The Master of West Tokyo (1)
“Number two batter, first baseman, Furihata.”
Soun High’s number two hitter and first baseman, third-year Furihata Shinji, walked toward the box with an expression that said he was desperately trying to force the tension out of his body.
“How was it?”
“The fastball rides higher than I expected, and the splitter’s hard to pick up.”
“······I see.”
That was all the leadoff man, Kuzaki Kotsu, could offer after going down on three pitches. Not exactly useful advice. All it really told them was that the pitcher on the mound was far more terrifying than the scouting reports had suggested.
“Huu······”
Furihata Shinji stepped in. He forced himself to look at the pitcher.
He’s huge.
Around 190 centimeters, maybe. Hard to believe they were the same age. His future was obviously bright.
But still.
No matter how strong the opposing pitcher was, this was the game that decided who went to Koshien. He had no choice but to act confident, even if he had to force it. For three years he had poured sweat into the dream of stepping onto that sacred dirt. He wasn’t about to back down now.
The batter waits for the first pitch.
Soun High is famous for grinding out at-bats, and Furihata is the stubbornest of them all! What will Hongo throw?
Here it comes.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
Swing and a miss on the fastball!
Nice location up in the zone.
“Huu.”
Furihata clamped his mouth shut and reset his grip on the bat.
It’s fast.
A powerful, rising fastball the likes of which you rarely saw in high school. It looked like it was defying gravity. On top of that, the pitcher’s arm speed was so explosive that timing it felt nearly impossible. A batter was supposed to hunt the pitcher. Right now it felt like he was the one being hunted.
He swallowed hard.
Somehow.
It was difficult, but he had to find a way. He couldn’t exactly ask the guy not to throw fastballs. He would have to dig deep and force something to happen.
Here comes the second pitch!
On the mound, Hongo Yukihisa fired again with everything he had.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
“Kh—!”
One-fifty-five on the inner half! The batter couldn’t even move!
When a ball that hard comes in on the hands, a hitter freezes.
Hongo Yukihisa has the count in his favor again in the blink of an eye!
Damn it.
Furihata tried to will himself through it, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He had swung until blisters formed on his hands, yet preparing for a pitcher like this was close to impossible.
Somehow.
Still, he hung in there. Even if he had to grab the pitcher by the pant leg, he needed to run up the pitch count and get on base. Furihata choked up on the bat and waited for the next pitch.
Two strikes… so a splitter?
Soun High had focused their scouting on Hongo Yukihisa’s fastball and splitter. His slider and curve were excellent too, but trying to account for every pitch would leave them with no answer at all. If it was borderline, cut it. Lay off anything low. And don’t miss a mistake.
That was Soun’s strategy.
Yukihisa delivered.
It’s in.
Furihata thought it was a strike and swung, determined to put wood on it somehow.
“Huh?”
Thwack—!
“Strike three!”
Swing and a miss for the strikeout! Once again the put-away pitch is the splitter! Hongo Yukihisa has back-to-back three-pitch strikeouts!
He’s unreal today. Seriously.
“······”
No way.
Three strikes was an eviction notice for a batter. But Furihata couldn’t leave the box right away. He had been certain the ball was in the zone when he swung, yet in that instant it had simply vanished downward. In the end it was a splitter that nearly bounced, well out of the strike zone. The depth of that drop felt like a perfect illustration of the gulf between him and the pitcher on the mound.
“Number three batter, pitcher, Ootsuka.”
“Shinji.”
“Goro, the splitter’s tough to pick up. If it looks low, you’re better off not swinging at all.”
“······Yeah?”
Having just struck out, Furihata Shinji spoke as calmly as he could to the next hitter—his team’s ace, Ootsuka Goro. If he couldn’t reach base himself, he at least wanted to help the team somehow.
For the first time today, the two starting pitchers will face each other as batter and pitcher.
Soun’s Ootsuka Goro is a solid hitter in his own right.
Alongside cleanup hitter Shibata Tomoya, third-year pitcher Ootsuka was responsible for most of the team’s RBI production. He stared up at the mound with fighting spirit in his eyes.
Hongo Yukihisa.
Right up until the summer tournament, Ootsuka had aimed solely at Toai University Affiliated Sugano High—the team that had crushed them last year—and at Sugano’s ace, Naruse Tomoyuki. He had taped Naruse’s photo to his wall and stared at it every day, grinding himself toward victory. Then someone else had appeared and beaten that same Naruse.
