Hyoudo Michiru would never forget the sumr of last year.
Less than a week after she'd led her school's basketball team to victory in the sumr qualifiers.
She saw her cousin Tsuchiya Ryouta collapse on the diamond at Soubu High's baseball field.
He had buried his entire face into the reddish-brown dirt, his muffled sobs so heavy they made it hard to breathe.
"I've failed the people of my hotown! I'm so sorry!"
At least, that's probably what he shouted.
Who could tell? With his face shoved into the ground, the only reason anyone could make out his words was because he was wailing so loudly his voice cracked.
The sight of him despairing like a man ready to die scared his relatives half to death.
They were terrified he'd suddenly draw a blade and commit seppuku on the spot.
Yet, too afraid of being splattered with blood, no one dared run forward.
That one-sided baseball ga had nothing on the thrill of Ryouta's breakdown.
Mr. and Mrs. Tsuchiya finally shoved through the crowd, scooping up their half-fainted son in their arms as if the boy's soul—and his Koshien dream—might float away at any second.
Moving? Yes, it was moving. But terrifying too.
And it wasn't just Ryouta.
The whole Soubu baseball team had fought with everything they had.
Their pitcher, Fujikawa Masatake, was visibly exhausted by the fourth inning, his arm nearly giving out, yet he kept throwing because there was no one else to rely on.
The base runners dove again and again, trying desperate slides to avoid being tagged out, risking injury with every attempt.
But few people witnessed their efforts.
Aside from a handful of parents, the only spectators were the birds in the trees and the passing wind.
So yes, it was moving. But also deeply frightening.
Michiru was grateful her cousin cared so much about her.
She didn't mind supporting the Soubu baseball club as they grew little by little, even if—judging by their current level—they wouldn't be needing much cheering anyti soon.
But she wasn't sure whether her and Icy Tail's support would actually lift Ryouta up… or only beco an unbearable burden.
What if he lost again, collapsed on the field once more, and this ti his cries of guilt weren't just "I've failed my school and hotown" but "I've failed my cousin too"?
What if his despair spiraled into sothing worse—like actually going through with the self-destruction he'd hinted at before? The thought made her shiver.
With that in mind, Michiru squeezed past the others to whisper in her father's ear.
Normally, whispering like that would've been rude.
But she was his daughter, and this was about her future, so it didn't feel out of place.
Mr. Hyoudo broke into a cold sweat the instant he heard her words.
She was right—how had he not realized this sooner?
The reason he'd always encouraged Michiru to learn from Ryouta was because of his nephew's persistence and grit.
Ryouta never cared whether his sweat went to waste, never gave up no matter how many tis he failed.
But everyone, himself included, had chosen to overlook the darker side of that persistence—the obsessive, self-destructive side.
Last year, when Ryouta had insisted his team had their best chance yet of breaking through the second round of qualifiers, the whole family had cleared their schedules to go cheer.
What they got instead was a terrifying spectacle.
And he, being the fool he was, had even used that chance to scold his daughter:
"Look at your cousin, Ryouta. He's so devoted to baseball. Even without talent or skill, he never quits. And you—you have natural gifts and you waste them.
Don't you know the gods despise wasted talent?"
But thinking back now… maybe Michiru's tendency to give up quickly wasn't such a flaw.
At least she wouldn't charge ahead recklessly until she hit a wall too high to climb, only to break down completely.
Knowing when to stop, finding contentnt—that, too, could be a form of victory.
If Michiru really joined the baseball team's cheer squad with her band, and Ryouta had another one of his hysterical post-defeat ltdowns—worse yet.
A "farewell ho run to the next life"—then wouldn't their family beco the villains who pushed him to his doom?
The thought sobered Mr. Hyoudo imdiately.
So much for "growing together." For Ryouta's team, the future was already visible: a dead end.
If Michiru and her band beca their cheerleaders, they wouldn't be playing uplifting victory songs all year.
Their entire setlist would just be endless consolation: "Cheer up, there's always next ti. The future belongs to us."
Clearing his throat, Mr. Hyoudo braced himself. He would have to be the villain here.
"Ryouta," he began slowly.
"Yes, I'm here, Uncle! Don't worry about transportation for Michiru and her band's instrunts or their commute—I'll apply for school funds right away to get a special bus. Big enough for the entire team and cheer squad to ride together!"
Ryouta's tone was overflowing with sincerity, his eyes blazing with dreams of a future where they rode together on a luxury bus.
The atmosphere brightened by the girls' presence, Hojou grinning because of Michiru, and the Soubu baseball team crushing opponent after opponent in glorious victories.
