Rising (1)

"Yes!"

"We won!"

"Seisho actually won at Koshien!"

In the stands of Koshien Stadium, where the first round of the Summer Koshien was underway, fans centered around Seisho's alumni clapped and cheered with pure delight.

"Hold your heads high, Shohokyu!"

"Thanks for bringing us to Koshien!"

"Rukawa! You pitched great right to the end!"

Even the spectators who had come to support Shohokyu High offered their applause to the defeated side. They may have lost, but this was still a team they could be proud of — a team that had brought them all the way to Koshien to cheer.

"All right, line up!"

From Seisho High's bench, team captain Shirakawa Satoru spoke up. The joy of their first-ever Koshien victory was allowed a single smile, and then it was time to do what needed to be done. Koshien was a stage where skill was tested — but so was courtesy.

"Thank you!"

"Thank you!"

Both sides of players rose as one and bowed. More than half of Shohokyu's players were holding back tears. Facing them, the Seisho members were handed the responsibility of offering encouragement. But with the sweetness of victory still lingering, it was a burden well worth carrying.

"Your pitchers are incredible. Especially that sophomore who started — we couldn't even touch his stuff."

"No kidding, right?"

"Make sure you win it all."

"Yeah!"

Shohokyu's third-year captain, Rukawa Hanamichi, and Seisho's third-year captain, Shirakawa Satoru, shook hands.

"Hm?"

"Hongo, what are you doing?"

Seisho's starting pitcher, Hongo Yukihisa, had been packing up his gear when he glanced back. Shohokyu's players were scooping dirt from the field and packing it into bottles.

"…It's nothing."

Yukihisa had heard about the Koshien tradition — that when you lose, you take home some of the stadium's dirt. But seeing it in person left him with a strange feeling. Most baseball club members brought bottles to Koshien for exactly that purpose. Yukihisa, though, even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠after hearing about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the tradition before leaving Tokyo, hadn't bothered preparing one.

I don't think of it as a sure thing.

Winning the Summer Koshien — what people called a national championship — was not like reclaiming something left in safekeeping. No one could guarantee a title. But Yukihisa had never once allowed defeat into his calculations. He had no need for Koshien dirt. All he wanted was the championship flag.

Click!

"…"

A camera flash went off. Hongo Yukihisa nearly scowled. After the first-round game, inside Koshien Stadium, reporters had crowded around Yukihisa — the key figure in the winning team's performance — for interviews.

The questions were predictable, and Yukihisa answered them just as predictably.

"After this game, opposing teams are going to be very aware of you and Seisho High going forward. Does that bother you at all?"

"We always analyze the other team thoroughly ourselves, so it doesn't particularly concern me."

"In today's afternoon game, East Tokyo's representative Okubo High was eliminated. Seisho is now the only school left representing Tokyo. Do you feel a sense of responsibility as Tokyo's hope?"

"Well… if the people of Tokyo are hoping for our school to win, then all we can do is give it everything we've got."

Bold without being arrogant, Yukihisa handled the interview with calm composure.

"I'm with Sports Kagawa."

"…"

"Today on the mound, you went after hitters aggressively and quickly. Your strike rate was extremely high. Was that a deliberate strategy?"

Sports Kagawa reporter Sekiya Kenji put the question to Yukihisa. Until then he had only been fielding formulaic questions; receiving something actually about the game itself left Yukihisa briefly flustered and hesitant.

"Yes. We figured that if we finished our defensive innings quickly while stretching out the other side's, the advantage would be significant. The game went even more our way than we'd planned, and the result came out well."

Yukihisa answered.

"Thank you for your response."

"All right, all right — that'll be enough for the interview!"

Seisho's coach, Kote Shinya, pushed through the throng of reporters and came up beside Yukihisa.

"Let's go."

"Yes."

Plenty of questions had already been asked, so the reporters didn't try too hard to hold Yukihisa any longer.

"Senpai, at least you got an answer at the end, right?"

"…"

"Senpai?"

Sekiya Kenji had no time to answer his junior. His eyes were fixed on Yukihisa's retreating back.

It's only the first round, but still.

It went beyond simply shutting the other team down. He sped up the tempo and cut into the opponent's offensive time. And the option of giving up a hit and allowing a run in the process? That didn't even seem to exist for him. Because he was confident he could stop them either way, he might as well finish the at-bats fast and leave the other team's pitchers and fielders with less time to rest.

Among every pitcher at this Koshien, how many could actually pull that off? This was the main tournament's first round, not a preliminary. Today's opponent had been the representative of Kanagawa — a major prefecture.

Hongo… you're too deep.

That sophomore pitcher's capacity still couldn't be measured. Trying to gauge his depth felt no different from exploring an ocean whose bottom you would never find.

"Is it starting?"

"…"

The day after the first-round game. I was in the lodging with my teammates, watching TV. A terrestrial Japanese network was airing a Koshien special.

"Hmm…"

The captions and editing were a little cringeworthy.

"Hongo?"

"Huh?"

There I was on TV.

"Ohh."

"Looking good."

"They shot you well."

