Interesting (2)
Whiiish—!
“·····”
Late evening at the Seisho High baseball team’s training ground.
Even after regular evening practice had wrapped up, I was still outside swinging the bat.
As expected.
Swinging indoors wasn’t bad, but practicing my swings out here under the open sky just felt right. Baseball was an outdoor sport, after all.
Whiiish—!
“Hoo!”
“Inoue, I know it’s a habit, but tone down the volume a bit.”
“Sorry!”
“·····”
Team captain and third-year Shirakawa Satoru had just called out my classmate, Inoue Kotaro. Shirakawa had a way of pointing things out with that easygoing grin of his so it never really stung. Honestly, though, Inoue had this habit of letting out weird battle cries whenever he got lost in his own world—I almost wished someone would just yell at him properly for once. On top of that, he was our regular left fielder with defense that left something to be desired, which could get a little irritating from a pitcher’s point of view.
Whiiish—!
Maybe.
Blindly swinging the bat like this might have been a fool’s errand. Still, I couldn’t just sit still. I focused as hard as I could, locking into the optimal swing form, picturing a fastball over 150 km/h screaming toward me as I brought the bat around. I swung as if I were praying for even a single run, a single hit, in a real game.
“Haa·····”
After bundling fifty swings into one set, I paused to catch my breath.
“Your form’s looking pretty solid.”
“Huh?”
It was vice-captain and third-year Kazuma Junpei.
“I’m not trying to pile on the pressure that you need to produce runs too.”
“·····Still, you never know.”
We weren’t exactly close, even by empty pleasantries. Yet this time he’d come over and spoken first. Looking around the regulars, I wasn’t sure I had any real friends on the team—though that was mostly because I’d decided to throw myself into my own work rather than chase after friendships. Besides, every single guy here was baseball-crazy, so practice kept everyone too busy for much else.
“It’s great that you’re all working hard, but don’t overdo it!”
Shirakawa, who’d been swinging away himself, called out to the rest of the team.
“Captain, you were the last one to leave yesterday. What are you talking about?”
“My batting’s weak, so I’ve got no choice.”
“Weak, my ass.”
Shirakawa traded jokes and laughter with the underclassmen. Seisho had gone with a soft-touch leader rather than a heavy, imposing one.
“·····”
Not bad at all.
Everyone was grinding hard. That worked just fine for me.
Clatter-clatter—!
The sound of someone racing up the stairs echoed roughly.
Aaaahhh! What do I do?!
Seisho baseball team manager and second-year Nagasawa Haruka scrambled up the steps with a face on the verge of tears. Today was the first day of a practice tournament involving four schools, including Seisho. Saturday held the semifinals; Sunday would bring the final. Seisho’s opponent today was Yoshioka High, a powerhouse from Gunma Prefecture. And the starting pitcher was none other than second-year Hongo Yukihisa.
The problem was·····
Of all days to be late!
Haruka had been pushing herself a little too hard lately, trying to keep her top grades while handling manager duties. She’d figured three hours of sleep would be enough, but somehow this morning her alarm had completely failed to wake her. When she called third-year lead manager Fukada Riko—the senior she relied on most—Riko had just laughed and told her it was fine, to take her time. Still, Haruka had ended up racing to the ballpark alone.
“Huff, huff, huff.”
In the slightly warmer spring air, Haruka panted her way to her seat after the unexpected workout. Because she was late, the usual front-row spots reserved for players and managers were gone; she had to sit farther back with the regular spectators.
“Haa.”
Haruka dropped into her seat. Any moment now the umpire would call “Play ball.” On the mound, starting pitcher Yukihisa was already warming up. She’d made it by the skin of her teeth—safe, more or less.
“Thank goodness.”
Haruka let out a breath of pure relief. Her usual diligence as manager meant no one would give her grief over today, but missing the school’s starting pitcher throw the first pitch of the top of the first—when Seisho was on defense—would have felt like a personal insult.
“Haa, hoo····· Huh?”
She was still breathing hard even after sitting down when a plastic water bottle suddenly appeared in front of her face.
“Want some water?”
“·····”
Haruka turned and found a blonde-haired girl looking at her.
“Ah, yes—thank you.”
Her throat was dry and her lungs still burning, so she carefully twisted the cap and took a careful sip. Drinking something from a stranger felt a little weird, but her inability to refuse kindness won out.
“·····”
She couldn’t even manage a proper “Ahhh!” of satisfaction; she just held the water in her mouth and handed the bottle back to its owner.
Wait?
Only then did Haruka properly register the blonde girl. It was Hirose Satsuki, a fellow Seisho high school student.
