As the baseball slipped past his glove underneath, traversed through the pitcher's mound, and pierced the entire infield, Yoshinaga Kentarou felt dizzy, lifted his head, slowly closed his eyes, and let out a heavy sigh.
He knew that with this hit recorded in the statistics, the match was over—the game was lost, Nihon University No. 3, lost.
In other words, the summer belonging to this generation of Nihon University No. 3 had concluded with this regrettable defeat: except for when he was a first-year as a substitute in the stands accompanying the team to Koshien, Yoshinaga Kentarou had never stood on the pitcher's mound in the summer at Koshien.
Regrettable, isn't it? Certainly regrettable—after all, Yoshinaga Kentarou prepared a lot for this game, yet couldn't change the outcome; to say there's no regret is impossible;
But for some reason, rather than regret, his heart is filled more with a sense of relief:
