Chapter Text
It was the time of year when every first-string player met the new first-years joining the team. Miyuki was thankful he’d managed to wake up early today no running laps for him this time.
When he arrived at Field A, everyone was already there. Surprisingly, the coach hadn’t shown up yet. Usually, he was the first to arrive, but maybe even the coach deserved to take his time once in a while.
Spotting his teammates, Miyuki saw Kuramochi, Ryo-san, Tetsu-san, and Jun-san huddled together, their attention fixed on the lineup of new recruits.
“So, what’s going on here?” Miyuki asked, tilting his head as he appeared behind Kuramochi.
Kuramochi glanced back. “Well, look who decided to show up early for once.”
“Yeah, a miracle, right? My alarm didn’t even have to drag me out of bed this time.” Miyuki rubbed his neck with a small grin. That alarm clock really was a pain sometimes.
“Anyway, what are you guys staring at?” he asked. The tension among both the first-years and his teammates was obvious. Everyone’s eyes seemed fixed on one particular person.
“I don’t know how Rei-chan managed to recruit him,” Tetsu-san said, lowering his voice, “but we’ve got a big shot here.”
“Big shot?” Miyuki echoed, brows furrowing. What was that supposed to mean?
Before Kuramochi could answer, the coach finally arrived.
The first-string players quickly lined up behind him as he stood before the new recruits. The first-years stood in two neat rows, but Miyuki couldn’t help noticing how several of them kept glancing toward one boy in particular the one standing in the middle of the second line.
Brown hair. Golden-brown eyes. Something about him drew everyone’s attention.
‘What’s with that guy?’ Miyuki thought, just as the coach began to speak.
“I’m Kataoka Tesshin, head coach of this team. Are all the new members here?”
“Yes, sir!” the first-years shouted in unison.
“Good. Introduce yourselves, one at a time.”
The introductions began.
“I’m Atsushi Takemoto, from Minami Junior High! I’d like to play left field—nice to meet you!”
“Hiroshi Oshima, from the Miyagawa Senior League! I want to be a shortstop! I’m confident in my defense!”
“I’m Tojou Hideaki, from Matsukata Senior League. I’m a pitcher, but I can also play center field!”
As the introductions went on, a few names sounded familiar especially those from powerhouse junior teams. The first-string members exchanged knowing looks; some of these kids were already well-known from the junior circuits. The same recognition flickered among the first-years too former rivals meeting again under the same banner.
Then, the boy in the middle finally stepped forward. The same one Miyuki had noticed earlier. Ever since he’d laid eyes on him, something about the guy had drawn everyone’s attention and now, even the air seemed to shift as all eyes turned his way.
“Good morning, everyone! Good morning, Coach!” the boy said brightly, his voice full of energy. “I’m Sawamura Eijun, from Akagi Junior High! I’m a southpaw and I’ve got confidence in my batting too! I can handle basic left fielding, and I was the ace and captain of my team. I came to Seidou because I want to lead this team to Koshien! Nice to meet you all!”
For a moment, silence.
Then the field seemed to buzz all at once.
The second- and third-years gawked at the grinning first-year who stood so casually after such a bold introduction. Even the other first-years stared at him like they couldn’t believe who they were standing next to.
“Wait… Sawamura? As in that monster southpaw?” someone whispered.
“Everyone from the Junior leagues knows that name…” another murmured.
The whispers spread like ripples in water—Sawamura’s name passing from mouth to mouth among both first-years and first-string players alike.
“So you’re saying… this is him?” Jun-san asked, glancing toward their captain.
Tetsu-san’s lips curved into a small, amused smile as he watched the boy. “He made a name for himself at Nationals last year. Akagi’s ace, captain, and cleanup hitter. Word is, he’s got quite an arsenal on the mound.”
That statement made several heads turn, eyes widening with surprise.
An ace, captain, and cleanup hitter… all in one?
Miyuki found himself still watching the southpaw, a faint spark of curiosity in his chest. There was something about Sawamura’s presence that kind reckless, bright, and confident that he couldn’t quite look away from.
When the introductions wrapped up, everyone had already shared their preferred positions. Some aimed for the outfield, others the infield; a few were pitchers and catchers. But no matter what was said, it was Sawamura who left the strongest impression.
He’d boldly declared that he would lead the team to Koshien. Most people might have laughed it off as bravado but those who knew him from junior leagues understood better. Sawamura Eijun wasn’t the type to talk big without meaning it. He had, after all, led Akagi Junior High all the way to Nationals.
Coach Kataoka, for his part, hadn’t commented on the statement at all. He simply moved on.
