No Matter How Many Times (2)
Thwack—!
"Ball!"
A bait pitch, thrown expecting the bat to come out.
But the curve missed the zone for a ball.
"·····"
Inside.
Senior Matsuda Masahiro, watching the catcher, called for a pitch inside.
(Being able to throw inside or outside at will is your greatest weapon.)
That was what Senior Matsuda had said at the last pitchers' meeting. Coach Maeda had agreed.
Thwack—!
"Strike!"
I threw the fastball inside, and the batter's bat never moved.
Once that happens, the problems a pitcher can pose to a hitter multiply. And every single one of them turns into a killer question.
Outside.
I looked at the mitt and delivered.
Thwack—!
Good.
I'd successfully handled the crucial leadoff batter.
I wanted to finish this game myself today. That meant pitching with the mindset of allowing not just no runs, but no baserunners at all.
Even if we won, there were plenty of reasons to pull me—the next game, my complete game last time, the three innings already under my belt.
"Fourth batter, third baseman, Minatozaki."
Waseda Jitsugyo's cleanup hitter.
Considering what the four-hole represents in Japanese baseball, anyone who holds that spot on any team deserves respect.
Thwack!
"Strike!"
So I would throw with that respect. Of course, being the ninth inning made it only natural.
Thwack—!
"Ball!"
Crack—!
"Foul!"
Thwack—!
"Ball!"
High fastball above the zone fouled off. Splitter dropping below the zone taken. Facing him last at-bat hadn't been hard at all—what changed?
"Hmm."
This guy had serious focus.
I waited carefully for the sign and stared at the mitt.
I respect him, sure.
But I win.
Thwack—!
"Strikeout!"
Good.
A slider that broke away from the right-handed batter.
Even if the occasional wild pitch slipped out, the weapon I'd honed still shone.
"Hongo! Hang in there!"
"We're almost there!"
"Send us to the final!"
Clap! Clap-clap! Clap! Clap!
The applause and cheers swelled. I couldn't make out the exact words, but·····
"Huh?"
Suddenly Coach Maeda climbed onto the mound.
A pitching change? No way.
"How are you feeling?"
"·····Condition's good."
"Matsuda."
"He can still completely overpower hitters."
"That so?"
The fielders gathered too, and the coach asked me and Senior Matsuda in turn.
"If you finish him, that's four perfect innings, right?"
"Hey, I deliberately didn't say it so we wouldn't jinx it."
"Oh? Sorry."
"·····"
Senior Shirakawa Satoru said it with a sly grin.
Beside him, Vice-Captain Kazuma Junpei bristled.
"You finish this."
"Yes, sir."
The coach said the words he'd been waiting to say, and I answered right away.
"Fifth batter, left fielder, Furiyama."
"·····"
Unnecessary.
I understood, but I was already throwing in my own rhythm just fine.
I knew it was a childish thought, yet standing completely alone on this mound didn't feel all that bad.
They call it a lonely, solitary place, but somehow it gives a strange kind of comfort.
Thwack—!
"Ball!"
Heh.
Got a little too fired up? It sailed way outside.
Didn't matter. One bad pitch wasn't going to end anything.
Thwack—!
"Strike!"
Thwack—!
"Strike!"
Senior Matsuda dropped to one knee and set the mitt low.
Everyone knew what this pitch was.
I planted my weight hard through my legs and whipped my arm through.
Perfect.
The feel of the ball leaving my hand—nothing better.
Thwack—!
"Strikeout!"
"Waaaaaaaaah!"
"Nice ball."
"Thanks."
Nice catch.
The splitter had dropped with serious depth. Senior Matsuda handled it without trouble.
Honestly, I wasn't particularly close with this senior. We formed a battery, yet I couldn't remember ever exchanging personal talk.
Still, something about it felt easy.
"Seisho!"
"Hongo!"
"I'll definitely come watch the final! Make sure you win!"
"Our school's the best!"
"·····Ah."
Come to think of it.
It was summer break, so of course plenty of students who weren't on the baseball team had shown up.
Looking around the seats near the managers and the players not in the twenty-man roster, I spotted faces I'd casually passed in the halls.
Well, damn.
Even when we talk about fighting for the title of best in Japan, in the end it's still school versus school.
