Master of West Tokyo (2)
[With two outs, Hongo swings without a moment’s hesitation! Seisho’s starting pitcher records the first home run of the game.]
[What tremendous power!]
“Waaaaaah!”
“It went over!”
“Hongo did it!”
Meiji Jingu Baseball Stadium, host of the West Tokyo preliminary finals for Koshien, seemed ready to collapse under the roar that greeted Hongo Yukihisa’s home run. Seisho’s starting pitcher and sixth batter had just put the first run on the board.
Changeup. A complete miss.
Yukihisa thought as he rounded the bases. If that pitch had dropped the way it was supposed to, it would have been a sure strikeout. Luck was riding with him today.
“Insane! Absolutely insane!”
“Hongo-senpai’s completely possessed today.”
“How does a ball even fly that high?”
Everyone cheering for Seisho’s baseball team was chanting Hongo’s name in unison. In this stadium, even if you couldn’t speak a word of Japanese, knowing just two words—Hongo and Yukihisa—made you a local.
“Hongo-kun really does keep surprising us.”
“Ah… huh?”
Seisho’s manager Nagasawa Haruka stood with her mouth hanging open. Third-year manager Fukada Riko waved a hand in front of her eyes.
“You okay?”
“I-I’m fine.”
“Good enough.”
Riko grinned.
“·····”
Amazing, Hongo-kun.
Haruka was beyond words. His pitching numbers alone already made him a monster. Now he was hitting home runs from the batter’s box too.
“We can win. We’re going to Koshien.”
“Hm?”
Haruka’s voice carried a quiet swell of emotion. The talent of the Seisho players who had joined after Yukihisa arrived, and all the sweat they had poured out until now—no matter how she looked at it, Seisho was going to crush their opponent today and head to Koshien.
“Stating the obvious.”
Riko laughed. She believed in the players every bit as much as Haruka did. She had watched the third-years—the core of this team’s strength—work since their first year.
[Hongo touches home.]
[Completely calm about it.]
[The ace’s bat has exploded! Hongo seems to be saying today’s final is his stage.]
“Wooooah!”
“Hongo!”
“You cocky bastard!”
Yukihisa returned to the bench under a storm of cheers from his teammates.
“Beautiful swing.”
“Thank you.”
The first thing he did was exchange a fist bump with the coach.
“Seventh batter, left fielder, Inoue.”
“·····”
Bottom of the second, two outs.
Soun High’s pitcher Ootsuka Goro still looked unbroken. Even after giving up a home run, even while the pitcher he was facing was racking up six consecutive strikeouts, a baseball game kept going.
Thwack!
“Strikeout!”
[Swinging strikeout! Ootsuka ends the inning.]
Inoue’s big empty swing closed the frame. Ootsuka’s curve was dropping perfectly today.
Crack!
[Pulled contact!]
A weak grounder headed toward second baseman Minamino Shintaro.
“Out!”
[Out at first! Hongo still hasn’t allowed a baserunner in the third!]
Minamino threw cleanly to first and the inning was over. Through three, they had held the other side scoreless.
[Soun High! If they can’t solve that pitcher, they don’t go to Koshien.]
[But—hahahaha—his velocity hasn’t dropped at all, his command is still sharp… aaah, what a tough assignment.]
“Nice curve.”
“Yes.”
I answered Matsuda-senpai and headed for the bench.
Still fine for now.
We were shutting them out. The content of the pitching was excellent. But baseball never tells you the ending until the last out.
I wanted to swagger in front of my teammates and say one run was enough, but I knew too well how many variables this sport carried.
We need insurance runs.
“Eighth batter, first baseman, Okada.”
Okada-senpai, our defensive wizard at first, stepped in.
Crack!
“Aaah!”
“Damn.”
[He fouls off the first pitch—this ball is!]
“Out!”
[Shortstop handles it. One out!]
[Even after giving up the home run, Ootsuka is holding up well against Seisho’s powerful lineup.]
Okada-senpai had nicked a first-pitch slider for the first out.
No question.