Soon after, practice was dismissed for the newcomers with a nice warm-up of twenty running laps. The first-string players returned to their own drills, but Miyuki found his eyes drifting one last time toward the first-years.
Up ahead, Sawamura was already leading the pack, running at the front with relentless energy. The others trailed behind him, struggling to match his pace.
Miyuki narrowed his eyes slightly. Even at a glance, Sawamura’s build stood out from the rest stronger, sharper, and with more balanced. His movements had rhythm and very different with the other first-years.
Meanwhile, to Eijun, twenty laps were nothing. A piece of cake. He’d always taken pride in his stamina, and it felt good to push his body on Seidou’s field this field.
To him, being here was like a dream come true. He still couldn’t quite believe it sometimes. Ever since he was little, he’d known Seidou’s name—his grandpa talked about them all the time. A powerhouse from West Tokyo, with a long history and passionate fans. His grandfather had been cheering for Seidou since their championship win at Koshien years ago.
Eijun had watched their last summer tournament too. It had been painful to see them lose—so close, just one step away from victory against Inashiro. That match had left a deep impression on him.
Seidou’s lineup back then had been incredible: power hitters all through the batting order, flawless fielders, and their catcher—Takigawa Chris Yuu. The first time Eijun saw him play, he couldn’t help but admire him. Calm, composed, a catcher who controlled the whole diamond.
But months had passed since that defeat. The seniors had retired, and when Eijun checked on Seidou again, he realized their new starting catcher was someone else.
Miyuki Kazuya.
At first, Eijun couldn’t understand why Chris had been replaced. There was only one explanation that made sense. Ever since then, Eijun had been hearing about Miyuki Kazuya—the genius catcher. A prodigy, they said.
But even so, Eijun also knew what Seidou lacked. They might have powerful batters and a brilliant catcher, but there was one thing missing one thing no team could reach Koshien without.
A reliable ace.
An ace who could stand tall on the mound and lead the team to victory.
When Eijun was still in junior high, scouts from everywhere came knocking. Out of ten different high schools that reached out, even Inashiro and Ichidai wanted him. But the only person Eijun ever agreed to meet was Rei-chan—a manager from Seidou.
After Akagi won the Junior Nationals, reporters swarmed him, asking where he’d go next. Eijun politely dodged every question, refusing to say a word about his plans. He already knew who he was waiting for.
That night, when Rei-chan visited, he didn’t even need to think twice. The moment she extended Seidou’s offer, Eijun accepted without hesitation.
From that day forward, he poured himself into preparation, six months of strict self-training, personalized workouts, weight gain, and pitch refinement. His teammates supported him all the way, helping him sharpen everything he had for high school baseball.
And now, finally standing here on Seidou’s field, Eijun couldn’t stop smiling as he ran. The sun on his face, the ground beneath his spikes—it all felt real at last.
“First-years!”
Coach Kataoka’s voice boomed across the field, instantly snapping everyone out of their rhythm.
“We’ll be grouping you by your preferred positions to see how you perform.”
Excitement rippled through the first-years. Eijun grinned from ear to ear and jogged in the direction the coach pointed.
“Does this mean…?” he muttered under his breath, eyes shining. “We’re already getting tested?”
He dashed toward with the others but before he could go any farther, the coach’s voice stopped him cold.
“Hey, kid. Where are you going?”
Eijun froze mid-step. “Uh… where? To test my abilities?” he said, half-answering, half-questioning himself. Why was the coach stopping him?
“You’re not going there,” Kataoka said flatly.
“Eh…?”
Eijun blinked, completely lost.
“Come with me,” the coach said. “You’ll be practicing on Field A.”
Eijun’s jaw dropped.
‘EHHHH?! Field A?! That’s—the first-string’s field!!’
His mind screamed, but his legs moved on their own as he followed the coach across the grounds. His heart pounded, a mix of disbelief and excitement swirling inside him. He was really doing it he was about to step onto the same field as Seidou’s main roster.
The moment Eijun set foot on Field A, he felt the difference immediately.
The air was sharper here. More intense. Every sound seemed heavier the solid crack of a bat meeting the ball, the thud of gloves catching hard line drives, the scrape of cleats cutting through the dirt. Batters were locked in inside the cages, infielders dove and slid for every ball, and the outfielders tracked fly every balls.
Eijun’s eyes gleamed as he watched it all unfold before him. His heart swelled with awe. This was Seidou’s top field. These were the players he’d admired from afar—and now, he was standing among them.
Coach Kataoka caught the expression on the boy’s face and silently exhaled through his nose. Sawamura’s eyes were wide, sparkling with admiration. He looked like a kid who had just stepped into a dream.
