Chapter 62 Semi-Final (1)

Team Lineups

Nehimon Seimei High

Kenji Tadeka - Center Fielder (Captain, 2nd Year)

Kazuya Tanaka - Starting Pitcher (2nd Year)

Kaito Nakashima - Shortstop (2nd Year)

Shinjiro Takumi - Left Fielder (1st Year)

Yamashita Kazuki - Right Fielder (2nd Year)

Haruto Suzuki - First Baseman (2nd Year)

Shunichi Watanabe - Second Baseman (2nd Year)

Koji Nakamura - Third Baseman (1st Year)

Daiki Matsuda - Catcher (2nd Year)

Coach Nakamura

Shukugawa High

Shunta Goto – Right Fielder

Ryo Watanabe – First Baseman

Rikuto Sakurai – Third Baseman

Kenta Imamiya – Second Baseman

Seiji Uebayashi – Centre Fielder

Shohei Suzuki – Left Fielder

Takefase Muraoka – Catcher

Taiga Hirasawa – Shortstop

Pitcher: Kengo Saito – Ace Pitcher

Coach Taira

---‐

The tension was palpable. The stadium's roar was deafening, with chants echoing across the field as Seimei faced Shukugawa in the semifinals. Every player could feel the pressure weighing on their shoulders, but none more so than Seimei's pitcher, Kazuya Tanaka.

Standing on the mound, Kazuya's heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. The humidity clung to him, making the baseball feel heavier in his grip. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, eyes narrowed as he stared down the batter. Shunta Goto, Shukugawa's leadoff hitter, stood in the box with a casual stance, bat resting on his shoulder, yet his gaze was focused—sharp, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Come on," Kazuya whispered to himself, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension. He caught Daiki Matsuda, his catcher, signaling for a fastball. Kazuya gave a slight nod. His grip tightened as he wound up and launched the ball with a burst of power.

The ball shot toward the plate at 147 kilometers per hour, a white blur under the lights. But Goto didn't flinch. He didn't even move his bat.

"Ball one!" the umpire called, his voice cutting through the buzz of the crowd.

Kazuya's jaw clenched. He barely registered Daiki tossing the ball back to him. The first pitch had been too far inside. He couldn't afford to miss again.

"Stay calm," Kazuya muttered under his breath. But the doubts were creeping in. He couldn't let this moment overwhelm him, not with everything at stake.

He wound up again, aiming for the corner of the strike zone. This time, the pitch was closer. But again, Goto remained still, his eyes focused, waiting for something better.

"Ball two!"

Kazuya exhaled sharply, frustration starting to creep in. He knew Goto's reputation—a patient hitter who didn't swing unless the pitch was perfect. Will he even swing.... Kazuya thought. His gaze flickered to Daiki behind the plate. They needed to switch it up.

Daiki signaled for a changeup, a slower pitch to throw Goto off. Kazuya nodded, winding up. The ball left his hand with a smoother motion this time, heading toward the plate. Goto's bat twitched as if he might swing but held back again at the last second.

"Ball three!"

Kazuya could hear murmurs in the crowd, and they felt like they were drilling into his skull. Get it together. Goto didn't budge, his calm presence eating away at Kazuya's nerves. One more ball, and he'd give up a walk on the very first batter.

From behind the plate, Daiki could see the tension rising in Kazuya. He stood up, motioning with his glove for the pitcher to take a breather. "Relax, man," Daiki mouthed, his voice too far away to hear but clear in its message.

Kazuya gave a sharp nod, shaking out his arm. His breath steadied, and he focused again. He couldn't lose focus now, not when they were this close to the finals.

The next pitch—a fastball. Kazuya wound up, the ball leaving his fingers with a snap, sailing right down the middle. Goto's bat moved, connecting with a sharp crack that echoed across the field. The ball shot out to right field in a clean line drive.

Yamashita Kazuki, Seimei's right fielder, was already on the move. His cleats dug into the turf as he sprinted forward, but he couldn't close the distance in time. The ball dropped in front of him, and Goto was already rounding first base with a confident stride. He slowed as he reached second, nodding to his teammates as the crowd cheered for Shukugawa.

