As play resumed in the 8th inning, the air in the stadium was thick with tension. Shinjiro Takumi stepped up to the plate, gripping his bat tightly, sweat dripping down his brow. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing on him, the crowd murmuring with anticipation. The pitcher on the mound was the best they'd faced this tournament. Shinjiro's heart pounded in his chest, but his mind was calm, honed by countless hours of practice and preparation.

The pitcher, a lanky right-hander with a deadly fastball, stared him down from the mound, clearly confident. Shinjiro's recent mistakes had done little to inspire fear in the pitcher. But Shinjiro wasn't thinking about that. He wasn't thinking about anything other than the ball, the speed, the movement.

"Stay sharp," he told himself. "Wait for your pitch, but don't let anything slip by. I can foul anything off until he breaks."

The pitcher wound up and delivered the first pitch—an off-speed curveball that dipped just below the strike zone. Shinjiro swung, but the timing was off, the bat slicing through the air just above the ball.

"Dammit," he thought. "Too early. Settle in."

The second pitch came fast—144kph—and Shinjiro barely managed to react in time. He fouled it off sharply, the ball ricocheting high and away over the third-base line. The crack of the bat rang out across the stadium. The crowd stirred, and the tension began to mount.

"Alright, that's one."

The pitcher nodded, smirking, feeling he had Shinjiro on the ropes. But Shinjiro wasn't backing down. He tightened his grip, eyes narrowing, every muscle in his body coiled and ready. He was determined to stay alive at the plate. The next pitch was another fastball, but this time higher and outside. Shinjiro's instincts kicked in—he let the bat fly through the zone. The ball nicked the edge of the bat and sailed foul.

"Two."

The crowd started to murmur more loudly now, sensing the battle brewing between pitcher and batter. The pitcher, starting to feel the pressure, shook his head and fired another heater, hoping to blow it past Shinjiro. But once again, Shinjiro got a piece of it, the ball dribbling foul to the right side.

"Three."

Shinjiro's timing was sharpening with each pitch. His focus was unshakable, his future sight kicking in, allowing him to mentally map out each incoming pitch as if he were playing a few seconds ahead. The next one—a low slider—he just barely tapped, sending it foul once more, and the crowd began to cheer. They knew what was happening. Shinjiro was wearing him down.

"Four."

The pitcher's frustration was mounting, and his body language was beginning to betray him. His throws were less precise now, his control slipping. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, then unleashed a nasty cutter that broke inside. Shinjiro swung late but connected just enough to foul it off down the third-base line.

"Five."

The crowd was on the edge of their seats now, the tension palpable. Shinjiro could feel it too, the way the pitcher was starting to crack under the pressure. Each pitch took a little more out of him, each foul ball chipping away at his confidence. Shinjiro's timing was perfect now, his swing fast and precise, fouling off another high fastball that would've been impossible to reach just minutes ago.

"Six ."

The pitcher, desperate to end this at-bat, shook off the catcher's signs and opted for his best fastball. He wound up, the seams of the baseball flashing in the late afternoon sun as it screamed toward the plate.

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Shinjiro's eyes locked onto the ball. In that instant, everything slowed down. He could see the spin, feel the precise trajectory in his mind. The ball was headed low and inside—just where he wanted it. With all his might, Shinjiro swung, and this time, there was no foul ball. The ping of the bat echoed through the stadium.

The ball sailed high into the air, the trajectory arcing into the sky, carrying deep, deep into the outfield. The left fielder sprinted back, but it was no use—the ball cleared the fence.

"Home run! Its gone! Shinjiro Takumi has done it again!" the first commentator exclaimed, his voice trembling with excitement. "What a shot! The first-year delivers in the clutch!"

The second commentator chimed in, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. "This kid... his patience, his poise, it's like he knew this was coming all along. What a moment!"

A roar of disbelief and joy filled the stadium as Shinjiro rounded the bases, his teammates waiting for him at home plate. His heart was racing, adrenaline flooding his system, but he kept his composure. He had won the battle, not with brute force, but with patience, precision, and mental fortitude.

As he stepped on home plate, his teammates mobbed him, slapping his helmet, their cheers drowning out the crowd. "You did it, Shinjiro!" they yelled, all disbelief at his persistence replaced with awe.

"I waited him out," Shinjiro thought, catching his breath, a small, satisfied smile creeping onto his face.

With the final inning underway, Yumenodai was desperate to make a come back. Kohei Yoshida was subbed on, he stood tall on the mound, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene before him. He had been called in for one reason: to shut it down.

