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Miyuki Toku had never been to one of his son’s games.
It was a fact that Chris had learned the night before Miyuki’s professional debut. Miyuki had casually dropped that information into their conversation in between talking about the Hanshin Tiger’s starting pitcher and asking how Chris’ classes were going.
“I know it’s ridiculous,” said Miyuki in a tone of voice that suggested otherwise. “I shouldn’t be getting my hopes up—but tomorrow I’m playing in my first professional baseball game so I thought maybe this time...”
“Your dad would watch you play,” finished Chris gently.
Chris couldn’t really imagine what it was like to have a father like Miyuki Toku. His own father had always been…loud when it came to his support. But Chris also understood that while support could be loud—it could also be quiet.
“Yeah. I mean…” Miyuki trailed off and Chris could practically see him shrugging. “He probably won’t show up. But if he does?”
“I’ll look after him.”
Miyuki let out a relieved sounding laugh. “Thanks, senpai.”
“Of course.”
And Miyuki was quiet for a moment. The only sound was of him shuffling around. This late Miyuki’s voice would take on a softer tone. His voice hushed as to not disturb his neighbors or maybe just to reflect the quiet atmosphere around him.
“So…” Miyuki cleared his throat. “Tell me about your Literature class. You were actually excited about the required reading weren’t you?”
Chris had the required reading open on his lap. He closed the book and set it aside.
“Is this really what you want to talk about?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Asked Miyuki Kazuya who was making his professional debut tomorrow for the Yomiuri Giants in front of a sold out home crowd.
“It’s not very exciting.”
“Doesn’t need to be.”
Chris let out a short huff of a laugh as he laid out on his bed.
And he talked.
And Miyuki listened.
—
Miyuki Toku had never been to one of his son’s games.
He had listened to Seido’s Koshien games on the radio. The sound of the commentators had echoed through his shop. And Toku had listened to what he could in between the noise of machining.
Toku understood the basics of baseball, but he didn’t understand it at the level his son played it. Some of the words and phrases used were foreign to him--sometimes literally as the English tended to go over his head.
It was one thing to listen to a game out of a tiny hand radio in his shop. It was another thing altogether to be in the stadium.
Toku stepped out of the hallway and took in the Dome. The stadium was massive. It was even more impressive considering the game was sold out. Thousands and thousands of people packed the seats. The general noise of the crowd, the choreographed cheers from the cheering section, the stadium announcer over the loudspeakers—it all created a buzz of anticipation and energy.
It was nothing like Toku had ever really experienced before in person.
Toku slowly made his way towards his seat. Walking down, down, down stairs. It was obviously a good seat. Almost too good of a seat.
The field seemed so much larger this close. Overwhelming. Everything about this place was overwhelming—
“Miyuki-san.”
Toku turned at the sound of his name. There was a kid about Kazuya’s age sitting in the seat next to his.
The kid rose to his feet and bowed respectfully. And Toku had just started to wonder who else Kazuya would have invited to his first professional game when the kid said,
“I’m Takigawa Chris Yuu. It’s nice to meet you.”
And, well, that made sense...
“So, you’re Chris-senpai. Kazuya’s mentioned you.”
Takgiawa ducked his head again and Toku was forced to wonder how his son had managed to befriend someone so polite.
“We’ve known each other for a long time.” Takigawa gave a short half shrug as they both took their seats. “Since Middle School actually.”
“I know,” said Toku. “He used to curse your name.”
Takigawa laughed. It was a sudden and surprised sound. “Well...he never could beat me. Still hasn’t actually.”
And Takigawa flashed a smile that somehow managed to be charming and smug at the same time. And that explained a few things…
“It seems my son still has a lot to learn from you.”
Takigawa was still smiling as he looked out across the field, but it had softened into something almost...wistful.
“I’m not so sure about that anymore.”
Toku studied Takigawa for a moment before turning his attention back to the field. “Is Kazuya really that good?”
“The best.”
Takigawa said it without any hesitation. And it didn’t sound like an empty platitude, but…
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
Toku glanced back at Takigawa. “You have a lot of faith in him.”
“Well, yeah,” said Takigawa as if it was obvious. “He’s Miyuki Kazuya.”
—
Toku stood and placed his hand over his heart as the national anthem played.
He was barely paying attention to the music.
