"Strike! One more!"
Hasuno Yuma tossed the ball back to Takashi, shouting loudly.
At the same time, the hearts of the fielders finally settled down.
They all knew Takashi had a terrifying fastball, but performing well on the practice field and performing well in a real game were two entirely different things.
On the practice field, you're surrounded by teammates.
Hardly anyone comes specifically to watch intra-squad games. If you mess up, at most you'll get a scolding from the coach.
But the game field was different.
At Hanshin Koshien Stadium, there were exactly 50,454 spectators in the stands.
And on TV and online, tens of millions more were watching the Koshien tournament.
Under the gaze of such a massive audience, every word and every action you make gets magnified under a metaphorical microscope.
If you fail to pitch well on the field, there are no do-overs.
Your teammates might be eliminated because of your poor performance, your classmates' looks will turn to blame and even contempt, and your mistakes could become a laughingstock on the internet.
This pressure, both mental and physical, is enough to crush anyone with a weak mindset.
Whether it's physical sports or esports, anyone who steps onto the field must possess exceptional mental strength.
This pitch from Takashi was crucial—one could say it was the turning point of the match.
He was about to prove to everyone that he, TKitahara akashi, wasn't someone who would crumble under pressure in big games.
Takashi caught the ball thrown by Hasuno Yuma, raised his hands above his head, and—without any unnecessary movement—hurled a blazing fastball straight down the middle.
The first batter from Sobu High swung.
Beep! 157 km/h!
"Strike two!"
The bat missed. The ball landed cleanly in the catcher's glove.
Above him, the sun blazed. In his ears, the voices of the Aoba students roared.
Gazes from all directions bore down on him, as if trying to swallow him whole.
Pressure!
Pressure as heavy as a mountain crushed him, making it hard to breathe.
Sobu High's first batter was a second-year student. He was strong—but mentally, he wasn't built for this.
Even reading aloud in class made him nervous, and now more than 50,000 pairs of eyes were on him. Only one thought filled his mind:
'Let it end!'
'Please, just end this quickly!'
'Once it's over, I'll finally be free…'
With that mindset, he didn't even bother swinging at the final pitch.
Beep! 155 km/h!
"Strikeout! Batter out!"
Hearing "strikeout," the first batter walked off the stage with his head hung low, saying nothing.
As he passed Sobu High's second batter, he didn't say a word.
The second batter had hoped to ask for some insight, but now he had to step up alone.
…
As the first batter sat down, Yukino's cold, stern voice pierced the air: "Why didn't you swing?"
"I couldn't hit it."
He pulled a towel over his head and answered in a muffled voice.
"Is it that you couldn't hit it—or you didn't dare to?"
Yukino didn't hold back at all.
From her vantage point, it was clear: on the third pitch, the first batter hadn't even intended to swing.
"…"
The first batter kept his head down and didn't respond.
"Were you scared?"
Yukino pressed on relentlessly.
"Is this how you repay your teammates' year-long effort? How you repay your own hard work?"
"Yukinoshita, enough! Stop—" Hiratsuka Shizuka tried to intervene, but was cut off when the first batter threw down his towel and shouted:
"If you think you can do better, get up there yourself!"
"I was the one on that stage, not you."
"Have you ever stood in front of more than fifty thousand people and played? Do you know how intense that pressure is?"
"Do you know how hard it is to face a pitch so fast it's barely visible to the naked eye?"
"If I had the skill to hit a 157 km/h pitch, I'd be in the major leagues already—instead of standing here taking crap from a first-year!"
The pressure on him had already been immense.
Now Yukino was piling even more on.
He snapped, exploding with anger and frustration.
With each word he shouted, Yukino's expression turned colder.
She couldn't understand it—how someone could make a mistake, refuse to acknowledge it, then lash out at others just because a younger person pointed it out.
"Your dad's a councilman in Chiba, and he pulled strings to make you the team manager. And you really think you're our manager?"
At that, Yukino bit her lip tightly, staring at the ground.
This reaction was unthinkable from the usual Yukino.
…
Beep! 155 km/h!
"Strikeout! Batter out!"
While Sobu High's side was in turmoil, Takashi struck out the second batter with another powerful pitch.
Bang bang bang!
The crowd erupted with energy.
In the Aoba stands, the kendo club members led by Tochi Taku began pounding their inflatable bats, shouting at the top of their lungs.
"Next one!"
"Next one!"
"Next one!"
They couldn't help the team directly, but they could apply pressure from the sidelines.
The Aoba students started putting mental pressure on the Sobu High players.
"Start yelling! Don't let them outdo us!"
Seeing her school's students just sitting there dumbfounded, Hiratsuka Shizuka scolded them in frustration.
"Let's go, Sobu High!"
Her shout finally snapped the Sobu High cheer squad out of their daze. They started cheering reluctantly, trying to rally their side.
In the crowd, a boy with dull, lifeless eyes—like a rotting fish—opened his mouth slightly, but made no sound.
Because he thought this was all so ridiculous.
This wasn't some hot-blooded anime.
A huge power gap between the teams couldn't be overcome just by yelling "I'm from Fairy Tail!" while cueing up a dramatic soundtrack.
Sobu High's third batter was Yuta Shitada.
With a grim expression, she stepped up to the plate holding her bat.
Sobu High no longer had the fighting spirit they started with. The atmosphere was chaotic. The manager and players weren't even on the same page anymore.
Yukino clearly had no intention of getting involved now.
At this point, there was only one way forward—someone had to hit Takashi's pitch.
Only then could they show the others that his throws weren't invincible.
Yuta Shitada gripped the bat with both hands, ready to strike, eyes filled with resolve.
As the ace of the team, he had to step up now.
Takashi didn't waste words. When the soreness in his arm faded slightly, he lifted his leg, swung his arm.
In the next instant, his long arm whipped forward like an arrow loosed from a bowstring, sending the white ball screaming through the air.
Beep! 157 km/h!
"Strike one!"
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