Chapter Text
The crack of the bat echoed across the dirt of Field A, each swing a controlled release of frustration. Miyuki Kazuya adjusted his grip, the leather of the bat worn smooth beneath his fingers. He’d been hitting for a while now, every repetition sharp, precise. But his mind wasn’t on the ball. It was on the bullpen. On the whirlwind of pitches he’d glimpsed from beyond the fence earlier.
Nine pitches. Nine distinct weapons, each delivered with a raw energy that bordered on chaotic. He’d seen the way Miyauchi’s mitt jerked, the subtle widening of his eyes. He’d felt the tension in the air, the unspoken awe that had settled over the field.
That should have been me.
The thought, unbidden and unwelcome, surfaced again. He knew it was selfish. He knew Miyauchi was a skilled catcher, deserving of the opportunity. But the idea of guiding that raw talent, of molding those unpredictable pitches into a cohesive strategy it was an irresistible challenge.
He swung again, the ball cracking sharply as it met the wood. This wasn’t just about catching a few pitches. It was about understanding a pitcher. About unlocking his full potential. And Miyuki Kazuya wasn’t about to let anyone else steal that opportunity.
He paused, taking a deep breath and wiping the sweat from his brow. Okay, get a grip, Kazuya. He could always offer to catch for Sawamura but the boy wasn’t officially part of the first string yet. Until then, Miyuki couldn’t interfere. Unless, of course, Sawamura himself came to him and asked. And if that happened, why would he ever refuse?
His eyes flicked toward the edges of Field A. The morning sun was already creeping over the school grounds, spilling long shadows across the dirt. Training had begun early today individual practice, announced by the coaches at dawn. Rare. Suspiciously rare. Kataoka never let the players train without direct supervision unless something important was happening. And with the Kanto tournament looming close, the timing clicked in Miyuki’s head.
So that’s it. Something’s brewing. Something big.
That was when the thought gripped him again—sharp, electric. He remembered the bullpen at Field C, the glimpse of Sawamura’s pitches. He understood why Kataoka had chosen Miyauchi; any other second-string catcher would’ve made sense. But Miyauchi was first string. Just like him. The question repeated itself in his mind, relentless.
And beneath it, another sting settled in. Rei-san had known about Sawamura all this time weeks, maybe months and yet he’d heard nothing. No hint, no warning. It wasn’t betrayal, not exactly, but the silence left a faint bitterness in his chest. He pushed it down, burying it under the crack of bat against ball in Field A, yet the thought lingered, stubborn as ever.
He grinned to himself, the corner of his mouth twisting upward into that familiar, unnerving expression. The kind that unsettled teammates and made them mutter under their breath about his “weird moods.” A smirk one second, laughter the next, and a shadowed stillness right after. Dark amusement flickered across his face, unreadable to anyone watching.
Time to see what everyone’s thinking, Miyuki decided, lips quirking further. Time to set his own strategy in motion. He was almost eager excited to see Sawamura up close, and just as curious to watch the others’ reactions when the coaches finally introduced him.
He swung once more, the ball cracking off the bat, then let the wood drop to the dirt with a heavy clunk. The sound carried sharp and final through the morning air.
The game, in more ways than one, was already underway.
Meanwhile, over on Field C, Kataoka turned back to Sawamura after the bullpen.
“You can go with Takashima and get your practice uniform,” he said firmly.
Sawamura’s face lit up, and he bowed deeply before exiting with Takashima. Once the boy was gone, Kataoka shifted his attention to Miyauchi, who had been waiting quietly nearby.
“You can return to practice. Also, inform the first string we’ll be holding a simulation game this afternoon. Tell Yuki to lead the practice.”
Miyauchi nodded, excused himself, and headed for the field.
The first to notice his arrival was Ryosuke, who was going through his personal batting routine. He glanced up, eyes narrowing slightly, as if Miyauchi carried something important. His stare lingered until Tanba approached, asking,
“Where have you been?”
“Coach gave me a task,” Miyauchi replied simply.
