The count stood at two strikes and zero balls, and the batter was cornered.
On paper, Jinguuji was in a very unfavorable position. One more miss, or one poorly hit ball, and he could be out at any moment.
But on the field, it felt different.
Jinguuji in the batter's box didn't look like the one being suppressed. Even the senior team players watching the game sensed something different coming off him.
"There are quite a few capable newcomers this year."
"That quiet one just now, and now this one. This year's freshmen are looking promising."
"It's a pity neither of them is a pitcher. Otherwise..."
"Rather than waiting on the newcomers, it's better to look forward to Zhang Han coming back. He's the most likely candidate for ace right now."
"Tanba also pitched well in the morning game. He only gave up one run from the second inning through the sixth, facing Ichidaisan's lineup."
"Still not stable enough, though. If he were, even Zhang Han would have a hard time taking the ace number from him."
The steady emergence of talented players gave the watching alumni a clear sense of Seido's future. If there was one minor flaw, it was that no standout pitcher had appeared among the newcomers yet. Though the game had only just begun. There was still time to hope.
Even as they talked, their eyes never left the two players facing off on the field. This confrontation had reached a fever pitch. Every pitch from here could be the one to decide it.
Kawakami looked at the younger student across from him, and a flash of defiance crossed his eyes.
In the morning game against Ichidaisan, he had given up several runs in poor form. But even then, he had never flinched. Even when Omae hit a home run off him, he hadn't looked away. He believed he had given everything he had, even when his condition wasn't there.
He understood why Coach Kataoka had put him in this welcome match. It was dissatisfaction with his morning performance. But Kawakami still hadn't been able to identify exactly where his problem was. He had been pitching with that question in the back of his mind.
It wasn't until he faced Jinguuji that the question stopped mattering. He had to focus completely on the opponent in front of him. Any distraction and this batter would punish him for it.
Kawakami's pride would not allow him to lose to a first-year student.
He lifted his leg, stepped through, shifted his center of gravity, and fired.
In the senior team's dugout, something close to relief crossed Chris's face.
"Finally. That's the look of a real pitcher."
In the morning game, realizing he couldn't go head-to-head with Ichidaisan, Kawakami had tried to use deceptive pitches to work through their lineup. That choice wasn't wrong in itself, but he had picked the wrong opponents for it. Ichidaisan's batters put in more hitting practice than almost anyone, including Seido. Zhang Han and Yuuki, Seido's most dedicated hitters, averaged around five hundred swings a day. Ichidaisan's core players generally exceeded that number.
When a pitcher loses his conviction, his opponents feel it. With Ichidaisan's hitting power, even partial contact on a soft pitch could send the ball flying. Kawakami had felt in control of every pitch he threw. What he hadn't realized was that without the resolve to win, every pitch he released was measurably softer than it would have been at full effort.
A truly qualified pitcher delivers the ball with full force and still commands it precisely.
Now, facing this younger student, Kawakami was finally beginning to show that.
The moment Kawakami set himself, the player at first base who wasn't particularly tall broke into a run.
"Running now?"
"Two outs. Running is natural."
"What if the batter doesn't hit it?"
"He's running because he believes the batter will hit it."
Kominato Haruichi believed in Jinguuji. That belief was why he ran without hesitation.
Jinguuji caught the movement in the corner of his eye. Something ignited in him.
He could not let his teammate down.
"Now!"
Seeing the ball coming in, Jinguuji swung decisively.
The outside pitch Kawakami threw was caught squarely. The ball flew along the first base line, all the way to the back of the outfield. The second string outfielder was caught off guard, watching it sail past him. He quickly gave chase, picked it up, and turned.
Kominato Haruichi was already rounding third. He might go all the way home.
Just as the outfielder was about to throw to home plate, he noticed something. Jinguuji, who had hit the ball, wasn't running smoothly. He had already passed first and was pushing toward second, but something looked wrong.
Was he injured?
The outfielder was at least seventy meters from home plate, but only forty or fifty from second base. And there were already two outs. One more would end the inning.
He bit his lip, made the call, and threw to second.
The moment he released the ball, Jinguuji's awkward stride vanished entirely. He turned on a burst and sprinted back toward first without breaking stride.
The outfielder stared.
When he had released the throw, Jinguuji was already halfway to second. Who would have expected him to turn back?
By the time the second baseman caught the ball and tried to relay it to first, it was too late. Jinguuji covered the less than twenty meters back to the bag in just over two seconds, direction change and all.
His speed was frightening.
"Safe!"
"Safe!"
Under Jinguuji's cover, Kominato Haruichi came home. The freshman team had their first run on the board. And Jinguuji stood safely on first.
Two outs, runner on first.
In the freshman dugout, the youngsters erupted. They cheered for their players as if they had already won the game.
Then they noticed something was off.
The atmosphere on the other side was ice cold.
Led by Zhang Han and Chris, the senior team was watching their younger teammates with expressions that could only be described as predatory.
Perhaps neither of them had taken this game fully seriously to begin with. The freshmen's performance had changed that. Their fighting spirit was lit.
The freshmen had no idea what kind of beasts they had just woken up.