Chapter Text
‘Faster...'
"Uh oh! What is happening to this Southpaw pitcher?! Do you think that the pressure is too much for him?”
"Well even if it is, the team has already set it in stone! Their ace has already come out of the game and he's the only relief pitcher!”
"This is definitely bad for Waseda University, they're the favorite of the tournament. And Keio University is their one true rival! This is going to be the most popular game in the whole baseball ranks! If they lose now it'll definitely affect the whole school's pride.”
‘Faster!'
"In my personal opinion, I didn't think to put a first-year in to close the game was a good idea. Ever since his second year in high school, he hasn't been doing as well as he used to. The coach must have a lot of trust in Sawamura Eijun.”
"Well honestly, I'm not surprised since he was recruited by Seido high and went to Nationals in his two last years. Even winning the whole thing in the summer tournament when he was still a first-year!”
"Yeah, but that whole time he was in the shadow of Furuya Satoru, who was the ace for all of his three years in high school. You think Sawamura is still frustrated with that?”
‘FASTER!!'
"Well, I think we'll let that question be answered by Sawamura Eijun himself another day.”
Frustration was tight in his chest. His lungs were burning like liquid fire was poured down his throat and his panting was irregular and ragged. His peripheral vision was at a constant pattern of focusing on the batter, but then suddenly taking in everything at once. The crowd, the cheers, the boos, the fierce presence of the batters, and the pressuring stares that his teammates and his coach were giving him.
The stares felt so... expecting like they were chanting 'let's win the whole thing' and 'let's be the best'. It made his heart painfully throb, and every single pitch felt like a hundred. He knew he usually just laughed off these things, but it felt like a painful déjà vu that just couldn't be laughed at.
He just needed to pitch like he always does, but what is this unbearable crushing pressure? He's fairly sure it’s threatening to cut off circulation from his brain. His throat and lips were extremely dry and there was barely any saliva left in his mouth. He licked his lips, attempting to wet them. However, the thin membrane of saliva dried as fast as he licked them.
He was sweating profusely, as his body tried to cool his body from the rigorous heat he was in and the countless pitches he's thrown. He really wanted to change his undershirt, the undershirt he had on was soaking with sweat and sticking uncomfortably to his body. Not to mention his naturally messy hair was sticking to his forehead and annoyingly falling in front of his eyes once in a while.
He looked up seeing Nobuo-senpai, his current catcher. He is a very faithful teammate with a lot of resolve, his presence is unlike any other. He's kind when necessary, strict when necessary, and is very dependable when it comes to making to important decisions. He's a second-year and there was no doubt in Sawamura's mind that he will be the captain next year.
Another wave of déjà vu washed over him. It reminded him of someone, but his head was too fuzzy to remember anything of the sort.
He then looked around the infield, seeing runners on both second and third base. It was the bottom of the ninth inning and there were two outs. They were only ahead by one since Sawamura just gave up a run the previous inning. He could still hear the infielders and outfielders chanting,
"One more out!”
"Just one more out Sawamura! We got this!”
"Bring it out here! I'll catch the ball!”
"Let him hit it!”
Now was not the time to be doubtful, but that's all Sawamura felt. Doubt. The feeling of not being good enough. Where did these feelings manifest from? He was a confident pitcher, he shouldn't be shaken by a little doubt. But he was. He was afraid he was going to mess up... again.
He gripped the baseball in his left hand tightly. It was almost refusing to throw it, and instead keep it, satisfied with throwing as if the game was already over. But if it was over, he would be relaxed, wouldn't he? Not necessarily in Sawamura's case. When it comes to baseball he's never relaxed, especially when joining a new team and having a new coach.
Expectations. Goals. Barriers. Slumps. Setbacks. He's had them all. Has he reached team goals? Yes, he's reached numerous goals that he and his team had surpassed together. However, when it came to personal ones he's fallen short of many. He could only watch his teammates get better and better as he himself seemed to be at a standstill. He could never tell if he would be getting better, not as long as that ace number was on another teammate's back.
Back in high school, it felt like it was an agonizing game of chase. Whenever it seemed that the number was within his reach, Furuya always barely slipped away. His stamina got better, and his control improved as well. Whereas Sawamura could only struggle to keep up as the monster rookie could slowly turn from a rookie into a pro. He could only watch as his rival pitched on the mound with the number one on his back for those three years.
After high school, in college, he had to start over everything. The ace number was, once again, miles away. And that only frustrated him further, almost to the point of hurting his pitching arm because he threw so much. He wondered if his pitching style was meant for an ace. He tried to figure out what limits he had so that he could lengthen them. But was that enough? Did the talent of a real ace surpass his so much as he could never be able to be one?