That pitcher’s ball had a dirty finish. From a hitter’s perspective, it was the kind of stuff that produced ground balls. He clearly knew that strength and had built himself around inducing them.
“·····”
Right. For three years you polish whatever weapon you have, survive the internal competition, then fight for your school. Because the window for results is so short, everyone carries something that is purely their own. The target is the same for all of them—Koshien, and beyond that, the national title.
But the same was true for me, and for my teammates. In this fight where everyone compared the sweat they had poured into high school baseball, we were going to win.
“Leadoff batter, shortstop, Shirakawa.”
Ninth batter Aizawa Junya-senpai also grounded out. With two outs, Shirakawa Satoru-senpai came up.
[Leadoff hitter Shirakawa steps in.]
[Seisho’s lineup has turned over once. And Shirakawa is a contact hitter of the highest order.]
If Shirakawa-senpai got on, things would get a lot more comfortable.
Thwack!
“Ball!”
Thwack!
“Ball!”
[Two straight balls! The hitter takes a favorable count.]
[Outside pitch, and he laid off it cleanly.]
“Good eye, Shirakawa!”
“That’s our Shirakawa-senpai!”
Passionate cheers rose from the bench. Shirakawa-senpai himself looked locked in.
Crack!
[He hits it! Single dropping in front of the center fielder!]
Shirakawa-senpai’s single to center. He took an inside pitch with the grain of the bat and punched it into center field.
As expected, incredible.
Even watching it, Shirakawa-senpai’s swing was clean enough to feel refreshing.
“Second batter, second baseman, Minamino.”
[Seisho’s second hitter, Minamino Shintaro! A dangerous runner and a tough hitter for Ootsuka to face.]
[Even with two outs, Minamino is excellent at situational hitting. He can create real synergy with Shirakawa’s baserunning.]
“Safe!”
The pitcher threw over to first. Shirakawa-senpai’s stolen-base threat had to be eating at him.
[Ootsuka’s pickoff move is pretty sharp, isn’t it?]
[Yes—the runner on first has to stay careful.]
“·····”
Minamino’s bat was good too. If he could somehow manufacture a hit, next up was Kazuma Junpei-senpai. With Kazuma-senpai you could expect results; getting someone on here would be ideal.
“Hm?”
I watched the pitcher fire another pickoff to first.
[Aaaah!]
[At first!]
“Out!”
[He’s out! Inning over on a pickoff of first-base runner Shirakawa!]
A lightning pickoff from the pitcher. The moment I saw the runner get caught in reverse motion, I knew he was dead.
“Uwaaaaaah!”
“Huh?”
Shirakawa-senpai came back to the bench, pulled off his helmet, and suddenly roared at the ground. When he lifted his head, the veins in his neck and the crease in his forehead flashed for an instant.
“Huuu… sorry, everyone.”
“Uh? Y-yeah.”
“It’s fine.”
Shirakawa-senpai apologized with a smile. I had seen him take a deep breath just now. That scream had been pure anger at himself.
“In a game with Koshien on the line, I can’t do that. All right—let’s go play defense.”
Shirakawa-senpai said it flatly.
“·····”
No matter how many times you said it, you couldn’t overstate how important today’s game was. If the third-years lost today, they would retire without ever seeing Koshien.
Thwack!
“Strikeout!”
[Swinging strikeout! Splitter again!]
[When it drops from that height, the hitter’s bat has no choice but to come out.]
“Third batter, pitcher, Ootsuka.”
[Ace Ootsuka steps in.]
[Soun High still hasn’t had a single baserunner.]
Top of the fourth, two outs.
I had managed to face their cleanup with the bases empty. I was confident I could beat any hitter from that school, but if a variable was going to appear, it would almost certainly come from the relatively stacked cleanup.
“·····”
And besides—
Thwack!
“Strike!”
[Outside, 154 km/h!]
[Facing another pitcher—does that light an even hotter fire?]
The feeling of crushing the pitcher you were matching up against. It never got old.
Thwack!
“Strike!”
[Swing and a miss! The high fastball makes the bat spin empty.]
