Chapter 8 Koshien (1)

As the sun began its descent, casting a golden hue over Koshien Stadium, the Nehimon Seimei locker room was abuzz with quiet anticipation. The hum of the stadium crowd could be faintly heard, a distant roar that grew louder with each passing moment. Inside the locker room, the atmosphere was thick with tension and emotion.

The tablet screen in the corner flickered with images of their opponents, the Tokyo powerhouse, known for their explosive offense and relentless defense. Coach Nakamura stood at the head of the room, his usually stern face softened by concern. The weight of the moment was evident in his eyes as he addressed his team, the players gathered around in rapt attention.

"Everyone, gather around," Nakamura called out, his voice steady but carrying an underlying emotion. The players, some still in their uniforms, others just preparing to put them on, slowly moved closer to their coach.

Nakamura cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping over the faces of his players. "I want to address something very important before we head out there. Ryoichi won't be pitching today as you all know. He's dealing with an elbow issue, and it's crucial that we don't risk further injury."

A collective sigh of concern filled the room. Ryoichi had been their ace, the cornerstone of their success. The news was a heavy blow, and it was clear that the team was feeling the weight of the situation.

Nakamura continued, "I know this isn't the scenario we had planned. Ryoichi's absence is a significant challenge, but it's one we must face with determination and unity. Ishikawa will be our starting pitcher today. He's been preparing for this moment, and I have faith in his abilities."

As Nakamura spoke, his eyes lingered on the third-year players, who had been with the team the longest. Hiroshi Tanaka, Takashi Sato, and Daiki Matsumoto—their faces etched with a mix of anxiety and resolve. They knew this was their last tournament, their final chance to shine and leave their mark.

Nakamura's voice grew softer, more personal. "To the third years—Hiroshi, Takashi, Daiki—this is your final game as high school players. I know how much this tournament means to you. You've put your heart and soul into this team, and your leadership has been invaluable. Your dedication, hard work, and spirit have shaped this team into what it is today."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "I want you to know that no matter what happens out there, you've already achieved something incredible. You've inspired not just your teammates, but everyone who's had the honor of watching you play. You've shown what it means to be part of something greater than yourself."

Tears welled in Hiroshi's eyes, his grip tightening on his glove. Takashi and Daiki exchanged glances, their expressions reflecting a deep mix of pride and sadness.

Nakamura continued, his voice wavering slightly, "I'm proud of each of you. Today, I want you to play with everything you have. Not just for yourselves, but for the teammates who've supported you, and for the fans who've cheered you on. Play with the heart and passion that have defined your time here."

He took a step back, looking at the team as a whole. "We've faced challenges before, and we've overcome them because we've been a team. Today is no different. We will face this challenge head-on, together."

The room fell silent as Nakamura's words sank in. The third-year players, along with the rest of the team, stood tall, their resolve strengthened. The weight of the moment was still there, but it was now accompanied by a fierce determination to make the most of their final game.

With a final nod from Nakamura, the players began to prepare, their movements imbued with a renewed sense of purpose. They knew that the game ahead would be a test of their skills and their spirit, but they were ready to face it with everything they had.

As they made their way to the field, the roar of the crowd grew louder, a reminder of the vast stage upon which they would play. The third-year players took one last look at their locker room, their faces reflecting the mixture of emotions that had accompanied their journey.

They stepped onto the field, their hearts pounding with anticipation. The game was about to begin, and they were determined to leave everything on the field, making their final game a testament to their hard work, passion, and dedication.

The atmosphere in the stadium was electric. Fans of both Nehimon Seimei and Teito Gakuen filled every inch of the stands, their energy palpable as they awaited the start of the highly anticipated quarterfinal match. Koshien Stadium, the hallowed ground of Japanese high school baseball, was buzzing with excitement. Tens of thousands of spectators had gathered to witness the clash between Seimei's underdog heroes and the Tokyo powerhouse, Teito Gakuen. It wasn't just the people in the stadium, either—millions were watching from home, glued to their screens, hanging on every moment.

It was the quarterfinals of Koshien, the national high school baseball tournament, the dream stage for every young player in Japan. Nehimon Seimei, their school, had made it further than anyone had expected, battling through nail-biting games to reach this stage. But now, they were up against Teito Gakuen, the powerhouse team from Tokyo—a team known for dominating every opponent they faced with terrifying precision and overwhelming talent.

But something was wrong.

The murmurs began to ripple through the stands just before the game was set to start. A few fans close to the dugout had overheard a conversation between the Seimei coaches. Then, it spread like wildfire—Ryoichi , Seimei's ace and the heart of their Koshien run, wasn't going to pitch today. Whispers turned into shocked gasps, and soon enough, the entire stadium knew.

"Ryoichi's out?" one fan exclaimed in disbelief, clutching his Seimei scarf as though the news had just knocked the wind out of him. "But he's the reason they've made it this far! How can they stand a chance without him?"

Across the stadium, Teito fans exchanged grins of confidence, their swagger amplified tenfold now that Seimei's secret weapon was benched. The commentators, aware that the shocking news was now public, addressed the situation head-on.

"Breaking news here at Koshien Stadium," one of the lead commentators said, his voice somber. "It appears that Nihimon Seimei's ace, Ryoichi will not be pitching today. We're hearing reports that his arm is sore after a series of grueling performances, and the coaching staff has made the difficult decision to rest him. This changes everything, folks."

His co-commentator nodded in agreement. "Without Ryoichi, the dynamic of this match shifts entirely. Seimei's Cinderella run has been fueled by Ryoichi's brilliance on the mound. He's clocked at over 140 pitches in several games, which might explain why the coaches are opting to rest him. But this decision could be catastrophic for Seimei against a team like Teito Gakuen."

The tension inside Koshien grew as the stadium lights gleamed over the field, signaling the start of the game. Thousands of fans from both sides raised their flags and banners, cheering, chanting, trying to will their teams to victory. The television broadcast, meanwhile, was already breaking down the implications of Ryoichi's absence.

Across the nation, in homes, bars, and public venues, people stared in shock at their screens. Families gathered around their televisions to watch what they thought would be another heroic performance from Seimei's ace. Office workers checked their phones, seeing the flood of headlines about Ryoichi's absence. This wasn't just a high school baseball game—it was a national event, and now the narrative had taken a dramatic turn.

"Millions are tuning in for this quarterfinal match," one of the commentators continued, "But all eyes were on Ryoichi Kuroda" With him on the bench, professional scouts from the Tokyo Giants, the Hanshin Tigers, and other pro teams will have to settle for watching him from the dugout. But make no mistake, they're still paying attention to every detail. The question now is: Can Seimei survive without him?"

In the stands, a small group of professional scouts, armed with clipboards and eagle-eyed focus, exchanged murmurs. Ryoichi had been a hot topic all season, his blistering fastball and devastating curveball drawing interest from every major team in Japan—and even from a few scouts representing overseas leagues. Today, they would have to make do with watching him from the sidelines.

"It's a shame he's not pitching," one scout muttered, adjusting his sunglasses as he scribbled down notes. "Kid's got the stuff to be a star."

As the teams took their places on the field, the weight of Ryoichi's absence loomed large over the match. Teito Gakuen's players were brimming with confidence, aware that their chances of advancing had just skyrocketed. The tension was thick, the stadium crackling with anticipation. This wasn't just a quarterfinal game anymore—it was a test of Seimei's resolve, and the entire country was watching to see if they could survive without their ace.