Archive of Our Own

It started with a letter.

A letter that came in the school’s mail, which really should’ve been Kotesashi’s first warning that something was about to go horribly wrong—because why would a newly formed baseball team receive mail? 

“Seidou High School’s baseball team requests a practice match with Kotesashi High School” Yamada read out loud, his voice getting higher with every word he spoke, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.

Which. Fair .

The rest of them (sans their main battery and the other two shitty senpais) couldn’t quite believe what they were hearing either.

“They want to play… us?”

The silence that followed was so heavy—the kind that usually preceded either enlightenment or a complete mental breakdown.

In their case, it was definitely leaning towards the latter.

“Maybe it’s a mistake” Chihaya offered, because even he wasn’t delusional enough to think they deserved this kind of attention.

“Or maybe they got our name mixed up?” Toudo added hopefully.

But to confuse the name was one thing. Confusing the mailing address was another.

So maybe not that, but it was still a possibility.

“Or maybe they heard about our ‘genius battery,’” Yamada supplied, fingers forming air quotes that somehow made the entire thing sound sarcastic.

Kei—being the simple minded oblivious idiot that he was—just clapped his hands together, looking like they’d been invited to a birthday party instead of their own public execution. “That sounds fun! Who are they?”

They would’ve strangled him right there and then—if it wasn’t for the genuine confused look on the catcher’s face. Right . He has amnesia. 

“Seidou’s a powerhouse of West Tokyo!” Todo snapped rather helpfully, irritation edging his voice. “They’re one of the toughest contenders for Koshien!”

“Cool! I’ve never been to a famous school before!” Kei beamed. 

It must be nice, being oblivious to your own impending doom.

Haruka, predictably, only cared about one thing. “Kei, Will you catch for me?’

“Of course! You can beat them right?!” Kei beamed at the pitcher, who nodded in response, just as his expression softened. 

Sometimes, they forget that beneath all that attitude and talent, Haruka was still just a kid who just really, really, really wanted his catcher to play with him.

And that right there, should’ve been their second warning. When your ace pitcher’s (read: only pitcher’s) main concern about playing a powerhouse team is whether or not his best friend will be willing to catch for him.

God. Their priorities are so fucked. They’re so fucked

But they still accept the invitation anyways, because how do you turn down an invitation from the Seidou Baseball Team?

Simple. You don’t.

All you can do is show up, and try not to embarrass yourselves too badly. And maybe—if you’re lucky–learn a thing or two from them while you get your asses kicked by people who actually know what they’re doing.

Yep. Sounds like a decent plan.

The culture shock hit them as soon as they walked through the gates of Seidou’s baseball field.

Or rather, in their case, fields .

Y’know. Plural.

Fields .

Chihaya and Todo both look like they’re about to have an aneurysm from the sheer shock—and Yamada can’t exactly blame them if he was being honest, ‘cause, same. 

“Holy shit,” Todo whispered, staring at the wide baseball fields stretching out infront of them. “This place is huge.”

“Language,” Yamada said automatically, but his voice lacked the nagging conviction. He looked just as overwhelmed as the rest of them.

“Does it matter,” Chihaya muttered under his breath. Neck turning to take in the beauty of the field that was soon to be their graveyard. “When they have a bigger field than our entire school’s land combined?”

“Look at the open fields! It looks so instagramable!” Kei chirped as he pulled out his phone, already angling his camera for a selfie.

Atleast one of them was blissfully stupid enough to not understand just how screwed they were.

“The field doesn’t matter. I’m stronger.” 

Scratch that. Make that two idiots who haven’t realized they’re up against fucking Seidou High School of all schools.

“No way,” Chihaya shook his head, laughing light heartedly as he formed a cross with his fingers.

A newly formed team like Kotesashi going against a team with national level batters like Seidou? Please . He’d have better luck with the lottery. 

“They probably have more batting cages than we have players”

(Considering they barely enough to fill the field, it wasn’t saying much. But still.)