“·····”
What do I do?
Haruka fretted. She knew who the other girl was, but there was no way Satsuki knew her. Still, pretending not to recognize someone you actually knew felt rude somehow.
“Are you one of our school’s baseball managers?”
“·····Huh?”
The short dark-haired girl sitting two seats over—right next to Satsuki—had recognized Haruka.
“Manager?”
Satsuki looked at Haruka again, a little surprised.
“S-Seisho second-year Class 1, Nagasawa Haruka.”
Haruka blinked and blurted out a sudden self-introduction.
“Yeah, that’s right—I think I’ve seen you around. But don’t the managers usually sit down front?”
“·····I was late today.”
“Ahh, sorry—didn’t know.”
The short-haired girl looked a touch apologetic.
“I’m Class 7, Hirose Satsuki! Wow, running into someone from the same school here?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Class 5, Wakui Naomi.”
“N-nice to meet you.”
Haruka answered the two girls who introduced themselves so casually.
Hirose·····
They weren’t close, but she knew her well enough.
(Girls like that live in a completely different world from us.)
Haruka remembered her first days at Seisho High, walking the halls with friends and hearing the other first-year girls whisper as Satsuki passed by. Model-pretty face, perfectly styled uniform and bag, bright personality—everything about her shone. It was only natural that every guy’s eyes locked onto her when she walked past.
I used to think the same thing.
Timid, with hobbies and interests that didn’t quite match other girls her age, Haruka had also believed Satsuki belonged to another world. And yet here they were, sitting side by side watching baseball by pure chance.
More importantly·····
Why would a total social butterfly like her—someone who seemed to have zero connection to baseball—come watch a game?
“Huh?”
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
While Haruka was lost in her usual private thoughts, the game had started.
“Naoming. You said the guy throwing the ball over there is the most important one, right?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Amazing, Hongo-kun. He’s really good at baseball.”
“·····”
Hongo-kun?
Satsuki and Naomi chatted while watching the game. Haruka suddenly remembered why Satsuki had been on her mind lately. Hongo Yukihisa from the baseball team, and popular party-girl Hirose Satsuki. Two people who seemed completely unrelated—yet last time she’d seen them greeting each other in the hallway like close friends. Even back when Yukihisa had been going off the rails, she’d never once seen him hanging around with the most popular girl in school.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
“Whoa.”
Haruka pulled her eyes from Satsuki and watched Yukihisa’s pitch again. The sheer speed of the fastball drew an involuntary gasp of admiration.
“151 km/h!”
“No way!”
“So the rumors about Seisho’s insane second-year pitcher were true!”
“I came just to see that pitcher!”
“Idiot, Hongo’s been here since last year. And you call yourself a Seisho alum?”
Seisho fans all around were buzzing. Yukihisa’s recent media coverage had clearly drawn a lot of attention. Anyone hoping for Seisho’s Koshien run—and maybe even a national title—this year had been fretting over the missing ace. Yukihisa’s current form was rain after a long drought.
“Yeah! Three-pitch strikeout!”
“Hongo!”
The crowd wanted a three-pitch K against the leadoff hitter in the top of the first.
“Huh?”
Watching the third pitch, Haruka felt a jolt of surprise. First and second pitches had both been fastballs. But the third?
Thwack—!
“Strikeout!”
The umpire’s hand went up.
Curveball!
Haruka shuddered with excitement at the sight of the batter frozen solid.
“Whooooooa, strikeout!”
“Nice, Hongo!”
“118 km/h? After throwing 150-plus fastballs, how are you supposed to hit that?”
The male spectators nearby completely lost it.
“Wow, so basically Hongo-kun—I mean our school—is doing great!”
“Yeah.”
“But Naoming, why was that guy just standing there holding the bat and not swinging?”
“That part I don’t really·····”
Satsuki, a complete baseball novice, asked her best friend Naomi. Naomi only knew the basics herself.
“·····Hongo-kun’s pitches are so hard to hit that he couldn’t even swing.”
“Huh?”
Haruka, who’d been quietly eavesdropping, spoke up to Satsuki.
Ahh, crap!
The moment the words left her mouth, Haruka panicked at herself. Whenever baseball came up, she had a bad habit of blurting out unnecessary explanations without thinking.
“I see! Haruka-chan really is different because she’s a manager!”
“Haha·····”
Haruka-chan?
Haruka was already startled by how casually Satsuki had slapped a nickname on her.
“Hey, if there’s anything I don’t get, can I keep asking?”
