Thirst (2)

"·····"

Evening, in the baseball club's break room.

Having finished dinner, I was watching TV for a bit with my teammates.

I'd heard the explanation before, but the attention really did ramp up starting from the West Tokyo tournament quarterfinals.

On the screen, our next opponent's pitcher was being interviewed — Naruse Tomoyuki of Toai University Affiliated Sugano High School.

"Hmm·····"

Sitting next to me was our third-year vice-captain, Kazuma Junpei.

He looked thoroughly irritated.

"Has his velocity gone up?"

"Apparently he hit 155 in the second round."

"He's a monster. Last year he barely threw anything over 150."

"Splitter, slider, curve. At least his cutter and the rest aren't that threatening, so maybe that's something."

Once the interview with our next opponent ended and the TV went off, the guys started weighing in. It wasn't even a meeting, but of course everyone was on edge about this.

"Did we even manage to avoid a shutout last year?"

"Without Matsuda's home run, it would've been ugly."

Last year, Seisho had fallen to Sugano High in the West Tokyo final — one single step short of Koshien.

And the pitcher on the mound that day was the same one expected to start tomorrow: Sugano's ace, right-hander Naruse Tomoyuki.

His line that day: nine innings, one run allowed.

How overwhelming he'd been was still burned crystal-clear into the memories of the original Hongo that I carried.

"Hongo."

"Yes?"

Matsuda Masahiro, who'd been sitting in silence the whole time, finally spoke to me.

"Naruse's a similar type to you."

"·····"

Huh?

Similar to me?

"Four-seam and splitter as his main weapons, mixed with a curve and slider."

"Is that so?"

I just nodded.

But wasn't that basically every orthodox right-handed pitcher in Japan? Japanese baseball loved its forkballs and splitters.

"But."

"·····"

Matsuda drew the word out.

"Even though he's a third-year, you're not exactly beneath him."

"Ah·····"

"So just throw your pitches. The game will be decided by the hitters."

He said it in that calm, matter-of-fact tone of his.

The rest of the team, myself included, kept listening in silence.

"He's right."

"Hongo's a second-year, so that makes him even more impressive."

"Bet he'll be throwing 160 next year."

"·····"

The seniors' words. Clearly praise directed at me.

But I didn't particularly react.

"I haven't forgotten last year's loss for even a second."

"Hm?"

Vice-captain Kazuma spoke up. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He'd been the one burning hottest when Naruse appeared on TV earlier.

"We're paying them back. Even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if we don't make Koshien, I want to take Sugano down no matter what."

"·····"

There was real fire in his voice. Kazuma was clearly grinding his teeth over this.

Of course the rest of the team felt the same, but he was the one who really poured everything into batting practice.

"Hey, Junpei."

"What."

"If we're wishing for things, how about we just go to Koshien. Drop the 'even if we don't' part."

"Shut up, Satoru."

Kazuma snapped back at Shirakawa Satoru's one-liner, and laughter broke out all around the room.

Shirakawa really did have a way of lightening the mood.

"I'll be heading out first."

"Hm?"

The chair scraped as I stood and left the break room ahead of everyone else.

Ten minutes of rest after a meal was more than enough.

"Hoo·····"

It was July. Japanese summers were brutal.

The sun had already set and it was still this hot.

Whether I can match him or not — who can say.

Matsuda's words had been meant as encouragement. And by pointing out that I was a second-year, he was probably trying to say the burden of winning rested mainly on the third-year hitters.

But I saw it differently.

Naruse Tomoyuki.

A projected first-round pick in this year's NPB Draft. A pitcher who'd made it to the Koshien Final Four last year.

Didn't matter. The public's evaluation, my teammates' evaluation — none of it mattered.

The pitcher who led his team to victory tomorrow.

That was the one who stood above.

"There are so many people·····"

"It's not like this is your first time, Haru-chan."

"But still·····"

Meiji Jingu Stadium, host of the Summer Koshien West Tokyo quarterfinals.

Home of the NPB's Tokyo Swallows, a ballpark that could hold over thirty thousand — and even for a high school regional tournament, the place was on fire.

Before the game had even started, well over twenty thousand fans were pouring in, and Seisho's manager Nagasawa Haruka could already feel her heart hammering.

She swallowed hard.

Sitting with the players who hadn't made the bench and every manager from first through third year, Haruka tried to steady her racing chest so she could cheer with everything she had.

From the West Tokyo quarterfinals onward, people across the Kanto region could watch on TV. And with projected first-round draft prospect Naruse Tomoyuki starting, plenty of hardcore baseball fans were streaming it online as well.

The game opened with Seisho batting in the top of the first.

Sugano's Naruse was warming up on the mound.

