The nine-square grid in the backyard was no longer the crooked ss it had been at the start—this ti, the lines were made with neat strips of black tape. Naturally, it was Ryuichi who had done that.
Rinichi held the ball in his right hand, his form clean and textbook, and fired it toward the grid. The ball landed outside the squares.
In his mind, he couldn't shake the endless replays of those ho runs, those crushing hits. He couldn't accept it.
Yet even like this, Shinomiya still brought him out to throw against the adult league. While Daikyou was in practice gas, Shinomiya dragged him here to pitch—again, no surprise, he was hit all over the field.
Every pitch he threw into the strike zone was hamred. And Shinomiya forbade him from throwing balls—every pitch had to be in the zone, even if it ant it got crushed.
Over and over, until numbness set in.
When Shinomiya's mitt finally set up on the outside corner, Rinichi snapped back to reality. He took a deep breath and delivered. This ti, he noticed—his control was sharper.
The result: just a foul ball.
The next pitch, another edge of the strike zone, low and inside—again, fouled off.
Then Shinomiya gave the sign: fast slider. He tapped his fist into his glove, shifted his left foot, and set the mitt high and tight.
Rinichi threw it. The ball stayed straight until the very last instant, then snapped late and hard. A pitch so sharp most high school catchers wouldn't even stop it.
"Strike three." A three-pitch strikeout.
The adults blinked in shock.
For a mont Rinichi just stood there, dazed—then slowly, a smile spread across his face. A real smile, one of genuine joy.
What Shinomiya hadn't expected was that with just a little direction, Rinichi could actually put the ball close to wherever he wanted it. Even if he missed by a margin, the result was still devastating.
After that, Shinomiya mixed things up—letting batters square him up for hits, just to check his reaction, then letting him notch strikeouts again. Only after three more Ks did he finally end the "practice."
"Tell , what were you thinking about while you pitched today?" Shinomiya asked.
It had taken nearly two months of this grind to get Rinichi to the point where he could give up a ho run and keep a straight face.
Rinichi answered seriously, "I throw every pitch expecting it to be hit for a ho run."
Shinomiya froze for a second—then gave a small, surprised laugh. It was extre, but sohow fitting.
Every pitch, imagining it as a ho run, huh? …That was just so him.
"Did you run this morning?"
"Yeah."
"Eat properly?"
"Yeah."
"Sleep well?"
"Yeah."
His replies were firm, without hesitation.
"Because," Rinichi said, "I don't want to let you down, Shinomiya-senpai."
Sothing flickered in Shinomiya's chest. Expectation… so he does know.
He almost said it—I'll make you the strongest pitcher. But for the first ti, the words stuck in his throat. From the start, that had been the plan. And yet now, suddenly, he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud.
....
By the ti the two rejoined the team, sumr tournant season was already halfway over.
Their sudden return as official mbers sat badly with a lot of people, especially with Rinichi's track record: in his last outing he'd been shelled relentlessly while Shinomiya refused to pull him.
Who knew if the sa ltdown might happen again in a real ga?
"Don't be nervous," Shinomiya told him. "Win or lose, it doesn't matter."
And he ant it. He'd never placed much stock in the sumr anyway.
"Just enjoy the ga. And most important of all—when I set my mitt, I want you to think about why I want the ball there."
Rinichi grimaced. That sounds like a pain.
Shinomiya sighed.
"Do it my way. Later, you'll need to learn to read other catchers, too. If you can figure out their patterns, your batting average will skyrocket compared to swinging blindly."
Swinging blindly? Rinichi scowled.
"Got it?"
"…Got it," he muttered reluctantly.
"Once you master that, you'll be able to call your own ga. All you'll need is a catcher who can stop your pitches."
Sothing about that unsettled Rinichi. For a mont, it sounded almost as if Shinomiya was talking about quitting.
Ridiculous. Shinomiya-senpai would never give up baseball. He loves the ga too much.
Shinomiya gave his back a light smack with his mitt.
"Don't zone out. Go warm up."
Then he walked ahead, leaving Rinichi to follow.
Stepping out of the dugout, the blazing sunlight fell across Rinichi's shoulders—only for him to feel as though he was dissolving into the light and fading away.
Standing on the pitcher's mound, all he felt was agitation.
He couldn't even pinpoint the source of the emotion.
And yet, despite the storm inside, his pitches were unaffected.
"Strike! Batter out!"
But Rinichi felt no joy.
It was as if his heart had sunk into black, icy water—no light, no warmth.
"Strike! Batter out!"
…
"Strike! Batter out!"
In no ti, three batters were gone—each one struck out on three straight pitches, no suspense, no struggle.
The brim of his cap hid his eyes, his mouth unsmiling. Inside, there was no thrill, no spark of pride.
Fielders crowded around him, showering him with the usual praise—"Nice pitching!" "Good job!"—but Rinichi never lifted his head.
As long as it's with Shinomiya-senpai as the catcher… no matter how weak the pitcher, he'll look strong, right?
He rembered Shinomiya's words: "Relying on a great catcher makes you nothing but useless."
Useless…
A useless pitcher could only survive by leaning on his catcher.
And if that was true…
"Coach! I'm not catching his pitches! Let soone else do it!"
"Who could even handle those balls?!"
"Any catcher would die trying!"
Rinichi's right hand clenched into a fist.
For a pitcher to choose his catcher… that's only possible if the pitcher himself is strong enough.
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