Chapter 63 Semi-Final (2)

The stadium lights beamed down on the field, cutting through the early evening sky as the tension rippled through the stands. Kaito Nakashima had just swung wildly at Kengo Saito's final fastball, missing the pitch by a wide margin. His bat cut through the air like a knife, but it was hopeless. The strikeout was complete, and the Shukugawa players exhaled in relief. Kaito's walk back to the dugout was heavy, head down, frustration written across his face.

The scoreboard flickered: two outs, a runner stranded on second base. The commentator's voice buzzed with energy:

"And now, Seimei's cleanup hitter, Shinjiro Takumi, steps up to the plate. Can he bring the runner home?"

Shinjiro stood in the waiting circle, calmly adjusting his gloves. He glanced up at Kengo on the mound, eyes narrowing slightly. The murmurs of the crowd buzzed like static around him, but his focus was locked on one thing: one pitch. Kengo had a reputation for unpredictable pitches, especially his knuckleball. But Shinjiro would know it was coming. The key would be patience, waiting for just the right moment to strike.

That knuckleball... it's slow which is good for me but it moves a lot...I'll swing late, right at the last second, Shinjiro thought, gripping his bat with firm precision. His feet shifted in the dirt, grounding himself.

As Shinjiro walked toward the plate, Shukugawa's catcher, Take, eyed him from his crouch. A faint smirk curled on his lips as he tracked Shinjiro's approach. So this guy's hit a home run in every game of his so far? He sure doesn't have a presence. Take's eyes flicked toward Kengo, a silent conversation passing between them. If their captain couldn't touch Kengo's pitches, this rookie is toast.

Take signaled for the pitch: a moving fastball, Kengo's bread-and-butter. It was fast, deceptive, and a nightmare for hitters. From the mound, Kengo's eyes locked onto Shinjiro. His tongue flicked out briefly—a subtle, taunting gesture. Monster rookie, huh? Let's see what you're really made of.

The wind-up came quickly, Kengo's body coiling and releasing with fluidity. The ball shot out of his hand with lethal velocity, a streak of white cutting through the air. Shinjiro remained perfectly still, his eyes trained on the ball, but his bat didn't budge. The ball zipped past him, barely above his chest, landing squarely in Take's mitt.

"Strike one!" The umpire's voice rang out.

Take tossed the ball back to Kengo with a smirk. "Nice pitch," he muttered under his breath, still confident they could shut down Seimei's so-called rookie star. The crowd roared in approval, chants of "Kengo! Finish him!" echoing through the stands.

Kengo, not missing a beat, wound up again. This time, the fastball veered outside, just grazing the strike zone. Shinjiro eyed it, exhaling as he recognized it would have been a weak grounder if he'd swung. That was low and inside as expected.… probably would've ended in a double play, he thought, his brow furrowing. His pitches feel strange... they don't just break, they snap.

The count was now 1-1. Kengo narrowed his gaze, determined to corner the batter. His next pitch—a fastball with late drop—sizzled toward the plate. Shinjiro held his bat back, watching the ball , but at the last second, it dipped sharply over the inside corner.

"Strike two!" the umpire called.

The Shukugawa dugout erupted in cheers, their voices boisterous and rowdy. "You've got him! He's cornered!" someone yelled, fueling Kengo's fire. Coach Taira watched from the bench, his eyes gleaming. This is it, Kengo. Strike him out here, and we'll carry the momentum into the next inning.

Take signaled for a knuckleball, a low one that would force a bad swing. Kengo nodded. He wound up again, his motion smooth and deliberate. The ball left his hand with a slow, wobbling spin, floating toward the plate with deceptive movement. Shinjiro's eyes followed it closely, but he made no move to swing.

"Ball two!" The umpire's call felt like a small victory for Shinjiro. He stepped back for a brief moment, adjusting his grip and stance, exhaling softly.

Take shifted in his crouch, his eyes narrowing. He saw that?

Up in the stands, a fan nudged his friend. "I'm telling you, he's gonna hit it out of the park," the fan said, holding up his phone to record the at-bat. His friend laughed, shaking his head. "This is Kengo Saito, bro. Chill."

Meanwhile, on the field, Coach Nakamura subtly tipped his cap in Yamashita's direction. It was a signal, simple and quick: steal third. Yamashita's eyes flashed with understanding. He knew what he had to do.

