Chapter Text
“Where the hell do you keep your snacks, freshman?” Kuramochi calls over her shoulder. She yanks open another of Sawamura’s drawers - underwear, damnit - and rifles through it, feeling around for the telltale crinkle of a candy bar wrapper or bag of chips.
“Senpai!” Sawamura screeches, trapped unceremoniously on the floor under Kuramochi’s foot. “Those are my - that’s private!”
Kuramochi’s fingernail catches on the edge of some fabric, she pulls her hand out to detach it and blinks at the pink lacy thong it belongs to. “Cute,” she says, smirking and trying not to look embarrassed.
“That’s not mine!” Sawamura protests shrilly, going as red as a fire truck. “I’m….I’m holding it for a friend!”
“Ooh, a girlfriend?” Kuramochi’s impressed, she’d pegged Sawamura for a simple and virtuous country girl at first glance, but she supposes if she was really that simple and virtuous she would have stayed in the country.
“I don’t have a girlfriend!” Sawamura yells.
Masuko grunts irritatedly from where she’s seated on the floor in front of the TV. “Can you two keep it down? I’m about to beat this level and I need to concentrate.”
Kuramochi laughs. “Sawamura, if you think I’m bad, you don’t wanna know what Masuko-senpai will do to you if you make her mess up her game.”
Sawamura looks faintly horrified. Good.
“Just tell me where the snacks are and this will all be much easier for you.”
Sawamura colors and snarls. “Like I’d ever!”
“I really didn’t want to have to do this,” Kuramochi sighs, sinking down to one knee. “But you’ve left me no choice. Have you ever felt what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a Flying Scorpion?”
“They’re in my sock drawer,” Sawamura says immediately.
Kuramochi beams. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”
Her phone lights up on the dresser, chiming with a new message from someone called Wakana, with two hearts.
Ei-chan, are you settling in well?
“No girlfriend my ass,” Kuramochi grins. “Does Wakana know you’re saying things like that?”
“Wakana is not my girlfriend,” Sawamura huffs, cheeks flaming again. “We’re friends. We played on the same team.”
Masuko turns and exchanges a look with Kuramochi, who grins. “I bet you did.”
Sawamura makes a drawn-out noise of despair. Kuramochi, having successfully swiped the shrimp chips in her sock drawer, lets her up and plops down on her bottom bunk, giving their newly scouted first-year a more thorough once-over.
Sawamura doesn’t notice, goes straight to her phone and starts texting a reply. Kuramochi gets it, sort of, she’d come a long way from home to get to Seidou as well. She’d received a couple texts and emails from people, but she’d never bothered responding. Leaving Chiba meant leaving everything, treating her past like another life and starting over here in Tokyo.
Most of them came from middle schools where they were the only girl on the baseball team, and it shows, Kuramochi thinks, in the way Miyuki’s eyes are always lit up but guarded, in the way Ryou’s smile goes sharp at the corners, in the unwavering straightness of Yuuki’s back. It figures that Sawamura, with her unorthodox form and all the impulse control of a toddler, would be one of the few well-adjusted people on their team.
“Is your girlfriend pretty?” she asks, poking Sawamura’s shin with her toe.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Sawamura snaps, predictably easy to rile. “But - yes, she’s pretty.”
Kuramochi crunches thoughtfully on a chip. “If she’s that pretty, there’s no way she’d date you, so I believe you,” she says.
Sawamura says, “Hey - ”
“How many girls were on your team in middle school?”
Sawamura falters, color easing out of her face as she considers the question. “Not as many as here,” she says. “Probably not even half. Most of the girls I know played soccer.”
Huh. Who’d’ve thought Sawamura’s dinky little farm town would be more progressive than most of Tokyo. “I always thought country people were too busy with like, tending the fields and stuff,” Kuramochi says, realizing a moment too late that she probably sounds like an idiot.
Sawamura actually laughs at that, and Kuramochi’s going to kick her as soon as she feels like standing up. “Well, yeah, we have chores,” Sawamura says. She sets her phone down and gives Kuramochi an impish smile. “We have twice as many chores as the boys, actually.”
“Ah.” Kuramochi grins back, in spite of herself. “They never see it coming, do they.”
“I guess not,” Sawamura says. She purses her lips and looks at something in the vicinity of the window. Her expression smooths, and even Kuramochi can’t help but feel her breath catch when she adds, “But they will now.”
