"Who's next?!"
Ushijima Wakatoshi stood on the pitcher's mound like a warrior thrown into battle, his voice exploding across the field.
"Ho! Ho! Ho!"
After the roar, he bent forward slightly, breathing hard.
Kuramochi.
Kominato.
Isashiki.
Yuki.
Masuko.
Shirasu.
Six batters.
Thirty pitches each.
One hundred and eighty pitches total.
After finishing the last round, Shirasu remained in the batter's box, quietly catching his breath.
Behind the plate, Miyuki Kazuya narrowed his eyes.
He could clearly feel it—
The burning intensity coming from Ushijima.
Yesterday's match had pushed his confidence even higher.
His cutter and two-seamer had each been thrown nearly ninety times, and now their movement was sharper, their trajectories more stable than ever.
"Alright, that's enough," Miyuki said firmly. "Take a break. You've already gone over today's pitch limit."
He stepped in to stop him.
No pitcher understood this better than Ushijima himself—
A pitcher's shoulder was everything.
Once it was injured, it could ruin an entire career.
Still…
He couldn't help wondering.
Are there any skills related to physical endurance or recovery in that system…?
Too bad I haven't drawn one yet.
He clicked his tongue slightly.
Ushijima sat down and pressed an ice pack to his shoulder.
"I just threw 180 pitches… honestly, my arm's dead."
If the coach found out, he'd probably explode on the spot.
After all, Ushijima was only sixteen.
At this age, 130 pitches a day was already considered the maximum.
Anything beyond that was excessive strain.
That's why pitchers usually trained every other day.
Protecting the arm always came first.
"Let's go watch the welcome game," Kominato suddenly said after glancing toward the field.
Ushijima laughed.
"You just want to see how your brother's doing, right?"
Kominato removed his gloves and didn't answer immediately.
He simply looked at Ushijima.
Waiting.
Ushijima met his gaze calmly.
"I probably know this better than anyone… but sometimes, you're too stubborn."
"…What are you getting at?" Kominato asked.
Ushijima asked directly:
"Do you want to go to Koshien?"
The question hit like a stone.
Everyone nearby fell silent.
"Isn't that obvious?" Kominato Ryosuke replied flatly.
"Then… don't you want you and your brother to stand on that field together?"
"…!"
"Climb to Koshien. Side by side. As brothers."
"I know Haruichi wants that. And deep down… you want it too."
Kominato didn't deny it.
Because he couldn't.
"But this might be your only chance," Ushijima continued.
"I'm just an outsider. Maybe I'm meddling."
He smiled faintly.
"But if my meddling can help you two achieve your dream… then I'll meddle."
The air grew heavy.
After a long pause, Kominato finally spoke.
"…It's impossible."
He shook his head with a bitter smile.
"We play the same position."
"Second base," Ushijima muttered, immediately understanding.
"Yeah. As long as I'm there… he'll never get the spot."
Silence.
Then Ushijima suddenly said:
"Then what if you moved to the outfield?"
"What?" Kominato blinked.
"If I switch, wouldn't that solve it?"
"That's not realistic," Kominato said with a helpless laugh. "I'm not tall enough. Not fast enough. I don't fit the outfield."
"But yesterday's game proved something," Ushijima said lightly.
"The outfielders barely moved at all."
Everyone paused.
…That was true.
With Ushijima pitching, almost nothing reached the outfield.
Either strikeouts.
Or infield grounders.
The outfield practically became decoration.
"With me on the mound," Ushijima continued, "our outfield defense will be the easiest job on the team."
The others exchanged looks.
Suddenly…
It didn't sound so impossible.
"But honestly," Ushijima added, "what I value most about your brother isn't his fielding."
"It's his batting."
Everyone turned.
"Batting?" Isashiki frowned. "He's that good?"
Ushijima nodded.
"Let me put it this way."
"If I throw a 155 km/h four-seamer, could you consistently make contact within three swings?"
"…What?!"
Everyone froze.
Even Yuki's eyes widened.
That speed wasn't a joke.
"I've pitched to him before," Ushijima said calmly. "Wood bat, too."
"He hit three straight off me."
"Even if they went foul… that's still insane bat control."
The group fell silent.
Wood bats were much harder to use than metal ones.
Heavier.
Smaller sweet spot.
Much less forgiving.
"And honestly," Ushijima continued, "his power with a wooden bat is already close to Shirasu's. More consistent than Miyuki's, too."
Shirasu blinked.
Miyuki raised an eyebrow.
"The only problem is strength. He's still physically weak."
"But if he switches to metal?"
Ushijima smiled.
"Then that weakness disappears."
"If he can send wood-bat hits to the outfield… metal might send them over the fence."
Everyone swallowed.
That evaluation…
Was terrifyingly high.
Then Ushijima suddenly started counting on his fingers.
"Imagine this lineup."
"Lead-off — Kuramochi."
"Second — you."
"Third — Isashiki."
"Cleanup — Yuki."
"Fifth — Masuko."
"Sixth — Miyuki."
"Seventh — Shirasu."
"Eighth — me."
"Ninth — your brother."
He looked up and grinned.
"What kind of monster lineup is that?"
"…It might even be stronger than last year's Seido."
Kominato Ryosuke went quiet.
Because he knew—
If that lineup became reality…
Seido wouldn't just aim for Koshien.
They'd dominate it.
And maybe…
Just maybe…
Two brothers really could stand on that stage together.