"Why are you making that face?"

"…"

I didn't respond to the upperclassmen's comments.

The broadcast ended right there.

"It's the Round of 32 — every school is still in it — so interest is climbing even higher, huh?"

"Makes sense."

"I'm getting a little nervous, somehow."

A few of my teammates seemed to be feeling like stars.

"But Sunpu looks even stronger than when we saw them last spring."

"Aside from Imagawa, their pitching staff doesn't really feel like a main force, though."

"Their hitters, though — it's like they recruit by size. Every one of them is ridiculous."

"It's always been that way."

"Has Imagawa gotten stronger since he faced us?"

"His condition was bad when he pitched against us to begin with."

I listened quietly to the club members' conversation. Back around the time I'd just returned to the baseball team, we'd faced Sunpu High in a four-school tournament held in Tokyo, and I remembered watching from the stands. That game had ended 10–8 after a slugfest. Looking at it now, though, both we and Sunpu would be better off forgetting that score. Judging by the materials I'd received on Imagawa Shinji's subsequent performances, the thrashing our lineup had given him back then was clearly the product of a severe off day.

Even so.

It had essentially been a practice game, and they'd beaten a team we managed to beat even without me. If we lost to them at Koshien, I couldn't imagine a greater humiliation.

"…"

A hotel not far from Koshien Stadium. In the middle of the night, I stepped outside. It wasn't that I was worried about tomorrow's game, exactly — walking the night streets just settled something in me. If that counted as a routine, then I supposed it was one.

"Hm?"

A familiar silhouette suddenly came into view.

"Yeah, Mom, I'm fine. The hotel's really nice, too."

"…"

"Okay, got it. I'll call again."

Nagasawa.

It was Nagasawa Haruka. On the phone? Why was she out here?

"Nagasawa."

"Huh? Hongo-kun?"

"What are you doing out this late?"

"Just… being stuck in the hotel was starting to feel stifling."

"Looked like you were on a call."

"Mm, my mom just called out of nowhere."

"That so?"

I nodded. Maybe I'd hit the convenience store.

"Huh? Where are you going?"

"Convenience store."

I pointed. It was close enough that I could indicate it from right where we stood.

"Um, Hongo-kun."

"Yeah?"

Nagasawa scratched her head, then met my eyes.

"Since I was going out of town, my mom gave me a pretty generous allowance. If there's anything you want, just say so."

"…"

What was she even saying… Well, it came from a good place, at least.

"No, I've got enough money myself."

"Ah, really?"

I answered with a slight nod and headed for the convenience store.

Hm?

Wasn't Nagasawa following? She'd offered to buy me something, so I'd figured she wanted to go to the store herself.

"Thank you!"

"Have a good night."

I bought a single ice cream and stepped back outside.

"…"

On the way back to the hotel, Nagasawa must have already gone up.

She said her mom called.

Tokyo to Nishinomiya, where Koshien Stadium stood, was no short hop. A mother would naturally worry about her sophomore daughter being so far from home.

Of course.

I only knew that as abstract knowledge. There was no one who would worry or call if I suddenly went somewhere distant. Wherever I stayed for a while simply became home. It was something I lacked compared to most people my age — but I believed that background had driven me harder, too. With my personality, if someone called just because I'd gone somewhere, I might even feel interrupted.

Ding!

I took the elevator up toward my room.

"Hm?"

Checking my phone, I found a message on the messenger app.

"Hirose."

It was Hirose.

"…"

I felt obligated to reply.

"…"

Hirose's reply came instantly.

"It's Hyogo Prefecture, not Osaka."

I held my phone and let out a small laugh. Still, I didn't feel any particular need to correct her this time either. More than that — a conversation like this was basically catch, so I had to throw the ball right back.

This is hard.

Baseball I welcomed. With a girl, I never quite knew what to say. But with clumsy form, I somehow managed to throw the pitch.

"…"

Somehow.

A message from somewhere familiar — and late at night, when I should be sleeping soon. Even so, I didn't feel interrupted at all.

"Ohh, there he is!"

"That's him?"

Koshien Stadium. On the day of the second-round matchup between Seisho High and Sunpu High, the stands were packed to capacity once again. And today, scattered throughout the crowd, were people who had come with speed guns in hand and analytical eyes fixed on the field.

"Batting first, second baseman, Matsui."

Sunpu High's leadoff hitter, Matsui Masanobu, stepped into the box.

Whap!

"Strike!"

"Ohh, 154!"

"A sophomore already throwing that hard?"

"His delivery is smooth, too."

"Injury risk looks low."

Nippon Professional Baseball scouts murmured in admiration. For the second-round game, they had come specifically to see Yukihisa — reportedly the hardest thrower among every player eligible to take the mound today.

Whap!

"Strike!"

Yukihisa planted his lead foot smoothly on the mound and whipped his arm through.

Whap!

"Strike three!"

"Woooooo!"

"That's Hongo!"

"We're counting on you again today!"

Unlike the scouts, the fans who had come purely to cheer for Seisho roared for the sophomore who might as well have been their savior.