Shibuya (2)
"Haru-chan, so that thing you had today was coming to watch baseball."
"Yeah. Sorry, Hirose."
"Don't be. I know how much you love baseball. Honestly, coming alone to watch a game is pretty cool."
"Ah— th-thanks."
"But wow, that outfit is so cute."
"Uh… y-yeah…"
"Haru-chan, can I buy that same one?"
"Huh? It's not hard to find, but…"
Nagasawa Haruka answered with a stiff face as Hirose Satsuki leaned in close. Her expression had been off since the moment they met.
Well, if Hirose got that close to my face, I'd probably start sweating too.
Nagasawa was wearing a Swallows uniform with a soft pink mixed into the design — a special edition, most likely.
"So you're a Swallows fan, Nagasawa."
"Y-yeah!"
I decided to throw her a lifeline. She scratched her head as she answered.
It wasn't strange. Young baseball fans were on the rise in Korea, the U.S., and Japan alike, and Nagasawa had always loved the game more than most. Running into her in the seat right next to ours the moment Hirose and I showed up at Meiji Jingu Stadium on a whim was just a curious twist of fate.
"Waaaaaah!"
"Ah! I think it's starting?"
The crowd roared, and Hirose pointed down at the field with a finger.
Somehow the person who knew the least about baseball looked the most excited.
Yeah…
The first time I ever encountered baseball might have been the only period in my life when I enjoyed it with a completely pure heart.
"I didn't know you rooted for the Swallows, Nagasawa."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
It felt a little rude to say out loud, but whenever pro baseball came up during practice breaks or meals, most of the baseball club talked about the Tokyo Giants. The Swallows rarely came up.
"I'm not a super hardcore fan or anything. When I was little, everyone rooted for the Giants, so I wanted to try supporting this team instead. I like the Swallows personally, and since my mom's side is from Nagoya, I like the Nagoya Dragons too. I've even got a Dragons uniform at home."
"Hmm. Got it."
I nodded at Nagasawa's explanation.
The Nagasawa I knew simply loved baseball itself. Ask her who currently led NPB in batting average, home runs, or ERA, and she could answer on the spot.
"More than that — this is incredible."
"Yeah…"
I found myself looking out over the away crowd for the Osaka Tigers.
You could tell at a glance which side had more fans by the colors in the stands, and today's Meiji Jingu Stadium belonged to the visitors.
"The Tigers really do have a huge fan base."
"They do. And they're running away with first place in the Central League this season, so everyone's even more fired up. They're a team that reacts hard to results."
"Makes sense."
"And the Swallows have been pretty rough this year, so…"
"Ah. Yeah, that tracks."
Nagasawa explained why the home fans were getting crushed in the cheering battle today.
In that case…
Today's game might be one-sided. But baseball was the kind of sport where even first place against last place never guaranteed a result.
Of course, just as important as overall team strength was the starting pitcher that day. In Japanese pro baseball, the importance of the starter was greater than in Korea or the U.S. — that wasn't an exaggeration.
"Hmm…"
Nagasawa and Hirose, worlds apart in baseball knowledge, both stared intently at the field the moment the umpire called for play.
Top of the first. The home team, the Tokyo Swallows, took the field on defense.
Swallows starter Ogawa Yasuhiro threw the first pitch.
Crack!
"Huh!"
The first pitch of the game. The Tigers' leadoff hitter slapped it the other way for a clean single.
"Safe!"
Then he stole second on the very next pitch.
The Swallows were already in a no-out, runner-on-second jam.
Tap!
"Out!"
The second batter laid down a successful bunt. One out, runner on third.
Pop!
"Ball!"
"Hmm…"
The third batter walked. One out, runners on first and third.
No matter how you look at it…
The Swallows starter wasn't dominating the opposing hitters at all.
The cleanup hitter stepped in with a situation where even a fly ball could score a run. Japanese pro baseball was deep in a pitcher-friendly era right now — even a single run mattered.
"Crush it!"
"Sato!"
"…"
The Osaka Tigers away fans, already hyped for the first-run chance, were so loud that anyone walking in might have thought the home team was about to score.
Hm?
I noticed Nagasawa's lips push out in a pout.
Crack!
"Aaah!"
Two balls in a row. Then the pitch that followed.
The batter swung like lightning.
"Waaaaaah!"
"It's gone."
"Whoa…"
Osaka Tigers cleanup hitter Sato Teruaki's leadoff three-run homer.
Even Hirose seemed to understand this was a moment Nagasawa wouldn't enjoy.
