The mismatch with the bat—or more precisely, a misjudged angle—ant that although Haruichi had tid his swing well, the contact point was a little too low. The ball didn't make it out of the infield and was intercepted cleanly by Kijima.
The first three batters were retired with just five pitches.
Three outs.
A swift changeover.
Eijun completely shut down the opposition in the top of the first inning with ease.
Even against his own teammates, Eijun Sawamura showed no rcy.
His aggressive pitching lit a fire under this scrimmage right from the first pitch.
...
"No way… Sawamura's going full throttle from the very first inning?" Kanemaru muttered from the bench, clearly impressed.
"That just shows how seriously he's taking this Red vs. White ga," Toujou said quietly beside him.
"Trying to dominate us completely, huh? That kid… he's really fired up," Maezono muttered, tightening the grip on his glove with a look of anticipation.
"Damn Sawamura… next at-bat, I'm not letting him get away with that smug attitude." Kuramochi cracked his knuckles, flashing a sly grin.
...
"The montum's on their side now," Miyuki said, his voice dropping to a serious tone as he turned toward Furuya beside him.
"But we're the starting lineup. That ans we can't afford to lose even in terms of energy. Furuya, the first pitch is key. You know how dangerous their batting order is. Underestimate them for even a second, and you'll pay the price. This is a real ga—we're not holding back. Got it?"
"Yeah."
For once, Furuya looked genuinely fired up.
To him, this scrimmage wasn't just practice—it was a chance to prove himself.
Especially because...
He finally, finally got the chance to face off against him on the sa field.
Furuya's gaze locked onto Eijun, who was seated in the third-base dugout. His pupils glead with pure excitent and fierce longing.
Miyuki, seeing the tension and focus in his team, allowed a faint smile to creep across his lips.
...
"Bottom of the first. Team B's offense. Batting first, second baseman—Kijima-kun!"
Wow, it's like watching a clone of Ryousan.
Even Kijima's stance mirrored Ryousuke's to an eerie degree.
Behind the plate, Miyuki narrowed his eyes as he glanced toward Kijima.
Unlike Ryousan, however, this kid packed serious power.
To shut him down, they had to neutralize that strength early.
And that ant no holding back from the very first pitch.
Your favorite pitch—a dead-center fastball. Let's see how you handle it.
If Eijun and Ono had put on a dominant display in the top of the first, then Miyuki—known nationwide for his commanding presence—had no intention of showing any weakness on his end either.
Especially when it ca to Furuya.
A pitcher who thrived on head-on confrontation.
Only by guiding him straight into battle could his true strength shine through.
...
Furuya raised his right hand high.
His left leg stomped forward.
His arm snapped into motion, slicing through the air like a blade.
"Fwoosh!"
With a powerful stride and violent follow-through, Furuya unleashed his full strength.
The ball whistled through the air, cutting like a gust of wind.
The pressure was imnse.
Even Kijima—usually unshakable—visibly flinched in the batter's box.
"Swish!"
His bat whipped through the strike zone.
"Ping!"
A booming crack echoed across the field.
That sharp pain in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger—
It felt like his hands were about to split open.
For a mont, Kijima nearly lost his grip on the bat.
After the baptism of fire from the Ugumori match, Furuya's fastball now carried even more force than before.
Whoosh!
Overwheld by the sheer power of the pitch, the ball ricocheted off the bat.
Ping!
It flew out of Kijima's control.
"Foul!"
Yeah… that fastball was purer, sharper than ever.
And just from that one pitch, Miyuki already had a full read on Furuya's condition today.
The fluidity of his chanics, the seamless execution, and the consistency of the ball's release—
All of it made Miyuki's eyes light up.
Setbacks really do forge sharper athletes.
Second pitch—inside fastball.
Now that Miyuki had a grasp of Furuya's condition, there was no holding back.
Whoosh!
An even more aggressive signal.
Another blazing fastball rocketed forward.
Kijima still couldn't control it.
Ping!
He managed to swing at the pitch, but barely.
Whoosh
Thud!
Another foul ball down the third base line.
Two straight fastballs.
And Furuya had already cornered his first batter, Kijima.
Third pitch—
"Vertical slider."
This was the perfect opportunity to refine Furuya's command of his breaking ball in a live situation.
There was no need to fear giving up a hit now.
Having forced Kijima to two strikes, Miyuki didn't hesitate to signal for the slider.
Furuya, bold as ever—
Or perhaps more accurately, having matured since the Ugumori match—
was ready to respond.
He'd rebuilt his confidence once more in the match against Ouya.
Whoosh!
As he raised his arm, a burst of white light flew from his hand.
The ball slashed toward ho plate with sharp intensity.
Just as Kijima started his swing, the ball dipped, sharply and unexpectedly.
The sudden curve reflected in his shrinking pupils—
Pop!
The pitch landed squarely in Miyuki's glove with a heavy thud.
"Strike three! Batter out!!"
"Ohh! That's the famous slider?"
"I heard he debuted it against Ouya!"
"Man, forget Sawamura for a second—right now even Kawakami and Furuya are looking like full-blown aces. Honestly, on most teams, they would be the ace."
"No doubt. Especially Furuya. With that natural velocity and improving control—he's hitting all four corners now."
"Not to ntion his crazy forkball... and now he's got a vertical slider, too? What a monster."
"And don't you think the vibe around him changed after the Ugumori ga?"
"Yeah, I totally felt that too. He used to feel... distant, like he didn't really belong. But now? He's starting to click with the team."
"Well, it is a team sport."
"Damn, now I'm seriously hyped for Furuya's future."
"Sa here, haha!"
Speed. Break. Late movent.
Considering this was a breaking ball he'd only learned two weeks ago—
Furuya's vertical slider was already looking sharp.
The vertical break was clean and well-placed inside the strike zone.
Even though the final drop missed the zone slightly—
at a speed exceeding 150 km/h, most batters wouldn't be able to react anyway.
Over on the bench, Coach Ochiai stroked his chin, his face practically glowing with pride.
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