No outs. A runner on first.
Zhou Hao stepped into the batter's box.
All eyes were on him. Some spectators were filled with anticipation, others with dread.
Their expressions varied—but one thing was clear: everyone understood just how dangerous Zhou Hao was.
On the mound, Seiko Academy's ace was already gasping for breath.
The game had only just begun, yet he looked like he was about to collapse.
To be fair, it wasn't entirely his fault.
Facing Seidou High School today had been a brutal reality check. One he clearly hadn't seen coming.
He never imagined being crushed so thoroughly—so mercilessly—that he'd have no way to fight back.
From start to finish, Seidou's batters hadn't shown a single flaw.
Not only that—they kept racking up hits.
The two runs Seiko had managed to scrape together in the beginning now felt like charity.
In their dugout, Coach Kumakiri—respected by every player on the team—sat in stunned silence.
His eyes had lost focus.
No one missed how devastated he looked.
Seidou wasn't just beating them. Through action, they were saying:
Your training methods are outdated. Your approach is flawed.
"No... it can't be!"
The ace glared at Zhou Hao like a wounded wolf.
He couldn't accept this.
More than that—he couldn't stand the look on his coach's face.
They had trained so hard for this.
Even when the street lights shut off at night, they gathered in front of the school building, swinging under the dim glow.
Their muscular bodies were proof of the hours they'd put in.
And now, standing before him, was just a first-year.
Yes, Zhou Hao had gotten plenty of hits this game. Some even said he was the strongest newcomer.
But so what?
Brute force didn't work against everyone.
And while Seidou's players might look lean, their actual strength was on par—or greater—than Seiko's own.
The ace knew this.
But Zhou Hao? A freshman?
There was no way his strength compared to his seniors'.
That meant one thing—Zhou Hao could be overpowered.
"No need for tricks. Just fire it down the middle."
Resolute, the ace gritted his teeth and went all in.
This wasn't just about getting an out. He wanted to crush Zhou Hao's spirit.
"Whoosh!"
The pitch exploded forward, a blur of white.
In the blink of an eye, the ball was right in front of Zhou Hao.
But Zhou Hao saw it all.
With the help of his Sharingan, the pitch's movement was crystal clear.
He could even see the tension in the pitcher's muscles as he released the ball.
"What a monster..."
Beaten down by Seidou's seniors and still throwing with this much power?
Zhou Hao couldn't help but admire him.
But admiration wouldn't excuse failure.
He was part of Seidou's lineup now. He had a role to play.
Missing a fastball right down the middle? That'd be unforgivable when he got back to the bench.
Zhou Hao took a deep breath, adjusted his stance.
He didn't have the raw strength.
But so what?
He had seen through the pitch. He knew it was coming right down the middle.
All he needed now—was more power.
Tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, Zhou Hao launched his full force into the swing.
"Let's go!"
He poured everything into that hit—his stride, his improved physique, the intense training over the past two months with Seidou.
He took the gamble.
"Ping!"
The bat made contact. The impact sent a shockwave through his arms.
For a split second, Zhou Hao wondered if his hands were injured.
But there was no turning back now.
He had to land that hit!
Gritting his teeth, he held steady, then drove the bat forward with every ounce of strength he had left.
The ball soared into the sky.
The third baseman from Seiko Academy tracked it, eyes wide.
His bulky frame didn't matter—he threw himself at it.
He leapt, stretching his glove out as far as it could go.
But the ball was out of reach. At least two meters too far.
He looked like a clown leaping for a balloon—comical, hopeless.
Laughter and cheers erupted from Seidou's dugout.
They'd expected this, but still, watching the ball fly brought a jolt of excitement to their hearts.
This was Seidou High School's true offensive power.
This was the terror they brought to the field.
Zhou Hao had officially become one of them.
Now fully integrated into Seidou's elite batting lineup, he had made their attack even more unstoppable.
Coach Kumakiri stared at the soaring ball, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.
"You couldn't stop him either, huh..."
He understood better than anyone what that ball meant.
Seiko's players had trained hard.
Their strength was real.
Otherwise, how could they have come this far?
But here was the cruel truth—
Their strength only stood out against average teams.
When facing the true giants of high school baseball, everything they relied on crumbled into insignificance.
This wasn't just the pitcher's failure.
It was Seiko Academy's failure as a whole.
Coach Kumakiri clenched his fist.
But to him, it was even more personal.
As the supervisor, he was responsible for everything—the training, the strategy, the mindset.
Everyone else could dodge the blame.
He could not.
"Am I... really getting old?"
Losing was one thing.
But when a coach starts doubting whether he can still win—that's when everything falls apart.
At that moment, a hand reached out behind him.
"We're still here."
Back on the field, the ball hit by Zhou Hao bounced back to the ground.
"Seidou High School scores their sixth run!"
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POWER STONE!!!
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