Chapter Twenty-one

At the top of the sixth, while Seidō's southpaw pitcher blazed through yet another series of consecutive outs, excited voices – particularly those belonging to the locals in the watching crowd – began to chime out in awe.

"Who the hell is that number 10?"

"Is he really a first-year?"

"Sawamura…Sawamura Eijun?"

With a clanging sound, the crowd watched as a ball was sent flying straight into the shortstop's glove.

"Out!"

Sitting in a row separate from the rest of Seidō's blue-shirted reserve team, the managers also leapt to their feet, breathlessly beating their cheering horns against their hands. The most vocal of them all, Sachiko, screamed out the southpaw's name, while the two beside her giggled.

On the other hand, the only first-year manager, Haruno, bit her lip as she looked down at the field. "But…did Sawamura-kun always look so…scary?"

With a towel wrapped around his neck to mop up any remaining sweat, Yeung sat down in the cool shade of the bench. He closed his eyes, resting them in the brief break he had before it was his turn to bat – which, judging by the lightning pacing of the opponent southpaw on the mound right now, would barely amount to any time at all.

When he heard his teammates suddenly begin to start buzzing to one another, he opened his eyes. "What is it?"

"Shun…take a look at Seidō's bullpen…" said Ninomiya.

Right on cue, Yeung heard a distinct slamming sound coming from the bullpen's direction. Lifting his gaze, he turned to see that another Seidō pitcher had started warming up. He was Seidō's sure-handed sidearm closer.

"They really have no intentions to play their ace, do they?" said Sekiguchi.

Ripping off the towel, Yeung gave the catcher a tight-lipped smile. "They don't need to. Their future ace is already standing there, on the mound."

Accepting his batting helmet from Sekiguchi, Yeung stepped out of the dugout and into the on-deck circle.

"Number 4, right-fielder, Shiratori-kun."

Even from where he was watching, the tension on the mound was incredible. The southpaw, Sawamura, stared coolly back at home plate with a sharpness like cut glass. Shiratori lowered into a batting stance, and Sawamura nodded at a signal. Without pause, he threw in his unique twisting motion. The ball rocketed down the mound and straight into the catcher's mitt.

"Strike!"

It still wasn't at the speed of their other first-year, but the southpaw's pitches had gained some velocity, throwing off Akikawa's batters even more.

Yeung felt his hands instinctively tighten around the handle of his bat. At this rate, with this pitcher on his stride, their loss was just a matter of time. He knew they had to do something soon to throw off his rhythm, or at least match it with their batting.

The question was, could they rise to the challenge?

Despite his brother's warning, Haruichi found himself unable to look away from the mound as, at the top of the seventh, Eijun got his fifteenth consecutive out since he had taken over in the third inning.

Akikawa's catcher, swinging belatedly at a low cutter, sent the ball rolling in the ground toward the mound. Eijun shot forward, picked up the ball, threw it to Yūki at first and –

"Out! Change sides!"

When the fielders returned to the bench to switch for their offense, Haruichi heard his name being called by the coach, and a moment later, found that he was going in as a pinch hitter.

As he began to pull on his batting gloves, Haruichi felt his mouth curve up in a pleased smile.

His brother was right then – when isn't he? – when he said that the coach used players who were doing well in practice.

Haruichi had been feeling rather left behind as the only first-year on the team who wasn't used regularly in games. He also knew that there were some second- and third-years on the team who held a carefully-hidden grudge against him for filling up the last spot on the summer's first-string team, and he was eager to prove himself.

As Haruichi went to the receptacles to pick up his wooden bat, he noticed that Chris – who was sitting on the bench beside the coach, as usual, recording the game – was wearing a troubled look on his usually composed face.

He hesitated, wondering whether he was reading too much into it. "Um…Chris-senpai, is something the matter?"

Chris looked faintly taken aback at being addressed, but smiled. "No, there's nothing wrong. Just…" He turned his head. "…something seems rather off about Sawamura."

Haruichi followed his gaze to find it resting on none other than Eijun, who, with a cup of water in his hand, was sitting silently beside Masuko. "Yeah, I've noticed it too."

Eijun had been acting strangely ever since the bottom of the fourth inning, when Akikawa's catcher had fallen on top of Miyuki. Haruichi had never seen his friend before like this. Eijun was many things, but in the months Haruichi had known him, he had never been this – cold.