Kazuya's fists clenched at his sides. Great. Now he's in scoring position, he thought bitterly. But he couldn't dwell on it. He had to focus on the next batter. Ryo Watanabe stepped into the box, his posture calm but his eyes locked in.

Daiki signaled for a low pitch, hoping to coax a ground ball. Kazuya wound up and fired toward the plate. Watanabe swung hard, but the contact was weak—a slow grounder toward second base. Shunichi, Seimei's second baseman, charged forward, fielding it cleanly and throwing to first for the out.

"One down," Kazuya muttered to himself, trying to stay focused. But Goto had advanced to second, and now, standing in the batter's box, was Shukugawa's captain, Rikuto Sakurai.

Rikuto was a force. At six feet tall with broad shoulders, he looked like he could smash the ball through a brick wall. His calm, calculating gaze made Kazuya's skin prickle. He knew what he had to do, and Kazuya could feel it—this was the guy who could break the game wide open.

As Kazuya stared him down, he felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He couldn't afford to make a mistake here.

Daiki signaled for a changeup. Kazuya nodded, wound up, and released. The ball dipped low, but Rikuto didn't even blink. He let it pass.

"Ball one!"

Great, Kazuya thought sarcastically, shaking his head slightly. He wiped his hand on his pants, trying to keep his grip dry. Daiki signaled again—this time for a fastball.

Kazuya wound up, the ball blazing toward the plate. Rikuto swung. The crack of the bat was sharp, sending the ball flying high toward left field. Kazuya's stomach dropped. No way!? he thought, watching the ball sail through the air.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of motion—Shinjiro Takumi, Seimei's left fielder, was already sprinting toward the ball, his legs pumping like pistons. The crowd watched in awe as Shinjiro launched himself into the air, glove outstretched.

THUD.

The ball smacked into Shinjiro's glove as he hit the ground hard. But without missing a beat, he bounced up and hurled the ball toward home plate, his arm a blur of precision. Goto had tagged up and was charging toward the plate, but Daiki was ready. The ball rocketed into his glove, and he swept the tag down.

"OUT!" the umpire bellowed.

The crowd exploded into cheers. Kazuya exhaled in relief, his muscles finally relaxing. Shinjiro was swarmed by his teammates as they jogged off the field, pats on the back and words of praise following him.

"Nice throw, Rookie!" someone shouted.

"Saved our asses there!" another voice called out.

Kazuya nodded toward Shinjiro as they passed each other. "Good job, out there," he said, though his voice was still shaky from the adrenaline.

Shinjiro smiled, though it was small and reserved. "Thanks," he replied, but his eyes were distant, already thinking ahead to his next play.

Now it was Seimei's turn to bat. But standing on the mound for Shukugawa was Kengo Saito, their ace pitcher. Kengo was infamous for his unpredictable knuckleball and moving fastballs, which seemed to dance in the air, defying the laws of physics. His fastball was no joke either, often hitting the mid-140s.

Kenji Tadeka, Seimei's captain, stepped into the batter's box, adjusting his helmet. He dug his cleats into the dirt, eyes locked on Kengo.

Kengo wound up, and the ball left his hand in a blur. Kenji watched as it sailed toward him, deciding to let it pass. The umpire's voice rang out.

"Strike!"

Kenji cursed under his breath. "That knuckleball is nasty as fuck." He adjusted his stance, preparing for the next pitch. Kengo threw another knuckleball, this one lower and outside, but still within reach. Kenji hesitated for a split second, unsure of the movement.

"Strike two!"

Kenji stepped back, grinding his teeth. Kengo wasn't giving him anything to work with. Every pitch felt like a gamble. He glanced at the dugout, catching his teammates' anxious faces. They were relying on him.

Take signaled for another pitch. Kengo wound up for the third pitch—a fastball, high and inside. Kenji flinched but didn't swing.

"Ball one!"

Alright, you're not perfect, Kenji thought, gripping the bat tighter. The next pitch—a knuckleball again—darted unpredictably. Kenji swung, but the ball dropped just as it reached the plate.

"Strike three! Batter out!"

