Diamond No Ace: The Strongest Hitter

Chapter 141: The Advantage in Hand

"You really can't underestimate anyone! That stance—that's not a skill you can master in just a day or two! What a… nice bunt! We've been taught a lesson here!" Coach Kunimi said with a light chuckle as Wakana successfully reached base.

"It's just the beginning, just the beginning!

Turn this around, Akagi Junior High!!" The spectators shouted, as though they had finally found an outlet for their excitement.

"Hah! What a bunch of troublesome people! This is supposed to be just a practice game! How badly do you all want to win?! And what's with a girl working so hard?! Wakana!!" Sendo grinned on the sidelines, showing off his white teeth.

"Those kids must have already forgotten what they said earlier—that the outcome of this game doesn't matter! Why don't you be honest for once?

Overthinking things doesn't suit someone your age. Acting like an adult is exhausting, isn't it?

For once, just act like a middle schooler—be carefree and simple! Sendo!" Sano spoke up from beside him.

"Forgotten… huh?" Sendo paused for a moment, stunned by Sano's words, murmuring to himself.

"This is just a middle school club game, after all. It's great to aim for the school's reputation,

but baseball, at its core, is just a sport—it's something that brings joy!

And look at everyone; they're so happy as they play, striving to win!"

Hearing this, Sendo glanced around.

He saw the team cheering happily for Wakana and Sawamura enthusiastically yelling support for Ohno.

Sawamura's voice still carried its usual volume, but the smile on his face was genuine and unmistakable.

"Maybe Sano-sensei's right. Everyone has let go of those messy thoughts and is fully immersed in the game, enjoying its thrill and fun!

I've always told them to enjoy the game, to relieve their pressure.

But now, while everyone is enjoying the game and chasing victory, am I the one still thinking about giving up?" Sendo's thoughts began to shift.

"Sano-sensei!"

"Hmm?"

"'Enjoy the game'—it's something I've always said to them. As I've said before, only the strong have the privilege of enjoying the game. For the weak, just keeping up is a struggle. But this is the first time I've seen everyone enjoying the game so much! They've really… grown up! They've become so strong!"

Ping!

"Foul ball!"

As Sendo and Sano continued their conversation, the game carried on.

Everyone else remained fully focused on the field, not interrupting the two.

"To think I was the one stuck in my own head!

What was all that about securing a spot at Nationals?

This team already has the strength to make it there on their own! Enjoy the game, huh? Let's allow everyone to play to their hearts' content and enjoy this match!"

"What about keeping your cards hidden?"

"We'll figure something out. We're strong enough already! Maybe clinging to the idea of hiding our abilities is a problem in itself! We don't need to hide anything anymore! Probably."

"Haha!" Sano laughed. Despite his rugged appearance and bulky arms, he had a surprisingly gentle and thoughtful nature.

"We'll figure something out, huh?That doesn't sound like the mature Sendo I know. But this is good, isn't it?

You're finally acting like a middle schooler—straightforward and honest!"

"…" For a moment, there was a brief silence.

"Wait… what do you mean by 'finally acting like a middle schooler'? I am a middle schooler!" Sendo retorted, unusually playful and a little embarrassed as he teased Sano.

"Well, you see, I've always felt like you were…

I guess I thought you were my age. Maybe even more mature!"

"What? What's that supposed to mean?

Are you calling me an old man or something?

Did you think I was some kind of big tree or something?"

"Haha! Yeah, something like that!" Sano joked, a rare lighthearted moment from him.

...

Meanwhile, on the field:

Ping!

"Foul ball!"

"How many pitches is that?" The spectators began to take notice of Oono's resilience.

"This is the seventh pitch!"

Wakana had practiced bunting hard, but stealing bases or coordinating plays wasn't something she could do. She couldn't even remember the signs very well.

After all, Wakana wasn't just a player; she was also the team's manager, responsible for taking care of everyone.

