The word had spread. There was another donation up for grabs. The best team would win our "tournament" and claim the prize. From there, it was up to the team to decide how to divide it among themselves.
This year, I didn't exactly need the prize. Sure, I was lacking basic necessities like food, but that was because I had to take care of my mother. She was terribly sick. Father had died when I was young. Yeah, I didn't eat too often, but I'd rather pay for her medicine than feed myself.
No, I don't exactly have a job.
What I do makes just a little bit more money, and is just a little less difficult. But, not much. Also, it's not the job for everyone...
The time the annual donation comes in is my busiest season. Why? You see, I'm an exceptional baseball player. Just, not everyone wants me on their team.
For starters, I'm a girl. When we first decided on the baseball tournament, people were skeptical of having girls on the team. But then, times started getting worse, and more girls kept showing up (that is, if they can find a team). Most girls are only allowed into a team when they are a better choice compared to others, and the team is short a few players. Still, the teams that allow girls to join often are considered weaker. Like, as if all the other guys had already joined other teams.
So, it would be nice to enter the tournament and win that prize. It might mean I would gain respect for the female population, and I'd actually get to eat. But, there's just one issue with that.
I don't exactly have any friends, much less ones to start a team with.
Also, I think I intimidate most people. They even started this urban legend about me... "A hero of a player, who charges a price." Actually, that's mostly true. I don't know where the "hero" part came from, but ever since a few years ago, I've been charging a price for my services on a team. I'm that "secret weapon" that gives a team that's "just okay" a fighting chance. So this time of year, I'm pretty busy.
When I came home on the first day with the medicine my mother needed, she had asked how I had ever saved enough to purchase it. I just told her she didn't want me to answer that question. She nodded, and returned to her nap after a weak thanks.
The price I charge for my "services" is an opium seed.
Hold on. Before you freak out, I'm not a druggie.
However, many people would pay a decent price for such an item. So, that's how I make my money. Also, the pharmacist is a nice man. He doesn't ask how I (looking like I do) afford the medicine twice a month. He understands people do what they must. I need to thank him someday.
So, the fools that believe this legend are actually doing me a big favor. Also, not only do I help out teams in tournament season, but baseball is often used to settle disputes or win bets. I help with these things too.
My usual hang out is in the slums on the outskirts of town. It's not the prettiest place, with junk everywhere, but it's somewhere where a dirty brat like me, in my ragged clothes and shapeless cap, fits in. I'm not accepted anywhere else. Usually, I'm the only one there. That legend of a mysterious, somewhat violent, "hero" drives everyone away.
Anybody interested in my services comes here, though. You can tell they're surprised to see that I'm real at first. Then, no doubt rumors have caused their next move. They step back, and I'm presented with my payment. What bugs me is every single one of them says, "I ask of you, please. My team requires your help." I take my payment, and pick up my only possession with an indifferent grumble. My bat. It took me forever to save up enough. Even then, it's far from decent.
Still, it's a bat, and it's mine.
Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised when I was asked to join a tournament team for the final game. I charged extra for it. And, I would get a cut of the prize money.
"I'm so happy you accepted our request, Hero." The young kid was saying. We were both walking to where the last tournament game would be held. It was a really last-minute request, but I wouldn't pass up an opportunity like this. He probably was bullied into being the one to come and ask me. Oh well. "Can I call you that?" He turned to look back at me, and I nodded. He smiled.
"I'm Abbott. I've always known you were real, but Benjamin told me you weren't. I can't wait to see his face! Oh, and you should probably know about Kukai Souma. He's thirteen, and the leader of the other team. He's been telling everyone on our team that even if we did get your help, he would beat you. I don't believe him though. I saw you play when you were his age, a few years ago. And you were amazing! I can't believe you're actually going to play on our team! Those other guys don't stand a chance!" Geez this guy rambles. well, He is just a little kid. Still, he must be pretty good himself for having made this far.
Kukai Souma, huh? Sounds like another immigrant's kid. I wonder where he's from. And thirteen? That's some big talk for a little kid like him. I think I'll enjoy this.