Eijun was rebuffing anyone who approached him, which was probably why Chris seemed hesitant to say anything. It wasn't negatively affecting Eijun's pitching, after all. A few others who'd noticed – namely Kuramochi – seemed to be under the impression that Eijun was just being moody again, but Haruichi thought it was different from before.

However, there was nothing he could do, besides doing his best to help the team win the game. After all, even Miyuki was getting nothing out of the southpaw, and everyone on the team knew that Sawamura was by far the closest to Miyuki. Nobody could say how it had happened, and nobody really talked about it. However, it was undeniable that there was something between the two.

Offhandedly, Haruichi thought to himself that there must be some truth to the baseball adage that battery mates were akin to being husband and wife.

And right now…the husband's getting the cold shoulder…

"Seidō High School has called for a substitution. Replacing number 8, Sakai-kun, pinch hitter, Kominato Haruichi-kun."

Yeung had been waiting for Seidō to make their move for some time now, but he was admittedly taken aback by the pinch hitter they sent out: a tiny first-year who looked as if he'd made a wrong turn somewhere on his way to a Little League game, and ended up on this field instead. On top of that, he was using a wooden bat, to boot. Yeung half-irritably wondered whether the prestigious school wasn't completely looking down on Akikawa.

Of course, as he soon found out, appearances were deceiving. The pinch hitter hung over the plate, and Yeung sent a pitch straight in front of his knees to the very edges of the inside corner. It would have been a difficult ball to hit even if the first-year had been using an aluminum bat – when suddenly, he opened his legs and twisted, blasting it straight past the infielders.

As Seidō's bleachers burst into cheers, Yeung, in grudging admiration, watched the first-year shyly raise a fist in a guts pose.

Wiping off the sweat on his brow, he bent down to pick up the rosin bag, and noticed that the next two batters in the lineup – Seidō's southpaw pitcher and their shortstop – were talking with their coach.

Sekiguchi came up to the mound.

"Don't worry about it," he said, pressing a new baseball in Yeung's hand. "We'll shut down the next three again."

They couldn't hear what Seidō's coach – a man in shades who wouldn't have looked out of place at the head of a yakuza gang – was saying, but the two players were looking out at the field and nodding. Seeing that, and wondering what they were talking about, all of Akikawa's fielders couldn't help but feel a bit more on edge.

"Number 9, pitcher, Sawamura-kun."

The southpaw stepped up to the plate, swinging his bat.

Yeung had watched him completely shut down Akikawa's offense for five straight innings now, and he had no doubt in his mind that he was one of the best pitchers in the Kanto region. While it was disheartening that they were helpless in the face of his pitching, it reminded Yeung of what exactly he had come all the way to Japan to play baseball for.

Sawamura lowered into a batting stance, and met Yeung's gaze with his own cold, simmering one. Yeung felt himself sweat. On the other hand, from the way the southpaw had been glaring at them for the entire game, it also felt as if the first-year had a personal vendetta with the Akikawa team.

It may have affected another pitcher of lesser nerves. However, Yeung was not so easily intimidated.

Nodding at Sekiguchi's signal, he began his pitching motion – and just as his arm came out, to his surprise, Sawamura suddenly lowered into a bunting stance. Yeung immediately began to run forward – but he lurched unsteadily to the left, while Sawamura's bat tapped the ball, sending it rolling perfectly down the third base line.

Drag bunt?!

Sawamura had already taken off for first, while Hashimoto – Akikawa's third baseman – was running forward to field the ball.

The southpaw was not an especially fast runner, and would probably have been tagged out at first if Hashimoto hadn't fumbled the ball. The extra half-second this error earned Sawamura was enough, as his foot landed firmly on the base.

"Safe!"

As he watched Akikawa's defense self-destruct on the field, Kazuya could not bring himself to feel anything other than a dull sense of relief that the game would soon be over.

Two errors in a row had filled the bases, with no outs, and now, Ryōsuke was stepping up to the plate. Sawamura waited on second. Was it just Kazuya, or was Sawamura beginning to look worn down? It wasn't noticeable unless one was paying close attention, but he was unmistakably breathing harder than he had before.

