Not long after, they returned to the cafeteria for a small eting.
The main points were just reminders of things they needed to pay attention to.
…
"Our opponents just defeated Inashiro. Their morale is high, so until we secure the win, nobody is allowed to relax."
"Yes!"
"That's all. Dismissed!"
The short eting ended, and people began leaving one after another.
Rinichi stayed behind with a few of the other second-years to watch the footage again.
"Seiichi Umiya… he's definitely their key player, both as a pitcher and hitter," Kuramochi remarked.
"He's the one who got the ga-winning hit off Narumiya," another added.
"He didn't force the outside pitch but instead drove it to the right side…"
They all fell silent for a mont.
Miyuki finally spoke: "That was basically suicide…"
Everyone turned to look at him.
"The catcher's pitch-calling clearly built up to finishing the batter with a breaking ball. I don't know what Narumiya was thinking, but the mont he shook his head, the ga was as good as lost. If I were the catcher, I'd never allow him to call his own shots."
As Miyuki said this, his expression turned almost frightening.
The others instinctively looked toward Rinichi.
Truthfully, their own pitcher-catcher pairing wasn't perfect either. The fundantal problem hadn't been solved.
But Rinichi sat there absentmindedly, propping up his chin. His eyes looked heavy with drowsiness, and he even let out a yawn.
No one could tell if he'd even heard what Miyuki just said.
Noticing everyone's stares, Rinichi blinked. "Huh? Why are you looking at ? I'm not Narumiya…"
Everyone: "…"
Oddly enough, up until now Rinichi had never once shaken his head against Miyuki's calls.
"I'm not so idiot like Narumiya who doesn't even know how to call pitches," Rinichi added flatly.
Everyone: "…"
That wasn't the point at all, was it?
Besides, a pitcher calling his own pitches… that was unheard of.
They couldn't tell if Rinichi was just boasting.
"But a catcher who can't even handle the pitcher's throws properly has zero credibility," Rinichi said while staring at the footage.
In his mind, he pictured himself throwing a pitch only for the catcher to miss it, yelling, 'Who could possibly catch that?' or 'Any catcher would die trying.'
His irritation started to bubble up.
Though his tone was calm, the others picked up on sothing in his words.
Wasn't this, in a roundabout way, his way of saying he did trust Miyuki's pitch-calling?
Just as they thought so, Rinichi said: "I don't completely trust Miyuki."
No honorific added.
Everyone: "…"
Miyuki: "…"
It was true—when Rinichi stood on the mound, he followed the signs given. As long as Miyuki called it, Rinichi threw it.
But whenever Miyuki gave him the freedom to choose and place pitches himself, Rinichi would often choose sothing difficult to catch—almost like he was doing it on purpose.
For Miyuki, aside from Rinichi's attitude problem, there was nothing to complain about. His pitching was flawless. He barely needed to worry.
As long as it didn't interfere with gas, Miyuki tolerated him to a large degree.
After all, the team couldn't win without Rinichi.
Still, the friction between them was obvious. If it grew any worse, it might beco impossible to nd.
"In the end, no matter who our opponents are, there's only one thing we have to do: beat them," Miyuki declared.
"We're going to crush Ugumori's montum in one blow."
His words were firm, a deliberate attempt to shift the focus.
"But seriously… Watanabe's notes are amazing. He didn't just observe Inashiro—he even analyzed Ugumori's players."
"If it were , I'd have spent one hundred percent of my attention on Inashiro."
As they spoke, Rinichi had already scooted closer to Miyuki to look at the notes with him.
"Wait… did you really think this far ahead when you sent Watanabe instead?" Kuramochi asked.
Miyuki nodded. "He's the kind of guy who notices every detail in a ga. But honestly, I'm afraid he won't go again next ti."
"Won't go again? What do you an?" soone asked.
"Does Watanabe not want to?"
Kuramochi recalled sothing. "Didn't they co to consult with you about sothing the other day? Did you say anything to them afterward?"
Miyuki replied, "I talked with Watanabe. He seed like he couldn't find the right timing to bring it up, but… I think they might be considering quitting the club."
Quitting the team?
Rinichi lifted his gaze from the notebook.
He noticed the surprised looks on everyone's faces.
"W–wait a second…" Maezono Kenta seed to realize sothing.
Miyuki continued, "He really seed troubled. Compared to the rest of us, his enthusiasm felt… lacking."
"No way. They all survived sumr training… and now you're saying they want to quit?"
Kuramochi broke into a sweat. "But they didn't actually say that themselves, did they?"
Miyuki gave a small nod.
Beside them, Rinichi—lost in thought—slid the notebook out of Miyuki's hands and sat off to the side with it.
"So then, what exactly did you tell Watanabe?" Maezono pressed, sounding nervous.
Focused on the notes, Rinichi didn't notice the tension rising—until Maezono suddenly shouted: "You said what?!"
Rinichi looked up to see Maezono already gripping Miyuki by the collar.
"Maezono, stop…"
"Co on, let go of him."
The scene grew chaotic.
"You really said that to him?" Maezono demanded. "That's ridiculous! If soone wants to leave, then let them—how can a captain say sothing like that?!"
Shirasu tried to intervene. "Maezono, cut it out. We've got a ga tomorrow."
But Miyuki himself didn't think he'd done anything wrong. "What else should I have said?"
"We ca to this school to play baseball. It's not just about hanging out together for fun. There's no such thing as everyone holding hands, walking down the sa path forever. That's impossible."
"Watanabe-senpai and the others all went their separate ways too. Sooner or later, we'll all split apart. It's only a matter of ti. If that's really how they feel…"
Maezono still couldn't calm down. "Hold on—don't go assuming Watanabe and the others are quitting just like that! They haven't even said they want to! If they really planned to leave, why would they co talk to you at all? They must've had sothing else they wanted to say!"
"You can't just force your own values onto other people!"
Silence fell.
Kuramochi's eyes shifted to the notebook in front of Rinichi.
"Miyuki… I get what you're trying to say. But would soone who really wanted to quit bother making notes this detailed?"
Another mont of silence.
Then soone else spoke up. "All of us sitting here have doubts. Can I make the starting roster? Will the coach even use in a ga? What if I don't get a number? That anxiety is always there. But even so, no one would easily say they want to quit. Because we all know we're not the only ones who feel that way."
Maezono bit his lip. "You've always been a regular. All you need to worry about is how to win the ga. Maybe you'll never understand how we feel… But pulling along teammates who carry that sa doubt and still fight on—that's what being captain ans, isn't it? If you're going to throw those people away and just tell everyone 'do as you please,' then I'll never accept it. I'll never accept you as captain!"
With those words hanging in the air, ti seed to slow.
One by one, everyone left the cafeteria.
Kuramochi called back, "C'mon, Rinichi, let's go."
Rinichi nodded, pushed the notebook back in front of Miyuki, and followed Kuramochi out.
The cafeteria was left quiet, with only Miyuki staring at the notebook, his expression complicated.
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