Chapter Twenty-five

As they watched the dual figures of Seidō's battery commune on the mound, the tension filling Yakushi's bench – seen in the wariness in their eyes and in the stiffening of their spines – was so thick, it could have been cut with a knife.

Glancing out from below hooded eyes, Coach Todoroki swung his arm across the back of the bench. "The Akikawa batters were completely crushed by that southpaw. He's got good control and power in his pitches, but he's apparently been shutting down every team in the tournament so far." He began to dig his pinky into his ear. "That's not normal. Which means, therefore, that there must be something more to his pitches."

Sanada grinned from the shadows. "He's similar to me, isn't he, coach? With his moving fastballs."

"Let's hope that's all he's got," Coach Todoroki grunted, and then craned his head toward the rest of the team. "Whatever the case, boys, he's levels above what you've faced until now. But you lot haven't been swinging your arms off all day for nothing. If you don't want your summer to end, you know what to do!"

"Yes, coach!"

For Eijun, it was almost jarring to see Raichi stepping up to the plate once more.

He had thought that the semifinals of his final summer tournament had been the battlefield for their final facedown. Their rivalry had been well-noted over the years, and for the most part, it had been an exchange of give-and-take, with neither really gaining a clear edge over the other. Raichi had gotten another homerun off of Eijun in his second year, but after that, he had always managed to – at the very least – keep Raichi to base hits.

Of course, all things came to an end. In that vein, it was mutually and implicitly decided that the semifinals of their third year would determine once and for all who had come out on top.

Eijun could remember the day well.

{ }

It had been a hot, scorching day, befitting of the season. The stands were overflowing with supporters for both teams – by then, Yakushi had permanently made its name in the region and gained a large following – and the air was filled with the unintelligible mixing of brass sounds and people's voices, all to the background of the low thrumming of drums.

It was the top of the ninth. The score was 4-3, Seidō having managed to grab the lead in the fifth inning. There were two outs, but the game was by no means set in stone. The third-hole was up to bat, with Raichi waiting on deck ("Kahaha!"), the promise of assured victory gleaming in his eyes. If only the batter could manage to pass the proverbial torch to Raichi – then surely, with his bat, he would be able to turn the game around.

With a keen glance up at the batter's stance, Okumura signaled to Eijun from the catcher's box. Eijun nodded.

And then two pitches later – clang!

The batter threw aside his bat and desperately began to run. And as the ball spiraled whitely through the open air, in that single instant, Eijun could have sworn that the entire stadium had fallen quiet. Was it a moment of prayer? Or of barely-contained, hushed excitement?

The moment the third baseman – Kanemaru – caught the ball with his glove, the short silence gave way to an expanse of screaming and cheers. The commentator began to shout – even over the crowd's uproar – about the stunning defense of the Seidō battery.

For a long while, Raichi stood unmoving in the on deck circle, his bat clutched in his hand.

At the end of the game, when the two teams lined up at the center of the field to shake hands, Yakushi's team members were crying and helping each other stand up.

Tears were streaming down Raichi's face too, but as a third-year, he stood tall and firm now. He and Eijun shook hands, and as always, Eijun found himself marveling at the rock-hard quality of the other boy's hand.

"Don't go thinking that this is settled, Eijun," said Raichi, not making an effort to wipe away the snot dripping from his nose. "We'll settle this in the pro leagues."

"I don't know," Eijun grinned, pumping his hand. "You'll be too famous for the likes of me by then. You'll probably have forgotten all about me."

Raichi didn't smile back – he was still too down about his loss – but he gripped Eijun's hand almost painfully. "No…I'd never forget you. I'm glad I met you."

He let go of his hand and then before Eijun had even finished processing his words, Raichi had already moved on. He helped a second-year to his feet, and then standing strongly beside the rest of his teammates, without staggering under the other boy's weight, he began to head back to their dugout.

{ }

If Eijun had thought that their semifinals facedown had been rather lackluster and anticlimactic, perhaps it was because it had not been the grand finale after all. He had returned to the past and now, Raichi was a first-year again, and Eijun himself was back in his first-year body. It seemed that they had now come full circle.

Of course, the tables were flipped this time, as Eijun now distinctly held the upper hand. However, looking at how hungrily Raichi was regarding him right now – a thrilling shock traveling through his stomach, Eijun could feel his hands tremble in anticipation. His mouth curved upward in an open smile. Raichi was clearly not going down with a fight.

