The moment the pitch reached Miyuki's mitt, the entire Inashiro bench froze.
Eyes widened.
Mouths hung open.
Even the spectators throughout Jingu Stadium stared in disbelief.
"A Forkball..."
Carlos's pupils contracted.
"He actually hid a Forkball until the very last inning?"
The crowd instantly exploded.
"Did that pitch just drop?"
"It dropped! That's a Forkball!"
"He never used it during the first eight innings!"
"And that velocity... it was almost as fast as a Fastball!"
"Ushijima has a Forkball too?!"
The entire stadium erupted into chaos.
Nobody had expected it.
Not the audience.
Not the commentators.
Not even Inashiro.
For eight full innings, Ushijima Wakatoshi had never shown this pitch.
Yet in the final inning of the West Tokyo Final, he suddenly unveiled a completely new weapon.
Behind the plate, even Miyuki Kazuya was excited.
He stood up and tossed the ball back to the mound.
Truthfully, this was his first time catching Ushijima's Forkball in an actual game.
If he hadn't spent so much time receiving Furuya's Forkballs, he might not have caught that pitch cleanly himself.
The velocity was simply ridiculous.
Most pitchers threw their Forkballs around 130 km/h.
Anything above 140 km/h was already considered exceptional.
Yet Ushijima's version approached 145 km/h.
It looked almost identical to a Fastball out of the hand.
Only at the very last moment did it suddenly dive downward.
Batters would commit to their swings thinking they had read the pitch correctly.
Then the ball would disappear beneath their bats.
That was the true terror of a high-speed Forkball.
Carlos slowly tightened his grip on the bat.
For the first time all game, uncertainty appeared in his eyes.
Ushijima immediately delivered the second pitch.
Whoosh!
The baseball shot toward home plate once again.
Fast.
Extremely fast.
Carlos's heartbeat accelerated.
Fastball?
Forkball?
Which one?
He couldn't tell.
In the end, he could only swing.
SWISH!
His bat cut through empty air.
The baseball suddenly dropped beneath the barrel.
THWACK!
The ball slammed into Miyuki's mitt.
"Strike Two!"
The umpire's voice was noticeably louder than before.
Carlos froze.
The pressure was crushing.
To everyone watching, the pitch looked as though it had vanished in midair.
"It disappeared!"
"That thing actually disappeared!"
"A magic pitch!"
The stadium erupted again.
Nearly seventy percent of the crowd, supporting Seidou, roared in excitement.
Meanwhile, Inashiro's supporters could only clench their fists silently.
Two strikes.
No balls.
Carlos was cornered.
On the mound, Ushijima calmly received the return throw.
Then he fired his third pitch.
Whoosh!
The baseball tore through the air.
This time, it was even faster.
Nearly 150 km/h.
Carlos's eyes widened.
Fastball?
Forkball?
He couldn't tell anymore.
But with two strikes against him, he had no choice.
He had to swing.
SWING!
The bat came down.
Then suddenly—
The baseball rose toward the inside corner.
"What?!"
Carlos's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
Expecting another Forkball, he had lowered his swing plane.
But instead of dropping, the pitch broke sharply upward.
His bat passed harmlessly underneath.
Shootball!
The realization came too late.
THWACK!
Miyuki caught the ball cleanly.
"STRIKE THREE! BATTER OUT!"
Even the umpire's voice trembled with excitement.
"WOOOOOOOOOOOAHHHHHHHH!!!"
The stadium exploded.
Seidou's dugout erupted in celebration.
Every player jumped to their feet.
The former Seidou players in the stands clenched their fists.
"One out!"
"Just two more!"
"Let's go, Ushijima!"
The closer they came to victory, the greater the tension became.
For Seidou, only two outs remained.
For Inashiro, only two outs remained before elimination.
The pressure was suffocating.
Shirakawa stepped into the batter's box.
His expression was grim.
A Shootball at 150 km/h.
A Two-Seam at 150 km/h.
A Cutter at 150 km/h.
A Sinker at 150 km/h.
A Four-Seam approaching 155 km/h.
And now a 145 km/h Forkball.
Every inning seemed to reveal another terrifying weapon.
Most frightening of all—
Ushijima was only a first-year.
His command was still imperfect.
Once he fully mastered these pitches...
Who in high school baseball could possibly stop him?
The first pitch came.
WHOOSH!
A blazing Four-Seam Fastball attacked the high inside corner.
Shirakawa swung.
Missed.
Strike One.
He had been expecting movement.
Instead, the ball stayed true.
The second pitch arrived immediately.
WHOOSH!
A high-speed rising fastball.
CLANG!
Shirakawa barely got the bat on it.
The ball sailed foul.
Strike Two.
Two pitches.
Two strikes.
The pressure mounted instantly.
Ushijima didn't hesitate.
No wasted movements.
No hesitation.
The third pitch left his fingertips.
The ball traveled toward home plate on what appeared to be a perfect Fastball trajectory.
Shirakawa reacted instantly.
His swing was fast.
Precise.
Timed perfectly.
Then—
The baseball vanished.
Not literally.
It simply dropped so sharply that it disappeared from his hitting zone.
The bat sliced through empty air.
THWACK!
The ball landed securely in Miyuki's mitt.
Shirakawa's eyes widened.
His teeth clenched.
Unwilling.
Frustrated.
Powerless.
"STRIKE THREE! BATTER OUT!"
The umpire emphatically signaled the strikeout.
Two outs.
Only one remained.
Shirakawa glared at Ushijima as he walked back toward the dugout.
On the mound, Ushijima calmly caught the return throw.
Unwilling?
So what?
Who was willing to lose?
In his mind, a familiar scene appeared once more.
The image of Seidou's third-years crying after their defeat.
The tears.
The regret.
The unwillingness.
For months, those memories had haunted him.
Every training session.
Every bullpen practice.
Every exhausting workout.
They reminded him why he had come here.
Why he pushed himself beyond his limits.
Why he trained harder than anyone else.
It was all for this moment.
To change that ending.
To ensure that this time—
The people wearing Seidou uniforms would raise their fists toward the sky in victory.
Not lower their heads in tears.
And now...
Only one out stood in his way.