"…." ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ novel✦fire
In contrast to Ryouta's excitent, Mr. Hyoudo felt his scalp prickle.
If Ryouta was this ecstatic before anything had even begun, then if they lost again… it really would turn into that "farewell ho run to the next life."
Father and daughter exchanged a look—they both understood the sa thing.
Steeling himself, Mr. Hyoudo hardened his heart.
"Ryouta, after thinking it over, I believe we need to reconsider this whole cheer squad idea."
"Why? Isn't this a match made in heaven?"
"Koshien, fifty thousand fans—it all sounds impressive, yes. But that's far too distant. And you know Michiru. She doesn't have much patience. She might give up the band before any of that ever happens."
He tried to keep his words gentle, but everyone understood what he ant.
In other words: Ryouta's talk of Koshien was just a fantasy.
By the ti it ever ca true, Michiru's guitar would already be gathering dust.
In the past, Michiru would've leapt up and shouted in protest at her father's words.
But now, she stayed silent. Better to take the bla herself than blurt out the harsh truth:
"Cousin, you're too obsessive. I'm scared of being the one who drives you to your death."
"Eh? Isn't that perfect, though?" Aki Tomoya piped up, chewing on a deluxe strawberry. "Uncle Hyoudo, weren't you against Michiru playing in a band from the start? If she gives it up, that's even better, right?"
"…Heh."
Mr. Hyoudo forced out a hollow laugh, not even bothering to co up with an excuse.
His attention stayed fixed on Ryouta's face, bracing himself for the worst.
What if his nephew slamd the table and declared, "If I can't bring Michiru to Koshien, I'll cut off two fingers in apology and fight on with the eight I have left!"
But strangely enough, Ryouta didn't explode.
Instead, he smiled—as if this was the very answer he'd been waiting for all along.
In truth, it really was like that—Tsuchiya Ryouta had been waiting far, far too long for this mont.
Wealth unshared back ho was like wearing brocade at night: beautiful but unseen.
Ever since baseball practice that morning, he'd been buzzing with excitent, practically itching to grab the ears of every single baseball club across Tokyo's thousand-plus schools and scream:
"Hojou Kyousuke! We've got Hojou Kyousuke! Hojou! We hold the ticket to Koshien in our hands!"
If he could, Ryouta would've rented ten zeppelins to circle the Tokyo skies, each one draped with a full-body photo of Hojou-kun in his Soubu High baseball uniform, blasting the footage of him stealing first—and then stealing ho—that very morning.
'Do you even understand what kind of man can steal first base?!'
And now, at last, the stage was his.
Ryouta could hear the furious pounding of his own heartbeat as he rose to his feet under the Hyoudou family's eyes.
He straightened his collar with deliberate grace, a modest smile playing on his lips, and began to speak:
"Ladies and gentlen, allow to introduce—
The savior of the Soubu High baseball team!
The future three-ti champion of Koshien!
The hero who will carve a rift through the annals of Japanese baseball!
Mr. Hojou Kyousuke!"
His voice rose with every declaration, each word more inflated than the last, and the Hyoudou family's shock mounted in equal asure.
To them, their cousin clearly sounded like he'd lost his mind.
Savior? Well, that was fine—anyone could claim to be a savior before the world ended.
Three consecutive Koshien championships? That was one hell of a loan on credit.
Even a bank wouldn't dare be so blatant.
A once-in-history hero? That kind of title would rank in the top ten even in Weekly Bunshun.
The petite girl with the violet bob stared up at her cousin, mouth forming a perfect "O."
The titles were too long and too strange to morize, but one na stuck: Hojou Kyousuke.
In a mont like this, how could she possibly forget it?
Because Ryouta, standing there as if he were the very center of the world, kept cupping his hands to his mouth, echoing the na over and over:
"Hojou Kyousuke! Hojou Kyousuke!"
It was so absurd that if Kisaki Tetta saw this scene, he'd probably think he'd stumbled upon a mortal enemy.
And from that mont on, Ryouta would never set foot in the Ruyi Dorm again, even if he was Hyoudou Michiru's cousin.
Momotarou would never allow such a dangerous rival—soone who could threaten his right-hand-man status—to live under the sa roof.
'Gulp—'
Michiru swallowed hard, glanced at her father's equally dumbstruck face, then turned back.
"So… because of this Hojou Kyousuke, you guys won't lose in the second round of prelims this year?" she asked hesitantly, her voice tinged with excitent despite herself.
"What do you an won't lose the second round?" Ryouta scowled at her, lowering his head in reproach. "With Hojou, reaching Koshien is the bare minimum!"
