Chapter Text
22nd August - Summer Koshien Finals Day
Day 1:
Miyuki wakes from his sleep gradually, vague imprints of his dream still tangled in his mind as he eases into consciousness - a striking, beaming curve of a smile, golden eyes burning bright, dust kicked up on the mound.
Miyuki smiles into his pillow, clinging to the last dredges of sleep.
Suddenly, a loud bang perforates his hazy bubble, shocking him into jolting upright in bed.
Sounds of hushed laughter emerge from the next room over. Kuramochi’s voice rings through the hallway as he pokes his head out to apologise and announce that Maezono had dropped his equipment bag onto the hardwood floor. The team jeers back for a bit, before all goes silent again.
Miyuki listens blearily, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands.
He already knows he won’t be able to return to sleep now that he's been woken, so he resigns himself to getting up earlier than had been planned.
He fumbles his glasses on and pads across the room, wrestling the stiff windows open with a creak. The gust of cold air that materializes is sudden, but pleasant, soothing the sleep-creased lines of his face and cooling the sweat dried on his back from tossing and turning the night before.
He takes a long inhale of the breeze, savouring it before it inevitably becomes warm and smothering later in the day.
Miyuki smirks slightly at the thought, wondering how Furuya will cope with the blazing temperatures promised later in the day, during their match. His stamina had improved leaps and bounds since his first year, but he still faltered from time to time, particularly in the early game.
Not that it mattered as much, these days. If Furuya wavered, they just called their ace to the mound.
Miyuki huffs a laugh, leaning back from the window. Who would’ve thought?
Sawamura Eijun, the reliable ace of Seido.
He had thought, upon his first meeting with the scruffy, loud-mouth pitcher that he was something special, but he never thought that he would have the chance to witness his potential realised while Miyuki was still at Seido.
But Sawamura had surprised him at every turn.
He smiles quietly, pushing back from the windowsill.
Outside, a sparrow chirps cheerfully as Miyuki walks over to the bathroom, turning the handle. A series of muffled buzzes emerge, unnoticed, under his rumpled duvet.
His phone vibrates once more, before falling silent.
“Up early, Miyuki?” The coach asks knowingly, eyeing him over his newspaper spread.
Miyuki shrugs. “I woke up early, and couldn’t go to sleep again.”
“I hear that,” Ochiai mutters, stifling a yawn. “I could hear the second years this morning from all the way down the hallway.”
Miyuki, who had the fortune of being located with the other third years far from the second-year rooms, smiles politely in commiseration. “I can imagine. They must be buzzing in excitement about the final, and I can’t say I blame them.”
“I wish they could buzz a little quieter,” Ochiai retorts, but his tone is fond as he returns his attention to his breakfast.
The hotel cafeteria is nearly empty save for the cluster of Seido coaches sitting around a table together, and scattered businessmen dressed in suits. Miyuki advances to the breakfast table and loads his plate with a few slices of toast, before seating himself at the table closest to the coaches.
He’s about to start slathering butter on the slices, when Rei delicately clears her throat, drawing his attention. She raises one perfectly-shaped eyebrow.
“Why are you sitting at the next table over, captain? Come here, don’t be a stranger.” She commands, clearing space at the seat next to her for Miyuki.
“Oh. Alright,” he says, awkwardly juggling his toast and tub of butter as he makes his way to the table. He deposits his items on the table, drawing up a chair with a grating screech. Rei winces, and he raises a hand in apology. “Sorry,” Miyuki mouths, but Rei just waves him off.
“Don’t worry about it,” she dismisses quickly. “I just wanted to talk to you, get a gauge of how you’re feeling. I know it must be a lot of pressure, juggling all your roles.”
Miyuki shrugs uncomfortably. “Ah, nothing I can’t handle, Rei-chan. Anything for the team.”
Rei brings her steaming cup of coffee to her lips. The swirling cloud condenses on her glasses, whiting out the lenses. “Indeed,” she agrees. “Anything for the team.”
The coach watches their interaction silently, turning the page of his newspaper.
“Do make sure to let us know, Miyuki, if you need anything. Just one more match, and then you’ll be with the big leagues.” Rei says with a smile.
Miyuki grins as wide as he can manage. “Absolutely. Don’t worry, we’ve got this.”
A rustle, another page of the paper turned.
Rei takes her glasses off to wipe them, pausing to look at Miyuki, gaze piercing straight through him. “As long as you’re sure.”
Under the table, his nails curve indents into his palm.
“I am.”
When he returns to his hotel room after breakfast, he sees Kuramochi lingering in the hallway.
Kuramochi looks up as he approaches, flashing a quick grin before returning his attention to the phone cradled against his ear.
“Are you sure it’s not a hassle?” He asks, shifting as he listens to the voice on the other end. “I know you want to see me play, but you’re taking time off work for this, and-”
The voice on the phone gets louder suddenly, cutting Kuramochi short. He listens for a beat, then laughs, shoulders shaking. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry, obviously I want you guys to come watch, but I just didn’t want it to be a hassle.”
Miyuki observes the phone conversation quietly, hand pausing on the handle of his door.
He’d met Kuramochi’s mother once.
He recognises her high-pitched, piercing voice even from the phone, and if he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of petrol and smoke that used to cling to her like a second skin.
