Top of the ninth inning. Kōhoku High School was at bat.
The stands had fallen into an eerie silence.
Even the supporters of Seido High School Baseball Team were quiet—not out of courtesy, but because the score in front of them was simply too overwhelming to react to.
23–0.
Back in the sixth inning, when Seido began rotating in substitute players, the score had only been 14–0.
Coach Kataoka and the coaching staff had intended to ease the pace—secure an easy win while conserving energy for the next round.
But things didn't go as planned.
The substitutes, fueled by the rare opportunity to play and inspired by the explosive performances of the first-year pitchers, erupted with determination. Each of them wanted to prove their worth.
Under normal circumstances, even with maximum effort, they wouldn't have crushed Kōhoku so completely.
But Kōhoku's pitching staff had already collapsed.
Their two main pitchers had been thoroughly broken earlier in the game, unable to maintain any semblance of their peak form. The remaining pitchers simply couldn't keep up.
The result?
Seido's batters kept sending balls flying.
Relentlessly.
If that were all, it might have been manageable.
But Kōhoku's offense was in shambles as well.
When Seido brought in substitutes, their defense should have weakened—but Kōhoku never managed to capitalize.
Because standing on the mound was Sawamura Eijun.
And in Sawamura's world, the concept of "holding back" simply didn't exist.
His hidden release point alone was enough to completely disrupt Kōhoku's batters.
And when their core hitters stepped up?
He switched styles instantly—deploying his Jerk Pitch.
The Kōhoku cleanup hitters thought they had found their chance.
They swung decisively.
Ping!
"Out!"
"Out!!"
"Out!!!"
One after another.
By the end of the eighth inning, Kōhoku hadn't recorded a single clean hit.
Zhou Hao.
Furuya Satoru.
Sawamura Eijun.
Losing to Zhou Hao was understandable—he was widely recognized as the best in the country.
But the other two?
First-year rookies.
And yet Kōhoku couldn't even manage a hit against them.
It felt unreal.
Combined with the crushing 23–0 scoreline, the entire team seemed to be drifting through a nightmare.
Even the Kanagawa fans, who had initially been frustrated, could no longer bring themselves to criticize.
At some point, frustration turned into pity.
They simply sat there, silently watching.
Not leaving early was the last bit of respect they could offer.
On Seido's side, most of the main lineup had already been subbed out.
Zhou Hao.
Yuki.
Masuko.
Kominato.
Kuramochi.
Only Miyuki Kazuya remained on the field.
It wasn't that Coach Kataoka didn't want to replace him—but the only available catcher was Chris, and Sawamura's erratic Jerk Pitch wasn't something just anyone could handle.
So Miyuki stayed.
Meanwhile, the Kōhoku players stepped into the top of the ninth like men in a daze.
Their coach lay slumped on the bench, no longer giving instructions.
At this point, tactics no longer mattered.
He understood the truth clearly:
The gap between the teams wasn't actually this large.
The disastrous scoreline came down to two key reasons:
First, Seido's two rookie pitchers had overwhelmingly unique and oppressive pitching styles. Kōhoku's batters never found a way to adapt.
Second, Kōhoku's own pitchers had collapsed early.
Once pitching quality drops, even perfect defense can't hold the line.
That's why Seido's substitutes were able to pile on runs so easily.
It wasn't just that Seido was too strong.
Kōhoku had simply fallen apart.
Now, in the final inning, the coach no longer cared about scoring.
He just wanted the game to end.
If anyone still cared, it was the players themselves.
Sawamura remained on the mound.
The Kōhoku batter stepped into the box, gripping his bat tightly.
His eyes were sharp, almost desperate.
"I don't believe it…"
Whoosh!
The pitch came.
Seeing a ball heading straight down the middle, the batter clenched his teeth and swung.
He couldn't let it pass.
Ping!
But the moment the bat connected, despair flooded his face.
He knew immediately—
He hadn't hit it cleanly.
Or rather…
The ball had changed at the last instant.
He hadn't even noticed.
The hit dribbled weakly forward, traveling less than five meters before bouncing.
Seido's substitute third baseman picked it up effortlessly and fired to first.
Pop!
"Out!"
Still as heartless. Still as merciless.
No matter what the Kōhoku High School Baseball Team players tried,
Seido High School Baseball Team always found a way to record the out.