Michiru and her father exchanged a glance.
'He's gone. Totally gone. He's insane.'
"Hojou Kyousuke…?" Aki Tomoya's mind went blank.
A sharp, phantom pain stabbed through his body, followed by the suffocating shadow of death.
He gasped for air, unable to speak.
Unfazed by the Hyoudous' disbelief, Ryouta sat back down, pulled out his phone, tapped a few tis, and handed it to his uncle.
"What's this?"
"Top-secret footage! Training video from Soubu High's baseball club!"
"…"
'Top secret, huh? Yeah right. Who else on earth would even bother to care?'
Michiru leaned in close to her father, eyes bright with curiosity, and hit play.
'So slow! That pitch is so slow!' A whole year and the pitcher hadn't improved at all.
No wonder Ryouta was devastated by their losses—winning even the first round must've been a miracle.
But then, their expressions changed in an instant.
'Wait—what?!'
'So fast! Doesn't he even need to think? How can he just run like that?!'
Michiru, an athletic prodigy herself, saw it at a glance—the boy on the screen was operating on another level.
Even through the footage, she could feel the raw, surging power in his muscles as he exploded into motion.
He stole the base! Michiru cheered silently.
Everybody loved an underdog stealing a base—it was the ultimate "slay the giant" mont.
She was no exception.
But the defense was terrible. She started to grumble to herself—only to freeze.
'Wait, wait! He overshot! That's second base already!'
The boy in the video clearly didn't hear her thoughts, or maybe he just didn't care.
His stride was unwavering. One base was nowhere near enough.
The first baseman, wisely, didn't throw to second but relayed to third instead.
"Smart play," Michiru muttered under her breath.
And then she saw it.
The boy—surely Hojou Kyousuke himself—moved with a dancer's grace, his footwork almost magical, juking past the third baseman and sprinting toward ho.
'That's Ryouta! Last year, he was the one eating dirt in that exact spot, mask filled with mud.'
Three bases stolen in one breath. No wonder her cousin was so confident—this boy really was on another level.
But just as Michiru thought it was over, the boy dove with effortless beauty, soaring right over Ryouta's head, toes brushing the ho plate for the score.
'Yes!'
Ryouta had lost countless gas, but surely this was the most glorious he'd ever looked as a background prop.
She realized, with a start, that she was cheering out loud.
What a breathtaking victory.
From decision to execution, he'd never hesitated—tearing through every obstacle in his path.
The words "savior" and "hero" didn't feel exaggerated anymore.
Even Mr. Hyoudou sat gaping.
He hadn't watched much baseball since entering the workforce, but in his entire life, he'd never seen anything like this.
Maybe his nephew wasn't crazy after all… or maybe he really was.
"This is the new player you found today, Ryouta?"
"That's right! This is Mr. Hojou Kyousuke—the ticket to Koshien that belongs to Soubu High!" Ryouta declared proudly, chest thrust forward.
"Eh? That's it? No more videos?" Michiru asked, disappointnt creeping into her voice.
Watching Hojou Kyousuke made her want to pick up a bat herself.
"Nope. Told you, it's top secret."
But seeing the look on his cousin's face, Ryouta's confidence soared.
His plan was working, unfolding exactly as he envisioned.
'Ah, love—the perfect disguise for curiosity.'
With that thought, he unleashed his finishing blow:
"And besides—this was Hojou-kun's very first baseball ga!"
His tone dripped with pride.
"First ga?!" the Hyoudou trio chorused in shock.
"Exactly! Now you understand why Hojou-kun is the savior, the future king of Koshien, the once-in-history hero!"
What Ryouta didn't say was that this video wasn't just top secret—it was a priceless relic.
One day, it would sit in Soubu High's honor cabinet, a monunt for future generations to revere.
Tsuchiya Ryouta had to admit it—yes, in the past both he and the Soubu High baseball team had been weak.
Their best result was only the second round of the preliminaries.
But that was the past!
Now, with Hojou joining, they would grow at lightning speed, evolve faster than light itself.
"You're worried Soubu High can't give Michiru a big enough stage, right? But Koshien is only the beginning!
The National Sports Festival, the Tokyo Ball Gas, the iji Jingu Tournant—under Hojou's lead, Soubu High will dominate nationwide like never before!
By then, Uncle Hyoudo, your real concern won't be about the stage being too small, but about Michiru being so busy cheering that she won't have ti to study!"
Ryouta felt a surge of pride.
So what if he was weak? He had found his big brother!
He had discovered the secret code to victory!
But Hyoudo frowned.