And hell, neither was he.

Kazuya covered his lower face with his mitt. "That first-year watched two of Furuya's pitches, and then nearly blasted a homer on the third. He's the real deal, alright."

Sawamura nodded. "Yeah…Raichi's amazing."

"'Raichi'?" Kazuya repeated. "You know him?"

"Nah. Anyways – let's get this started, senpai."

Kazuya raised an eyebrow, but didn't press for an explanation. Lowering his mask over his face, he walked back to the catcher's box. He squatted down. Todoroki – who had been rapidly swinging his bat through the air – returned to the plate with an anticipatory laugh. The umpire called out for the game to resume.

Taking in Todoroki's clearly eager, yet tightly controlled stance, Kazuya looked toward the mound – and for a split second, felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of his lungs.

Sawamura's smile was still there, but it was a lingering vestige. There was nothing 'light' about it anymore.

The last time Kazuya had felt this level of intensity had been right at the beginning, when they'd teamed up for the intrasquad game and when he'd first caught a glimpse of what Sawamura could do. Not even in the Yokohama game had Sawamura looked as serious as he did now. His eyes were that of a predator, focused only on his prey and in that instant, blind to everything around it.

For a pitcher, that kind of willpower was a double-edged sword. It could make them incredible – but at the same time, they were also liable to focus on just that one goal and lose sight of their surroundings in the process.

Kazuya felt his mouth part open in a small smile.

Sawamura was lucky, then, that he was there. As long as he was there, and as long as Sawamura looked at his mitt, the southpaw wouldn't lose his way. Kazuya would make sure of it.

So just throw to where my mitt is, Sawamura.

"Play ball!"

Sawamura – he was the southpaw pitcher who'd grinned at Raichi during the lineup at the beginning of the game. He was still smiling now, but the air around him had noticeably changed. The intensity reached all the way to where he stood in the batting box. In fact, it almost felt as if Raichi was facing off against Ichidai's Manaka again.

This time, as he lowered into his batting stance, Raichi returned the grin. The moment was finally here. Furuya had been exciting to bat against, but his balls and strikes were blatantly different and once Raichi adjusted his eyes to the speed and reaffirmed his timing, he had confidence he could blast a home run.

This pitcher however…the key to unlocking his pitching was a little bit less obvious. Raichi hadn't quite been able to put his finger on it from the video recordings. Was he a moving ball pitcher like Sanada? Or was there something more to the southpaw?

Whatever the case, Raichi couldn't wait to see for himself what his pitches were like. And of course, to smash them away.

Sawamura nodded at a signal. With a step of a foot and then a slight turn, he began his windup. He lifted his leg up high. His foot pushed down on the mound, and his body was rotating but the hand had not yet come out –

And then before he knew it – whoosh! – the ball was roaring down the mound toward Raichi.

"Whoaaa!" he exclaimed out loud. His whole body itched to swing – however, with the promise of dinner dangling before him, he kept his eye on the ball and managed to hold still.

As the low ball barreled toward the plate, it noticeably moved outside before slamming resoundingly into the catcher's mitt.

"Ball!"

"Kahaha…!" Raichi stared down at the smoking mitt, before looking back up at the mound. Sawamura was facing the plate, ready in a fielding position.

Raichi turned to Yakushi's dugout, where his father was watching. He flashed, as they'd signaled, a series of winks – just as we expected, he's got a unique pitching form! – and received a thumbs-up and a wink in return.

Raichi lowered into his batting stance. The first pitch had ran away to the outside just as it approached the plate – what would the next ball be?

Sawamura nodded again – and then once again, before he had realized it, the ball was firing toward Raichi.

He could feel his heart beating naturally faster in his excitement, as he watched the ball's trajectory. It was going to be high. It had speed – not as much as that Furuya guy's, but about the same level as Sanada's fastest pitch – was it going to be another fastball?

Just before the ball crossed the plate, it suddenly cut sharply away from his chest, and –

"Strike!"

Raichi couldn't stop grinning. There it was: Sawamura's cutter. The video recordings of the Akikawa game hadn't done it nearly enough justice. That cutter was sharp. It was an even more amazing pitch than he'd expected it to be. Sanada had one of the most amazing cutters he had ever seen, and the pitch just now was on a level similar to Sanada's – except since Sawamura was a southpaw, it had broken away from Raichi instead of in to his chest.

