Capítulo 110: <110> Heart-Stopping Moment
Chapter 110: Heart-Stopping Moment
Although the crisis wasn't over, Akagi's morale surged.
After all, turning a bases-loaded, no-outs situation into two outs with runners on first and second—especially against the bottom of the lineup—was an incredible feat.
Anyone watching could see Akagi's spirits were soaring!
It now seemed likely that Tokugawa's efforts this inning might yield nothing yet again.
"The game continues! The seventh batter steps into the box!
Even with two outs, there are still runners in scoring position.
However, they need to be cautious about getting shut down! Meanwhile, Akagi's defense hasn't changed at all—they're sticking with their signature nine-man infield."
"What a fearless team!"
"Right? Weren't they eliminated in the first round last summer?"
"Yeah, that game was hilarious! They made so many ridiculous mistakes—wild swings, dropped pop flies, even balls slipping through their legs. I laughed so hard I had stomach cramps! Thinking about it now still cracks me up!"
"Really?"
"But look at them now. It's like an entirely different team in just one year! Who's that backup player wearing number 10? Where did he come from?"
The commentator wasn't the only one excited; the crowd was abuzz with chatter, adrenaline pumping as they watched the unexpected intensity of a junior high baseball game unfold.
Back on the field:
"That was close! We just barely got through that one. Let's keep the pressure on, Ei-chan!"
"Got it!"
"All eyes are on the first pitch! It's coming!"
Pop!
"Strike!"
"An outside pitch—strike! That was a hittable ball, though. The batter looks frustrated, smashing the ground with his bat!" the commentator observed.
"Let's go for an inside pitch this time!"
Whoosh!
"Sweet spot!"
"Uh-oh!"
Ping!
"He hit it! It's through the infield! Akagi's center fielder is moving back, but it's not deep enough—they won't make it in time!
The runner from second base scores!!!
The runner from first reaches third, and the batter easily takes second base!
A perfectly timed, heart-stopping hit!"
"Yes!!!" Tokugawa's seventh batter roared triumphantly.
Even more dramatic, the runner who scored fell to his knees, arms raised in celebration.
Meanwhile, the eighth batter leaped out of the on-deck circle, hugging the scorer as the entire bench erupted in jubilation.
After an entire game of struggling against a weaker team that inexplicably seemed to have drunk some kind of magic elixir, Tokugawa's players finally vented their frustration with this critical run.
Despite their superior skill, they had been forced into a deadlock due to Akagi's extraordinary performance and bad luck with earlier plays.
Watching Tokugawa celebrate as if they had won a national championship showed just how much tension had built up.
Meanwhile, Akagi's players looked crestfallen.
That last pitch had been right down the middle, but it lacked any real power, leaving Shin utterly baffled.
"Of course," Sendo thought, observing the situation. "Eijun is still too green. At moments like this, you've got to go straight down the middle with conviction. The momentum was still on our side, but Eijun's attempt at precision control cost him velocity. He's holding back too much; there's no way he can dominate like that."
"The previous batter messed up due to nerves, and the pitch just happened to go where it needed to. But in clutch situations, you can't rely on luck!"
As the team's de facto strategist, Sendo understood the importance of experience, particularly for a catcher.
The position wasn't just about physical ability; it was about intelligence and composure under pressure.
While Sendo could take over much of the decision-making, there were limits to what he could do from the bench—the players on the field ultimately bore the burden.
"Maybe the earlier pitches boosted his confidence too much, clouding his judgment," Sendo speculated.
Clap!
Clap!
Clap!
Sendo began clapping his hands, drawing everyone's attention.
"Let's refocus! The game isn't over yet! Getting hit is part of the game—stay sharp!" he shouted. Whether his words would have an immediate effect was uncertain.
However, Sendo underestimated his own influence.
His voice, though not calming everyone instantly, brought a sense of stability, especially for Sawamura, who quickly echoed his sentiment:
"Let's keep going, Captain!" he said as the celebration subsided, high-fiving the next batter.