"If it's really his first ti playing baseball and he can already perform like that, then maybe, as you said, he'll grow quickly. But your claims are far too exaggerated. Those powerhouse baseball schools don't get overtaken so easily."
"Uncle! While you're saying that, aren't you forgetting that sitting right next to you is a genius girl who dragged a ballet team that always lost in the first round all the way to the runner-up spot in the regional competition?" Ryouta shot back.
Michiru's father sighed with both pride and frustration.
"Michiru is different. You know that. She's not just so ordinary genius."
"And you also know geniuses can't be judged by common sense! Hojou—he's a genius beyond even Michiru! Next to her, I'm just a talentless nobody…"
"Ryouta-nii, don't say it so bluntly." Michiru giggled.
"But compared to Hojou, even Michiru is just another ordinary person!"
"…"
Ryouta flashed his cousin an apologetic smile, silently assuring her he wasn't trying to put her down.
"More talented than Michiru?" Hyoudo's frown deepened.
He could believe there were people in the world more gifted than his daughter—but soone so brilliant she'd look ordinary beside them? Impossible.
"Maybe the na 'Hojou Kyousuke' doesn't ring a bell when linked to baseball," Ryouta said smoothly. "But if I ntion 'Hojou Kyousuke' and kendo, Michiru, you should rember sothing, right?"
"Kendo?" Michiru tilted her head, brows knitting.
It sounded familiar… maybe? No, she couldn't rember at all.
She had no brain space for things she wasn't interested in.
"I don't know him," she admitted honestly.
Looking into her big, shining eyes, Ryouta took a deep breath.
Fine. Mouth hard now, but later she'd soften.
"The only reason this is Hojou-kun's first ti playing baseball is because before this, he trained in another sport—kendo.
In middle school, he led Higashi Middle School to three consecutive national championships, winning both the individual title and the Fighting Spirit Award every ti."
"So he's just another fickle kid like Michiru, dabbling in too many things?" Hyoudo said, his brow easing a little.
"How could you think that? Do you really believe Hojou's energy is limited to success in only one field?" Ryouta asked, his voice rising theatrically.
"Hm?"
"Maybe I wasn't clear enough. If 'Hojou Kyousuke' and kendo still sound unfamiliar, then perhaps you've heard of The Devotion of Suspect X?"
Ryouta allowed himself a modest smile, savoring the mont.
Now he understood why his friend Tamaki Aonobu loved this feeling so much.
Before his uncle could reply, he pressed on:
"Hojou Kyousuke—the winner of the 2015 Honya Taishō, a three-ti record breaker, a genius writer hailed as the Heisei era's brightest hope for literary greatness! In just two weeks, you'll see him again at the Mystery Writers' Award ceremony."
He knew his uncle had to know.
After all, his father had told him Uncle Hyoudo had been a mystery novel fanatic since his student days—no way he'd missed last year's most talked-about novel.
But Ryouta didn't stop.
He knew this was the ti to push hard, to stack surprise upon surprise.
This wasn't addition—it was multiplication. He needed his uncle and cousin to understand, crystal clear:
Hojou-kun wasn't just a genius—he was a genius among geniuses.
And joining the Soubu High baseball team's cheer squad would be Michiru's best possible choice.
"Hojou is generous with his gifts. He never hoards his talent. Beyond shining in sports, he's brilliant academically.
Back in middle school, he won the gold dal in the Japan Math Olympiad and even received a special recruitnt offer from Tokyo University.
And if you know anyone who's into otaku culture, they'll know his na too—last year, practically every monthly manga and novel bestseller list had one of Hojou-kun's works on it."
'Ahhh, so satisfying!'
'So this was what it felt like to brag about soone else's greatness!'
Looking at the stunned, frozen faces of his uncle, aunt, and cousin, Ryouta felt like he'd just downed an ice-cold beer on a sweltering day. Pure bliss.
"Aah, I rember now!" Michiru suddenly exclaid. "Ranko and Toki-chan used to talk about him all the ti!" She often heard his na from her bandmates.
But whenever she ca over, they'd change the subject, later saying their new song had sothing to do with Hojou Kyousuke.
Strange, though. He wasn't a composer or singer. How could he be related?
One mystery solved, another popped up in her heart.
"Wait—that violent maniac! No way, Michiru! You absolutely cannot beco his cheerleader!"
Aki Tomoya finally tore himself free from the phantom pain.
He leapt to his feet, shouting with all his strength.
Michiru turned to him and blinked—her childhood friend's forehead and face were drenched in cold sweat.
He looked like a man who had just broken two ribs.
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