Miyuki remembers the prickling of his skin under the harsh summer sun, sitting back on his heels in a grassy field as he watched Kuramochi trailing behind his mother, laughing and swaying as they chatted.
He can’t remember the last time he heard his father laugh.
Kuramochi wraps up his phone call, still grinning. He looks up to see Miyuki still in the hallway, and frowns in confusion. “You okay, Miyuki?”
“Peachy,” Miyuki confirms. “Was that your mother?”
Kuramochi brightens. “Yeah, she’s swinging by for the game with my sister. She’ll probably want to see you as well, so I'd advise hiding in the changing rooms until she’s gone, unless you want to be ambushed by her telling you how much you’ve grown since last summer and how you don’t come round anymore.”
“It’s fine, I don’t mind talking to her.”
“Yeah, I remember, you suck-up.” Kuramochi scoffs. “She wouldn’t stop preaching about your perfect manners for weeks after you came over.”
Miyuki smirks. “It's not my fault she likes me better than you. I can't blame her."
Kuramochi rolls his eyes, but then pauses, eyeing Miyuki consideringly. “It might not be my place to ask this, but- he’s not coming, is he? He hasn’t come to a single one of your games yet.”
Miyuki shrugs. “No, probably not. If he is, he certainly hasn’t told me.”
Kuramochi opens his mouth to respond but Miyuki quickly cuts him off. “It’s fine, he’s busy working. I already knew he wouldn’t be able to make it. Having my teammates by my side is enough.”
Kuramochi softens. “This is the biggest day of our high-school career. Your dad should be here.”
“Well, what can I do about it?”
He salutes Kuramochi goodbye as he slips into the hotel room, closing the door behind him with a firm click.
Sawamura:
> MIYUKI KAZUYA
(07:02)
Sawamura:
> I HAVE SOMETHING I WANT TO TELL YOU
(07:02)
Sawamura:
> IT’S NOT ABOUT CATCHING I PROMISE
(7:02)
Sawamura:
> WELL MAYBE ALSO THAT BUT FIRST I NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING
(7:03)
Sawamura:
> ARE YOU IGNORING ME SENPAI (ง︡'-'︠)ง
(07:34)
Sawamura:
> I’LL WAIT FOR YOU IN MY HOTEL ROOM OKAY
> IT’S IMPORTANT
(07:36)
Miyuki flicks through his unread messages, scrolling quickly through Sawamura’s slew of messages. He sighs, opening Sawamura’s contact and clicking on the call icon.
It rings for barely a second before the call is picked up, and Sawamura’s voice emerges at the end of the line.
“Miyuki Kazuya!” Sawamura yells down the phone, as if Miyuki was unaware of his own name. He sounds breathless, and Miyuki can almost imagine the red that must be covering his cheeks from exertion.
Miyuki frowns, picking at a loose strand on his duvet cover. “You’ve been running this morning haven’t you?”
There’s a telling silence. “...No?”
Miyuki sighs. “How many times do we have to tell you to take it easy on match days? You pitched a full game yesterday, you need to let your body rest, you idiot.”
“It was only a little bit!” Sawamura protests peevishly. “Only around the block. It’s your fault anyway, I was running because you weren’t replying to my text messages!”
“I thought you texted me that you were going to wait for me in your hotel room?”
“I didn’t think you were coming. So I started running to take my mind off it,” Sawamura says, voice suddenly more muted.
Miyuki resists the urge to sigh again, checking the time Sawamura’s messages had been sent. It had been almost 45 minutes since he had called Miyuki to his room, and he feels a sudden pang of guilt picturing Sawamura waiting eagerly in his room, only to deflate as the minutes went by.
“I left my phone in my room when I went for breakfast, I didn’t see your messages,” he explains. “Sorry.”
“Oh. It’s okay, I just- I thought you were ignoring me. That you didn’t want to see me.”
“Why would I ignore my ace?” Miyuki teases, laughing as Sawamura predictably starts sputtering at the term. “Come on then, what did you want to talk to me about?”
Sawamura suddenly falls silent. “That’s… can we not talk about it on the phone? I want to tell you in person.” His voice has a strange undercurrent as he speaks, teeming with something Miyuki can’t quite name.
It’s the change in tone that convinces Miyuki, the sudden seriousness that hadn’t been present before.
“Sure,” he agrees, straightening subconsciously. “I can’t meet for a couple of hours though, I have to go over some things with Nabe and then I have a captain’s meeting with the coaches. Do you want to meet before warmups, at about 11?”
“Sounds good!” Sawamura chirps.
Miyuki frowns. Something is still nagging at the southpaw, he can tell from a mile away.
“Sawamura, do you-”
He’s greeted with the dial tone.
Miyuki looks at his phone in shock. “He hung up on me.”
He debates calling him back, but at that moment his phone buzzes, notifications filtering in from Furuya, informing him that he’d lost his mitt, and if Miyuki could come to help to find it.
No matter what was up with Sawamura, he still had a duty to his other pitchers, so he pushes the issue out of his mind and texts Kuramochi to go over to Furuya to find his mitt.
He makes a mental note to meet Sawamura before their warm-ups commence, and enters a reminder in his phone just in case.
Whatever was plaguing the ace, he would find out soon enough.
Miyuki endures an hour-long meeting with the coaches, with only Kuramochi elbowing him sharply in the ribs every so often keeping him awake. They’ve gone over this material, the stats, the videos, the predictions, thousands of times. Miyuki can recite every number the coach rattles off verbatim, etched to the decimal point in his brain.
