As soon as Zhou Hao stepped into the batter's box, a thunderous cheer erupted from the stands.
"Hit it out!"
"The miracle boy—100% success rate!"
"It's all on you!"
Of course, Zhou Hao's batting average wasn't literally perfect. But to the fans, it may as well have been. Every time he swung, they expected a miracle.
Across the field, Ichidai Third's dugout was gripped by tension. They had poured over Seido's data. They knew just how terrifying Zhou Hao's bat could be.
"Damn it… if Matsumoto hadn't gotten on base first, this wouldn't be so dangerous…"
But he had. Which meant they had no choice. Zhou Hao stood at the plate, a potential disaster for Ichidai and a chance for Seido to seize momentum.
They knew the truth: whenever Zhou Hao batted, Seido's chances of scoring skyrocketed. Conversely, shutting him down would shatter Seido's rhythm. A risk—and an opportunity.
On the mound, Kimura Takumi's face was as unreadable as stone. Calm, cold, without a flicker of emotion. His very presence radiated intimidation.
Kuramochi, sitting in the front of the Seido bench, squinted. "Tch… this guy is annoying. You can't read him at all."
A third-year beside him chuckled. "Good eyes. Among West Tokyo's three powerhouses, he's the deadliest ace pitcher. They call him the Cold-Blooded Assassin—Kimura Takumi."
Kuramochi blinked. "Cold-Blooded Assassin…?"
The senior nodded. "West Tokyo's strongest batter is Azuma Kiyokuni. The most fearsome pitcher—Kimura. And the team with the strongest overall balance, Inashiro. Now that Inashiro's fallen, Kimura is the wall standing in our way."
"Swish!"
Kuramochi's explanation was cut short as Kimura released his first pitch. The ball screamed past Zhou Hao's chest, slicing through the air like a scalpel.
So close—barely twenty centimeters away from brushing him. The Seido dugout and fans leapt half out of their seats, about to shout in protest—
"Strike!"
The umpire's voice cut through, silencing them.
Strike? That… was in the zone?
Ichidai's catcher smirked as he caught the ball cleanly. "How's that? Scared yet?"
Zhou Hao didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed. This was no ordinary pitcher. Kimura wasn't just strong—he was ruthless.
The catcher smirked wider. Their plan was simple: rattle the rookie, cut down his confidence, and puncture Seido's momentum before it could swell.
"One more like that," the catcher thought, "and this first-year will fold."
Kimura showed nothing on his face, but his pitch burned with quiet fury. He wound up again—this time aiming straight for Zhou Hao's hands.
The ball flew inside, identical to the first.
But Zhou Hao's Sharingan-like focus had already locked on. He saw it. Even if Kimura repeated the same pitch, Zhou Hao wouldn't miss the chance twice.
He shifted back a step, opening space. What was once a jammed inside pitch now looked like a gift down the middle.
Both hands tightened on the bat. His eyes flicked to Ichidai's defense, mapping their gaps.
"Found it."
Ping!
The sound cracked sharp and clean. The ball screamed into the outfield, splitting through the gap in defense.
Ichidai's catcher froze. Impossible…!
The pitch was never meant to be hit. In fact, it had drifted off the strike zone. By all rights, Zhou Hao should have let it pass for a ball.
But instead, he turned it into a perfect counterstrike.
Thwack!
The ball landed deep, bouncing away into open grass.
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