Baseball: A Two-Way Player Chapter 224 - 106: Summer Has Arrived

As July arrived, the weather grew hotter by the day: the blazing sun of midsumr evenly scorched every living creature exposed to its rays, evaporating not only the moisture in their bodies but also their spirit and vitality.

Ordinary high school students in Japan were now planning their sumr vacations, calling friends to arrange outings; but at the Sadaharu Oh morial Stadium, the baseball boys of Waseda Industries continued their intense training under the hot weather.

For others, sumr might an waterlons, cold drinks, air conditioning, and the sound of cicadas; but for those who have dedicated their entire high school life to baseball, the sumr Koshien is the ultimate dream for most of them.

When Izumi Minoru walked into the field, the Waseda Jitsugyo players were practicing fielding:

The coach responsible for hitting fungoes at ho plate shot a powerful ground ball toward first base. Hagiyuta Mitsuo, stationed at first base, swiftly moved toward the ball’s path, ready to intercept it infield;

At the sa ti, Lin Guanglai on the pitcher’s mound also started to jog toward first base—

When the first baseman moves far from the base and cannot return in ti to get the opponent out, teammates from other positions must actively back him up. Otherwise, a situation where the ball is stopped but the runner still reaches base safely could easily occur. Generally, the pitcher is responsible for backing up, but sotis the second baseman will.

With this out completed, the morning session of training ca to a temporary halt.

The hot weather and intense training took a huge toll on every player, with almost everyone soaked through with sweat—right after the training ended, the baseball club captain Sasaki Koji urged the players to hydrate to prevent heatstroke.

Ever since finishing gas against two prestigious schools from Osaka, Izumi Minoru, as the team’s supervisor, could clearly feel the team’s improving state:

Especially in the closed practice matches at ho after returning, the performance of Waseda Jitsugyo was smooth sailing, winning multiple gas without a single loss, including many overwhelming victories.

Once the players had rested and adjusted, Izumi Minoru blew the whistle hanging on his chest, summoning everyone together—seeing the stack of thick cloth strips in the supervisor’s hand, many could feel their hearts racing.

As mbers of the baseball club, they of course knew what those cloth strips symbolized—they were the jersey numbers worn on the back, representing the final selection of the 20-man roster for the West Tokyo Conference.

Apart from players like Lin Guanglai, Kenshu Yasuda, and Chongxin Shen Zhong, who were destined to make the starting lineup, the hearts of everyone else present, especially the third-year students, were all in turmoil:

The total number of Waseda Jitsugyo baseball club mbers was close to 80, and only 20 had the chance to participate in the West Tokyo Conference; ultimately, only 18 could represent the team at Koshien Stadium.

Those without much foundation or talent knew their abilities weren’t enough to make the final starting nine;

Therefore, being part of the reserve list and supporting their teammates on the field instead of the stands, with occasional opportunities to pinch-hit or pinch-run, was at least a way for them to account for their three years of effort.

Pushed by this atmosphere, the already hot air gradually beca sticky, and the expressions on the players’ faces, who were joking and laughing after practice, now turned serious.

Standing in front of the players, Izumi Minoru announced the list in order based on the players’ training status and performance:

"Number 1, Guanglai."

"Yes."

Lin Guanglai responded, stepping out of the line to respectfully receive the emblematic number 1 jersey from the supervisor.

There was little emotion among the players on the field: to the Waseda Jitsugyo players, the current team could do without anyone but Lin Guanglai.

Under his leadership, Waseda Jitsugyo was one of the top-tier teams nationwide, able to stand against champion teams from various regions; without him, it was uncertain whether they could even make it out of West Tokyo, let alone achieve national victory.

The number 1 jersey was unquestionably his; who else could deserve it?

Next, the starters’ nas were read out in order.

"Number 2, Uesugi."

"Yes!"

"Number 3, Hagiyuta."

"Yes!"

"Number 4, Shigetsugu."

"Yes!"

"Number 5, Ema."

"Yes!"

"Number 6, Manabe."

"Yes, Supervisor!"

"Number 7, Sato."

"Yes... Yes!!!"

"Number 8, Yasuda."

"Yes!"

"Number 9, Yagaki."

"Present!!!"

"Number 10, Uchida."

"Yes!"

Izumi Minoru read out the nas from numbers 1 to 10 in one go—these were Waseda Jitsugyo’s strongest players, who could perform well even on a national scale.

Those whose nas were called out joyfully walked up to Izumi Minoru to receive their jersey numbers with happiness written all over their faces.

Then, Izumi Minoru continued to read out the nas from numbers 11 to 20, and then dismissed the team, leaving behind the third-year players who didn’t make the list.

Once the other teammates vanished from sight, the remaining third-years could no longer hold back their sadness, and many began to cry bitterly.

For those not selected for the regional tournant, first and second-years still had future opportunities; but for these third-years, not being selected this ti ant their sumr ended before it began—even if the team advanced to Koshien, they could only cheer their teammates on as spectators from the stands.

Seeing three years of effort go down the drain, how could they not feel sorrow? Especially at the end of the substitute list reading, when they saw first-year Tanaka Justice, who had just joined the team a few months ago, receiving the last jersey number, the feeling was even more pronounced.

Seeing them in such distress, Izumi Minoru also felt uncomfortable inside.

In so ways, these players were his children, all of whom he had watched grow up.

But he also knew he couldn’t sacrifice the team’s interests for the sake of personal feelings; the list he had just announced was already the biggest concession he could make within the scope of caring for the third-year players.

It wasn’t just the case at Waseda Jitsugyo; today, across Japan, the sa story was playing out in hundreds and thousands of school baseball clubs.

Although unfortunate, this is what sumr is—this is the once-in-a-lifeti, final sumr.