Takatsu stepped up to bat, but his opponent was not a pitcher from Seido's second string.
Standing on the mound was Kawakami, a relief pitcher from Seido's first string.
Takatsu had already built a reputation during his middle school days. Players like that tend to carry high expectations, including of themselves. He knew perfectly well that anyone pitching for Seido's first string was not going to be simple. But watching Kawakami during the game earlier, he had drawn his own conclusions.
Tanba had been excellent through the first six innings, holding Ichidaisan Third High School's offense in check at nearly every turn. Kawakami, by contrast, had come in and given up six runs in three innings. If not for Seido's defense, it could easily have been worse.
Under those circumstances, Takatsu stepped in feeling something close to confidence. Perform to his level, he told himself, and he would have a real chance at making contact.
He took his stance, ready for a direct confrontation.
Behind the plate, Miyauchi exhaled sharply through his nose.
"These kids. And the very first one is already this bold."
They were treating Seido's first string players like fair targets.
Miyauchi looked over at Kawakami.
They didn't interact much normally, but Miyauchi felt he understood where Kawakami's head was right now. His performance in the morning's game had been far from satisfactory. Bad enough that Coach Kataoka had put him in this match. Nobody was foolish enough to miss what that meant.
If Kawakami couldn't show the resolve to put away freshmen, his opportunities on the first string would dwindle regardless of whether he kept his spot. If he wanted to change the narrative, today's performance had to give Coach Kataoka something to work with.
"You came all the way from Chiba to Tokyo. Your determination shouldn't stop here."
Kawakami felt the weight of that look.
He understood what Miyauchi meant. There was no going back now. He had to commit.
Kawakami straightened up, chest out, chin high.
He had made his decision.
"Whoosh!"
The ball shot out like an arrow and covered the distance in an instant.
Takatsu had watched Kawakami pitch multiple times from the stands. At that distance, at that pace, he had genuinely believed he could get the bat on it and drive it somewhere.
Standing in the batter's box was a different experience entirely.
The ball hugged the low outside corner and caught the edge of the strike zone. An extreme outside pitch like that, without any mental preparation, was nearly impossible to put in play for anyone.
Takatsu watched it pass right in front of him and couldn't do a thing about it.
And it wasn't just the location. Standing in the box, you noticed things you couldn't from the stands. Kawakami's velocity was faster than it had looked. And his sidearm delivery changed the angle of the ball's approach entirely, nothing like what an overhand pitcher produced.
"Thwack!"
"Strike!"
Before Takatsu had fully processed the first pitch, a curveball followed.
The first had looked impossibly far outside. This one looked like it was coming right at him.
The sudden shift in perception broke something in his confidence.
He stared at the figure on the mound, not especially tall, and asked himself the same question twice.
Is this the pitcher I was confident about challenging?
He felt like a frog at the bottom of a well who had never seen the sky and had still somehow decided he understood it.
Two pitches taken without a swing. On the third, Takatsu finally moved. He swung at the ball he had tracked, and it broke away at the last moment. Bat and ball passed each other without making contact.
"Strike!"
"Strikeout!"
Takatsu, one of the most respected players among the freshmen, had been handled with ease.
In the freshman dugout, every face went serious.
They understood now, in a way they hadn't before, exactly who they were up against. These were players who had been filtered through round after round of selection at one of the country's top programs and had come out the other side representing Seido. No freshman who had just joined the team a few weeks ago could reasonably expect to challenge that.
In the stands, the first string players who had the afternoon off had come out to watch. When they saw the strikeout, smiles crossed their faces.
These freshmen had been a little too sure of themselves. They thought that being selected, that having a dedicated coach for a week, meant they were ready to compete with second and third-year players.
That was not how it worked.
Every single player in Seido had been screened before they ever set foot in a team uniform. And after joining, they had gone through the most demanding training available. Without truly exceptional natural talent, a newcomer simply could not keep pace with someone who had already put in a year or two at Seido.
The main first string didn't even bring in new players ahead of the Summer Tournament as a rule. Partly to let new players develop physically before being exposed to that level of competition. And partly because, in most years, there simply wasn't a newcomer whose talent was ready to stand out in that company.
Of course, there were always exceptions.
Chris, two years ago. Zhang Han and Miyuki, last year.
This year would be no different. Outstanding new players would emerge. And compared to the past two years, the number this time around was shaping up to be the highest yet.
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