“They probably have more managers than we have players” Todo added helpfully.

“They probably have more bathrooms than we have players” Chihaya continued

“They probably have more—” 

“Okay, we get it,” Yamada interrupted, cutting them off. “We’re outclassed. But can we please try to maintain some dignity?”

“What dignity?” Todo snorted. “I think dignity went out the window the moment we accepted this scrimmage.” 

Honestly. Yamada agreed. But someone needed to up the morale here.

“We can still salvage this.” Yamada insisted weakly, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

“How?”

“By not falling apart the moment we play ball?” 

“That’s setting the bar pretty low, Yama.”

“The bar is underground at this point,” Yamada muttered under his breath. He honestly sounded exhausted already, and the game hasn’t even started yet.

They stood there like tourists—which, let’s be real, they basically were—especially with how their idiot of a catcher kept taking pictures as if he was a facebook auntie.

(A instagram influencer wannabe turned into a facebook auntie is their supposed main catcher. This was their life. Their very unfortunate life. )

Yamada had taken it upon himself to herd the team away from the gate—which had him realizing that they were so in shock they’d barely made it ten steps past the entrance, wow—when a voice behind them practically exploded with enthusiasm.

“OH! ARE YOU GUYS THE TEAM FROM KOTESASHI?!”

And, woah , saying he exploded with enthusiasm was an understatement.

They turned around to find a boy about their age with a mop of brown hair, shining eyes, and the kind of energy that suggested he eats pure sugar for breakfast.

His voice was practically a nuke of overexcitement.

Scratch that.

HE was the nuke of overexcitement, judging by how he was bouncing on his feet like an overgrown puppy that either found something exciting or needed to pee.

He almost reminded them of a certain blonde catcher with a weird fixation on nipple hairs.

The brunette must’ve seen the utter shock or confusion in their faces, because he folded himself into a deep archaic bow— holy shit , how does he fold like that?

“AH! This Sawamura Eijun humbly apologizes for surprising you and not introducing himself sooner!” He bellowed, voice loud enough to echo through the fields.

“Ah.. Nice to meet you, Sawamura-san.” Yamada said, because apparently he was the only one with manners enough to answer instead of gawking.

Seriously though, what’s with the archaic introduction? Is it a powerhouse school thing?

Sawamura beamed in response. “This is so cool! You guys are the new team that was formed with mostly first years, right?! I overheard the managers talking about you—well, actually it was Miyuki-senpai that said you had an interesting battery but it doesn’t count ’cause he’s an asshole—anyway, at first I thought it had to be a mistake because who even forms a team with just first years, but then again back home I formed a team with my friends, so maybe it’s not a mistake after all because you’re really here, so it must be true!” 

He was still talking.

“You guys don’t have uniforms yet? Or is it mix and match on purpose!? It’s very unique! I should ask boss if we could do that too! Do you have a school cheer—wait no, of course you don’t yet, but you should come up with one! Do you wanna hear ours? I can recite it for you—”

“Please don’t,” Chihaya muttered under his breath

“—You’ll be fine without one though since it’s just a practice game! Boss says practice games are for learning so you’re gonna learn a lot! What positions do you guys play? Are you really all first years—wait, no because Miyuki-senpai said it was ‘mostly’, so some of you are senpais, right?! Do you have a captain? Who’s your captain!?”

“ Breathe ,” Yamada interrupted gently, because someone had to before this kid passed out from oxygen deprivation.

The Kotesashi players exchanged horrified looks. Chihaya had shoved in his earbuds, while Yamada pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oh my god,” Todo whispered, horrified. “It talks .”

“Oh, right!” Eijun blinked at the reminder to breathe, and took an exaggerated deep breath. “Anyway, welcome to Seidou! Come on, I’ll show you everything! This is so exciting! I’ve been practicing my english in case any of you were foreign exchange students—but you all look pretty Japanese to me, which is good! Because my english is pretty terrible and—”

“We’re Japanese.” Todo confirmed, because apparently that needed to be established.