He’s the captain, after all. It’s his job to prepare as thoroughly as he can.
So now he lets his mind drift, returning back to Sawamura’s odd behaviour. Miyuki wonders what he could have wanted to talk about that was so secretive it couldn’t be discussed over the phone.
Sawamura wasn’t known for his secrecy at the best of times- everyone in his general vicinity could usually tell exactly what he was going through at any specific moment, because he generally saw fit to announce all his thoughts and emotions to the world at large.
But not this time. This time, he must’ve been struggling with something deeper, something he wanted to keep as private as possible.
Miyuki sucks in a sudden breath.
Surely it couldn’t be competition nerves, right on the eve of the final? He’d seemed fine throughout the tournament leading up to this game, but the final was an entirely different kind of pressure, Miyuki supposed.
If that truly was what was worrying Sawamura, then Miyuki was flattered that the ace had sought him out, but was even more worried that he might say the wrong thing to comfort Sawamura and just make things worse, as was his propensity.
“Have you been listening to a single word of this meeting?” Kuramochi grits under his breath.
Miyuki smirks. “Nope!”
Kuramochi reaches behind his chair to smack the back of Miyuki’s head. The coach stops talking abruptly at the sound, and Maezono leans forward to peer round and see what’s happening.
“Is there a problem?” The coach asks, crossing his arms in displeasure.
“No, coach! Kuramochi thought he saw a spider in my hair, so he was just trying to get rid of it,” Miyuki explains easily.
The coach stares at him for a beat, before clearly deciding he didn’t care enough to prolong the interaction, and turns back to his whiteboard, continuing where he left off.
“So now that you owe me one, can I ask something?” Miyuki whispers shamelessly, the second the coach’s back turns.
Kuramochi glances at him in irritation. “I don’t ‘owe you one’. But whatever, what do you want?”
“Have you noticed Sawamura acting strange lately? Unusually serious, asking to meet in private to discuss something, that sort of thing.”
Kuramochi turns so quickly that it startles Miyuki, jerking back in his seat as Kuramochi suddenly pays him full attention. “He said he wanted to talk to you in private? To tell you something?” He demands.
“I- yes?”
Kuramochi curses quietly. “That idiot. Don’t worry about it, just ignore him. I’ll deal with it.”
Miyuki sits up, feeling somewhat affronted at the dismissal. “I still want to hear whatever he wanted to tell me, I just wanted to know if it would be a cause for concern. If you’d noticed that he was feeling nervous about the game, or something like that.”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” Kuramochi sighs. “I think I know what he wanted to discuss, and trust me, it’s not important. I’ll talk to him.”
“If it wasn’t important he wouldn’t have seeked me out in the first place.” Miyuki bites. “I think I can handle whatever he throws my way.”
Kuramochi eyes him steadily, gaze boring into Miyuki. “No,” he says quietly, “I don’t think so. Maybe on the baseball field, but Miyuki, you’ve never known what to do off of it. Trust me when I say to stay out of this.”
The coach calls their attention to a stat detailing Hongou’s effectiveness against left-handed batters, and Kuramochi turns to face the front, effectively ending their conversation.
Miyuki sits, stunned, with the vague notion that he’s gotten into something way over his head.
(But that's not going to stop him from still pursuing it).
The arduous meeting eventually ends, and the three of them are released to go and begin their preparations.
“Should we go round people's rooms and make sure everyone’s feeling relaxed?” Maezono asks as they round the hallway.
Looking out for the team, as always.
Miyuki feels a flash of irritation that he hadn’t thought of it first, feeling like, as the captain, he should have, but he quickly tamps it down. Maezono has always been more attuned to the team and their emotional needs, possibly because of his time in the second-string.
Miyuki's long been praised for his quick acclimatization to baseball at all levels, but sometimes he wonders if it’s a fatal flaw as a captain, never being able to relate to your own team.
“We can do that at warmups,” Kuramochi grumbles, stretching his arms above his head. “I need to go get my gear ready, because someone messed all my shit up this morning,” he growls, glaring at Maezono.
Maezono raises a hand in apology, and the two of them split off, still chattering as they enter their hotel room.
Miyuki crosses to his own room, throwing the keycard onto the bedside table as the door clicks shut. He digs his phone out of his pocket, thumbing it open as he wanders absently over to his equipment bag, hoisting it up with one hand and depositing it on the bed.
The reminder to meet with Sawamura later pops up on his phone and he swipes it away, focusing on the sliver of a text message he can see hidden behind it.
For a beat, he thinks, with his heart in his throat, that it’s his dad’s contact name at the top of the notification, but when he blinks, it’s gone, and it’s only Yuki that had texted, wishing him luck for the game and rueing that he couldn’t be there in person.
Miyuki sighs quietly, shaking his head. He quickly texts back a response and turns off his phone, returning it to his pocket.
He turns to his equipment bag and unzips it, checking the contents one last time to make sure nothing is missing, before hefting it onto his shoulder. He does a quick sweep of the rest of the room, then gathers his keycard and switches the light off, ready to head to the team bus.
Sawamura is one of the last to hop onto the bus, sweaty and red from running the last few metres to the bus, as if they were going to take off without their main pitcher.
