Chapter 487: Battle Against Seiko — His Presence
He crouched down.
The mitt was set.
In the moment when all eyes were on the field—when Seiko High was preparing their next strategy—when two pitchers were already warming up in the left field bullpen—
At home plate stood the core of Seidou's defense.
The brain of the team.
The captain.
The catcher—Miyuki Kazuya.
He had crouched behind the plate.
That mitt, firmly in position.
That calm, unwavering expression.
In an instant, the entire stadium's atmosphere reached a new peak.
"He crouched! He's calling for the pitch!"
"A showdown? Are they really going to face him here? A clash of brute force versus raw power?"
"No way—are they seriously not switching pitchers?! Is this what they call the pride of a king?!"
"No… it's not arrogance. Seidou's bench believes in their pitcher. That's why."
"A heart forged through countless trials."
"Even with just a one-run lead, they're not calling in the ace. Seidou… Seidou is something else."
"Damn, my adrenaline's about to explode!"
The stadium erupted. The stands surged with heat and noise.
Even over on the third base side—inside Seiko's dugout—players stared in disbelief.
"If that's how it is... then crush him, Nagata."
Coach Oga, usually so mild, now wore a twisted, ferocious grin.
"Oh!"
A terrifying, suffocating pressure filled the air.
Nagata's bat swung with a violent whoosh, crackling with tension.
At that moment—the energy atop the pitcher's mound surged to match it.
Seidou's power pitcher—
Furuya Satoru felt that burning sensation welling up from deep within.
That feeling of being trusted.
Was it fear?
Unease?
No.
It was excitement.
Pure, unstoppable adrenaline.
I'm not pitching just for myself.
I'm pitching for my team—for the glory of the kings.
A sharp light flashed in Furuya's eyes.
Just then—the voice of the home plate umpire rang out, loud and clear.
"Let's go, Furuya!"
"Attack, attack, attack!"
"Nagata, crush it!"
"Furuya, take this guy down!"
"You've got this, Furuya!"
"Nagata, hit it big!"
"Seidou! Seidou! Seidou!"
First pitch—vertical slider.
Miyuki swiftly gave the sign, sharp and decisive.
On the mound, body and mind in sync—
Furuya swung his arm with all his might.
"Whoosh!"
The light danced across his fingertips—then exploded forward.
A razor-sharp gleam.
"Swish!"
A black streak trailed through the sky.
A chilling aura rode the pitch.
"Ping!"
A sharp, grating sound split the air.
The ball and bat met with vicious force.
"Whoosh!"
"Bang!"
Just as Kanemaru began to react—the ball shot past him, slamming into the ground, skimming just past his right side.
"Foul!"
A look of shock spread across Kanemaru's face.
That was… faster than before.
He couldn't help but gulp.
"That's almost as fast as Chris-senpai's swing speed…"
The memory of standing near Chris's monstrous batting power flashed through his mind.
Second pitch—outside fastball.
Miyuki's brain kicked into high gear.
Every pitch.
Every trajectory.
Every possibility—
he had to weigh them all before deciding.
"Whoosh!"
That burst of light from the pitcher's hand—
was the result of trust between pitcher and catcher.
"Swish!"
"Pop!"
"Strike!!"
A perfect pitch.
It erased the batter's momentum and raised the pitcher's morale.
That was the catcher's role.
And the pitcher's job—to trust and execute.
"Whoosh!"
"Ping!"
"Bang!"
"Foul ball!"
The power struggle intensified.
Pitch and bat, locked in a fierce battle.
Nagata unleashed every ounce of his strength this at-bat.
Each swing pushed Furuya to his limit—he could barely keep up.
But—
Furuya gritted his teeth.
His goal was watching him from behind the plate.
His teammates were watching him with eyes full of trust.
He—
He couldn't let them down.
"Boom!"
A rising energy surged from the mound.
His left leg drove forward.
Dust scattered around his feet.
A dazzling, unstoppable force burst forth.
And in the very next moment—Seidou's power pitcher revealed his strength.
"Whoosh!"
A piercing streak of light—right here.
Right now.
Shot forward—carrying the will of the pitcher
toward home plate, toward Miyuki's waiting mitt.
This pitch—Furuya was determined to win it.
To chase the summit.
"Swish!"
The last light before dusk—that dark streak tearing across the sky.
Darkness was coming.
"Ping!"
A pitch thrown with pure resolve.
A pitch delivered with every last ounce of strength.
It met with a terrifying swing—but was stopped.
A thunderous sound erupted across the stadium.
On the mound—Furuya's bloodshot eyes cleared in an instant.
"Whoosh!"
A flash of white lit up home plate—and streaked across the sky.
The ball drew a sharp arc, soaring toward the outfield.
Behind the plate, Miyuki shot to his feet, eyes wide in utter shock.
"A thunderous hit! Seiko's cleanup hitter Nagata with a monster swing! Seidou's power pitcher Furuya's decisive pitch—completely read and crushed by Nagata! Is this the one? Will this be the go-ahead hit for Seiko?!"
The stadium erupted in noise.
In the commentary box, the announcer's voice rose to a fever pitch.
"OOOOHHHHHHH!!!!"
The entire stadium roared to life.
Every single spectator craned their neck, watching that unstoppable baseball streaking toward the left-center field gap.
An ocean of emotion—all frozen in this moment.
Expressions of shock, awe, fear, and anticipation filled the stands.
Seidou's strongest pitch—perfectly countered by Seiko's cleanup slugger.
That gleaming streak rocketing through the sky…
No one in that moment doubted that this would be the crushing blow.
And yet—that thought lasted barely a second.
Because—a figure streaked across everyone's vision—
a blur of blue and white light.
When that silhouette emerged—where blue and white lines wove together like fate—everyone gasped aloud again.
It was Seidou's final line of defense.
In left field—Sawamura Eijun was charging hard, closing the distance on the falling white streak above him.
Ball and player raced neck and neck.
The stadium held its breath.
"Swish!"
The ball began its descent.
That height.
That angle.
In Sawamura's golden-hued eyes, a glint of fierce resolve blazed.
He calculated the distance and timing precisely.
As he neared the wall—he leapt.
His right foot planted against the fence.
And in that instant—his gloved hand reached up once more.
That radiant figure of blue and white soared.
A glove stretched toward the falling light.
"Pop!"
A crisp, unmistakable sound echoed across the stadium.
All eyes were locked on the outfield.
There—rising above the green grass—stood a single figure, left arm raised, glove high— Sawamura Eijun, the Ace of Seidou—had caught it.
The cleanup hitter's deadly shot.
Intercepted by the Ace.
A perfect wall-climbing catch.
His presence—once again, became the center of the entire baseball world.
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