That one statement was enough to draw Ryosuke and Tanba’s sharper attention. Both looked at him expectantly, as though demanding he say more.
Before the silence stretched, Miyuki stepped in. He had been watching from the side, his thoughts still dwelling on what he’d witnessed in the bullpen earlier. Gripping his bat harder, he sent the ball soaring high, almost as though trying to impress someone unseen.
As Miyuki walked closer, his trademark smirk surfaced.
“Ohhh, Miyauchi-senpai. You’re back. How was your little task with the coach?”
The words carried an edge half casual, half probing. Miyauchi stiffened at the remark, caught between answering and holding back. The quiet tension between the two didn’t go unnoticed; Tanba and Ryosuke exchanged glances, silently observing.
Finally, Miyauchi answered evenly, “It made me realize I still have a lot to work on. There are pitchers out there who’ll demand more from me than I thought, and if I can’t handle them properly, I’ll drag the team down. I need to get stronger not just for myself, but to be someone the team can rely on.”
That reply caught Yuuki’s attention from a distance. The captain’s eyes sharpened, his focus shifting subtly toward Miyauchi. Behind him, Jun leaned against the fence, his expression oddly reminiscent of the suspenseful manga he had read the night before.
By the afternoon, as the simulation game rolled on, two figures approached Field A. One was Coach Kataoka. The other, walking at his side, was none other than the head of Seidou High.
The team halted briefly, eyes drawn toward the unexpected visit.
“With all the new first years, we now have a total of ninety-three members,” Kataoka announced.
The headmaster surveyed the ground, watching the intensity with which the players trained.
“All the members look so focused,” he remarked. “Do you really think this year’s team can reach Koshien?”
Kataoka met his gaze squarely.
The headmaster continued, his tone both doubtful and concerned.
“In the past five years, Koshien has always been too far a goal. I don’t think this team can stir the nation that way.”
Kataoka’s response was unwavering.
“Our goal has always been the same to conquer the nation. There’s no need to worry.”
While the two spoke, the players continued their drills.
“Field A is for regulars’ batting,” Kataoka explained calmly. “Field B for full defensive practice. Field C is reserved for special evaluations and matters that require my direct supervision. The abilities of these athletes far exceed those of last year’s top four.”
“Hyahhh!” Kuramochi’s wild voice cut through the air as he sprinted across the diamond.
“Our iron wall defense is something to boast about. First, shortstop Kuramochi, second year. Next, second baseman Kominato, third year ”
The introductions rolled on: Isashiki’s strong arm in center, Yuuki’s unwavering presence as cleanup and captain, Masuko’s heavy power at third base, and Miyuki’s cunning as the pivotal catcher.
“These are the players who will be known and feared throughout the nation,” Kataoka concluded.
The headmaster’s expression tightened. “And the pitchers? Tanba has yet to regain his sharpness. You’ve brought in new arms, but how will you use them?”
“Not exactly the way you think,” Kataoka replied coolly.
The headmaster sighed. “There are many who doubt your methods, Tesshin. I’m not the only one. For a school with such a baseball tradition, you’ve been questioned often.”
Kataoka didn’t flinch. “That doesn’t matter. I turned down pro offers to return here. My duty is clear—I’ll see it through to the end.”
The headmaster gave a faint, almost weary smile. Strict though his former student was, he could never quite overcome the iron conviction Tessin carried. Quietly, he wondered to himself: Can that boy make his presence known under such a system?
Soon after, Kataoka gathered the team at the center.
“Listen up! There are only two months until the summer tournament and weeks before the Kanto preliminaries. We can’t afford aimless training anymore.
“Whether we’re climbing Mount Fuji or a small hill, the first step looks the same. But the resolution required is completely different.”
“YES, SIR!” the team shouted in unison.
Kataoka’s voice thundered on: “Day after day, put your life on the line for your goal! As long as you keep your spirits high, your training will never falter!”
As his words echoed, more figures approached. The club president Ota, the assistant coach, the main scout Rei and behind them, a new figure emerged.