That summer, with Fumino (who Wakana considers the real burden) "helping," Wakana's workload had only increased.

She managed everything for the entire team.

Because of this, Wakana couldn't put pressure on the opposing defense while on base, leaving Ohno no choice but to face the pitcher head-on.

"Hmm? Akagi's bench has finally made a move this inning! It looks like Sendo has no choice but to step up and take charge!" The commentator, with sharp eyes, noticed Sendo walking out of the dugout after his conversation with Sano.

No one realized they'd been talking earlier since their eyes remained fixed on the game, and their heads hadn't even turned.

Despite focusing on their conversation, they had almost ignored the ongoing match right in front of them.

Sendo signaled to Ohno—the first sign of the inning.

After that discussion, Sendo was now serious about winning and had taken over the team's strategy.

"Wait! Sendo's sign leads to a bunt?! Ohno is showing bunt stance! It's two strikes and one ball! Ohno has solid bunting skills, but if he fails, he'll be out immediately! And worse, a poorly executed bunt could lead to a double play! Is this really okay?!" The commentator was impressed by Sendo's leadership but couldn't help but question such a risky decision.

Everyone could see that Wakana lacked the ability to steal bases. She hadn't moved a single step off the bag this entire at-bat, waiting patiently for a hit.

And now, Wakana was leading off—but only slightly, staying just far enough to avoid any pickoff attempts by the pitcher or catcher.

To the crowd, it looked like Akagi's strategy was a bold risk, but the goal was clear: advance the runner and score. With no outs, it was an acceptable gamble.

Ohno's bunting skills are certainly reliable, but the timing makes it risky.

Tokugawa's dugout also responded accordingly—Coach Kunimi has been fully engaged in this game.

The infield moved up, a common tactic to catch any errors. Even if they fail to capitalize on a mistake, they can still secure an easy out. And if they succeed—it's a double play.

However, from Sendo's perspective, Wakana has created a scoring opportunity while also limiting Akagi's offensive threat on the basepaths.

It's a double-edged sword—one he must command personally to ensure it doesn't turn against his team.

"A sacrifice bunt? Don't make me laugh. Why would we just hand you an out?" Sendo's eyes glinted with hidden mockery as he observed the opponent's steady, cautious reaction.

No one could see it, but behind Sendo's stoic expression, his mind was already calculating.

"The bunt is just a way to stop you from throwing breaking balls! You wouldn't want to give us an easy scoring chance at this critical moment, would you?

Our target is simple…"

"...A fastball without the threat of a curveball!" It was as if Ohno instinctively picked up on Sendo's intent as he swung the bat, their silent monologues aligning perfectly.

"Steal!"

"This is… a hit-and-run!" The commentator reacted immediately as Ohno pulled back his bat.

Ping!

"He connects! Akagi—no, Sendo's true goal was the hit-and-run! The ball flies past the infield—a hit to left field! Wakana is already at third base, and Ohno has made it to second! A double for Ohno! And now… the tying run is on base!!!"

The crowd erupted.

The tide of the game had turned yet again.

At the start of the inning, Wakana's bunt seemed like it would merely sacrifice an out, reducing the threat of Akagi's small-ball tactics.

But no one expected Wakana to stay sharp, executing a surprise bunt to safely reach base.

Then, Sendo's bold hit-and-run strategy succeeded, shifting the momentum entirely.

Akagi still trailed by two runs, but the game was now theirs to take.

Akagi, being the last to bat, had the chance to clinch a walk-off win—a direct blow to end the match.

And now, with runners on second and third and no outs, Akagi's morale soared.

"Second batter, right fielder, Aoki!"

"Second batter, right fielder, Aoki!"

"Let's go, Aoki! We need a hit!"

"You've got this, Aoki!"

As Aoki stepped into the batter's box, the crowd exploded with cheers. Nothing could be more thrilling than a walk-off hit to reverse the game.