"It's okay. The talent gap is pretty big today."
"Even in the starters?"
"Yeah. The Tigers starter right now leads the league in ERA and strikeouts."
"For real?"
"Haru-chan, is that a big deal?"
"It means he's the best pitcher in Japan right now."
"Heeh, got it."
"…"
Best in Japan?
Sorry, Nagasawa — the second I heard that, my attention locked onto the pitcher who would take the mound starting in the bottom of the first.
Crack!
"Out!"
The long top of the first finally ended.
The home fans gave their starter a round of applause.
So that's the guy.
The Osaka Tigers starter was named Murakami Shoki.
His frame looked a little small — though Yamamoto, currently thriving in the majors, was also small for a pitcher.
Pop!
"Strike!"
"…"
Murakami threw the first pitch. I checked the scoreboard.
"149 km/h?"
Not an impressive number on its face.
But Japanese starters worked a six-man rotation and threw high pitch counts on their days. Dialing it back early with pace control was completely normal.
Pop!
"Strike!"
Pop!
"Strikeout!"
"Waaaaaah!"
The batter's swing spun through empty air. Three pitches, three strikes — all fastballs.
None of them cracked 150.
I tilted my head, puzzled.
"Nagasawa, is that pitcher really the best in the league right now?"
"Yeah. He is."
"His stuff isn't that fast, though."
Pop!
"Ball!"
Against the Swallows' second batter, he threw a splitter.
The bat never came off the shoulder.
"Is his off-speed that elite?"
"No. The fastball is his biggest weapon."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Weird, right?"
"A little."
"Murakami's fastball has league-best spin rate and movement. And he throws cutters and two-seamers well on top of that, so from a hitter's perspective it's a nightmare."
"I see."
I nodded right away. Part of it was trust in Nagasawa's knowledge — and part of it was that I'd already been thinking the same thing. If someone was dominating a league at that velocity, there had to be something special hidden behind the number.
"Hm? What's with you two?"
"…Nothing."
Hirose, sitting between us, looked left and right, alternating glances at our faces, then broke into a grin.
"Today felt like a totally different kind of experience."
"Yeah? Sorry, Hirose. We didn't look after you very well."
"No, watching Haru-chan and Hongo get so locked into the game was fun, and people-watching was great too."
"R-really?"
The game was over. The three of us stepped out of the stadium.
"…"
I feel a little bad myself.
I liked playing baseball more than watching it. The few exceptions were when a pitcher showed up who actually sparked my interest — who gave me that jolt.
Today had been one of those days. It started as pure curiosity and impulse, but once I was there, I'd found a genuinely fascinating pitcher.
Osaka Tigers versus Tokyo Swallows ended in a 9–0 Tigers blowout.
Tigers starter Murakami Shoki went the full nine, striking out thirteen for a shutout win.
His ERA had already been in the low ones at the start of the game — and it was dropping further? Even for pitcher-friendly Japanese pro ball, that was something.
Cutter. And two-seamer.
Murakami had shown me how much fastball movement mattered — and how completing a cutter and two-seamer on top of it created real synergy.
It wasn't like I'd never considered those pitches myself. But they were never easy. Baseball was a delicate sport. Chasing a cutter or two-seamer could poison the fastball itself.
No matter how popular high school baseball got, amateurs were still amateurs. For finer development, the right path was going pro and learning under proper coaches.
"…"
Pro.
No matter how hard I tried to stay locked on high school ball, I couldn't scrub the word from my head.
Could I become a pro — the kind who walked out in front of crowds like today's, game after game, with money and fame attached?
If I kept going like this, a draft selection itself felt realistic enough. Of course, stop improving and you'd get left behind. Prospects poured in every year; the ones who actually made it in the pros were a minority.
What would I look like as a pro?
"Hongo, you keep drifting off today."
"Hm?"
Hirose Satsuki's voice cut in. Nagasawa Haruka was right beside her.
"Ah — sorry."
"The game left an impression, huh."
"A little?"
"Heeh."
"…"
Hirose grinned at me out of nowhere.
"It would've been nice to grab food together too."
"It's getting pretty late."
"Hiiing."
"Next time for sure. Let's hang out."
"Really?"
"Y-yeah?"
Hirose, still looking disappointed, grabbed Nagasawa's hand tight. The way it looked like she'd just been caught making empty promises was probably just my imagination.
"Thanks so much for today!"
"Yeah! See you at practice, Nagasawa."
"Yeah. Get home safe."
