Solar Divine Vein, Revival!!

In the top of the seventh, the score was 3-0.

Tsuyoshi had ultimately been pulled from the game.

He hadn't given up any more runs, but the momentum had already shifted somewhat toward the Korean side.

The Japanese national team wasn't just sitting idle, though.

Crack!

No. 1 hitter Fukuda Akira's ball soared high between the infield and outfield.

The fielders converged on it.

But stubbornly, the ball dropped right between Je Yun-chan, Macho-won, and Han Ju-won.

Behind that, cameras spotlighted the runner on first.

He was already strutting around, needling Seong-muk's nerves.

At that instant, Seong-muk fired a pickoff throw to first.

Fukuda jumped in surprise and scrambled back to the bag.

'What the hell, that pickoff's so fast...?'

The pickoff speed and timing were unbelievable for a high schooler. He gulped and shortened his lead by half a step.

Thwump!

"Strikeout...!"

Seong-muk retired the next hitter while holding the runner. But the following batter, Mori Kaito, was no pushover.

Crack!

The Japanese crowd began chanting Ryuji's name. As the hottest hitter right now, their expectations were sky-high.

And with one big swing, the game could reset. Ryuji stepped in, took his stance, and locked eyes with Seong-muk.

Rumble rumble rumble—

An immense aura hit all at once.

Like he was dead set on blasting it out of the park, Ryuji unleashed his dragon blood qi more ferociously than ever.

'Damn, that's prickly...'

A normal pitcher would've buckled under that pressure.

But Seong-muk wasn't normal.

He was the kind who got fired up against strong opponents—a pitcher in a league of his own.

"Thanks, Ryuji."

"...?"

Ryuji tilted his head at Seong-muk's lip movements.

And that was exactly why he was grateful.

Resonating with Ryuji's dragon blood, the Solar Divine Vein surged with stimulation. Seong-muk's lower body straightened even more rigidly.

"First up, gotta be this one."

He wanted to pump fastball straight to S+, but apparently that took two slots from S to S+.

'Eh, this'll do.'

Seong-muk lifted his right leg high.

The ball exploded from his fingertips.

Thwuuump—!!

"...!"

Ryuji's bat whiffed.

He'd sat on it from the first pitch, but it grazed right over his bat.

'Whoa, it rises even more there...!'

Ryuji had the timing on the speed nailed.

But with ball power boosted, the rise was sharper, sending his bat spinning empty.

A pitch that left even the batter shaking his head.

But Ryuji wasn't one to fold easily.

Thump!

"Ball...!"

Crack!

"Foul!"

Thump!

"...Ball!"

He laid off the ones just off the plate and fouled the strikes back.

Seong-muk's pitch count climbed as a result.

From 94 pitches total, just this at-bat pushed it to 106.

A high-wire duel, like walking a tightrope.

As the crowd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠held its breath watching, the two combatants were grinning.

Crack!

"Foul...!"

Another shot into the back screen.

Seong-muk had already burned through his fifth switch just on Ryuji.

He could feel his stamina hitting its limit.

'...Just one more pitch.'

That was Seong-muk's breaking point.

After that, his stuff would fade—he wouldn't grip it right.

Meanwhile, Ryuji still radiated menace. Deciding the matchup on one pitch against him? Seong-muk wasn't sure.

'Of course, walking him ain't an option.'

Ryuji had longed for this showdown with Seong-muk.

And Seong-muk felt the same.

No deflating walk to end it.

Then, a wild idea flashed in Seong-muk's mind.

'Man, if this flops, I'll be a laughingstock forever.'

Still, it hooked him hard. No—this was the only way to get Ryuji on one pitch.

Seong-muk committed.

He quietly raised his left index finger.

Thumbs up next, then a throat-slash gesture. The meaning was clear.

'Next pitch, you're done.'

First time since that practice game against Cheonghyeon High's Choi Seok-ho. His promised-out performance lit up the Korean forums.

"Puhaha...!"

Ryuji burst out laughing for real.

Classic Seong-muk response.

"Man, can't lose out now, huh?"

Blood boiling, Ryuji raised his bat high and pointed to the fences.

Simple meaning.

'Okay, one pitch? Send it deep.'

"........."

"........."

Seong-muk and Ryuji stared each other down in silence.

Crackle, crackle!

Seong-muk felt an unprecedented tingle.

Cliff's edge, no retreat.

Facing the ultimate rival.

"Hoo, haa, hoo..."

Couldn't get better.

Raw excitement flooded Seong-muk's body.

The camera on Seong-muk shook.

A phenomenon not seen in ages.

Simple reason.

The broadcast glitch-maker was back in perfect form.

Buuulge!

His lower half swelled with overwhelming presence.

Alerts rang out too.

'If you're a man, it's gotta be this...!'

All three enhancement slots dumped into fastball.

Seong-muk's fastball now S+.

First time unleashing an S+ pitch.

Against Ryuji? Worth every bit.

'...Time to end it, Ryuji!'

Ignoring the runners, massive windup from Seong-muk. Ryuji matched, settling into his stance. One thought in his head.

'Gotta be fastball for our final clash...!'

Swing full of conviction.

