The first-year players of Seido High School Baseball Team stared at Sawamura Eijun—who had been called out by Zhou Hao—with eyes burning red from jealousy.
This guy's luck was outrageous.
On the very first day he joined the team, he had offended the Coach.
Even though he had shown eye-catching potential during the freshman tryouts, everyone knew that standing out in Seido was never easy.
The baseball team had selected two first-year players to be promoted directly into the First String.
That alone explained how ruthless the competition was.
Most of the first-year players had already figured this out.
And they could accept it.
The reason was simple.
Yes, middle school reputation mattered—but that was never the decisive factor.
What truly convinced everyone was that those two rookies had displayed strength during the tryouts that completely crushed their peers.
If they were the Coach, they would have made the same decision.
But that raised a question—
Sawamura Eijun was clearly one of the most outstanding newcomers.
He even had a connection with the Coach.
So why wasn't he selected?
On the surface, it seemed like the other two simply performed better.
But privately, many people suspected something else.
Hadn't this kid offended the Coach on his first day?
The more they thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed.
So much so that many had already accepted this explanation subconsciously—
In that case, Sawamura probably wouldn't get another chance until autumn.
No matter how broad-minded the Coach was, he would inevitably judge Sawamura more strictly.
And yet—
Despite such a disastrous start—
Sawamura had somehow earned the appreciation of the team's Ace.
And not just appreciation.
He was being personally guided.
The moment they realized this, regret flooded the hearts of the other first-years.
If they had known earlier—
If they had known Zhou Hao was choosing someone—
They would have volunteered without hesitation.
How could they have been so passive?
While the others were drowning in regret, Sawamura jogged eagerly up to Zhou Hao.
"Zhou Hao-senpai!"
Environment shapes people.
Zhou Hao clearly remembered that when Sawamura first joined the team, the kid barely understood the concept of manners.
Whether facing Zhou Hao and Miyuki, or the third-year seniors like Azuma Kiyokuni—
Sawamura had always acted fearless, almost reckless.
But now?
He had been at Seido for less than a month.
Yet his demeanor had already changed significantly.
He was noticeably more polite.
More restrained.
He showed genuine respect toward his seniors.
"When you practice catch," Zhou Hao said calmly,
"your goal shouldn't just be to feel the ball. You need to simulate real-game conditions—reacting to unexpected situations."
The moment Zhou Hao spoke, every first-year rookie turned their gaze toward him.
The few second and third-years who had followed along wore strange expressions.
Something felt… off.
They had sensed it the moment Zhou Hao walked over.
But even now, they still didn't fully understand his intentions.
Not just them—
The Coach watching from afar.
The rest of the Seido players scattered across the field.
Everyone was puzzled.
Guiding first-year catch practice?
Was that really necessary?
Facing all those questioning gazes, Zhou Hao's expression remained unchanged.
"Let's demonstrate," he said.
"Every throw should be made with full commitment."
Sawamura's face lit up instantly.
"You can trust me! My motto is full effort!!"
Sawamura loved attention.
And now—
He was throwing with the team's Ace.
Even someone as simple-minded as him understood how rare this opportunity was.
If he didn't seize it—
He'd never forgive himself.
"Alright," Zhou Hao said.
"Let's start at ten meters."
A standard distance for catch.
By now, not only the first-years, but many second and third-year players were watching intently.
They didn't fully understand—
But that didn't stop them from wanting to see what Zhou Hao was planning.
Zhou Hao didn't care about their reactions.
The system hadn't given him detailed instructions.
He had already tested it.
Verbal guidance alone barely worked.
If he wanted results—
He had to guide them through action.
Whether this would awaken potential—
Or merely spark insight—
He didn't know.
The system offered no hints.
Among all the first-years, there was only one choice.
Sawamura.
Zhou Hao knew his potential.
Knew his unique pitching traits.
And he was confident—
He could bring them out.
This experience—
This "mission progress"—
He intended to secure it.
Sawamura received the ball first.
Without hesitation, he threw it.
Swoosh!
The pitch wasn't slow.
The ball speed exceeded 135 km/h—likely around 136.
The first-year players' eyes widened instinctively.
They had all heard Zhou Hao tell him to throw with full effort.
But hearing it—
And seeing it—
Were two completely different things.
Sawamura had really gone all out.
The white baseball screamed through the air.
Even at such a short distance, it made people's hearts jump.
And then—
Thwack!