The second batter approached the plate with a runner on first, his face determined, but Kohei barely glanced at him. He didn't care who was standing there. To him, they were all the same—just bodies waiting to be struck out.

"Let's finish this!" Kenji Tadeka shouted from center field, rallying the team.

Kohei rolled his eyes. He didn't need anyone else. He didn't need Kenji's encouragement, didn't need his teammates' support. He was Kohei Yoshida.

Without even a sign from the catcher, Kohei wound up and fired a blistering fastball. The batter swung and missed, the sound of the ball hitting the glove loud and sharp.

"Strike one!" the umpire called.

Kohei smirked. "You won't even touch the next one," he thought, as if daring the batter to try. He leaned in for the next pitch, his grip firm, knowing full well he could throw anything and get the same result.

The second pitch—a filthy slider. It dropped just as it crossed the plate, the batter's swing cutting through nothing but air.

"Strike two!"

The batter adjusted his grip, nerves showing on his face. Kohei fed off it, his ego swelling with every second. He was in total control. He could feel the fear, the desperation oozing from Yumenodai's dugout. They had one runner on first, but Kohei wasn't even acknowledging him. The idea that someone would try to steal off him? Laughable.

The next pitch came—a fastball, high and tight. The batter swung, but too late—he fouled it weakly.

Kohei smiled—an actual smile—and stepped back onto the rubber. "You're done," he muttered under his breath, not loud enough for anyone to hear but loud enough to satisfy his own ego. He threw another fastball, and the batter could barely get the bat around in time.

"Strike three!" the umpire declared, and the batter walked back to the dugout, head hung low.

"One down," Kohei muttered, not even bothering to acknowledge the out. He didn't care who was watching. They should all be grateful to witness his performance.

The next batter stepped in, the cleanup hitter. A big guy, muscles flexing as he gripped the bat tighter, but Kohei didn't flinch. "Big guy, huh? Too bad muscles won't help you when you can't even see the ball."

He wound up and delivered a curveball that broke late and low, fooling the batter completely.

"Strike one!"

The runner on first edged out, testing Kohei's patience. Kohei turned slowly, glaring at him, making it very clear: Don't even think about it.

He threw the second pitch, a fastball right down the middle. The batter connected, but it was a weak grounder to second base. Shunichi fielded it smoothly and flipped it to Kaito Nakashima at shortstop, who turned the double play like it was a routine drill.

"Double play!" the announcer's voice boomed, and the crowd erupted. But Kohei? He just sighed in boredom. Of course, that happened. This was his game.

"The work is done" Kohei muttered. The stadium was electric, fans from both sides shouting, but Kohei felt none of it. It was all just noise. This game was over. Kohei laughed to himself. This was too easy. He could do this all day.

The crowd exploded, but Kohei? He barely celebrated. This wasn't a victory to him—it was just proof of what he already knew. He was untouchable. He walked off the mound without a word, his teammates rushing to congratulate him, but Kohei didn't need their praise. In his mind, he had been the only one on that field today.

The game belonged to him, just like every game he pitched.

As they gathered in a huddle, Kenji raised his fist, declaring, "This is just the beginning, boys! Let's keep this momentum going!" The players erupted in agreement, their spirits soaring as they left the field, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

----

Kenji Tadeka - Center Fielder (Captain, 2nd Year)

Kazuya Tanaka - Starting Pitcher (2nd Year)

Kaito Nakashima - Shortstop (2nd Year)

Shinjiro Takumi - Left Fielder (1st Year)

Kazuki Yamashita - Right Fielder (2nd Year)

Haruto Suzuki - First Baseman (2nd Year)

Shunichi Watanabe - Second Baseman (2nd Year)

Koji Nakamura - Third Baseman (1st Year)

Daiki Matsuda - Catcher (2nd Year)

Bench:

1. Taro Mori - Utility Player (1st Year)

2. Shota Iwata - Outfielder (2nd Year)

3. Renji Ito - Infielder (1st Year)

4. Kohei Yoshida - Relief Pitcher 1st Year)

5. Minato Shimizu - Catcher (1st Year)

6. Naoto Takeda - Middle Relief Pitcher (1st Year)

7. Yuto Hayashi - Pinch Hitter (2nd Year)

8. Kai Matsumoto Relief Pitcher (1st Year)

9. Shinya Fukuda - Outfielder (1st Year)

10. Aoi Sato - Outfielder (1st Year)