"The best pitches are works of art produced by the pitcher and the catcher working as one." — Miyuki Kazuya.

i) Mint chocolate chip ice cream

If batteries had flavours, Sawamura was convinced Yui would have been a mint chocolate chip ice cream. The boy really hadn't left too much of a big impression the first time. Amidst the rowdy, impertinent crowd in Seidou baseball club, Yui appeared the opposite. Neither his voice nor his play was loud. Which was odd considering it was Seidou. Too polite, too ingenuous.

But he had finesse that reminded Sawamura of old days. His ability was diverse and unpolished, but balanced—offence and defence. Different, but still nostalgic. Still, Sawamura knew it was difficult for Yui to even catch his change up. He wouldn't even dream to throw any of his numbers with the boy. They were in First String though. Even though he mostly played as outfielder, and Sawamura wondered why the young lad preferred the position of a catcher.

Sawamura's cutter broke sharply at an acute angle, the ball bouncing off the wall of the bullpen and echoed loudly. For a few seconds after he threw the ball, Sawamura froze at the unsettled look on Yui's face.

He laughed boisterously from across the bullpen. "Guess that one is a no go then! Let's do the—"

"Again."

Sawamura's laughter died not only because of the determined look in Yui's eyes, but also at how insistent his voice sounded. "But—"

"If I keep running away from something, there's no way I would ever overcome my weakness." Yui pressed on, throwing the ball back to Sawamura in a just-enough force to reach the pitcher. There was a short sigh from the young boy as the ball dropped into Sawamura's mitt, and the determination probably wavered slightly.

"Koushuu seemed to think that a catcher should only play a catcher. That we shouldn't compromise," Yui's eyes dropped down to the worn out ground. Traces of shoe spikes evidently thinned out some spots that was walked upon the most, showing how Seidou aged through decades of constant training. "I've been thinking about it for a long time lately. Was he right? Was I wrong for playing outfielder?"

"Who cares?" Sawamura shrugged. "Furuya plays outfielder sometimes too."

There was a smile carved on Yui's face at the answer. Perhaps something in his blasé answer was satisfying. "I thought so too." The boy agreed. "Perhaps everyone's journeys are different. Perhaps some people are just meant to be something they were born for. Perhaps some others are meant to end up in a totally different place from where they started. But this is my journey, I'm open for any possibilities and my limit is the horizon. I'm going to see my future with my own eyes. Because wherever I ended up at, I'd be damn sure I'll be hella great at it."

Sawamura decided that every batteries tasted different.

With Yui, it tasted like mint chocolate chip. It was multi-faceted, balanced, and pretty cool, to be honest.

The resolved look in Yui's face was back in place, and Sawamura couldn't deny how much the competitive spirit in Yui rivalled theirs, even if it wasn't conventional. Yui's and Okumura's rivalry was different from him and Furuya, different from Chris and Miyuki. Others were the rivalry of reaching the top.

Yui and Okumura, though; theirs were the rivalry of self discovery.

ii) Pistachio ice cream

Okumura was like a wolf. Or maybe a cat. No, definitely a wolf because he was a lonely creature. Even though Sawamura digressed because he read somewhere that wolves were normally pack animals. But he wasn't about to get into too much details. Okumura's attitude, though, was definitely that of a wolf.

How someone can live without talking at least ten words a day was beyond him. And even when Okumura did talk, he was very unpleasant and rude. Sawamura decided to ignore the fact that every single year of new students in Seidou somehow got their own batch of like-minded kids. Okumura's pride, though, was on a whole different level.

His insistence to outbid Miyuki, his persistence to not catch for First String until he made one. Actually, not First String. Only Sawamura, since he caught for Furuya instead. Weirdo.

The time he finally threw to Okumura after the boy made First String, Sawamura was more open to him. It didn't matter how much Sawamura argued with Okumura, the younger catcher was good. He had the skills to back up his arrogance, much to Sawamura's dismay.

The sound of the ball hitting Okumura's mitt was different, but melodious nonetheless. And Sawamura unconsciously clicked his tongue. He wasn't sure what he was expecting. But forming the battery with Okumura definitely tasted strong. The moment Okumura caught for him, he could taste the initial reserved nature before soaring. As if he was forced to grip all around the edges before throwing, and then he was set free the moment the ball was caught. It was boundless.

"How does it feel to be uptight your whole life?" Sawamura almost rolled his eyes at the appraising look on Okumura's face.

"How does it feel to be stupid your whole life?"

Ooof.

Sawamura's eyes squinted into thin slits, desperately trying to convey his annoyance at the younger's insolence.

They had the connection, no doubt. It was unique, creative and complex. There was a paradoxical taste—reserved and boundless at the same time. Like pistachio ice cream.

Their communication, however, was definitely not connecting.