Coach Kataoka must have thought the same. "Higasa – tell Kawakami that he's going in the next inning."

Kazuya had been thinking about it ever since he'd noticed something was wrong in the fifth inning. What had set Sawamura off? Was it because Akikawa's catcher had fallen on top of Kazuya? But that made no sense. He'd been fine, after all.

Furthermore, as he'd kept close watch, he was starting to question who Sawamura's anger was directed against. It was starting to seem less and less like it was Akikawa.

Anyone else watching may have thought Sawamura was – for some reason – ticked off at the Akikawa team, but 'anyone else' had not been catching for the southpaw for the past few months. 'Anyone else' had not spent time bantering and eating with Sawamura for the past few months, or been woken up by the other boy in the early cracks of morning and dragged to practice.

Kazuya had.

Now, as he saw how, even as he looked directly at someone, Sawamura seemed to be looking elsewhere and how his eyes grew increasingly dull with every passing inning – he wondered if Sawamura wasn't, for some inexplicable reason, angry at himself. But it wasn't just anger, either. There were other emotions mixed in there – and at the bottom of it all, Kazuya found, was weariness. Deep, deep weariness.

Kazuya felt his mouth twist into a hard line. Why hadn't he noticed any of this until now?

He had approached the first-year halfway through the game.

"Hey now Sawamura, what's gotten into you?" he'd tried to say lightly.

"Nothing, Miyuki-senpai."

"There's no need to push yourself like this. Pace yourself, or else you'll burn yourself out."

Sawamura then gave him a blank look, before shaking his head. He got up then, to leave. But before he turned, he paused. "I'd rather burn out, than lose…again."

With his fingers steepled, Kazuya looked at his back, with the number 10 tag on it, before looking down at his feet. Lose what again? Kazuya hadn't been able to catch the word.

"Seidō High School has announced a change in players. Replacing Sawamura-kun as pitcher is Kawakami-kun. Pitcher, Kawakami-kun."

"Nice pitching, Sawamura!"

"Sawamura-kun!"

"You were amazing!"

As Nori hurried out to the mound, cheers and applause rang out for the first-year he was replacing. He glanced at the scoreboard: a glowing 6 had lit up next to Seidō's name for the seventh inning, putting their score at 8-2.

He felt well-prepared, as he'd started warming up his shoulder from the sixth inning, and riding the wave of excitement of the seventh, he was raring to go. Thanks to Furuya and Sawamura, Seidō also had a lead of six points, and now, he was getting to start off a fresh new inning, without any runners on base passed on to him. For Nori's job as a reliever, there was no situation as comfortable as this.

Bending over, Nori picked up the rosin bag and determinedly flexed it in his hand. As a senpai, he had a duty to follow up to the first-years' performance.

The game continued.

The eight inning passed quickly, with neither team scoring. At the top of the ninth, after a battle of sheer perseverance, Yeung got on base, and then managed to reach second on a bunt. However, his teammates were unable to follow up, and he remained stranded on second as the umpire called out the end of the game.

Slowly, he took off his helmet as tears ran down the faces of his teammates. They had played for nine straight innings and every muscle in his body was screaming. But to him, it felt as if the game had gone by in a flash.

"Seidō, eight to two. Bow!"

"Thank you!"

The viewers rose to their feet and clapped for both teams, and the siren marking the end of a game rang throughout the stadium.

With their win against Akikawa, Seidō High School had now advanced to the quarter-finals.

The team quickly gathered their equipment and cleared out of the dugout – the next game between Ichidai and Yakushi would be beginning soon.

Chris lingered behind, though he had only his backpack, in order to keep an eye on Sawamura.

He had thought that the first-year might protest to being switched out in the eighth inning. However, instead, Sawamura had jerkily nodded and moved to ice his shoulder without a single word of protest.

Now, systematically packing his equipment bag, Sawamura left the dugout ahead of the other first-years. The younger Kominato gave Chris a worried look before chasing after him (Furuya, who'd been in a gloomy mood all game, plodded out after them).

Only Chris and Miyuki were left now.

Miyuki slowly packed his bag, his eyes hidden under the shadow under his sports glasses. Pulling up the last zipper, he slung it on his back. Turning around, he seemed genuinely surprised to see Chris. "Chris-senpai?"

"Miyuki…you haven't forgotten, have you? That you're Seidō's main catcher now."

