Contagion

In which Ochiai Hiromitsu wants to clean house

The boy was a broken tool. Even if he had been whole and useful before, Ochiai Hiromitsu didn't see the purpose in keeping him around now that he was damaged. Faulty equipment should be promptly discarded, and even some undamaged items should be trashed, because a toolbox would function best for its user if it wasn't crammed to overflowing with useless things.

What made this kid unusually grating to Ochiai, however, was how he seemed to think he could be repaired. Well, perhaps he could, but that wasn't the point. The point was that he didn't seem to realise he wasn't worth fixing. He still worked away cheerfully and with fire in his eyes, smiling as if the world was a playground open to him – a delusion that would dissipate soon enough, once he grew up.

Ochiai didn't understand him. He didn't understand why this blunt tool didn't know its place. He didn't understand Kataoka Tesshin's and Takashima Rei's references to Sawamura Eijun's "heart". What was "heart" but an immature dream that you could somehow, someday, be better than life had designed you to be?

He certainly didn't understand why Kataoka, as head coach, insisted on keeping a full-to-bursting collection of gadgets in the toolbox like Sawamura and other components that could never be of practical use in the pursuit of tournament-winning glory.

What was most unseemly was that the whole toolbox – the entire unwieldy baseball team – was infected by these dreams of "heart" and "hope" which the Sawamura kid appeared to embody. That boys long out of kindergarten could believe such things instead of opening their eyes to the harshness of life was surely the fault of the adults in charge. They needed someone to tell them to wake up, take an unsentimental look at what they could realistically succeed in, and drop everything else in which they would only ever be second-best (or dead last).

Ochiai didn't want a team of almost a hundred members. He only needed players he could wield as weapons to battle to the top of the high-school baseball world. Reaching that pinnacle was what Seidou's principal and board members had hired him for, since Kataoka had failed. He wouldn't have the room to give everyone training that would develop their limited skills, so it seemed kindest to drop everybody other than the best. Then they could focus on their studies and not waste all their high-school years on pursuits that would get them nowhere in life.

After all, this year was a write-off. The team wasn't good enough to beat its strongest opponents – anyone casting a cold, objective eye over the lot of them in their current state could see that. Ochiai believed in figures and statistics and plain old ability, and nothing in the lists of numbers he was processing was showing him any prospect of Koushien-worthy capability and form. He saw plenty of motivation, but surely he wasn't the only one who could tell it was high time they discarded the chaff and raised the valuable wheat in the shape of prodigies like Furuya Satoru? Only then could they build a team around the ace to mount a strong tournament challenge in the next academic year.

He couldn't have unnecessary kids hanging around, gobbling up resources that should be devoted to the cream. He definitely didn't want Sawamura Eijun, with his bushbaby eyes and infectious grin, going around yelling his head off and giving hope to the hopeless.

But for unfathomable reasons, Sawamura seemed important to Kataoka Tesshin. And captain Miyuki Kazuya. And even vice-captains Kuramochi Youichi and Maezono Kenta, who growled at him but watched him protectively. Ochiai observed that even though many of the most skilled Seidou baseballers outwardly teased or bullied Sawamura, the acts and attitude were largely a thin cover for a mysterious fondness for the boy, and even – how absurd – even respect, and acknowledgement of him as one of their own although he didn't deserve a place among them.

It made no sense.

He was astonished by how hard Kataoka and Miyuki were working to get the kid back into fighting pitching form. They had only just realised that he was afflicted with a bad case of the yips after having accidentally struck an Inashiro player… on the temple, was it?... with a wild pitch in the final they'd lost, and were working overtime to right the problem after the catastrophe of a Yakushi practice match.

Why put so much effort into one fractured part of a machine that wasn't an essential piece? More people were determinedly cheering the boy on, spending precious time helping out in his practice sessions – like Kanemaru Shinji and Kariba Wataru – or by giving him encouragement, and just being there for him – like Kuramochi, the little pink-haired Kominato Haruichi, Maezono, and a good clutch of the third-years who'd just retired. Not to mention the intimidating Takashima – Ochiai didn't know what to make of her, but she seemed very invested in the kid.

What worth did they see in Sawamura?

Even more disturbing was what he witnessed one evening while lurking between two buildings, still getting his bearings on the grounds and surreptitiously figuring out the best spots in the school from which he could spy on people (he believed in knowing his enemy, in dividing and conquering, and that knowledge – especially about others' weaknesses – was power).

Kataoka was having a private exchange with Miyuki outside one of the school structures – damn, he hadn't figured out yet what building was what – and he heard this intriguing part of their conversation:

"…I'm not above admitting that I might have been wrong, Miyuki," Kataoka was saying.

"Kantoku?" Miyuki sounded startled.