Taking a step out of the box, Raichi began to take several practice swings through the air. Though he'd seen it only once, he could now imagine its trajectory in his mind. Visualizing another cutter coming in his direction, he swung, his bat audibly sending out a blast of air. But no – that would send it popping up. Visualizing another one, Raichi swung – yes, that was more like it!

His teammates from Yakushi's dugout were, as usual, yelling out threats disguised as encouragements:

"C'mon Raichi! You ate my banana!"

"Smash it away!"

"Kahaha!" Raichi lowered into his batting stance once more. What ball would they throw next? Would they try the cutter again? He hoped they would. He wanted to try hitting it. He wanted to blast it into the distance. He wanted to hit now!

As if reading his mind, Sawamura began his windup, and then the ball was shooting toward Raichi.

He stepped forward – it was low this time, around his knees – and tilting his body as he rotated, he swung. Even as his bat made contact with the ball, however, Raichi knew that it'd land in foul territory. It felt all wrong on his bat, and sure enough – clang! – it bulleted straight outside the foul line.

"Foul!"

It had been a cutter again. Raichi was sure of it. But the timing was hard to get down with Sawamura's strange delivery form – and the ball was heavier than he'd expected.

The catcher threw a new ball back to Sawamura, and Raichi bent his knees, lowering into his position. They'd thrown a moving fastball and two cutters so far. What would come next? Was it going to be the four-seam, to try and finish Raichi off? He couldn't decide which he wanted – they both sounded awesome. He wanted to try his hand again at the cutter, but he wanted to hit the four-seam too.

Well, I'll just smash away whatever comes!

Raichi heard the catcher bump his fist into his mitt, and then in response, Sawamura nodded. He entered his windup. The raised leg came down, the foot crushing into the dirt. The arm was hidden from sight even as Sawamura rotated his body.

Raichi took a step forward, transferring his weight to his hips and legs. And then the white ball was suddenly in his field of vision, spiraling toward him – but –

His eyes widened. Even as his body automatically began to rotate, he tried to slow down his bat because –

A changeup?!

However, it was too late. Before the off pitch ball had reached the plate, his bat had already finished its swing. His teeth gritted, Raichi winced.

"Strike! Batter out!"

Immediately following Raichi's swinging strike, Seidō's stands exploded into cheering. Yakushi's team members, on the other hand, fell into astounded silence.

"Tch," Coach Todoroki said irritably, picking inside his ear with his pinky again.

"A changeup…that wasn't in the data," said Akiba, folding his arms across his chest.

Mishima looked shaken. "I think this is the first time I've seen him get a swinging strikeout."

Coach Todoroki reared his head back to look at their ace. "Oi, Sanada, you should start warming – wait, where is he?"

"He's already left, coach."

"Bottom of the third inning, Seidō High School's offense begins with number 1, second baseman, Kominato-kun."

His hands folded over the railing of their dugout, Yōichi watched as Ryōsuke's small frame stepped up to the plate. As always, there was a small smile dancing around his mouth, but it seemed a little more genuine – or at least, less terrifying – than usual.

He glanced to his side, where Sawamura was currently shouting out encouragements along with the rest of the team.

And it's all because of this idiot of a first-year.

They sure had come a long way since that first game against Yokohama. Yōichi couldn't even remember what Sawamura had been fussing about. However, there had been something riding on whether Sawamura could pitch a perfect game or not. He'd thought at the time that the first-year was in over his head – and in fact, Sawamura hadn't been able to do it in the end. But now, Yōichi thought that if Sawamura brought up another match with a perfect game at stake…

Well, at the very least, he wouldn't laugh.

Clang!

With a well-aimed hit that sent the ball flying just past the shortstop's head, Ryōsuke ran to first with little trouble. Jun roared in his customary way while setting up at the plate and Tetsu moved out on deck.

"Sawamura, keep yourself hydrated," came Miyuki's voice.

Without moving his head, Yōichi glanced sideways and saw Miyuki's face appear on Sawamura's other side. Compliantly shrugging, Sawamura stepped back, and then the catcher fully came into view. He was pulling on his batting gloves. Without saying anything, the space between them feeling almost alive, they looked out at the ongoing game.

