Proof of Skill (2)
Pop!
"Ball!"
Coach Maeda called a ball on Enatsu's outside fastball.
"So close."
"If that had been a strike…"
"Still, he'll be thinking about the outside corner now."
"…"
"I don't know about that."
"Huh?"
Nagasawa Haruka, who had been watching the game, turned to look at her senior manager, Fukada Riko. The senior didn't seem to share the sentiments of the White Team members standing nearby.
"Masahiro isn't feeling threatened at all. He didn't even flinch just now."
"You're right…"
"You know this too, Haru-chan, but Masahiro is a real fox once he steps into the batter's box."
A fox.
Haruka nodded. Because it was an internal scrimmage, she wasn't sure which side to root for, but as a person she naturally found herself leaning toward the ones who usually got less recognition. The members who hadn't made the regular lineup were working just as hard, after all.
But the one standing in the box was the cleanup hitter, Matsuda Masahiro. Just as Riko said, Masahiro's expression looked perfectly at ease.
If even Enatsu is struggling this much…
Enatsu Akira had at least made the twenty-man roster for the Tokyo Spring Tournament last time, and he'd been evaluated as one of the pitchers who would carry the team's mound through the summer Koshien preliminaries. If even he was having this much trouble, how wide was the gap between the two sides really?
Just as the managers had sensed, Akira was feeling the pressure intensely.
Damn it.
Akira clenched his jaw as he stared at the catcher's mitt. It was an incredibly tough situation, but with the bases loaded and nobody out, he had to keep his head on straight. It wasn't like the guy at the plate was Barry Bonds on steroids—he couldn't just intentionally walk him with the bases full.
Pop!
"Ball!"
An outside curveball. It had been one of Akira's best efforts, but again it was called a ball. The count sat at three balls and one strike—the nightmare scenario for a pitcher, where the fear of a walk-off force-in and the dread of leaving one over the heart of the plate hit at the same time.
"…"
What Akira saw was catcher Date Yoshinori's sign for a fastball inside. The pitcher immediately whipped his left arm through.
CRACK!
"Ah!"
The crack of the bat made Haruka jump. It was the kind of solid contact that sounded like a home run. But the ball shot out on a line drive into the outfield. The result was a single that dropped in front of the center fielder.
"Safe!"
Third-base runner Shirakawa Satoru and second-base runner Minamino Shintaro both crossed the plate.
"The scoring started early, huh."
Riko, standing beside Haruka, shook her head. Seisho's lineup was already at the strongest level in the prefecture. Akira had needed to show something better, yet he hadn't recorded a single out against the one-two-three-four hitters.
"Matsuda-senpai is just too strong."
"True. But if he collapses like this, the coach won't be able to trust him either."
"Still, there's no way Enatsu gets left off the twenty-man roster, right?"
"Who knows."
Riko's face was hard. The summer Koshien preliminaries were a truly critical stretch. No one could say what might happen from here.
"Tough matchup coming up."
"…"
Riko spoke as she watched the next batter step in. Fifth hitter, right fielder Sanada Atsushi. Only a second-year, yet he was one of the absolute cores of the team.
"Sanada…"
A towering hitter nearly 190 cm tall. Haruka still found it strange that he was her classmate. Of course Hongo in the same year was also tall, but Atsushi's physique looked even more fully developed.
CRACK!
"Huh?"
The Seisho managers had been watching the first-pitch battle. But Atsushi's bat moved like lightning. The ball he hit sailed on a long-hit trajectory that cleared the right fielder's reach.
"Safe!"
Second-base runner Kazuma Junpei and first-base runner Matsuda Masahiro both came home. In the meantime Sanada Atsushi stood on third. Atsushi had just delivered a two-RBI triple.
"Sanada really is a genius."
"Yeah…"
Haruka swallowed hard. The astonishing hitting skill that let him pull an inside slider for extra bases. Riko marveled; Haruka could only gulp dryly.
Enatsu…
Haruka wasn't particularly close to Akira. Like most of the guys who poured everything into baseball, he never seemed interested in getting friendly with anyone. But Haruka hadn't become a baseball team manager just because she was a baseball nerd. She had come because she admired the players and members who always worked so hard. That was why the ones who kept grinding without recognition always stuck with her—and today Akira looked especially pitiful.
CRACK!
The sixth hitter who followed Atsushi, second-year left fielder Inoue Kotaro, also jumped on the first pitch. The well-struck ball went straight at the second baseman.
"Hm?"
And the second baseman threw to third.
"Out!"
Third-base runner Sanada Atsushi, who hadn't tagged up properly, was out. The clean contact had resulted in a double play.
