Kanzaki Ryou already understood Sawamura's pitching habits inside and out.
The moment the ball left Sawamura's hand, Kanzaki locked on. He adjusted instantly, swung with full force, and caught the pitch squarely.
Bang!
The white baseball soared straight over Sawamura's head.
"Huh?!"
Sawamura froze, staring in disbelief. That pitch—he was sure—had been perfect. Judging by the height and speed, it should have been a home run.
"Lucky~"
Kanzaki Ryou tilted his head back, watching the ball crash against the far edge of the field wall.
So close.
"Damn it—again!"
Sawamura snorted, turning back and shouting toward home plate.
"Come on," Kanzaki said calmly. "No matter how you pitch, I'll hit it."
Since adjusting and stabilizing his form, Sawamura's pitches no longer flew wildly like before.
That was both good—and bad.
If Sawamura were still as erratic as he used to be, even Kanzaki couldn't guarantee solid contact every time. But now that his control had improved, and once he eventually mastered his so-called "rainbow pitches," Sawamura would truly have the foundation to challenge elite batters.
Sawamura stared silently at the baseball in his hand.
Right now, he only had two pitches: the four-seam fastball and the cutter. As a left-hander, his cutter naturally broke in toward right-handed batters.
Alright…
Outside low fastball first. Then high inside cutter.
Decision made, Sawamura delivered.
The ball went low and away. Kanzaki swung smoothly, catching it cleanly and sending it deep again.
"Ah, didn't get all of it this time," Kanzaki said with a hint of regret.
It was only a long hit—not a home run.
Sawamura clenched his teeth. He couldn't understand it.
Against Kokushikan, his pitching had been extremely effective. Even when batters made contact, most balls stayed in the infield. Yet against Kanzaki, it felt like he was pitching to a practice machine.
"It's too easy to guess," Kanzaki said with a smile.
"No catcher, no pitch calling—and with your thinking speed, I don't even need to wait to see the ball."
Sawamura stiffened.
"The third pitch will be a cutter, right?"
Sawamura threw.
Cutter.
Kanzaki swung decisively.
Another long hit.
The murmurs on the sidelines grew louder.
"This is brutal… Sawamura's completely suppressed."
"Kanzaki's eyes are just abnormal. His ability to find the hitting point is terrifying."
"And that bat speed—he can still connect even when he's late."
"He doesn't even need to pick pitches. Seeing it clearly and hitting it clean—that's Kanzaki's batting style."
"Unless your velocity reaches a certain threshold, or you disrupt his rhythm with multiple breaking balls, trying to beat him with fastballs alone is just wishful thinking."
"What do you think Coach Kataoka's thinking? Isn't this too harsh?"
"Who knows…"
...
After being hit three times in a row, Sawamura stood on the mound like a statue.
Kanzaki simply held his bat and waited.
This was exactly what Coach Kataoka wanted to see.
After taking such a heavy blow, could Sawamura endure it? Could he think under pressure?
Less than ten seconds later, Sawamura suddenly turned his head and glared fiercely at Kanzaki.
Oh?
Still fired up.
Kanzaki smiled inwardly.
This was Sawamura's strength. Big heart. Sunny personality. Absolute refusal to give up. No matter how badly he failed, he never collapsed—he confronted everything head-on.
"Let's continue," Kanzaki said, lifting his bat.
"If you get even one strike, you win."
"Huh?!" Sawamura shouted. "Who are you looking down on?! I'm striking you out!"
On the sidelines, Coach Kataoka nodded silently.
Sawamura's response alone was already acceptable. Now it depended on what he would do next. Success or failure didn't matter—what mattered was whether the pitcher could think.
Especially with limited weapons.
On the mound, despite his shouting, Sawamura's heart was in chaos.
Inside didn't work. Outside didn't work. The cutter didn't work.
What now…?
Instinctively, he glanced toward Chris in the dugout.
Chris's expression was calm—cold even. No hint. No guidance.
Even if Chris were catching, getting an out against Kanzaki Ryou would be nearly impossible. Forget outs—getting a single strike would already be difficult.
Sawamura's current level was simply too far behind a national-class batter like Kanzaki. Against anyone else, there might be a chance—but Kanzaki's terrifying dynamic vision was the perfect counter to him.
No help.
Sawamura clenched the ball tightly.
What if… I throw it outside the strike zone? Try to trick him?
The thought appeared—then vanished.
He shook his head violently.
As teammates, he knew Kanzaki's eyes too well. A clear ball outside the zone would never fool him at this speed.
…Wait.
Sawamura froze.
A spark flashed through his mind.
That's it.
A grin crept across his face as he raised his glove to cover his mouth.
Hehehe…
In the batter's box, Kanzaki frowned slightly.
What's with that laugh?
Had this kid lost it?
Or… did he really have something up his sleeve?
Sawamura adjusted his breathing.
Kanzaki tightened his grip.
Whoosh!
The ball shot out.
This—
Outside?!
At first glance, Kanzaki instantly judged it as a ball—clearly outside the strike zone. Too naive to think it would make him swing.
But then—
The baseball slid sideways, scraping along the edge of the strike zone.
"Ball!"
Coach Kataoka's voice rang out.
"Ah?!"
Sawamura shouted in frustration, glaring toward the plate.
Yet at that moment, Coach Kataoka and Kanzaki exchanged a brief glance.
Both saw it.
Admiration.
The pitch hadn't entered the strike zone—but the idea behind it was excellent.
Sawamura had intended to throw an outside-low cutter whose initial trajectory screamed ball, forcing the batter to hesitate. Whether the batter swung or not, their timing would be disrupted.
Swing—and the contact would be poor.
Don't swing—and if the ball curved back in, it would become a strike.
It was just a shame.
The idea was there.
But the control wasn't.
This pitch stayed a little too far outside and never curved back.