“I HUMBLY APOLOGISE FOR MY LATENESS-” he yells as he boards, before Kuramochi karate chops his head and drags him to his seat.
Sawamura makes eye-contact with Miyuki as he’s dragged past. Miyuki offers a small smile, and Sawamura, oddly, turns even redder and looks away. Kuramochi pushes him into the seat beside his own, and begins to mutter quietly and quickly into the southpaw’s ear.
Miyuki observes them for a moment, before averting his gaze. He plugs his earphones into his phone, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the head-rest. He’ll dig that conversation out of Sawamura later, alongside whatever he wanted to tell him, Miyuki resolves.
After a brief journey, they disembark at the stadium, hauling their bags off the bus and trailing after the coaches towards the stadium entrance.
They get changed quickly in the changing rooms, and then make their way to the field, in order to begin the pre-game warm-ups.
Sawamura jogs up to Miyuki as they walk down the main hallway, clutching him by the elbow.
“Hey,” Sawamura says, pulling him back slightly. “Can we have that talk now? We haven’t got that much time before Kuramochi-senpai finds me.”
He pouts, looking nervously behind him as if expecting Kuramochi to leap from behind the corner at any moment.
Miyuki checks the time on his phone, before nodding and gesturing for them to move into one of the less populated branching hallways. “Sure, but we only have about five minutes before we need to be out there.”
Sawamura waves him off. “That’s plenty of time, don’t worry.” He blows a harsh breath, strands of his hair fluttering into disarray. “This won’t take long.”
“I’ve learned not to trust your estimations of time after every morning I’ve spent telling you to run for an hour only to discover you’d run for three,” comments Miyuki dryly.
Sawamura flushes red, which seems to be his permanent state today. “That’s not- that’s different!” He huffs loudly. “Stop distracting me, I had a speech planned!”
“Oh? You’ve come prepared?”
Sawamura nods once, but so passionately that Miyuki fears for his neck. “Of course! Now listen to what I have to say.” He takes in a deep breath, his grin fading into something uncharacteristically sober.
“Sawamura, are you-”
“I want to go out with you, Miyuki-senpai.” Sawamura declares, speaking over him. “I had a speech, but now I can’t remember any of it. I think it’s okay though, because if I’m talking about you then I can talk for hours.”
Miyuki stares at him, speechless. His fingers twitch uselessly by his sides, and he has the vague thought that he should shut this down before Sawamura can continue, but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out.
“It doesn’t have to be anything serious, we can just go to the city sometime and go to a cafe, or- or to a library, because you don’t like sweet things, you like books,” Sawamura rambles, words spilling out his mouth frantically, perhaps in response to Miyuki’s silence. “I looked up the library, it has a lot of renowned books on japanese history which you like, so-”
“Sawamura,” Miyuki says quietly, finally. “Stop.”
Sawamura cuts his breath short, watching him with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you felt this way, but I… can’t.” Miyuki grimaces. “I don’t feel the same way, I’m sorry.”
Sawamura nods silently, biting his wobbling lip. “I had guessed. I just wanted to know for sure. I guess now I do.”
Miyuki’s had confessions before, of course.
Usually behind the school building or under a secluded stairwell, standing opposite a blushing girl, holding a perfumed envelope and running through all the possible responses in his mind to determine which would result in the least hassle on his side.
He’s too busy to date, he explains smoothly, over and over until he considers buying a tape recorder and playing the same message so people will finally take the hint. There’s a formula to responding to confessions that Miyuki follows religiously, a strict handbook.
All of it evades him now.
He stands before Sawamura, who is sniffing pathetically into his uniform, and feels something inside him snap, like his body had suddenly become untethered. “We have to go,” he reminds awkwardly. “Warm-ups are beginning now.”
Sawamura looks up, and Miyuki winces internally at the sight of his tear-streaked face. “Sure,” he mutters. “I need a minute, you can go ahead without me. Tell coach I’ll be there soon.”
Miyuki hesitates, feeling like he should remain with Sawamura while simultaneously debating if his presence is only making things worse. In the end, he decides to return to the rest of the team when he thinks of Kuramochi and Maezono filling out the captain duties by themselves.
“I’ll see you there,” Miyuki says, and Sawamura nods dully in response.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
He knew it was insensitive to focus on the match when Sawamura had just poured his heart out, but he couldn’t help but worry about what effect this would have on his pitching. What if they had lost their ace before the final had even begun?
He races up the stairs to the field, ignoring the raucous cheers that emerge at his presence. The team are already milling around, practising their swings a few times or throwing a ball back and forth to loosen their arm up.
On the other side of the pitch, Komadai Fujimaki are warming up similarly. Miyuki glances at them as he hurries past his own team, and Hongou looks up, as if sensing his presence, and grins nastily at him, full of unspoken promises. Miyuki just glares in response, turning away.
He finds the coach by the dugout, and runs up to him quickly.
“Miyuki,” the coach says in surprise. “Are you alright?”
Miyuki is aware of the picture he must make, breathing ragged and face pinched- whether it was from the encounter in the hallway or from running full tilt towards the dugout, he doesn’t know. He looks like a mess, and he knows it, but it’s not him they need to be worried about.
“It’s Sawamura,” he explains, breathless, “he’s- he’s upset. He might be compromised for the match. Tell Kawakami to start warming up earlier, we might have to switch him in instead of Sawamura in the fifth innings.”
