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"So, what do you think of the first years?"
It's Masuko who brings it up first. Someone was bound to, anyway, and they're almost halfway through training camp. It's enough to have seen what the rookies are capable of, and it's enough to get a sense of how they stack up compared to first years past.
Miyuki, though Jun's certain he's got plenty of time to have formed opinions by now, stays shrewdly quiet. But Yuuki, because he's the captain and is used to leading when no one knows how to set the tone, opens the floor with a neutral, "They've got a long road ahead, but they're keeping up the best they can, and that's all we can ask of them now."
"At least they're all eating their rice!" Kuramochi crows, throwing a smirk Miyuki's way. "You think they'll be allowed to pitch soon?"
It's easy, from there, to have the conversation shift to a discussion about Seidou's pitchers—what Coach is probably thinking, how they think both of them might fare, who's likely to be ready to play come summer.
"We sure have an interesting group of first years, don't we?" Miyuki says, smiling like the insufferable cat that's caught itself two equally insufferable canaries. "I'd like to see what Furuya and Sawamura make of this camp."
"They're not the only first years playing," Kuramochi reminds him, shrugging at the raised eyebrow he gets in return. "Kominato's got better fielding instincts than either of them and actually seems to know what he's doing out there, for one thing."
He's got a point. As much as Furuya and Sawamura have irritated Jun during fielding practice, he can't say the same for Kominato, who's managed to keep up with the basics and never given Jun any reason to yell at him. He's earnest and hardworking, focused on the field, determined to push past his limits, and eager to learn.
"He's a sharp batter," Yuuki adds, nodding solemnly.
"Honestly, I wish the other two were more like him," Jun says, snorting. Maybe if the pitchers brought less of their egos to the field they'd have room to see what they're still lacking. "Now there's an underclassman, you know what I mean?"
There's a round of agreement from everyone in the room, with Masuko bringing up how Kominato is the most respectful of the three.
"Yeah, he's not giving anyone a headache, that's for sure," Jun says with a laugh, leaning back against the wall with a faint smile. "Plus, he gets real cute when he blushes 'cause he gets on base, don't you think…"
Jun knows, even before the chill settles in the room, that he's crossing forbidden territory. He's not sure why his instincts don't stop him—he definitely realized he needed to, but his mouth ran away from him, the words out in the open before he could stop them reaching Kominato Ryousuke, who'd been so quietly focused on beating Kuramochi this whole time that Jun had completely forgotten he was there at all.
"Say that again?" he asks, voice dangerously calm. "Didn't catch it the first time."
Jun laughs, high-pitched and shaky, and any budding thoughts he may have been developing toward Ryousuke's younger brother die at once, withered by the frost in Ryousuke's tone. "Said, uh, it's a real hoot when he gets on base."
Ryousuke smiles. "That's what I thought."
"You've got this, Haruichi!" Eijun declares loudly, slapping Haruichi on the back as he's called up to the batter's box. He's not surprised when the bat connects, the ball flying over to the left field on the first pitch, and Haruichi makes it to base. "Nice batting, Haruichi!"
Eijun's more than ready to follow it up with a solid hit that'll get them home, but since he's told to follow it up with a bunt, all he can do is watch from the dugout as Kuramochi, and then Oniisan, follow Haruichi's play through to score a run. It's the point that turns the tide, letting them watch the next match between Ichidai and Yakushi in high spirits.
And even then, it's Haruichi doling out the compliments, telling Eijun how well he pitched to hold out during the middle innings.
"You know," Miyuki Kazuya butts in, breezy and full of it, "you were only effective because the Akikawa batters swung carelessly."
"I'll show you!" Eijun harrumphs, stalking over to the stands where he makes sure to sit far, far away from Miyuki Kazuya, who never has anything nice to say. "Haruichi!"
"Yes, Eijun?"
"I'll take the seat beside you!" he declares, his indignance softening in the face of Haruichi's confused smile.
