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510 — Nowhere to Hide, the Invincible Hojou
🕑 Added 2025-09-10 16:05:13 +0000 UTCIt was about to happen!!
Every pair of eyes from the Kendo Club and Baseball Club locked onto the boy gripping the bat.
Nobody doubted whether Kyousuke could hit the ball.
His figure stood tall and unshakable like a stone cliff, like a master swordsman of legend.
Even the pitcher, Fujikawa Masatake, found himself wondering just what kind of hit Hojou would unleash.
Taniya Ryuya, acting as umpire, had already braced himself to shout and cheer.
Amid everyone’s anticipation, Kyousuke moved.
His left foot twisted sharply, the bat in his hands dropped like a pendulum, and in a flash his long legs launched him half a meter forward.
His body stretched taut like a drawn bow.
A steal!
The batter was stealing base!
Before anyone realized what was happening, Hojou had already broken from home plate and was charging toward first base.
“Idiot! He’s stealing!”
Tsuchiya Ryota spat in shock as he shouted, quickly throwing the ball toward the first baseman.
But he was too late.
By the time the ball reached first, Hojou’s foot had already stamped down on the bag.
And he didn’t stop there. Like a bouncing ball smashing into a wall, Hojou rebounded instantly, his legs pumping as he bolted for second base without a moment’s hesitation.
“Damn it! Don’t just stand there—send it to third base!” Ryota barked.
As the catcher he instantly made the call: forget second, cut him off at third!
And indeed, before the first baseman could even shut his gaping mouth, Hojou had already flown past second base.
The twenty-seven meters between bases seemed to fold beneath his stride; he devoured the distance like it was nothing.
Every eye widened at the sight of him, arms pumping, gaze sharp and unwavering, barreling down on third base.
What was this?!
They had all expected to see Hojou’s first batting performance.
Instead, he had stunned them with a steal—and not just any steal, but a steal straight off home plate.
First base, then second… and now he was charging third.
This was insane.
Even pitcher Fujikawa couldn’t believe his eyes.
Hearing his captain’s order, he screamed at the first baseman, “Throw it to third, now!”
Luckily, the boy’s head hadn’t completely shut down—his throw was solid, the ball hurling toward third base.
That was the thrill of a steal.
It wasn’t just speed—it was a strategy that danced on the edge of everyone’s nerves.
A gamble so bold it made hearts pound.
For reference: a skilled high school pitcher in Japan could throw at 130 km/h, while even professional sprinters only hit 28 km/h.
A baseball travels nearly four times faster than a runner’s legs.
To attempt a steal at all was an act of courage bordering on madness.
On the field, only home runs rivaled the excitement of a successful steal.
When a runner snatched a base, the roar of the crowd was pure ecstasy—like spiritual transcendence.
And when they failed, the groan of disappointment was just as great.
But Hojou wasn’t just stealing one base.
He had blazed past first, devoured second, and was now storming third.
Third base!
Could Nekota stop him?!
Third base! Would Hojou break through?!
Every gaze fixed on Hojou Kyousuke and Nekota Toake, the third baseman.
Nekota was tall—well over 180 cm and the ace slugger of Soubu High’s baseball team.
He crouched low, glove hand open, ball hand clenched tight, waiting like a fortress for Hojou to rush straight into his trap.
This was the end.
Ryota judged quickly.
Steals only worked when the pitcher was mid-throw or the fielders were still scrambling.
Now the third baseman had the ball in hand, fully prepared.
To push on recklessly was suicide.
Hojou’s best option was to retreat back to second.
His first time playing baseball and he had stolen first base—this was Hojou Kyousuke.
Ryota was in awe, but as he watched that relentless figure charge third, he felt as if he were witnessing the sacred grounds of Koshien.
But this was the end.
He would be tagged out.
As long as Nekota’s hand, holding the ball, brushed Hojou, all of his effort would vanish in an instant.
Watching Hojou’s fearless sprint, Ryota silently pronounced his verdict.
Too amateur. But that was fine.
Ryota would teach him.
He would pass down all his years of failure, so that Hojou could rise above it and be crowned with honor.
Every eye was on him now.
Even the soccer and track teams had gathered, drawn by the shouts of the baseball players.
Hojou’s legs moved like a work of art.
His loose pants tightened with each stride, revealing the sharp lines of muscle beneath—graceful as a leopard, fierce as a tiger.
Most people knew the rules of baseball at least a little.
Watching him charge third with such determination filled their hearts with a strange, tragic nobility.
Home plate, first base, second base—empty.
On the field, there was only one hero against nine dragons.
A hopeless battle, yet he didn’t falter.
He only ran faster, cleats tearing into the dirt, mud flying behind him as he surged forward.
“Home!”
“Run!”
The shouts rang out suddenly, jarring and loud—it was the Kendo Club.
While everyone else believed Hojou was finished, only they believed he would succeed.
The loudest was Zaimokuza Yoshiteru, of course—only he had the guts to yell something so outrageously chuunibyou.
Kisaki Tetta, Hatake Gorou, and the others all roared too.
Their faith in their boss wasn’t born from words, but from victory after victory.
It wasn’t that their boss would lead them to victory—he was victory itself.
Standing at his side, they knew defeat could never reach them.
That was Hojou Kyousuke—Second-Generation Rampaging Angel, the Handless Demon.
So what if this was his first time playing baseball? It wasn’t his first time swinging.