Ironically, the player who had just lost composure was none other than Tokugawa's captain and catcher.
As a third-year and the team leader, he bore the most defensive pressure.
That run felt like salvation.
"After scoring one run, Tokugawa now has two outs with runners on second and third—much better than the previous first-and-second scenario. Their momentum is building. Can Akagi Junior High hold off this offensive surge?" the commentator exclaimed, amplifying the drama.
Baseball, unlike other sports, is full of unpredictability. With its turn-based nature, it lacks the "win by two points" rule seen in volleyball or tennis, where a clear margin is required for victory. The game was still wide open, and anything could happen.
At any moment in a baseball game, a single play can decide the outcome, sometimes even turning the tide completely in one swift motion.
Unlike basketball, where an early surge can create a high-scoring gap that can be countered by handing the ball to a reliable player, baseball is different.
Batters don't choose their turn at the plate, and the pressure of a do-or-die moment lands on whoever's next in the lineup.
Though there's still another inning to go, a string of runs here could utterly demoralize the opponent and seal the game.
Baseball comebacks are particularly harrowing because, unlike basketball or soccer, there's no clock counting down to provide psychological closure.
Baseball's sudden death-like moments strike without warning, leaving teams to watch helplessly as the game slips away.
It's like having a casual chat, only for the person you're talking to to suddenly collapse.
The abruptness is terrifying, and teams on the receiving end of a walk-off are left paralyzed, unable to respond.
Baseball's unique psychological impact lies in this unpredictability—no one knows when the game might take an irreversible turn.
And the scariest moments are like what just happened: Akagi seemed poised to end the inning and carry their momentum into the next, only to be blindsided by a crushing hit that shattered their composure.
"Baseball is terrifying! Just minutes ago, we were all talking about that amazing double play! And then, in just two pitches…" A spectator, clutching their chest, exclaimed.
In the small town of Nagano, such intense games were rare. Most of the audience, there to pass the time, were casual fans who could barely follow the action.
"Yeah! Is that pitcher okay? This situation must be devastating for him. He held strong all game and was just celebrating that brilliant double play moments ago! Who would've thought the bottom of the lineup would deliver such a blow? They're just junior high kids—only 14, right?" another spectator chimed in, clearly more familiar with the game's challenges.
For a young player, the emotional whiplash of going from triumph to despair could be overwhelming.
And the nightmare was only beginning.
If their mindset faltered, things could spiral out of control. Baseball, unlike time-bound sports, theoretically has no end as long as hits keep coming. It's a sport where mental collapse is not just possible—it's likely, especially for kids.
"Who knows? Look at those kids; their responses sound completely lifeless now. This is just too cruel."
...
"It's okay! It's just one run. Let's focus on shutting them down, one batter at a time!" Sawamura extended his left hand, speaking slowly after only a few seconds of silence.
Yet, everyone could sense the tremor in his voice—a lack of confidence, tinged with frustration.
Just when it felt like they had the momentum, a single play had completely overturned it.
But it was precisely this vulnerability that moved everyone.
Despite being the one hit hardest, enduring the greatest shock, Sawamura's first instinct was to comfort his teammates.
Even Sendo, who was well aware of Sawamura's habit of masking his struggles in front of his team, was deeply touched.
"What a stubborn little imp!" Sendo muttered, breaking into a closed-lip smile reminiscent of a moment from Ace of Diamond.
"Focus on their batters! The game isn't over yet!!! I believe in you all!!!" Sendo shouted.
"Sen-chan!"
"Sen-chan!"
"That guy!"
"Sendo!"
Even Fumino, watching from the sidelines, turned her gaze toward the bench where Sendo stood.
"Everyone, I'm counting on you!!!" Inspired by Sendo's words, Sawamura stretched out his arms and legs, shouting to the sky.
"Roar!!!"
"Awoooo!!!" Sawamura led the team in a howling cheer.
"Awoooo!!!" Their collective howl shook the stadium.
"Eijun!" Wakana, in the outfield, looked at the group and finally back to the pitcher's mound, her gaze softening.
