"Damn… this shootball is seriously hard to hit."
Kominato Ryosuke frowned as he analyzed from the batter's box.
"If it breaks toward the outside corner, your swing only catches the end of the bat…"
"But if you step closer to the plate to deal with it—"
"Then the next pitch could be an inside fastball… or a cutter."
He clicked his tongue.
"…This is troublesome."
Behind the plate, Miyauchi nodded.
"Exactly."
"The movement of a shootball and a cutter is completely opposite."
"If you can't read it early… you're done."
He glanced toward the mound.
"And that's exactly why Ushijima called for this scrimmage."
On the mound—
Ushijima Wakatoshi remained calm.
He had considered using his forkball earlier—
But stopped himself.
Today's purpose is clear.
Fastball.
Cutter.
Shootball.
Nothing else.
The results were immediate.
First batter—
Kuramochi Yoichi—
Out.
Second batter—
Kominato—
Barely managed contact, but still suppressed.
Now—
Third batter.
Isashiki Jun stepped in.
Ushijima didn't hold back.
First pitch—
A sharp inside fastball.
Second pitch—
A heavy shootball.
Two strikes.
No room for error.
Isashiki tightened his grip.
Damn it…
What's coming next?
He stared intensely at Ushijima.
The ball was released—
Fastball trajectory…?
But something felt off.
Is it a cutter?
Or a shootball?
By the time the ball traveled halfway—
He realized.
"…Cutter!"
He swung—
"Bang!"
Too late.
The bat missed cleanly.
"Strike three!"
Coach Kataoka announced the call with a grin.
"Strikeout!"
"DAMN IT!!!"
Isashiki roared, veins popping.
"This is disgusting, Ushijima!!"
"Your pitches and your form are becoming identical!"
"I used to be able to tell what you were throwing just from your motion!"
"But now—"
"You can throw anything from the same form!"
He pointed angrily.
"That means I can only see the break after the ball is already halfway there!"
"At that point, my swing is always half a beat late!"
"Or I get jammed and can't hit it cleanly!"
On the mound—
Ushijima smirked slightly.
"Coming from someone who just struck out… that's a lot of complaints."
"…You bastard!!"
Isashiki stormed off to change his gloves, fuming.
"Furuya, you're pitching next."
Coach Kataoka gave the order.
Furuya Satoru nodded silently and took the mound.
Against Furuya's raw speed—
The substitute lineup stood no chance.
Strikeout.
Strikeout.
Strikeout.
The half-inning ended almost instantly.
Now—
Back to defense.
Fourth batter stepped in.
Yuki Tetsuya.
Expression calm.
Presence heavy.
On the mound—
Ushijima met his gaze.
A familiar matchup.
Cousins.
Rivals.
They had faced each other countless times in training.
Over the past two months—
Dozens of sessions.
Thousands of pitches.
From the bench, Isashiki muttered,
"…Ushijima's struck him out more than 50 times already, right?"
Beside him,
Miyuki Kazuya nodded.
"Yeah."
"As Ushijima gained more pitch types…"
"He mixed them more during practice."
"That made it harder for Captain Tetsu to deal with."
"Still," Miyuki continued,
"Even then—"
"Captain has over 20 solid hits against him."
"Infield. Outfield."
"He's not losing that badly."
Back on the field—
"Clang! Clang! Clang!"
Yuki swung at three consecutive pitches—
All fouled off.
On the mound—
Ushijima smiled faintly.
This duel—
Had happened countless times.
They knew each other well.
But—
Not completely.
Yuki only knew the pitches Ushijima chose to show.
Fastball variants.
Cutter.
Shootball.
He had never seen—
The curveball.
The screwball.
The deeper arsenal.
Ushijima's eyes sharpened slightly.
If I used everything…
Even he would struggle more.
But today—
Wasn't about overwhelming.
It was about preparation.
For Yakushi.
And for one monster in particular—
Raichi Todoroki.