"Okay?" he says, standing back to find a spot on the last row. Haruichi glances back at Eijun to remind him: "Make sure you're cooling your shoulder properly."
"I am!" he says. "You know, Haruichi, you're very nice! Much nicer than some people here!"
"Thank you?"
"Anytime, Haruichi!" Eijun nods, satisfied, before he settles down to wait for the match to start. It's true, what he said—you really can't get any nicer than Haruichi. Sure, he's not the type to hold back with his opinions, but there's almost a teasing sentiment behind it that tells Eijun he's not doing it to be mean. He's always had Eijun's back, from the very first moment they played against the upperclassmen, an anchoring presence to the highs and lows of battling for playing time here at Seidou. Eijun's learning a lot from his seniors, but he'd definitely have a harder time if he didn't have Haruichi's perspective to keep him steady.
He wonders if he's being as nice to Haruichi in return.
But if Haruichi has any worries or concerns about his role on the team—or even if he's still feeling the high off the play he helped pull off in their last game—he doesn't show it. His face is free of any expressions, eyes hidden beneath his bangs even as he's intently studying the way the players are warming up on the field, his lips pursed in thought.
It's almost not fair. If Eijun doesn't really know what he's thinking at all, then how can he help him? If Haruichi asked, he'd be more than happy to be relied on, too!
"Hey, Haruichi—"
"Yo, Sawamura!" Kuramochi calls out, knocking him on the head as he passes by. "Where're you looking at? Game's about to start."
"Kuramochi-senpai, that was—I was just—" Eijun turns around, cheeks heating up, and finds Kuramochi next to Oniisan, both of them looking expectantly at him. "Oniisan!"
"That's not my name," Oniisan says, his gaze flickering over to Haruichi. "So don't call me that, okay, Sawamura-kun?"
"Eyes on the next match, Bakamura," Kuramochi tells him, ruffling his hair. "Gotta focus on the next one."
"R-right!" Eijun says. He watches Kuramochi and Oniisan continue down the aisle, finding free seats next to the other third years a few rows down. Oniisan turns abruptly up to meet his gaze, and maybe it's his imagination, but that glint in his narrowed eyes feels almost murderous. Eijun salutes him, and tries his very best to keep his eyes on Yakushi and Ichidai for the whole match.
On second thought, maybe Haruichi doesn't need to rely on anyone after all. Definitely not with a brother like that!
"You know, it happens sometimes," Haruichi tells Satoru as they walk to practice. At the way Satoru blinks back at him, he explains, "You were still thinking about your last game, right? How you did?"
Satoru nods. "I felt good," he says, glancing down at his palm and flexing it. He did. He was fired up, and he was ready to go, and he was confident he'd be able to play as he's always done. Nothing was different from his pre-game preparations, and he followed Miyuki's calls. Everything should have gone without a hitch, so he still doesn't understand how it didn't match with the results of his play.
"It happens," Haruichi repeats. "You're not always going to perform like how you feel. But you just have to trust the process."
Satoru nods. Haruichi should know what he's talking about—unlike Satoru, who's never played on a team long enough to even be part of an official game before he came to Seidou, Haruichi's used to the ebbs and flows of a baseball season. He's played on a team before, so he knows these things, including how to look out for people like Satoru, who don't.
It's been a little easier with Haruichi, especially with his cool voice and gentle smile and pretty hair—
"Oy oy oy!" someone yells from the field. Satoru belatedly tears his gaze away from Haruichi, catching Kuramochi's curious gaze briefly, to find the third years huddled near the dugout.
"Jun-san!" Maezono calls out, wondering out loud what everyone else is thinking.
It's Haruichi's older brother who gives them an earful about their performance, calling it horrendous enough that they need to be bullied for it. Satoru still isn't sure what he means by that until someone mentions a retirement game and oh, okay, they're playing baseball against their upperclassmen.
Satoru can understand that much, at least.
It's enough to bring him back to his usual form.
