Hitori glanced at the Sobu High section; the students who'd been bused in sat listlessly, scrolling on their phones or chatting. There was no cheering squad, not even a simple cheerleader group.
"Feels like we've already lost…"
All four girls now shared the same gloomy premonition.
They had managed to secure front-row seats, but they sat stiffly among the Sobu High students and watched the game begin.
The four girls—outsiders at Sobu—drew attention; after all, no one expected fans from another school for their baseball team.
Then the loudspeaker announced the first-batter lineup: "Now pitching for Sobu High, number one, Chen Yao, facing lead-off batter Yuki Tetsuya."
"Lead-off is Yuki Tetsuya from Seido High—heard he's a prodigy, batting ranks top in Tokyo," Yamada Ryo suddenly explained.
"Will Classmate Chen Yao be okay?" Ijichi Nijika asked worriedly.
"Master will definitely be fine," Goto Hitori declared, clenching her fist.
Kita Ikuyo, the newest member—she'd only rejoined the fledgling band yesterday because of Goto Hitori—had been dragged here to watch some unfamiliar senior. Curious why Ijichi Nijika and the others adored this Chinese senior, she kept watching.
She saw the boy in the cyan uniform walk onto the field. Not drop-dead handsome, but striking—confident, earnest, definitely a good-looking guy.
The batter, Yuki Tetsuya, had a tougher face, also handsome. By her score, Chen Yao was a 90, Yuki Tetsuya a 75.
The pitch began. Chen Yao wound up and fired. A sharp hiss cut past Yuki's vision; every expression in the stadium shifted.
"Strike!" the umpire ruled.
"Yeah!!" All three girls beside Kita Ikuyo erupted. Even she could tell the pitch was blazing—serious heat.
"…No wonder Sobu made it this far. They've landed an ace. That was 135 km/h? He's going to keep throwing gas like that?" Yuki Tetsuya analyzed coolly.
Their coach had seen through Sobu's one-ace scheme and penciled Yuki first, hoping to shatter the pitcher's morale immediately.
"Leading off with their best slugger—trying to intimidate me?" Chen Yao thought.
He dared not slack against Seido's premier batter; he had to retire him with his best stuff.
After a day of treatment his arm could manage only eighty percent, and he'd need 81 pitches. Even for his sturdy frame, that would be tough.
The second pitch came—a nasty breaking ball. Yuki swung and barely missed.
"Strike!"
Kita Ikuyo saw the trio beside her explode again, baffled at how they'd fallen for this foreign senior—even cool Yamada Ryo was reacting.
The third pitch: another fastball. Yuki wanted to swing, but the ball shot past his chest; he froze, bat motionless.
—[There it is! A 156 km/h fastball!] the announcer shouted. The crowd erupted at the rare velocity.
Seido's starters sprang up, stunned; their school record was 150 km/h—this Sobu ace was a threat.
"Amazing, 156 km/h—almost like a bullet train," Ijichi Nijika gushed, cheeks red.
"He can do it. Master's hurt, but he looks recovered. As expected of Master," Goto Hitori thought, thrilled as the first time she'd watched him pitch.
But just then the opposing cheering squad roared back.
"Drive it out!"
"Drive it out!"
A thousand voices shook the stands, snapping Goto Hitori and the others to reality and rattling Sobu's players—surrounded on every side.
"Their cheering squad really is insane… my heart can't take it," Kita Ikuyo muttered. Morale-wise, Seido held an overwhelming edge.
"Baseball's biggest tradition in Japan—more powerful than football. If your psyche's weak you can't even throw," Yamada Ryo admitted, unnerved.
The Japanese love baseball not only for its fierce duels but for the world-class atmosphere—towns empty for high-school games.
Sobu's crowd deflated; the four girls' excitement froze.
[Plop…] A drop landed on Goto Hitori's head; she looked up.
Ah… it's starting to rain…
Dark clouds gathered, drizzle beginning. At home, nursing her leg, Yukinoshita Yukino heard the patter and glanced at the window.
"It really is raining…"
She lay propped against her bed, watching the shifting sky.
Her leg injury kept her from the field, but she'd heard this opponent was so strong the whole school doubted the outcome.
"Mr. Chen Yao… can you create a miracle this time? Forge your own path, your own way…" she thought, anxious yet hopeful.
On the field, the game slogged through drizzle—six scoreless innings, 0-0.
Front-row seats caught the rain; many Sobu students retreated. Kita Ikuyo started to follow, but when she turned to Goto Hitori she saw the usually timid girl soaked yet fixed on the field.
After days of knowing her, this was the first time Kita Ikuyo saw Goto Hitori so anxious, ignoring everyone. The contest blazed on; Yamada Ryo and Ijichi Nijika stayed put.
"Hitori's master…" Kita Ikuyo murmured, curiosity piqued. Who was this senior who, in days, had captivated all three of them?
In the dim drizzle, seventh inning, Chen Yao stepped in as sixth batter. As he gripped the bat, searing pain lanced through his right arm—both limbs went weak.
"Crap…" he thought.
The stunning scene unfolded: Sobu's ace hadn't even swung when the bat slipped from his hands. The crowd gasped.
The entire stadium buzzed with chatter; there were plenty of excellent pitchers in this game, but without a doubt the super-ace of Sobu High, Chen Yao, was the center of attention.
