Chapter 335: Whose Last Moment?
He finished recalling.
Kominato gripped his bat tightly.
"Two inside pitches in a row! Then the deciding pitch really might be just like Sendo said—an outside fastball or curve! What a terrifying underclassman.
Even such an excellent catcher got read by him!"
"This batter will keep fouling balls off with his feel and technique. Don't miss your spot! Settle it here!"
"Fuu!"
"The runner goes!"
Kuramochi didn't even need a big lead to take off.
"Don't worry about him—get the batter and this inning's over!" Yokohama's pitcher and catcher were of one mind.
Two outs. Kuramochi could run at full speed without hesitation.
Especially since he knew Kominato was going for it.
As for how he knew—these guys didn't need signals for coordination.
Just like during that practice game with Tanba, Kuramochi and Isashiki had pulled off a hit-and-run without any signs.
Hit-and-run demands perfect timing. If the batter fails, the runner is dead.
Kuramochi and Isashiki didn't need signals. The middle infield duo even less so.
"Shoo!"
Kominato stepped in without hesitation, startling Shiraha.
"Ping!"
"He hit it! Can they throw him out?"
"Get it there, damn it!!!" The commentator and Jun-san shouted almost at the same time.
"It's through! Seidou's second batter, Kominato Ryosuke, with a clean single to right! Kuramochi scores! Now it's two outs, runners on first and third!
And the lineup turns to Seidou's heart of the order—the three, four, five hitters!!! Yokohama faces their biggest crisis of the game!"
"Yosh!!!"
"Yeah!!!"
The bench and cheering section erupted.
"They read us?" Shiraha called for a mound visit. Ino asked.
"Yeah. He stepped in without hesitation. But his timing wasn't perfect. Otherwise that ball would've gone much farther. You're not scared, are you?"
"As if! This is our last summer. I don't want any regrets!"
"Then let's play a game without regrets. But let's end this inning right here." Shiraha thumped Ino's chest with his mitt.
Then returned behind the plate.
"Idiot! Our offense isn't done yet!" Isashiki, the next batter, stepped forward.
"Then let's settle it properly," Shiraha replied with a grin.
"Huh?"
"Third batter! Right fielder, Isashiki!"
The stadium announcement followed.
"Bottom of the sixth, two outs, runners on first and third. Batter is third hitter Isashiki! First pitch!"
"Shoo!"
"Ball!"
"Outside pitch, just off the zone—ball!"
"Shoo!"
"Strike!"
"Another outside fastball—strike! Yokohama's battery isn't backing down. They're attacking outside!"
"I get why Yokohama rose above the many powerhouses in Kanagawa," Sendo said, putting on his helmet.
"This pitcher really is something."
Whether it was recognizing his limited growth ceiling and polishing his pickoff moves instead, or this kind of composure in crucial moments—it was worthy of respect.
But Sendo never held back.
And opponents like this had to be crushed head-on.
Originally not that interested in Yokohama, Sendo now felt a flicker of fire.
"Shoo!"
"Forkball?"
"Ball!"
"That was close!" Isashiki's eyes nearly popped out.
He absolutely couldn't chase a ball here. The pressure was on Yokohama.
"Shoo!"
"Idiot! Bastard!"
"Ping!"
He connected mid-shout, the words coming out half garbled.
"Two strikes!"
"Finish him!"
"End this inning!"
Yokohama's cheers briefly drowned out Seidou's.
"Shoo!"
"Ball!"
"Yosh!!!" Isashiki roared after checking his swing on the slider at the last instant.
A crucial decision for both him and Seidou.
Full count.
"Yokohama has no retreat now!" The commentator shouted.
If that had been ball four…
"Then we settle it in the zone! Come on!"
"Shoo!"
"Ball! Four!"
"Yosh!!!"
Seidou erupted again.
"That's good! The rest is up to you, Sendo! Captain!" Isashiki pumped his fist toward the dugout.
Sendo crouched in the on-deck circle, looking up.
Tetsu stepped out from the bench.
"Two outs… bases loaded!!!"
The announcer's voice boomed through the stadium.
"Batter… the cleanup hitter!!!"
"Cleanup! Center fielder, Sendo!"
"If you walk them, we'll just load the bases and see how you deal with it!" Countless Seidou players thought the same.
"Bases loaded, facing Seidou's four and five hitters who were walked last time! This is the climax of today's game! Will Yokohama hold firm with their solid defense and wait for their lineup to explode?
Or will Seidou's bats sound the charge? Ace versus cleanup! A fated duel!!!"
More and more Seidou supporters joined the band, chanting Sendo's cheer song.
The game had reached its peak.
One extra-base hit from their cleanup could blow it wide open—perhaps decide it entirely.
"Go, Ino!"
"Shut them down!"
"Two outs!!"
Even Yokohama's coach stepped out, fist clenched.
"Today might be the most glorious day of your lives.
Leave no regrets."
"Shiraha-san! Your battery with Ino-san is truly impressive," Sendo said quietly while smoothing the dirt in the batter's box.