“······”
Watching Seisho versus Sugano at Meiji Jingu Stadium, Ootsuka had felt it as a pitcher: Hongo Yukihisa was an even bigger monster than Naruse.
But still.
He only needed to win one day. He would never hand over the ticket to Koshien.
Hongo sets for the first pitch!
We’ve seen the fastball and the splitter today, and both are working beautifully!
Here it comes.
Ootsuka waited for Hongo’s first offering.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
Outside corner! Another first-pitch strike with the fastball!
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
Painted on the inner half! One-fifty-four!
How can he throw a pitch that filthy that easily?
“······”
He’s strong.
Ootsuka felt it instinctively. This pitcher was on another level. The moment he actually stepped into the box as a hitter, every prediction he had made felt trivial. Velocity, location, late life—everything exceeded imagination. Was this kid really only a second-year?
“Kh—!”
Still, he had to find a way. If he let that aura swallow him, he wouldn’t be able to do a thing.
Splitter?
Hongo had thrown the splitter after two strikes to both the first and second hitters. It was working, and he had the count in his favor. There was no reason not to go to it again.
No balls, two strikes! What will he throw this time?!
The batter has to take his swing.
Ootsuka swallowed, watched the monster’s delivery, and timed his swing.
Wait—?
Crack—!
“Foul!”
He got a piece of it—foul!
One-fifty-five! He barely fouled off a high fastball. This time Hongo went with the heater instead of the splitter.
But ace Ootsuka didn’t back down!
“······”
A fastball?
Ootsuka was surprised it hadn’t been the splitter. Then again, that high fastball was the pitcher’s greatest weapon. It wasn’t completely out of left field.
“Time!”
“Huu······”
Ootsuka stepped out to reset. Nothing had really changed. He still needed to distinguish fastball from splitter and put a good swing on it. As a left-handed hitter, the slider wasn’t a great matchup for him. Scouting said the curve was dangerous too, but he would fight that off with pure willpower if he had to.
Hongo is already set and ready to go.
Hongo Yukihisa toed the rubber and delivered.
Wait—?
Ootsuka swung again.
Thwack—!
“Strike three!”
“Waaaaaaaaah!”
Another fastball! Swing and a miss for the strikeout! Four straight heaters and Hongo Yukihisa has the K!
What confidence! Hahaha. He trusts his fastball that much.
“······”
Back-to-back fastballs.
He hadn’t even needed the splitter—just a string of pure heat. And still Ootsuka had failed to solve him.
This is rough.
As the ace, even putting on a face that said it was nothing in front of his teammates took effort.
“Nice pitching, Hongo!”
“You’re the best!”
“Nobody can touch your stuff!”
“······”
Of course the stands were loud—it was the final.
Good.
Completely dominating the opposing lineup in the first inning was the surest way to seize momentum. That was what I had told senior Matsuda Masahiro before taking the mound. The result had been excellent. I had even struck out their pitcher on consecutive fastballs.
In high school baseball the ace was an absolute presence. If you, as a pitcher, completely overpowered the opposing ace at the plate, their morale would crack.
1. Shirakawa Satoru
2. Minamino Shintaro
3. Kazuma Junpei
4. Matsuda Masahiro
5. Sanada Atsushi
6. Hongo Yukihisa
7. Inoue Kotaro
8. Okada Shugo
9. Aizawa Junya
“Number one batter, shortstop, Shirakawa.”
I sat on the bench and watched our offense.
“Hmm······”
Today I was batting sixth. Their starter, Ootsuka Goro, was a lefty. As a right-handed hitter, I was the ideal matchup to attack him.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
First-pitch strike! Ootsuka freezes him with a curve on the outer half!
His command is outstanding.
He was a crafty pitcher. Still, low-140s velocity from the left side wasn’t low by high school standards. His fastball simply wasn’t his primary weapon; he was closer to a finished product than most.
Crack—!
An inside fastball. It came in hard. The board flashed 142 km/h.
He put it in play!
“Out!”
Out at first! Ootsuka retires a tough leadoff man!
Senior Shirakawa, our leadoff hitter, was retired.
That pitcher.
If he got rolling, he would be hard to solve.
Thwack—!
“Strike three!”
Swing and a miss for the strikeout! Ootsuka Goro sets down the side in order in the bottom of the first!
Ace versus ace—both sides are already on fire.
“Tch.”
“That curve has a nasty break.”
One and two grounded out. Number three, senior Kazuma, struck out. The opposing pitcher’s stuff looked sharp. An ace who had reached the West Tokyo final always had his own way of owning a game day.
Of course.
I had no intention of playing along.
