Believing She Has Been Reincarnated into a Baseball Game, My Little Sister Is Aiming for the Koshien, While I Give It My All to Keep Her from Finding out That It’s Actually an Ntr Game - Chapter 29

Anyway, in this situation, it’s best to quickly fill the open first base.

This is probably within the opponent’s expectations as well.

What I hate the most when there’s a runner on third is the safety squeeze. Unlike a regular squeeze, the batter bunts after the runner on third starts. Normally, it would be a close play between being out or safe, but considering our defense, it’s almost certainly safe.

Once the safety squeeze is on, a score is inevitable, tying the game, which essentially feels like a loss.

However, by intentionally walking the next batter to load the bases, we can prevent that. With the bases loaded, the catcher just needs to step on home plate to get the third-base runner out—no need for a tag play. Even our infield should manage that, as alert as they are. No runs would be scored from a safety squeeze.

So now, with one out and the bases loaded.

“It’s going to be a regular squeeze. I’ll call it. Don’t know when, but at some point, that third-base runner will start.”

I say this to the infielders and the catcher, all gathered on the mound, covering my mouth with my glove. It smells faintly of the syrup I was mixing earlier.

But that wasn’t the only thing I needed to tell them during this timeout.

“We absolutely cannot let any runners score. For that, I’m setting a special shift.”

In a normal squeeze, the runner starts as the pitcher begins his motion. Even with the bases loaded, if the batter just rolls it, it might work (though of course, it’s riskier than a safety squeeze).

To stop this, a bunt shift is needed. But we haven’t practiced that.

So, I turn to Nomo at second,

“Nomo, move way up. You’ll handle all the bunts on the first-base side yourself. No matter what, throw home. I’ll primarily handle the third-base side. If I can’t get to a ball, Kinoko at third will also advance. He’ll only take care of bunts near the third-base line. Just focus on sending it home. Don’t think about anything else.”

There’s no other option. Nomo is the only one who can defend properly. Being left-handed doesn’t disadvantage him if he’s just focused on throwing home. Even if Kinoko gets involved, it would just mean picking up a grounder and throwing it straight to the catcher. He doesn’t need to make any complicated decisions. This should be simple enough, even for him.

Nomo nods seriously.

“Understood. But there’s still a chance they might hit. What if we go with five infielders, since I’ll be moving far forward?”

“No, five won’t be enough. Everyone.”

I’ve already signaled the coach with my fingers and eyes. He looked puzzled, but Sakura Miyakotona interpreted for me. The three outfielders drop back, and three infield substitutes—sophomores and freshmen—join us, looking surprised.

“Seriously, Captain… everyone in the infield? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Nomo’s concern is valid, but it’s unavoidable. Right now, this is the most logical move.

“We don’t need outfielders. If the ball reaches the outfield, we’ve lost. If it’s a hit, two runners will score, and it’s a walk-off. Even a shallow fly ball won’t allow them to tag up. If we tie and go to extra innings, we’re at a huge disadvantage.”

“Indeed…”

Of course, a fluke might save us, but I can’t rely on miracles.

High school baseball is over if you lose even once.

“Look, what you guys need to do is simple. Nomo and I will handle the bunts. At most, Kinoko might have to step in. The rest of you in the infield, if they swing, spread out evenly. With this many people, even if you play a bit forward, the ball won’t get through. If a grounder goes over my head, that’s on me. If you field a grounder, throw it home without hesitation. Don’t hesitate. Don’t even look at the runner. You don’t need to think about the situation. Just throw to the catcher like it’s a machine. The catcher only needs to focus on getting the third-base runner out. Don’t try for a double play. Just concentrate on making the throw as efficiently as possible. Forget about what comes after.”

Normally, an infielder would read the hit to decide whether to go for a double play or throw home. But asking these guys to do that would only lead to mistakes. Those split seconds of hesitation are too valuable. I just want them to focus on not letting the third-base runner score.