Perhaps the only communication they could do between them was through baseball.

iii) Cookie dough ice cream

Sawamura tasted the battery between him and Miyuki long before he even knew the guy. It was instantaneous and perennial. The first time he had a taste of the bright, enormous slap of his ball against the mitt, he couldn't sleep the whole week. The ingenious, cunning sound resonated in his ears and kept him on his toes. He was addicted.

He thought that catcher probably would be the senpai he admired once he was admitted to Seidou. Except that the dream shattered when he found out the guy was a twisted man with terrible personality.

Still, Miyuki was the reason Sawamura was here. At the very least, Sawamura would want Miyuki to recognise his talents. But of course, the man didn't know what compliment is. Maybe he did when he was sick, or injured. But basically almost non-existent.

"I never imagined you with the ace number on your back until today," Miyuki commented casually as they handed out the jersey numbers for the summer tournament.

Sawamura huffed, holding the number one proudly. It was probably the closest he could get for a praise from Miyuki. He was frustrated. The fact that someone was treated differently because of the ace number, even though it was supposed to be a team sport just baffled him.

"It was like cookie dough ice cream," he almost grounded the word in his irritation.

"Huh?" Miyuki looked baffled.

"You told me the first time we met that the best pitch is a work of art created between a pitcher and a catcher. I have no idea about arts, but I certainly feel like different catchers tasted like different ice creams," Sawamura pointed his mitt to the catcher's face, ignoring the fact how rude it was. Miyuki was rude himself too after all. "Yours taste like cookie dough ice cream."

There was a silent pause for a few seconds before Miyuki bursted into fits of laughter. "Seriously? Ice cream? I knew you're such an interesting guy the first time we met, and this definitely is up there!"

"Shut up!" Sawamura protested in his attempt to dismiss what he thought was Miyuki making fun of him. "It's not like it's a compliment either!"

"Really though, why cookie dough?"

"Because you're devious, witty and twisted," Sawamura said begrudgingly, purposely leaving the taste of bright enormous patterns that he enjoyed with their battery. Miyuki didn't need his ego to be stroked.

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment!"

Miyuki laughed. "But what does this has anything to do with you being an ace?"

Sawamura was exasperated, because none of these conversations made sense and he was probably lost himself. "I'll have that cookie dough ice cream as much as I want now that I'm ace. Since you don't seem to live up to your claim that baseball is a team's effort and I had to get this number to get me a spot."

Miyuki hummed at the answer, his sly smirk still adorning his face. "But you know, I'm the one pacing this pitcher training. I'm going to have you to know that resting from throwing is also part of it."

Sawamura had forgotten one thing about cookie dough ice cream; despite the massive dazzling pattern, it wasn't overly loud nor extroverted either. It was the pattern that covered the interior just enough to shine.

And just like that, Sawamura realised how Miyuki probably had layers others couldn't peel. Layers that he himself would like to delve into, be it on the numbers they were working on, or even on the personal level. Because that was their battery.

Like cookie dough ice cream.

iv) Vanilla with cookies and cream

Sawamura couldn't exactly describe the flavour he had with Chris. On one hand it was filled with emotions and admirations. On another hand Sawamura felt calmly at peace. If he deviated away from the ice cream analogy, Chris was like his torch. Chris saved him more often than once. In every turn his life decided to make, Chris was always there. Perhaps the last time he enjoyed their battery was when Chris helped him with his outside pitches when he had the yips calamity.

But he enjoyed their flavour. Despite not being able to taste it often. It sounded so clean and immaculate. Like something so small being optimised to its fullest. Chris showed him that even something average could be huge. And that even at the darkest night the stars still shone. Something minimal and classic yet smooth and personable at the same time.

Sawamura couldn't exactly quite put his finger onto what constitute the flavour. So he decided it was probably all flavours mixed into one. Or maybe not all of the flavours. Maybe it was only two. The minimal taste that enhanced the good quality of vanilla ice cream, which not many would appreciate the classic beauty—not that he understood classic at all—, coupled with the smooth personable sense of humour with the desire to learn and grow like the cookies and cream ice cream seemed to fit the sound of the mitt perfectly. That was probably why he didn't get along too well with Chris in the first place. Until he learned to appreciate the classic beauty, and Chris learned to discern the growth that they finally been able to dance together.

Neither of them was at their best when they first met. They both were what each other needed at that given time. But the taste they created was phenomenal.

It was short lived, but it tasted perfect.

But neither of their journeys were completed. And Sawamura knew someday, perhaps somewhere else, they would meet again. Preferably under better circumstances, with Chris squatting in the catcher box, and him standing on the pitcher mound.

And perhaps on that day, he'd be able to have another taste of that vanilla with cookies and cream.

Because that was the taste of their battery—the taste of hope and vocation.