Thirst (5)
“Batting first, center fielder, Hayakawa.”
“·····”
The elevated rush had faded. I reclaimed my composure. Even the thought that three outs would end it felt like it might cloud my head, so I set it aside. I would simply focus on each batter as he appeared.
I locked my eyes on Matsuda’s mitt.
“Hongo! Take them one at a time!”
“We can win this!”
“·····”
The infielders shouted from behind me. Minamino Shintaro, who had committed an error the previous inning, stayed silent, a little tight.
I should’ve said something to him.
When we headed back to the bench I could at least have told him not to worry about it. That was probably the pitcher’s job on defense—and, beyond that, the virtue of an ace who carried the team. Naruse Tomoyuki would have done exactly that.
But.
It was still a little hard for me. Trading easy words among proud baseball players who all believed in their own game never came naturally. Someday I might wear a friendly face, smile through a crisis, turn ice-cold when we were ahead, and lead the team that way. Not yet, though.
So I would do what I could do, in my own way.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
“·····”
Working harder than anyone as a pitcher, honing myself, and leading the team with my pitching—that was the only thing I could do right now.
Thwack—!
“Ball!”
Thwack—!
“Ball!”
A fastball that leaked just a little outside.
Did I focus too much on velocity?
I wasn’t sure whether I’d overdone the speed or the command. But I hadn’t put anyone on base yet, so it was fine.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
“·····”
I nodded at Matsuda’s mitt. Good call.
Thwack—!
“Strikeout!”
They had to be sitting on my fastball and splitter. A curve that actually landed would have felt like an accident to them.
“Batting second, shortstop, Kinoshita.”
Sugano’s one and two hitters both had solid contact skills. A sloppy pitch would get squared up for sure.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
I had never been that kind of elite pitcher. Guarding the mound to the end in a win-or-go-home game? No coach in his right mind would have handed me that role back when I was nothing.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
Even in my worthless days I had always dreamed of situations like this. I never wanted my fighting spirit broken.
The same direction the last fastball had gone—only lower. My hand locked onto that spot.
As expected.
This body was simply too good.
Thwack—!
“Strikeout!”
The splitter dropped cleanly. Two outs.
“·····”
No.
I had to crush this rising excitement until the final out. If we allowed a tie, if we lost, none of it would mean a thing.
Sugano’s three-hole stepped into the box.
Crack—!
“Foul!”
I threw an inside fastball and the hitter fouled it off. Right-handed batter. I liked the next pitch.
I looked at the outside mitt and threw.
Huh?
The instant it left my hand I felt something wrong.
Thud—!
The slider slipped out of my hand and caught the batter on the shoulder.
“·····”
I offered an apologetic gesture. The hitter waved it off, signaling he was fine.
Matsuda and the infielders gathered on the mound.
“It’s fine. With your velocity you can still get him.”
“How about consecutive splitters? Even if one misses, the five-hole is easier than the four.”
“Stacking runners isn’t good.”
“·····”
Everyone had come together, but we never reached any meaningful conclusion.
“Better to just overpower them with stuff than overthink it.”
“Yes.”
I answered Matsuda, and the others returned to their positions.
Honestly.
I knew perfectly well how childish and immature I still was.
“Batting fourth, first baseman, Kokubo.”
But if the batter never put the ball in play, baseball was basically a one-on-one duel between pitcher and hitter.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
As a pitcher, how could I possibly hold back from simply sending the hitter back to the dugout without fretting over what a batted ball might do? Especially with a body this outstanding.
Thwack—!
“Strike!”
“·····”
I grinned at the mitt’s location.
(Better to just overpower them with stuff than overthink it.)
Matsuda wasn’t the kind of man who said one thing and meant another. We really did fit well together.
I drove hard off my back leg and put everything into my fingertips.
Thwack—!
“Waaaaaaaaaah!”
The pop of the mitt and the roar of the crowd hit at the same time. My fists clenched on their own and I let out a roar.
“Uwaaaaaaah!”
“Hongo!”
“You bastard!”
“Aaah.”
The team swarmed me. Being crushed by a bunch of muscular guys with zero body fat actually hurt quite a bit.