Zhou Hao caught it effortlessly.
No change in expression.
No wasted movement.
Everyone watching instinctively held their breath.
So fast.
Just standing there and watching the pitch felt intimidating.
Yet Zhou Hao caught it as if it were nothing.
How terrifying were his reflexes?
Was this even real?
Before they could finish processing that thought—
Zhou Hao threw the ball back.
Swoosh!
The instant the ball left his hand, many players felt their hearts leap into their throats.
Terrifying.
Absolutely terrifying.
The speed was no slower than Sawamura's.
But—
Just because Zhou Hao could catch such a pitch—
Did that mean Sawamura could too?
The gap between them was enormous.
Zhou Hao was the undisputed Ace.
The nation's number one high school player.
Sawamura, no matter how talented, was still a first-year.
Just as everyone worried—
They saw the ball fly straight into Sawamura's glove.
Sawamura only needed to close it.
The momentum guided the ball safely inside.
"Nice!"
Someone among the first-years shouted.
But that praise wasn't really for Sawamura.
It was clearly for Zhou Hao.
"Didn't you say every pitch should be thrown with full effort?"
Kanemaru suddenly asked, puzzled.
The question caught everyone's attention.
Sawamura himself blinked in confusion.
In his heart, Zhou Hao was the ultimate idol.
The strongest.
The most reliable.
"That's the second lesson," Zhou Hao said evenly.
"My pitch speed exceeds 150 km/h. You can throw with full effort—but you must consider distance. At ten meters, no one can safely catch a 150 km/h pitch. That's something you must account for in a game."
The explanation instantly convinced the rookies.
Everyone remembered—
Zhou Hao had already broken the 150 km/h barrier.
At such a short distance, that speed was practically dangerous.
Just imagining it made their hearts pound.
"As expected of Zhou Hao…"
"That level of consideration…"
Before the murmurs could settle, Zhou Hao spoke again.
"Take five steps back."
Sawamura immediately complied.
Zhou Hao did the same.
The original ten-meter distance stretched to nearly eighteen meters.
"This," Zhou Hao said,
"is roughly the distance from the mound to home plate. Let's try again."
Sawamura's eyes lit up.
Blindingly bright.
The surrounding players widened their eyes as well.
"This is insane…"
"He's getting way too good of a deal!"
Practicing like this—
With Zhou Hao—
It was unbelievable.
At the same time, Zhou Hao paid attention to the system.
No response.
None at all.
He wasn't surprised.
Just talking theory wouldn't trigger anything.
Only by truly guiding, by forcing realization through experience, could progress be made.
But something was still missing.
"I'll start with Sawamura."
If anyone could be awakened—
It was him.
Zhou Hao opened his glove.
"Come on."
Sawamura's blood surged.
He loved this feeling—
Being watched.
Being trusted.
At that moment, he felt limitless.
Without hesitation, he threw.
Swoosh!
The moment Sawamura released the ball, everyone held their breath.
They stared, unblinking.
Then—
Some sharp-eyed players noticed something strange.
At shorter distances, it hadn't been obvious.
But now—
The ball curved.
Not dramatically—
But unmistakably.
The longer the distance, the clearer it became.
And then—
Thwack!
Zhou Hao caught it cleanly.
If spectators could see it—
Zhou Hao definitely could.
Compared to a straight fastball, the pitch deviated by five to six centimeters.
Even though Sawamura had developed a proper four-seam fastball—
His innate pitching trait was still there.
And that—
Was exactly what Zhou Hao wanted.
Vice Manager Takashima Rei had also been drawn over by the commotion.
Her glasses glinted sharply.
Her gaze locked onto Sawamura.
When she recruited him, she had already seen it—
That stubborn momentum.
That reckless determination.
Among all the pitchers she had seen—
Only Zhou Hao shared that quality.
"This kid really is a born Ace…"
She hadn't expected—
That the first person to guide that potential—
Would be Zhou Hao.
Seido had many excellent catchers.
Chris.
Miyuki Kazuya.
Among national-level catchers, they were elite.
Takashima had always believed Sawamura's talent would be uncovered eventually.
But now she realized—
It didn't have to be a catcher.
Their Ace—
Could do it just as well.
"As expected of Zhou Hao," she murmured.
"He's already noticed Sawamura's unique pitching quirk, hasn't he?"
And at that moment—
The foundation of Seido's future ace quietly took shape.