"The one I strike out runs twenty laps."
Coach Kataoka's voice was calm—
But the words hit like a hammer.
"USHIJIMA—DIE!!!"
Kuramochi, Isashiki, Masuko, Shirasu, Furuya, and the others exploded instantly.
"YOU BASTARD!!!"
"YOU SET US UP!!!"
Meanwhile—
Miyuki and the rest could only laugh at the chaos.
Ushijima Wakatoshi stood in the batter's box, grinning.
This was exactly what he wanted.
With his batting ability, his chances of surviving were far higher than the others.
But for everyone else?
This was a disaster waiting to happen.
On the mound—
Coach Kataoka radiated pressure.
Not just any pressure—
The kind that belonged to a former ace.
Even after years away from competition, his presence was overwhelming.
Ushijima's grin widened.
This… is amazing.
This was the strongest aura he had ever faced in the batter's box.
Stronger than:
Manaka Kaname from Ichidai
Sanada Shunpei from Yakushi
You Shunshin from Akikawa
Taichi Hiromi from Kiryu
None of them compared.
Even if Kataoka hadn't gone pro—
At his peak, he had definitely been among the best high school pitchers in the country.
Of course, after six or seven years without serious competition, his level had dropped.
But still—
He was dangerous.
CLANG!!!
The first pitch came in fast—
And Ushijima swung instantly.
The ball shot foul.
"…Whoa."
Everyone stared.
Even adjusting for the raised mound—
Even with the altered angle—
Ushijima still caught up to it.
"That pitch was nasty…"
"Faster than expected—and from a higher release point too."
"If it were me, I'd have completely whiffed…"
Isashiki muttered in disbelief.
But the coach didn't hold back.
Pitch after pitch—
High outside
Low inside
High inside
Low outside
Good pitches. Bad pitches.
All of them over 140 km/h.
And Ushijima—
Swung at every single one.
And kept up.
To him, this wasn't unfamiliar.
He had already faced fastballs over 150 km/h before.
Compared to that—
These were manageable.
The only difference was the angle.
Still—
Keeping up didn't mean getting a hit.
Fouling off pitches and making contact were two completely different things.
A hit required putting the ball in play—
And reaching base.
Right now—
This was a pure duel.
Pitcher vs batter.
"…That's fifteen pitches already."
Kominato wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"…It's coming."
Miyuki narrowed his eyes.
"A breaking ball."
On the mound—
Coach Kataoka made his decision.
"Here it comes!"
The pitch left his hand—
Ushijima swung.
But—
The moment he did—
He realized it.
Too slow.
A curveball.
After fifteen fastballs—
The sudden drop in speed and sharp arc disrupted his timing completely.
But—
Ushijima reacted.
Mid-swing—
He forced his body to adjust.
From a horizontal swing—
To a downward scoop.
CLANG!!
The bat barely made contact.
"Tch—!"
"A curveball…!"
The ball bounced weakly into the infield.
No hesitation—
Ushijima dropped the bat and sprinted.
"So fast!"
The infielder rushed the throw.
THWACK!
Ushijima dove—
Hand stretching forward—
"SAFE!"
"…YES!"
Ushijima clenched his fist as he stood.
"Twenty laps avoided."
Silence.
Then—
The others slowly turned toward him.
"…That bastard."
Isashiki's face twitched.
"I'm killing him tonight."
"Call me."
Kominato smiled.
"…I'm in too."
Masuko cracked his knuckles.
Meanwhile—
Coach Kataoka stood on the mound, eyes gleaming.
That hit—
Shouldn't have worked.
Adjusting mid-swing to a curveball—
Making contact—
And still reaching base?
Anyone else would have been out.
No question.
But Ushijima—
Didn't even run properly.
He lunged.
Dived.
Forced his way onto the base.
That alone proved it.
Ninety-nine percent of players… wouldn't have made it.