But Kataoka hadn’t brought him here for sightseeing.
He wanted to see for himself what this boy could do.
Sawamura Eijun—the name had come up countless times over the past year. A small-town pitcher who’d led his junior high team all the way to the Nationals and won. Articles had called him a “rough diamond,” a “spirited ace,” a “pitcher with fire.” a “monster southpaw.“
That night, after hearing the news, Kataoka had watched the recording of the final game. And he’d seen it for himself—the presence that kid carried on the mound.
Even off the field, Sawamura’s voice had rung through the dugout, loud and clear. He wasn’t just playing; he was driving his team forward with every pitch, every shout of encouragement.
Then there was his form—his motion, his shoulder flexibility, the way his arm snapped like a whip when he released the ball. His control still needed improvement, but his energy, his rhythm it was unlike anything else.
And the moment that stuck with Kataoka most—Sawamura shaking his head at his catcher’s signal, choosing his own pitch with total conviction.
Rei hadn’t known that Kataoka had already been watching the same kid she had her eyes on.
He’d wanted Sawamura from the start.
Now, with the boy standing before him on Seidou’s field, Kataoka finally had the chance to see whether that raw, wild potential could hold up against real competition whether the ace of Akagi Junior High could become the next ace of Seidou.
Eijun couldn’t stop himself from feeling excited his heart raced just watching the first-string members up close.
“Say, kid.” Coach Kataoka’s deep voice broke the silence. “What do you think of Koshien?”
Rei, who had been quietly following a few steps behind, glanced at them curiously.
Eijun blinked, then turned to look at the coach. “...Koshien?” He paused, thinking. “It’s huge—a real stage. Cameras everywhere, people watching from all over the country. If you play there, your name gets known. You shine on that mound.”
Then, with a small grin, he added, “You’ve played there before too, haven’t you, Coach?”
Kataoka’s eyes stayed fixed on the field, the lenses of his sunglasses hiding his expression. “That was years ago,” he said quietly. “Ever since I became Seidou’s coach, my goal has never changed, to lead this team back to that stadium.”
Rei adjusted her glasses, smiling faintly. She’d known this about him for a long time. Every year, he’d carried that same dream and every year, the team had fallen short. No Nationals. No Koshien.
Eijun looked at the coach for a moment, then turned his gaze back to the field. The sound of bats and balls echoed through the air.
“I want to see how you play in front of these guys,” Kataoka said at last. “Warm up your shoulder. You’ll be joining their practice game.”
For a second, Eijun froze and then a thrill shot through him like electricity. His pulse quickened, eyes lighting up with excitement. Whatever the coach had in mind, he didn’t care. This was his chance.
Kataoka noticed the boy’s energy how his whole face seemed to light up. A small, almost imperceptible tug of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before he turned back toward the field.
“Miyuki!” Kataoka called out.
From the batting area, Miyuki looked up, spotting the coach—and the first-year standing beside him. With a quick jog, he made his way over.
Behind his glasses, Miyuki’s sharp eyes focused on the newcomer. The kid practically vibrated with excitement, like he might burst at any moment.
“What is it, Coach?” he asked.
Kataoka placed a steady hand on Eijun’s shoulder and gently guided him forward. “Go warm up with him in the bullpen. He’ll be pitching in the first-string practice game.”
Miyuki blinked. “...Wait, what?”
He turned toward the kid, who was now grinning from ear to ear.
“Are you sure about this, Coach?” Miyuki asked, taking off his glove, still eyeing Eijun warily.
“Yes,” Kataoka replied simply. “I want you to catch for him. Afterward, join the team for practice. I’ll speak with the others.”
Before Miyuki could argue, the coach was already walking away. Rei lingered for a moment, amusement flickering in her eyes.
“Good luck, Miyuki-kun,” she said with a teasing smile, before following after Kataoka.
Miyuki sighed. He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about this. Still, it couldn’t hurt to catch for someone who’d just won the Junior Nationals, right?
He gave the kid a faint smile. “Alright then. Let’s get you warmed up.”
Eijun’s grin widened instantly. “Nice to finally meet you—Miyuki Kazuya!” he said, brimming with energy.
Miyuki chuckled under his breath. “So you know who I am, huh? Good.”
The two of them started toward the bullpen, side by side. Around them, a few first-string players had paused their drills, eyes following the unlikely pair.
Something told Miyuki this was going to be interesting.
When they arrived at the bullpen, Miyuki and Sawamura fell silent. Inside, Tanba and Kawakami were already there, practicing their pitches with their catchers crouched behind the plate. The air smelled faintly of dirt and resin, the sound of each fastball echoing sharply off the wall.