“Great!! That makes this so much easier! Follow me!”

Sawamura’s “tour” turned out to be less ‘ organized introduction to the school’ and more ‘ hyperactive puppy showing off his favorite toys’.  

Honestly. It felt like they were watching a dog walk himself.

He darted from one spot to the next, pointing out the fields, the indoor training facilities, the bullpens, and about fifty other things that made Kotesashi feel like they’d been playing baseball with sticks and rocks in a dirt lot in comparison.

(Which, honestly, they basically were—considering their very much public school can’t be bothered funding a brand-new baseball team.)

Somewhere along the way, both Chihaya and Todo crossed the border of being impressed to being bitterly jealous.

“If we knew we’d keep playing baseball,” Chihaya muttered, “we could’ve gone to a school like Seidou.”

“No kidding,” Todo grumbled back.

Yamada had to forcibly drag both of them along to keep up with Sawamura. He was too tired to care, but apparently he was stuck being the team’s babysitter.

"This is our main field," Sawamura announced,  throwing his arms wide at a diamond that looked like it belonged to a professional stadium. "And that's our backup field, and our practice field, and our 'oh shit we need another field' field—"

"How many fields do you need?" Chihaya asked weakly.

"All of them!" Sawamura replied cheerfully. "We have a lot of players! And they all need to practice! Which means lots of fields!"

The Kotesashi players were starting to look like they'd been hit by a truck.

Multiple trucks actually. 

Those very expensive, well-maintained trucks that definitely had better equipment than their entire non-existent baseball program.

"Don't look so worried!" Sawamura continued, apparently oblivious to their growing horror. "I'm sure you guys are great! I mean, you must be if you got invited here, right? Seidou doesn't just invite anyone!"

"Right," Yamada said faintly. "We must be... special."

"Exactly! Oh, this is so cool! I can't wait to see you guys play!"

Of course, that was the moment Kei decided to speak.

“Whoa, Sawamura-san, that’s… so cool!” Kei said, leaning in like he was being let in on some kind of exclusive secret. 

He even added a little grin, like he was trying to ride off Sawamura’s energy and make himself just as hyped.

And the worst part? It worked . Sawamura lit up like he’d just found his long-lost twin.

“You think so!? I knew you’d get it!” he beamed, bouncing on his heels again.

The rest of Kotesashi watched in horror as their cacher somehow managed to form an instant connection with Seidou’s human embodiment of chaos.

Then again, Kei was their very own human embodiment of chaos. Maybe it was inevitable.

Yamada looked like he aged three years on the spot.

Just like that, they were best friends. Two loud, enthusiastic idiots who somehow found each other across the vast wasteland of high school baseball and immediately started bonding over their shared ability to be excited about literally everything.

“I know right?! Who are you again? What position do you play?! You play a cool position don’t you?!”

“I’m a catcher! Apparently I used to be better at it, but i’m learning again! It’s honestly a hassle but if our equipment was as cool as yours I’d learn so much faster! Haru-chan’s pitches are so cool though it’s fun to play with him sometimes! I can barely catch it and it hurts sometimes but when I do I bet I look so cool—”

“That’s so cool! Miyuki-senpai is our main catcher but he’s so mean to me!! Do you think catching makes people mean? But shishou is so nice and you seem pretty nice—”

Watching them was like watching two golden retrievers discover they both liked tennis balls. Painful in its earnestness and absolutely unstoppable once it got going.

Yamada, Chihaya, and Todo stood there like unwilling witnesses to a natural disaster, watching their catcher bond with the enemy in real time.

"Should we... stop this?" Chihaya whispered.

"Stop what? Kei being friendly?" Yamada whispered back.

"Stop him from giving away all our secrets to their pitcher?"

"What secrets? That we're barely holding it together as a team?"

