"Also… about his changeup—don't focus on it too much."
"Why?" Isashiki asked, confused.
"It's the same as my fastball or Furuya's," Ushijima Wakatoshi explained calmly.
"If you throw it too often, it starts to lose its sharpness."
"And against a lineup like ours, Narumiya Mei won't overuse it early in the game."
"If he throws it too many times, we'll get used to it."
"If Yuki and I see that changeup a few more times…"
"…we'll adapt to it."
"And once we do—"
"—Narumiya Mei is in serious trouble."
"At that point, Harada Masatoshi, who is calm and analytical, wouldn't risk calling for that pitch again."
Everyone nodded.
It made perfect sense.
But then—
Ushijima added,
"There's another possibility."
Miyuki looked at him.
"What possibility?"
"Everyone knows Narumiya's winning pitch is his changeup."
"That means every batter will be on guard against it."
"So if I were his catcher…"
"I'd assume the batters are already expecting it."
"In that case—"
"I would increase the number of changeups in crucial moments."
"The reason is simple."
"The more often it appears, the more pressure it creates."
"The batter becomes overly cautious."
"And once that happens—"
"If you mix in other pitches to disrupt their timing…"
"The changeup becomes an even more effective decoy."
A chill ran through the room.
His analysis wasn't just accurate—
it was terrifying.
He even considered that possibility…
"Now, about the batting order," Ushijima continued.
"I think I should move up to third."
He glanced at the lineup sheet.
"Originally, it's:
First—Kuramochi
Second—Kominato
Third—Isashiki
Fourth—Yuki
Fifth—Me
Sixth—Masuko
Seventh—Miyuki
Eighth—Shirasu
Ninth—Furuya"
"This time, I'll take the third spot."
"Why?" someone asked.
"To be safe."
"If Narumiya doesn't go all-out against the first three batters…"
"…he can conserve stamina for the later innings."
"But if I bat third—"
"Even if Kuramochi and Kominato are retired…"
"By the time I step up…"
"He'll be forced to go all-out earlier than planned."
"That means in the first rotation alone…"
"He'll have to pitch at 100% against at least two batters."
"Narumiya is arrogant."
"He rarely goes all-out in the first round."
"He's grown used to that."
"And because of that—"
"The first round is actually when he's most unstable."
This wasn't guesswork.
It was the result of careful analysis.
Modern baseball was as much about information warfare as it was about skill.
Teams gathered data, studied opponents, and built strategies accordingly.
Ushijima Wakatoshi had done exactly that.
From the beginning, his goal had been clear—
to take his third-year teammates to Koshien.
And for that, he had prepared relentlessly.
Coach Kataoka nodded.
"In that case, we'll adjust the batting order."
"Ushijima, you'll bat third."
"Isashiki, you move to seventh. Any objections?"
Isashiki clenched his jaw for a moment—
but then shook his head.
"If it gets us to Koshien… I'll do it."
The meeting came to an end.
Everyone returned to rest.
Tomorrow, training would continue.
Meanwhile — Inashiro Dormitory
At the same time, Inashiro was holding their own meeting.
"You all know what's coming."
"Our final opponent—Seido."
Coach Kunimoto stood in front of a projector, displaying detailed data.
"The biggest variable this year…"
"…is their ace pitcher."
"Ushijima Wakatoshi."
"Height: 188 cm. Right-handed pitcher."
"He originally batted left-handed, but his left-hand offense was limited to short infield hits."
"After developing his right-handed power hitting, he now primarily bats right-handed."
"Since the start of the Summer Tournament…"
"His batting average is 100%."
The room fell silent.
Even Inashiro's players were stunned.
A perfect batting average…?
Narumiya Mei's expression tightened.
"Although he bats fifth…"
"His hitting ability is on par with Yuki Tetsuya."
"You could even argue his contact rate is higher."
"Only his home run power is slightly lower."
"In other words—"
"He's both an ace pitcher…"
"…and a cleanup-level batter."
The weight of those words sank in.
Narumiya understood it better than anyone.
"Narumiya."
Coach Kunimoto's voice turned serious.
"You must fix your tendency to start unstable."
"The finals will be a pitcher's duel."
"Whoever gives up runs first—loses."
"You have a habit of slow starts."
"I've tolerated it against weaker teams."
"But against Seido—"
"That's unacceptable."
"If you lose control early…"
"…we'll be at a huge disadvantage."
Narumiya didn't argue.
For once—
he nodded seriously.
That alone shocked his teammates.
They had never seen him this quiet.
"Next—Ushijima's pitch arsenal."
"Four-seam fastball—can reach 158 km/h."
"However, high speed comes with unstable control."
"With stable control, it sits around 145 km/h."
"Two-seam—140–145 km/h."
"Not a large break, but difficult to hit cleanly."
"Cutter—140–145 km/h."
"Sharp lateral movement with a late drop."
"Shootball—140–145 km/h."
"Fast, with a slight rising action upon contact."
"Sinker—135–140 km/h."
"The slowest among his main pitches, but with strong inward sinking movement."
Even hearing it again—
it felt overwhelming.
Shirakawa clenched his fists.
"…That's just unfair."
"And his slider—"
Coach Kunimoto paused.
"…is nearly as fast as Narumiya's fastball."
Carlos and the others felt cold sweat forming.
During their training, they had faced pitchers with similar pitches.
But those pitchers only had one—or at most two—specialties.
Ushijima Wakatoshi?
He had them all.
Different speeds.
Different movements.
Different angles.
It made predicting his pitches—
almost impossible.