"Tch!"
Narumiya Mei gritted his teeth after missing the first pitch.
"So that's your Cutter..."
On the mound, Ushijima Wakatoshi simply raised his chin slightly and smirked.
The expression looked annoyingly familiar.
Almost identical to Narumiya's usual arrogant grin.
His eyes practically said:
You wanted to hit my Cutter, didn't you?
Here it is.
Go ahead and try.
Narumiya's eyebrow twitched.
Since the beginning of the game, he had been fixated on one pitch.
Ushijima's Cutter.
Among all of Ushijima's breaking balls, it was the one Narumiya wanted to conquer the most.
And Ushijima knew it.
Everyone knew it.
The previous inning had already proven it.
Narumiya had unveiled his own Cutter.
Ushijima had managed to put it into play and drive in a run.
Now it was Ushijima's turn to respond.
A direct challenge.
A head-on duel.
No tricks.
No deception.
Just pure confidence.
Miyuki returned the ball.
Ushijima immediately went into his motion.
Whoosh!
The second pitch exploded toward home plate.
Again—
A Cutter.
Narumiya's eyes widened.
"Come on!"
He attacked immediately.
Specifically adjusting his swing path to catch the pitch as it dropped toward the inside corner.
His bat cut downward aggressively.
But it was too late.
Too fast.
The break was too sharp.
WHOOSH!
SNAP!
The ball disappeared into Miyuki's glove.
Narumiya froze.
Faster.
It's even faster than before.
The radar gun flashed.
151 km/h.
A Cutter exceeding 150 km/h.
The entire Inashiro bench stiffened.
If Ushijima ever gained complete command of that pitch—
He would become nearly impossible to hit.
"Strike two!"
The umpire's voice echoed across the field.
Narumiya stepped back and stared at the mound.
Meanwhile, Miyuki quietly studied him.
The frustration.
The impatience.
The obsession.
Everything was written across Narumiya's face.
Behind the plate, Miyuki considered the obvious choice.
Two hard inside Cutters.
Most catchers would now call for something away.
A slider.
A changeup.
Something to disrupt timing.
The conventional sequence was obvious.
But when Miyuki looked at Ushijima—
He immediately understood.
No words were needed.
Just one glance.
Ushijima's eyes said everything.
Again.
Miyuki smiled.
Then set his glove low and inside.
The crowd erupted.
"What?!"
"Again?"
"Three inside pitches in a row?"
Even the spectators were shocked.
In the stands, Azuma folded his arms.
"That sounds exactly like Ushijima."
Toujou nodded.
"He's absolutely throwing it."
Kanemaru laughed.
"Even with the bases loaded, he'd still challenge the inside corner."
"That's just the kind of pitcher he is."
On the field, Ushijima delivered the third pitch.
WHOOSH!
Another missile.
Another inside Cutter.
Narumiya's eyes widened.
For a split second, he couldn't believe it.
Again?!
Then anger surged through him.
Are you looking down on me?!
Narumiya swung with everything he had.
His bat accelerated violently toward the ball.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer—
Then the baseball vanished.
The Cutter dropped sharply beneath the barrel.
Narumiya had adjusted for it.
Prepared for it.
Expected it.
And still couldn't touch it.
THUD!
The ball slammed into Miyuki's glove.
Outside the strike zone.
A clear ball.
But Narumiya had already committed.
"STRIKE THREE!"
The umpire's voice rang throughout the stadium.
The crowd exploded.
Narumiya remained frozen.
Bat still extended.
Eyes fixed on the glove.
He knew exactly what had happened.
"Tch..."
Narumiya lowered his head.
Then glared at Ushijima.
The frustration in his eyes was unmistakable.
But Ushijima met the stare without the slightest hesitation.
Neither player looked away.
The duel had ended.
And Ushijima had won.
Behind the plate, Miyuki silently understood the truth.
Narumiya hadn't struck out because he was fooled.
He struck out because he couldn't let it go.
He wanted to hit Ushijima's Cutter.
More than getting on base.
More than helping his team.
More than taking a walk.
He wanted to win the duel.
And Ushijima knew that.
So Ushijima gave him exactly what he wanted.
One Cutter.
Then another.
Then a third.
Each one thrown harder than the last.
Each one a direct challenge.
A declaration:
You want to hit it?
Then hit it.
Narumiya accepted the challenge every single time.
And lost.
That was why he was angry.
Not because he struck out.
Not because the count reached two strikes.
Not even because the pitches were outside the zone.
He was angry because Ushijima answered his challenge head-on—
And he still couldn't touch the ball.
Narumiya's own Cutter had been put into play earlier.
Ushijima had adjusted his swing and managed to force the ball through the infield.
But when their positions were reversed—
Narumiya couldn't even make contact.
That was the difference.
Not courage.
Not confidence.
Not pride.
Simply ability.
And nothing frustrated Narumiya Mei more than being forced to acknowledge that fact.