"Hehe… this is getting interesting!!"
The ace of Ichizen High looked like he had a few screws loose.
Facing a tough opponent, and he was laughing?
He looked like he'd just found a fascinating new toy…
"That arrogant bastard, is he seriously looking down on us?"
Kuramochi, still stinging from earlier, was clearly annoyed.
And the rest of Seidou's teammates weren't exactly calm either.
They could all sense it this guy was building up to something.
And once he was ready, what awaited them wouldn't be a gentle breeze it would be a storm.
No matter how confident Seidou was, they weren't foolish enough to underestimate the opponent standing before them.
They knew exactly who they were facing.
Among national-level powerhouse schools, not every team was created equal.
Some were stronger, some a bit weaker.
And because Seidou had missed Koshien for a few consecutive years, they hadn't faced many of the top-tier teams on the official stage lately.
But off the record?
Thanks to their storied history, strong performance, and relationships with elite programs they had played plenty of unofficial games against the best.
To grow as players, they had to face strong opponents.
It was the only way to get better.
Even in the years when they didn't make it to Koshien,
Seidou stayed sharp by clashing with the top.
And if there was one truth they'd all learned from those games—
it was this:
Top-tier programs may not always be at their peak,
but they never fall below a certain floor.
Among all the so-called "national powerhouses" they'd ever faced, not a single one was weak.
Out of over 4,000 high schools in the country,
only 30 to 40 could be considered part of that elite class.
Just by the numbers, that showed how high the standard really was.
Ichizen was one of them.
Which meant they were the real deal.
And right now, that ace pitcher of theirs—Wada—
was acting way too strangely.
Seidou's players didn't know what his trick was,
what secret he was hiding…
But they knew he had one.
He wasn't bluffing.
He wasn't showboating.
Wada was dangerous.
"Here it comes. The real showdown!!"
On the mound, Wada grinned, eyes gleaming with excitement.
Facing Ryousuke, he looked like he was staring at a version of himself.
"They say you can see through your opponents, huh? They call you the Devil. Funny. I think we're the same. So let's find out… Can you read me, or will I be the one reading you?"
With that devilish grin, Wada wound up and fired the pitch.
His pitch was bold the ball went straight down the middle of the strike zone.
And it wasn't even fast!
In Seidou's dugout, the players' eyes lit up the moment they saw it.
They'd been through hellish batting drills.
Their bodies were conditioned to instantly react to juicy pitches like that.
"Don't miss it!"
"Smash that thing!!"
If any of them had been the one in the batter's box, they would've swung with everything they had.
But to everyone's shock, Kominato Ryousuke didn't move.
He started to swing but pulled back at the very last moment, as if he'd just seen something unbelievable.
In the end, he simply watched the pitch fly by.
Pop!
"Strike!"
The cheers in the stands quieted down noticeably.
And in Seidou's dugout, jaws dropped.
"He let that one go?! That was right down the middle!"
It didn't make sense.
When it came to technique and dedication, Ryousuke was one of the best on the team.
That was a textbook hittable pitch he never would've let it pass under normal circumstances.
But he did.
Which sent a chill down the spines of his teammates.
"Is that guy Wada… really that scary?"
From where they sat, nothing about the pitch looked particularly threatening.
Confused, unsettled, Seidou's players couldn't figure it out.
Meanwhile, in the batter's box, Kominato Ryousuke looked like he was genuinely conflicted.
And on the mound, Wada was beaming—
his grin blooming like a full-blown chrysanthemum.
"Knew it. You wouldn't swing. Looks like I won that round. Next one? You'll freeze again."
He lifted his leg, stepped forward, and drove into the throw.
The slow, lazy rhythm from before was gone his delivery was sharp now, his pitch noticeably faster.
In Seidou's dugout, expressions darkened.
This pitch looked a lot more like what they'd seen in the scouting reports.
Wada's fastball was the real deal topping out close to 140 km/h.
But the deceptive slow pitch from earlier had thrown them off.
It had even made them doubt their own scouting.
Now it was clear: their intel hadn't been wrong—
Ichizen had been hiding their ace's true strength.
"There's a 30 km/h difference between his fastball and his off-speed pitch… If he alternates between them…"
In the dugout, Chris muttered under his breath, pen in hand.
Even though Wada had just revealed a glimpse of his real skill, Chris was already breaking it down.
"This is more troublesome than we thought."
"If this guy finds his rhythm, it won't be easy to score off him…"
This was Miyuki Kazuya's assessment—
and the consensus among most of Seidou's players.
They had quickly realized: if they wanted to deal with this opponent, they had to strike fast and decisively.
They absolutely couldn't give him a chance to gain momentum.
And yet, at that very moment, the batter they had pinned their hopes on Ryousuke looked like he was standing before a mountain too steep to climb.
Once again, he just stood there, watching the pitch fly by.