“Oh? What brings you here, Miyuki?” Tanba called out, raising a brow as he caught sight of them.
Miyuki grinned, slinging an arm casually around the first-year beside him. “Coach wants me to warm this guy up. He’ll be joining practice later.”
The two senior pitchers glanced at the kid under Miyuki’s arm. Sawamura immediately squirmed, his cheeks flushing red.
“...What?” Tanba finally managed, blinking.
Miyuki chuckled at his reaction but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he stepped inside the bullpen, heading straight for the catcher’s gear. He began strapping on the chest protector, pretending not to notice the curious looks coming from Tanba and Kawakami.
But as he bent down to fasten his ankle guards, he suddenly froze.
Because there—kneeling right in front of him—was Sawamura, quietly helping him secure the straps.
“…Oh?” Miyuki blinked, taken aback. He wasn’t used to this. He’d never asked anyone to help with his gear—not because he disliked it, but because he never needed help. And yet, this kid just did it naturally, like it was second nature.
Miyuki watched as Sawamura adjusted the straps neatly and double-checked the buckles with surprising care.
“What was that?” Miyuki finally asked.
Sawamura looked up at him, confused. “What was what?”
“You just helped me with my gear,” Miyuki said, trying not to sound sharp, more curious than anything. “You know I can handle it myself, right?”
Sawamura blinked, then scratched the back of his head with a sheepish smile. “Ah… that, huh? I guess it’s just habit. I always helped my catcher with his gear back in junior high.”
A faint blush colored his face as he laughed awkwardly.
Miyuki studied him for a second, then gave a small nod and picked up his mask and mitt. “…Alright then. Get ready.”
He turned and walked toward the plate, the edges of a grin tugging at his lips.
Behind him, Sawamura let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He hadn’t really thought when he helped Miyuki—it was pure instinct. And now that he was standing there, it hit him what he’d just done.
‘He didn’t get mad though…’ he thought, pouting slightly as he stared at the baseball and glove resting on the ground.
“Let me stretch first!” Sawamura called out, glancing at Miyuki, who was already crouched behind the plate.
Miyuki raised an eyebrow. “Stretching?”
Without answering, Sawamura crossed his arms and started his warm-up routine. Arm rotations, shoulder stretches, deep breathing, the same ritual he always did before pitching. It was his way of getting into rhythm, and soon the bullpen was filled with the soft creak of muscle and motion before the storm began.
Miyuki didn’t say anything at first—he simply watched the pitcher in front of him.
It wasn’t often he saw someone stretching before warm-ups. Usually, players used their warm-ups to loosen up, not the other way around. But Sawamura’s movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic, like he was tuning his body before stepping onto the mound.
Well, whatever works for him, Miyuki thought, settling behind the plate. After all, this was the so-called “monster southpaw” everyone in junior baseball had been talking about.
Then, to Miyuki’s quiet surprise, Sawamura began shadow pitching.
Shadow pitching? Miyuki blinked behind his mask. He’d never seen anyone do that before—not before an actual throw. The kid’s form was unusual, his motion sharp yet fluid. Even without a ball, there was something about the rhythm that caught his eye.
But something else bothered him.
No matter how he focused, Miyuki couldn’t clearly see Sawamura’s left hand during his delivery. The motion was so tight, so compact, it almost vanished in the flow of his movement.
He wasn’t the only one watching now. Out of the corner of his eye, Miyuki noticed Tanba and Kawakami had paused their own drills, eyes fixed on the first-year pitcher.
“I’m ready, Miyuki-senpai!”
The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Miyuki looked up to see Sawamura standing on the mound, glove on his right hand, ball resting in his left. His expression was bright, and determined.
Miyuki smirked, smacking his mitt once. “Alright. Just a light warm-up, okay? Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Sawamura nodded. He wound up for his pitch.
Miyuki watched carefully—the high leg lift, the compact body twist, the rhythm of his motion. He tried to follow the left hand this time, but before he could even process the release, the ball had already slammed into his mitt with a heavy thud.
“…Huh?”
He blinked behind his mask, lowering his glove slightly. Thin wisps of smoke curled from the leather. I didn’t even see it leave his hand…
He glanced back up at Sawamura, who was already setting up for his next throw, all focus and energy.
Alright, Miyuki thought, adjusting his stance. Let’s see it again.
He raised his mitt high and inside. “Give me one more.”
Sawamura nodded. The leg lifted again—fluid, confident—and Miyuki tracked his movement closely this time.
