In the stands, the supporters of the Seido High School Baseball Team were as excited as if celebrating a festival.
Even though the scoreboard still showed 1–0—
Even though Seisho High already had two outs, needing only one more to escape the inning—
The crowd of Seido supporters was electrified.
Akutsu's Bullet Ball, earlier in the game, had completely suppressed Zhou Hao. At that time, Zhou Hao couldn't hit the ball far, no matter how hard he swung.
Even now, Akutsu's pitching retained its frightening sharpness.
Seido's batters still struggled to get solid contact.
Naturally, this left many Seido supporters uneasy.
Was this opponent truly unbeatable?
Was Akutsu another Kuroda from Osaka Kiryu—an opponent who forced their hearts into their throats every pitch?
If so, then the score might remain 1–0 all the way to the end.
And any mistake… even a small one… could overturn the entire game.
This was the quarterfinals.
Only two victories separated Seido from the national title.
Would they truly make it through without catastrophe?
Then—just moments ago—Zhou Hao finally blasted the baseball cleanly into the outfield.
They had shouted earlier that "Zhou Hao will definitely hit it out!"
But hoping for it and seeing it happen were entirely different things.
Now the ball had genuinely flown.
Clean. Crisp. Powerful.
What did this mean?
Zhou Hao's strength had grown?
His timing, once shaky against Akutsu's movement, now felt perfect?
Even casual observers could sense it:
Akutsu's late movement had weakened. His pitch power had dropped.
If the fans had noticed, then Seido's players absolutely had.
Even though there were already two outs, the Seido dugout was crackling with energy.
Their eyes burned.
They wanted—no, they expected—to see the next pitch be blasted away.
"He's definitely going to hit it out!"
They were certain.
But Akutsu, standing tall on the mound, had no intention of surrendering.
After Zhou Hao's hit, he too realized his velocity and movement were fading.
"But it's only a decrease!"
A pitcher—especially an Ace—would naturally feel the greatest burden in these late innings.
And his opponent was Seido.
Seido's lineup wasn't weak; each batter forced Akutsu to throw meticulously.
Dragged-out at-bats, endless threats—how could his stamina remain untouched?
Yet he hadn't collapsed.
He had only begun to show fatigue.
As the Ace of a national powerhouse, Akutsu had been specially trained for moments like this.
How to pitch when tired.
How to fight when exhausted.
How to compete when the body begins to fade.
"It's already the sixth. Only one out left in this inning, and then the last three innings."
"I can endure. I'll never collapse before Zhou Hao does."
Steeling himself, Akutsu lifted his leg and fired toward Yuki.
"Whoosh!"
The ball shot through the strike zone like a bullet.
Yuki didn't swing.
He didn't even flinch.
The Seido supporters stared, dumbfounded.
How could Yuki—aggressive, decisive Yuki—not react at all?
Before they could form an answer, Akutsu pitched again.
"Whoosh!"
Again, Yuki watched silently.
"Pop!"
Before frustration could bubble over, the umpire announced loudly:
"Ball!"
Seido's supporters nearly collapsed in relief.
"You scared me to death! I thought Yuki was sick!"
Yuki, usually the most forceful at bat, refusing to swing for two pitches?
It nearly gave everyone heart failure.
But no—that second pitch was outside the zone.
A deliberate take.
Now the real duel would begin—
Or so everyone thought.
Akutsu threw his third pitch.
"Whoosh!"
Yuki stared again.
No swing.
"Pop!"
"Ball!"
Three pitches in a row.
Three balls.
Everyone in the stadium froze.
Seisho supporters turned pale.
What were they witnessing?
Their Ace—Akutsu—the pride of their nation—
throwing three consecutive balls?
A stunned fan whispered:
"I must be dreaming…"
"Slap!"
His friend immediately obliged.
"It's not a dream… it's real??"
Meanwhile, Seido supporters' eyes sparkled.
"He's retreating!"
"Is he scared of Yuki?!"
"Is he avoiding a head-on fight?!"
Then came another pitch.
"Pop!"
"Ball!"
"Ball!!"
"Ball!!!"
"Walk!!!"
A four-pitch walk.
The stadium shook.
Not in cheers—
but in disbelief.
What was Akutsu thinking?
Had he cracked?
"Do you see this? That's Seido baseball!"
"You can't stop us!"
Yet despite the advantageous situation, something felt… off.
The reactions were less celebratory and more uncertain.
Two outs.
Runners on base.
And now—
"Fifth batter, number 5, third baseman—Shimoi Teru!"
This would be the critical at-bat.
Coach Kataoka narrowed his eyes at the mound.
Akutsu didn't look like a pitcher who had collapsed.
If he truly lost control, his pitches wouldn't be this precise outside the zone.
Throwing four balls without accidentally drifting into the strike zone required control, not lack of it.
Kataoka instinctively turned toward the dugout.
Toward a certain bespectacled man who looked absolutely wired with anticipation.
Something was happening on Seisho High's side.
Something calculated.
Something dangerous.
And Shimoi was stepping into the box at the worst possible moment.