"That's not a secret," Todo pointed out. "That's pretty obvious just by looking at us."

Meanwhile, Haruka was silent. Which wasn’t unusual, except… he wasn’t just quiet. He was staring.

Trying to figure out why Kei was smiling like that at someone else. Smiling that bright, easy smile that—until now—Haruka had thought was only for him .

“Haruka’s our pitcher!” Kei continued cheerfully, oblivious to the way his pitcher’s expression darkened like a storm cloud. “He’s really amazing! He throws so fast and his control is perfect and he never talks to anyone but talks to me sometimes and—”

“Really?!” Sawamura lit up, which should’ve been physically impossible considering how bright he already was. “That’s so cool! I’m a pitcher too! We should totally have a pitching contest later! I bet your pitcher is really good, but I’m pretty good too and—”

“That sounds fun!” Kei exclaimed.

Haruka’s eye twitched.

It was a blink and you miss it kind of moment, but they definitely saw his eye twitch.

"He has no idea," Chihaya observed.

"No idea about what?" Todo asked.

"That he's making Haruka want to commit actual murder."

They all turned to look at their pitcher, who was standing perfectly still but somehow radiating danger like a human-shaped storm cloud.

"Oh shit," Yamada breathed. "He looks like he's about to explode."

"Should we warn the Seidou kid?" Todo asked.

"Warn him about what? That our pitcher is possessive and weird?"

"I mean, yes?"

"Too late," Chihaya said, watching as Kei and Sawamura started walking ahead of the group, still chattering away like they'd known each other for years instead of minutes.

"Kei," Haruka said quietly, and something in his voice made the rest of Kotesashi collectively take a step back.

But Kei, being Kei, just turned to him with that same bright smile, still completely oblivious to the fact that his pitcher was one friendly conversation away from a complete emotional breakdown. "What is it, Haruka?"

"Nothing," Haruka said, in the tone that meant it was definitely not nothing.

"Are you sure? You look kind of upset."

"I'm not upset."

"You look upset."

"I'm not."

"But—"

"I said I'm not upset," Haruka repeated, and now his voice had taken on the kind of sharp edge that made smart people back away slowly.

Unfortunately, Kei had never been accused of being smart.

"Okay, but if you're sure..." he said, then immediately turned back to Sawamura and resumed their conversation about the proper way to warm up before pitching.

The rest of the team could only watch, caught somewhere between secondhand embarrassment and the helpless curiosity of watching at trainwreck.

"This is going to end badly," Yamada muttered.

"Define 'badly,'" Chihaya said.

"I don't know. Murder? International incident? Haruka finally snapping and revealing his secret plan to take over the world through baseball?"

"He has a plan to take over the world through baseball?" Todo asked with interest.

"I mean, probably. Look at him."

They looked. Haruka was trailing behind the group like a storm cloud, his expression cycling through various stages of barely contained irritation.

"Maybe we should intervene," Yamada suggested.

"How?"

"I don't know. Distract Kei? Change the subject? Sacrifice ourselves to save everyone else?"

"I vote for the sacrifice option," Chihaya said. "But only if you go first."

Yamada, because he had functioning brain cells and could read a room, quickly stepped in before things could get worse. "Maybe we should head to the field? I think they're waiting for us."

"OH! you're right!" Sawamura exclaimed, completely oblivious to the rising tension. "Come on, everyone! Time to play baseball!"

He skipped ahead with his usual explosive energy, with Kei jogging to keep up and still asking questions about everything from his favorite manga and anime to the different colors of socks the pitcher wore.

Which was a really weird spectrum of questions, now that they think about it. But they couldn’t be bothered to think about it any more than they have.

Behind them, the rest of Kotesashi followed like mourners at their own funeral.

"I give it ten minutes before something terrible happens," Chihaya predicted.

"I give it five," Todo countered.

"You're both optimists," Yamada sighed. "I'm betting on immediate disaster."