[Against Ootsuka today, Hongo’s only been throwing fastballs, hasn’t he? Hahahaha—pride fight.]
“·····”
I looked at the mitt location and smiled.
Got it. I got it.
I stepped on the rubber and swung my arm hard. I had practiced it countless times, so I could reproduce it perfectly in a real game.
Thwack!
[Dropping ball, strikeout! Hongo turns the opposing ace around again!]
[Today’s splitter is pure art.]
[Still no baserunners allowed in the top of the fourth! Soun’s worries only deepen.]
Scoreless again in the fourth. But still only a one-run lead.
This inning started with the second batter. We needed to score.
“Second batter, second baseman, Minamino.”
[Leadoff hitter Minamino!]
[Looking at Hongo’s condition today, any additional runs could be a disaster for Soun High.]
[The enormous burden on Soun’s ace Ootsuka Goro—but the man who can overcome that is the one who goes to Koshien.]
Crack!
[Pulled contact—shortstop fields it and throws to first!]
“Out!”
[Out at first! After a full-count battle, Ootsuka induces the grounder.]
“Close.”
“Damn.”
Minamino had forced an outside changeup and pulled it for the first out. It probably would have been a ball if he had laid off, but it had been a good changeup.
Crack!
[Pushed contact! Clean single in front of the right fielder!]
“Yes!”
“Nice batting!”
Third batter Kazuma-senpai singled and reached base.
Then—
“Fourth batter, catcher, Matsuda.”
“Waaaaaah!”
[Seisho’s fans erupt. Fourth batter Matsuda Masahiro!]
[Crisis returns for Ootsuka.]
Matsuda-senpai, the man carrying the cleanup. He had struck out in their first matchup, but he had clearly been seeing the pitcher’s stuff well.
Thwack!
“Ball!”
[And it becomes a ball—straight walk! One out, runners on first and second.]
[Heh heh heh… now this is interesting.]
Intentional walk? No way.
No pitcher actually wanted to put runners on first and second with one out. He had simply been too conscious of Matsuda-senpai and ended up there.
I could see the pitcher wiping sweat. Japanese summers were hell, but that wasn’t the only reason. Extreme concentration burned through stamina at a terrifying rate. And for an ace who had carried his team all the way to the West Tokyo final, the fatigue piled into his body had to be enormous.
Even I, who had only started consecutive pitching after the quarterfinals, was feeling a little of it. I had heard that pitcher had thrown more than twice my pitch count just to get here.
“Huu.”
I headed for the on-deck circle.
“Fifth batter, right fielder, Sanada.”
[One out, runners on first and second—Seisho’s pride, the second-year genius hitter Sanada Atsushi!]
[A hitter who can crush any pitch. Soun High’s battery has to be careful.]
Crack!
[He hits it!]
“Tch.”
Contact after a full count. But the sound of the bat was not good.
[Left fielder makes the catch. Two outs!]
[Ootsuka! That was truly outstanding pitching.]
In the end, the pitcher who had risked the walk and refused to give a good pitch won that battle. Was that the right way to put it? Either way, it was frustrating.
Then—
It was my bat’s turn to produce the insurance run.
Thwack!
“Strikeout!”
[Swinging strikeout! Ootsuka escapes the jam!]
[A bold inside challenge to the hitter who already homered off him! That’s Soun’s ace for you!]
An inside fastball here. I had been ready to swing if it came inside, and still I missed.
He had thrown more than twenty pitches this inning. Was he still not tired?
“Fourth batter, third baseman, Shibata.”
[Leading off the top of the fifth for Soun High—cleanup hitter Shibata!]
“·····”
He’s glaring hard.
I felt the opposing hitter’s eyes locked on me. I understood the feeling. Their ace was hanging in there, so they wanted to do something—anything. Getting no-hit had to feel humiliating.
But—
[The pitcher delivers!]
We were competitors. There was no reason to go easy.
Thwack!
“Strike!”
Thwack!
“Strike!”
Thwack!
“Ball!”
“Hmm·····”
[He lays off that one!]