He heads into the dugout with the current team, fired up and ready to put the previous game behind him like Haruichi said, when he catches sight of Haruichi next to him. He's got—he looks different, too, the corners of his lips twitching like he can't contain the grin about to break out on his face, and even hidden behind his bangs, his gaze feels sharp and intense. He's emanating an aura fiercer than Satoru's used to seeing from him, and it only takes Satoru a moment to follow Haruichi's gaze across the field to his older brother, on the other end of it, to understand why.
There's more than one player on this team with something to prove, after all.
Satoru takes the mound with this in mind, facing Haruichi's older brother for the first time in a long time. It's still just a practice game, something they must have done before, but the smile on Haruichi's older brother's face is a challenge Satoru's being taunted to rise up and meet.
Trust the process, Haruichi had said, but a dozen fouls and four balls later, it's Haruichi's older brother who shows Satoru he still has a long, long way to go.
There are many reasons Kaoru decides to join Seidou, not least of which is the infuriating fact that only Seidou even deigned to extend him an invitation.
He's trying not to let it get the better of him. He isn't. He knows how it looks; he knows there's only so much he can do with his build and his height to justify a spot on a high school team, no matter how hard he works or how much he refines his game.
But Seidou must have spotted the way that chip on his shoulder can be honed into another lethal weapon in their arsenal of remarkable players, so when Kaoru accepts their invitation, it's with the determination to help Seidou see this through. He's done his research, after all, and has been following the team as it battled through the Fall Tournament with its roster of unexpected heroes. Better yet, Seidou has two interesting pitchers who had no real reputations before Seidou found them, and here they are, battling for the ace position in their second year.
Kaoru has the initial fortune of becoming Furuya's roommate once he starts at Seidou, but it doesn't take long before he realizes exactly how wide the gap truly is between his current abilities and that of a Nationals-level player. It's frustrating and humiliating—what's a catcher who can't catch?—but Seidou picked him for a reason.
He has to believe this.
So he puts in the time. He eats his meals; he follows the training plan; he agrees to switch positions just so he can play on the first string. He gets up early to run and stays out late to practice swinging. There is power in his swing and strength in his grip—it's only a matter of time. He knows this much. He has to believe this much.
There's another player like Kaoru who's made room for himself on the roster, after all, so he can't make any excuses.
Kominato Haruichi has a few centimeters on Kaoru, sure, but he doesn't have the typical build for a baseball player, either. His batting average remains high regardless, despite the way he insists on using a wooden bat, and he's well-regarded even among the first string, a core part of Seidou's offense and defense.
When it comes to Kominato Haruichi, no one ever brings up what he lacks—just what he brings to the table.
So of course Kominato catches Kaoru's attention. How could he not? Here's a prototype of someone Kaoru can strive to be, odds against him be damned. So he keeps an eye on Kominato, and it's then that he realizes the kind of work ethic that's embedded in Kominato's day-to-day. He's focused in fielding drills, confident in his instincts and quick in his judgment. He's devoted to training, often one of the last to leave evening batting practice, his swings never once losing their sharpness, his gaze always intent on something faraway and unseen.
There's a fire that drives him for more, that separates him from most, and it must be similar to the one that's lighting Kaoru's core.
Kaoru focuses on stoking that flame further as he swings with concentrated force at empty air—again, again, again. And then another set for good measure. Until even his compression shirt's damp with sweat and his breathing's hard, and there are only a handful of players left still swinging.
"Hey." There's a palm warm enough on Kaoru's shoulder it snaps him out of his practice, and when he blinks and looks up, he finds Kominato holding out a bottle of water for him. "You need to hydrate, too."
He knows that. He does. Taking care of his body is a two-way street. "Oh. Thank you," he says, uncapping the bottle and taking a single swig that turns to three gulps, to four, until the bottle's nearly empty.
"You're welcome," Kominato says, tilting his head toward the exit, where Maezono and Kuramochi are waiting. "We're heading out now. Maezono-san's got the key, so if you want to continue, you'll have to do it by the hill." The corner of his lips curls up. "But you probably shouldn't. Early practice tomorrow."