“If they score even one run, consider it a loss. Got it? Just take out the third-base runner. If we get two outs, I’ll take care of the rest. We’re going to win this!”

With my words, everyone nods vigorously and moves to their assigned positions.

Our special defensive formation causes a stir on the opponent’s bench.

— They’re going for a squeeze.

I was sure of it.

A squeeze with the bases loaded isn’t common, but against us, it’s clearly effective.

This inning, I’ve only thrown three pitches. No swings have come close to making hard contact. My pitching speed hasn’t dropped significantly. The opponent’s bench probably hasn’t noticed anything unusual about me yet. And from this point in their lineup, they haven’t managed to get a ball into the outfield at all. Not even close.

On the other hand, our defensive troubles are already well-known.

And up to this point, they’ve relied heavily on bunts.

Even if they just tie the game, they have better relief pitchers waiting.

They’re more likely to go for a squeeze.

After all, I hate it the most. How grateful I’d be if they just tried to hit.

Cheats or not, no matter how tired I am, I’m confident I won’t let the lower part of their lineup get hits off me.

So, they’ll squeeze.

Baseball is a game of exploiting what your opponent hates the most. Bad for education, really.

Well, in any case, I’ve made my decision too.

I’ll keep throwing the pitches they hate, you weak bunters!

Ninth inning, one out, bases loaded, one run difference. If they tie it, we lose. They’re coming with a squeeze.

In this situation, the pitch I choose is the hardest one to bunt—

“Hmph—!!”

Of course, a high fastball! Inside and high! Full power pitch!

Against such a powerful fastball, the sixth hitter in the right box,

“――――…Seriously, this guy?”

took a mighty full swing.

The ball settled into the catcher’s mitt. The umpire called a strike. Nomo, who had been sprinting toward home, and I, who also started running at the pitch, exchanged glances with our infielders, who had moved slightly forward on my unilateral decision, all of us sweating coldly.

“Hey, crappy captain. Wasn’t it supposed to be a squeeze? You’ve been nagging us for a month. Oh? Just when I thought you’d finally gotten serious, why are you the only one who gets to have a cute girlfriend, you pathetic excuse for a man!”

The atmosphere was thick with such sentiments. Being uncircumcised has nothing to do with it. It retracts when erect.

But, this is it.

I subtly give Nomo a look.

He gives a faint nod back.

No mistake. I was sure of it—it was a squeeze after all.

The batter gritted his teeth in frustration. The opposing coach looked down in disbelief. Such poor acting.

That full swing was clearly a bluff.

With no one in the outfield, if a half-liner got over the infielders’ heads, that alone would be enough for a walk-off, come-from-behind victory.

There was no need for such a powerful swing. He did it to leave an impression on us.

Moreover, he clearly swung under the ball. Despite my fastball losing some of its zip compared to earlier at-bats, the distance between the bat and the ball was the same as when he missed earlier. It’s hard to imagine a skilled hitter would miss so badly if he were genuinely trying to hit the ball.

He deliberately missed. It’s a setup for a squeeze later, to erase the possibility of a squeeze from our minds.

No need to tell anyone but Nomo. It’s better to show some confusion to deceive the opponent. They think they’ve fooled us, but we’ll deceive them instead.

My task remains the same.

I’ll keep pitching fastballs, ready for the squeeze!

“Ball! Three balls, one strike!”

The situation was dire. Really dire.

My fastballs had missed the strike zone three times in a row, and the sixth batter just watched in silence. Even as his arm tensed up, there was no hint of him preparing to bunt.

What? Wait, it’s supposed to be a squeeze, right? You guys are going to squeeze, right? You definitely said it was a squeeze. What’s going on, you pathetic fool? It retracts when erect.

No, it wasn’t even about that anymore. Over-caution had led me to push my limits. Fatigue was messing with my control.