*
Takashima is sitting in the teacher’s lounge when he walks in, head bent over a cup of tea, Adachi next to her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“It’ll be okay,” Adachi is saying in low tones, and Kataoka thinks he should probably leave, but Adachi nods to him, inviting him to stay. He busies himself with preparing his own tea in the corner, trying not to look like he’s listening.
“This is happening at schools all over the country,” she says, her tone sympathetic. “It’s better that the girls don’t get the wrong idea. And there are other sports they can do, aren’t there?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Takashima sighs. “You’re right. Thank you, Adachi-san.”
When Kataoka turns around, Adachi is taking her leave, and Takashima is still sitting at the small table, hands folded in her lap. They’ve always had a friendly working relationship, but Kataoka hasn’t ever seen her quite this morose. He feels like he should say something, but he doesn’t want to appear nosy.
He settles on asking, “Is everything all right?”
Takashima looks up at him rather abruptly; perhaps she had forgotten he was there. “Oh,” she says, smiling in a soft way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes, it’s nothing dire. I just received some unfortunate news, but I’ve been expecting it for some time.”
Cryptic. Kataoka tries again. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, bowing his head ever so slightly. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” she smiles. “It involves you too, I’m surprised they haven’t told you.” She takes a sip of her tea, and then sets it down decisively. “I’ve been promoted to scouting manager for the baseball team. So you and I will be working together starting in the Spring.”
Kataoka frowns. Takashima is a very capable coach, he doesn’t understand why they would change her position so drastically. “Who’s going to take your current position?”
“No one,” Takashima replies. “They’re dissolving the girls’ team, and re-appropriating the funds to scouting for the boys’ team.”
Kataoka can’t help the astonished expression that crosses his face. Their girls’ fast pitch team is excellent, nearly as good as the boys’ team, despite being small and relatively new. They’ve had batting practice with the girls on more than one occasion and gotten a serious run for their money. Kataoka’s never doubted that they’d reach the same level of prestige as the boys team, with Takashima guiding them.
“The worst part is going to be telling the girls,” Takashima sighs. “They’ve all worked so hard. They’re going to take it to heart, even if I tell them not to.”
It’s something that Kataoka has turned over in his mind several times before, always as a far-off idea, a strategy for someday, but it seems that someday might actually be today. “Spring tryouts are in a few weeks,” he says. “Have them come.”
Takashima stares at him.
“There’s no rule against it,” he says firmly. “I’ve checked.”
“You’ve checked,” she repeats, raising her eyebrows.
“If you want to be the best team, you need to find the best players,” Kataoka says, frankly. Now that he’s gotten over the initial shock, he can feel a tiny bubble of excitement stirring in his gut - Takashima’s always had a genius eye when it comes to finding talent, and it’ll be a huge advantage to have her on their team, scouting the best boys and the best girls. They’ll be unstoppable.
“How will your boys feel about this?” she asks, the corners of her mouth lifting up in humor.
Kataoka barks out a short laugh. “Some of them probably won’t like it,” he concedes. “That may change when your girls hit their pitches out of the park.”
They do protest, when he tells them, though not as much as he expects them to. Most of his players have seen enough of the girls to know better, at least, than to look down on them when they’re holding a baseball bat. A few of them are excited, though Kataoka is not sure their teenage boy fantasies will survive a single day of training camp.
“Tryouts are around the corner,” he tells them, a ball in his hand and the sun at his back. “You’ve just had your competition for starting positions raised considerably. I suggest you all get back to work.”
(When he makes the announcement, the Board of Directors threaten his job, they all say, rules can be changed, but Kataoka knows they won’t, knows they won’t risk falling behind when Inashiro’s been sweeping the tournaments with their co-ed team for the past two seasons. They warn him, Seidou has a reputation to uphold, and when the team wins the invitational to Koshien five months later, Kataoka knows he made the right decision.)
*
It was worth it to come, Miyuki thinks, if only to see the looks on Yabe and Yamaoka’s faces when Mei flounces over to them, her skirt way too short for how cold it is still, an infectious light in her eye that Miyuki knows means she’s about to get exactly what she wants.
“Kazuya,” she preens, fluffing the ends of her hair, pretending not to notice when Yamaoka starts coughing, apparently having forgotten how to breathe. Yabe thumps him consolingly on the back. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
Miyuki shrugs, pointedly not looking at her legs.
