The first pitch was another outside ball, tricking the batter into swinging early.
Horikoshi High School's strategy was simple — put pressure on Tanba by crowding the plate. They would swing at anything that wasn't an inside pitch. Ironically, that aggression was also turning into pressure on their own batters.
For the second pitch, Miyuki boldly called for a low inside curveball. With the batter standing that close, there was a real risk of hitting him. Fortunately, Tanba's control held steady, and the pitch landed right where it should.
After two quick strikes, Miyuki and Tanba exchanged glances. Tanba exhaled deeply. Truth be told, his heart had nearly jumped out of his chest when that curve grazed past the batter's torso.
Miyuki smirked behind his mask, gripping the ball tightly. The batter had instinctively flinched — that fear, even when you're prepared for it, was impossible to suppress.
If they're scared… then it's easy.
That inside curveball had already carved itself deep into the batter's memory. So, you think we don't dare pitch inside? Let's find out.
This time, Miyuki signaled for another inside pitch — a four-seam fastball. He couldn't risk another curve so close. A hit-by-pitch wasn't disastrous, but if it happened, Tanba's fragile mindset could crumble.
Tanba nodded, wound up, and fired.
The ball came in fast, darting toward the batter. Startled, the Horikoshi player panicked and swung reflexively.
Bang!
The ball popped up weakly toward second base.
First baseman and captain Yuki Tetsuya, already poised, made the easy catch.
"Catch out! Batter out!"
Two outs. Miyuki rose, tossed the ball back to Tanba, and smiled.
"Nice pitch, Tanba-san."
The shy second-year flinched for a moment, then gave a small nod, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. Maybe this first-year wasn't so bad after all.
In the Horikoshi dugout, tension was thick.
"Why did you swing at an inside pitch?!" their coach barked.
"He… he can actually throw inside," the batter stammered.
The coach nearly blew a fuse. Was that even the question?!
This kind of mental game demanded absolute resolve. You had to stick to the plan — but their lineup was already faltering.
Ignoring the shaken batter, the coach turned to the rest of the lineup.
"Listen up! Forget about the inside pitches! The moment he throws outside, crush it! Keep the pressure on — our chance will come!"
"Yes, sir!"
On Seidou's side, Coach Kataoka watched silently.
Miyuki's pitch calls were risky but brilliant. Since the opponent was deliberately standing close to bait Tanba into avoiding the inside zone, Miyuki flipped the script — attacking the inside over and over. As long as Tanba held firm, this psychological duel would swing in their favor.
The only question now was whether Tanba had the guts to keep throwing those dangerous pitches.
"Kanzaki, if it were you out there," Chris suddenly asked, "what would you do?"
Kanzaki Ryou, who had been watching the game intently, didn't hesitate.
"I'd go for it. Stuff it inside."
"Not afraid of hitting him?" Chris asked with a faint smile.
"The batter's the one crowding the plate. If he gets hit, that's his problem." Kanzaki leaned back lazily, his smirk playful. "Do I look like someone with a strong sense of morality?"
Chris chuckled. "Not really. But hitting him puts him on base."
"So what? It's not like he'll reach third," Kanzaki replied, gesturing toward the field. "It's a team game, isn't it?"
Chris fell silent for a moment, his gaze turning serious. Yes… he's right. There are teammates behind you, Tanba. When will you realize that?
Tanba, after all, had long been Seidou's most promising second-year pitcher. Promoted to the first string after last year's third-years graduated, he'd contributed solidly in the Autumn Tournament. But his weakness was well-known — when he gave up hits or runs, his confidence shattered.
He blamed himself too easily, buckled under pressure, and repeated the same cycle — pressure, mistakes, self-blame.
Thankfully, the third batter also went down quickly, ending the top half of the inning with a clean three up, three down.
"Tanba."
Coach Kataoka's calm voice rang out as Tanba walked back into the dugout. The pitcher froze, expecting criticism.
Instead, Kataoka nodded.
"You did well. Keep it up."
Tanba blinked, stunned. His body trembled, and his face flushed red.
"Y-Yes, sir!"
Watching the scene, Kanzaki couldn't help but grin. Tanba-san… keep holding strong. The game's still long.
Miyuki walked over, removing his catcher's gear.
"Looks like it's going smoothly," Kanzaki said.
Miyuki grinned, flashing his teeth. "Makes the game fun, doesn't it?"
"Then let's enjoy it," Kanzaki replied.
The game resumed. In the bottom of the first inning, Seidou's lineup exploded — scoring three runs straight.
By the second inning, Miyuki and Tanba continued their momentum, limiting Horikoshi to just one hit.
But in the fourth, a single mistake changed everything. Tanba misthrew, and the batter sent it screaming down the left-field line for a double. The next few pitches wavered — some good, some bad — and Horikoshi capitalized, scoring a run.
After the inning ended, the scoreboard read 7–1.
Back in the dugout, Tanba braced for criticism… but it never came.
Coach Kataoka simply patted his shoulder.
"Relax. Pitch the next inning, then take a rest."
Tanba stared at him, stunned — until his teammates chimed in.
"Don't sweat it! We'll make up the runs!" Shirasu said with a grin, bat resting on his shoulder.
"You've done fine," Azuma added bluntly. "It's pathetic to act like the world's ending after one run."
Their words hit Tanba harder than any lecture. They've got my back…
"Yeah," he muttered, nodding firmly. "I've got this."
Unfortunately, the next at-bat didn't go Seidou's way — Shirasu's powerful swing turned into an easy out.
Next up was Isashiki Jun, batting second today. He'd already gotten a hit earlier, but this time, after a foul ball and two mistimed swings, he struck out swinging.
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