The first time I "accidentally" met them was during a sport festival at school. Teiko middle school had a most unfortunate mantra, "winning is everything." I wasn't approving of ideology like that. I prefer to play for my team, protecting them in any way I can. It definitely didn't help that I was at Teiko on scholarship, having been uprooted from the United States in an effort to better the school's slightly-above-average softball team. I'd had barely enough Japanese rattling about my memory to make it through the average school day. Anything beyond school and softball was generally lost to me.
That game, that tournament, was really a long string of obstacles. The inexperienced players were being obnoxious, chattering away about boys and dates. The heat was sweltering, and the catching gear certainly wasn't helping. My pitcher's self esteem had dropped drastically in the last two innings, and I couldn't stop noticing every little thing. The last thing was a constant problem for me. I see everything, and while I can easily control it, I knew that tonight I'd be much more tired than usual. Sweat has started plastering my hair to my neck and face, and the umpire had allowed me time to dunk my head in some ice-water and drench the rest of me. The cold felt like magic against my skin. Thank god I have more clothes on under my uniform. My temper is wearing thin.
"Oi!" I yell, glaring at the benched players. "Get more water for your fielders if you don't have anything better to talk about than boys!" The girls scuttle away, watching me. My eyes turn to the pitcher, a shy girl called Mizuki, and I give her a nod. "Two more. Give me two more and I can end this inning for you." There are two reasons I'm here, and why I'm more specifically a catcher. The first is that I observe too much, and I can remember it with relative ease. The second is that I can manipulate our opponents. Runner on three and one. Fake a throw to two, have Mizuki cut it off and toss it back to me. I give the infield the sign for our play, tapping my wrist once and my chest twice.
Mizuki's arm won't last another inning. Her pitches have slowed, and I nod to our second baseman, who seems to have caught my drift. I throw my fake, anticipating the runner crashing toward me at breakneck speed. The throw back to me is sloppy, and my eyes widen as I realize I'm in a bad position to catch it. I snatch it out of the air as fast as possible, drop my vulnerable leg to the ground, and slam myself into the runner. We both crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs. "Out!" That's three!
The runner gets up faster than I do, stomping hard on my throwing hand. My fingers curl into the dirt, spasming slightly as I pull it back. I hate metal cleats so much. I toss the ball back to Mizuki as she nears me. With a shuddering sigh, I spring up and wince as my ankle protests slightly. A wilder pitcher replaces Mizuki the next inning. In that time, I manage to corner the opposing team at the cost of an ankle and a knee. My shoulder is the price I need to pay for the next play.
The bunt is perfectly placed, nearly out of reach. It rolls my way, and with all the speed and strength I can gather, I turn to meet the runner sliding into home. One of her legs is far too high for a normal slide. In fact, it crashes closer to my ribs than my shoulder, making me grunt in pain as I slam her leg down with the ball in my glove. She lets out a yelp as her ankle gives way, and I shudder as steel cleats rake down my side. It's always like this. Injuries every game, outs whenever the chance comes my way. I'm here to make this team win, not to play nice. "Out!"
"Hai-chan!" My last name's been shortened significantly. Heights became Hai in an effort to ease pronunciation. Our third baseman, Kagome, leans over me as I allow the runner freedom to get back to her dugout. "You're going to get yourself killed!" I stand, dusting myself off and wincing as I stretch my arms. My mask is somewhere near the back of the backstop.
"I'm here to get you victories." I hiss, stretching my torso and wincing at the familiar pain of being cleated. "This is what it takes." With the ball tossed to our pitcher and Kagome running back to her position, I jog to find my mask. I adjust my ponytail and shove strands of long, dark hair out of my face, disgusted as I find them slick with sweat. The mask comes on as soon as it's emptied of dust, and I make awkward eye contact with heterochromatic eyes. The redhead gives me a strangely approving nod, and I turn my attention back to the game. We win 14-1.
Before coming here, I'd never been on a team where it was mandatory for the team to clean up the field after a game. It wasn't common at home. I kind of like it, though. It helps me memorize the strange slopes and bumps of the field. I wasn't expecting the same set of eyes to find me after the game as I adjust my dripping uniform and tug on my various braces. Knee, then ankle. Shoulder, then wrist. The taping around my catching wrist is undone since it's no longer necessary. "Why did you do that?" My eyes dart to the dark shoes and then to the unusually short redhead.
"Who are you?" I ask in return, trying to rid myself of the knots in my neck. I pack my gear carefully and slip them into my softball bag.
"Akashi Seijuro." Gold and red burning holes in me. "Why would you do that?"
"Do what?" I reply, dragging the bag out of the dugout and finding my old backpack. It still smells like home.
"You didn't need to sustain so many injuries. Why would you do so?" I look the strange boy in the eye.
