In the stands, Seido's supporters were completely caught up in a frenzy.
Winning the Spring Tournament title might not normally be cause for great celebration at a national powerhouse like Seido. But today's game was different.
Tokyo Television had framed the matchup as something close to a grand showdown, no less significant than the Autumn Finals. More importantly, the team they had just beaten was Ichidaisan Third High School, their arch-rival from the same district. A win like that would have delighted Seido's supporters even in a practice game, let alone an official one.
The only minor frustration was that Ichidaisan had clawed back too many runs late in the game. A three-run final margin left the crowd feeling slightly short-changed.
That was the supporters' view, of course.
For the professional scouts and reporters in the stadium, the story was different. Today hadn't looked like Seido dominating Ichidaisan. It had looked like Seido narrowly holding Ichidaisan off. They had won, but not easily. They had run into serious problems along the way, and those problems were centered on one thing.
The pitcher's mound.
Zhang Han, the Light Speed Ball pitcher who had made such a stir, had not taken the mound in today's game. No one had been able to see that side of him. And for a game this important, his absence from pitching could only mean one of two things.
Either he was being held back deliberately, or he was unable to pitch.
Given how the game had played out, the first possibility seemed very unlikely. The second was far more credible.
Which meant the Light Speed Ball, the pitch everyone had been so wary of, had some kind of limitation they hadn't known about.
What exactly that limitation was, the opposing teams didn't particularly need to know. It was enough to understand that Zhang Han's Light Speed Ball could not be thrown without restriction.
In the stands, reporters and spectators broke into small clusters, all dissecting the game from their own angles. The sheer breadth of that conversation was itself a measure of how intense the game had been.
For the scouts who had traveled from other Kanto prefectures specifically to gather intelligence on the two teams, the takeaway was sobering. Tokyo's representatives were genuinely frightening. If any of them wanted to go deep in the Kanto Tournament, none of these three Tokyo teams could be taken lightly.
"All three powerhouses will be in the Kanto Tournament. I'm very curious to see what kind of waves they make."
Fujio, veteran reporter for Baseball Kingdom Magazine, said it with something between professional interest and genuine excitement. As a reporter, he had a vested interest in spectacular games. The more sensational the Kanto Tournament, the more there was to write about.
Meanwhile, Seido's celebrating supporters had nearly come to blows with Ichidaisan's die-hard fans.
From Ichidaisan's side, Seido's people were showing a real lack of class. You won the game. Couldn't you have been a little more restrained? Celebrating this loudly right now felt like rubbing salt in the wound.
The players from both teams took it better than the fans did.
Both sides had given close to everything in this game, while also holding a little back. The result had gone Seido's way, but the gap between the two teams had been narrow overall. On television, both had put on a show, especially the hitters. Their performances had been, by any measure, entertaining.
As for who cared more about the result, it was complicated. Ichidaisan's players weren't indifferent to losing, but it would be an overstatement to say they were devastated. This game had not been the most important one on their calendar. They had already qualified for the Kanto Tournament. This had been a battle for pride, and in that battle, Seido had come out on top.
The players from both sides gathered at the center of the field and bowed.
"Thank you for the game!"
"Thank you for the game!"
After the bows, something a little unusual happened. Instead of dispersing to their respective dugouts, the players from both sides naturally drifted together and began to talk.
"You guys were really fierce. You basically broke our ace."
Omae glanced over at Manaka with concern. He genuinely worried that Manaka would carry this game badly. The Summer Tournament wasn't far off, and the Kanto Tournament was even closer. If their ace was shaken, a strong hitting lineup alone wouldn't be enough to go all the way.
"You were good too. Ten runs. Your offense is something else."
Isashiki Jun, little beard and all, spoke with real feeling.
Seido had never been known for its pitching. Their identity was their offense, their hitting lineup. The best in the country, and that was not an empty claim. But strong as their offense was, their defense was not weak either. Giving up ten runs in a single game was genuinely unusual for them. Ichidaisan's offense had earned some respect today.
Nearby, Manaka and Tanba stood facing each other, both quiet. Zhang Han half-expected them to embrace. Instead, they said nothing at all. They held each other's gaze for a long moment, then turned away simultaneously and headed back to their own dugouts.
Zhang Han stared after them.
It seemed that until the Summer Tournament was settled, things between those two would stay exactly like that.
A moment later, Hoshida and Miyakawa came over to greet him. As former Little League teammates, Zhang Han had kept a close eye on both of them throughout the game. They exchanged a few words, and then Zhang Han glanced around, frowning slightly.
"Where's Amahisa? I didn't see him today. Is your coach keeping him hidden as a secret weapon?"
Hoshida and Miyakawa both looked like they wanted to answer but couldn't quite find the words.
"What a shame. I was hoping to face him today." Zhang Han paused. "Though honestly, if he had played, it's hard to say whether we would have won."
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