Miyuki's mouth thinned. "I haven't."

"But…don't forget that you're also Sawamura's catcher," Chris said quietly.

A beat passed – and then Miyuki's jaw grew slack as for a brief instant, an astonished expression crossed his face. Somehow, Chris thought, it made him look younger.

Then it faded, and his mouth curled up in his usual roguish grin. "Who do you think I am, senpai?"

As he watched Miyuki hurry up the dugout stairs and step out into the sunlight, Chris simultaneously felt that a weight had been taken off his shoulders, while something else sank in his chest. Somewhere deep inside, he still wanted to catch for Sawamura. And maybe the opportunity would come one day. If it did, they would make an amazing battery. He knew that with a sense of calm, unwavering certainty that he didn't quite understand.

However, Chris knew that it was not his mitt Sawamura was waiting for.

By the time Kazuya had caught up with the others, they were all filing into the seats of the stadium to watch the next game. He looked around, but couldn't find the familiar head of messy brown hair. Where was Sawamura?

He took several steps up to the top-most row, where Furuya was sitting by himself. "Hey, Furuya. Where're the rest of the first-years?"

Furuya blinked a few times, looking dazed. "...Sawamura and Haruichi went to the bathroom."

Kazuya frowned. Leaving his equipment bag on the bench, he went back down the stairs.

There were two bathrooms located on opposite sides of the stadium, both located at similar distances away from the field exit. After a moment's hesitation, Kazuya chose to turn to the left.

In the lower floor corridors, there were random passersby here and there, who, catching sight of his baseball uniform, cheered and waved their hands. He walked past, watching out for a flash of white and blue at every bend or corner.

Finally reaching the bathroom, Kazuya popped his head in. Immediately, he saw a Seidō uniform, and he felt his breath rush out of his lungs as relief washed over him.

"Sawamu – " He abruptly stopped.

Sakai blinked back from the sink. "Miyuki?"

Kazuya felt himself sweat. "Have you seen the first-years?"

Sakai shook his head no, and feeling oddly disappointed, Kazuya left and began to walk back the way he had come. The other bathroom was all the way on the other side of the stadium. By the time he reached it, the first-years would probably already have left and returned to the field. It made more logical sense to just go back.

For some reason, however, his pace quickened, and when he reached the field exit, he ran straight past.

More passersby cheered as he went by, but there was no familiar face to be found. By the time the blue sign of the bathroom came into view, Kazuya was starting to feel more and more like an idiot – when a white leg stepped out.

Then the rest of the body followed, and he slowed to a stop. His heart was pounding. From the running, probably, he thought.

"Miyuki-senpai?" said Sawamura, in a dead sort of way.

Some of the tension had eased away and the coldness was less apparent, and Kazuya felt grateful for the younger Kominato. However, he could still sense guardedness playing at the ends of his forced smile, and the weariness – as it had always been, he now realized – was ever-present.

There were many things he wanted to say, but Kazuya felt unsure, for the first time in a long while, how to say them.

As he tried to organize his thoughts, in an effort to take up some time, he walked over to the wall and leaned against it. He crossed his arms.

Then, he opened his mouth, and what slipped out was, "Oi, Sawamura. You're lucky Nori was available to relieve you. Otherwise, at the pace you were going, you'd probably have fallen apart. You've got a lot of self-reflection to do today once we get back."

Inside his mind, Kazuya let out a groan.

Sawamura blinked. "Okay."

He tried again. "Did you see the faces of the Akikawa players though? Haha! You really scared them. Not a bad tactic, actually, now that I think about it..."

"Huh?" Sawamura seemed confused, though it looked as if even adjusting his facial features was taking a lot of effort. "Why?"

"You didn't even realize, did you? I thought Tanba-san and his shaved head looked scary on the mound, but you could've given him a run for his money with the way you were glaring at all those batters."

"Oh." A faint look of guilt crossed his face. "I didn't mean it. I just…wanted the game to be over."

Kazuya shook his head exasperatedly. "And normally I have to drag you out of the bullpen."

"Well, I didn't feel good today." Sawamura's eyes darted to the side.

"Why not?"

"I just didn't," Sawamura said, his tone tinged with some of his old stubbornness.

Kazuya sighed. "Alright, I get it."