The field in question turned out to be even more intimidating than the rest of the school, mostly because it was full of players who looked like they actually knew what they were doing. They moved with the competence that comes from having actual coaching, proper equipment, and more than enough people on the roster.

This is their first string," Yamada concluded, watching the Seidou players warm up with the kind of fluid precision that made Kotesashi's usual practice sessions look like a group of drunk toddlers trying to play catch. "Look at them. They're not even trying and they look better than us on our best day."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Yama," Chihaya said dryly.

"I'm just trying to prepare everyone for reality."

Y’know. The reality where they’re about to be brutally mudered with a baseball and a bat in broad daylight.

"Reality is overrated," Kei said cheerfully, apparently having overheard the conversation. "Besides, we made it this far, didn't we?"

"Did we though?" Todo asked. "Because I'm starting to think this might be some kind of elaborate prank."

"Or a social experiment," Chihaya added. "Like, 'What happens when you put a newly formed team against a nationally ranked one?'"

"The answer is probably massacre" Yamada said grimly.

"Don't be so negative!" Kei protested. "I think it'll be fun!"

The rest of them stared at him like he'd just announced his intention to juggle flaming chainsaws for entertainment.

Honestly? They wouldn’t put it past him to do that.

"Fun," Todo repeated flatly. 

Yamada had to physically stand between the two blondes just in case—they needed the other half of their battery after all.

"Yeah! When's the last time we got to play against people this good? We might actually learn something!"

"We're going to learn what it feels like to get destroyed," Chihaya muttered.

"Exactly! Educational destruction!"

Sometimes, Yamada wondered, if Kei's memory problems had affected more than just his baseball skills. 

Because really, no mentally sound person would look at this situation and think 'fun' was the appropriate response.

But before he could say anything else, one of the Seidou players jogged over to them. He had the kind of cocky smile that suggested he was used to being in charge and good at it.

"You must be the Kotesashi team," he said politely. "I'm Miyuki Kazuya, the catcher. Welcome to Seidou."

"Thank you for having us," Yamada replied, trying to sound professional and probably failing.

"Don't worry," Miyuki spoke with what probably meant to be a reassuring smile. "We'll take it easy on you."

Somehow, this did not make anyone feel better.

Seriously—was this their strategy? Unleash the human golden retriever to disarm them, then send in this guy to twist the knife with arrogance?

"Take it easy," Todo repeated under his breath. "They're going to take it easy on us."

"I want to die," Chihaya whispered.

"We haven't even started playing yet," Yamada pointed out.

"That's why I want to die now, while I still have some dignity left."

Haruka wasn't listening to any of them. He was too busy watching Kei chat animatedly with Sawamura, both of them gesturing wildly as they talked about god knows what. Every laugh, every smile, every moment of easy camaraderie felt like a personal attack on his very existence.

"They're not taking us lightly," Yamada said suddenly, noticing Haruka's increasingly murderous expression. "If they were, they wouldn't be using their regulars. So maybe stop trying to ruin Kei's mood by looking like you want to murder his new friend?"

Haruka's jaw tightened. "I'm not—"

"You are. And it's stupid. Kei's allowed to talk to other people, y’know. He's allowed to make friends."

"I know that."

"Then act like it."

"I am acting like it."

"No, you're acting like a jealous girlfriend."

The comparison hit home harder than Yamada had intended. Haruka's face went through several different expressions in rapid succession, settling on something that looked like he'd been personally insulted by the concept of emotions.

"I'm not jealous," he said stiffly.

…He didn’t even deny the girlfriend part.

"Right. And I'm not desperately hoping we don't get completely humiliated today."

"You're not?"

"Of course I am. Just like you're jealous of that Seidou pitcher."

But Haruka instead of arguing back, or understanding Yamada’s point, he stalked off toward the mound.

Yamada wondered not for the first time why he even bothered trying to talk sense into any of these idiots.

Seriously , he needed a PhD in babysitting morons at this point.

