2:00 PM.
Seido vs Shohoku High.
A rising powerhouse from East Tokyo.
They had just scrimmaged Inashiro in the morning.
Now they had to face Seido in the afternoon.
"Take the field!" Coach Kataoka barked.
From the stands, the Inashiro players watched quietly.
Then—
Harada narrowed his eyes.
"He's pitching…"
Masatoshi glanced at Narumiya.
"Looks like he's responding to your provocation."
Narumiya said nothing.
But his jaw tightened.
On the mound—
Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Calm.
Expressionless.
Like this game meant nothing.
Like the batters didn't even exist.
Only one target mattered.
Inashiro.
Miyuki crouched.
Set the mitt.
Dead center.
No tricks.
Just heat.
"In that case…" he muttered.
"Let's go all out."
WHOOSH—
The first pitch exploded out of Ushijima's hand.
The batter flinched and swung on instinct—
Air.
Nothing.
SMACK!!
The ball slammed into Miyuki's mitt like a gunshot.
The sound echoed across the entire field.
Even the stands went quiet.
Narumiya's eye twitched.
"…Hah?"
Shirakawa swallowed.
"…That's faster than Mei's fastball…"
Carlos felt cold sweat slide down his back.
"He's just a first-year…"
Coach Kunimoto stared sharply.
"At the Kanto Tournament, he was around 145… he got faster again?"
Harada shook his head slowly.
"No."
"He hasn't gone all out yet."
"…What?"
Second pitch—
Even faster.
The batter swung desperately—
MISS.
SMACK!!
Louder.
Heavier.
Like the glove might tear.
"…155…" someone whispered.
"155 km/h…"
The Inashiro bench fell silent.
That wasn't high school level anymore.
That was pro-level heat.
Three straight fastballs.
Strikeout.
Effortless.
Second batter.
First pitch—
Two-seam.
145 km/h.
The ball suddenly tailed sideways.
The bat cut through empty air.
"What the— it moved?!"
Next—
Cutter.
Same speed.
Opposite break.
Swing and miss.
Strikeout.
Back-to-back.
Shirakawa's throat felt dry.
"Those are almost as fast as Mei's fastball…"
Carlos muttered,
"How do you even guess that…? Fastball? Cutter? Two-seam? They all look the same…"
Harada's voice dropped.
"That's a catcher's nightmare…"
"You can't read it until it's already past you."
Third batter.
Now Ushijima started mixing.
150 four-seam — ball.
144 two-seam — strike.
144 cutter — swing and miss.
Then—
Sinker.
Low.
Heavy.
Sudden drop.
Grounder.
Out.
Three batters.
Three outs.
Like nothing happened.
Ushijima casually lifted his head.
Looked toward Inashiro.
Smirked slightly.
The exact same arrogant look Narumiya gave yesterday.
A silent message.
Your turn.
Kuramochi burst out laughing.
"He's copying Narumiya on purpose!"
Yuki smiled.
"That's our ace…"
This wasn't revenge with words.
This was revenge with dominance.
Your ace throws 148?
So does ours.
Your forkball drops?
Our cutter sinks.
Your slider cuts?
Our two-seam runs.
You rely on tricks?
We overwhelm you with speed.
Narumiya's veins bulged.
"HAAAAAHHH!!!"
"I told you not to provoke them," Harada sighed.
"You did this yourself."
"You square-faced idiot, whose side are you on?!"
"Who are you calling square-faced?!"
"Get away from me, you're scary!"
They argued like kids.
But Narumiya's eyes never left the mound.
Burning.
Excited.
Annoyed.
Competitive.
Because deep down—
He understood.
For the first time…
There was someone his age…
Who could actually stand toe-to-toe with him.