"Get what?"

"The way you get all depressed and annoying every time something goes wrong…the way you know everything that I like…and the way you got so angry after that catcher landed on me at home…" Sawamura's eyes had comically widened, and he took an involuntary step backward. "I get it."

"Y-y-…you get it?" Sawamura squeaked.

"You're…" Kazuya closed his eyes and lowered his head. Then he opened them. "You're secretly my fan, aren't you?"

It was amazing how many different shades of color someone's face could go through. In a matter of seconds, Sawamura's face went from deathly white, to a more natural shade of white, then to his actual face color, and then to pink, and finally, a burning, bright red.

"Miyuki Kazuya," Sawamura growled, his hands balling into fists. "I don't even know why I…" he trailed off, mumbling something furiously under his breath.

"Hahaha!" Kazuya laughed heartily, glad to see even more of the odd, brittle coldness falling away from the first-year. It hadn't suited him. Now, finally, he could see the Sawamura that he knew resurfacing.

"Why'd you come to the bathroom anyways, if you're just gonna poke fun at me?" Sawamura grumbled.

"To see you," said Kazuya truthfully. He exhaled. Then, he raised a hand and beckoned to the other boy. "C'mere for a sec."

"What do you want?" Sawamura peered back suspiciously, but without any hesitation – still grumbling complaints – he stepped closer.

When Sawamura was within range, Kazuya reached out, grabbed him by the wrist, and dragged him in closer.

He had seen Sawamura do it before, to his friends and to his grandpa. And he thought that he had once used to be on the receiving end of it as well, a long time ago.

It was what Chris would have wanted to do for Sawamura, he knew. And maybe, it was something Kazuya wanted to do as well. Maybe.

Before he chickened out – he knew that if he hesitated, he would back out of it – Kazuya reached in and put his arms around the smaller boy.

Immediately falling silent, Sawamura stiffened in surprise, and after a moment, began to squirm. Kazuya responded by locking his arms tighter around him.

"Keep still, Bakamura," he said. His heart was still pounding, and he wondered if he'd somehow gotten out of shape. "This is something I only do for my fans."

A/N: Uhh I didn't realize Sawamura getting mad would be so exciting/cool for people. Sorry I didn't really expand on it. He'll be cooler in later chapters, I promise. Yakushi and Raichi are coming up whoo!

Belated cheese alert in this chapter…hope it went over well. (RIP Chris-senpai thank you for your sacrifice).

Anyways, here are two dumb short omake to follow up this chapter.

- Glossary -

Drag bunt = A ball that has been hit by a batter who started to run towards first base while holding the bat back over the plate, typically in an attempt to get a hit rather than to sacrifice.

- Short Omake -

Earlier, during the game.

There was visible discontent and frustration in Akikawa's dugout, and most of it was directed at the southpaw pitcher standing on the mound.

"That first-year's pitches are getting faster and sharper," one complained. "How is that a first-year?"

"Maybe he's actually a third-year but they somehow managed to get him listed as a first-year?" another one suggested, sounding half-serious.

"What are you even talking about?" his teammate said, sweating.

"Keep your heads up, boys," said their coach, clapping his hands. "The game's not over yet."

His encouraging words were met with uncomfortable silences and shared glances.

"I dunno coach…" one muttered. "That pitcher's freaking me out. I can't even swing when he looks at me."

"Right?"

"Oh so it's not just me?" The boy let out a sigh of relief. "Thank god."

"The way he glared at me…it felt like he'd murder me in my sleep if I tried to even hit his pitch." He shivered.

"Yeah…and then he'd probably kill the rest of your family, for kicks," a boy sniggered.

"Forget baseball," his friend joked, "He could probably make millions off of making horror movies."

There was a pause.

"Does anyone have their phone on them?"

"What for?"

"I wanna take a photo of his face and scare my sister with it."

"I have one. Here ya go."

Several seconds later, there was a flash as the phone's camera went off.

Little did Sawamura and the rest of Seidō know, that his face would eventually be forever immortalized online, and celebrated as an urban legend.

- Short Omake -

After the game.

Flattening up as much as he could against the bathroom wall, Haruichi wished he hadn't decided to be considerate and let Eijun and Miyuki have their talk privately.

They were making it extremely difficult for him to come out right now.