The Kōhoku players stood there, stunned.
In the stands, the fans had already grown used to it. Some closed their eyes. Others simply looked away.
Before stepping into the batter's box, Kōhoku's players were always full of confidence—as if they could definitely hit the ball, as if they could finally break through.
But reality?
They had no answer.
Not for Zhou Hao.
Not for the two first-year rookies.
Especially not for Sawamura Eijun.
Ironically, among the three pitchers, Sawamura seemed like the "weakest."
Why did the Kōhoku supporters think so?
Because against the other two pitchers, their batters couldn't even touch the ball—they were struck out cleanly.
At least against Sawamura, they could make contact.
But even that "advantage" meant nothing.
Even against the so-called weakest pitcher, they were completely controlled—running in circles, unable to escape the inevitable result.
Out.
Every single time.
"Damn it…"
Kōhoku's second batter stepped up.
Before entering the box, he had already resolved to stay patient, to observe carefully, to not give the opponent an easy out.
But the moment Sawamura's pitch came—
A fastball, straight down the middle—
His body betrayed him.
He swung.
Even as he did, hesitation crept in.
Hadn't all their batters failed against this exact pitch?
Was he falling into the same trap?
Ping!
Contact.
But the instant the bat met the ball—
So heavy!!
Only then did he realize—
This wasn't the tricky Jerk Pitch.
It was a fastball… with terrifying movement at the end.
Pop!
The ball bounced straight into a Seido fielder's glove.
"Out!"
Two outs. Bases empty.
In the stands, Kōhoku's supporters closed their eyes once more.
Just one more out.
They truly couldn't bear to watch.
And yet—they stayed.
Leaving now would mean abandoning their team completely.
Their team had already lost the game.
They couldn't lose their supporters too.
So even with heavy hearts, they remained—and continued to cheer.
The final batter stepped up.
Compared to his teammates, he showed far greater patience.
He held off until the second pitch.
Then—
He swung.
Ping!
The moment the ball left the bat, Miyuki Kazuya, crouched behind home plate, curled his lips slightly.
Exactly as expected.
Kōhoku's batters had already lost their confidence.
The ball arced high into the sky.
The substitute second baseman raised his glove.
And waited.
Pop!
"Out!"
Three outs.
Ball game.
"It's finally over…"
The Kōhoku supporters let out a long breath of relief.
Ever since the sixth inning, many had wanted to leave.
That they endured until the end—it was the last dignity they could offer.
On the field, Kōhoku's players had completely accepted their fate.
Some collapsed onto the ground.
Others knelt in silence.
Their eyes were empty, staring at the sky, watching clouds drift by.
The home plate umpire announced the result in a subdued voice:
"In the first game of the Kanto Tournament, between Seido High School Baseball Team and Kōhoku High School Baseball Team—the winner is Seido High School Baseball Team!"
23–0.
An unprecedented score on the Kanto Tournament stage.
After all, every team in the tournament was a regional powerhouse.
Such a gap… shouldn't exist.
Even when it did, teams usually held back out of respect.
Seido had intended to do the same.
But their substitutes were too eager.
Too capable.
And Kōhoku's pitchers had already been completely broken.
They couldn't even perform at their normal level.
That's how things spiraled into this result.
"23–0!!"
While the fans were silent, the reporters had gone completely wild.
Seido's dominance in regional tournaments was already well known—
But this?
This was on another level.
Normally, games could end early after five innings, limiting such extreme scores.
But today, Seido had shown their full offensive might.
The entire baseball world would feel the impact.
Seido's players, however, kept a low profile as they left the field.
Even they felt the result had gone a bit too far.
There was no need to rub salt into Kōhoku's wounds.
The night passed quietly.
But the next morning—
Everything changed.
The headlines exploded:
[National Powerhouse, Firepower Fully Unleashed!]
[A Spring Tournament Victory? Just the Beginning!]
[The Might of a Giant: 23–0]
[This Isn't Basketball—This Is Baseball!]
The Seido players couldn't help but blush when they saw them.
They had been praised before—
But never like this.
Online, in newspapers, across media outlets—
They were being elevated to near-mythical status.
Previously, many believed Seido's championship hopes rested on Zhou Hao.
But now?
Some reporters were saying—
Even without him…
Seido High School Baseball Team could still stand at the top.