"I know, I'm sorry," he says, cheeks hot with embarrassment as he follows the three of them out the door. To have Kominato, of all people, scold him like that—
"I wouldn't think too hard about it," Kuramochi says next to him, his tone light. Kaoru flushes even more—had he been that obvious in his disappointment?—but Kuramochi just grins. "He learned that way of looking after people from his older brother, that's all."
"It was my mistake to begin with, anyway," he says. "An older brother, huh?"
"Who is much, much scarier than Haruichi is." Kuramochi pauses for a second, then laughs quietly. He gives Kaoru a wink, like they're sharing some kind of secret, when he adds: "For now, at least."
Kaoru doesn't know what he means.
But maybe he's not meant to.
It's late when the captain's meeting ends, Kenta following Kuramochi out of Miyuki's room with thoughts of the coming match still swirling in his head. Sankou won't be an easy opponent, and he knows he's going to have to step up his game for this one. He can't afford to continue getting bailed out by his teammates anymore, or else what was all his work for? Miyuki's as breezy as ever, go figure—but Kenta's starting to feel the weight of every game.
They still have two days, but it could be the last of their summer, unless. Unless.
"See you tomorrow," Kuramochi says when they reach Kenta's room first, barely acknowledging the grunt Kenta gives him in response.
It's late—the meeting had run long—and the room is dark when he unlocks the door, though it shines enough light inside to show only one bed out of three is occupied.
Kuramochi cocks his head to the side when he hears Kenta following after him, walking down the hall to the stairs. "Gonna follow me home, Zono?" he asks with a snicker.
"Haruichi's still out," he explains. He knows Haruichi can take care of himself, and he won't likely overdo it with batting practice, but Kenta's palms itch with the need to hold a bat, and knowing he'd exchanged that for the meeting, he might as well—what, fetch Haruichi? See him practice?
"I'll go with you," Kuramochi says easily enough, walking alongside Kenta past the front gates and toward the indoor practice area.
"Hey," Kenta starts, because he doesn't want to continue dwelling on what they've just talked about. "Does Haruichi—"
But he trails off, and Kuramochi waits for a moment before prodding him. "What about him?"
"Does his aura seem different to you lately?" Kenta wonders. Maybe it's not a better topic to dwell on, at the way Kuramochi's brows go up. "It's just—"
He falters, for the second time in as many minutes. It's funny how often Haruichi's starting to have that effect on him, these days.
It started even before the summer, early in the year, when Haruichi showed up with shorter hair and a renewed determination to play and Kenta had found it even harder to look away from his bright, fierce eyes. They've been practicing together for months by that time, but during the evenings when they swung their bats in concert, Kenta had been able to sneak longer looks at Haruichi, to see the way he trained and practiced and studied form and technique. They've spoken, sometimes, about their classes, their friends, what got them into baseball and what pulled them into Seidou—Haruichi citing Ryousuke as his reason came as no surprise, of course, though the fact that Ryousuke had told Haruichi not to follow him did. Meanwhile, Haruichi hadn't known Kenta used to play with Azuma back in Osaka.
Those moments were the start of an easy friendship for them, where Kenta got a sense of what Haruichi's future plans may be, where Haruichi listened to Kenta's own hopes and ambitions. Haruichi had sharp, matter-of-fact thoughts about everything, losing the deferential attitude of an underclassman towards an upperclassman and becoming someone Kenta could call a confidant.
Someone Kenta was growing to—had grown to—deeply admire.
"He's coming into his own, isn't he?" Kuramochi says, pulling the words that Kenta was struggling to find. "Growing out of his big brother's shadow?"
"That's it, yeah." Kenta rubs at the nape of his neck. "Is it weird if I say it's kind of nice?" It's more than nice—he kind of likes it, in fact. Maybe even— "You've played with the both of them now."
Kuramochi says nothing for a bit. "Yeah. I have."