Kengo wound up again, this time delivering a high fastball. As the ball rocketed toward the plate, Shinjiro let it pass, his eyes darting briefly toward Yamashita. On cue, Yamashita sprinted toward third, his legs pumping furiously. The crowd roared as he slid into the base just under the tag. "SAFE!" the umpire shouted, and the stadium erupted into cheers.

Take cursed under his breath as he stood up, throwing his mask down in frustration. Now, with a runner on third, the situation was even more tense.

The count was 3-2. Full count. The fans were buzzing with anticipation, the energy in the stadium thick with excitement. Coach Taira signaled for the infielders to shift in, preparing for a potential play at the plate. Every player on the field could feel the weight of the moment.

Take crouched low, his fingers signaling the call: a low and outside fastball, just on the edge of the zone. Kengo, beads of sweat now dripping down his brow, wound up and released. The ball streaked toward the plate, and Shinjiro's vision flashed—a split-second premonition of the ball's exact trajectory.

Too tricky... Let's foul it out, Shinjiro thought, his body reacting in perfect harmony with his instincts. His bat met the ball lightly, redirecting it just enough for a foul tip.

"Foul!" The umpire's voice cut through the crowd.

Take slammed his fist into his glove, standing up and muttering, Let's see if you can try that again.

The tension was building. Shinjiro stepped back for a brief second, adjusting his helmet, before stepping back into the batter's box. Take signaled for the next pitch—a low knuckleball. The call was clear: this was their chance to finish the at-bat.

Kengo wound up, his motions now more deliberate, as if he was trying to stay calm amidst the pressure. Shinjiro, however, was completely locked in. His eyes shifted slightly as he visualized the strike zone shrinking in his mind. His foresight kicked in, and the nine sections of the strike zone became one.

This is the spot! Shinjiro thought, lowering his stance slightly, angling his bat just a fraction. His focus narrowed until there was nothing but the ball and the plate.

Take's eyes widened. Wait... what's he...

The knuckleball floated through the air, dipping and wobbling as it approached the plate. Shinjiro's body moved in perfect synchronization, his hips rotating as his bat met the ball with a sharp, clean ping. The sound echoed through the stadium.

The ball soared high into the night sky, climbing higher and higher, its path arcing toward left field. For a split second, the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath. The ball carried over the outfielders, who sprinted back toward the wall in a desperate attempt to catch it. But it was too late.

In the stands, the fan who had been recording didn't take his eyes off his phone. Through the screen, he watched the ball's trajectory with bated breath, the glowing orb slowly shrinking as it climbed higher. His hands trembled slightly, gripping the phone tighter as the ball flew past the outfielders. He zoomed in instinctively, capturing the exact moment it cleared the fence.

His friend beside him gasped, "No way…"

But the fan barely heard him, his eyes glued to the screen as the ball disappeared into the night. The phone recorded it all— the perfect arc, the ping of the bat echoing in the background, and the ball's final flight into oblivion.

The stadium erupted into cheers, but the fan didn't lower his phone. He stared at the footage, a grin slowly spreading across his face. He'd captured it. This moment. This home run.

The stadium erupted into chaos. The fan who had been recording jumped up, his phone capturing the entire moment. "I told you! I told you!" he screamed, his friend still sitting in stunned silence.

"And there it is! A two-run home run for Shinjiro Takumi!" the commentator's voice roared over the loudspeakers. "Seimei takes the lead with a monster shot from their cleanup hitter!"

As Shinjiro rounded the bases, his expression remained calm, but there was a fire in his eyes. He touched each base with deliberate precision, his teammates waiting for him at home plate. When he crossed, they swarmed him, clapping him on the back and shouting in excitement.

The Seimei bench was alive with energy, and Coach Nakamura gave a subtle nod of approval.

Kengo stood on the mound, hands on his knees, staring at the ground as the ball disappeared over the fence. The Shukugawa dugout held its breath, fearing their ace might be shaken by the massive home run. But after a brief pause, Kengo straightened up, a grin spreading across his face. Then, he threw his head back and laughed loudly, the sound cutting through the stunned silence.

"Classic Kengo," one of the players muttered with a smirk.

Another chuckled, "Guess he's fine after all."

The tension in the dugout eased as Kengo's laugh echoed, their ace's spirit seemingly unbreakable despite the setback.