The coach appears blank-faced, but the tensing of his arms and small furrow of his eyebrows give him away. “Are you sure? What happened?”
Miyuki’s mind races. Clearly he can’t tell the coach that their star pitcher might be unable to perform because he’d been heartbroken by the very person standing before him, and Miyuki realises somewhat hazily that he should’ve just accepted the confession and taken Sawamura aside after the match, letting him down gently.
It’s too late for thoughts in hindsight now, though.
“One of his relatives is ill,” Miyuki says carefully. “I didn’t ask who, but he seemed quite upset when I saw him on my way here.”
“I’m fine,” a voice interrupts tersely.
Miyuki jolts, turning to see Sawamura standing behind him. His eyes are red-rimmed, and there are still clear tear tracks on his face, but he holds himself defiantly, staring straight past Miyuki to the coach.
“Is it true that one of your relatives has fallen ill?” The coach asks.
Sawamura shifts in place, biting the inside of his cheek. “Yes,” he decides eventually, and Miyuki releases tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t even noticed he was carrying. “But coach, I’m fine, I can still pitch. Please, let me pitch!”
He bows, a perfect 90 degree bend as it always is. The number one on his back seems even bigger from this angle.
The coach gazes at him, unmoving. “You can pitch.”
Sawamura springs back up again, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “Thank you! I won’t let you down, boss!”
“I know you won’t,” the coach says, eyeing him levelly. “Because if you do, I’ll take you off the mound. The second you feel upset, or like you might not be able to continue, let Miyuki know. We’re all here to support you.”
Sawamura nods determinedly. “I understand.”
The coach inclines his head in return. “Good. Go warm up, both of you.”
“Yes coach!”
They jog to the field and find individual spots to carry out their preparations. Miyuki finds an empty space next to Furuya, and grabs a bat from the rack to join him in swinging his bat.
“Shouldn’t you be warming your pitching arm up instead of practising your batting?” Miyuki teases, watching Furuya swing his bat, cool blue eyes focused on an indecipherable target in the distance.
Every heft of the bat precedes a violent gust of air in its wake, and not for the first time, Miyuki wonders how terrifying Furuya’s batting could be if he even cared an iota about it.
“You weren’t here, so I couldn’t pitch,” Furuya replies.
Miyuki rolls his eyes. “I can spot no less than three catchers in the bullpen right now. Why didn’t you go pitch to Yui? You told me that he wanted to develop a battery with you.”
“Yui isn’t in the bullpen, he’s practising his swing.” Furuya says blandly. “Besides, he’s improving, but he’s not you. My pitches don’t sound right in his mitt, but they sound right with you. I want to remember that sound as I go into the game.”
Miyuki blinks. “You… you say the cheesiest things with such a straight face.”
“Why would I laugh? It’s true.” Furuya frowns, swinging his bat with more gusto.
Miyuki has the urge to laugh somewhat hysterically, suddenly so thankful for Furuya’s guileless sincerity. “I believe you. Come on then, let’s go to the bullpen,” he says, returning his bat to the rack. He didn’t manage to get more than a couple of swings in, but it’s all he needs to remind himself of the right timing, of the familiar weight of the bat in his hands.
Furuya responds with enthusiasm as expected, and speeds so quickly to the bullpen that Miyuki can’t be sure he didn’t teleport there.
Miyuki straps on his catcher gear and heads over, avoiding Sawamura’s gaze as he walks past. The slam of the ball into Okumura’s mitt sounds good, as do the southpaw’s cheers of enthusiasm after. Miyuki smiles quietly, settling onto his haunches next to Okumura.
He’d been worried for nothing it seemed. Sawamura was coping just fine.
It was silly to think Miyuki’s rejection would have that much of an effect on him, when it was probably just a passing infatuation, he reflects, ignoring the strange clench of his chest at the thought.
Furuya waits impatiently until Miyuki settles, then winds up, sending his pitch hurtling into Miyuki’s mitt with a thunderous slam.
Miyuki grins, throwing the ball back with a nod of approval. Around them, he hears people in the crowd murmur in awe at the display of power. Furuya’s pitch always draws attention.
Even now, when news of him has reached all corners of the country since the Spring Invitational, people still react with surprise when they see him live for the first time.
The televised version doesn’t do justice to the earth-shattering impact of every ball.
When Miyuki catches his pitch, he feels the shockwaves tremor up his arm, to his shoulder, right up to his brain and inducing a rush of exhilaration. The feeling is incomparable.
Unbidden, his mind flashes a memory, crouching in a dim gym and watching the ball in front of him swerve wildly in mid-air, bright eyes watching in triumph- Miyuki shakes his head.
Perhaps not incomparable. But close.
“Save that intensity for the match,” Miyuki calls, shaking out his arm. He understands it’s a lost cause even as Furuya nods, knowing he gets riled up by the attention of the crowd. And most likely, the attention of the Komadai Fujimaki team, some of which have halted their exercise at the loud noises in the bullpen.
Furuya in particular has held a strong grudge against them since last year, and Miyuki can’t say he blames him.
"I guess you found your mitt this morning," he calls, trying to distract him.
Furuya drags his stare away from the opposing team. "Oh. Yes, Kuramochi-senpai found it in the bathtub."
There's a long beat of silence.
"And why was it in the bathtub?"
