The Nanamori players rekindled their fighting spirit before stepping onto the field.
Even though deep down, they knew the chances of hitting the ball were slim.
But what if?
What if luck was on their side? What if they really hit the ball?
Wouldn't the outcome be different?
At this point, as long as they maintained the current score, victory was within reach.
But baseball is a game of both offense and defense.
When defending, there was no question—they would give it their all.
But on offense, they couldn't just stand idly by, could they?
As long as there was even a glimmer of hope, the batter wanted to seize it.
Nanamori's sixth batter, the moment he stepped into the batter's box, raised his bat high.
Whether it was the aura he projected or his stance, no one would believe he didn't want to hit the ball.
Given their recent performance, it wasn't impossible for the team to keep pushing and widen the score gap.
With the entire field watching, Nanamori's sixth batter felt an endless surge of power within him.
The opponent was just a first-year rookie from Seidō.
Judging by his build, he didn't seem like someone who could throw a powerful pitch.
Just as this thought crossed the batter's mind, Takumi, standing on the mound, suddenly moved.
At this moment, he knew nothing but the Spiral Ball. He went all out and threw it without hesitation.
Swoosh!
Initially, the batter had dismissed him.
He had the physique, but didn't look particularly strong.
What kind of pitch could such a person throw?
But when the ball truly flew from Takumi's hand, the sixth batter's eyes widened in shock.
To him, the ball spun like a meteorite, hurtling straight toward him.
As a batter, he watched the ball approach, his body stiffening as if frozen.
No reaction whatsoever.
Whack!
"Strike!!"
One strike down.
Those watching Takumi's pitch felt their hearts tighten with tension.
Too terrifying!
This young pitcher seemed even stronger than in the previous inning.
The batter in the box undoubtedly felt it most acutely.
He had been confident he could hit the ball, but when it flew by, he couldn't even swing.
He was completely overwhelmed by the opponent's pitching.
No matter how blindly confident Nanamori's sixth batter had been, he now understood.
With Takumi on the mound, hitting was simply impossible.
No wonder their team's core batters, after facing him, were like warriors meeting their nemesis.
They just couldn't hit the ball.
Just as the sixth batter's confidence began to waver,
Takumi showed no sign of slowing down.
After receiving the return throw, he swiftly unleashed the second pitch.
"Not only is his pitching fast, but his timing is lightning-quick," the batter admitted solemnly.
Generally, pitchers need time to prepare before throwing, ensuring the ball reaches their intended spot.
Of course, this also gives the batter extra moments to ready themselves.
Such pitching has its pros and cons.
But Takumi was different; he brushed all that aside. The moment the ball touched his hand, he hurled it without a second thought.
The ball seemed almost enchanted, striking exactly where he aimed.
What was even more terrifying was that the power behind his pitching showed no sign of waning.
In this situation, his sudden acceleration of pitching rhythm was undoubtedly double torture for the batter in the box.
Whack!
"Strike!"
Whack!
"Strike!!"
Whack!
"Strike!!"
"No swing, strikeout!"
Nanamori's sixth batter stood perfectly still throughout, as if watching a performance on stage.
This left the players in Nanamori's dugout wanting to find a hole to crawl into.
This wasn't how you were supposed to be disgraced.
Even if you couldn't hit the ball, you should at least swing the bat a little—to show some effort.
What was this supposed to be?
No matter how frustrated the players in the dugout were, the sixth batter couldn't have cared less. He slunk back to the dugout without a word.
Nanamori's coach also understood that his players must have been deeply shaken.
Otherwise, it wouldn't be like this.
"Forget about the opponent's pitching," he urged firmly. "Let's concentrate solely on winning today's game."
At this point, he hoped for nothing more. As long as they could secure victory, their efforts wouldn't be in vain.
Nanamori's seventh batter stepped up, and the outcome was exactly the same as the sixth.
The only difference was that he stubbornly swung twice, though he didn't connect with the ball.
But no matter what, at least he resisted. Compared to the sixth batter, it was far less embarrassing.
"Strikeout!"
"Strikeout!!"
"Three outs, side retired."
After their eighth batter stepped up, he began swinging at Takumi's very first pitch.
He knew full well he probably wouldn't get a hit.
But swinging with all his might—even if he missed—was less embarrassing.
What if luck was on his side and he connected? Maybe he could even get on base.
Unfortunately, fate did not favor him.
Despite swinging three times in a row, he couldn't even graze the edge of the ball.
Another three up, three down.
Not only the Seidō players, but even Coach Kataoka Tesshin, standing at the main umpire's position, had eyes shining with excitement in that moment.
Seidō had long been in desperate need of good pitchers.
This had always been the source of criticism against their team.
Fans in West Tokyo privately debated the probability of Seidō making it to Koshien.
Their conclusion? Less than ten percent.
That might not seem too low, but compared to the other two powerhouses—one with a 40% chance, the other 35%—their 10% seemed pitiful.
Now, a promising pitching prospect had appeared before them.
How could he not be thrilled?
As for their opponents, they were probably already in despair.
They just wanted to hold the score and secure victory; they no longer even hoped to hit Takumi's pitches.
And it was fortunate they thought that way—otherwise, Takumi might not have held on.
After all, his Spiral Ball had its limits.
If the opponent was determined to drag the game out, once his Spiral Ball pitch count exceeded its limit, his pitching would collapse immediately.