Proof of Skill (3)
Thwack! Thwack!
Date Yoshinori-senpai, catching, pounded his mitt while looking my way.
It felt like praise for the strikeout I'd just thrown.
"Hmm."
If it's this good...
That last splitter had gone in cleanly for sure. Because the batter had swung at the second-pitch high fastball, the drop on the splitter must have looked even bigger.
It still wasn't perfect, though. Moving forward remained the real task, but for today I first had to shut down Seisho's regular batting order.
(It's ridiculous from the start. Nobody actually thinks they can beat the regulars. They're just watching to see how it goes.)
Bullshit.
No matter who the opponent is, if you have to fight, you go in determined to win. The world is ultimately a fight of taking and being taken from. Hesitate, and the other side takes more from you.
"..."
The second batter, Minamino Shintaro, stepped into the box. Similar build to Shirakawa-senpai, who'd hit first, but if you had to rank their hitting ability he was closer to a lesser version. His real strength was second-base defense rather than the bat. Japan tended to slot hitters skilled at executing plays into the two-hole, which was why he sat so high in the order.
In that case...
With no runners on, he wasn't hard to handle right now.
Pop—!
"Strike!"
I threw the fastball inside exactly as Date-senpai called for. Back during bullpen sessions he'd said I threw well to the inner half, and sure enough he was asking for that side a lot even in a real game.
Minamino stepped out briefly, then settled back in. He was gripping the bat shorter than before. This time the mitt set up outside. I looked at it and threw.
Crack—!
"Foul!"
The result was a foul ball. With two strikes already, the count had swung heavily in my favor. I had no intention of giving him much time to think.
Pop—!
Another dropping splitter. Minamino's bat came around, and the ball was already under it.
"Strikeout!"
Two consecutive strikeouts.
"Hoo."
The next batter came up and I took one deep breath.
If I can get past this...
The score right now was 8–0 in the top of the fourth. Hopelessly one-sided, you could say. But what would happen if I completely shut down the regulars' one-, two-, and three-hole hitters? Our own lineup was being held down by their pitcher too, yet these were still members of a traditional baseball powerhouse. They had the skill to put runs on the board.
Pop—!
"Strike!"
I drove a hard fastball inside. It might have ridden a touch high, but it was more than enough to get the batter's bat moving.
Standing in the box now was third-year and vice-captain Kazuma Junpei-senpai. Starting third baseman, good enough to hit third—that was skill enough—but more than anything he was known throughout the team for practicing harder and taking baseball more seriously than anyone else.
Against a right-handed batter...
Fastball and splitter were fine, but you couldn't leave the slider out of the mix against a same-handed hitter.
Pop—!
"Strike!"
Of course the first pitch was still a fastball. Kazuma-senpai's bat came out, but he couldn't catch up to my pitch. I kept firing without hesitation after that.
Pop—!
"Strike!"
Another consecutive swing-and-miss.
"..."
Hmm.
Date-senpai dropped to one knee and set the mitt on the ground. That meant he wanted the splitter as the put-away pitch. Not a bad idea. The splitter was working well, and if I could induce another empty swing here it would be nine pitches, three strikeouts—a perfect inning. Perfect for flipping the momentum our way.
I gripped the ball between middle and index fingers and drove it down like I was stamping it into the dirt.
Crack—!
"Huh?"
The dropping splitter. But Kazuma-senpai, even with his balance collapsing, swung all the way through and managed to cut it foul.
Close.
I covered my face with my glove so the expression wouldn't show. As expected of a regular cleanup hitter. Still, my splitter should have dropped a little more.
Nothing for it.
I threw the ball outside exactly where Date-senpai wanted it.
Pop—!
"Strikeout!"
"Wooooaaaah!"
"..."
A slider that broke away to the outer half. The batter's bat came out, and the moment the tension eased a little the cheers from the White Team bench reached me clearly. After ten pitches I walked slowly down off the mound.
"Nice ball!"
"Thank you."
I answered Date-senpai as he clapped my shoulder.
"This is something else."
"Even Kazuma-senpai?"
On the Blue Team bench—the elite among Seisho's twenty regulars—shortstop Shirakawa Satoru and second baseman Minamino Shintaro spoke up. They were winning by an overwhelming 8–0, yet the opposing pitcher's ridiculous performance in the fourth was enough to make them forget the score for a moment.
"Hoo."
Kazuma Junpei, who had swung and missed three times on four pitches, came back into the dugout.
"How was it?"
Satoru asked Junpei, who still looked a little shell-shocked.
"What was the fastball velocity?"
"One-forty-eight."
"That's all?"
Before answering Satoru, Junpei had asked the second-year who was tracking the gun. The unexpected number surprised him.
"Same reaction as me."
"Yeah..."
Junpei nodded.
"It feels faster than the number. And it has this rising quality that makes it even tougher."
"When a fastball like that is coming and then a big-drop splitter falls off, you just can't adjust."
Junpei and Shintaro each added a line.
"And that last slider—did Hongo always have a slider in his arsenal?"
"Not that I remember."
"The slider's high-level too. Comes in looking like a fastball and then breaks."