“Good work.”
“Yes.”
I answered Matsuda simply. Honestly I wanted to go a little more wild.
Damn.
Had the adrenaline been the only thing letting me keep ramping the velocity to the end? The moment the game finished, exhaustion slammed into me all at once.
“We won! We actually won! We did it!”
“We beat Sugano—we beat Naruse!”
“This is the Seisho I know!”
Seisho’s cheering section. Even after the players lined up for the post-game formalities, no one left. Tokyo’s vicious traffic jams had been wiped clean from their minds.
“Everyone really is incredible.”
Third-year manager Fukada Riko wore a bright, open smile that matched her sharp jawline and clean nose.
“Haru-chan, you okay now?”
“Yes.”
“I was this close to calling an ambulance.”
“·····”
Second-year manager Nagasawa Haruka barely registered Riko’s words.
Thank goodness.
A razor-thin battle that never let her heart settle. But the Seisho baseball team she loved had done it.
“Hongo-kun was that good? He really surprised me.”
Riko looked down at Hongo below.
“Yes. Amazing. Truly amazing.”
Haruka’s voice overflowed with emotion. Seisho had always been rated as a team with a strong lineup but a weak mound—until Hongo suddenly returned. Not only had he filled the gap; he had turned the pitching staff into a strength.
As both a baseball maniac and a manager, Haruka remembered last summer’s Koshien—the one Seisho had never been invited to. Today’s opposing ace, Naruse Tomoyuki, had thrown a complete-game two-run loss in the national semifinals last year, and that opponent had gone on to win the whole tournament. Seisho had scored three runs today—three runs off a third-year Naruse. That meant Seisho’s lineup was clearly national-championship caliber.
How far could Seisho go with Hongo? Haruka’s chest fluttered at the thrilling future.
“I can’t believe it.”
“Hnnngh.”
“Everyone pull yourselves together and line up.”
The defeated Sugano players were a sea of tears.
“Thank you!”
Winners and losers. The two groups stood clearly divided, yet they faced each other and exchanged bows.
“Fight for our share too.”
“Yeah!”
Sugano captain Kokubo Yasusuke and Seisho captain Shirakawa Satoru shook hands.
“Your second-year pitcher is seriously strong.”
“You say that after collecting two hits?”
Satoru still spoke with easy cheek, though he kept it light enough not to be cruel to third-years whose summer had just ended.
“·····”
Hongo Yukihisa stood there holding his exhausted body together. His teammates managed proper greetings well enough, but he himself found it hard to face the tearful opposing players cleanly. Even Kazuma Junpei—the one who had delivered today’s game-winning hit and had been burning with competitive fire—was calmly consoling the other side.
“Huh?”
“·····”
Yukihisa felt a flicker of surprise. The third-year who had pitched against him today, Naruse Tomoyuki, was walking straight toward him.
“You won.”
Naruse smiled and held out his hand.
“·····Yes. Good game.”
Yukihisa took the handshake and bowed his head. He wasn’t naturally sociable, but this time he responded properly.
“Standing in against you was really tough. I’ve never faced a fastball like that before.”
“·····Yes.”
Praise from the opponent. Yukihisa simply nodded and answered. Then Naruse Tomoyuki walked away. A pitcher of tremendous ability—yet once he was eliminated from the tournament, his high-school career was over.
“·····”
“Hongo, let’s go.”
“Huh? Yeah, yeah.”
“You look completely wiped.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Hearing captain Satoru, Yukihisa turned, then glanced back once more at Naruse.
Could I do that?
Start the game, give up the go-ahead run, throw a complete-game loss. Just like that, the third-years’ summer ends. The first- and second-years have to look toward next year. Ace pitchers are celebrated in high-school baseball precisely because of how much they carry.
Yukihisa thought: in the moment of defeat as a pitcher, could he smile the way that man had and encourage the pitcher who had just beaten him?
Is that even the right thing? Morally?
Most people would be bitterly furious. But somehow you had to endure and keep what needed keeping. Encourage the opponent, console your teammates, and move forward. Losing didn’t end a life.
Words you might have seen once in a book, a lecture, a drama, a movie, a manga. Putting them into practice was another story entirely. Humans weren’t machines.