A dropping splitter. It had been a good pitch, but the hitter’s bat never came out.
Matsuda-senpai stood and showed the mitt.
[The catcher is standing.]
[Looks like a high fastball.]
I threw with everything I had.
Crack!
“Huh?”
[He pulls it—single dropping in front of the right fielder!]
[Woooah!]
[Soun’s cleanup Shibata Tomoya smokes a 154 km/h fastball! First hit and first baserunner of the game for Soun High!]
“·····”
Like I was ever thinking about a perfect game.
Still, from a pitcher’s standpoint, giving up a hit always felt filthy. Did you have to get numb to this kind of experience to grow further? It really was hard.
“Fifth batter, left fielder, Kiryu.”
“Crush it, Kiryu!”
“We can win!”
“Destroy them!”
[With a runner on first and nobody out, Kiryu Takehisa steps in!]
[This is a chance for Soun High! They have to tie it in the fifth!]
“·····”
Getting cocky just because they got a runner on? Noisy.
Thwack!
“Strike!”
[First-pitch fastball! 155 km/h!]
[The velocity still hasn’t dropped.]
I threw the second pitch.
Crack!
Ground ball.
The hitter failed to square up the inside fastball. Grounder.
“Ah!”
But the direction was terrible—a perfect shot between third and short.
[Uh-oh, the ball’s headed—]
“Hm?”
Shirakawa-senpai chased it all the way, snared the ball, and threw from mid-air.
“Out!”
[He’s out!]
[Uwaaah!]
“Waaaaaah!”
[Seisho shortstop Shirakawa Satoru! Unbelievable defense!]
“·····”
I took off my cap and tipped it toward shortstop. I saw Shirakawa-senpai clench his fist hard.
[The captain’s defense backs up the ace—but the batter-runner advances to second! One out, runner on second!]
[Still, aaah—from Soun’s perspective they wanted first and second with nobody out.]
A heart-stopping moment. But I had received help from the fielders.
Crack!
“Hm?”
[He takes the first pitch, but aaah—]
I threw a first-pitch curve to the next hitter, and he squared it up cleanly. But the hard-hit ball was smothered by third baseman Kazuma Junpei-senpai with his body; he picked up the ball in front of him and threw to first.
“Out!”
[Ball hit right at the third baseman. Out at first!]
[Even if he hadn’t caught it, that would have been a smash single—great stop.]
[Seisho’s infield is a fortress.]
“Huu·····”
Ugly.
Without the seniors’ help this inning, it would have been at least bases loaded with nobody out, wouldn’t it? I still had a long way to go.
Thwack!
“Strikeout!”
[Inside curve draws the swing—swinging strikeout!]
[This inning, Seisho’s resilience was tremendous.]
[A battle worthy of the West Tokyo final. Now we head to the bottom of the fifth!]
Bottom of the fifth followed.
Crack!
[He hits it!]
“Oh!”
With one out and a runner on second, ninth batter Aizawa Junya-senpai smoked a line drive.
“Uwaaah!”
“That—!”
“Out!”
[Out at second too! Double play!]
[Wow, it ends up like this.]
“·····”
Not my lucky day, is it?
I had been certain it was a timely hit for an insurance run—a line drive toward second. But it went straight at the fielder and even took out Okada Shugo-senpai, who had doubled earlier.
[Seisho still can’t add on. The top of the sixth will be critical.]
[Soun High—ace Ootsuka keeps giving up solid contact. They have to score in the sixth.]
[The thick wall of Seisho that Hongo is holding up. Can Soun break through?!]
Thwack!
“Strikeout!”
Thwack!
“Strikeout!”
Thwack!
“Strikeout!”
[Swinging strikeout! Hongo Yukihisa turns all three hitters around this inning!]
[Chilling pitching.]
Nice.
The slider and curve were both landing well; no baserunners this inning either.
“Nice pitching, Hongo!”
“Huu·····”
“Hongo-senpai, here.”
“Yeah.”
Back on the bench, I took the drink first-year catcher Yamada Tetsuya handed me and drank.