"Well, damn."
At Junpei's words Satoru let out a dry laugh.
"A powerful fastball base plus breaking balls that can attack both vertically and horizontally?"
"He's basically a finished pitcher."
"How long has he even been back?"
"Not a comeback—he's evolved further."
"Did he go off on some special training regimen in the meantime?"
"No way."
The Blue Team bench grew noisy at the terrifying form of the prodigal son returned.
Pop—!
"Huh?"
Third-year right-hander Nakayama Junichi, who had taken the mound in place of Maejima Genta after three innings, was throwing his warm-ups. His fastball seemed to be coming in harder than usual.
Got stimulated, did he?
Satoru was certain Junichi had been affected by Yukihisa's pitching. From the perspective of a third-year who hadn't even been given the ace number, watching a second-year dominate on the mound—against regulars, no less—was bound to leave an impression.
"All right, everyone, let's get out there."
"Yeah."
The fielders grabbed their gloves and headed for the diamond. All of them shared the goal of reaching Koshien and then winning the national title, but competition could never be left out of the equation.
"Amazing! It's amazing, Fukada-senpai!"
"I know."
Nagasawa Haruka spoke with an excited face. Fukada Riko nodded, eyes a little wider than usual.
"To strike out all three of them..."
No, more than that.
Fukada still couldn't quite believe Hongo's pitching. The strikeouts were one thing, but across those ten pitches the bats had barely even made contact. Even Junpei's swing had been pure survival, just barely nicking one foul by sheer stubbornness.
Maybe...
Second-year Hongo Yukihisa's ability might be beyond anything she had imagined.
Pop—!
"Ball!"
The slider from Blue Team's Nakayama Junichi on the mound. It ran outside for a ball, and the batter reached base.
"Next batter is Hongo, huh."
Riko, who had been watching, spoke. Hongo stepped into the right-handed batter's box. He had been a monster on the mound—what would he look like at the plate? His height alone gave him a strange, imposing presence.
Crack—!
"Huh?"
A hard crack of the bat.
"Foul!"
But the sharp liner down the third-base line hooked foul.
"So close!"
"..."
A confident swing against Junichi, who was next in the pitching hierarchy after ace Maejima Genta. Solid contact. Riko confirmed that Yukihisa could hit as well.
Pop—!
"Ball!"
"Whoa!"
Haruka exclaimed in admiration. Yukihisa had drawn a walk.
Pop—!
"Strikeout!"
A batter's swing cut only air. Three outs were called. The White Team had scratched across two runs on a timely hit from a later batter, but they couldn't climb any further. Score: Blue Team 8, White Team 2.
"We should have closed the gap more."
"No."
"Huh?"
Haruka looked disappointed, but Riko shook her head in denial. Regardless of the current score, the flow of this game was clearly shifting.
Swish.
Top of the fifth.
Blue Team's cleanup hitter and catcher, Matsuda Masahiro, settled into his stance in the box.
Hongo.
The guy who had suddenly quit the baseball club, then spent his time generating nothing but bad rumors, and more recently had been brawling with first-year boys and girls. Even when Masahiro had chewed him out back then, the kid had shown zero competitive fire as a baseball player. Yet that same guy had returned and become far stronger. How exactly was he supposed to explain this phenomenon? Genius? Even that didn't fully cover it.
But...
Masahiro's eyes sharpened. This wasn't the time to dwell on it. Right now he had to attack the pitcher standing on the mound.
Set the zone as high as possible.
Masahiro decided to treat Yukihisa's fastball-plus-splitter combination as national-top-class. If he tried to cover low pitches as well, dealing with the splitter would become nearly impossible.
The first pitch came in.
Pop—!
"Strike!"
"..."
Inside?
A fastball on the inner half. Masahiro's bat never moved.
He can throw inside like that?
Half-hearted attempts at the inner half either hit the batter or floated over the middle and got crushed for extra bases. The ability to attack inside with real confidence was the mark of an outstanding pitcher.
Well, damn.
He might as well just treat the opposing pitcher himself as national-level.
Huh?
But the second pitch. Masahiro swung on pure instinct.
Crack—!
"Ah!"
Date Yoshinori, watching from behind the plate, flinched in surprise.
"...Damn."
The ball sailed just outside the left foul pole. A foul home run.
A miss?
Yukihisa on the mound showed no change of expression, but that slider had clearly come in flat and over the heart of the plate.
Tap-tap.
Masahiro tapped the dirt with his bat and reset. The pitch had gone foul, so it was just a blip. He erased it from his mind.
Yukihisa threw the third pitch.
Here it is!
The fastball he had been waiting for. The dreaded splitter never appeared with two strikes.
Pop—!
"Huh?"
"Strikeout!"
A high heater up in the zone. Masahiro's bat spun through empty air for a three-pitch strikeout.
"That good, huh?"
"Isn't he something? My hand's still stinging."
Backup catcher Yoshinori spoke to the impressed starting catcher Masahiro.
"How was that last pitch?"
"..."
As Masahiro headed back to the bench, fifth hitter Sanada Atsushi asked him.