"Well?" Kenta asks. "What's that like?"
"You seriously want me to compare those two with each other?" Kuramochi asks, his lips twitching into a disbelieving smirk. "Would you?"
Kenta laughs. "Yeah, alright, I didn't know you were still scared of Kominato-senpai."
He steps away to avoid the kick Kuramochi aims at the back of his leg. "At least I can hold a conversation with Ryou-san," he says before shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and shaking his head. "I know what you mean, though. About Haruichi. He'll be—he'll be good. He's good now, but I mean. For the next team, too."
Kenta huffs out a laugh—there it is, the elephant in the room again—and nods. "Yeah," he says, swallowing the lump in his throat and grinning instead. "He will be."
"That was a tight game," Ryousuke says after Haruichi is distracted by something Furuya and Sawamura are doing, and is subsequently pulled away. His voice is pitched low, only loud enough that nobody else but Kuramochi would hear it.
Kuramochi tears his gaze away from Haruichi to give Ryousuke a smirk. "Yeah? Still annoyed with our new combo?" he asks. It's a lot more cheek than Ryousuke ever remembers getting from him. He should probably be ticked off.
"I'm seething," he chirps back. Though Sawamura had, without a doubt, been the star of the game, Haruichi and Kuramochi still played like Ryousuke expects them to, their teamwork near-flawless, their defense and offense as reliable as always. It's not their fault they happened to run into a hot pitcher and a strong team—it'll happen more the further they go—but they managed to recover from their own setbacks within the game, and that's what counts. "He's probably a little frustrated, though, even though their defense was just that tight."
Kuramochi nods, tracking Haruichi where he's now talking to Furuya and one of the new first years near the bus. "I'll talk to him on the way home. But he'll be fine. He got us one step closer home today—next time, it'll be all the way."
"Wow. You two are really annoying," Ryousuke says, though the smile doesn't leave his face. Kuramochi's laugh is too sheepish, his gaze too fond. Ryousuke can't say he didn't see this coming. "Is that what you'll tell him, then? I don't recall you being so sweet when we played together."
"Ryou-san!" Kuramochi laughs, cheeks flushed. "That's because you were the one who would have to cheer me up after a bad play—in your own special way, I mean," he adds, when Ryousuke arches an eyebrow.
"We both know that's not what I mean." Ryousuke's not blind, and he certainly isn't stupid. Whatever is blooming between his brother and Kuramochi may be hidden enough beneath the partnership they had on the field, but nobody knows the two of them better than Ryousuke does. Kuramochi's long stopped talking of Haruichi like somebody he just played with. Ryousuke can tell. "Have you told him yet? Or do you plan to wait until you run out of summer?"
Kuramochi's face darkens, just a little, the softness in his smile hardening to resolution. "Ryou-san."
"I'm not inclined to give out my blessing, either."
"I didn't think you would be," Kuramochi says. He's gotten too used to Ryousuke, it seems—he barely flinches at the words. "But I don't think Haruichi needs it. Not like that, anyway. He can make his own decisions, can't he?"
"Of course he can," Ryousuke allows. "So you've resolved to confess?"
Kuramochi nods. "After we make it to Koshien. And we will."
Ryousuke just hums. "You might've grown up a little yourself, Kuramochi-kun," he says, nodding toward the distance. "Looks like the rest of the team's heading back. Go ahead—don't make them wait too long."
"I'll tell you how it goes," Kuramochi promises.
"I don't really care," Ryousuke tells him cheerfully, but Kuramochi's already jogging over toward the team, waving him off with a laugh. Ryousuke watches him catch up to a waiting Haruichi, who catches his gaze and waves at him quickly before the two of them fall into step next to each other, twin smiles gracing their faces as they laugh over something Ryousuke's too far away to hear.
He pulls out his phone, swiping over to the last message Haruichi sent him: I know. But we're better than that. I'm going to tell him after the semifinals, however it ends.
Okay, Ryousuke finally types out. Good luck.