"My intentions were good, but I should have listened to my gut. I should have left it to you, and trusted you, to determine how best to interact with Sawamura properly. I shouldn't have imposed limiting requirements that would constrain you and interfere with your instincts about him – which happened both in the Inashiro final and the Yakushi practice match. I'm asking you now to act as you deem fit, as long as it builds him and the team up and doesn't damage unity."

"Kantoku…" Miyuki had begun, before lowering his eyes. "But you weren't wrong. I did need a wake-up call with respect to the personal side of things."

"Maybe so. But now that you've had that wake-up call, can you bring balance to the way you handle him?"

"To be frank, I don't know," Miyuki stated.

"I've never known you to be uncertain about being able to bring out the best in a pitcher."

"A-hahaha, well…" Miyuki began self-consciously, bringing up a hand to half-heartedly scratch the back of his head.

The kid seemed to hope that the coach would move on to whatever he wanted to say next, but Kataoka only kept silent and looked at him.

So Miyuki was forced to continue: "Well, I guess I've never known myself to see a pitcher as more than just a pitcher…"

Kataoka considered this for a few moments before saying: "All right, then, tell me what you are sure you can do with him."

This appeared to take Miyuki back to firmer ground, and he said: "I can guide him towards alternatives that will work well for him until he overcomes the yips. And once he does, he'll be all the stronger."

"Then do that."

"I won't be the best person to deliver the lesson, though. I'll have to rope in others whom he will be more receptive to."

"That's fine. But you can't avoid dealing directly with him forever."

"I know."

The discussion ended there. From their words alone, Ochiai understood that something had occurred between Miyuki and Sawamura in the period before he had been employed by Seidou, and whatever it was, it had affected the catcher's judgement. He couldn't possibly know what had happened, and in truth, he didn't care – except that it irritated him, because it looked as if more resources were going to be wasted on the wide-eyed boy who would never have a place on the team once he, Ochiai, was solely in charge of it.

It irked him enough to expend a good amount of effort the next day tracking Miyuki's moves to see what he was up to – no easy feat, as school had resumed after the summer break; he couldn't lurk outside Class 2-B all day, where he wouldn't be able to account for his presence if questioned by another staff member.

He could only hope that Miyuki's plan wouldn't be quietly carried out during lesson hours. Fortunately, just after practice ended in the evening, he spied the boy jogging up to another student who'd come by to watch the training, and who wasn't in baseball gear.

Ochiai sneaked about the best he could as Miyuki drew this student aside for a one-to-one, and positioned himself where he hoped he would be least noticeable but could listen in – somewhere between a sorry-looking tree and a large garbage receptacle.

"…I know you're busy with your exam preparations, Chris-senpai, but could I please trouble you to help? It won't get across to him best if it comes from me – I'm not exactly his favourite person at the moment."

"And I am?"

"Are you seriously asking me that?" Miyuki sounded genuinely astonished. "He worships the ground you walk on."

"Does he now?" the student named Chris said softly, contemplatively. "But I'm sure you know I've been trying – like you – to keep some distance from him."

"Well…"

"You can't not have observed what was going on," Chris said. "Even Tanba realised."

"Tanba-san worships the ground you walk on too. He'd hardly not have worked it out." Although the words were bold, Miyuki's tone of voice was respectful. (It suddenly dawned on Ochiai that Miyuki only ever spoke respectfully to Kataoka and the retired third-year players.)

"So you do know."

"I know."

"And you're still asking me because…" Chris trailed off.

"Because unlike me, you weren't stupid enough to make him an offer he was only too eager to refuse. And he actually listens to you."

"This isn't a long-term solution, you know."

"I know, Chris-senpai. I'll solve my communication – and other – issues with him, but it won't be immediate. I know how much you care about him – all right, let's not go there – I know how much you care about his development as a pitcher. You're his truest mentor. You're really the only one I can turn to."

"What do you want me to do?"

They began walking towards the dormitories. As Ochiai was deciding how best to tail them, Takashima called out to him and came up to say that Kataoka was asking for a quick coaches' meeting. So he'd have to wait for another chance to watch the next instalment in this irksome series that he hoped wasn't going to turn into a saga, because there were so many other people to spy on, so many other exchanges to eavesdrop on, so much toolbox decluttering to do…

Alas, the next evening, which he gauged was the right time to see what Miyuki had asked this Chris guy to do for Sawamura, he had another coaches' meeting to attend. Then he got an urgent call from his mother about how his estranged wife had just rung to say that his daughter was at the doctor's with a fever, and he'd better have the decency to drop by to see her if he was ever going to be any kind of father worth speaking about.

