Top of the fourth inning.
Yakushi High School, despite having no outs and a runner on third, had repeatedly failed to capitalize.
Now—
Two outs.
Runner on third.
One ball, one strike.
At the plate stood the seventh batter, catcher Tatsuya Watanabe.
"Just one more out! Finish it!"
"Two outs! Two outs!"
"Don't get cocky just because you got a few good plays in!"
"If you mess this up now, you'll regret it!"
With the crisis nearing its end, Seido's supporters finally found their voices again, cheering loudly for Sawamura Eijun.
But mixed within the cheers were taunts—
And Sawamura heard every single one.
His eyes sharpened, his body tensing. The smug confidence he'd just regained flickered slightly.
They're ignoring me completely…
At third base, Kitamura Kou narrowed his eyes.
Masuko, who had been guarding him closely, had now backed off—over six meters away.
Even the base itself felt distant.
Despite making his intentions obvious, Sawamura hadn't even looked his way.
A dangerous thought surfaced.
You think you're safe just because you avoided facing me?
Then I'll force you to regret it.
His lips curved faintly.
Even with Watanabe-senpai in the way… it's not impossible.
Silently—
He began to move.
Small steps.
Closer to home plate.
"Watch the runner! He might steal home!" Masuko suddenly shouted.
Everyone snapped toward third.
At that moment, Kitamura had already crept nearly five meters off the base.
But then—
He stopped.
Turned.
And casually stepped back, as if nothing had happened.
Sawamura glared at him.
If looks could kill, Kitamura would've been dead ten times over.
"Forget him. Focus on the batter," Miyuki said calmly.
"I'll handle the runner."
Sawamura gritted his teeth and turned back.
He began his pitching motion.
And in that instant—
Kitamura exploded.
He ran.
"Stealing home!!! Miyuki, watch out!!!" Masuko shouted in alarm.
"What?!"
Mid-motion, Sawamura forcibly adjusted his pitch, spiking the ball toward the dirt in front of home plate.
"Swoosh!"
By the time the ball left his hand—
Kitamura was already halfway down the line.
The entire stadium froze.
Players. Coaches. Spectators.
All eyes locked onto the sprinting figure charging toward home.
This wasn't just a race against the ball.
Kitamura had to beat:
The throw
The catcher, Miyuki Kazuya
And even his own teammate, Watanabe, standing in his path
One misstep—
And it would all fall apart.
In the stands—
Tsukishima Wakaba clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her skin, her usual smile long gone.
For her, nothing else mattered.
Only him.
Tsukishima Aoba stared in disbelief.
Why…?
In this situation… why take such a risk?
"Watanabe-senpai, move!!!"
Kitamura's shout snapped Watanabe out of his daze.
Instinctively, he jumped aside.
Clearing the path.
Five meters.
The plate was right there.
But the ball—
Still hadn't reached Miyuki.
Closer…
Just a little more…
The world seemed to slow.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Now.
Push off.
Dive.
Kitamura launched forward, body fully extended, right hand reaching desperately toward home plate.
"Thump!"
"Smack!"
At the same moment—
Miyuki caught the ball cleanly.
"Don't you dare underestimate me!!!"
Fueled by frustration, Miyuki slammed his glove down, aiming directly at Kitamura's body.
Mid-air—
Kitamura twisted, trying to evade.
His right hand stretched forward to its absolute limit.
Then—
Contact.
His fingers brushed home plate.
At the exact same moment—
Miyuki's glove struck his body.
Everything stopped.
Both of them froze, eyes snapping toward the umpire.
The entire stadium held its breath.
No one dared to speak.
All eyes were fixed on the man who would decide everything—
The umpire at home plate.