The pain in his chest further made itself known. If that was the case, then what was all that hard work for? Sure he was the relief pitcher for a college that was one of the Big6. But would he ever be good enough to be able to proudly wear that number? He felt it, the number sticking to his back, not a one, but two of them. Number eleven. The number of the pitcher that comes out second every game.
Usually, after the fifth inning, he was called out by the coach.
The ace of Waseda University, Tadao-senpai, was hard to compete with. Unlike the previous pitchers he's faced, Todao-senpai didn't have an obvious factor to work on. Furuya had his horrible stamina and control, Nori lacked passion, and Tanba had his uncharacteristic shyness. However, Waseda's current ace seemed to be impassable.
He had everything; an ego as big as Eijun's, a wide variety of breaking balls, an above average fastball, and a feeling of trust and leadership surrounded him. He seemed impassable in every aspect, and not only that, he was pretty tall. So his impression and presence alone can shake his opponents. His nature is beyond intimidating if he wasn't intimidating enough. He was always respected, unlike Eijun who was called an idiot more than occasionally.
The ace annoyingly reminded Sawamura of a Furuya 2.0, but it's not like he doesn't get along with him. He's much more mature than Furuya, who would only ignore the southpaw most of the time. Sawamura actually had pretty decent relations with Tadao-senpai. Although, being his rival and friend was pretty hard. No matter how much he wanted to compete with him, the ace wouldn't take him seriously.
It was like Sawamura was just a fly trying to get his sweet food. The sweet food of being the ace, and all the glory that comes with it. All he had to do was swing his arm and Sawamura's bothersome would disappear. The ace's presence was suffocating to the southpaw whenever he was around.
The pitcher tried his best to rid the thoughts from his already busy brain. What was he doing at the most important moment of his life? Scouts are staking out all of the players for pro and here he was upset over little things. If he ruined this now the southpaw pitcher would have to deal with the wrath of his own college coach... and catcher after.
There are two runners one on third and the other on second. He needs to pitch from the stretch, which he hates to do. Personally, he enjoys performing a big wind up. It gives himself a sense of elevation, power, and composure. Whereas, from the stretch, it's basically a quick pitch with little preparation.
Sawamura habitually rubbed his forehead with his forearm to at least get the dripping sweat out of his face. He forced his focus back on the challenge at hand. There was no room for complaining, even if he was the relief pitcher. Once again he processed all of the information in his head.
Two runners on second and third. Two outs. The current batter is the cleanup. The cleanup bats right and is a strong pull hitter that can easily pull a double. He likes his pitches outside and in the middle. The opposing coach just gave a sign to the two runners. What are they planning? Are they going to pressure the pitcher, himself?
The batter was in position on home plate, and Sawamura waited for Nobuo-senpai's call. However, call it a sixth sense, Sawamura could feel the leads of the two runners lengthening. Without a doubt, it pissed the southpaw off, but it didn't shake him. He swung his arm to third. The runner barely made it back to the plate in time.
The third baseman threw the ball back to the pitcher before shouting a few supporting words. Sawamura caught it in his glove and took it out doing his grip exercise. Then he covered his mouth with his glove and kicked the dirt of the mound a bit. He bent over slightly, his raw, hot, Amber eyes were fixed on the batter and his catcher.
The pitcher expected a pair of fired up, Amber, yet fixed and cunning eyes to look back at him. That calculating gaze that seems to know everything, that seemed to show that he was in control. Sawamura expected to see that overconfident smirk that seems to melt all of his worries away. The face that emitted a message of trust and confidence.
However, the only thing he could see was the mask of the catcher. He couldn't see any features like he used to. Nobuo-senpai gave him a sign, 'Four-seam, inside, try to make it a strike.' Sawamura tipped his cap in approval and adjusted the grip behind his back. He carefully balanced himself. Pitching from the stretch he quickly crossed his legs before planting his right foot in front.
Sawamura felt his arm swing back, ready to pitch. He could feel the stitching of the baseball against his fore and middle finger. The leather of the ball felt smooth against his rough, calloused hands. Then he swung his arm forward and let the ball go. Leaving a tingling on his fore and middle finger as the weight of the ball momentarily was supported by the two before the point of release.
The ball hurtled towards the plate, but it was a tad bit high. The clean up merely watched it carefully as it hit the catcher's mitt. Although the control of that pitch was weak the umpire called, "STRIKE!" It was just in, causing a lot of boos and cheers from the crowd.
The pitch made Sawamura grit his teeth. The catcher's mitt isn't supposed to move. He, the pitcher, was given the responsibility to throw it to where the mitt was. "Is the catcher's mitt just a target for you to throw at?" Chris-senpai's words echoed through his head and he hated it. His respect for catchers is unrivaled. He knows how much thought goes into each and every one of their calls. He knows how late catchers stay up memorizing all of the batters’ batting averages and which pitches they like and don't like. If a pitcher cannot perform well to follow the catcher's wishes, their efforts would be wasted.