The Kendo Club’s sudden cheer reignited the crowd’s hope.
Eyes shifted back to Hojou.
He was still accelerating, breath steaming in the crisp morning air, gaze sharp and unyielding.
His strides never faltered.
Like a bullet from a chamber, he would not stop until he struck his target.
But even if he smashed through with brute force, what did it matter? As long as Nekota tagged him with the ball, it was over.
Nekota’s face tightened, his grip on the ball ironclad, cleats digging into the dirt as he braced for impact.
Kyousuke could hear the roar of the crowd, but not even one percent of his mind was wasted on such noise.
Strength, reflexes, stamina, muscle memory—his body and mind had been forged day after day into a perfect machine.
And right now, they had only one goal—score!
Just breaking through third base? That wasn’t enough.
If he was going to do it, he would do it all the way.
First, second, third, home—every base conquered in a single breath.
The man blocking his path was Nekota Toake.
Hojou already knew his name, his class, his build, even his past performance stats.
He knew everything about Nekota.
The glove tightened on Nekota’s left hand, his left foot shifted forward—trying to sell the illusion that he would block from the left, glove outstretched to widen his reach.
But his weight was leaning right.
His gaze was unfocused. His concentration wavered. That meant the glove was a feint.
The real ball was hidden in his right hand, waiting to catch Hojou if he broke right.
In the span of a lightning flash, Hojou had already unraveled it all.
Every twitch of Nekota’s muscles, every flicker of his eyes exposed the truth.
So the final answer was clear—break right.
At the very instant Nekota believed his plan had succeeded, Hojou would smash through his guard and seize third.
He could already picture it—the smug grin when Nekota thought Hojou had taken the bait, then the shock, the despair as he was overpowered.
In that brief moment of self-doubt, Nekota would hesitate, unable to make a clean throw.
That was when Hojou would fly across home plate and claim the score.
No hesitation. Twenty-seven meters could be devoured in a heartbeat.
His decision made, Hojou’s face betrayed nothing.
Even the angle of his toes hadn’t shifted.
If he could read others so clearly, there was no way he’d expose his own intent.
Years of training had drilled his body into a weapon—it moved without thought, without giving his opponent the slightest hint.
One step.
Two steps.
Three—!
They clashed. Hojou and Nekota met at last.
Everyone held their breath, eyes wide, hearts pounding.
This wasn’t just Hojou’s baseball debut—it could be the very spark that would ignite Soubu High’s rise to dominance.
To miss this moment would be a lifelong regret.
So he really came right.
‘Too green, Hojou. Let me, your senior, give you a lesson—baseball isn’t a one-man game!’
Nekota’s smirk widened as Hojou charged straight into his trap.
His left foot slammed down, his body lunging to the right.
His right hand whipped forward, revealing the hidden white ball.
It was his signature trick.
His massive palm could completely conceal the ball, lulling opponents into false security.
Then, when they moved exactly as he wanted, he’d reveal it at the last instant, throwing them into panic before tagging them out.
“Damn it! Nekota, you dirty bastard—hiding the ball in your right hand? Can’t you give the rookie a break!?”
The soccer club spectators grumbled, annoyed.
For them, seeing Hojou blaze through third was way more exciting than watching him get shut down by some cheap trick.
Others quickly joined in, booing Nekota.
They didn’t care if veterans like Nekota and Kuramochi lost face by being toyed with by a baseball newbie.
All they wanted was to witness the birth of a legend.
Years from now, what a story it would make—how Hojou Kyousuke, the first time he ever held a bat, had the audacity to steal first, then second, then attempt third in a single go.
Genius wasn’t just talent.
It was courage, instinct, wisdom far beyond ordinary men.
Seniors who’d spent two and a half years in the club were being swept aside by him as easily as stepping over a puddle.
And with that, the legend of the Dual-Blade Swordsman, Hojou Kyousuke, began.
Now this was the kind of spectacle worth remembering!
As the crowd cursed Nekota for his underhanded trick, the Kendo Club roared back with their own voices.
“Hah! Pathetic, Nekota! Thinking you can play mind games with the boss? That’s the biggest joke in the world.
Don’t you know? Against Hojou Kyousuke—the Demon Without Hands every trick, every scheme is nothing but smoke!”
Hatake Goro’s shout rang out, followed by Kisaki Tetta’s cold smile.
Kisaki wasn’t a fighter—he’d be lucky to win against a girl.
But that wasn’t the point.
Back in middle school, he had marched beside Hojou Kyousuke to the national tournaments, one of the chosen Five.
That had nothing to do with tricks.
If his weakness had cost the boss even a single victory, he’d never have forgiven himself.
No, he was chosen because of his mind.
In kendo, there were three kinds of “sen”—the initiative: “sen-sen no sen,” the first strike; “sen no sen,” counterattack during the opponent’s move; and “go no sen,” striking from behind, seizing victory from defense.
To those foolish onlookers, it looked like Nekota had seized the first initiative, tricking Hojou into his trap.
But Kisaki knew better.
For him, and for a genius like Hojou, it was the final kind—the so-called lowest option to mere mortals—that was the true killing blow.
‘You predicted my move? I already predicted your prediction. I even predicted my own prediction.’
This was the battlefield of geniuses.
‘Show them, Boss. Let these fools see the power of your invincible mind!’
Kisaki’s thoughts burned with fanatical reverence.