Three balls…

If I throw one more ball and he takes it, it’s a walk. Bases loaded, and that means a forced run. One run scores. We tie. At that point, we stand no chance of victory. Defeat. Breaking my promise to Sakura Miyakotona. I’d be no different from the scum I was before my reincarnation, who objectified women and hurt those close to me.

This would be the end of my second life.

“Hahaha…”

A dry laugh escapes me.

I might be reaching my limit.

Am I looking down now? Hands on both knees? The ace? The captain? During a game? On the mound?

This is it. I’m done. We’re losing. This is exactly what I shouldn’t be showing.

Even though I know this, I can’t stand up. I can’t face forward. I can’t muster any strength.

So, this is what I really am, huh? I’ve been deluding myself.

It makes sense. When you really think about it, I was never anything special.

I’m not even 180 cm tall, no real physical advantage, and my athletic abilities are average. I just thought about baseball constantly and practiced more intensely than anyone else, which is why I developed faster. That’s all it was.

Even if I dominated at the high school level, my growth stopped there. The higher the stage, the more real geniuses surpass me. Professional scouts can see that in an instant.

Reincarnated with a cheat ability? So what? Even if you bulk up your muscles, you can’t properly use them. Your joints will give out first. Your ligaments and tendons will snap. The suspicious glances from others will break your spirit. Both body and mind will be destroyed.

Forget it. I can’t do this. I give up on everything. I hate baseball. Don’t get cocky, Otani.

“This is annoying…”

I might as well throw whatever—a squeeze, a hit, or a walk-off walk. Just pitch carelessly, let them score quickly, and end this. Just go home and sleep. I don’t even have the energy to masturbate.

Struggling to lift my heavy body, I catch the ball thrown back by the catcher and move into a lethargic set position—

“What are you doing, Kyugo!! Got any spirit, you loser?!”

“…Huh?”

Just as I was about to settle, a mysterious jeer flies in, surprisingly from the third-base side, from our own bench. A woman’s voice, filled with outrage.

There shouldn’t be any women on our bench, except for Sakura Miyakotona.

Leaning out from the bench, a small, blonde-haired woman in a tracksuit was staring directly at me, hurling her overflowing anger.

“Maika…?”

Maika, my girlfriend, was glaring at me with a demonic expression.

“Don’t mess around! I mean it, don’t look down on or mock the baseball player I love the most in the world! I hate—absolutely hate—people who underestimate you, Kyugo! I hate people who belittle you, who take strikeouts and Kazuhei Mizuhara lightly, but most of all, I hate people who underestimate you! Show them! Show them that you are the world’s best baseball player!”

Maika was serious. Furious, with real intensity in her eyes and words, she shouted everything she thought without holding back.

Ignoring Sakura Miyakotona and the umpire’s attempts to calm her down, Maika finally screamed,

“I’m supposed to be the happiest woman in the world because of you! Right now, I’m probably second, losing to Riko! I can’t stand not being first!”

“What is she, crazy…?”

She had been eagerly collecting my… fluids until just now. I couldn’t help but be taken aback, but what she said was rational. The truth. Irrefutable.

That was indeed the case.

I thought my body was heavy, but I was mistaken. I felt tired, but it was just my imagination. An illusion. I had belittled myself as a mediocre baseball player, but it was just modesty. A Japanese virtue.

The real me is the world’s best baseball player, the coolest husband to Maika.

Because, I have a cheat. I have a unique cheat that no doping athlete, no reincarnated light novel protagonist, not even Shohei Ohtani has. The strongest doping.

I have the world’s best heroine!

Well, Ohtani has one too. That guy really does overlap with me.

Anyway, with Maika by my side, there’s no way I could lose here. I couldn’t stop.

“Watch silently, Maika! I don’t care if you get wet!”

“――――Kyugo… Yeah! I’m already wet! Soaking wet!”

She’s already wet, apparently. Soaking wet. I need to hurry back and take care of it.