"Come on, Akagi!!!"
"Let's go, Akagi!!!" Cheers erupted from the stands, even from some of Tokugawa's parents.
Many were moved by the kids' resilience, aware of the immense emotional burden they were facing.
For the adults in the audience, these were just children, after all.
"Now batting, number eight, Takase, the catcher!"
"Now batting, number eight, Takase, the catcher!"
"No tricks—use a straight pitch down the middle and settle it!" Shin signaled clearly with his code.
"Let's go!" Sendo encouraged his teammates silently.
"It looks like Akagi Junior High still has fight left in them! They haven't given up!!!" The commentator, too, joined in with an encouraging tone.
"Let's do this!"
Whoosh!
"A pitch right down the middle?"
Crack!
The ball soared into the air.
"Catcher!!!" Countless voices cried out simultaneously.
Pop!
"OUT!"
"THREE OUTS!!! …Switch sides!!!" Even the umpire, caught up in the kids' emotions, announced the result with unusual fervor.
"Yes!!!" Sawamura roared as the catch was secured.
"Yes!!!" And in that instant, he wasn't the only one shouting.
"They did it—with just one pitch! A high pop fly to the catcher! Three outs, switch sides!
What an incredible game—Akagi Junior High survived the inning! They held on in the face of near-collapse!!!"
"The game isn't over yet. Baseball is a sport full of endless possibilities. Despite being significantly weaker in terms of raw ability, Akagi Junior High has fought their way to the final inning against Nagano's reigning champions!" The commentator accidentally let a bit too much honesty slip into their analysis.
Typically, a commentator wouldn't outright diminish one team like that, instead opting for hedged phrases or subjective tones to soften their stance. But at this point, no one cared about such nuances—Akagi's bench had already erupted into wild celebrations!
Just as Tokugawa had celebrated earlier as if they'd won the national championship, Akagi now responded in kind. In reality, they'd merely held on for one more inning, but their joy was unrestrained. Even as the players on the bench hurriedly swapped gear for the next phase, their excitement was palpable.
With just a one-run deficit, victory was still within reach.
"Top of the seventh inning—Akagi Junior High's turn to bat!"
"Leading off, shortstop, Ohno!"
"Leading off, shortstop, Ohno!" The announcer's voice echoed through the stadium, signaling the beginning of the final inning. Her tone, slightly trembling with emotion, suggested she too had been moved by the previous moments.
"Let's go, Ohno! Show everyone your fighting spirit!" The unmistakable voice of Sawamura, always the little troublemaker, rang out.
"You've got this, Ohno!" The rest of the team cheered in unison.
"I've got to get on base! Absolutely!" Ohno muttered to himself, his resolve solidifying.
Akagi's strategy revolved around small-ball tactics, meaning every play was designed with the sole goal of getting runners on base.
Whether it was decoding signals, surprise plays, or perfectly executed bunts, everything hinged on reaching base. Without that, nothing else mattered.
"We're now in the final inning. The score is 1-0. This is Akagi's last chance. If they can't at least tie the game, it will end half an inning early. Let's see what these kids can deliver!" the commentator said, injecting tension into the moment.
"Let's finish this right here, Kanda!" Takase thought as he crouched behind the plate, his determination evident.
"Got it, Takase-senpai!" Feeling his partner's intent, Kanda instinctively responded.
What they didn't realize was that Sendo had spent the past six months meticulously analyzing and preparing something special—a trump card tailor-made for this moment.
As the tension in the stadium reached its peak, most spectators found themselves rooting for Akagi.
They wanted to see if Lady Luck would smile on these kids who had fought their way up from the depths of despair, still brimming with relentless determination.
Akagi, however, wasn't just relying on luck.
They had a secret weapon, their one chance to wrest the game away from Tokugawa.
The question now was how many runs they could score and whether they could defend that lead afterward.
A seemingly average game had transformed into a heart-pounding spectacle, brimming with adrenaline and tension, keeping everyone on the edge of their seats.
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