Chapter 24 Second Round (1)

The locker room of Nehimon Seimei High School was drenched in a thick, palpable tension, a mixture of nerves and confidence that hung in the air like storm clouds before a downpour. The walls, adorned with old championship banners and motivational posters, felt closer, more oppressive than usual as the team silently prepared for the game. Every player sat in front of their locker, heads down, eyes laser-focused on their gear or staring at the floor in intense concentration. The smell of freshly polished cleats, sweat, and the faint scent of liniment filled the room. The silence was broken only by the rhythmic sound of players adjusting their gloves or tapping their bats.

At the center of it all stood Coach Nakamura, a man who commanded respect without ever raising his voice. He was tall, with broad shoulders and an air of unwavering authority that had been earned over years of discipline and success. His jet-black hair, streaked with a touch of silver, was neatly combed back, and his eyes—sharp, focused, like a hawk's—scanned the room. Arms crossed, his posture was rigid, and his presence alone seemed to keep the weight of the occasion from overwhelming the players.

"Alright, listen up," Nakamura began, his voice cutting through the silence like a razor. It wasn't loud, but it carried power, and instantly, every head snapped up. "Today's not just another game. Today is the game. Minatogawa's been riding high, and they've got a hell of a pitcher in Hiroshi Aoki, but they're not invincible. We don't play scared, and we don't play around them."

The players nodded, their faces set in hard lines of determination. The usual pre-game banter was absent; this wasn't the time for jokes. But there was an edge of confidence, a quiet belief in the team that had been built through countless hours of training, strategy sessions, and sacrifice.

Coach Nakamura turned his gaze to the team's ace pitcher, Ryoichi, "Ryoichi, you're starting on the mound. Set the tone. I want their batters second-guessing every swing by the third inning." Ryoichi nodded, his eyes glinting with fierce resolve.

The team's captain, Kenji Tadeka, sat on the edge of the bench, his hair, cropped short, was damp with sweat from the warm-up, and his gaze was already on the field, mentally running through every possible scenario he could face today.

Coach Nakamura's eyes flicked to Kenji, the barest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Kenji," he said, "I want you to be aggressive today. No holding back. Swing with power. Make them feel it from the first pitch."

Kenji nodded, a slow, confident smile spreading across his face. He loved these moments, the moments when everything hung in the balance. He thrived on them. "Don't worry, Coach," Kenji replied, his voice steady. "They're going to know exactly who they're up against."

As the team gathered their gear and began making their way out to the dugout, the tension seemed to build. The distant murmur of the crowd in the stadium grew louder as the minutes ticked down to game time. Outside, the sunlight bathed the field in a golden glow, the stands packed with fans from both schools, banners and flags waving in the soft breeze. Minatogawa's supporters were out in force, their chants already loud and confident, but Nehimon Seimei's fans were no less vocal, the sound of their school anthem echoing through the stadium.

Kenji led his team out of the tunnel, his cleats tapping rhythmically against the concrete. As they emerged into the stadium, the noise hit like a wall of sound, and for a brief moment, the weight of it all pressed down on him. But then it passed. He felt the energy coursing through his veins, sharpening his focus. This wasn't just a game—it was a battle, and he was ready.

Standing in the dugout, Kenji watched as Hiroshi Aoki, Minatogawa's star pitcher, warmed up on the mound. Aoki was tall and wiry, with an intensity in his eyes that matched the reputation he had built for himself. Known for his deadly control and wicked curveball, Aoki had dominated all season, and every team knew he was a challenge. But today, something was different. They weren't walking Kenji. For the first time in this tournament, Minatogawa was letting Aoki face him head-on.

The audacity of it made Kenji's lips curl into a small, predatory grin. So they think they can take me?

As he stood in the on-deck circle, Kenji took a few practice swings, his bat slicing through the air with a satisfying whoosh. His mind was already calculating. He knew Aoki's patterns—how he liked to work the corners, how he set up his curveball with precise fastballs. Kenji wasn't just here to make contact. He was here to make a statement.

The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, reverberating around the packed stadium.

"Now batting, Tadeka Kenji! Center field!"

The crowd erupted, the Nehimon Seimei supporters chanting Kenji's name in unison. The noise swelled, an anthem of trust and anticipation that filled the air with electric energy. Kenji stepped into the batter's box, digging his cleats into the dirt, feeling the familiar grip of the bat in his hands. The pressure was there, but it didn't weigh him down—it lifted him, pushed him forward.

Aoki stared him down from the mound, his expression unreadable, the baseball gripped tightly in his hand. The first pitch came hurtling toward the plate, a fastball aimed at the edge of the strike zone. Kenji stood still, letting it sail by without a flinch.

Ball one.

The crowd murmured. Aoki adjusted his grip on the ball, his face betraying no emotion. He was a machine on the mound, calculating and methodical. The next pitch came faster, this time down the middle. Kenji swung, but the bat missed by a hair's breadth, slicing through empty air.

Strike one. 1-1.

Aoki's lips twitched into the barest hint of a smirk. Kenji could read it clear as day—the pitcher was settling in, confident now. But Kenji knew better than to let him get comfortable. The third pitch came, a curveball breaking sharply toward the inside corner. Kenji didn't budge. He let it pass. The umpire's call came.

Ball two.

The count was now 2-1, and Kenji felt his heartbeat quicken. He knew the next pitch would be critical. He also knew Aoki was going to try to bait him into chasing another curveball.

Aoki wound up, the ball leaving his fingers with a flicker of deception. It was another curveball, this one diving away from Kenji at the last second, aiming to catch him off guard. But Kenji's body had already moved on instinct, the bat slicing through the air with deadly precision.

Ping!

The sound of the ball making contact with the bat echoed like a gunshot, and in that split second, the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath. The ball soared high, too high for the outfielders to reach. It cut through the sky, growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared over the center-field fence.

A home run.

The eruption of cheers that followed was deafening. Nehimon Seimei's fans exploded in celebration, their voices rising in a wave of elation that shook the stadium. Kenji jogged around the bases with a calm, composed expression, but inside, he was on fire. This was exactly what he had envisioned. He had read Aoki's pitch perfectly, and now Minatogawa knew they were in for a fight.

In the dugout, his teammates pounded the railing, shouting his name. They knew what this meant—the first blow had been struck, and it was a big one. Kenji stepped on home plate, acknowledging his team's cheers with a small wave before joining them in the dugout, where they swarmed him with congratulations.

Out on the field, Minatogawa's catcher, Mori, sat crouched behind his mask, his mind racing. He had underestimated Kenji's ability to read Aoki's pitches. He clenched his fists in frustration, watching Kenji bask in the moment of victory.

"Damn it," Mori muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth. "He saw the curve coming. I should've called for the fastball high and inside."

Mori signaled for a timeout and jogged out to the mound, where Aoki stood, his face still calm but his eyes betraying the tension he was feeling.

"We're sticking to the plan," Mori said quietly, keeping his voice steady. "But we need to mix it up. No more easy patterns