She can feel Shirakawa glaring at her irritably, Kamiya next to her sizing her up. Neither of them know her particularly well, at least not like Mei does, but she knows them.
“You’re as unsubtle as ever, Mei-chan,” Miyuki says through a smile, when they’ve all finished taking the measure of each other. “What’s all this about?”
“I’ve decided to go to Inashiro,” Mei says, with all the air of someone deciding what shoes to get at a department store. “They have the strongest team in West Tokyo, and they’re already co-ed, which means we won’t have to go through any redundant screening. I want all of you to come with me.”
It’s tempting, Miyuki can’t deny it. Mei’s been honing a gaze at her this whole time, her body language loose and confident, her lips pursed in such a way that Miyuki can tell which lip gloss she’s wearing, can remember what it smells like up close, what it tastes like against her mouth, on her tongue.
“I’m in,” Kamiya says easily, stretching her arms over her head. “I toured there, the girls dorms are really nice. And they have a pool on campus.”
Miyuki’s eyes go unconsciously to her chest. It is a seriously, seriously tempting offer.
Shirakawa seems to be thinking the same thing, her eyes sweeping up and down Kamiya’s body before she scowls and crosses her arms. “Same,” she says. “They were in my top three anyways. Their journalism track is supposed to be one of the best in Tokyo.”
Yabe and Yamaoka also state their intent to follow, though it goes largely unacknowledged. Mei looks impossibly smug, and Miyuki wonders if this is what it’s always like for her, if when you’re Narumiya Mei, the pieces just fall into place at your feet, of course they do, why wouldn’t they. People can’t help but say yes, can’t help but fall into line, ready to jump at the chance to stand by the Princess of Tokyo, the ace that will take them all the way.
“You drive a hard bargain,” Miyuki admits, enjoying the way Mei’s features arrange themselves into something predatory, victory clearly in sight. She’s always admired that hunger in her, that fierceness that lies buried under all her primping and flirting, the merciless sharp edge of her pitch and the soft pastel of her sweaters. She can’t wait to face off against her, to take her on seriously.
“But,” she says, sighing as though it’s all very regrettable. “I already promised myself to Seidou. Sorry.”
Mei colors (pretty, she’s so pretty), and then laughs incredulously. “What? Are you serious?”
“Wouldn’t it be boring if we were all on the same team anyways?” Miyuki asks, unable to keep the grin off her face. “How will we ever know who’s better?”
Shirakawa scoffs. “How ridiculous.”
“I’m not gonna change my mind,” Miyuki says, addressing Mei.
“Hmm,” Mei says. She gives Miyuki a long, lingering look. “No, I guess you won’t. What a shame.” She clicks her tongue, and Miyuki’s fingers twitch involuntarily.
“I’ll see you in the tournament, then,” Miyuki says to all of them, after a moment. “Thanks for the invite, Mei.”
“You’re going to regret not joining us, Kazuya,” Mei says, simple and matter-of-fact. “Good luck at Seidou.”
Miyuki laughs. “Yeah, you guys too.” To Kamiya and Shirakawa, she says, “Keep an eye on her for me, would you? She’s a handful.”
Kamiya says, “We know,” and Shirakawa nods coolly.
The bus ride back home seems longer than usual, and Miyuki’s head is full of Mei’s laugh, her shining hair and white teeth, the sparkle in her eyes and the smooth pale skin of her legs, the way she used to roll her skirt up and stand on the pitcher’s mound, grin blazing down at Miyuki like the sun itself. They would’ve made an amazing battery, if Miyuki was the type to make things easy for herself.
Who do you think you are, telling us what to do?
You’re just a girl! Get off the field!
Don’t be stupid, girls can’t play boys’ baseball.
And then there was Mei, all of eleven years old, with her head held high, saying, oh yeah? And then only the sound of a bat swinging wildly through the air, the solid impact of the ball hitting Miyuki’s glove, the wind from the throw making her hair flutter and tickle the sides of her neck.
Sorry, Mei-chan, Miyuki thinks, watching the city streets blur by. But I respect you too much to just be your friend.
There’s no better place to work out unresolved feelings than the field. Miyuki flexes her fingers, lets the rush of anticipation settle in her stomach. The next time they see each other, it’ll be as rivals.
Miyuki grins to herself. She can hardly wait.
*