So he had done his paternal duty that evening – luckily, his little girl's ailment turned out to be nothing serious. Of course, he'd paid the doctor's bill, so the probably-soon-to-be-ex-Missus wouldn't have another reason to look at him very much more sourly than she normally did.

When at last he was able to resume viewing the Sawamura Eijun drama serial, the kid had moved on to the next stage, no doubt after his Chris-senpai's intervention. He was pitching repeatedly to Kariba in the indoor training facility, with Kanemaru in the batter's position. Kanemaru was wearing what looked like a makeshift set of full armour – a mix of orthodox baseballing protective gear and other stuff that must have been cadged off a rookie cosplayer's failed attempt at a costume.

This self-imposed training looked to be a series of pathetic tries at honing a low outside-corner pitch. He was halfway decent in terms of strength and technique, but his control was miserable, to the extent that even though it was the outside corner he was aiming for, he still managed to hit Kanemaru on the thigh and hip a number of times.

"Aaargh!" Sawamura yelled. "I can feel it there – just there at the fingertips! But I'm not delivering it!"

"Sawamura, for pity's sake, get some damned rest!" Kanemaru yelled back, whipping off the serial-killer-style face mask he had donned.

"Not until I get this right! I totally understood what Chris-senpai was teaching me, but doing it isn't the same as understanding it! Fifty more pitches!"

"Hell, no!" Kanemaru howled.

"I don't need to rest!"

"But I do!" Kanemaru roared.

"I'll catch for him a bit more," Kariba kindly told the bleached-haired boy. "You go back to the dorm."

"I'll help you again tomorrow!" Kanemaru snapped at Sawamura as he marched past him towards the door, forcing Ochiai to scoot away and duck behind a vending machine so that he wouldn't be seen. "But tonight, I need to collapse. And do my homework before collapsing. Oh good god, I'll never finish my assignment. Why did I ever promise Chris-senpai…"

As he disappeared in the direction of the dorm, muttering about the work he had to get done, Ochiai crept back to the door and watched some more as Kariba patiently caught Sawamura's pitches until the fiery idiot finally paused to contemplate what he might be doing wrong.

Kariba got up, went over to him, and said: "Sawamura – from where I'm positioned, I see nothing wrong with your form right now – especially without a batter present. But I can't feel on your behalf the way the ball leaves your fingertips, so that's something you're going to have to figure out gradually."

"I don't have time for 'gradually', Kariba," Sawamura wailed.

"Well, I know for sure that you're not going to find it by overdoing it in one session. We still have tomorrow. By then, some insight may come to you."

"Yeah, maybe…"

"So come on, let's hit the baths."

"You go ahead. I'm just going to pitch into the net a bit more, to see if I can get that feeling at my fingertips the couple of times I seemed to get it more on target."

"You'll overdo it."

"I won't, promise!" the kid grinned, waving Kariba off and bowing to him. "Thank you for all the time you've spent helping me tonight!"

Ochiai had to duck away again as Kariba exited the building. He sneaked back to the doorway in time to see Sawamura picking up the fallen balls, dumping them into a crate, then dragging the crate over to where he would stand to pitch into the net.

He pitched a few, walked around for a bit with a ball in his left hand, staring at it as if he was trying to puzzle its nature out, pitched some more, sat cross-legged on the ground and contemplated the ball some more, then pitched again. This went on until the crate was empty, at which point he trotted up to the net, where he gathered all the fallen balls and tossed them into a container. There, he sat down, leaned back against a stack of crates, holding a ball and studying it and his fingertips until, no doubt overcome by mental fatigue, he let his eyes flutter shut.

After about ten minutes, Ochiai realised that the kid had truly dropped off. He decided that he had better wake him. It wouldn't do to have players dozing off in the training facility – it made a bad picture for team discipline and propriety. He walked in and stood over Sawamura, who was slumped against the crates, the ball still held loosely in his hand. He was about to bend down to shake the kid awake when he heard footsteps outside.

The person was calling out: "Oi! Sawamura! What's this I hear from Kariba about you still being in here? Are you really that stupid as to overtrain like this?"

Instinctively, Ochiai ducked quickly behind another stack of crates, further away from the nets (was this how rats and other household pests felt, he wondered?). He was doing nothing wrong by being here, of course – a member of the coaching team about to wake a player who'd fallen asleep alone in the indoor area – but his secretive nature made him prefer to stay concealed.

It was Miyuki. The captain fell silent when he saw Sawamura on the ground, and hurried forward, no doubt fearing that the other boy might have collapsed.

"Sawamura!" he called out, running up to him to crouch before him.

But the pitcher stirred and mumbled incoherently before falling back into the deep, rhythmic breathing of sleep.

