After Sawamura returned home to Nagano, he flipped through Baseball Sports Magazine—and only then did he fully realize how terrifying the two players he had partnered with truly were.

The cover showed a striking photo: one in mid-pitch, the other crouched, ready to receive. Edited perfectly, it captured their best angles.

But the real weight lay in the article inside.

Zhou Hao, a once-in-a-century prodigy, had become Seidou's main pitcher almost overnight. Within just a handful of games, he seized the Ace title. His stats were staggering—barely a handful of hits allowed, not a single run surrendered. He was described as the "perfect pitcher."

Miyuki Kazuya, also a first-year rookie, had stepped up as catcher after the team's mainstay was injured. In Seidou's two most crucial games, Miyuki displayed not only sharp individual skill but also an uncanny ability to command the field. A catcher was the team's command tower—and even as a substitute, Miyuki had run things flawlessly.

Together, these two heralded a new era for Seidou. With them, the team's future was dazzling.

Of course, before this summer, Seidou had been hounded by critics: four years in a row without reaching Koshien. Their reputation was dimmed compared to other powerhouses.

But this year, not only had Seidou broken through, they were being tipped as one of the favorites to win it all.

For Sawamura to be scouted by such a team—even if it meant restrictions on his future role—was still an honor.

He holed up at home for days, unable to forget what he had seen with his own eyes.

No matter how much he and his childhood friends loved baseball, no matter how hard they trained, their efforts were amateur. Seidou's program was professional. The gap between them was like night and day.

If he truly wanted to pursue baseball seriously, there was only one path: Seidou.

Reality soon came knocking in the blunt words of a childhood friend:

"If you don't accept Seidou's invitation, with your grades, do you think you can even get into our school?"

It was cruel—but true.

In the end, Sawamura made his choice. He apologized to his friends. He couldn't keep their promise.

He would chase his dream. He would stand on the same field as Zhou Hao and Miyuki.

Meanwhile, back at Seidou, preparations for Koshien were in full swing.

On one side, the staff gathered intel on potential opponents. On the other, the players pushed themselves to improve. But with the team already highly developed, leaps forward were hard to come by.

Until Zhou Hao unveiled something new—a breaking ball. And not just any breaking ball, but one of elite quality.

Rather than discourage his teammates, it spurred them. They lived alongside him daily; instead of worshipping him as unreachable, they believed: If Zhou Hao can do it, maybe I can too.

Every player fought to polish himself further, though in truth, breakthroughs so close to the tournament were slim. Slowly, reality set in.

Still, morale was high.

Chris had also recovered from his injury. Though the doctor urged him to rest longer—his prior overtraining had left lingering damage—Chris couldn't possibly miss Koshien. Kataoka and Ota didn't push back. Instead, they planned to rotate Chris with Miyuki throughout the tournament.

Fortunately, Miyuki's rapport with Zhou Hao was strong, and he had built workable chemistry with Yoshida too.

August 3rd. Seidou's bus rolled out for Hyogo Prefecture.

The tournament wasn't for a few days yet, but Kataoka insisted they arrive early to adapt to the environment. The host wouldn't cover the costs—but Seidou wasn't strapped for money. For the sake of results, every advantage mattered.

The school principal and academic head gave full support, even promising to lead the cheer squad and hundreds of students once the tournament began.

A powerhouse school should carry itself like one. Not like those underfunded teams who, after finally reaching Koshien, worried more about travel expenses than baseball.

On the bus, chatter buzzed around the players.

"The rankings are out!" someone shouted, scrolling through a site tallying votes from netizens.

"There's even team strength ratings—look, Osaka Kiryu is the only S-ranked!"

The name alone stirred respect. Kiryu's reputation was legendary.

"This year their batting lineup is stacked, and both their Ace and relievers are excellent," another added. "Honestly, calling them championship favorites isn't an exaggeration."

"Seihou's tough too—they're ranked third, double-A level!"

In total, the poll showed: one S-ranked team, six A-ranked, and just two double-A. Seihou was one of the double-A.

"What about us?" someone finally asked.

"We're sixth. One of the six A-ranked teams."

The players nodded, satisfied.

Despite media hype, everyone knew Seidou had failed to reach Koshien in recent years. There was no way they'd be ranked top three.

Even Inashiro, who once dominated West Tokyo, was pegged only in the national top eight to sixteen range.

For Seidou to be listed as A-ranked at all was already generous.

"I just wonder what kind of opponents we'll get…" one muttered.

"That depends on the draw," another replied. "We'll know soon enough."

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