“·····”
Hard.
There seemed to be far more difficult things in the world than throwing a ball that stole a hitter’s timing or squaring up a 150-plus km/h pitch with a bat.
“Yes!”
“This is the best.”
“What are you doing over break?”
“Family trip to Korea.”
“Summer vacation is for studying, not playing around, you know?”
“·····”
These guys.
The quarterfinal was over, and today was the summer closing ceremony. The students in the classroom were buzzing with excitement. Understandable enough, but they had been noisy since morning arrival.
I just sat there blankly. For me, vacation wasn’t about fun—it was simply longer practice time.
And.
This summer break would bring more games than practice. It had to. The Summer Koshien final was roughly a week before vacation ended.
“Haa·····”
I steeled myself. They were forcing me to rest until the semifinals, so I might as well do some image training. Last game kept replaying in my head—the moment I struck out that tough cleanup hitter. Still electric.
“·····”
No.
There was no such thing as satisfaction. If anything, I was parched with thirst for more of those moments. Had I been cursed to never know contentment, to keep hungering and thirsting forever? If so, it wasn’t a curse I particularly disliked.
I imagined the next moment I would get to taste, and the one after that.
“Um, Hongo-kun?”
“Huh?”
“Ah! S-sorry!”
“·····”
Who was that again?
A girl from our class had spoken to me. Glasses, model-student vibe—why me?
Ah, crap.
Thinking back, I might have answered with a serious face and a thuggish tone. I’d been busy imagining myself destroying hitters on the Koshien stage.
“What’s up? Something wrong?”
“Well·····”
I consciously softened my voice as much as I could.
“Here.”
“Hm?”
She held out a pen and a sheet of paper.
“When I told my dad I’m in the same class as Hongo-kun, he insisted I get your autograph.”
“Ah·····”
“My dad’s a Seisho alum too. He watched the last baseball game.”
“That so?”
An autograph. I’d never done one before. Still, I carefully wrote my name as neatly as I could.
“Sorry—I don’t usually prepare for this, so it looks pretty lame.”
“No, it’s fine! Thank you, Hongo-kun!”
“Mm.”
She smiled and practically fled. Honestly, dealing with baseball teammates was fine, but these soft, careful approaches—boy or girl—always threw me.
“·····”
Why? Just because I wasn’t used to it?
“Let’s go!”
“I’m first!”
School was over for the day. Summer vacation had begun. The students who had been buzzing since morning poured outside in a rush.
“Hongo-kun.”
“Yeah?”
Nagasawa Haruka came over.
“Um·····”
“·····”
She had that habit of suddenly pausing mid-sentence and looking away. Still within understandable range. I already thought she was a good kid.
“Rest well today!”
“Yeah. You too—good work.”
And she always spoke as if she had to load and fire the words, even when they were perfectly ordinary. I matched her with a simple answer of my own.
“Ah, um, I’m off manager duty today because of the closing ceremony too.”
“Fukada-senpai and the first-years as well?”
“Mm-hm.”
“That so? Good. Manager work’s tough. And you always work so hard, Nagasawa.”
“Huh? Th-thank you.”
“·····”
Nagasawa ducked her head. She was the kind of girl who gave excellent value for compliments.
“See you at the baseball club.”
“Huh? Yeah! Bye.”
I said it almost like a notice and headed out. There was no need for baseball teammates to wish each other a good vacation.
“Oh? Hongo-kun!”
“Uh—”
The moment I stepped out of the classroom I flinched in surprise.
“Hirose?”
“I’ve been waiting!”
“Waiting?”
Hirose Satsuki had appeared right outside the door.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to practice again today? Hmm?”
“Huh?”
She leaned in close; I couldn’t even step back. Then she blinked, eyes sparkling so brightly it felt like stars were flying out and hitting me.
“No, I’m resting today.”
“Really?! Then come hang out with me!”
“Uh? Uh, yeah, sure.”
“Yayyy!”
“·····”
Hirose threw her arms up like she was cheering.
Aigoo.
I’d just been planning to stock up on food at the supermarket near home, eat, and sleep.