“Leadoff batter, shortstop, Shirakawa.”
[Seisho’s offense in the bottom of the sixth starts from the top of the order!]
[Ootsuka Goro—pitch count climbing, solid-contact rate climbing.]
[An ace wringing out everything he has left. Will it work again this inning?!]
The hitters were definitely making contact with the opposing pitcher’s stuff. It was about time for runs to come.
Thwack!
“Ball!”
Crack!
“Foul!”
[Foul again!]
[Aaah, so tenacious!]
Shirakawa-senpai, leading off, choked up on the bat and waged a stubborn battle.
Thwack!
“Ball!”
[Walk here! Shirakawa draws the free pass on the twelfth pitch of the at-bat!]
[From the pitcher’s perspective, this is brutal!]
Good.
Wear the pitcher down and get the leadoff man on. Perfect result.
Tap!
“Out!”
[Out at first! Clean bunt from Minamino!]
[Seisho’s Coach Maeda understands the importance of insurance runs.]
Second batter Minamino’s successful bunt put a runner on second with one out.
“Third batter, third baseman, Kazuma.”
[In the clutch, Seisho’s cleanup arrives!]
The opposing pitcher was visibly exhausted. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, he couldn’t.
All that remained was to cut off his air.
[First pitch!]
Crack!
[Pushed contact!]
Yes!
One hundred percent hit probability.
[Single dropping in front of the right fielder!]
[And now—!]
[The runner—aaah, he stops at third.]
“Close!”
“Nice job, Kazuma!”
A hard-hit ball that reached the right fielder so quickly that even the speedy Shirakawa-senpai couldn’t score.
[I thought he was going to come home, heh heh heh.]
[But the hitter stepping in now is—!]
“Fourth batter, catcher, Matsuda.”
[Seisho’s cleanup, Matsuda Masahiro!]
“Matsuda-senpai!”
“Go get ’em!”
“Matsuda!”
I believed runs were coming this inning.
Thwack!
“Ball!”
Thwack!
“Strike!”
[Strike! Ootsuka refuses to issue a straight walk.]
[But now it’s a hitter’s count.]
Matsuda-senpai in the box. Maybe it was my imagination, but even in a clutch situation he looked almost relaxed.
[Here comes the pitch!]
Crack!
[He hits it!]
I clenched my fist hard.
[Single dropping in front of the center fielder!]
“Waaaaaaaaah!”
[Third-base runner Shirakawa scores! Matsuda’s RBI single!]
[As expected, outstanding.]
[In the end, the insurance run comes from the cleanup hitter—and from the bat of the catcher who has been leading this monstrous pitcher!]
“Yes!”
“We did it!”
The bench reacted as if teaching the world how important insurance runs were. From the stands came a roar that felt ready to flip the stadium upside down.
And the opposing pitcher was pouring sweat. Even the fielders on defense couldn’t hide their frustration.
“Fifth batter, right fielder, Sanada.”
[One out, runners on first and second. The chance continues—Seisho’s fifth hitter Sanada!]
[Seisho is never going to be satisfied with just one more run.]
I went to the on-deck circle and watched the duel between hitter and pitcher.
Slow and steady would be fine.
The opposing pitcher was almost on the ropes. A one-punch KO would be nice, but right now, slowly strangling him to death would work just as well.
[First pitch!]
Crack!
“Oh!”
I snapped my eyes to the flight of the ball.
[A bullet of a line drive screaming toward right!]
The opposing right fielder sprinted like a hundred-meter specialist, desperate. He stretched for the sharply carrying ball, lost his footing, and still reached out with his hand.
Clench.
I tightened my fist.
[The right fielder’s glove doesn’t reach it—extra-base territory!]
[And now—!]
[Runner from second scores! Runner from first scores too! The batter races all the way to third!]
The right fielder’s attempt had been pure greed. It hadn’t decided the game by itself, of course—but the stands split cleanly into festival and funeral. The pitcher dropped his head. The right fielder who had still stretched to the last possible inch collapsed onto the grass and pounded the ground.
This game—
I could feel it had completely tipped.