The Proxy War
I just found out that Lincoln’s visit to the stadium was decided right around the time I stepped off the boat and boarded the train.
Compared to a year ago, his stature had certainly risen, but Lincoln wasn't exactly a household name across the entire nation yet. If I had to evaluate him, he was one of the rising stars of the Republican Party, known for his sharp criticism of the Dred Scott Decision.
Even so, when a Republican polemicist who had recently begun to garner attention approached a young cotton king from Mississippi with such warmth, it was bound to draw eyes.
"What brings you here?"
"How could I miss a stage with this much excitement? I hear baseball is a sport derived from town ball? I was quite the master of town ball back in my day."
Lincoln was grinning from ear to ear, looking genuinely happy. I wondered if he had some sort of scheme, but that guileless smile looked real no matter how I analyzed it. I’d heard this man used to wrestle in his youth; he really lived his life to the fullest.
"But is it alright for you to greet me so warmly? You should be cheering for the other side."
"Naturally, I'm on Mr. Opdyke's side. But seeing as you accepted this match, I figured you had something up your sleeve, so I just wanted to come and see for myself. Are those warriors behind you the representatives of your plantation?"
Lincoln looked with curious eyes at the Seth All-Stars standing in a line behind me. Even though they were surrounded by so many white men, which would normally be enough to make anyone shrink, they were staring at the ground with completely emotionless eyes. A cold, unfeeling legion of destruction that had risen from the South. That was the concept I had demanded of them, and they were pulling it off perfectly.
"They have great physiques, and they don't look nervous at all. This might turn out to be an unexpectedly interesting match."
"It might also turn out to be a very anticlimactic confrontation."
"My side was saying not to expect much fun since they'd win by a landslide anyway. Still, I'm glad to have even an opportunity like this. It may have taken on the aspect of a proxy war, but clashing opinions in this manner is surely less damaging than firing guns and spilling blood. Even if everyone in the North curses you, I'm hoping for a great match, so give it your all."
Lincoln gave a bitter smile, offered me sincere encouragement, and disappeared into the crowd with a wave.
Then, Quitman, the ringleader of the Fire-Eaters, spotted me from afar and came running, grabbing my hand tightly.
"Sett! You've gone through a lot of trouble to come such a long way. Was the journey comfortable? Wasn't that Lincoln fellow just now? Why would that Republican trash act like he knows you?"
"The North expects a landslide victory, but Mr. Lincoln was just encouraging me, saying it would be good for both sides to have a tight match."
"Ugh, ptooey. He's at it again, acting like he's the only good person in the world. Sett, that man has always been like that, so just ignore him. I don't know about others, but I believe in you!"
Even though he still spouted radical nonsense that revealed the depths of his character, Quitman’s attitude had become noticeably favorable ever since I saved his life from dysentery. He no longer spewed filth about joining the Fire-Eaters every time we met, and surprisingly, he treated my slaves with relative friendliness.
"Ha! Are these the ones you trained? With physiques that sturdy, the weaklings from the North won't even be a match for them. Hmm, hmm, no matter what anyone says, I believe. I believe in our James Sett."
"Ah, yes. Thank you."
It’s a real legend that the majority of the people sending me such unstinting support and goodwill are Dixies and Fire-Eaters. If things keep going like this, I’m afraid I’ll end up with a hundred Dixies who love me way too much. Moreover, they’re all bearded middle-aged men. Honestly, it’s a bit annoying.
In reality, with my background, shouldn't it be more probable that beautiful women would be flocking to me, begging for a glance, rather than these old geezers? It’s not like I’m ugly, and I’m not short; I look better than I did in my past life, so why are the only people clinging to me middle-aged men?
Or perhaps, because these guys are guarding my side, no one else dares to approach? Yes, that must be it. I lived my entire past life as a loner; I can't let that happen here too.
As I was sending Quitman away and planning how to deal with this, a loud voice suddenly came from behind me.
"Wait! You there, Mr. James Sett! Could we walk and talk for a moment?"
"Who are you? I don't have time right now; I need to go make final adjustments before the game."
"Ah, don't worry. I'm heading that way too. I'm Henry Chadwick. I have the honor of serving as the neutral umpire for this match."
Right, that was it. Usually, there’s only one baseball umpire, but since this match was bound to be a feast of biased calls, they had recommended one from the South, one from the North, and one known to be more neutral than anyone else. Henry Chadwick was the representative of that neutral party, a famous person whose name I had heard before. He was likely the one called the Father of Baseball, a man inducted into the Hall of Fame.
"The reason I asked to speak with you before the game is to tell you that there will absolutely be no biased calls in this match. I've already conveyed this to the other side as well, so there won't be any disputes over the officiating."
"That’s a relief. This has become such a sensitive match that the moment a controversy over biased calls arises, it could turn into a real violent incident."
"Such things must not happen in a sacred game. Oh, and just in case, I want to say that I have a tremendous fondness for you, Mr. Sett. Was it the Seth Rules? I let out a cheer the moment I saw them! That’s right, this is real baseball!"
Hmm, hmm, as expected of the man called the Father of Baseball, he’s a true baseball expert. Anyone with a deep understanding of the game would know how deeply I understood the mechanics just by looking at the rules I proposed. Chadwick must be expressing his fondness for me for that reason.
