Diamond No Ace: The Strongest Hitter Has Arrived

Miyuki stepped into the batter's box humming to himself.

The mood behind it was genuine. He had been waiting for this specific configuration of circumstances for most of the afternoon, and now that it had arrived, the satisfaction of finding himself exactly where he had wanted to be was considerable.

Zhang Han, he suspected, would have traded places with him without hesitation. The previous at-bat with runners on had ended with Miyuki's hit pushing runners forward but not bringing anyone home, the defense holding just well enough to prevent the full damage. This was different. Bases loaded. Two outs. The game was tied. A hit of any kind, placed anywhere in fair territory, scored at minimum one run and potentially more depending on what the defense could recover.

And Sensen could not walk him.

That was the part that made the situation genuinely special. Ugai had constructed the entire inning around keeping first base available as an escape valve, the option that let him route around dangerous batters without paying a direct price. Walking Yuuki had been acceptable. Walking Zhang Han had been acceptable.

Walking Miyuki with the bases loaded handed Seido a run without requiring a single swing, and the gap between giving up one run on a walk and giving up potentially two or three on a hit was not large enough to make the walk the better option.

For the first time in the game, Miyuki was going to be faced.

The Sensen catcher read the expression on the batter in front of him and felt something tighten in his chest. Miyuki's face did not communicate agitation or visible excitement. What it communicated was the quiet certainty of a player who has already decided how a situation is going to resolve itself. That specific quality, the absence of doubt rather than the presence of confidence, was harder to pitch against than open aggression would have been.

The catcher pushed the feeling down and focused on his job.

Last time, the argument he made to himself was that Miyuki had been fortunate, that the pitch had been hittable in a way that a better-located version of it would not have been. This time, Maki would place it correctly, and the result would be different. The catcher built this case internally and delivered the signal.

Maki received it and nodded.

He shared the confidence, arrived at through a similar internal argument. The Seido lineup was strong, and he had processed that strength honestly throughout the afternoon. But there was a hierarchy within it, and Zhang Han and Yuuki occupied the top of that hierarchy for reasons that were specific and documentable.

Everyone else, however capable, existed below that level. Miyuki was a first-year catcher with good instincts and a productive game so far. He was not in the same category as the two players Sensen had spent the afternoon protecting against.

The first pitch came in tight, aimed at the inside corner, intended to establish a boundary and push Miyuki off the inner part of the plate. Maki's control, which had always been a limitation relative to his raw stuff, produced a pitch that tracked closer to the batter's body than the target location called for.

The umpire tracked it the entire way.

"Ball."

The verbal warning that followed was brief and direct. The pitch had landed approximately ten centimeters from Miyuki's body, close enough that the umpire was not willing to let it pass without comment regardless of the intent behind it.

A pitcher who had spent the previous sequence throwing four consecutive balls outside the zone to complete an intentional walk, and another sequence doing the same thing before that, had accumulated a context that the umpire was now factoring into his judgment of borderline pitches.

In the Sensen dugout, the catcher's internal response to the warning was not directed at the umpire's fairness, which he acknowledged privately, but at the practical consequences. Maki's command had never been precise enough to reliably place a pitch in a specific location inside the zone without meaningful variance.

Asking him to work the inside corner against a prepared batter required accepting that some percentage of those pitches would miss inward, and an umpire who had already formed an impression about this pitcher's control was going to call those misses as balls. The margin for aggressive pitch placement had just been made smaller by the warning.

The previous intentional walk sequences had created this problem as a side effect, the accumulated impression of a pitcher who wasn't locating the ball reliably, and that impression was now constraining what Sensen could do in the exact moment they needed the most flexibility.

The catcher ran the new calculation quickly.

With the count tilted and the umpire primed to call borderline pitches as balls, continuing to work outside the zone was more likely to produce another walk than an out. The bases were already loaded. Another walk scored a run automatically. The only remaining option that didn't carry that risk was to throw a pitch that was clearly and unambiguously within the strike zone and compete with Miyuki directly on those terms.

The signal went out: best pitch, in the zone, get him out cleanly.

Cornered, but not without resources.

On the mound, Maki processed the instruction and reached past the curveball for the pitch that had actually been his foundation since before the curveball was part of his repertoire. The curveball had gotten significant attention in this game and deserved the attention it had received.

But Ugai had built Maki's development on the fastball first, the pitch that the height and the delivery mechanics amplified into something that arrived at the plate with a downward angle that conventional fastballs from conventional release points didn't produce.

One hundred ninety-five centimeters of release height, delivering a fastball into the lower part of the strike zone. When the batter knew it was coming, it was hittable. The question was always whether knowing made the geometry manageable.

In the box, Miyuki tracked the grip change as Maki moved through his delivery. The curveball had a specific signature in the wrist and the finger positioning that he had been filing away since the first pitch of the at-bat. What he was seeing now was different.

Fastball. Low angle.

The satisfaction behind his eyes converted from anticipation into execution.

Once the trajectory was identified, this pitch was hittable by a meaningful portion of the Seido first-team roster. Miyuki knew where he stood in that portion. He had known it before he stepped into the box.

"Ping."

The contact was flush and full, the barrel meeting the ball at the center of the swing where the force was cleanest. The ball came off the bat with the flat, hard trajectory of something that had been struck without hesitation.

The Sensen fielders moved. The ball was through before the movement was complete.

"Safe! Safe!"

Isashiki crossed home plate. Yuuki crossed home plate behind him. The scoreboard moved twice in quick succession, and the number that had been sitting at one for Seido became three.

Zhang Han, reading the play from second base with the attention he brought to every live ball situation, had already turned for third before the outfielder reached the ball. He touched the bag and held, the throw coming in to the infield as the play closed down.

Two outs. Runners on first and third. Three to one, Seido leading.

The inning was not finished, and the momentum sitting in the Seido dugout was pointed in a single direction.

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