The game itself started about as well as expected—which is to say, it didn’t go well.

Kotesashi somehow managed not to collapse in the first inning, but that was less a testament to their skill and more to Seidou clearly choosing not to crush them right away.

“They’re holding back,” Chihaya muttered from the dugout

“Is that good or bad?” Todo asked.

“I don’t know? On one hand, we’re not getting slaughtered. On the other, they’re treating us like we’re barely worth noticing.”

“I’ll take barely worth noticing over slaughtered.”

“…Fair.”

“Maybe they’re still sizing us up? Y’know, playing cautious” Someone suggested.

But of course, the most logical possibility is the one that goes unheard by the rest of the team.

Meanwhile, Yamada was stuck trying to hold together a team that looked ready to fall apart at any second. 

Haruka was pitching fine—fastball still fast, control still decent, social skills still nonexistent—but there was something off about him today. 

Quiet in a way that made everyone uneasy, like they were just waiting for something to snap.

Honestly, it was scarier than the fact Seidou was pack of hungry wolves waiting for them to mess up.

Chihaya had already decided the safest option was to sit as far away from him as possible.

Todo, meanwhile, kept whispering like they were in a horror movie.

“Do you think he’s…mad?”

“No,” Chihaya said flatly. “Mad is when he glares at you for existing. This is worse. This is… moping .”

Yamada pinched the bridge of his nose. A team that’s held together by duct tape and denial had a mopey pitcher, up against one of the strongest schools in Tokyo. What could possibly go wrong?

"Maybe the pressure's getting to him?" Yamada suggested hopefully.

"What pressure? We're not expected to win this."

"The pressure of... I don't know, not completely embarrassing ourselves?"

"Too late for that," Chihaya said, watching one of their batters trip over his own feet while running on a foul ball. "Way too late."

But the real chaos started when Haruka began his dirt project.

It wasn't intentional, at first. He was just angry—at Kei for making friends, at Sawamura for being likeable, at the universe for making him deal with emotions when all he wanted to do was throw baseballs really hard at people. So he did what any emotionally constipated teenager would do: he took it out on the pitcher's mound.

(Okay, maybe not any emotionally constipated teenager in general. But Haruka surely can’t be the only one that does. surely.)

Just mindless scratching while he brooded about loyalty and friendship and why some people got to be charming while others had to work for every scrap of attention.

Horizontal line. Another horizontal line. A third one below that.

He wasn't thinking about what he was drawing. His brain was too busy cycling through increasingly petty grievances about catchers who were supposed to be devoted to their pitchers and annoying Seidou kids who acted like they were better at everything.

Seriously, no one was better than him. How dare Kei be friends with those who think otherwise.

Vertical line intersecting all three. Another vertical line. A third one beside that.

When Sawamura bounced onto the mound for his turn, still beaming with excitement from his conversation with Kei and determined to show off, he was just getting warmed up when he noticed something in the dirt.

"Oh!" he said out loud, voice carrying across half the field. "Someone started a game!"

Because obviously it was a game. A perfect 3x3 grid just waiting for someone to make the first move. And if someone from the opposing team had been thoughtful enough to set up entertainment, well, it would be rude not to participate, right?

Boss or Miyuki-senpai or Shishou can’t exactly blame him for playing if he was just honoring the code of sportsmanship!

Sawamura used his cleat to carefully scratch an X in the center square, then stepped back to admire his work like he'd just created the Mona Lisa.

"Your move!" he announced cheerfully to the universe at large.

The Seidou infielders exchanged the kind of looks usually reserved for witnessing natural disasters.

"Is he talking to the dirt?" Kuramochi asked.

"I think he's finally lost it," Jun replied.

"Finally?" Ryousuke snorted

"Okay, fair point. But this is weird even for him."

Meanwhile, Miyuki crouched behind home plate and tried to figure out what trouble his pitcher was creating now. 