Furuya shrugs.
"... Right. Never mind then, I'm just happy you were able to retrieve it." Miyuki shakes his head. "Give me your slider."
Furuya nods, pulling back and slinging the ball low. Miyuki watches it carefully, pleased it doesn't bounce in front of him.
"Looking good!" Miyuki affirms, tossing the ball back.
They continue in this vein for a couple of minutes, before the umpire blows his whistle, directing the teams to line up.
Miyuki calls his team together, and they file into an orderly line opposite Komadai Fujimaki. He tunes the umpire out as the official goes over the rules for correct conduct, waiting until he's given the signal to shake the opposing captain's hand.
Nishi, Komadai's captain, gives his hand a firm pump, and looks Miyuki in the eye. "Let's have a good game."
Miyuki smiles insincerely. "Let's."
The umpire blows his whistle again, and suddenly the final of the Summer Koshien is officially underway.
They begin on defense, with Furuya taking his place on the mound.
In an ideal situation, Sawamura would have pitched the entire game as Furuya could still be hit and miss after coming back from his injury- though, when he did hit, he was almost unstoppable.
But Sawamura had already pitched an entire game in the semi-finals only the day before, so they were forced to turn to the pitcher relay in order to keep him fresh. Well, Miyuki thinks wryly, the pitcher relay got us this far, so it might as well take us all the way to the end.
The first batter steps up to the plate, rolling his shoulders languidly.
Oba Hideo.
Left-hander, proclivity for fastballs, fast base-runner, Miyuki rattles off inside his head.
If he recalls correctly, Oba looks all-at-sea against breaking balls, so Sawamura is his hypothetical kryptonite. It’ll be interesting to see that match-up later in the game, Miyuki muses. It might be an important face-off, considering how the team’s strategy often hinges on Oba getting on base, similar to how Seido uses Kuramochi.
Miyuki signals for a slider straight away, with this in mind.
Furuya raises an eyebrow, but nods and winds up. The pitch is slightly higher than Miyuki had wanted, but it’s low enough that Oba stretches to reach for it, and misses as it breaks past his bat. Oba curses in frustration, and Miyuki grins behind his mask.
Go ahead, he urges, go and get worked up. Make mistakes and swing carelessly.
He calls for the same ball, and it procures the same result.
The crowd murmur around them, wondering if Miyuki would ask for the same ball three times in a row. Some people dismiss it out-of-hand, but others are more reluctant, citing that if anyone would do it, it would be Miyuki.
He imagines that similar thoughts are running through Oba’s mind at the moment. The batter must have seen all of Seido’s match tapes, must know that Miyuki is an aggressive game-caller, and is, frankly, a little bit insane.
But in the end, the third pitch is a high fastball.
Yet Oba reaches for it anyway, disorientated, having expected a different pitch. The ball slams past his bat into Miyuki’s awaiting mitt.
The crowd bursts into life as Oba is struck out, and Furuya blows the excess rosin dust off his fingers, already turning to face the next batter.
Miyuki smirks, settling back onto his haunches. It seemed Furuya wasn’t in the mood for any celebrations today until the job had been done.
“Show me your best!” He yells across the pitch. “Let's do this, monster rookie!”
Furuya smiles, quickly and quietly, and they begin the whole process again as the next batter walks up.
“I’m going to punch him. I’m going to punch him right in his little rat face,” Kuramochi mutters violently, tearing off his elbow pads.
“He’s not really a rat,” Miyuki muses. “More like a rhino.”
They pause to stare at Hongou as he winds up for his next pitch, studying his features. “Oh yeah, I definitely see rhino,” Kuramochi agrees, tucking his batting helmet away.
The crowd noise spikes suddenly as Haruichi is struck out, and the team rally in the dugout around them, yelling out encouragement as he trudges back. Shirasu makes his way to the batter's box, and Miyuki follows after to the on-deck circle.
This is a crucial moment in the match.
Four innings in, and neither team has managed to score yet.
Shirasu and Miyuki managed a hit each, in the second inning, but were unable to capitalize and turn it into a run. No one has hit since. If they can replicate their hits here, and Maezono can follow up, even just with a bunt, they have a chance to put the first run on the board.
The first pitch is a roaring fastball to the outside that Shirasu leaves, judging it to be a ball. The umpire pauses, before declaring a strike.
Miyuki clicks his tongue in frustration. That was marginally a ball, but the umpire had been swayed by Hongou’s impressive control.
The second pitch is another fastball, this time to the inside. Shirasu makes contact, but sends it flying into foul territory. Miyuki takes a look at the speed gun being displayed on the big screen. 153km/h. He feels the hairs on the back of his arms stand up. That speed, with that control… it’s almost unhittable. Almost.
The third pitch comes at Shirasu like another fastball, only to drop steeply right in front of him as he swings and misses. The splitter.
“Strikeout!” The umpire declares, and Komadai Fujimaki roar in celebration.
Miyuki sighs, stripping his batting gear off. He gives the row of red zeros on the screen one last look before they move to defense.
He trusts Furuya and Sawamura to hold Komadai Fujimaki to zero, but their batting needs to step up too if they want to have any chance of winning.
“One more innings for you,” Miyuki calls to Furuya, shrugging on his catcher gear. “Keep pitching like you’ve been doing and you’ll be fine.”
Furuya nods stoically, making his way to the mound.