A hundred and eighty-eight centimeters of height, still lean but packing the power to throw serious heat — no wonder the pro scouts were salivating.

Seisho's batting order lit up the scoreboard.

"Now batting, shortstop, Shirakawa."

As the stadium announcer introduced the batter, the Seisho fans erupted in applause.

"Let's go, Shirakawa!"

"Seisho's captain!"

West Tokyo — one of the most brutal districts in the entire country. Last summer's Koshien Final Four dark horse Sugano High versus traditional powerhouse Seisho High.

The decibel level at Meiji Jingu Stadium shot up in an instant.

The Seisho fans knew full well what a nightmare opponent they were facing, and they raised their voices to drown out the fear and the nerves.

WHAP—!

"Strike!"

But that 154 km/h heater already had the stands buzzing.

CRACK—!

Contact on the fifth pitch of the at-bat.

"Out!"

The shortstop calmly fired to first for the out. Even Shirakawa's blazing speed couldn't turn that infield grounder into a hit.

WHAP—!

"Strike three!"

"Ghh—!"

Kazuma Junpei clenched his fist so hard it looked like his knuckles might bleed as he trudged back to the dugout, making no effort to hide the frustration on his face.

"Wooooooo!"

"·····"

Bottom of the first, Sugano's turn to bat.

Taking the mound as Seisho's starting pitcher was second-year Hongo Yukihisa.

That was what the broadcast crew knew about Yukihisa. Of course, comparing him to Naruse in terms of national fame was still a stretch.

What people knew: he'd had a gap in his career. He threw hard. That was about it.

And the fact that a second-year was getting the bulk of the innings only meant Seisho's pitching staff was thin.

That was the talk that floated around whenever Yukihisa's name came up even a little.

"Hoo·····"

"Now batting, center fielder, Hayakawa."

Sugano's leadoff hitter stepped into the box.

"Hongo! Shut them down!"

"Go, Hayakawa!"

"Seisho!"

"Sugano!"

"·····"

Well, damn.

Yukihisa found it strange. That a day like this would come — playing baseball in a stadium this packed and this loud.

He'd figured that with this excellent body, he'd eventually accomplish something in baseball. But a stage this important had arrived sooner than expected.

A grin tugged at his mouth as he covered it with his glove.

It was a little crazy, but something about this was getting him fired up.

And on the sign, he drove the ball hard toward the mitt.

WHAP—!

"Strike!"

"Wooooaaah!"

"He hit 154!"

The sheer heat of that fastball had the Seisho fans roaring with pride. They already knew about their hard-throwing de facto ace, but to paint the zone with a first-pitch fastball on a stage this big, without flinching — that was something else.

WHAP—!

"Strike!"

Hiding the ball, striding out, then unleashing that arm at blistering speed — Yukihisa's delivery hit opposing batters every bit as hard as the raw velocity itself.

Yukihisa exchanged signs with catcher Matsuda Masahiro. It didn't take long. Then his arm cracked like a whip.

WHAP—!

"Strike three!"

A splitter that bounced once in the dirt. But the batter had no choice but to swing.

"Three-pitch strikeout!"

"That splitter again!"

"Nobody can lay off that."

"·····"

Sugano's second batter stepped in. Even after the strikeout, Yukihisa's expression didn't change.

WHAP—!

"Strike!"

One ball, two strikes. A low curve on the outer half stole the count for Yukihisa.

WHAP—!

"Strike three!"

An inside splitter drew the swing, and the batter's balance collapsed until he dropped to one knee.

"·····"

Not bad.

Yukihisa figured his condition today wasn't at absolute peak, but it wasn't anything to be disappointed about either.

WHAP—!

"Strike!"

Sugano's cleanup trio was starting to come up. But the three-hole hitter couldn't touch Yukihisa's stuff either.

"·····"

Masahiro put down a sign and rose from his crouch, lifting the mitt. Yukihisa didn't shake him off.

WHAP—!

Exactly as Masahiro wanted — a high fastball on the outer half.

"Strike three!"

The batter's swing came free and empty.

And just like that, he corrected the 154 next to his name up to 155.

"Wooooaaaah, 155!"

"Hongo's the best!"

"We're not losing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to Naruse!"

"Seisho's ace!"

Having racked up three strikeouts in the first inning alone, Yukihisa walked slowly back to the dugout.

"Hongo's incredible, isn't he?"

"·····"

"Hm? Haru-chan?"

Seisho's lead manager Fukada Riko was clapping and grinning at the pitcher's dominant performance. Beside her, Nagasawa Haruka said nothing at all.

She just clasped both hands tightly together.

We can win.

If it was Yukihisa — they could definitely beat Sugano. She could believe that now.