A teenage boy with dark brown hair, a duffle bag slung at his side, and glowing brown eyes stepped forward. A lollipop rested casually in his mouth, his grin wide and unbothered.
The field buzzed with curiosity.
“Who is that?”
“Wait— isn’t that?”
Some whispered. Others stared, stunned. Kanemaru went pale, as if seeing a ghost. Kuramochi and Masuko, however, could only grin in relief—finally, their roommate had arrived. Ryosuke’s keen eyes sharpened. Yuuki murmured softly, “I’d like to try batting against his pitches.”
Jun blinked, unable to believe it. And Miyuki his smirk widened, his eyes glittering like he’d just been handed the most entertaining puzzle of the year.
It was Sawamura Eijun.
And before the team could react fully, Sawamura’s shocked voice cut through:
“Ojisan?!”
The school head chuckled warmly. “Oh, Eijun. You’re here.”
Confusion rippled across the field. Why did the new kid call the headmaster Ojisan?
Sawamura, still baffled, leaned in to whisper but his voice carried far too well.
“Wait, aren’t you supposed to be on a date with Aunt Marie? Don’t tell me you ditched her?!”
The entire field froze, laughter threatening to burst. The headmaster simply chopped him lightly on the head.
“Later, brat. After this, I’ll go to her. For now, I have a personal task. Don’t mind this old man just go make friends.”
Even the strict players couldn’t hide their surprise at this softer side of the bald headmaster. Murmurs spread like wildfire.
“Are they related?”
“Wait, wasn’t that the pitcher from Akagi?”
“No way, wasn’t he supposed to have turned down every offer?”
From the sidelines:
“Isn’t that the lollipop guy?”
“Thought he was a myth.”
“He just appeared like he’s been enrolled since April.”
The rumors swelled until Kataoka’s voice rang out, silencing the chaos.
“Everyone listen up. A new first-year, absent until now due to health issues, will be joining. This morning, I personally evaluated him in Field C with Miyauchi as catcher. From what I saw, he has the tools to contribute but he still has much to prove.”
He turned to Sawamura. “Introduce yourself.”
Sawamura puffed his chest, lollipop still in place.
“Hello! I’m Sawamura Eijun, 15 years old, birthday May 15th. Height 175 cm, weight 65 kg last time I checked. Born and raised in Nagano, went to Akagi Middle School. I’m the only son, and I’m happy to have Masuko-senpai and Mochi-senpai as my brothers—but I don’t mind adding more if you want, just approach me!”
He grinned proudly, but Kataoka quickly cut him off. “We don’t need your life story. Position?”
“Oh—pitcher! I can cover other positions, but I’m confident on the mound. Please take care of me for the next three years!” He bowed, then stood tall, eyes sweeping across the field like an actor facing a stage.
Kataoka gave his decision without hesitation.
“I’ve seen enough from the bullpen. Starting tomorrow, you’ll be with second string. Prove your worth. For today you run with the other first-years. Understood?”
“Yes, bos—coach!” Eijun saluted sharply, only to freeze as a click echoed nearby. He turned, horrified, to see his bald uncle holding a camcorder, grinning like the devil.
Kataoka, unfazed, let the silence settle before continuing. The players remained lined up, tense and waiting. At the far end, Sawamura muttered under his breath toward his uncle, standing near Takashima-san.
“We’re not done yet”
His words dissolved into the air, unheard by most but they carried weight, a quiet promise to himself.
The team stayed lined up in front of Coach Kataoka, the headmaster watching close by, and Rei. Miyuki, standing with the others in the front, caught the glimpse of the announcement. His eyes followed Sawamura’s figure as the name was called. Second string, huh. A faint smile tugged at his lips. For a split second, he thought about stepping forward, about intercepting him. That kid wasn’t just some ordinary pitcher they all didn’t know it yet, but Miyuki did. He’s got way more in him than they realize.
But before Miyuki could move, a sharp voice cut through the field. It wasn’t someone he immediately recognized, but the tone was loud enough to turn heads. The speaker’s gaze carried confusion, almost disbelief, as if Sawamura’s promotion was a personal offense.