With the assurance that Sawamura wasn't dead or dying, Miyuki calmed down, inched up towards the pitcher until he was right beside him, knelt back on his calves, and simply gazed at the boy.

Ochiai wasn't familiar enough yet with the Seidou players, so he couldn't say with absolute certainty that he knew all the expressions on Miyuki's face. But to the best of his knowledge, the captain displayed looks that ran between the boundary lines of grim determination and too-clever-by-half mischievous grins, putting on a wide range of sharp and disapproving to snarky and ironic faces between those borders. As far as Ochiai could tell, this present look – this gentle expression, with that softness in his eyes and that helpless smile playing on his lips – wasn't a face that Miyuki showed anyone here.

The catcher looked at the sleeping Sawamura that way for a minute, then hesitantly reached out with his right hand and touched the other boy's messy, sweaty mop of hair – very carefully, almost reverently at first, then a little more boldly, his smile deepening, like a child discovering a wild animal he could pet without getting bitten.

Ochiai had gathered from Miyuki's exchanges with Kataoka and Chris that he'd been trying, for whatever reason, to maintain personal distance from Sawamura. Well, he was failing badly now, because he was moving his hand from the boy's hair to his face. His knuckles softly traced the curve of Sawamura's cheek to his chin, and his thumb ghosted over the pitcher's lower lip.

Sawamura stirred and mumbled, and Miyuki dropped his hand in a flash. Ochiai watched as he shifted back into a crouch, pasted a superficial grin on his face, extended the same hand he'd used so gently a moment ago, and casually shook the boy by his left shoulder.

"Oi – this isn't the place for falling asleep, you idiot! Wake up," he ordered.

Sawamura opened his eyes, blinked a few times at Miyuki, not quite processing what was going on. Then his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing, and he jerked into an upright sitting position, yelling: "Miyuki Kazuya! What are you doing here?"

"Waking the sleeping idiot, of course," Miyuki fired back. "Kariba told me you were still here practising, but it looks like you were slacking off."

"Shut up! I was practising! I just got tired thinking, that's all!"

"Fell asleep thinking? Ah – of course any mental exercise would be too much for you to cope with," Miyuki smirked. "Didn't I just tell you the other day not to think about complicated stuff, since you're too stupid?"

Sawamura shot to his feet, and Miyuki rose a nanosecond after, as if the sheer momentum of the pitcher's swift movement had dragged him up in its wake.

Ochiai – and Miyuki, presumably – expected Sawamura to start yelling again as he normally did whenever his teammates baited him, but the boy surprised them both by staring at Miyuki out of blazing eyes as he asked, very quietly: "Miyuki Kazuya, is that what you really want to say to me?"

Miyuki looked momentarily taken aback, but recovered quickly before grinning like a Cheshire cat and replying: "It's the only sort of thing you understand, baka – so what else could I possibly have to say to you?"

"You've called me an idiot so many times, it stopped meaning anything to me because I figured that's just the way you are – and you're hardly the only person who calls me stupid, anyway," Sawamura growled. "So I don't mind that you irk and insult me if that's merely how you are with me. But I mind if you're being fake. And your words now don't match what I felt when you touched your fist to my heart that day in the meeting, and during the Inashiro match. You make a lot of nasty noise with your mouth all the time – it covers the things I can't hear you saying because you're spewing so many other things. But I heard you when you made contact. I did."

Miyuki, staring at Sawamura, looked as shocked and wide-eyed as Ochiai had ever seen him look. But as before, he recovered fast and laughed: "You've really overdone your practice tonight, haven't you, baka? I didn't think even you could possibly be this stupid, but it seems I was wrong."

Sawamura's eyes flashed and his fists clenched as he spoke: "Even if you don't think I'll like what I hear, you could at least be honest with me the same way you tell me things honestly when we're dealing with baseball."

"Eh?" Miyuki asked, assuming a patently artificial look of surprise. "What haven't I been honest with you about?"

"That's what I want you to tell me, you bastard," Sawamura snapped.

"Ahhh… let's see… you don't smell too good right now and could do with a bath?"

"Bastard Miyuki," Sawamura hissed angrily before storming out of the indoor facility, Miyuki following at a safe distance of several feet.

As Ochiai came out of his hiding place, he realised that he had been wrong about Sawamura Eijun. He had badly underestimated the kid. He wasn't just a broken tool – he was a dangerous element that lured people into his illusionary world, causing coaches like Takashima and Kataoka to be excessively protective of him, and seducing boys into thinking about other boys in ways that they shouldn't. Talented players like Miyuki were far too valuable to the team for Ochiai to get into trouble over this issue, so Sawamura was the one he would go after. Ochiai was going to get rid of this contagion, and if it meant finding a way to crush the boy's spirit and destroy his form in order to remove him, he would do it.