[370] Bronze Player Crushed by the King

Chapter 370: Bronze Player Crushed by the King

The Gap in Strength.

It became glaringly obvious from the very first inning.

Against Nanamori, Seidou High's batting lineup was relentless—an unbreakable chain. Could you believe that both Eijun and Miyuki stepped up to bat twice in the opening inning?

Whoosh!

Pop!

"Out! Three outs! Change of sides!"

By the time Nanamori's ace pitcher, drenched in sweat and ghostly pale, finally escaped Seidou's brutal first-inning assault, the scoreboard flashed an unmistakable "9"—

Blinding enough to burn through the eyes of every spectator.

Just one run short of double digits.

No one in the audience had ever given Nanamori Tech a real chance. They all expected Seidou to steamroll them, probably even triggering the mercy rule within five or seven innings.

But still—

No one had anticipated Nanamori's defense to be this abysmal.

Weren't they at least a mid-tier team in East Tokyo?!

They were all high school players, weren't they?

And yet, in the very first inning, they let Seidou rack up nine runs?

The crowd collectively agreed—this was beyond a mismatch. This was beyond a blowout. This was utter destruction.

And for Nanamori, this was only the beginning of their nightmare.

"Bottom of the first, Nanamori's offense. Leading off, left fielder, Toyama-kun."

When they first saw Seidou's starting pitcher, it wasn't Eijun, and it wasn't Furuya, the powerhouse fireballer (who had gained national attention not just for his 150 km/h fastball but also for his strong hitting).

Instead, it was a second-year, sidearm pitcher they barely recognized.

Nanamori initially felt a little cocky.

They thought, Seidou is underestimating us.

They were determined to prove Seidou wrong—to show that Nanamori wasn't some pushover team.

And yet—

In that very first defensive inning—

Seidou utterly humiliated them.

Giving up nine runs left Nanamori completely shell-shocked.

At this point, their only goal had shifted.

Forget winning.

Forget holding the line.

Their only hope was to scrape together a single run—just one run—to prove that Nanamori wasn't completely worthless…

Whoosh!

Pop!

"Strike! Batter out! Three outs! Change of sides!"

Seven pitches.

Three outs.

A flawless three-up, three-down inning.

A lightning-fast reality check.

Kawakami single-handedly shattered Nanamori's delusions.

They were slaughtered on defense.

They were crushed on offense.

Kawakami's precision control, his well-placed sliders, and even his early-use sinkers were far beyond what Nanamori could handle.

Forget this mid-tier team—even if they faced a top-tier lineup, Kawakami was more than ready.

The fierce competition with Eijun and Furuya had forced him to evolve—to the point where he could hold his own against any high school lineup.

This was a rare chance for him to start in an official game.

And he had been waiting for this moment for so long.

His sword was sharpened.

His fury was unleashed.

So naturally, Kawakami went all out from the very first inning, mercilessly teaching Nanamori the brutal reality of baseball.

"Nice pitch, Kawakami!"

"Nori, that was solid!"

"Haha, Kawakami, you're on fire today!"

"Keep that rhythm up—don't give up a single run!"

"Better yet, don't even allow a hit!"

Standing proudly on the mound, returning to the starting role after so long, Kawakami felt the excitement rushing through him.

His fellow second-years—Maezono Kenta, Kuramochi Youichi, and Kijima Rei—were all genuinely happy for him.

After all, as teammates of the same class, they had built an unbreakable bond over the years.

Even Eijun himself understood that many of the second-years had secretly hoped for Kawakami to wear the ace number after the roster reset.

It wasn't just about skill—it was about camaraderie.

Even Maezono had once boldly declared:

"Kawakami is our ace!"

Of course, now, that dream was out of reach.

Eijun's dominance and leadership made his claim to the ace number undisputed.

His performance in the summer tournament and his importance to the team left no room for debate.

But even if the ace number wasn't Kawakami's, his teammates were still thrilled to see him getting more opportunities on the mound.

Surrounded by their cheers and encouragement, Kawakami allowed himself a rare, bashful smile.

Meanwhile, over on Nanamori's side—

There was no laughter.

Only despair.

Over on Nanamori's bench, the atmosphere was nothing short of gloom and doom. It was as if a thick cloud of despair had settled over them.

From the head coach to every last player, they all knew before the game even started that they were going to lose.

They had expected to be suppressed—perhaps even dominated.

But never, in their worst nightmares, had they imagined it would be this brutal.

This wasn't just a one-sided beating.

This was a massacre.

Coach Tatsuomi, who had entered the game with an upbeat attitude, was now frozen in absolute shock.

The stark contrast between his pre-game optimism and the harsh reality of the first inning had drained every last bit of his energy.

And the worst part?

There were still four more innings to go.

The entire Nanamori team internally screamed in agony.

A bronze-level team being annihilated by champions.

The game had officially entered Seidou High's signature demolition phase, where their lineup put on a show—mercilessly shredding weaker teams to pieces.

"Top of the second inning, Seidou High at bat. Batting sixth, center fielder, Tojo-kun."

And just like the first inning—

Seidou showed no mercy.

From the very first pitch, Tojo blasted a long drive into left field, easily reaching second base.

Right after him, Kanemaru refused to be outdone, sending a sharp line drive into right field for a single.

The lineup clicked together seamlessly.

But what truly stung—what infuriated every player on Nanamori—was what happened next.

It was clear to everyone watching—even the thousands of spectators in the stands—

Seidou wasn't even taking this game seriously anymore.

Coach Kataoka and Ochiai had apparently decided after the first inning that this game was the perfect chance to test out new tactics.

Blatantly.

Brazenly.

Seidou's players started experimenting with coordinated plays, executing new strategic maneuvers—right in the middle of an official game.

Everyone in the crowd could see it.

And everyone—all ten thousand spectators—could only shake their heads in exasperation.

For Nanamori, it was even worse.

Even as they gritted their teeth in frustration, they couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Because even without going all-out, Seidou was still too strong.

Not that Kataoka and Ochiai were intentionally mocking them.

It wasn't about disrespect.

It was just that opportunities to test new strategies in real games were rare.

So they took it.

And the result?

Even though Seidou's offense in the second inning wasn't as ferocious as in the first—

Nanamori's last shred of fighting spirit evaporated.

Seidou didn't even need to try to completely dominate them.

What was left to fight for?

There was no escape.

And so, Nanamori's resistance crumbled.

Their final battle cry had turned into nothing more than a desperate whimper of surrender.

----------------------

If you want to read 10 advance chapters ahead.

Visit my patreon: patreon.com/Leonzky