The spring drizzle hadn't stopped all morning. By the time Haruto arrived at the school gate, his sleeves were damp, clinging to his arms like the weight of memory.
Their second provincial loss was only two days old.
The field was silent. No bats cracking. No laughter. Just soft footsteps on the soaked earth.
"...No practice today?" he asked quietly, spotting Reina near the bench, packing the first-aid kit she'd never really needed. Not during a game they never truly fought in.
She turned. Her eyes were tired but not dull.
"They're all still in the clubroom," she said. "I think Sōta's trying to cheer everyone up with canned coffee. It's not working."
Haruto managed a nod, then stepped onto the wet dirt. His shoes squelched. The mound stared back at him like a wounded animal.
He hadn't thrown a single strike in the last inning. And the silence after the final pitch—it rang louder than the umpire's call.
---
Later that Day...
The gym office door slid open with a faint creak. Inside, Coach Inoue leaned back in the old wooden chair, flipping through dusty schedules when the knock came.
It wasn't a teacher. It wasn't even someone from town.
"Excuse me," said the man, holding a silver envelope with the emblem of Aoyama Prep Junior Baseball etched into it.
"...Aoyama?" Inoue straightened.
The man smiled politely. "We'd like to formally invite your team for a practice match. One week from now. Our second string team will be playing… but I hear your boys might need something like this."
He placed the envelope on the desk.
"It's not charity. One of our talent scouts saw the game. He said he saw something… in your pitcher."
Inoue blinked. The words hung in the air.
"Something," the scout repeated, "worth seeing again."
---
The Clubroom, That Evening
"You want us to go where?!"
Jun's voice shot up an octave. Reina flinched as the chipped aluminum bats clanged from the bench he knocked over.
"Aoyama Prep," repeated Coach Inoue. He held up the letter. "Their second team. Just a friendly."
"'Friendly'?" Takeshi muttered. "Do they even know we don't have a proper catcher's gear? Or real cleats?"
"We'll lose," Jun said bluntly. "Badly."
Haruto remained silent in the corner. Only Sōta looked between them all and said, "...Maybe that's exactly why we should go."
Everyone turned.
Sōta met their eyes. "We always talk about 'next year' or 'next game.' But what if there's no next? What if this is it? I'd rather go down swinging than wait around for someone to pity us."
The room quieted.
Coach Inoue finally spoke. "It's not mandatory. But I think… you might be surprised what one real game can teach you."
---
The Rain-Covered Journey
The following Sunday, the team boarded a rattling minibus borrowed from the town council. Most of the boys hadn't traveled beyond the neighboring villages. The sight of Aoyama's campus—with its clean turf, lit-up scoreboard, and automatic batting cages—stung more than they expected.
Haruto stepped off last.
The rain had turned to mist, casting a glowing halo around the field. On the far end, players in crisp navy uniforms warmed up in practiced rhythm.
Synchronized. Calm. Like warriors before a ceremonial duel.
"Hey," Sōta said, nudging him. "Your hands are shaking."
Haruto stared at his palms.
"I know," he whispered. "But they're not cold."
---
Game Start: Commentary Booth
"Today, we welcome visitors from Nagano countryside—Team Fushimi—who'll be playing an unofficial friendly against Aoyama Prep's junior squad. While we remind the audience that this is a developmental match, we ask you to enjoy the sportsmanship shown by both sides."
Inside the commentary room, two men sat behind mics.
"Looks like the countryside boys are using gear held together with tape," one chuckled. "But their eyes are sharp. That catcher's signaling something different."
"Number 10… that's Haruto, right? Small frame, slow wind-up… but his eyes don't blink."
---
First Inning
They were down 4-0 before they touched the bat.
Haruto's control wobbled. The batters on Aoyama's side weren't just fast—they were calculating. They punished every curve he misjudged. They anticipated each inside fastball.
By the third batter, the silence on Fushimi's bench was loud enough to drown out the cheers.
"Change pitcher?" someone whispered.
"No," Coach Inoue said. "Let him finish one inning."
On the mound, Haruto breathed in—then out.
And suddenly… for a split second…
> [SYSTEM_PULSE: Alignment - 0.003%]
[SEQUENCE: NOT READY]
[MESSAGE: "Stay in the shape of the diamond."]
He blinked.
The next pitch sailed like it was wrapped in wind. The batter flinched—but it wasn't speed. It was stillness. The kind of stillness that made the bat hesitate.
Strike.
One.
Then another.
Strike two.
And then… a sinker.
The batter missed entirely.
Strike three.
A stunned silence. Then a whisper from Aoyama's dugout.
"...What kind of pitch was that?"
---
Aftermath
They lost. 13-2.
But no one laughed at them.
And from the bleachers, a girl with a white umbrella quietly watched, scribbling into a scout's notepad. Her glasses fogged, but her eyes gleamed.
Rin Katsuragi, second-year scout apprentice for Meiwa High, turned to her senior and said:
"That pitcher. Haruto."
Her voice was calm.
"He's not polished. Not even close. But… he sees something before he throws. Did you notice?"
The senior nodded.
"Potential?"
"No," Rin whispered. "Possibility."
---
Post-Match: Returning Home
Inside the minibus, no one talked. Not even Sōta.
But Reina passed out a box of sweet red bean buns she bought from the station.
Takeshi muttered, "...They beat us by a mile. Why does this bun taste so good?"
"Because," Jun replied quietly, "we earned it."
At the back, Haruto looked out the window.
The rain had cleared. And for the first time since that provincial loss… he saw the clouds break.
A single beam of sunlight fell across the road.
He smiled.
---
Chapter 26: END