“Coach, pardon the interruption, but I have a question I need to clarify,” the player said firmly.
Kataoka’s expression hardened slightly, but he gave a single nod. “Go ahead.”
“I understand your decision, Coach, but as a member of this team, I find it unfair to have a newbie someone who hasn’t even participated in the intrasquad games suddenly promoted to the second string. Even if he has talent, we’ve been working hard every single day just to be noticed. And from what I’ve heard ” the player hesitated, then pressed on boldly, “he has connections to the headmaster. Isn’t this promotion just favoritism because of that?”
A murmur rippled across the lineup, but Kataoka’s silence was enough to cut it short. He lifted his head, voice calm yet edged with steel.
“I understand your concern. As coach, I owe every one of you fairness. But let me be perfectly clear what I saw from Sawamura was enough for me to make this decision. It has nothing to do with his junior high record, nor his connection to anyone in this school.” His gaze flicked toward the headmaster, who now wore a faintly irritated look, before returning to the team. His eyes sharpened. “If you doubt it, then take it as his challenge. Sawamura will prove his worth in the second string, the same way any of you would have to. Nothing more, nothing less.”
The firmness in Kataoka’s words left little room for argument, but the tension in the air didn’t vanish.
From where he stood, Miyuki’s eyes narrowed, his aura darkening like a storm. Who the hell does this guy think he is—saying Sawamura doesn’t deserve second string? Connection? His jaw clenched, his thoughts sharp and unrelenting. He doesn’t deserve second string because he deserves nothing less than first.
Nearby, Ryosuke’s gaze turned razor-sharp, practically murderous. His arms crossed loosely, but his voice was cold enough to chill bone as he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Jun and a few others to catch.“Who’s the punk questioning the coach’s decision? I don’t even know him. Who the hell is he?”
Miyauchi, a few steps away, let out a sharp snort through his nose, the sound crisp and dripping with clear irritation. His upper lip twitched as he glanced subtly toward the player, the faint wrinkle between his brows signaling unmistakable dissatisfaction. No words were needed his snort alone carried the weight of disapproval, enough to make anyone paying attention think twice before speaking out again.
Kuramochi, standing nearby, clenched his fists lightly, jaw tightening. What the hell ? he thought, eyes flicking toward Masuko for confirmation. I haven’t even seen his full potential yet, but what we’ve seen before and just his recent game is more than enough. He deserves to be here. Connection? That’s absurd! The disbelief twisted in his chest, a mix of indignation and raw frustration. He could barely contain the sharp, unspoken what the fuck that threatened to escape, his gaze darting quickly to Masuko, silently asking, Am I the only one thinking this is insane?
And then—Sawamura’s reaction.
The lollipop that had been in his mouth was gone, crushed between his teeth and spat aside earlier. Now, irritation flickered in his eyes, a restless edge he couldn’t quite hide. His lips pressed into a hard tsk, the sound carrying faintly as his jaw tightened.
It was small, but some caught it. Rei, standing off to the side, noticed the crack in his composure. Yuuki, directly in front of him, also caught the look brief, unguarded, sharp with annoyance. A few others in the front row saw the flash of teeth where the lollipop had been broken, though none said a word. They kept silent, but the moment left an imprint.
The silence stretched thin, tension crackling like static across the diamond. For once, Sawamura didn’t fill it with a joke, a grin, or even a muttered complaint. He simply stood there straight-backed, gaze leveled, his expression unreadable.
His eyes fixed on the one who had questioned his place, the weight of his stare colder than anything the team had seen from him before. No smirk, no irritation, no boyish energy. Just a quiet, razor-sharp presence that made even the first strings shift uncomfortably.
Ryosuke, usually unshaken, felt a flicker of disbelief tighten in his chest. That brat— he actually had the guts to stand there like that like someone who didn’t need to prove himself, only to wait for everyone else to realize it.
Even Kataoka, arms folded, regarded the boy carefully from the corner of his eye before finally breaking the tension with a firm command.
“Back to practice. Now.”