"Kanzaki, Miyuki — still this hardworking?" Nanjo Taishi greeted them with a raised hand.
"You too, Nanjo-senpai. Coming to train right after dinner," Kanzaki Ryou replied, slipping on his glove as he entered the bullpen.
"If I don't keep pushing myself, I, the Ace, will be surpassed by you," Nanjo said with a joking grin.
The others in the bullpen froze for a moment.
As the team's Ace, to say something like that so casually—was he already mentally prepared to hand over his position?
Tanaka Wataru looked at his longtime partner with a complicated expression. Logically speaking, even if a first-year was talented, a third-year Ace shouldn't feel that much pressure.
But Kanzaki Ryou wasn't an ordinary first-year.
"Senpai, you're joking. I'm still far from that level," Kanzaki replied humbly.
Nanjo just smiled faintly, said nothing more, and continued pitching to Tanaka.
While warming up, Kanzaki observed Nanjo and Tanba Koichiro's throws carefully. Then, with a mischievous grin, he nudged Miyuki with his elbow.
"Did you notice?"
"Yeah," Miyuki whispered back. "It's a cutter."
"They're developing a new weapon," Kanzaki said.
Nanjo's signature pitch had always been his high-speed slider—sharp and well-controlled. It was that very pitch that made him Seidou's Ace.
But against the country's top-tier lineups, that alone wasn't enough. Perhaps that's why Seidou had yet to break through to Koshien.
Watching a few more pitches, Kanzaki noticed Nanjo's cutter ball was solid—good control, good break, good speed.
But for some reason, it felt soft to him. Maybe it was just his imagination.
He didn't comment further; it would only seem rude to criticize his senior's technique.
"Kazuya, let's practice new pitches too," Kanzaki said suddenly.
"Huh?" Miyuki blinked in disbelief, staring as if Kanzaki had lost his mind. "You serious?"
"I am. Let's give it a try."
Seeing the serious look in Kanzaki's eyes, Miyuki sighed, then smirked. "You know other pitches?"
"I told you before—the pitches I've mastered are the four-seam, two-seam, and changeup. I never said I don't know others."
"Oh?" Miyuki's eyes lit up. "So you can throw more, just not well?"
"Exactly."
"Then we can't practice here," Miyuki whispered, grabbing Kanzaki's arm. "Let's move somewhere else."
Kanzaki understood immediately. Their seniors had just shown off their hard-practiced cutter. If he suddenly started working on new pitches right after, it would look like he was showing off.
The two quietly packed up and left. Behind them, the seniors glanced at each other, confused.
They came, warmed up, and left—what was that about?
They found an empty spot behind the field.
"All right," Miyuki said eagerly, eyes gleaming. "What other pitches do you know?"
Kanzaki pushed his face away with mock annoyance. "I tried a lot back in middle school. Like Nanjo-senpai's cutter just now—but mine's… a bit weird."
"Show me," Miyuki said immediately, running over to squat behind the plate. "I'll see for myself."
"You might wanna wear protection," Kanzaki warned.
"Good point." Miyuki quickly ran off to grab his gear. When experimenting with new pitches, safety came first—especially with Kanzaki's fastball speed.
Once Miyuki returned, fully equipped, Kanzaki rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck, and adjusted his grip for a cutter.
Seeing him prepare so seriously, Miyuki focused. "Here it comes?"
"Yeah. Ready!"
Kanzaki wound up and unleashed a powerful throw.
The ball shot toward Miyuki like a bullet. Miyuki's eyes locked on it—he expected a slight break to the right as it crossed the plate.
But—
Smack!
The ball hit the edge of his glove and bounced off his mask.
He missed.
For a moment, Miyuki didn't even care about the impact—he was too surprised by the pitch's movement.
That was… almost straight. The break was tiny—barely the width of one ball.
"Hey, are you sure that was a cutter?" Miyuki asked skeptically.
"Of course it was," Kanzaki said flatly, picking up another ball. "I'm not an idiot."
"Then your break's way too small. It's basically a straight fastball."
"I know that," Kanzaki grumbled. "That's why I never use it."
He wound up again, but Miyuki raised a hand to stop him.
"Hold up. That pitch isn't ready. Let's test the others. What else can you throw?"
"Slider."
"Then show me."
"You sure?"
"Quit talking and throw!"
Seeing Miyuki's impatient grin, Kanzaki sighed and adjusted his grip again.
The slider—a breaking ball that cut across horizontally, meant to fool the batter by sliding out of or into the strike zone.
But if the break wasn't big enough, it could easily be hit.
He threw.
The ball zipped through the air—and then curved violently.
Miyuki's eyes widened as the pitch broke halfway and veered completely out of the strike zone. Even stretching his arm fully, he couldn't reach it.
He froze for nearly ten seconds, then turned his head slowly toward Kanzaki, speechless.
"…What the hell was that?"
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