"He's hurt!!"
A spectator realized what had happened and shouted at once.
On Seido High's side cheers erupted instantly; with Sobu High's ace injured, their chances of winning the final two innings had skyrocketed.
Yet Seido's first-string players wore no smiles. They stared across at Chen Yao, many feeling regret, but they would still give everything to claim victory.
While Seido's cheering squad celebrated, a rising tide of sound engulfed Sobu's players. Uneasy faces everywhere, and Chen Yao—alone in the batter's box amid the storm—stood tall, lifting his head slightly against the wind and rain, facing the darkness by himself.
Amid Seido's roar of support Goto Hitori fell silent.
She remembered her mentor Chen Yao's worry: if he were no longer beside her, could she still hold to her beliefs?
The sky hung heavy with roiling clouds; Sobu's stands were deathly still. She couldn't help but stand up.
Ijichi Nijika, Yamada Ryo and Kita Ikuyo saw Goto Hitori rise suddenly. They didn't yet know why, but she pulled out her guitar, stepped in front of Sobu's stands, and ripped out a short, punchy guitar cheer.
It was the baseball song she had been writing—still unfinished.
In an instant the stands quieted; even the players on field turned toward Sobu, where a lone girl in a tracksuit now stood with a guitar on the once-silent bleachers.
"..."
In the batter's box Chen Yao stared at the distant Goto Hitori, stunned.
She stood on the high platform in the drizzle as if giving a solo concert, surrounded by a thousand supporters—just as Chen Yao once had been—guitar in hand, head high, a one-person cheering squad facing the crowd.
Leaving her mentor's protection, she didn't know if she could stay resolute, but she believed she would return to Chen Yao's side and fight alongside him again.
Chapter 043 – The Perfect Concert.
It was a bold move, so bold that anyone who knew her would gasp, "Wow, would Goto Hitori really do this?"
In the light rain she stood on the high bleachers. The tune was simple and upbeat, much like any baseball rally song—yet no one had ever seen a cheer squad use a guitar instead of drums or trumpets.
"..."
Ijichi Nijika and Yamada Ryo were startled too, but seeing her encourage Chen Yao, they exchanged glances, dragged the still-dazed Kita Ikuyo along, and joined the rally.
Despite the entire stadium watching, the girls played flawlessly, then Goto Hitori cupped her hands and shouted, "Go Sobu High! Go Chen Yao-senpai!"
Her hair soaked, Goto Hitori looked down at Chen Yao on the field; the capped ace lifted his gaze to her.
Chen Yao's spirit soared. He had worried about her after the suicide-attempt incident, but now he saw she was far stronger than he'd imagined.
He smiled and gave her a big thumbs-up in thanks.
He gripped his bat anew. On the mound stood first-year Furuya Satoru, whose fastball had touched 150 km/h. The scoreboard lit, Furuya's eyes sharpened, and he fired a high-velocity straight pitch.
"It hurts like hell, but I have to hit this one!"
Chen Yao tracked the ball, swung—and cracked it. Knowing the contact wasn't perfect, he tossed the bat and sprinted like mad for first, second, third.
Seido's fielders scrambled for the ball, but the sight of his blazing speed rattled them, slowing their throw.
"Safe! Sobu High scores one!"
Dragging his injured body, Chen Yao had stolen a run while Seido was in disarray.
"Ohhhhh!!"
"Go, Sobu!"
"One run down, only two innings left!"
As Goto Hitori and the others cheered, the Sobu students behind them erupted at the score, their roar startling even the girls.
At first those students had figured the game's outcome didn't matter, attending only because teachers made them, but after seeing four girls play guitar and bass in support, they felt the urge to cheer—and now they couldn't hold back.
"Great going, Ichi-san."
Ijichi Nijika smiled at Goto Hitori.
"...Mm."
Flushed, guitar in arms, she watched the stands come alive—like seeing her first real concert.
But the real problem remained: Chen Yao's arm still throbbed. When he took the mound again, he struck out the cleanup hitter—only for Miyuki Kazuya to connect. Chen Yao spun in shock as Sobu's fielders scrambled; by the time they recovered the ball, the runner had scored.
The game was tied again. Exhausted and hurting, Chen Yao bent over to catch his breath—yet hearing Goto and Yamada's shouts, he felt new strength.
"Chen Yao, you're incredible. No offense to your teammates, but we're throwing everything at you. You're injured, worn out—can you really keep fighting us?"
Miyuki Kazuya stepped forward, voice respectful.
The mud-streaked ace of Sobu straightened, eyes cold, fatigue laced with calm, unbreakable resolve—a force that seemed unstoppable.
"...Stupid question. But your hand's nearly done—don't ruin your future. I want to face you at full strength. Hang in there."
With a nod and a smile Miyuki returned to the dugout.
Chen Yao admitted Seido's first-string had both skill and class—far above the third-string punks who'd taunted him.
Yet his body was at its limit. His right arm still blazed with pain; if he didn't empty the tank to hold Seido now, Sobu could lose before the final inning. If he did throw everything, he likely wouldn't be able to swing a bat afterward.
Just then Coach Tatsugo called time and gathered the team.
Coach Yoshida Tatsugo, 190 cm of imposing presence, had seen the injury. After a pause he asked, "Those girls—your friends, right?"
"Yes. My junior and her friends."