"Oh, there it is."
"·····"
The evening after the semifinal. School practice field.
I was watching TV with the rest of the team.
A Kanto-region channel was running a Koshien special.
Once you reach the summer prelim final, the spotlight really does get brighter.
The team focused on the broadcast.
Kinda···
Being hyped up felt good, but watching it on TV made me cringe somehow.
"·····"
The broadcast ended right there.
"Soun High. Solid fundamentals."
"They don't have huge power, but their hitters never give up easy at-bats and they're good at manufacturing runs one by one."
"Their ace Otsuka doesn't throw hard, but from the last video his delivery looks a little dirty."
"Strong deception, plus he's a lefty. We can't let our guard down for a second."
Somehow they'd already analyzed everything; opinions on the final opponent poured out immediately.
"With Koshien on the line, no one's going to be easy."
"Huh?"
Captain Shirakawa Satoru, who'd been quiet all day, spoke up.
"Thanks, everyone. Honestly I kept wondering if I even deserved to be captain, if I had the skill for it—but you all worked so hard that the team just kept rolling."
Senior Shirakawa looked around at the members as he said it.
Everyone here was proud, distinctive, and hungry; of course he'd felt personal pressure.
Even if guys don't fight over hierarchy, the one in the lead always feels the pressure to be better.
"Don't get all sappy."
"Just act normal."
"Haha·····"
Apparently nobody liked the cringey atmosphere; Senior Shirakawa was shut down in seconds.
"Come to think of it, there were a ton of pro scouts at the last game."
"Matsuda's been watched enough already—so it's Hongo, right?"
"Sanada's had scouts since spring too."
"Ah·····"
Scouts.
The word "pro" never left my head for long, and here it was again.
"Matsuda, any team you're aiming for? Hometown Sendai Golden Eagles, maybe?"
"I don't really have special feelings for the hometown team."
"Sanada?"
"Only interested in the Giants."
"What if you play so well you get multiple offers?"
"If anyone but the Giants drafts me, I'll just say I'm going to college."
"·····That's dedication. What about you, Hongo? Oh right—you still haven't decided between going pro straight out of high school or college?"
"I've never really thought about college. If I can, I'd rather go as soon as possible."
"Ah, that so?"
I knew Japan had plenty of talented players who still chose university. I just never felt a reason to.
"Junpei's still···"
"Yeah. Gotta aim for Keio."
"Same as always."
"Keio?"
The conversation between Senior Shirakawa and Senior Kazuma Junpei. I butted in.
Keio—everyone knew it as one of Japan's elite universities.
"Aiming for Keio was the condition that let me keep playing baseball. My parents were against it otherwise."
"Ah····· I see."
"Both of Junpei's parents are Keio grads, and his older brother's in Keio med school. Junpei's smart too—his grades are probably second only to Riko among the third-years on the team."
"Ah."
"You didn't need to say all that."
"·····"
I nodded.
Listening made me realize how many different life stories there were.
Weird.
Normally I barely paid attention to other people's stories, yet right now I found them pretty interesting.
"Fukada's amazing—devoted to the baseball team and still gets great grades."
"I heard the managers are all pretty strong academically."
"Do they pick based on grades?"
"No way."
"Second-year Nagasawa's top of the school too."
"Really? That's insane."
Another thing I hadn't known.
Nagasawa Haruka was good at studying. Made sense—she always had that focused look.
"People who can do everything are something else."
"Like they're from another world."
"I can barely handle baseball alone."
"·····"
I wasn't particularly good at anything besides baseball either.
Scrape.
"I'll head out first."
"Huh?"
"Hongo."
I pushed my chair back, stood, and slid it in again.
Sitting still made me restless.
Baseball.
The only thing I could do was baseball. Same as before, same now.
Chatting with teammates like that wasn't bad, but I still had work to do.
"·····"
Born without parents, I'd had to find a reason for being born and a reason to keep living fast.
Childish as it sounded, the conclusion I'd reached was that I wanted to show the world my value.
Whether it was a god or a devil that gave me this body and this changed world, my purpose hadn't shifted.
I would prove myself. That was the only reason I played baseball.
Soon.
I wanted to get back on the mound soon.