'What a monster.'
Yuta Shitada cursed internally.
He had already watched Takashi's pitches before stepping up.
But seeing it live and facing it directly were two completely different things.
It was like watching a pro match on TV versus actually facing a pro player.
He took several deep breaths to calm his racing heart.
'That's just one strike. I still have two more chances. Focus and observe carefully.'
He kept telling himself to stay calm.
Even if he couldn't hit the ball, at least he had to gather intel for her teammates.
Bang!
The ball slammed into the catcher's mitt again.
Beep! 157 km/h!
"Strike two!"
Yuta Shitada still didn't swing. He was focused on Takashi's pitching motion and the ball's trajectory.
Though it was his first time facing him, his experience told her.
Takashi was clearly a raw talent, someone with incredible potential who hadn't played baseball for long.
A pitcher this powerful couldn't be unknown—unless he was new to the game. A freak of nature, like a burger-flipping soccer prodigy.
And so far, all he'd thrown were fastballs.
What did that mean?
It meant this might be the only pitch he knew.
Trying to conquer the baseball world with a single move? Pure fantasy. Baseball wasn't that simple.
From the batter's box, Yuta Shitada saw Takashi ready the exact same motion for the third pitch.
He decided—it was time to swing.
He had to. With two strikes, one more and he'd be out.
Meanwhile, Takashi still had three chances to bait with balls.
But Yuta Shitada figured he wouldn't use them.
This pitch—99% chance—it was another wild fastball.
He was starting to suspect Takashi didn't even have control.
Maybe all he could throw was a straight fastball, right down the middle.
He replayed the ball's previous path in his mind, staring intently at Takashi's release.
No change.
In fact, it even seemed a bit slower than before.
She swung early, thinking this one's is his—
"Don't swing!"
From the bullpen, Hiratsuka Shizuka shouted loudly—she saw it clearly.
Whoosh!
His bat cut through the air—no impact, no contact at all.
The umpire blew a short, sharp whistle: "Strike! 155 km/h! Strikeout!"
"Another strikeout right after the last one!"
"Takashi from Aoba effortlessly struck the batter out."
"Too terrifying! Way too terrifying! After throwing a 157 km/h pitch, the next one was still 155! A monster! An absolute monster!"
"His fastball will be every high school batter's nightmare!"
"He single-handedly dismantled Sobu High's offense."
"What terrifying strength."
"We've just witnessed the birth of a monster pitcher at Koshien."
The male commentator shouted with excitement, his voice high and spittle flying.
It wasn't exactly dignified, but that kind of passion is exactly what sports broadcasting needs.
Yuta Shitada still hadn't processed what had happened. His eyes were blank as he looked up at the stadium's LED screen.
On the big screen, the replay of the last pitch was being shown.
Upon closer examination, Yuta Shitada realized that pitch had actually been a ball.
That was why Hiratsuka Shizuka had shouted "Don't swing!"
He shouldn't have swung at it.
But at the time, all he could think about was how to hit the ball. He was too focused and completely ignored the pitch's angle and trajectory.
That pitch was impossible for him to hit from the start.
He had been completely toyed with.
This wasn't just a crushing defeat in terms of ability—it was also a mental game.
Yuta Shitada had gambled that Takashi wouldn't throw a bad pitch.
But Takashi had predicted that prediction.
Not only did he throw an impossible ball, but he used that "bad pitch" like a bullet, and "shot" Yuta Shitada down—forcing him to eliminate himself.
"The third smartest brain in Japan really is something."
Yuta Shitada helplessly shook his head and trudged off, utterly dejected.
He had a feeling today might be the end of the line for him.
…
Top of the fifth inning. Time to switch offense and defense.
Aoba was up to bat; Sobu High would defend.
An official baseball game consists of nine innings. Each inning is split into two halves—top and bottom.
If the score is tied after nine innings, the game can go into extra innings, which proceed one inning at a time, with no limit.
"Good job, Kitahara."
Coach Amatani Kensuke patted Takashi on the shoulder as he came off the field.
"Kitahara, you were amazing."
"With you here, we can definitely go even further this year."
"Want a banana? I peeled it for you—come on, open wide."
In the bullpen, upperclassmen who hadn't gotten to play extended their kindness.
They had no personal grudge against Takashi.
"Thank you, senpai."
Takashi smiled, accepting the peeled banana and taking a slow bite.
He didn't actually dislike these seniors.
He just hadn't interacted with them before—he wasn't the type to fawn over people who were cold to him, and there hadn't been a good opportunity either.
Now that they were willing to extend a hand, he wouldn't act stuck-up.
Amatani Kensuke looked at the boys goofing off, a faint smile flashing behind his sunglasses, though his face remained serious.
"Kitahara's already held their offense down. Now it's your turn—don't let the freshmen laugh at you."
"Yes, sir!"
All nine players roared in unison.
Having gotten used to Yuta Shitada's pitching, Aoba's baseball team began to show why they ruled over western Tokyo.
They gave Sobu High no more chances.
They scored again and again, unleashing a storm of hits.
In the top of the fifth, they scored two more runs.
In the top of the sixth, Takashi struck out the batters again, one after another.
By now, Sobu High had completely lost the momentum they'd started with.
Their fourth batter, who had been their biggest threat, never even made it up to bat in the first inning.
They scored zero runs.
In the bottom of the sixth, Aoba's batters were brimming with confidence.
Their reads on Sobu's pitcher became eerily accurate.
Their first batter even hit a home run, and taking advantage of the defense's repeated errors, they scored five more runs with ease.
By the end of the sixth inning, Aoba had widened the gap to 13–5.
When all nine innings were done, the final score was 19–5.
Sobu High didn't score a single point in the latter half. Takashi couldn't even look at the scoreboard—it was too brutal.
And this was Aoba going easy on them. If they had gone all out, the gap would've been even bigger.
Even so, it was already one of the largest point differences in Koshien history.
Sobu High wasn't weak. They just fell apart mentally—many of the players had completely given up by the end.
At the final whistle, the private Sobu High team couldn't even line up properly.
After a hasty handshake, many of them just collapsed onto the field. Some even started digging at the dirt.
"Let's go."
Both teams began to leave the field. Takashi was preparing to walk off as well.
"Kitahara Takashi!"
Yukino suddenly called out to him.
"What is it, Lady Yukino?"
Takashi turned his head toward her.
"Why does everyone like you?"
From the bullpen, Yukino had seen how well Takashi was getting along with everyone else.
A flicker of confusion and uncertainty passed through the girl's cold eyes.
She didn't understand—how could someone like Takashi be so well-liked?
Was there really such a big gap between them?
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