I took the mound again in the top of the second.
“Number four batter, third baseman, Shibata.”
Soun’s cleanup hitter Shibata Tomoya steps in for his first at-bat of the day!
He leads the West Tokyo tournament in game-winning RBI. Can he answer in the final as well?
I locked onto senior Matsuda’s mitt. Regardless of who was pitching for them, I was only going to play my own baseball.
Might as well, then.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
First pitch—fastball again!
I wasn’t just shutting them down; I was crushing them. I wanted their pitcher thinking that even a single run would end it.
Thwack—!
“Strike three!”
Splitter! Strikeout!
Incredible.
Four consecutive strikeouts for Hongo Yukihisa!
Two-and-two, splitter. It dropped cleanly and spun their cleanup hitter around.
Thwack—!
“Strike three!”
Thwack—!
“Strike three!”
Outside breaking ball! K! K! K! Soun High still can’t touch Hongo’s pitches in the second!
It’s overwhelming. Going back out to pitch after this has to feel heavy.
Good.
My condition today was clearly fine. If anything, the feel of the seams catching my fingers was better than it had been in the complete-game quarterfinal.
In that case.
All that remained was the first run.
Bottom of the second. I would be batting as well.
“Number four batter, catcher, Matsuda.”
“Crush it, Matsuda!”
“Seisho’s cleanup!”
Senior Matsuda stepped in. A baserunner here would be ideal.
Seisho’s number four, Matsuda Masahiro, steps in for his first look!
Evaluated as national-level since last year—can he lead his school to Koshien?
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
Thwack—!
“Ball!”
“······”
I watched the duel calmly. Senior Matsuda’s at-bat turned into a fierce battle of wits.
Thwack—!
“Ball!”
Outside—ball! Full count!
Wow, that was a beautiful chase pitch even if it missed. The hitter did well to lay off.
Against a righty he kept nipping the outer edge by half a ball, then mixed in one inside fastball. Sharp pitching. And their catcher was sequencing him well.
He’s good. No question.
How will this battle end?!
Huge at-bat for both sides.
Ootsuka delivered.
Outside!
Thwack—!
“······Strike three!”
Called strike three on the outer edge!
“No!”
“You’re kidding!”
“How is that—”
That was out, wasn’t it?
A low pitch on the outer half. It looked half a ball off, yet the umpire called it a strike. Senior Matsuda didn’t argue; he simply walked back to the bench.
That was a pure heart-of-the-pitch. Matsuda never even flinched.
Not good.
If that had been a ball, it would have brought up Sanada—who could really hit—and put serious pressure on their pitcher.
“Number five batter, right fielder, Sanada.”
The next man is no picnic either. Sanada steps in!
I moved into the on-deck circle and watched the first pitch.
Crack—!
He went with the pitch!
Sanada took an outside pitch the other way and squared it up cleanly.
This ball is—!
Ah—!
“Huh?”
The line drive looked like it would drop, but the left fielder dove.
Caught it—diving catch!
Wow, that ball!
All-out defense from Kiryu Takehisa! He just lightened his ace’s load!
This is why Soun High reached the final—they prove it with their gloves.
Their left fielder rose with the ball in his glove, grinning. Dirt was ground deep into the front of his uniform.
“Number six batter, pitcher, Hongo.”
The man carrying Seisho’s mound, Hongo Yukihisa, steps to the plate!
Can he show the same overwhelming force with the bat that he does on the mound?
He was a good left-handed pitcher. If I tried to turn every pitch into a hit, I would only make it harder on myself.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
Thwack—!
“Ball!”
Outside fastball. Then a changeup down and away.
“Hmm.”
I decided: anything inside, I was swinging no matter what. Outside, I would let it go.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
Outside breaking ball! One ball, two strikes!
That curve is really sharp.
Outside again. I never even considered swinging. Changeup? Fastball? If it left the zone I was probably going to strike out looking. But I wasn’t exactly a high-contact hitter anyway. If I went down swinging, so be it.
Advantage count—what will the battery choose?
Looks like another chase pitch to me.
The pitcher set. I settled into my stance and measured the timing.
Huh?
What was this pitch? It wasn’t outside, so I turned on it with everything I had.
Crack—!
He pulled it! Left-field wall!
Ohhhhh!
“Waaaaaaaaah!”
“······”
I started to smile, then stopped myself. Instead I flipped the bat. No need to rush to first. I took my time.
Luck seemed to be on my side a little today.
It sticks in the very top of the left-field wall—leadoff solo home run! Hongo Yukihisa!