"I'm here to bring victories to this team. I'm not here to play nice. Besides, it would've happened to someone else if not to me. At least I have some sort of protection." Akashi narrows his eyes. "I knew the risks of doing this before I did it. It's fine. Besides, I'm just a foreigner. It's okay for the outsider to get hurt."
"Hai-san! I got the ice you wanted! Do y-you need wrap?" I look at Mizuki.
"I have some wrap. Thanks for the ice. You did well today." Mizuki turns a thousand shakes of red, blubbers something about needing to do something, and darts around the dugout. "Oi! Mizuki, I can't reach behind me if I'm holding ice!"
The redhead takes the ice from me and presses it to my side as if he could read my movements. I narrow my eyes and wrap the ice to my side as best I can. "Thanks. Anyway, I gotta go. Ja ne." Picking up my bag, I walk past him, nodding to the slightly smaller boy beside him.
The next time I ran into them was a few weeks later. This time the strange duo had a group of rainbow-haired boys with them, one of whom looked like some sort of terrifying giant. That game we won 20-4, and I dislocated my shoulder. It was really unfortunate timing, too.
The ball had just made it into my glove, and a certain well-placed cleat just barely managed to reach my shoulder under my gear. They were called safe, and my shoulder popped out of place. I can still remember the pain, the scream that had dripped like blood from my lips as I grabbed it. I couldn't understand anyone as I held my arm to my side, shuddering in pain.
It took me a few minutes to pull myself together, to stop the ringing of my ears and the ragged breathing that persisted in showing my weakness. I was taken out for the rest of the inning while my shoulder was popped back in and iced. Three runs were scored. Our catcher came teetering back to the dugout after the third one. There was no way she'd make it, and we both knew it.
On came the gear, the mask, my glove. Off came the ice, the tape, the jacket. I winced my way to the plate and tugged my mask off just long enough to do what I do best. "Don't think you can relax just because we're up!" I shout, drawing the infielders to the circle. "And don't think you can relax because I'm catching. Get in a line. We're testing out my arm." It takes me a few precious minutes to ease my arm into throwing. First to Mizuki, then Kogame. To our second baseman, our first baseman. Haruna, our centerfielder, gives me a wave. I nod.
Out rockets the ball from my hand, searing past second and out to Haruna, who has to take a few steps in. My arm is not okay. It doesn't go unnoticed. Haruna to Kogame to me. Me to Mizuki. Mizuki barely manages a smile. "You better play harder than you did before." I warn my team, my eyes narrow. "I'm not going to save you." The innings pass with the usual beating from runners against my legs and torso. We manage well enough.
It's after the game that was a problem. With my gear packed, the field raked and watered, and everyone sent home, I rifle through my backpack, searching for yet another brace to place over my clothing. My body feels stiff and sore, like I haven't moved for days. The ice on my shoulder is leaking and wetting my shirt. "Kurokocchi, you're so mean~!" I thought everyone went home...
I slip out of the dugout, toss my softball bag to the side, and return for my backpack. A zipping sound reaches my ears from outside. "If you're touching what is mine, you'll make me angry." I call, emerging with my backpack slung over my good shoulder. The redhead from before, Akashi, is holding my heaviest bat. "You shouldn't touch other people's belongings."
"You did it again today." My eyes narrow at the sound of his voice, low and haughty. I laugh humorlessly.
"Of course I did." I say, taking the bat back and replacing it. "I do it everyday. Every game. Every time." Is it just me, or is my bag heavier than usual? I begin to drag it toward the exit of the school, wishing my teammates had stayed behind. It doesn't matter though. The foreigner is always the outsider. I nearly run into a purple giant, stopping a mere centimeter before him. Confused, I look up at him. "How did I not see you?" I go around, wishing I could drive.
"Was there something you wanted?" I ask, turning to face Akashi. "You're with basketball. There's no reason for you to come watch a sport like this." "
You have something I want." He says bluntly. I narrowly avoid glaring at him.
"That so?" I stop walking. "Sorry. Can't help anyone I'm not playing for. Don't have any skills other than taking a beating." With that, a strange, quirky smirk cuts across the smaller boy's face. "Besides, my Japanese is pretty terrible. I probably couldn't help you even if I wanted to."
"You project presence." I blink.
"Excuse me?" I laugh slightly, moving to get away.
"You project and reduce your presence. The reason you get run into so often is because you reduce your presence while getting into position, and then radiate it once your opponent can't turn back. That's why you're constantly getting hurt." Red and gold, staring at me intensely.
"That's probably only part of it." I say flatly. "The point of my position is to make everyone else look good and keep them playing. I have to do that by calling the game in my team's favor and manipulating everyone else. It has nothing to do with presence. I just have to manipulate how everyone moves." Then I do walk away, or I try to. Snip, snip, snip. I turn in time to see strange strands of dark hair falling to the ground. Not much, but at least a lock or two.