Yōichi wouldn't ever say it aloud of course – there were some things that were just too embarrassing to be put into verbal words – but Miyuki had changed a bit over the past few months. For the better, probably.

While Miyuki had been toeing the – admittedly thick – line between having common decency and being plain rotten from the start, ever since Chris had seriously injured himself during their first year, he had really let himself go. The first few weeks had been especially bad. Everyone on the team had gone out of their way to give the catcher his space.

He'd gotten much better since then, though he'd never be popular. At the very least, he didn't complain when half the first string was hanging out in his room. However, there was something about Miyuki that had always held people, including Yōichi himself, at an arm's distance.

It was still there. But somehow, being around Sawamura made the distance seem to shrink – even if just a little. Was Yōichi being overly optimistic and reading too much into the situation? He didn't know. He hoped not.

Just when Sawamura came back between them, his jaw dripping with water, Jun hit a grounder that advanced Ryōsuke. Tetsu stepped up to the plate, and the brass band began to play.

Kuramochi moved away to talk to the returning Isashiki, and then it was just him and Sawamura.

"They'll be bringing out their real ace soon," said Sawamura, looking across the field to Yakushi's bullpen.

"The shootball pitcher?" Kazuya thoughtfully looked out at the field. "Maybe. It's a little early in the game, but they're probably panicking over you shutting out Todoroki."

Sawamura shook his head. "I doubt that. That was just round one. Round two with Raichi's when it'll really get interesting."

Kazuya took in Sawamura's relaxed form. His arms spilled comfortably at either side, and his back curved naturally over the railing.

"You don't seem worried," he remarked.

Sawamura snorted. "I've done enough worrying over the past few months."

Boom!

At the sudden explosive sound, they both turned to the field with a start – somehow, as they talked, the game had been muted into the background – and saw Yūki looking up at the sky, his legs blurring into action. Kazuya's mouth fell open, and immediately, he searched for the ball – and caught it just as it flew over the fence, and disappeared from sight.

"Home run!"

"Tetsu-san, you're unstoppable!"

"Nice batting!"

"Yūki-senpai, nice batting!"

As he stepped firmly on the first base, Yūki victoriously raised a strong fist into the air.

Shaking his head in mute admiration, Kazuya stepped back from the railing and picked up his bat. He was going to bat following Masuko – though with Yūki's two RBI home run, anything that happened in the rest of the inning would be little more than a sideshow.

Just as he set foot on the stairway out of the dugout, he heard Sawamura call out his name:

"Miyuki-senpai!"

He turned around. "What is it?"

Sawamura was still hanging over the railing, but his face tilted casually toward Kazuya. "Even if Masuko-senpai doesn't get on base, it'll be totally uncool if you just strike out."

He felt himself sweat. "...You're saying I can't hit when no one's on base, aren't you?"

"I'm just saying."

"Oi, Sawamura," Kazuya said in a mockingly warning voice. "You seem to conveniently forget it all the time, but I am your senpai."

Sawamura grinned and rocked back on his heels. "Hey, senpai."

"What is it now?"

"I'm glad I met you."

Kazuya paused. He took another step up the stairway, his foot crunching into the dirt of the open. His hand squeezed the handle of his bat. Finally, he said, "Don't you feel even a little embarrassed saying stuff like that?"

"I think I'd regret not saying it more," said Sawamura. Then, he thrust out his lower lip. "Wait, you're not glad you met me?"

Taken aback, he found himself staring at the sudden pink of the other boy's protruding lip. After a beat, he opened his mouth, and said –

Blaring over the sound of the stadium's cacophony, the PA announced, "Yakushi High School has announced a change in players. Replacing Mino-kun as pitcher is Sanada-kun. Pitcher, Sanada-kun."

Sawamura, who had immediately looked up at the sky at the sound of the announcement, lowered his gaze back to Kazuya's. Wearing a pleased expression as if to say 'I told you so,' he asked, "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"Nothing," said Kazuya.

He stepped fully out of the shadow of the dugout and into the sun. Masuko stood ready at the plate. From the other side's bullpen, a tall uniformed figure was jogging toward the mound. The field was wide and open. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, comments/kudos (and the follows on tumblr)! The next chapter is going to be quite eventful in a way nobody probably expects. I apologize beforehand.

Anyways, will Yakushi make its comeback?! Look forward to it.

And to that one anon reviewer – I'm not a teacher, I work as a TA.