Satsuki’s eyes sparkled as she looked at Haruka.
“Sacchan, she’s a baseball manager—she’s not just watching for fun like us. Don’t bother her.”
“Ehh? Is that how it is? Sorry.”
“N-no, ask me anything.”
“Really? Thanks!”
“Ugh, I can’t with you. I’ll apologize for her.”
“Apologize for what! It’s fine.”
Haruka answered with an awkward smile. Satsuki beamed; Naomi sighed. From the look of it, Naomi was constantly reining in the energetic Satsuki.
Thwack—!
“Strikeout!”
“Hoo.”
A diving splitter. I sent Yoshioka High’s number-two hitter packing with a strikeout.
As expected.
He’d choked up on the bat and clearly tried not to swing at anything dropping out of the zone. Still, he hadn’t expected consecutive splitters—this time the bat came out. Yoshioka was a Gunma powerhouse that would need to reach Koshien just to face us again, yet they were stepping into the box with solid scouting reports on me. Schools that dominated their prefectures really were different.
The number-three hitter stepped in. Looking at their builds, the other team seemed to have stacked contact hitters from one through three.
Hmm.
I checked Matsuda’s sign and settled my grip.
Curveball? He’d said using a few curves to steal strikes was a good idea. With this body the curve had become a pitch I could throw harder than expected—and today it was biting even better.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
The batter froze mid-swing, startled. He clearly hadn’t expected a curve for strike one. I gave him no time to breathe and fired again.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
Outside fastball. From a right-handed batter’s view it must have looked like it was running away from him.
“·····”
I allowed myself a small grin.
I like this.
Holding back the smile that wanted to escape, I threw according to the sign.
Thwack—!
“Strikeout!”
A high heater drew the swing, and I racked up three strikeouts in the first inning. Nothing beat the taste of a swinging strikeout on pure heat.
“Nice ball.”
“Yes.”
I headed for the bench under Matsuda’s encouragement.
“That’s our Hongo!”
“That fastball’s insane!”
“Hoo·····”
The seniors were full of praise. I just sat on the bench and replayed every pitch in my head. Then the scoreboard lit up with our lineup.
1. Shirakawa Satoru (SS)
2. Minamino Shintaro (2B)
3. Kazuma Junpei (3B)
4. Matsuda Masahiro (C)
5. Sanada Atsushi (RF)
6. Inoue Kotaro (LF)
7. Okada Shugo (1B)
8. Hongo Yukihisa (P)
9. Aizawa Junya (CF)
“All right—our pitcher just shut them down in the first. Let’s go get some runs.”
Now batting, shortstop, Shirakawa.
The stadium announcer’s voice boomed as captain Shirakawa strode to the plate.
“·····”
Well, this is something.
I couldn’t remember ever starting a game as the number-eight hitter, but the order was to conserve stamina for a while, so there was nothing to do about it.
(His stuff is good, but he gets rattled once runners get on. It’s critical we disrupt him as much as possible with the table-setters.)
I recalled Coach Maeda’s pregame talk about our approach against their starter.
Thwack—!
“Ball!”
Thwack—!
“Ball!”
Shirakawa worked the count carefully. He didn’t have much power, but he put the bat on the ball well and had a sharp eye. Still, the other guy was a third-year pure power pitcher throwing 147 km/h fastballs. Squaring one up cleanly wasn’t easy.
Crack—!
A grounder toward third.
“Huh?”
The third baseman fired to first. But Shirakawa’s feet—?
“Safe!”
“Yes!”
“That’s Shirakawa!”
The team cheered. Infield single.
As expected.
His pure speed was ridiculous.
“Safe!”
The pitcher threw over three straight times. Shirakawa just tormented him with a perfect lead.
At the plate, second baseman Minamino squared around to bunt. The instant the pitcher released, Shirakawa broke for second.
Crack—!
Of course, squaring to bunt didn’t mean you had to finish the bunt—fake-bunt slash came out instead.
“Hit!”
“Nice!”
“·····Wow.”
An involuntary sound of admiration slipped out of me. The ball found the hole opened by the runner’s steal, and suddenly we had first and third with nobody out. Perfect execution. Minamino’s defense might not match Shirakawa’s, and his bat was clearly a step below, but this was exactly why he was a regular batting second.
Heh.
The pitcher already looked like he was struggling to keep a poker face.
Now batting, third baseman, Kazuma.
Vice-captain Kazuma stepped in. First pitch.
Crack—!
Kazuma swung without hesitation right out of the gate.
It’s gone.
I was certain the moment I saw it. As expected—this baseball team was strong.