Nobuo-senpai threw the ball at Sawamura hard. Sawamura cringed as his intuitive reaction caught the ball in his glove. It honestly scared the pitcher to death and he slowly led his gaze to Nobuo-senpai. "Lucky! Lucky!" Nobuo-senpai shouted, a bit harsher than usual. Sawamura knew he wasn't happy with the previous pitch. Is even that little of a slip a threat to the game?
The southpaw looked at the third base runner. He should pay attention to third not second, second can't go anywhere without third moving. He glared at the runner at third, causing the runner to back down a little. He took a deep breath and looked towards home plate once more. Where Nobuo-senpai was squatted. The catcher gave a sign, 'Cutter, top inside corner, make him foul it.' Sawamura didn't see any reason to disagree, as usual, and approved the decision once again.
The focus he once had failed him. Once again everything was crushing him, the pressure was agonizing, the heat a bother, the sweat irritating, and his doubt increasing. Sawamura tried to take deep breaths, but the hot, humid air was suffocating him. He tried to hold onto something. He felt alone. He was no longer in Seido, where everyone was friends with everybody. No, college is completely different, it's a competition. Not to mention Sawamura was the only first-year on the team. He was singled out as the newbie.
The southpaw didn't know college baseball was like this. The seriousness irritated the pitcher a lot. No one took notice of his big personality. No one believed him when he said he would be the ace. They didn't even laugh when he said it. They just... ignored him. It was a deafening silence. College is completely different, and Sawamura hated every minute of it with a passion.
The pitcher adjusted his grip and threw it. This time the placement didn't waver, the ball just tipped the top of the clean up's bat and flew backward. Just like Nobuo-senpai wanted. The count was 0-2 the stadium was roaring the loudest Sawamura has ever heard it.
Just one more strike. Just one more pitch. Sawamura chanted in his head, secretly hoping that fact would calm his nerves. But unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect. The anticipation to end the game made him shake more than he did before. He wanted it to end now, the current pressure made him want to faint. In fact, he probably was about to, breathing too fast for comfort and seeing double he tried to focus.
His head hurt from it, but he did his best to focus his vision. Did he drink enough water before pitching this inning? He mentally questioned himself, worried about his current state of threatening drowsiness. He seriously wanted to comply with the feeling of comfort and stress-free sleep. However, he also knew that if he did it would bite him in the ass later.
He desperately tried to focus on the batter, on the catcher, on the runners. On anything that could distract him from his current state of mentality. Danger. He felt that he was in danger, not in the life-threatening sense, but in the sense that something bad was about to happen. For the first time in a long time, he tensed, he could feel his muscles strain and flex. The pitcher tried to relax, but nothing he did made the situation any better.
He looked to the plate, desperate for any kind of consolation. Yearning to see the reassuring gaze he was so used to. But all he saw were fingers signaling him the now nearly foreign signs. What did he signal for again? A.. a… changeup… right. He took a deep breath. Him acting like this was pathetic. This was a pitcher’s life, he shouldn’t be shaken up by it now.
Sawamura gripped the ball tightly into his left hand. One. More. Pitch. That shouldn’t be so hard. The crowd was going wild, and the batter was giving off this unbelievable aura. He never expected less from his own college’s rivaling team. However, that didn’t stop him from mentally pleading Nobuo-senpai to call a time-out and give him time to breathe.
But he didn’t, and Sawamura understood why. The catcher just wanted this game to end just like the pitcher did. Suddenly Sawamura felt anger erupt from nowhere, and he gripped the ball tight in his left hand behind his back. Fine, if Nobuo-senpai wanted this to be over already then he’ll comply to his catcher.
The pitcher tried to push the anger down that was starting to well up in his gut as he started to wind up. He felt his fingers splayed out evenly around the circumference of the ball. The obvious doubt wasn’t baring its fangs as much now, but it still nipped at the back of his mind as he committed to this one last strike.
Sawamura forced himself to relax, knowing full well that pitching with tense muscles wouldn’t end well in more ways than one. He could’ve sworn that he heard the disturbance of dirt as the runners on either side of him started their sprints, recognizing this as their last chance. Of course, it’s expected, so Sawamura wasn’t that surprised, but damn. It made him tense up.
The pitcher was tempted to thwart the runners’ efforts, but he’s already started his windup. Even though strategically he would’ve pitched from the stretch, but every part of his pitching instincts to him to just focus on the batter. He usually listened to them, no matter how much he was probably going to get yelled at by his coach afterward. The results varied from being a lucky success or a horrible disaster. Well, it was a risk after all, so it’s expected. But it depended on Sawamura’s execution if it would be a success or not. Therefore, all he needed to do is pitch this strike perfectly and everything would be fine.