They reach the sixth inning with no change to the score.
As previously decided, Furuya switches out and Sawamura is subbed in, finally.
Miyuki hears one of the opposing team’s fielders mutter, “If Furuya isn’t even their ace, how good must the ace be?”
He smiles to himself, thinking of the scrappy, defiant boy Sawamura had been when he first arrived, and wonders if the ace ever stops to marvel at how far he’s come in only two years. He’s the captain and cleanup, but above all that, at his core, he’s a catcher, and he feels fierce pride for all his pitchers.
Sawamura tosses the rosin bag a couple of times in the air, before letting it fall to the ground and signalling that he was ready to begin.
Hongou swaggers to the batter’s box, taking his stance. Furuya had struck him out in the second inning and had him caught off a pop fly in the fourth, so Miyuki was sure Hongou was hungering for revenge and itching to hit one out of the park.
Unfortunately for him, hitting Sawamura’s pitches further than the fielders was easier said than done. Miyuki signals for a cutter into the batter’s chest, and Sawamura nods in acknowledgement.
He lifts his leg high in the air, arm snapping back as usual, but it’s not- it’s not right. His form is off, Miyuki realises with horror.
The pitch is a meatball, high and down the middle, and Hongou pounces on it with glee.
Miyuki can only watch with wide eyes as the ball sails over Sawamura's head and crashes into the fence with an echoing thump.
Sawamura looks haunted, eyes shadowed over, and Miyuki can only imagine the memories he must be flashing through. He calls for a time-out immediately, jogging up to the mound.
“What was that?” He asks bluntly. “That was nowhere near where I asked for it. You told coach you would be fine to pitch- was that a lie?”
Sawamura shakes his head fervently. “No! I’m fine, I just- I don’t know, I was off on that pitch. I’ll get the next one right.”
Miyuki considers him carefully. “Are you sure? Is what happened earlier affecting your performance?”
“No. I was just… thinking too much.” Sawamura sighs suddenly. “I mean, yes, it’s affecting me, I guess, but that pitch was a stupid mistake. I can still pitch.”
Miyuki takes a look towards the field in front of them, observing their team all crowded together, watching Sawamura anxiously.
They need this. They need their ace to fire.
Miyuki makes a decision.
“If that’s what’s distracting you, don’t worry about it,” Miyuki says. “I… acted too hastily back there. We can talk more about that date, after the game, okay? So pitch and don’t think about it.”
Sawamura jerks back. His eyes are simmering, fist clenched by his side. “Are you trying to use yourself as bait so I perform better?” He demands. “I don’t want that date, senpai, not while you don’t want it. I know what you’re trying to do.”
“I never said I was in love with you or anything, just that I wouldn’t mind going on the date-”
“Well the problem is that I am in love with you!” Sawamura bursts. “But I can tell that you’re indulging me because you think it will help my pitching, but I’m not interested in that. Don’t lie to me.”
“You don’t know that I’m lying.”
Sawamura kicks the mound, puffs of dirt swirling around their ankles. “I do.” He says quietly. “When you lie, your left eyebrow twitches. That’s how Kuramochi-senpai always beats you in poker, if you were wondering.”
Miyuki traces the corner of his teeth with his tongue. He feels like he’s stuck in quick-sand, sinking himself further with every sentence.
A whistle shrieks from behind them. Time-out is over.
“Let’s just forget this entire thing,” Miyuki instructs quickly. “I trust you, okay? You’ve got this, ace. Just pitch to my mitt.”
Sawamura smiles, but it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.
Miyuki hurries back to his mark. The coach tilts his head, inquiring silently into Sawamura’s state of mind.
Miyuki shrugs in response, genuinely not sure of what kind of performance Sawamura will give. He said he trusted him, and he does.
But just in case, he signals to the coach to have Kawakami on standby.
Just in case.
Sawamura is switched out after conceding two more runs.
Kawakami manages to pull back the scoring, but the batting lineup only manages one run, and from only one hit. Miyuki’s home run.
He doesn’t even remember it clearly. All he recalls is standing in the batter’s box, sweat dripping down his back, gloves creaking against the handle of his bat, swinging desperately. He guesses that he eventually connected with one, because the scoreboard finally changes from a row of zeros, but it’s too little too late when Maezono is struck out right after.
The final whistle pierces through the stadium as the crowd erupts around them.
Miyuki stares hazily at the ground, vaguely aware of the team moving around him.
The coach is saying something, mouth moving wordlessly. Behind him, he can see Kuramochi kneeling on the ground, talking quietly with Sawamura even as his eyes glint with tears. Miyuki watches Sawamura grit his teeth, tears dripping from his nose, and a cold stone lodges itself in his stomach.
This is all his fault.
Miyuki can’t help but fixate on all the ways he could have dealt with the confession in the hallway better, or even the time-out on the mound, if there was something he could have said or done that wouldn’t have led to Sawamura regressing so much.
He wonders what Yuki would have done in this situation. How would he have handled it, as a captain? Miyuki knows he’s not the best captain. He’s blunt, and unintentionally callous, and unable to empathise with the players’ struggles, but he tries, and he thought that was enough.
But if he’s compromising his own players with his inability to communicate, then he’s not even enough.
Sawamura shouldn’t have sprung it on him just before the final, but Miyuki should have stayed to talk through his emotions with him in the time they had left, and made sure he was in the right mental state to pitch in the final.
