After the Red-White Game, Furuya became unusually quiet.
The practice game had taught him a lesson he would never forget.
A single run.
Just one run had been enough to decide everything.
After surrendering that lone run, the first string desperately tried to fight back, but no matter how hard they pushed, they couldn't score.
At first, Furuya hadn't been worried.
He believed that with Ushijima and Captain Yuki anchoring the middle of the lineup, catching up would be easy.
Instead, the second string simply refused to challenge them.
They intentionally walked Yuki Tetsuya and Ushijima Wakatoshi, forcing the rest of the lineup to beat them.
Tanba took full advantage of the situation.
Other than the two cleanup hitters reaching base, he completely shut down the rest of the first-string offense.
The score remained unchanged.
One run.
Just one run.
No matter how desperately they tried to reclaim it, it was impossible.
Only then did Furuya truly understand the weight carried by every run in baseball.
One mistake.
One run allowed.
That alone could shatter the dreams of seniors who had devoted three years of their lives to reaching Koshien.
After the game, the usually expressionless first-year became even quieter than before.
For the first time, he understood the pressure Ushijima carried every time he stepped onto the mound.
Yesterday, against Inashiro, Ushijima had endured relentless pressure for nine innings without allowing a single run.
Now Furuya finally understood why that had been so incredible.
He also understood what Inashiro's pitchers and fielders must have felt.
They had desperately searched for an opening.
Desperately tried to score.
Yet no matter what they did, they couldn't break through.
That sense of helplessness...
It was suffocating.
Baseball wasn't a sport where a pitcher could simply do as he pleased.
Not if he cared about his teammates.
A selfish pitcher could stubbornly stay on the mound regardless of how many runs he gave up.
But anyone who truly valued the sweat and effort of the players behind him would never think that way.
Because every unnecessary run carried a price.
It could end the high school careers of teammates who had fought for three years.
Knowing that...
The guilt alone was enough to crush a person.
At that moment, Furuya finally understood why Tanba had willingly handed the Ace number to Ushijima.
It wasn't because Tanba lacked pride.
Nor because he wanted to give up the mound.
Quite the opposite.
He loved pitching more than anyone.
He wanted to remain on the mound until the very end.
But he also understood something more important.
If his own ability wasn't enough...
If his stubbornness caused the team to lose...
Then all of his teammates' hard work would disappear because of him.
That burden...
Wasn't something every pitcher could bear.
"Pathetic."
Kominato Ryosuke looked at Furuya's dejected expression and smiled mischievously.
His words sounded harsh, but there wasn't any real malice behind them.
Tanba chuckled bitterly.
"Weren't we exactly the same last year?"
Everyone fell silent.
Because he was right.
Every pitcher who truly cared about winning had gone through this stage.
Chris looked toward the silent Furuya.
"He's fortunate."
"This happened in a practice game."
He glanced toward Ushijima, who was quietly putting away his equipment.
"Ushijima deliberately created this situation so Furuya could experience it now."
"Better to learn this lesson here..."
"...than at Koshien."
"Otherwise, if this had happened at Koshien..."
"The guilt would have been far worse."
Tanba let out a quiet sigh.
"Just look at Narumiya."
"After losing at Koshien, he spent an entire year waiting for another chance to repay that defeat."
Isashiki stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the silent Furuya.
No one tried to comfort him.
Some lessons could only be learned through experience.
Ushijima simply wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced at Furuya before looking away.
There was nothing left to say.
Furuya had already learned the lesson.
Nearby, Sawamura was unusually quiet as well.
Before the game, Ushijima had specifically told him to watch everything carefully.
Now he finally understood why.
"So that's what it means..."
Sawamura murmured to himself.
"One run..."
"Just one run can erase everyone's hard work."
"If the pitcher isn't reliable..."
"The whole team could be knocked out before they even realize it."
For once, the normally loud and energetic Sawamura fell completely silent.
Ushijima finished his water, rotated his shoulders to loosen them, and headed toward Field B.
"Ushijima?"
Kanemaru and Toujou jogged over as soon as they saw him.
"What brings you over here?"
The two first-years looked at him curiously.
"I came to talk with you two."
His answer surprised them.
Among the second-string first-years, Kanemaru and Toujou were undoubtedly the closest to earning promotion.
Looking at them, Ushijima spoke seriously.
"For the next twenty days, don't come to Koshien."
"After finishing the team's regular training each day, stay behind and do extra practice."
"Keep refining the batting techniques I've been teaching you."
"If you do that, by September..."
"...the coach will have every reason to promote you to the first string."
Both Kanemaru and Toujou instinctively clenched their fists.
Since entering Seido, Ushijima had always been willing to teach them.
Before Haruichi had earned his place on the first string, the four of them—Ushijima, Haruichi, Kanemaru, and Toujou—had often trained together.
Although Ushijima had already become a first-string regular, he frequently sought them out for extra practice.
Because of that, he knew the strengths of every player in his class.
The most talented first-years were clear.
Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Kominato Haruichi.
Furuya Satoru.
Sawamura Eijun.
Toujou Hideaki.
Kanemaru Shinji.
These six represented the future of Seido.
If everything went according to plan, they would become the core of Seido's next generation.
As for Sawamura...
His value was on the mound.
His batting still had a long way to go, so hitting near the bottom of the lineup suited him best.
Ushijima turned back to Toujou.
"And don't give up pitching."
Toujou looked up immediately.
"For now, focus on earning a spot on the first string with your bat."
"Once you're promoted, you'll still have opportunities to pitch."
"You can throw bullpen sessions and batting practice."
"As long as your pitching continues to improve, the coaching staff won't ignore it."
Toujou nodded firmly.
"I understand."
Not far away, Maezono and several second-years had been watching the conversation.
"Asou."
Maezono nudged the player beside him.
"See those two?"
"Kanemaru and Toujou."
"You've seen how well they've been hitting lately."
"I'd bet they'll be promoted to the first string this September."
Asou nodded.
"I know."
But what interested him wasn't their promotion.
Instead, he looked at Ushijima with envy.
"If I make the first string..."
"And become a starter..."
"Will I finally get to train against Ushijima's pitching?"
That was what he wanted most.
For a long time, he'd been jealous of the exclusive batting practice given to the first-string starters.
Higasa, standing beside him, laughed.
"It's not enough to become a starter."
"You have to be one of the top seven hitters."
Asou blinked.
"The top seven?"
Higasa nodded.
"Only the first seven in the batting order regularly face Ushijima during batting practice."
"The eighth and ninth hitters only get a chance if someone ahead of them skips their turn."
He scratched his head.
"Think about it."
"If Ushijima threw thirty pitches to every starter, he'd already be throwing over two hundred pitches."
"The coach would never allow that."
Asou's eyes lit up.
"Then..."
"I'll aim for seventh."
The moment those words left his mouth, he noticed someone approaching.
It was Ushijima.
Maezono and the others immediately straightened up.
Their eyes followed him curiously.
Why had Seido's Ace suddenly come over to them?