Our paths split. I said goodbye to both of them and headed home.
"…"
I turned over everything I'd seen in the game. Nothing concrete had changed. It was just…
Even better than now.
The thought that I could get better at baseball still — that was what made my chest race.
I wanted to get back on the mound as soon as possible.
"Haru-chan, your face looked pretty rough at the stadium."
"Did it?"
Nagasawa Haruka still found Hirose Satsuki a little awkward. She knew perfectly well her expression management at the ballpark had been a disaster.
She scratched her head, searching for an answer.
"Honestly…"
She didn't expect real empathy, but she decided to be honest anyway.
"There were just so many opposing fans, and some of them were really loud, and more than anything — the team I came to root for lost. Even if they couldn't snap the losing streak, I at least wanted a good fight. I don't get to the ballpark that often as it is."
"Hmm. I get it."
Satsuki answered, then puffed air into her cheeks — the little habit she had when she was thinking something over.
Haruka wasn't particularly anti-Tigers, but today's Osaka Tigers away crowd had been louder than usual, and it grated. When you lost, the other side always looked extra annoying.
"But our school will win, right?"
"Huh?"
Haruka, who'd been glancing away, lifted her head.
"The team you rooted for today lost, but the baseball club you manage at our school is going to win. Believe in Hongo!"
"…Pff—"
Satsuki flashed a thumbs-up and a grin, and Haruka burst out laughing. Moments where she laughed this freely almost never happened.
Weird.
Satsuki, who barely knew baseball yet never once looked bored at the stadium — and Haruka herself, somehow having a good time with her — both felt strange in the best way.
"Oh, right — something you said earlier. Once the prelim finals are over, the baseball club heads straight to Osaka?"
"No, we get about a week off. We can't go completely wild with it, though."
And technically it's not Osaka.
Haruka didn't spell it out for a baseball beginner. Her old habit of correcting people's baseball knowledge every chance she got had earned her a few pointed comments in the past.
Earlier she'd mentioned that the Osaka Tigers' home park was Koshien Stadium — the same place that hosted the national tournament finals — so Satsuki seemed to think Koshien was in Osaka.
Plenty of people were surprised to learn it wasn't.
"Hey, Haru-chan."
Satsuki stopped walking. Haruka stopped with her.
"Can I ask you something? And will you answer me honestly?"
"Y-yeah?"
The shift in atmosphere threw Haruka off.
"Um…"
Satsuki pressed her lips together, dropped her gaze, then slowly lifted it to meet Haruka's eyes.
For someone as bright and energetic as Satsuki, she looked unusually careful.
Crack!
"Out!"
"Solid defense, Minamino!"
"Maejima! Hang in there!"
Summer Koshien West Tokyo Prelims — semifinals.
Wasena Vocational High School 3, Seisho High School 3.
A brutal dogfight was unfolding at Meiji Jingu Stadium.
Crack!
"Waaaaaah!"
Seisho's fifth hitter and right fielder, Sanada Atsushi, pulled a ball that ripped clean down the first-base line.
Seisho's second-year hitter Sanada roared as the score flipped to 3–5.
The following batters couldn't add on, but Seisho's cheering section was already in festival mode.
"Waaaaaah!"
"…"
"We've been waiting!"
"He's finally coming out!"
"This game is ours now!"
The Seisho fans erupted into applause and chaos.
After giving up three runs in the first and grinding through the fifth, Seisho's jersey number 1, Maejima Genta, finally came off.
Coming on in the top of the sixth to save him and the team was jersey number 18 — Hongo Yukihisa.
"Thank you for your work."
"I'm counting on you."
Genta handed over the ball with a simple, clean exchange.
The same Genta who had always shown fierce competitive fire toward opponents and teammates alike — who had poured three years of sweat into this field — wore an expression that looked almost relieved.
"Hongo! We believe in you!"
"Hongo-senpai!"
"Tear Wasena apart!"
"Hoo…"
Yukihisa warmed up with calm, measured movements.
Four innings. Two-run lead.
He wasn't the starter today, but the responsibility of carrying the team to a win was exactly the same.
"…"
As always, Yukihisa fixed his eyes on the mitt of catcher Matsuda Masahiro, mask already on, and began his delivery.
Pop!
"Strike!"
A savage catcher's pop that hadn't been heard all day — not even in a clash between two West Tokyo powerhouses.
"Waaaaaah!"
No out had been recorded. No strikeout had been punched.
But that single pitch was more than enough to set the crowd on fire.