled at his sides, torn between pride and frustration.
Miyuki's laughter drifted in through the open window. "Looks like things are heating up."
On the mound, Sendo's arm finally dropped. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, sweat dampening his shirt. But his eyes never lost their edge.
He glanced up at the scoreboard, its empty face glowing faintly in the dark.
Right now, it was blank. But someday soon, those numbers would burn proof of his efforts.
Sendo Akira clenched his fist around the ball, his voice low but firm.
"This is only the beginning."