But instead he ran away, and then tried to deceive Sawamura by telling him what he thought he wanted to hear.
Miyuki tips his head back, laughing dryly.
Maybe he’s not a bad captain. Or rather, not just a bad captain. Maybe he’s just an all-round shit person, who doesn’t know how to deal with anything outside of baseball.
Kuramochi was right.
The umpire motions for the teams to line up, so he drags himself off the ground and leads the team opposite to Komadai Fujimaki. They bow, and Miyuki steps forward to shake hands with Nishi once more.
“Good game,” Nishi says, cheeks dimpling as he grins.
“Good game,” Miyuki replies blankly, dropping his hand as quickly as possible.
Nishi frowns, then opens his mouth as if meaning to say something, but is distracted by one of his teammates jumping onto his back.
The medal ceremonies are announced over the intercom to begin in half an hour, so the coach draws them together and advises them to change into their clean tracksuits in the meanwhile, and to freshen up while they wait.
“I’m proud of each and every single one of you,” the coach says, looking them each in the eye in turn. “It was a good game. You should all be proud of yourselves.”
The team murmur in assent, and the coach, sensing their need to wallow, leaves them to trudge off inside the stadium building.
Miyuki knows that at some point he needs to talk to the team and rally them, but he decides to wait to make the rounds tomorrow, when the players have had enough time for the loss to sink in.
For now, he just offers consolatory pats on the back as he passes the players and reminds them to hydrate and stretch out.
They enter the changing rooms, dumping their bags onto the bench and sorting out their belongings.
Miyuki digs through his bag, extricating his phone from the mess of tangled clothes and equipment. He presses the power button, wandering away from the rest of the team as he waits for it to turn on.
He vaguely registers that he’s drifted out of the changing rooms back exit, standing in a dark hallway with the changing room door swinging behind him. His phone finally turns on, flooding him with a sudden burst of light.
There’s a message from Chris, sent ten minutes ago.
It’s the only message.
Miyuki doesn’t know what else he was expecting.
He flicks his eyes curiously over Chris’ message. It’s a text of commiseration, as expected, but his eyes snag on the bold letters of ‘you tried your best’ scrolling across his screen, and feels a sudden burst of anger flare in his gut at those words.
He’s sick of it. He's sick of trying his best, of constantly trying and trying and still falling short.
He sees his arm raise slowly, as if controlled by a puppet. His arm jerks back, and Miyuki launches his phone at the wall with all his strength.
A loud bang echoes through the hallway.
Miyuki blinks, suddenly aware of what he’s done.
Kuramochi bursts out of the door behind him, followed closely by Maezono.
“What was that noise?” Kuramochi demands, circling round Miyuki and flicking his eyes up and down his body as if checking for injuries. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Miyuki mutters tiredly. “I chucked my phone at the wall. It broke.”
Kuramochi and Maezono turn their eyes to the remains of the phone at their feet, bits of plastic scattered around the floor.
Kuramochi purses his lips. “Zono, go stay with the rest of the team,” he instructs. “I’ll help Miyuki clean this up.”
Maezono opens his mouth as if to protest, but Kuramochi just shakes his head in silent warning and pushes him gently back into the changing rooms.
Miyuki sighs, squatting and bending to pick up the pieces the best he can.
“You need a broom for that,” Kuramochi advises quietly. “The pieces are sharp. Might cut yourself.”
“I won’t,” Miyuki says. He keeps collecting the fragments in his palm.
Kuramochi watches him for a second, before bending down to help him sweep them up.
"Are you okay?" Kuramochi asks, for the second time.
"I'm fine. I promised last year I would tell you if I got injured again, remember?"
"I'm not asking about a physical injury, Miyuki, I'm asking how you're coping mentally. Emotionally."
Miyuki looks up. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Well maybe you don't want to, but maybe you should. You always keep everything bottled up, and I can't even imagine the pressure as captain-"
"Well then don't imagine," Miyuki cuts harshly. "I said, I'm fine. I was just frustrated, that's all, so I threw my phone. I wasn't thinking."
“That’s what worries me even more,” Kuramochi says. “You’re always thinking, always scheming away. When you’re not thinking, when you shut down and go into autopilot- that’s what worries me.”
Miyuki pauses, shifting on his feet. “I appreciate your concern. But I really can’t do this right now.”
Kuramochi nods. He still appears disapproving, but he acquiesces, and they work in silence.
It doesn’t take long to gather all the detritus.
Kuramochi hands the phone to Miyuki, eyeing what’s left of the shattered screen. There are white lines branching across the screen like a spiderweb, crossing over and streaking across the glossy back. In the other hand, Miyuki holds all the pieces that had flown off on impact.
“You can’t keep everything inside, Miyuki,” Kuramochi says. “One day it’ll all burst- and there’ll be no one around to help pick up the pieces.”
Miyuki smiles humourlessly. “Who’s to say it hasn’t burst already?”
He stares up at the ceiling, tracing the seemingly endless whorls as they intertwine and separate above him. His mind is blissfully blank, buzzing with nothing but static as he lies in the hotel bed, listening to the sounds of the night-time traffic outside his window.
As Miyuki falls asleep, he dreams of hitting a home run. The image distorts at the last second to reveal Sawamura on the mound, staring at him in horror.