It was his first time speaking at the plate today.
Shiraha blinked in surprise.
"Thanks for the compliment."
"Don't worry. I'll be the one to guide you out."
If anyone else had said that, Shiraha might've snapped back.
But something about Sendo's presence pressed down on him, swallowing the words in his throat.
Imagination was powerful.
Sendo had begun to inspire fear.
"Then let's fight it out in this final game," Shiraha said.
Sendo caught the subtle difference.
"Whose final?" he asked.
"Who knows?"
Sendo smiled faintly.
He knew the opponent had already taken a do-or-die attitude in facing him.
As for that last misplaced pitch to Isashiki-senpai…
If he relied on that happening again, the only one who would suffer would be himself.
So he rested the bat on his shoulder, stretched lightly, and settled into his stance.
"If we want to get this batter, we have to make use of his habit of swinging at balls outside the zone! Let's go. First pitch—low outside! Just barely off the strike zone!"
Shiraha swallowed as well. The batter in front of him was a slugger who could change the game with one swing.
They absolutely couldn't settle things casually in the strike zone.
Even Ino, a third-year with nerves of steel, had sweat forming on his face.
Two outs, bases loaded, facing such a powerful cleanup hitter—the pressure was immense.
"Fuu!"
"Yah…!"
"Shoo!"
"Ball!!"
The home plate umpire shouted loudly.
Sendo didn't move at all—not even a flicker in his eyes.
And that complete stillness unsettled Shiraha.
"Didn't move? Is he starting to take pitches now?
Or is he only getting serious now?" Shiraha began doubting himself.
Up until now, Sendo had given him the impression that he would swing at slightly outside pitches, whether they were strikes or balls.
That was how he'd been on film and throughout this game.
But suddenly changing it up like this left Shiraha at a loss.
On Sendo's side, it wasn't that his pitch-reading ability had suddenly improved.
He had simply decided beforehand to take the first pitch—strike or ball, he would let it go.
He had already concluded that the first pitch wouldn't be something easy to hit.
Even if it entered the strike zone, he would take it—use it to gather information for later.
At the same time, it served as a smokescreen to better hide his true target.
Not only Shiraha—even Miyuki or Chris, who knew Sendo inside and out, would have fallen for it if they were catching.
Right now Miyuki was even putting himself in the catcher's position, trying to guess what Sendo was thinking—and realizing he couldn't figure it out at all.
Because there was no real need for Sendo to do this.
If he kept battling, eventually a hittable pitch would come.
Miyuki had absolute confidence in Sendo's ability. A pitch Miyuki found hard to hit might be a good one for Sendo.
So not knowing Sendo's objective—that was terrifying for the defense.
"Shiraha! Don't waver! We can only trust the baseball we've played all this time! No matter what he's thinking, we have to attack," Ino reassured his partner with a firm look.
"Right. Second pitch—here!"
Years of partnership meant a single glance was enough.
"Shoo!"
"Boom!"
"Ping!"
"Foul!"
"He swung at that one?" Shiraha was even more confused, but no longer hesitant.
The second pitch was also low and outside—a curveball this time, even farther off the zone than the first.
No one knew what Sendo was trying to do.
"Shoo!"
"Inside!"
"Ball!"
The third pitch was a slider.
"What on earth is Sendo doing?" Ota couldn't help blurting out.
"No idea," Kataoka replied calmly.
"Huh?!!"
Ota thought: You don't know either, yet you're this calm letting him play around? Are you turning into Sendo too?
Even though Ota trusted Sendo, at a crucial moment like this it still made his heart uneasy.
After all, he knew Sendo's ability to judge balls and strikes very well.
Even in the Inashiro game, when he entered the so-called zone, his pitch recognition had only risen to about average on the team.
Normally, it was downright bad.
"What's wrong? Is it really okay to keep throwing balls? It's bases loaded, you know," Sendo suddenly said.
Though his real-time pitch recognition was poor, his spatial awareness was excellent.
A glance at his own stance was enough for him to estimate whether previous pitches were strikes or balls.
In real combat, what he lacked wasn't talent but experience and time.
With limited time, he focused on areas that brought rapid improvement.
Baseball ultimately demanded well-rounded players.
Sendo's words left Shiraha momentarily speechless—but he couldn't simply believe everything the batter said.
That was why umpires often restricted excessive conversation between batter and catcher—to prevent verbal mind games.
Tactics were already as complex as warfare; adding psychological hints through words would be too much.
"Although those pitches were precise, if we keep throwing balls, the umpire might start calling borderline pitches balls too. That would backfire," Shiraha analyzed.
In the end, he decided to throw a sharp pitch into the zone to regain the umpire's sense of balance.
Don't forget—right-handed pitchers have a sharp angle against left-handed batters, similar to a lefty's crossfire fastball.
It just didn't have a special name.
But its nastiness was unquestionable.
"Shoo!"
"PING!"
"Boom!"
The ball exploded past first base at incredible speed.
"Foul!"
"What a fast hit!"
"Incredible swing!"
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