After all, it was do or die for the opposing team, and the southpaw was confident they would win. Even though he didn’t like the constantly tense atmosphere around the team he did believe in them. They were all on par with the third-years Sawamura looked up to in his first year in high school, probably even better. That’s a good enough of a reason to pitch this strike and let him gain their trust.
He could vividly see the batter effectively tense as he watched the ball coming toward him. Then Sawamura finally realized… shit. The ball wasn’t slowing down like it was supposed to. He forgot to relax even after the runners went, plus just thinking about his years in high school made him unconsciously tense up even more. Quickly he got ready for any hit the clean up would manage to perform.
However, the cleanup was honestly surprised, Sawamura could see the batter’s eyes widen. The pitcher suspected he was going to throw a changeup, it confused the batter as Sawamura knew his changeup was his general finishing pitch.
But they were in college, a meatball is a meatball, and the clean-up’s job with those is… well.
The batter swung fast, proving his worth as a clean-up for one of the Big6. The batter hit the ball solidly, sending it flying way over the shortstop between second and third. The ball kept flying over the left-fielder, it was well over him too. Sawamura could only watch in horror as the ball flew high over the wall and landed into the crowd who were probably fighting for the ball at this point. The crowd went crazy just as the ball flew over the wall, and the opposing dugout ran out to greet the clean up as he crossed home plate which signaled the end of the game.
This feeling felt way too familiar. Sawamura couldn’t do anything but stare where the ball disappeared into the crowd. His legs threatened to give, despite being in front of a huge crowd. Something in his chest tightened, he struggled to breathe. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes, it took all in his power to hold them back as the opponents continued to celebrate behind him. He swallowed thickly. Another wave of déjà vu washed over him.
This was the worst.
His vision began to go out of focus as he was too tired to do such, let alone anything at that moment. Everything was blurry, and he only could recognize dark blobs slowly walking past him. Silently. Slowly. As if he was in the show ‘The Walking Dead’ itself and he was the idiot that believed zombies could be friendly. Unfortunately, the infection seemed to spread on him as he got off the mound. His teeth clenched, and head tilted down so far that his cap covered his devastated face. Every muscle in his body was refusing to leave that spot. Almost saying, ‘You can’t leave like this’ and it hurt.
Suddenly a cold shiver ran down his spine as the once suffocating atmosphere turned into something more sinister. The feeling of danger crawled up his neck again, but instead of a pending, intense fear, its a cold, lingering feeling. Even though moments ago he was sweating and near fainting from the heat, it feels so cold now. His body was still radiating heat, but his hands were freezing where they hung by his sides. The blood that was once furiously pumping through his veins froze, before leaving his head which made Sawamura feel dizzy.
Before he realized it, he was heading to the dugout. It felt like a familiar path when the game ended, but this was very different. Instead of the multiple pats on the back after a good game pitched, everyone in the dugout was quiet. Sawamura braced himself for anything. But it never came. “Everybody pack up, and meet at the bus outside in twenty minutes” Was all the coach said before his teammates started to move around again. It hurt. More than any insult that should've been thrown at him.
The coach lingered for a bit, and then started towards the locker room to get to the bus. Before Sawamura could think he shouted, "Coach!" It wasn't something he wanted to do, but the idea came as fast as it went out of his mouth. After the coach gave him his attention Sawamura bowed vigorously. "I'm very so-"
"Sawamura." The coach interrupted his apology with a sharp call of his name and a soft glare. Why didn't he let him apologize? "Go ice your shoulder. I'll talk to you when we get back." Sawamura's eyes widened, and he slowly straightened up as the coach turned around silently. The knot in his throat was back, and as the footsteps gradually left he tilted his head down again. He knew he deserved this, but it was still painful to endure, especially with the whole team side eyeing him after what the coach said.
With painfully clenched fists he again bowed sharply after the coach. "Yes, sir!" He could feel several teammates flinch as he did so. Then as he headed towards the locker room he picked up an ice pack from the cooler sitting on the back bench. He slowly unbuttoned his jersey and untucked it before lying it on a locker room bench. Slipping on the ice pack and wrapping it around his arm he heard a thump behind him.
Sawamura turned around to see his bag lying against the end of the bench. "Don't forget your bag... idiot." It was Nobuo-senpai's voice, and the pain in Sawamura's chest heightened. That's right. He won't only be lectured by the coach, but Nobuo-senpai as well. Every lecture he received from the catcher was tough enough in practice, how he'll survive this one is unknown to him.
"Thank you senpai!" Sawamura called after the catcher, but nothing was said back. The pitcher forced a sigh and fixed the last velcro strip on the ice pack. He picked his jersey back up and gave the number a quick glare before he draped it over himself. He walked out of the locker room with his bag he carried behind his back, a bitter taste on his tongue, and a deep longing for something that no longer can be obtained.