1 ball, 2 strikes.

The fifth pitch, the baseball's trajectory was straight and true, indistinguishable from a normal fastball before reaching the home plate zone—however, as an experienced slugger, Ishijima Gen keenly sensed something amiss and ultimately resisted the urge to swing, letting the ball pass.

Sure enough, the baseball lost its upward force just as it entered the home plate and abruptly dropped outside the strike zone, falling straight until it landed in Uesugi Yasuyuki's glove.

"Ugh—" Ishijima Gen, startled into a cold sweat by the pitch, felt relieved. Luckily, he hadn't swung, otherwise, the game would have ended right there.

2 balls, 2 strikes.

The sixth pitch, with the increase in batting attempts, Ishijima Gen gradually adjusted to the pitches, once again pulling the ball foul.

The seventh, eighth, ninth pitch;

Foul, foul, foul!

The collision sound of the baseball and the bat echoed continuously above Koshien Stadium, and the audience's attention alternated incessantly between the pitcher and batter; cheers, shouts, gasps, and the noise of fan support blended into an unusual harmony, creating a rhythm that intensified with the ongoing competition.

"Woo—woo—woo—"

On the pitcher's mound, Lin Guanglai was breathing heavily: he truly hadn't expected that Luzheng Society's cleanup hitter could hold out against him at the last moment.

In this game, counting the pitches used in this final at-bat, his pitch count had definitely exceeded 140 pitches—this was the first time Lin Guanglai had pitched so many balls.

Receiving the return ball from Uesugi Yasuyuki, Lin Guanglai didn't hurry to throw but instead took off his cap and continually wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve;

At home plate, Ishijima Gen also stepped out of the batter's box again, his heaving chest revealing his exhaustion—he had exerted all his strength to disrupt Lin Guanglai's efforts.

On the pitcher's mound, Lin Guanglai made his move.

His left foot lifted high, then took a large step forward, his massive body lunging down fiercely with upper and lower limbs working in unison, snapping his arm like a whip.

In the batter's box, Ishijima Gen began his backswing, his right leg exerting force suddenly, his hips and shoulders rotating simultaneously, driving the bat to swing out.

"Hit it—hit it!!!!!"

The bat's speed was equally astonishing, moving rapidly toward the anticipated pitch trajectory.

Yet, the sharp explosive sound from the anticipated metal bat striking the hard baseball did not occur.

"Pop."

——This was the solid sound of the baseball contacting the catcher's mitt.

Simultaneously, the umpire behind home plate made his call:

"Strike, batter out!"

"Game over."

The vast Koshien Stadium fell into a momentary silence.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh—!!!"

Soon after, the stands at Koshien erupted like a volcanic explosion, bursting with astounding energy amidst the subtle chill of spring.

Alongside came the nearly hoarse shouting of the live match commentary:

"The final pitch! Slider!"

"Swing and a miss!!!"

"Lin Guanglai, he did it! The game is over!!!"

"Lin Guanglai! He faced history head-on! He made history!"

"22 strikeouts! A new record for the Koshien tournament! He's done it again!"

"Waseda Industries, second-round victory! Two consecutive Koshien tournaments, reaching at least the quarter-finals!"

"The winner of this match, Waseda Real!!!"

Facing this historic moment, the commentators went wild, the live audience and those in front of their TVs went wild, and the Waseda Jitsugyo players went wild too.

On the infield, outfield, and bench, all the Waseda players charged towards the pitcher's mound, their singing and dancing exuberance as if they had won the Koshien championship.

Surrounded by jubilant teammates, Lin Guanglai's face lit up with excitement; he removed his glove and then raised his arms high in the center of the crowd:

Yes, I did it, I once again accomplished what others couldn't!

Reporters tasked with documenting the match also went crazy, their camera flashes going off frantically, eager to capture every pore of the boy on the pitcher's mound.

The veteran reporters permitted to shoot on-site were all experienced seniors responsible for multiple Takayama tournaments; they knew all too well the significance of this game:

At this moment, for these reporters at the scene, they were walking with history—something many professionals spend a lifetime waiting for.

If not for the need to follow post-match procedures, the reporters would have dragged Lin Guanglai off the field for an interview, probing every aspect of his life from childhood to now.

While the Waseda players were celebrating madly, in the unnoticed corner at home plate, Ishijima Gen, who had held his head high throughout the match, lowered it for the first time—it was now that even he, previously confident, was at a loss for words.

Picking up the bat dropped in exhaustion, Ishijima Gen, expressionless, returned to his team's bench on the third-base side—at the entrance to the players' bench, Hai Bu Dadao waited for him.

"Gen, are you okay? Don't be upset, in this at-bat you batted ten balls against him…" At the sight of Ishijima Gen, Hai Bu Dadao immediately spoke words of comfort.

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