"Go feel it for yourself."
"Huh?"
Atsushi asked again, but Masahiro simply kept walking. He was the type who didn't bother speaking when he had nothing to say.
Pop—!
"Ball!"
"..."
Blue Team's fifth hitter Sanada Atsushi flinched for an instant. The ball call made the count 2–2.
"Sanada's hanging in there after all."
"Yeah."
Nagasawa Haruka, who had thought it was a strike and felt a small letdown, kept cheering for the White Team that needed to prove itself.
Hongo-kun.
Hongo Yukihisa, who had already retired cleanup hitter Matsuda Masahiro, was still throwing ridiculous stuff, but Atsushi was a special-class hitter himself. He was the only one so far who had laid off Yukihisa's splitter without swinging.
"Fastball, you think?"
Fukada Riko beside her said. Yukihisa fired with the same fierce intensity as before.
"Huh?"
"Eh?"
Both managers felt something off about Yukihisa's delivery. As if time itself had stopped for a beat.
Pop—!
Yukihisa's pitch buried itself in the mitt.
"Strikeout!"
"What was that pitch just now?"
A pitch he hadn't shown before. A slow curve with a big break. Whether Atsushi had been looking for something else or not, he flinched at the curve and never got the bat off his shoulder.
"He's throwing a curve like that too?"
Riko beside her said, sounding almost exasperated. Just how high was this guy's level?
Pop—!
"Strikeout!"
Sixth hitter Inoue Kotaro swung through a splitter, then swung through a final fastball for a three-pitch strikeout.
"Six consecutive strikeouts! This is really something."
"..."
Overwhelming pitching. Yet Riko watched Yukihisa come down off the mound as if it were nothing special at all.
"All right, let's go!"
"Crush it!"
"Let's put some runs up!"
Voices rose from the White Team bench.
As expected, Hongo's performance has everyone...
The opposing pitcher had changed from Maejima Genta to Nakayama Junichi, but he was still no pushover. Even so, the atmosphere on the White Team had clearly shifted the moment Yukihisa took the mound.
Crack—!
"Ooooh!"
"Go!"
A huge drive off the bat of second-year Gojo Kaede.
"It's gone!"
"Woooaaah, Gojo!"
The result was a home run. The moment the White Team scored their third run.
"Out!"
"Nice, Hongo!"
"One out left!"
Top of the sixth. Blue Team 8, White Team 3. Eighth hitter, third-year Aizawa Junya, grounded out to the infield. Against the pitcher on the mound it had been a pure contact swing with no real chance of a hit. Hongo Yukihisa was still holding down the White Team's mound without relief. The next batter was pitcher Nakayama Junichi himself.
Damn it.
Junichi was frustrated. He had taken over the mound after Maejima Genta came out. But Genta had allowed zero runs while he himself had given up three. On top of that, the opposing pitcher Yukihisa was dominating the regulars. His pride had been completely shredded.
At this rate...
He might not even make the summer Koshien preliminary entry. If Genta recovered his form and Yukihisa's performance today wasn't a fluke, how many more pitchers would they really need? The twenty-man entry announcement was only a month away. If he got pushed behind even Enatsu Akira by then, his summer would be over. Of course a second-year like Akira had higher growth potential than him.
In that case...
His pitching today was a mess. So he at least had to show something with the bat.
Pop—!
Pop—!
Pop—!
"..."
Three-pitch strikeout. All splitters.
"Nakayama!"
"...Yes, Coach."
"What the hell was that emotional swinging?"
Coach Maeda Katsuyori, mask off, barked the rebuke. He couldn't stay silent after watching the disgraceful full swings at successive splitters.
"I'm sorry."
"You're taking the next inning too. Are you going to do the same thing on the mound?"
"No, sir."
Junichi bit his lip hard as he answered.
"He's scary... Coach really is."
"The preliminaries aren't far off now."
Even after becoming a second-year, Nagasawa Haruka still hadn't fully adjusted to Coach Maeda's strictness. She looked a little dejected.
"From one through nine, seven strikeouts. Not a single baserunner. This level..."
"..."
Fukada Riko spoke in open admiration. Haruka smiled.
Crack—!
"Huh?"
In the bottom of the sixth, Yukihisa stepped in and swung at the first pitch.
"Yes!"
A single that dropped in front of the left fielder. Haruka celebrated even louder than before.
"Nice batting, Hongo!"
"Hongo-senpai!"
"All right, let's score!"
"Hoshino! Drive him in!"
The White Team members praised the previous batter and encouraged the one about to step in.
"..."
Gulp.
This is...
Haruka swallowed dryly for a moment. A baseball maniac who had watched high school and pro games alike since childhood under her parents' influence, she felt a strange emotion right now. On the mound he overwhelmed opposing hitters, gave courage to his own team's hitters, and made the opposing pitcher restless. That was the true power of a pitcher called an ace. Wasn't the Yukihisa she was watching today exactly that figure?
Crack—!
"Huh?"
First-year Hoshino Daisuke, whose defense was a complete mess but whose batting in practice had already startled the upperclassmen, sent a ball soaring high and far.