"I am truly looking forward to seeing how a man like Mr. James trained his players. That is what I wanted to tell you. Well then! I must go greet the others, so I will go ahead and wait."
Chadwick ran off, grinning as if he were genuinely excited. Leo, watching his retreating back, scratched his head and sighed.
"Master, it seems there are people in the North who look at us favorably after all."
"Naturally. Whether it's the South or the North, they're all places where people live. It's only natural that there are human scum, but also many good people."
"Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Chadwick earlier both hoped for a good game today... what is your intention, Master?"
When I glanced back, my players were standing still, ready to follow any order.
"If we go all out, we could trample them mercilessly, but the atmosphere would turn a bit icy, wouldn't it?"
"Yes."
"We could play along and win, but then they might not grasp reality at all, claiming they only lost by a narrow margin."
"Of course."
In other words, how the atmosphere of the stadium is directed depends entirely on my choice. When faced with such a difficult crossroads, what should one do? Simply pass the decision-making power to the opponent.
"It takes two to clap. Let's decide after seeing the other side's attitude."
"Does that mean you will play according to their policy?"
"Yes. If they have the noble heart to put on a fierce match to save our face even if we lack skill, we should treat them with human decency. But if it's a match that only ends when one side is properly humiliated..."
Then I should just grant their wish, shouldn't I? And the moment the two teams faced each other to greet the numerous VIPs and swear to play a fair game...
Opdyke, already half-intoxicated by victory, shook my hand with half-closed eyes and whispered softly.
"Although you will suffer a crushing defeat without even being able to put up a fight, you needn't be too discouraged. A person only matures after experiencing defeat in their youth."
Ah, yes, I see. My policy was decided as quickly as the hesitation I’d felt for a moment had vanished. I returned to my players and told them the opponent's wish, clearly and simply.
"Mr. Opdyke wants to be smashed to pieces."
"We've been waiting for those words!"
"We will crush them as much as you desire!"
So, sir. You should have chosen your words more carefully.
***
It goes without saying that the political heavyweights of the United States didn't come all this way just to watch something as trivial as baseball. Whether it's baseball, cricket, or town ball, it doesn't matter what kind of sport it is. What's important is that the North, or the South, tramples the enemy and achieves an overwhelming victory.
For the North, it’s good because they can crush the Southern bumpkins who boasted they could master their sport in two months. For the South, it’s good because even if they don't win, just putting up a fight is enough to get under the North's skin. Honestly, if it were any other planter, it would be one thing, but isn't the one who trained these slaves James Sett?
The South knew very well how miraculously James Sett squeezed profits out of his slaves. If that harsh training method were applied to sports, who knows? An unexpected result might actually occur.
With the expectations of the North and South focused on one place, the stadium was engulfed in explosive excitement as the 18 players finally appeared on the field. It was unthinkable for white men to play a game against a team composed purely of black men, but this was, after all, a fight against James Sett, who stood behind them.
Neither Opdyke nor the Guardians of Liberty on the field paid any mind to the black men they would actually be playing against. What would those poor slaves know? They were just destined to be exploited and trained without meaning, dragged here to be mocked by the people.
'Poor bastards. Just endure it a little longer. The time of the nightmare will end soon.'
However, pity is pity, and a match is a match. The Northern VIP section brightened as they saw the New York baseball team take their positions at the plate.
"Oh! It seems we are batting first."
"We said there’s no switching sides until 3 people are out, right? What if 3 people aren't out until it gets dark?"
Logically, that wouldn't happen, but wouldn't they score at least 10 runs easily? Opdyke leisurely poured another beer, toasted, and watched the Seth team's pitcher climb the mound.
Originally, New York baseball was based on the principle of throwing only underhand, but this time, the Seth Rules allowing overhand pitching were in effect, and sure enough, the black pitcher took a big wind-up and set his stance.
"Heh heh, the form is decent enough, but with that kind of pitching, the control..."
Whack!
"Strike!"
"...Huh?"
"It's... fast. Mr. Opdyke, do they all usually throw at that speed?"
"Yes? Ah, no... well... I'm not sure."
How would he know? Like any other politician, he had just shown his face a few times pretending to like baseball for image-making. But honestly, even to his eyes, it was fast. Very fast.
"That is, well, originally they all..."
Whoosh!
Whack!
"Two strikes!"
"...The bat didn't even graze the ball?"
The VIP section was close enough to see the players' facial expressions, so they could clearly see how flustered Mickey, the white player at the plate, was.
"Mr. Opdyke, this is something strange..."
And at that moment, the ball that left the hand of Peter, the Seth plantation's ace left-handed starter, curved in an incomprehensible trajectory.
Whoosh!
As if mocking Mickey, who had swung and missed again, it was sucked right into the catcher's mitt.
"The ball... is curving?"
What is this? A trick? Or magic? The Northern players, who had witnessed the incomprehensible sight of the ball curving right before their eyes, froze in place. The first Northern batter couldn't even leave the plate for a long time after being struck out at light speed.
"...What is this?"
Something... something is happening. When Opdyke reflexively looked down, he met the eyes of James Sett, who happened to be looking at him. His eyes were wearing an ominous smile, as if to say:
The real fun is just beginning.