His timing’s off… no, wait—
The arm snapped forward like a whip. The ball came out late, almost hidden behind his body, and then—
SMACK!
Miyuki’s mitt shook in his hand. The velocity was startling, the movement even more so. The pitch had late life, darting subtly as it crossed the plate.
His arm’s like a whip… and the ball comes out later than his motion suggests. That’s insane.
Miyuki flexed his fingers inside his glove, feeling the sting. This was supposed to be a warm-up, and yet it felt like catching a 150 km/h fastball straight from a machine. Two pitches in, and he could already tell, the ball wasn’t just fast, it moved.
“...One more,” Miyuki called, his voice a little lower now, almost eager.
Sawamura’s grin widened. “Got it!”
He wound up again, and Miyuki lifted his mitt. This time, the ball hit exactly where he placed it.
Perfect aim, perfect control… and that movement…
Behind his mask, Miyuki couldn’t help but grin. No wonder they call him a monster.
Before Miyuki realized it, he was enjoying himself.
Catching for this kid—this first-year, this supposed “monster southpaw”—was exhilarating in a way he hadn’t expected. Every pitch felt alive.
Sawamura’s delivery made Miyuki’s instincts scream. The left arm vanished mid-motion, the release invisible until the ball exploded into the mitt. Each time, Miyuki had to adjust, eyes sharp, timing perfect, just to follow the ball’s path. The velocity was ridiculous; he couldn’t even guess the speed.
But what caught him most wasn’t the speed. It was the feel. The sting in his palm, the crack of the impact, that sharp, satisfying smack—it was addictive. Every pitch felt like a challenge, and Miyuki found himself grinning behind his mask.
Meanwhile, out on the field, Coach Kataoka was addressing the first-string players.
“He’ll be joining you guys later,” the Coach said, his tone calm but firm. “He’s warming up with Miyuki right now.”
That drew a few raised eyebrows.
“I want to see how you play against him,” Kataoka continued, sweeping his eyes across the lineup. “That kid was the ace who led his team to the Junior Nationals—and won it.”
The players exchanged uncertain glances.
“You mean… we’re playing against him?” Kominato asked, tilting his head, his tone neither disbelief nor challenge, just curious.
“That’s right.” Kataoka’s reply was simple. He wasn’t testing them to humiliate anyone. He wanted to see how they’d respond—to face someone completely new, someone who’d already proven himself on a national stage.
Tetsuya, the captain, crossed his arms and gave a small nod. “We doing this now, Coach?”
“Yes,” Kataoka said. “Get ready. Play like it’s an actual game—no holding back.”
Just as he was about to continue, a sharp CRACK! cut through the air.
The unmistakable sound of leather splitting the wind echoed from the bullpen. Every head turned.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then another THUD! followed—louder this time. Kataoka glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. He didn’t need to look twice to know—that sound came from Miyuki’s mitt.
He turned back to the team, expression unreadable. “...You heard that. Get ready.”
The first-string nodded quickly, now more alert than before, and Kataoka started walking toward the bullpen.
Inside, Miyuki’s eyes were wide behind his mask. That last pitch—he hadn’t even seen it coming. His hand tingled from the impact. For a brief, stunned moment, he just froze there.
Then, unexpectedly, laughter spilled from his lips.
“Hahahah—damn, that scared me,” Miyuki said, pulling off his mask as he bent forward, clutching his side. The sound echoed in the confined bullpen, light and genuine.
“Oi! What’s so funny?!” Sawamura barked, his face flushed red. His cat-like eyes glared at the catcher, but the effect was more endearing than intimidating.
“Jeez, you’re… ah, my sides—” Miyuki wheezed between laughs. “You’re interesting, kid! I swear, I couldn’t see your arm at all! The ball just appeared out of nowhere—if your control sucked, I’d be the one in the hospital right now!”
Sawamura blinked, caught between confusion and embarrassment, as the upperclassmen in the bullpen tried to hide their smirks.
Miyuki finally straightened up, still grinning. Man, this kid…
The truth was, every pitch had hit exactly where Miyuki set his target. Ten pitches—every one of them in the strike zone. All fastballs, and all moving just enough to make them unpredictable. The kid’s control wasn’t wild at all, it was focused. He wasn’t throwing blindly. He was throwing to Miyuki’s mitt.
Even if Sawamura didn’t realize it yet, that kind of accuracy under raw power was dangerous—in the best possible way.
Miyuki adjusting his mask, still smiling as he looked up. That’s when he noticed Coach Kataoka standing just outside the bullpen, silently observing.
The coach’s eyes were fixed on the young pitcher.
And for the first time that day, Miyuki thought— This kid might actually be the real deal.