"Hmm…"
Something flickered through Riko's mind, but she couldn't be a hundred percent sure, so she kept quiet. Atsushi headed toward the Blue Team bench looking frustrated.
"Sanada."
"…Yes."
Coach Maeda stopped Atsushi just as he was about to sit.
"What the hell was that mindless baserunning just now?"
Coach Maeda glared at Sanada with a terrifying face.
"I'm sorry."
Atsushi bowed his head in front of the coach. With nobody out—not even one out—there had been zero need to take a risk. It had been a stupid play.
"No matter how well you hit, if you hurt the team at a critical moment with plays like that, it means nothing. If this doesn't improve, you won't be in the lineup for a while."
"I'm sorry. I'll fix it right away."
"Go sit down."
Atsushi bowed once more and returned to the bench. Even if he held one of the most important roles on the team, there were no exceptions for boneheaded plays.
"Out!"
The next batter grounded out. Enatsu Akira, who had been thoroughly battered, finally escaped the long first inning.
"Enatsu."
"Yes, Coach."
The look on his face said he knew this was coming. Akira, who had been heading for the bench, approached the coach like a child about to be punished.
"Whether it's Matsuda or Sanada, if you can't throw your own pitches against them, you have no future."
"I understand."
Akira answered the coach's words.
Pop!
"Strikeout!"
Blue Team 4, White Team 0, bottom of the first. The Blue Team pitcher Maejima Genta's slider made the batter's bat spin through empty air.
"Whoa, the way that ball breaks…"
"Well, it is Maejima."
Riko spoke beside the astonished Haruka. Even if Seisho was rated weaker on the mound than in the lineup, anyone wearing the ace number 1 at a school called elite in Tokyo was clearly something special.
The White Team's one-two-three hitters, who needed to show something in the bottom of the first, all went down on strikeouts. The first inning was over, but the flow of the game was already completely one-sided.
Then came the top of the second, Blue Team at bat. The eight and nine hitters made outs, and the order turned over. With two outs, the batter was leadoff hitter Shirakawa Satoru.
CRACK!
"…Huh?"
Satoru laughed in frustration. The well-hit ball went straight at the right fielder. That was the charm of baseball for you.
"…"
Enatsu Akira had put up a three-up, three-down inning in the top of the second, but the quality of the pitching hadn't been anything to celebrate, and his expression remained dark.
Pop!
"Strikeout!"
A fastball jammed in tight on the hands. Once again the White Team couldn't touch Seisho's ace, Maejima Genta. Over two innings he had racked up five strikeouts and was fully in rhythm.
"Mm…"
Haruka bit her lip.
Everyone, hang in there.
They had all practiced so hard. The solid presence of the regulars was nice, but she wanted to see someone step up and prove themselves.
CRACK!
"Huh?"
"Uwaaah!"
Top of the third, score still Blue 4–White 0. Matsuda-senpai, facing Enatsu for the second time, drove the ball hard. A massive fly ball went up.
"Tch."
Matsuda-senpai's frustrated voice carried. The result was a left-field fly. But the left fielder had to catch it almost at the wall.
"Whoa, that was close."
"As expected of Matsuda-senpai."
"…"
Off the end of the bat?
It hadn't caught the sweet spot, yet the ball still flew that far? Just how much raw power did he have?
"Gondo!"
"Yes!"
It looked like a pitching change. The replacement was third-year Gondo Kazuo-senpai. Among the non-regular third-year pitchers, he was one of the better ones.
"Haa…"
The pulled Enatsu came back with a complicated look on his face.
"Enatsu."
"Hang in there, Akira."
"At least you stopped Matsuda-senpai, right?"
"…"
Enatsu wiped sweat while his hands trembled with frustration.
Stopped him, my ass.
I figured that kind of comment would only make Enatsu more bitter. If catching a ball at the wall counted as "stopping" someone, you might as well put a pitching machine on the mound.
CRACK!
"Damn!"
The next batter was my classmate Sanada Atsushi. The ball Sanada hit dropped cleanly in front of the left fielder for a single. I'd seen it before, but his hitting ability really was incredible.
That made it five runs allowed.
CRACK!
"Huh?"
They say there's always a floor under the floor. Gondo-senpai on the mound hung his head.
"It's gone."
Sixth hitter Inoue Kotaro's three-run homer.
"Hm?"
"…"
"Hongo-senpai?"
"I'm going to warm up."
"Huh?"
I told first-year Yamada Tetsuya and quietly slipped away. I had no idea if or when my turn would come, but sitting around watching was worse than just getting loose.