"I'm not wrong." I look at the redhead evenly. While he radiates this intensity, it doesn't really bother me like it probably should.
"You aren't wrong, and you aren't right. It may be true for a sport like yours, but it isn't for ones like mine." I adjust my backpack. "I need to go-"
"Hai-san!" I nearly jump at the voice behind me. Our coach -my coach- looks at me flatly. "What are you still doing here? I told you to get home! You have a duty to your team to be able to play! Staying out won't help you." My lip curls in distaste.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm going." I say with equal disinterest. "I just lost something and decided to have a nice little chat with some classmates. Sorry."
"Just remember you're here to play for me." I hate you. "You don't have another purpose here. Anything that will distract you should be left at home."
"What are you, my mother?" I reply, adjusting my grip on the strap of my backpack. "I know all that already. Just go home."
"Look, you have a du-"
"A duty to my team to ensure victory. I don't have another reason for attending a school like this, or even being in this country. Remember, I'm a foreigner, an outsider. As soon as I can't play, I'm worthless." The coach seems stunned at my recitation of his words. "I know all that. You've told me many times. Go home. I'll do your job for you."
Teiko wasn't the school of my choice, but it was certainly better than staying at home. Our team was unusually successful for the remainder of the season. I'd occasionally find things that weren't mine in my bag, but nobody claimed them. I was the only person who'd need them, anyway.
"Kogame, did you leave this in my bag?" I didn't know the word for 'brace' at the time. Kogame, and the rest of my team, denied having seen the thing before. They were pretty nice, too. Comfortable and more supportive than the ones I'd brought from home.
"Why do you injure yourself?" I look up at a blue-haired boy, small in stature.
"You... were with Akashi-san?" I'm answered with a nod.
"My name is Kuroko Tetsuya." I nod.
"You can call me 'Hai'." I respond. The brace on my knee didn't help the throbbing I felt.
"Why?" I look up Kuroko, and he points to my whole self. I frown.
"To get outs. So they can win." I stare at the shapes of my teammates heading home, calling to one another, always ignoring me if I'm not catching. "It's my job."
"Do you like softball?" I stare at him in surprise.
"Do I like it?" He nods, blue eyes blank but curious. I frown. "I don't know anymore. I should like it. I'm supposed to... but what's the fun in a game where you're nothing but a pawn? It's no fun playing a game you aren't competing in." Kuroko's eyes are as calm as I've ever seen them, although they've widened with what seems to be surprise.
"I wish we'd lose." We did, at some point near the end of the season, run into a team that pushed us. That pushed me.
Bottom of the fifth, we're barely three runs ahead, and I'm sweating bullets. They've got a foul character on their team, a catcher who just loves to cleat her competition, and likes to convince her friends to do so too. My leg is bleeding. My hands and chest are bruised. Each time a runner comes around I unwillingly sustain another injury. The final straw came when she, this catcher, this monster, kicked her cleat under my gear and straight into the unprotected expanse of my stomach.
I was lucky for two reasons. One, the girl was called out and ejected from the game, and two, I didn't die. Well, not quite. I roll to the side, my chest heaving and my body curled into a ball. "Hai-chan! Hai, can you hear me?" Mizuki and Kogame kneel next to me, eyes wide as I push myself onto my hands and knees. Iron fills my mouth and dribbles past my lips like a small stream.
"You have to sit out." My eyes widen instantly. My mask is removed to examine my head and my stomach is checked for bleeding. I shake my head rigorously.
"I can't." And it's the truth. This team can't afford for me to sit out. Not now. The cleating continues for the rest of the inning.
Two outs, and we're barely maintaining our lead. Out of nowhere comes a bat, thrown roughly from "careless" hands as I dive for a ball. It cracks against the back of my head, and I see stars.
"Sit out, Hai!" Kogame cries, helping me up. "You'll get killed for real next time." My coach glances at me, beckoning me to the dugout. I firmly shake my head and pick up the catcher's mask.
"Hai-san, come sit out. I'll let it pass this once." He says, eyes narrowed with irritation. Again, my head shakes now.
"Take me out now," I say, "after all the hits I've already taken, and I won't forgive you! You brought me here, so use me. Are you doubting my abilities?" I feel cold and in control, supreme and superior. "Replace me, and I guarantee that you will lose. I'm the only obstacle in this team's path. They won't get by me."
They don't. One out and a split lip later, we still manage to win, 11-9. The only reason we keep our lead is because I force the players to play directly where the ball will be hit according to their position. "Do you like softball?" I laugh at Kuroko's question when he asks me again afterward.
"I wish I didn't."