Morning sunlight spilled through the dorm windows, bright and merciless. The smell of miso soup drifted in from the cafeteria downstairs, mixing with the faint tang of sweat and leather from gloves left hanging to dry.
Sawamura Eijun shot upright the moment his alarm went off, hair a wild mess, eyes blazing. "Today's the day! I'm not letting Sendo or Furuya get ahead!"
Kuramochi groaned from the bunk above him, shoving a pillow down at Sawamura's head. "Shut up, idiot. It's not even 6 a.m."
"That's the perfect time for training!" Sawamura shoved the pillow aside and leapt out of bed. "If Sendo's practicing at night, then I'll just practice in the morning! I'll double his effort and crush him!"
Furuya was already awake, sitting calmly at his desk, tying the laces of his cleats. His quiet presence cut through Sawamura's noise like a blade.
"You're loud," Furuya muttered. His voice wasn't sharp, but it carried weight.
Sawamura pointed at him dramatically. "Don't think you're any better! I'll surpass you too, Furuya!"
Furuya didn't answer, but his silence was its own kind of reply.
At the edge of the room, Sendo had just finished pulling on his jersey. His movements were efficient, precise, without wasted effort. He didn't join the argument—he didn't need to. His presence alone was enough to keep Sawamura bristling.
Miyuki appeared at the door, yawning. His hair was a mess, glasses tilted slightly. "Honestly, you guys start more fights before breakfast than most teams do in a season."
Sawamura whirled on him. "It's not a fight! It's called determination!"
"Mm. Determination, huh?" Miyuki's smirk deepened. His eyes shifted toward Sendo for just a moment before he spoke again. "Then let's see whose 'determination' actually shows on the field."
The jab hung in the air, subtle but sharp.
The morning practice began under Kataoka's stern gaze. The field glistened with dew, every blade of grass catching the sun. The crack of bats and the slap of balls into gloves filled the air, each sound a thread in Seidou's relentless rhythm.
Pitchers lined up along the bullpen, each waiting their turn. Sawamura bounced in place, bursting with energy, while Furuya stretched silently, long limbs moving with a predator's grace. Sendo stood apart, his expression calm, glove tucked against his chest.
"First-years, warm up properly!" Ochiai barked.
"Yes, sir!"
The competition wasn't spoken, but it pulsed through the air. Every throw, every stretch, was another chance to prove themselves.
When Sendo stepped onto the bullpen mound, a strange calm settled over him. He drew in a slow breath, fingers gripping the seams of the baseball. His body still hummed from last night's system reward—his strength felt different, denser, as though every fiber had been reinforced.
(Physical strength yesterday. Today should be…)
[Ding—Daily Sign-In Complete.][Day 15 reward acquired: Kanto-level Stamina.]
The rush hit him instantly. His lungs expanded with ease, his heartbeat steadied, and the heaviness that usually clung to long practice sessions seemed to dissolve. It wasn't just strength—it was endurance. His body felt built to last.
He wound up and threw.
Boom!
The ball smacked into the catcher's mitt with a sharp crack. Another, then another. His form didn't waver, his velocity didn't dip. Each pitch carried the same weight, the same fire.
Miyuki crouched behind the plate, eyes narrowing as he caught the throws. His palm stung, but he didn't flinch. Instead, a grin spread across his face.
(This guy… he's still holding back. He hasn't even shown everything yet.)
"Nice control," Miyuki called out. "But don't think I won't notice if you're hiding something."
Sendo didn't reply. He simply set for the next pitch.
Nearby, Sawamura was fuming. "Tch! Look at him, throwing like it's nothing! I'll show him—I'll throw ten times harder!"
Kuramochi leaned against the fence, smirking. "You can't throw ten times harder if you can't even throw straight, dumbass."
"Shut up!" Sawamura roared, winding up dramatically. His pitch flew wide, bouncing into the dirt.
"BALL!" Kuramochi yelled, laughing.
Sawamura's face turned red as the bullpen erupted in chuckles.
But Sendo didn't even glance their way. His focus was unbroken, as if the world narrowed down to the mound, the catcher, and the ball.
Furuya watched from the side, eyes narrowing. (He's… improving fast. Too fast.)
For the first time, something sharp stirred in his chest—a mixture of unease and resolve.
By the end of practice, sweat dripped from every player's brow. The sun had risen higher, burning the field with its midday glare.
"Gather up!" Kataoka's voice boomed.
The players assembled, tired but attentive. The coach's eyes swept across them, hard and unyielding.
"Our opponent tomorrow is Inashiro Industrial."
The air shifted instantly.
Whispers broke out. Inashiro—the powerhouse of Tokyo, the team standing as Seidou's greatest wall. The name alone carried weight, heavy enough to press down on the chest of every player.
"They're strong," Kataoka continued. "Stronger than anything you've faced yet. Narumiya Mei, their ace, is no ordinary pitcher. He's a lefty with pinpoint control, velocity, and the confidence to dominate any batter."
Even the veterans clenched their fists at the mention.
Sawamura's eyes blazed. "Narumiya… I'll take him on! I'll show him my spirit!"
Kuramochi smacked the back of his head. "Idiot, you can't hit him with spirit alone."
Furuya stayed silent, but his eyes sharpened. The thought of facing Narumiya stirred something deep inside—an almost primal urge to measure himself against the best.
Sendo remained calm, but inside, his pulse quickened.
(Narumiya Mei… the ace of Inashiro. If I want to climb to the top, I have to face him. I have to stand on the same mound, under the same pressure.)
The system's probabilities echoed in his mind.99%: Kanto-class0.9%: National-class0.1%: World-class
What would it take to match someone like Narumiya? To surpass him?
Sendo's fist tightened around his glove. (No matter what it takes, I'll be ready.)
That night, the dorm was unusually quiet. The weight of Inashiro's name pressed down on them all.
Sawamura paced restlessly, fists clenched. "I'm not scared! I'm not! I'll show everyone what I can do!"
Kuramochi rolled his eyes. "You sound scared saying that."
Furuya sat on his bed, staring at his glove in silence.
And Sendo… once again slipped out into the night.
The field was empty, bathed in pale moonlight. He stood on the mound, the ball heavy in his hand, and exhaled.
Tomorrow wasn't just another game. It was the gateway—the first real test against the mountain known as Inashiro.
He wound up and pitched.
Boom!
The sound echoed in the stillness. His eyes never wavered.
"This time," Sendo whispered to the empty field, "I'll prove I belong on that mound."
And above him, the stars glittered, as though listening.