The week leading up to the match between Nehimon Seimei and Suma Tomogaoka was thick with anticipation. The buzz around the school was palpable as students and teachers alike whispered about the upcoming showdown. Posters of the team adorned the walls of the school hallways, and even the local community was abuzz, as the game had become the talk of the town. Everyone knew this match would define the season.
At home, Shinjiro Takumi stood in his backyard, quietly practicing his balance and shifting for pitching. The grass beneath his feet was soft, the air cool but comfortable as the sun dipped low in the sky. His body moved methodically, but there was a hesitation in each motion—an awkwardness that hadn't been there before. He could feel it, even if he couldn't quite put it into words.
"My movement is off," he muttered to himself, pausing mid-motion. His eyes narrowed in frustration. "Maybe I'm overthinking this. The past few days, my swing has suffered too... and my timing..." He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair.
He tried again, winding up as if to pitch. His left hand, unfamiliar with the motion, felt stiff. The release was too early, the form too rigid, and it wasn't long before the baseball landed well off its mark. Shinjiro groaned in frustration, kicking at the dirt beneath him.
From the patio, his father, Hiroshi, sat observing him silently, arms crossed. He'd been watching Shinjiro train every day, his sharp eyes taking in every flaw, every stiff movement. Though he didn't say it, Hiroshi could see the mental block holding his son back.
"He's still not there yet," Hiroshi thought, his brow furrowed. "But there's progress... slowly"
Just then, Yumi, Shinjiro's mother, walked out from the house carrying a tray with two cups of tea. She placed the tray on the small outdoor table beside Hiroshi before sitting down. Her eyes flicked toward Shinjiro, who was still practicing with all the intensity he could muster.
"Honey, Shinjiro was talking about a big game coming up," Yumi said, her voice gentle. "I want to watch it. Can we go together?"
Hiroshi, surprised by the question, raised a brow and glanced at her suspiciously. He wondered inwardly. "She didn't usually express much interest in his baseball, but maybe she just wanted to be there for him this time."
After a pause, Hiroshi replied, "Shinjiro said it's unclear whether he'll start. The coach will probably tell them their lineup the day before the game—which is tomorrow."
Yumi tilted her head thoughtfully. "So what if he doesn't play? Let's go anyway. It'll be nice to watch the team, and we can still support him."
Hiroshi looked at her for a moment, then sighed. "Alright, we'll go. But don't be disappointed if he's on the bench."
Yumi smiled softly and sipped her tea, watching their son in the yard. Shinjiro was still throwing, still adjusting, still struggling. There was a slight pang in her chest as she saw him press forward, but she admired his persistence.
---
At the school, the Nehimon Seimei baseball team gathered in the meeting room for their final pre-match analysis. The walls were adorned with photos of past champions, and the air was thick with concentration as the team pored over notes and statistics on Suma Tomogaoka.
Denji, their stats enthusiast, stood at the front, pointing to a series of charts on the screen. His voice was serious, yet tinged with excitement. "Noboru Hayashi," he began, "has only allowed one run in this tournament so far. His biggest strength is his control. He's got a full pitching repertoire—a power curve, changeup, splitter, slider... And in the last game, he threw a nasty screwball. We also have to assume he's hiding some pitches."
The room was silent as the team absorbed the information. Even the hum of the air conditioning seemed to pause as Denji continued.
Ryoichi, arms crossed, leaned back in his chair and scoffed. "He's bluffing. There's no way he's got anything more than that. The guy's already using his best stuff."
Before Denji could respond, Yamato, the assistant coach, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "And what if he isn't?" he asked, raising a brow at Ryoichi. "What if he's saving something special for us? It wouldn't be the first time."
Coach Nakamura had been quiet up to this point, letting his players analyze the data for themselves. But now, he spoke, his voice calm and authoritative. "Just focus on what you can hit. Don't try to figure out every pitch he has. If you start thinking about too many variables, you'll psych yourselves out. Play your game, and don't get caught up in his."
The players nodded in unison, absorbing their coach's words. There was a quiet confidence among them, even though the stakes were high.
As the meeting wound down, Coach Nakamura stood and turned toward the team. "Alright," he said, standing up "Here's the starting lineup for tomorrow's game against Suma."
There was a palpable tension as the players sat up a little straighter, everyone eager to hear their name called.
"Kenji Tadeka, Center Fielder (Captain, 2nd Year).
Ryoichi Kuroda, Ace Pitcher (2nd Year).
Kaito Nakashima, Shortstop (2nd Year).
Shota Iwata, Left Fielder (2nd Year).
