The coach of Nanamori had gravely misunderstood.
He was convinced Takumi was Seidō's hidden secret weapon, but in truth, that wasn't the case at all.
It wasn't just the Nanamori team—Seidō's own coach and players were equally stunned at this moment.
Coach Kataoka, standing as the main umpire, occupied the best vantage point. He observed even more clearly than Kazuya Miyuki, the catcher.
Given Takumi's physique, Coach Kataoka struggled to believe he could deliver such a high-quality spiral ball.
'The ball speed is around 135 km/h!' he marveled inwardly.
Although this speed is only average among Ace pitchers, it was still impressive.
But the fact that Takumi was the one throwing it made him ponder more deeply.
Takumi's training volume was undeniably lacking.
What if his regimen intensified? What if he reached the average level of the First String?
Then the velocity of his pitches would become truly extraordinary.
And it wasn't just the speed—his spin and tailing action were equally impressive.
"What on earth have the managers been doing with new students? Such a talent has been hidden away until now," he muttered in frustration.
Although Takumi had already shown exceptional skill on the field before, Kataoka Tesshin hadn't yet seen him as an indispensable asset to the team.
But now, everything had changed.
Takumi wasn't just the team's future hope—his role was vital even at this moment.
A smile involuntarily spread across his face.
To the Nanamori coach, that smile felt like a deliberate challenge.
"No matter what, we can't lose to a first-year kid! Stay focused!" he barked sharply.
Takumi's pitching was undeniably impressive.
Yet, compared to the Ace on their own team, the Nanamori coach remained confident that his side held the advantage.
When their Ace faced the opposing team's key batter, that batter could hit the ball too.
They had every reason to believe victory was within reach.
"Yes coach!" all the players shouted with determination.
The batter stepping into the box was Nanamori's third hitter.
His expression was grim and resolute.
The pressure from Takumi's pitching rattled him deeply.
As the confrontation resumed, doubt gnawed at him—he couldn't be sure he'd manage to hit the ball out.
But their coach had already issued orders, and all his teammates were watching intently.
As the team's core batter, if he faltered now, their morale would suffer a devastating blow.
'It's okay. This guy's pitching is very similar to Midori-san's, but in terms of power, it's not as strong him,' he reassured himself inwardly.
He lifted his bat confidently and locked eyes with Takumi, his gaze grave and unwavering.
It was as if he was ready to strike the moment the ball left the pitcher's hand.
Miyuki Kazuya, crouched behind the plate, cast a sharp glance up at the batter.
Though they had managed to keep Nanamori's hitters largely in check so far, he couldn't deny the sheer talent these batters possessed.
Just like now.
Despite the sting of that last pitch, Nanamori's players showed no hint of discouragement.
Their fighting spirit burned bright, and their resolve to send the ball flying remained unwavering.
"How will you handle this pressure for the first time?" he mused quietly.
Takumi's pitching experience was still limited.
Facing such persistent batters, even seasoned pitchers would struggle to keep their cool.
Not to mention a rookie like Takumi.
However, just as he was thinking this, he suddenly noticed Takumi on the pitcher's mound shift unexpectedly.
"No signal at all, just going for it straight away?" he muttered in disbelief.
He was stunned.
As teammates, they should have communicated before pitching—even if only through a quick glance.
But there was nothing.
Fortunately, he pieced it together quickly—after all, Takumi had told him before: he only throws Spiral Balls.
"This is getting more and more interesting..." Miyuki Kazuya murmured thoughtfully.
He was fully focused.
Having already dropped a ball earlier, he knew he couldn't afford to repeat that mistake now.
Takumi lifted his leg on the mound, took a determined stride, and stretched his body to its fullest.
He poured every ounce of strength into releasing the ball in his hand.
Boom!
His pitching form wasn't flashy or exceptional.
But the ball flying from his hand was, nothing short of extraordinary.
In almost the blink of an eye, the ball had already reached the batter.
Nanamori's third batter had initially committed to swinging.
But the moment he saw the ball hurtling toward him, he instinctively froze.
"Can't hit it..." he admitted bitterly.
That was his gut feeling as a batter, and he trusted it without hesitation.
He decided to hold back and watch one more pitch.
Smack!
The ball snapped into Miyuki Kazuya's glove, but what he grasped wasn't just an ordinary ball.
It felt like clutching a tiny, wild creature ready to burst free at any moment.
"Hold still!" he muttered, tightening his grip until he finally subdued the baseball.
"Strike!" he called out firmly.
The ball was tossed back, and Takumi wasted no time, immediately unleashing the third pitch.
"Rasengan!" he declared confidently.
When throwing his Spiral Ball, Takumi barely had to think; his pitching motion flowed as if drilled a thousand times before.
The ball tumbled toward the batter.
At that moment, Nanamori's third batter could no longer hold back.
He gritted his teeth and swung with all his might.
Buzz!
The bat cut through the air with a sharp whoosh. It was clear this batter was no ordinary hitter.
Yet, despite the clean and decisive swing, he missed the ball entirely.
The ball passed through the strike zone just out of reach.
Snap!
"Strike!"
"Strikeout!"
Nanamori's third batter, known for his strong hitting, hadn't even touched the ball.
In the Nanamori dugout, a cluster of players exchanged troubled glances.
"How is this even possible?" one murmured in disbelief.
"It looks just like Midori-san's pitching—so why can't we hit it?" another fretted.
They racked their brains but came up empty.
When the third batter returned, a group of Nanamori players immediately surrounded him.
"What's going on?" someone demanded urgently.
"The ball's spin speed is insanely fast; it's not like a normal fastball. And standing in the batter's box, the pitch feels even quicker," the third batter admitted candidly.
He no longer cared about his pride; if they didn't figure out a solution soon, the rest of the game would be a total blowout.
Just the thought of that possibility made the third batter feel as if his heart had been torn from his chest.
"It's okay—we still have the cleanup hitter!" someone reassured, laced with determination.
The cleanup hitter was the true heart and soul of their offense.