Kazuya was standing on that field as if he belonged there. Confident and proud. And dressed in a white uniform with their Family’s name stitched on his back.
Toku ducked his head.
Overwhelmed.
—
Toku didn’t know what was going on.
The pitcher had pitched. The runner had run. And Kazuya had done…something before throwing to second. The runner had been tagged out. The crowd had cheered and the inning had ended.
Next to him Takigawa laughed.
Toku frowned. “What happened?”
“He’s showing off,” said Takigawa, still looking amused about the whole situation.
“Does he do that often?”
Takigawa grinned. “What do you think?”
The answer to that question was obvious so instead Toku asked, “What did he do?”
“He caught the ball on the bounce with his bare hand.” And Toku wondered if Takigawa even realized that he was miming the motion. “It’s a dangerous play because there’s a high probability that you miss the ball completely and put yourself and your team in an even worse situation.”
“High risk, high reward,” muttered Toku.
He found even the very idea stressful.
“Exactly.”
“And this is how my son plays?”
“For as long as I’ve known him.”
Toku shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder how we’re related.”
“I don’t think it’s that difficult to see,” replied Takigawa. “He had to learn hard work and dedication from someone.”
Toku doubted that his son had learned any of that from him. It was, however, easy to see where Takigawa could have made that mistake. From the outside it looked familiar, but upon closer inspection their motivations were completely different.
Toku’s hard work and dedication came from a place of comfortable routine.
Kazuya’s had always come from a place of passion.
—
The Giants won.
Toku watched his son congratulate their pitcher. His teammates were smiling and clapping him on the back as they all walked back towards the dugout.
Takigawa smiled as he turned towards him and asked, “What do you think?”
Toku shrugged.
The game had been boring and interesting and overwhelming. Still so overwhelming. This was not a place for Miyuki Toku.
But…
Toku could remember listening to those Koshien games. He could remember watching the finals on television.
And what was obvious, even as a casual observer like himself, was that Seido was a good team.
And his son was Captain of it.
The thought made Toku shake his head.
His son who used to come home with scrapes and bruises that Toku suspected weren’t from baseball. His son, who would patch himself up, and head out to practice with a wave and a smile. His son who was sometimes too smart for his own good and sometimes had a mouth to match—
More than the magazine articles, more than the TV interviews, even more than winning Koshien and getting drafted, what Toku was most proud of was that Kazuya had somehow become a leader.
That he had somehow found the place where he belonged.
“Thank you. I don’t think Kazuya had a goal in mind when he first started playing baseball.” Toku shook his head. “But that changed when he met you.”
Takigawa smiled as he looked out across the baseball field and Toku wondered what he saw. He wondered if it was the same thing his son saw.
“It’s just baseball.”
Toku huffed. “If you say so, kid.”
—
Miyuki Toku had been to one of his son’s games.
“I can’t believe he actually showed up,” said Miyuki and even over the phone Chris could hear his disbelief. “Did he even know what was going on?”
“I don’t think so,” admitted Chris as he balanced his phone between his ear and his shoulder. He was still trying to work through his required reading, but it was looking like another night of putting it off. “But he watched the entire game.”
“Huh.”
And Chris wasn’t sure if he was overstepping but—
“He seemed proud of you.”
“If you say so…” mumbled Miyuki, sounding unconvinced.
“Just…” And Chris wasn’t sure how to explain it. Not in a way that Miyuki would understand. He shrugged. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”
Toku hadn’t said anything about being proud of his son. He hadn’t stated it so plainly. But he had watched and he had listened.
And he had learned.
Both about the game.
And his son.
Miyuki sighed. “How’s your required reading going?”
Chris smiled and let Miyuki change the subject.
It wasn’t much.
But that was what love looked like sometimes.
—
Toku shuffled through his house in his slippers. This early in the morning everything was quiet and calm. And Toku took a moment to appreciate the silence before he got started working in his shop.
His home. His shop.
Both were small.
Toku had never really realized how small.
Too small for his son.
He reached the genken and sat down in order to put on his work boots. His fingers going through the familiar motion of tying the laces.
His son who had outgrown such small places years and years and years ago.
His son who had apparently been meant for stadiums.
Toku let out a huff as he rose to his feet.
He reached for his Yomiuri Giants baseball cap. It was brand new. The black was vivid. The bill stiff. Toku took the hat in his hands. Bending the bill. Shaping it.
And placing it on his head.