Kazuki Yamashita, Right Fielder (2nd Year).
Haruto Suzuki, First Baseman (2nd Year).
Shunichi Watanabe, Second Baseman (2nd Year).
Koji Nakamura, Third Baseman (1st Year).
Daiki Matsuda, Catcher (2nd Year)."
When Shinjiro's name wasn't called, he felt his chest tighten slightly. He had expected it, given that he was just getting back into his rhythm after his absence. But still... disappointment settled heavily in his stomach.
He let out a quiet sigh, inwardly telling himself, "I can't say I'm not disappointed, but… what is this feeling?" It wasn't pure frustration—it was something deeper."
The meeting wrapped up, and as the players filed out of the room, Kenji found himself walking next to Ryoichi.
"I can't believe Coach benched Shinjiro," Kenji said, shaking his head in disbelief. "He's hit a homer in every game he's played so far. Can you believe how insane that is?"
Ryoichi smirked, his expression unreadable as always. "He's going for experience," he said simply. "The stakes are high, and first-years are more likely to crack under pressure."
Ryoichi chuckled and playfully elbowed Kenji in the ribs. "Come on, man. Remember how shit you were under pressure last year?"
Kenji raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a half-smile. "I wasn't that bad."
Ryoichi snorted. "Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that. But hey, atleast made up for it with your swing!" He laughed, trying to shake off the lingering concern he had about the lineup.
The two continued their banter as they walked out onto the practice field, but both were keenly aware of the pressure looming over them. Tomorrow's game would be the true test—not just for the team, but for each individual player. And even though Shinjiro wasn't in the starting lineup, everyone knew that his time would come.
--
The atmosphere inside the strategy room of Suma Tomogaoka was tense but focused. Posters and notes about their upcoming match against Nehimon Seimei were plastered on the walls, and a projector beamed a video of Nehimon's previous games onto the far wall. The players sat around the table, leaning forward, eyes glued to the screen, analyzing every movement of their opponents.
Their scout, with sharp eyes, stood at the front of the room, pointing to an image of Ryoichi, the ace pitcher for Nehimon Seimei.
"Alright, listen up," the scout began, his voice steady. "Ryoichi Kuroda their ace, will probably start tomorrow. We all know how fast his pitches are. He clocked 159kph in his last game, and his control has improved. He's not someone we can afford to underestimate."
There were murmurs around the table as the players absorbed the information.
Masato, the team's catcher and cleanup hitter, stretched his arms behind his head. "We didn't score a run from him in that match, but we've been hitting faster pitches now. We are prepared."
The scout ignored him and clicked to the next image, showing Kenji Tadeka, Nehimon Seimei's captain.
"Now, their captain, Kenji," the scout continued, pointing to Kenji's stats. "He's fast on the bases—probably the fastest in the prefecture. He's leading with the most stolen bases this season. We need to keep him off first base, or he'll be a nightmare to control."
Yamada, the captain of Suma Tomogaoka, nodded thoughtfully. "We'll have to be extra sharp with our pick-off attempts and make sure our throws to first are tight."
The scout flipped the slide again, this time showing a picture of Shinjiro Takumi, Nehimon's first-year phenom. "Shinjiro Takumi. He was absent in their last game. Maybe he was rested, maybe not. But when he's on, his batting is dangerous. His fielding, however, is a different story. He's made errors in previous games, and other teams have exploited it. If he's in the outfield, we should test him early."
Masato leaned forward, sneering slightly. "He's just a first-year. His luck will run out eventually. We should focus on their core players and not worry about rookies."
The room went quiet for a moment, and then Noboru Hayashi, Suma Tomogaoka's ace, spoke up from the corner. He rarely said much in team meetings, but when he did, people listened. His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to it.
"You're ignorant," Noboru said flatly, his eyes locked on Masato. "I've watched his at-bat tapes."
Masato raised an eyebrow. "His at-bat tapes? Seriously? What's so special about him?"
Noboru crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. "He doesn't swing at bad pitches. And he's good against fastballs, better than you think."
The room fell silent again. Noboru's words carried weight, and everyone knew better than to argue. Even Masato, usually quick with a comeback, nodded slowly.
Noboru shrugged. "We have to know our opponents. If you take him lightly, you'll end up surprised. Let's not be stupid about this."
Yamada gave Noboru a nod of approval. "Right. We prepare for every player, no matter their experience."
The scout, sensing the shift in tone, clicked to the next slide, continuing the briefing. But Noboru's words lingered in the air, a reminder that underestimating any player—no matter how young—could be the difference between winning and losing.