Thinking about it, even Fujio couldn't help feeling a little sympathy for Ichidai Third High.
They had once possessed an incredibly talented pitcher—someone with genuine potential to become an Ace. And yet, he hated training, found it tedious and meaningless, and ultimately chose romance over baseball.
What could Ichidai Third High possibly do about that?
In a match like today's, if Amahisa Kousei were still on the roster, then even if Ichidai Third High ultimately lost, it definitely wouldn't have ended in an eight-run blowout.
"Senpai, let's go interview Seidou," Akiko suddenly said, turning around excitedly.
Fujio nodded.
"An interview is a must—but not now. Seidou's about to play the finals. Coach Kataoka won't allow distractions at this stage."
"Oh…" Akiko pouted. "That's a shame."
Fujio chuckled inwardly.
The interview was just an excuse—she clearly wanted to see that handsome catcher with glasses again.
After returning to Seidou High School, the team disbanded on the spot, each player heading off to rest.
Back in the dormitory, Kanzaki Ryou grabbed his washbasin and towel, then knocked on the door next to his room.
Miyuki answered almost immediately.
The two walked side by side toward the bathhouse.
"You look a bit pale," Kanzaki said casually as they soaked in the pool.
"What's on your mind?"
Miyuki leaned back against the edge of the bath and shook his head.
"I was thinking about Tanba-san's pitching today. Maybe… he really isn't suited to be a starter."
"You only realized that now?" Kanzaki replied helplessly.
"Isn't it obvious?"
Miyuki didn't argue.
"Among the three pitchers in the first string—aside from you—both Tanba-san and Kawakami struggle as starters. It's fine against weaker teams, but once a strong opponent applies pressure from the first inning, neither of them can really withstand it."
He exhaled softly.
"The ideal situation would be you pitching the entire game. That way, everyone else can relax—except you."
Kanzaki rolled his eyes.
"That's the least realistic scenario."
His stamina couldn't support pitching every game, and with his pitch velocity, high pitch counts would wreak havoc on his arm. Coach Kataoka would never allow it.
"Be realistic," Kanzaki said.
Miyuki smiled faintly.
"You start, Kawakami relieves, and Tanba-san closes. That's the best setup."
"But not every game," Kanzaki countered.
"If we rely on the same pattern at Koshien, strong teams will adapt quickly."
Kanzaki nodded to himself.
Ever since Seidou won back-to-back Summer and Spring Koshien championships, they had already become the primary target nationwide. Every powerhouse school had likely studied their data countless times.
If Seidou failed to introduce new elements, even Kanzaki couldn't guarantee a smooth path to the championship.
"So," Kanzaki asked, "between the first-years—Sawamura and Furuya—who do you favor?"
Miyuki fell silent for a moment.
"At the current stage," he said slowly,
"Furuya Satoru's pitching is more immediately effective. His control is rough, but his velocity is a huge weapon."
Then he smiled bitterly.
"But with you here, he's temporarily unnecessary. At least this summer—he won't get many chances."
"So Sawamura enters the first string first?" Kanzaki asked.
Miyuki hummed.
"His velocity is lacking, but his late break is natural and nasty. Add that hidden release point and a now-stable four-seam fastball… once he improves inside-outside control, he'll surprise teams that don't know him."
"You're treating him as a surprise weapon," Kanzaki said.
Because of Kanzaki's presence, both Sawamura and Furuya would have limited opportunities in their first year—at least until after Summer Koshien.
Others might not see it, but Kanzaki knew very well just how resilient Sawamura was.
A pitcher with that kind of mentality could handle pressure starts just fine—certainly more reliably than Tanba.
Miyuki shrugged.
"There's no better option right now."
Kanzaki shook his head.
"There's still a few months left. It's too early to conclude anything. Who knows—those two might surprise you before summer."
Miyuki laughed softly.
"You're right. That's the coaches' headache, not ours."
The conversation gradually faded into silence.
That evening, after finishing his own training, Kanzaki went to the A Field dugout to watch the first-years' red-white scrimmage.
It was just an internal match—not a first-years versus upperclassmen game—but Kanzaki watched with great interest.
He wanted to see who might be promoted to the second string next.
"Ryou, drink some water."
Fujiwara Takako handed him a bottle of sports drink.
"Thank you, senpai."
"The first-years are really lively," Takako said with a smile, noticing how intently Kanzaki was watching.
Kanzaki nodded.
"Senpai, show me the data for a few of them."
"Who?"
"Furuya Satoru, Sawamura Eijun, Kominato Haruichi, and Arima Kazusa."
"Got it."
Takako flipped through several notebooks and folders before handing them over.
Kanzaki scanned the data—and his interest grew.
Furuya's control had clearly improved, at least in training. Whether that translated into games was another matter.
Sawamura's data, however, made Kanzaki pause.
"Cutter?" Kanzaki frowned.
"When did he start practicing this?"
"Two days ago," Takako replied with a smile.
"Chris taught him."
"Chris-senpai…"
Kanzaki instinctively looked toward the B Field, where Chris was training with the second string.
So it still happened.
The mentor–disciple bond between Chris and Sawamura had formed after all.
With Kanzaki's early intervention, both Sawamura and Furuya had begun structured training half a year ahead of schedule. Their rapid growth made sense.
In terms of batting, Kominato Haruichi remained outstanding, followed closely by Arima Kazusa.
The latter looked gentle and refined—but was surprisingly a long-ball hitter.
Fielding-wise, Kominato and Arima still stood out.
In comparison…
Sawamura and Furuya's outfield performance could only be described as tragic.
They were, without a doubt—
Two complete baseball idiots who could do nothing but pitch.