Pop!
"Fuu."
By the time I came back, our team's at-bat had ended in a blink. Blue Team starter Maejima Genta-senpai actually looked disappointed that he'd allowed even one baserunner. The White Team had a lot of players, and Coach Maeda was making frequent substitutions—maybe to give everyone a chance. But none of the hitters could touch him.
"As expected of Maejima-senpai. His stuff is amazing."
"Yeah."
I nodded at Yamada's words.
"We gave up eight runs, and all we have is one hit and one walk."
"It's ridiculous from the start. Nobody actually thinks they can beat the regulars. We're just watching how everyone does."
"…"
"Huh? Hey—!"
I grabbed the collar of the second-year whose name I couldn't even remember, the one who'd just said he had no intention of winning.
"H-Hongo."
"If you're not planning to win, go home first."
I glared at him as I spoke.
"Hongo-senpai!"
"Hongo! Stop it."
"Hmph."
When the first-years including Yamada, plus the second- and third-years, came over, I let him go.
"Hongo!"
"Yeah?"
Coach Maeda shouted.
"Get on the mound."
"…Understood!"
I shouted back loud and clear.
"Hongo, huh?"
"The coach is already giving him a chance."
When the second-year of interest, Hongo Yukihisa, took the mound, the Blue Team bench of regulars stirred.
"Nice."
Whoosh!
Captain Shirakawa Satoru grinned and swung his bat through empty air. He was the leadoff hitter for this top of the fifth.
"Hongo…"
"It feels a little early."
Managers Nagasawa Haruka and Fukada Riko watched Yukihisa climb the mound. No matter how Riko looked at it, the coach seemed to have put him on too soon. Even with Yukihisa's tremendous talent, he had only just returned. He might have recovered his stuff quickly, but actual game conditions could be different. Especially the first-year Yukihisa Riko remembered hadn't been a pitcher with strong mental toughness. Even in practice games he would sometimes walk batters left and right with that excellent arm and then collapse.
"And Satoru isn't the type to go easy on anyone."
"…"
Riko, who knew her childhood friend Shirakawa Satoru's precise hitting ability, and Haruka, who glanced at Riko.
Do your best.
She silently wished for Yukihisa's good performance.
"Fuu…"
Yukihisa was ready. Satoru stepped into the box.
Hongo.
A guy he still couldn't quite figure out. Once the baseball team's rising star, he had suddenly vanished, then just as suddenly reappeared. His shining talent was a shame, but if his heart wasn't in the baseball club, they couldn't rely on him. And yet here he was, back.
In that case…
What he had to do was compete properly—as a hitter, and as a senior.
Fastball.
Yukihisa was a power pitcher. Fundamentally you had to time the heater.
Here it comes.
Yukihisa went into his motion and threw.
Pop!
"Strike!"
"…"
An inside fastball that came in without hesitation from the first pitch. Strike called.
"That's just unfair."
Satoru muttered. An incredible fastball—clearly a heater flirting with 150 km/h. To throw something this terrifying right after coming back.
And looking closer…
It wasn't the delivery form of the Yukihisa he knew.
"Fuu."
Satoru set up again. Yukihisa throwing with that whip-like motion.
High pitch?
Pop!
"Strike!"
Crap.
High fastball on the outside. Would it have been a ball if he hadn't swung? But the ball coming almost at his eyes forced the bat out.
"Was that a ball?"
"Who knows. I'll tell you later."
White Team third-year catcher Date Yoshinori, wearing the mask, didn't give anything away to the temporarily enemy captain. Satoru had felt that last fastball rise slightly, but he decided to wipe it from his mind for now.
If he's working me like this…
Satoru choked up a little on the bat. Yukihisa threw a fastball and a splitter. The splitter movement itself wasn't overwhelmingly special, but combined with that fastball it became a real threat.
"…"
Satoru focused. Even if it was only practice, he had zero intention of half-assing it. And Yukihisa threw according to the catcher's lead.
It's coming in.
A pitch low in the zone on the inner half!
Satoru's bat came out fast.
Huh?
Pop!
"…Strikeout!"
Coach Maeda, who had been watching the home-plate umpire, made the call a beat late. Even he had been startled for a moment.
"A splitter? No—more than that, just now…"
Satoru confirmed that the pitch he thought had entered the zone had actually buried itself almost into the dirt. The drop on that terrifying splitter defied all reason.
From last fall's spring Koshien preliminaries, through the Meiji Jingu Tournament, and even this spring's Tokyo tournament, Satoru had never once struck out in a game. But just now, Yukihisa's splitter had made him swing and miss for a strikeout.