Kenji cursed under his breath, walking back to the dugout. The frustration was written all over his face. He hadn't even made contact. As he sat down, he could feel the pressure mounting. They had to break through Kengo's pitches somehow.

Next up was Yamashita Kazuki. Unlike Kenji, Yamashita was known for being aggressive. He wasn't going to wait around for the perfect pitch. He stepped into the box, bat held high, eyes sharp with determination.

Take as he crouched behind the plate and adjusted his mitt as he eyed Yamashita carefully. He knew Yamashita's reputation—impatient, always swinging early in the count. But that aggressiveness was also a double-edged sword. Take smirked inwardly. We can use that against him.

Kengo wound up, releasing a fastball low and away. True to form, Yamashita swung hard. But he was too eager, too fast. The ball whizzed past his bat, into the catcher's glove.

"Strike one!" the umpire called.

Yamashita scowled, adjusting his grip on the bat. He forced himself to breathe, to calm his nerves. He had to be smarter than this.

Kengo wound up again, this time releasing a knuckleball. It floated toward the plate, wobbling in the air. Yamashita hesitated for a split second before swinging, trying to time the unpredictable movement. The ball dipped suddenly, just as his bat passed over it.

"Strike two!"

In the dugout, Kenji leaned forward, frowning. Yamashita was falling into Kengo's trap, swinging at every pitch like the pitcher wanted him to. The rest of the team was watching with tense expressions, knowing how vital this at-bat was.

Yamashita gritted his teeth, frustrated with himself. Come on, focus! He took a deep breath, blocking out the noise of the stadium, the pressure, the expectations. He needed to wait for his pitch, no matter how badly he wanted to swing.

Kengo saw Yamashita's stance shift, a subtle change in his posture. He wasn't going to chase anymore. Fine. Time for something different. Kengo wound up, preparing to throw a curveball this time—slow, breaking late, aiming for the outside corner.

The ball arced toward the plate, curving just as it approached. Yamashita held back, his bat twitching but not moving. He watched as the ball broke sharply, just clipping the outside edge of the strike zone.

"Ball one!"

Yamashita exhaled slowly. Good. He'd read the pitch correctly. Now he just had to stay disciplined.

Kengo narrowed his eyes. Yamashita wasn't biting anymore. He couldn't risk giving him something easy to hit. He wound up, throwing a fastball high and inside, forcing Yamashita to either swing or back off.

Yamashita saw the pitch coming—too high, too close. He let it pass, stepping slightly back in the box.

"Ball two!"

The crowd was starting to buzz, the tension growing with every pitch. Yamashita's teammates were leaning forward in their seats, some whispering encouragement, others just hoping he could get on base and start a rally.

Kengo felt a flicker of frustration. He needed to end this at-bat quickly. He wound up again, this time throwing another fastball, low and inside, just on the edge of the strike zone.

Yamashita's instincts screamed at him to swing, but he resisted. The ball passed just below the knees, and the umpire called out:

"Ball three!"

The tension was building, and Yamashita could feel it in the air. Three balls, two strikes. One more ball, and he'd walk. One more strike, and he'd be out. It all came down to this.

Kengo knew he couldn't afford to miss. His eyes flickered toward Take, who signaled for a knuckleball—one that would drop sharply at the last second, just like before. If Yamashita swung too early, he'd miss completely.

Kengo wound up, his motion smooth and practiced. The ball left his hand, wobbling as it approached the plate. Yamashita's eyes followed it closely, watching for the moment it would drop.

And there it was—a slight dip in the ball's trajectory. Yamashita swung with all his might, timing it just right. His bat connected with a solid PING, and the ball soared high into center field.

The stadium erupted into a roar as the ball arced through the night sky. It wasn't a home run, but it was deep enough to cause trouble. The center fielder for Shukugawa sprinted toward the warning track, his eyes locked on the ball. He leaped, glove outstretched—

—but it bounced off the top of the wall and fell into play.

Yamashita was already rounding first, legs pumping furiously as the player scrambled to retrieve the ball. By the time he fired it back to the infield, Yamashita was sliding into second base.

"SAFE!" the umpire shouted.