Many fans had only started supporting Akagi after witnessing their heartbreaking summer loss. Now was the perfect moment for revenge.

"Let's go!" Aoki shouted passionately, his voice filled with determination.

At that moment, Sendo smiled. He had always disliked baseball—struggling to understand why people would endure hours under the scorching sun.

But now, seeing everyone fully absorbed in the game, their hearts completely in it, Sendo suddenly thought… maybe this isn't so bad after all.

The intensity in Kanda's eyes was undeniable—he had cranked his fighting spirit to the max.

"Steal!"

"No, squeeze play!" Unlike Wakana's earlier safe bunt, this time it was a straightforward squeeze play designed to score Wakana from third. Sendo had already signaled the play before Aoki even stepped up to bat.

Wakana may not remember many signals, but the most common and crucial ones were etched into her memory.

"First base!" Hori, realizing they had no chance at home, redirected the throw.

"Safe!"

Smack!

"Out!"

"The squeeze play worked!!! One-run difference!!!

And still, with one out, there's a runner on third!

Next up—the heart of the lineup: Kondou!"

"Third batter, second baseman, Kondou!"

"Third batter, second baseman, Kondou!"

"Let's go, Kondou! One hit is all we need!"

"You've got this, Kondou!"

The cheers erupted again.

"Really now? Can't they think of any new cheers?" Sendo quipped lightheartedly, surprisingly relaxed despite the pressure.

Pop!

"Ball!"

"Ball four!"

Kondou calmly took four pitches, drawing a walk. Tokugawa's pitcher, clearly wary of Kondou's abilities, tried to force a swing while conserving his drained energy.

"Fourth batter, pitcher, Sawamura!"

"Fourth batter, pitcher, Sawamura!"

As Sawamura stepped up, Sendo frantically signaled—a ridiculously complex and long set of instructions. Sawamura squared up for a bunt, signaling another squeeze play to tie the game.

Tokugawa's infield moved up yet again.

"First pitch coming up!"

Whiz!

But Ohno on third hesitated, taking one slow step forward—enough to bait Tokugawa.

"Home plate!" Hori shouted, sensing the chance for an out.

As the throw went home, Ohno broke into a sprint back to third. The second baseman couldn't react in time, and Sawamura reached first base safely.

The truth became clear—there was no mistake.

The plan all along was to load the bases.

"Bases loaded! One out, bases loaded! Tokugawa is in their biggest crisis yet! A single ties the game, and a double could seal a walk-off victory! Sendo's bold strategy has forced Tokugawa into a corner! Next up—Akagi's second-best hitter after Kondou: Omura!!!"

The stadium erupted into chaos.

The final inning was impossibly tense, filled with relentless drama.

Despite barely stepping in until the last inning, Sendo's decisive moves had pushed Tokugawa to the brink.

Everyone watching was stunned by Sendo's tactical brilliance.

Even hidden in the crowd, Coach Sakaki's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Coach Sakaki's shock was justified.

For someone so young, Sendo's tactical thinking was far beyond his years.

Sakaki, who had coached for decades, prided himself on his ability to read players—high schoolers, college students, even professionals.

Their expressions, movements, fighting spirit—he could predict it all.

Players like Miyuki and Yura had been completely read during past games, their pitches and plays deciphered.

That's how terrifying Sakaki's insight was.

But Sendo? There was no pattern. Sometimes bold, sometimes cautious, his unpredictability followed no logic.

If Sakaki knew The Art of War, he'd recall the words: "The military has no constant shape, just as water has no constant form. War is the art of deception."

Sendo was like a phantom, effortlessly pulling the strings, manipulating everyone on the field.

In Sakaki's eyes, Akagi's team still had a long way to go.

But for a group trained in just over a year—and by an outsider, no less—this was impressive.

Sawamura hadn't gone all out yet, so Sakaki couldn't quite gauge his full potential.

To him, Akagi still seemed raw and inexperienced.

But their spirit… that was undeniable.

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