Spotting fastball, Ryuji's lip curled.

The instant he committed to the homer, something felt off.

'Fast? Faster than I figured...?!'

Ryuji never underestimated Seong-muk anymore.

He'd accounted for early 160s.

But it wasn't enough.

Ryuji's downfall? Never imagining Seong-muk could evolve beyond what he knew.

Thuuuump----!!

Cannon-shot release echoed through the stadium.

Ryuji's bat whiffed.

Outcome was obvious.

"Strike... OUT......!!"

"...Whooooaaaa!!"

Seong-muk, jubilant like never before after fanning Ryuji.

As he celebrated purely, the announcers rubbed their eyes.

"Wooooaaah...!!"

"...I lost, huh."

Ryuji pulled off his helmet, face bitter. His genuine desire to beat Seong-muk made the regret hit harder.

"Ugh, damn, that was rough."

Sag...

Lower half deflated right after.

Seong-muk patted the weary soldier sympathetically.

"...Sorry for overworking you right off the comeback, buddy."

Then he raised his hand quietly.

Body spent.

Voluntary pull signal.

"Good work, go rest."

"Yes, sir...!"

Bow to the pitching coach, off the mound.

6 2/3 innings, 108 pitches, zero runs.

Seong-muk's line for the day.

The rest was straightforward.

Li Dong-hyuk in the seventh and eighth, Ryu Taek-jin in the ninth—Japan's lineup shut down cold.

They tried giving Ryuji another shot, but No. 3 Mori Kaito's strikeout sealed it.

Korea locked in the semifinals.

Two more wins for the title.

'Eh, too early for champ soup. First, let's grab that reward?'

Future later—Seong-muk eyed the immediate prize, grinning wide.

'Kya, insane!'

Mid-relief now? Fastball S, ball power S—monster stats within reach.

Glad he joined the national team. Sharing victory joy with teammates, when a guy approached from the opposite dugout.

"Yo, Ryuji, c'mon over."

"Haa, hands up, total defeat."

Ryuji raised both arms, shaking his head.

Dead serious concession.

Seong-muk hadn't won easy either, so he tossed some encouragement.

"Honestly scared shitless you'd launch one."

"Psh, say that after winning, man."

Ryuji grumbled, then chuckled.

"Win it all, friend."

"Yeah, take care of the Munhyeok High guys."

"You got it—I'll grind 'em hard while you're gone!"

He started to leave after the greeting, but spotted a high school teammate and paused.

"Oh, Dong-hyuk? Wanted to face you too, bummer."

"I'm disappointed as well."

"Hm, next game though? Against 'that asshole.'"

Clear who Ryuji meant: Kim Jung-cheol, Kim Jung-un's second son.

Word just in—North Korea beat Taiwan in the quarters, into semis.

"...Indeed."

"Not school bias—you're a damn good pitcher. Shred him thoroughly."

Ryuji clapped Li Dong-hyuk's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shoulder. The kid nodded with steely resolve.

"I promise. I'll dismantle him completely."

Ryuji grinned.

"Yeah, you two crush it!"

Hand wave, back to his dugout. Only Munhyeok High survivors in the tourney: Geum Seong-muk and Li Dong-hyuk.

Li Dong-hyuk especially motivated.

"You good facing his bro without folding?"

"Don't worry—hot heart, ice-cold head right now."

Li Dong-hyuk had devoured every scrap on Kim Jung-cheol: pull-side tendencies, handling speedy lefties. No way he'd lose this North Korea semi.

"Yeah, you'll kill it, Dong-hyuk."

Seong-muk clapped his shoulder.

Post-chat, quick reporter interviews, packed his gear, headed out the stadium.

Familiar voice stopped him.

"Hey, Seong-muk!"

Team catcher Hwang Tae-gang—childhood friend from Bujeon High days.

"Yeah? You call?"

"Yeah, got a sec? Someone wants to see you."

"Me...? Hm."

Sudden private meetup? Fishy vibe.

"If it's quick, sure."

"Cool, whew. Thanks."

Hwang Tae-gang wasn't the scheming type—solid guy. Seong-muk agreed.

Tae-gang sighed.

Looked uneasy about the hookup too.

"Come on out, Seo Ye-bin."

"...?!"

That name jolted him.

'Seo Ye-bin here...?!'

Round the corner—a woman came into view.

Sky-blue straight hair swaying.

Gem-like blue eyes shadowed in sorrow.

"........."

"........."

Eyes met briefly.

Then his heart pounded wildly.

Status alerts blared in his head.

Then a splitting headache crashed down.

"Urk...!"

"Hey hey, Geum Seong-muk...! What's wrong...!"

Shocked Hwang Tae-gang.

Approaching Seo Ye-bin looked alarmed too.

Seong-muk clutched his shattering skull, staggering.

'What is this? Not my memories...'

Massive info dump hammered his brain.

Someone else's memories.

Probably pre-possession Geum Seong-muk's.

Alert flashed—and Seong-muk's mind went black.

Thud!

"Hey, Geum Seong-muk...!"

"What do we do, Seong-muk...!!"

Body shaken hard, but his mind was gone from reality.

He began to dream.

A long dream packed with one delinquent's life.