No swing. No reaction.
Pop!
"Strike!"
"0 balls, 2 strikes! The batter is in a hole!"
One out. Nobody on base.
Which meant, with Ryousuke struggling, there wasn't a single runner to bail him out.
Seidou was in trouble.
"We can't let that guy keep dominating!"
Every one of them felt the same.
But now that Wada had begun unleashing his full strength, none of them had a clear idea of how to stop him.
On the mound, Wada seemed to feel Seidou's unease.
His grin only grew brighter.
"You're feeling helpless now, aren't you? Maybe even hopeless. I'm nothing like your ace—this is my game."
Wada looked like a giant spider.
Each pitch he threw was another thread in his web.
And once his opponents were tangled in his rhythm, they weren't going anywhere—even with wings.
Two pitches in a row had completely neutralized Kominato's timing.
Wada could already see the path to victory.
"Next pitch will be outside the zone, but close. You'll swing and foul it off."
He murmured to himself, then wound up and let it fly.
Whoosh!
The white ball screamed through the air.
With two strikes and no margin for error,
Ryousuke had no choice but to swing.
Ping
The ball made contact—barely—
and spun foul.
"Foul ball!"
The count remained: no balls, two strikes.
The batter was still cornered and clearly struggling.
In terms of momentum, Wada had full control.
He had completely shut Ryousuke down.
In Ichizen's dugout, the players' eyes burned with excitement.
"Yes! That's it! That's so him!"
The Seidou guys didn't know their ace like they did.
But they did.
They knew exactly how twisted Wada's style could be.
Every time they faced him in team scrimmages, it felt like living through a nightmare.
And now, watching a core player from Seidou someone at the top of their game flail like a helpless animal on the verge of collapse…
It felt amazing.
Sure, it was agony when it happened to them—
but seeing the enemy suffer like this?
Pure bliss.
"Come on! Finish it off!"
On the mound, Wada flashed a devilish grin.
"Time to say goodbye… my fellow monster."
He clearly held respect for Ryousuke—
but respect didn't mean mercy.
He raised his leg, stepped forward, and let the pitch fly—smooth, natural, fluid.
Only this time… the ball came in much faster
than the one before.
The massive gap in pitch speed was more than enough to throw off any batter.
On the mound, Wada was already wearing the grin of a man who saw victory in sight.
He could picture it now—Ryousuke striking out.
The rest of Ichizen's dugout saw it too.
They were convinced.
Sure, their ace didn't pitch like Seidou's monster,
but in terms of dominating the mound and controlling the flow of a game?
Wada was every bit as commanding.
And just when everyone in Ichizen had made up their minds—
when the outcome seemed inevitable—
the pressure-crushed Kominato in the batter's box suddenly…
smiled.
Just as the ball closed in—
he swung.
Ping!
He made contact?!
And not only that the ball flew foul.
"Foul ball!"
Ryousuke was still on the ropes.
Still two strikes. Still zero balls.
But something about that one swing rattled Ichizen to the core.
In the dugout, their players stared at the foul ball in disbelief.
The spark in their eyes dimmed.
What just happened?
By their understanding of Wada, that pitch should've sealed it.
That batter should've been done.
So why—
why was the ball still in play?
Unlike the stunned silence in Ichizen's dugout, Seidou's players—who had looked nearly hopeless just moments ago—suddenly understood what Ryousuke was doing the moment he fouled that pitch off.
"The game's only just begun… but he's already..."
Worry flashed in their eyes.
Kominato's signature strategy was undeniably powerful—
but it relied on accurate intel.
Even though they had studied Wada's pitching before, it was now clear:
they'd been deceived.
Ichizen's ace had been holding back.
With their scouting data now rendered useless,
Ryousuke's usual method had no solid foundation.
Still, even if they didn't fully grasp his plan, they stood behind him.
From the dugout and all across the stands,
cheers for Ryousuke grew louder and louder.
Back in the batter's box, Ryousuke smiled sweetly at Wada, fully enjoying the shock and disbelief in his opponent's eyes.
"Your pitching's impressive, I'll admit it.
But you've got one fatal flaw—your fastball isn't fast enough."
"If you had our ace's speed, I might be in trouble.
But since you don't…"
That smile twisted into something devilish.
And every time the ball came his way—
Ping!
"Foul!"
Ping!
"Foul!"
Ping!
"Foul!"
At first, Ichizen's players and fans tried to convince themselves—
"It's just a fluke."
"Wada slipped up, it happens."
Surely he'd get back on track and put this batter away in no time.
But by the fourteenth pitch—
as Ryousuke continued to foul ball after ball,
they stopped lying to themselves.
That not-so-tall boy at the plate now looked, in their eyes—
like a monster.
"Is he even human…? He's fouled off everything!"
"Wada… Wada's starting to fall apart…"
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