Sawamura was staring at the mound with the kind of intense concentration usually reserved for defusing bombs, not preparing to pitch to high schoolers.

Honestly, why was it that the idiot could concentrate on everything except baseball ? At this point, Bakamura should probably consider a career in, hell, bomb disposal..

(Not that Miyuki liked the idea. A part of Miyuki ached at the thought of Sawamura being anything but a pitcher though—but he shrugged it off. Because, ew, feelings)

"Oi, Sawamura," Miyuki called. "You ready, or are you gonna keep having philosophical discussions with the infield?"

"I'm ready!" Sawamura called back, but he kept glancing down like he was expecting the mound to give him life advice.

Three for three and the sides changed, Haruka returned to discover his accidental artwork had been vandalized with a strategically placed X, his brain went through several stages of processing.

First: confusion. What the hell was that mark doing there?

Second: realization. That Sawamura idiot thought he'd started a game.

Third: fury. The kind that burned in his chest, the kind that sharpened every pitch, the kind that made him brilliant on the mound and unbearable everywhere else.

Any normal person would've laughed it off. But Haruka wasn't normal people

He was already in a shit mood, and his competitive streak made him constitutionally incapable of backing down from any challenge.

Even an accidental one involving children's games.

Fine, he thought grimly, crouching to study the grid like he was planning military strategy. If Sawamura wanted to play games instead of focusing on baseball, that was his funeral.

Haruka would never lose. Definitely not in tic tac toe.

Haruka scratched a careful O in the top right corner, then stepped back to survey his work like a general reviewing battle plans.

Your move, asshole.

The secret war had officially begun.

Over the next few innings, things got… weird. Both pitchers were suddenly throwing like this was the finals at Koshien, not some random practice game. Nobody had the faintest clue why.

Every inning turned into a secret strategy meeting with the dirt. Sawamura would bounce onto the mound, study the ground like it held state secrets, then pitch like his entire bloodline depended on it.

Then Haruka would step up, glare at the same dirt like it had personally insulted him, and throw with the precision of someone who considered getting his pitches hit was crime against humanity.

The rest of their teams? Just along for the ride, wondering if they’d accidentally wandered into a duel.

But seriously though? What the fuck was up with their pitchers?

"What's gotten into them?" Kawakami sqeaked, watching Sawamura stare at the mound like it contained the secrets of the universe.

"Beats me," Tanba replied. "But Sawamura looks like he's about to spontaneously combust."

"In a good way or a bad way?"

"With Sawamura-chan, is there a difference?" Masuko grunted, thinking back to all the times they watched the brunette combust.

(Almost all of them were because of Miyuki, but none of them were brave enough to say it out loud.)

Back in Kotesashi’s dugout, the chatter had gone from “concerned” to “somebody call 911.”

(Yamada desperately tried to stop the Seidou managers assisting them from actually calling the national hotline)

"Why does Haruka look... satisfied?" Chihaya asked nervously, watching their ace with the expression of someone who'd discovered their pet cat plotting world domination. "He's been pissy all day, and now he looks like Christmas came early."

"Maybe he's finally getting into the zone?" Todo suggested hopefully.

"Maybe he's snapping," Yamada muttered, watching Haruka approach the mound with what could generously be called enthusiasm. "Complete psychological breakdown."

"Should we... intervene?"

The three of them looked at each other, then back at their pitcher, who was now crouched over the mound like he was examining evidence at a crime scene.

"You ask him," Chihaya said to Yamada.

"Why me?"

"It’s usually up to the catcher to handle mentally unstable pitchers," He sighed, pointing at Kei.  “But do you really think he can handle anything?”

“Plus, you’re the acting captain,” Todo added

"That wasn't in the job description."

"It should've been. Look at our team."

The game kept spiraling into whatever the hell this was. Sawamura pitched like he had a personal vendetta against oxygen. 

Haruka answered with the kind of intensity that suggested someone had insulted his entire bloodline. 

It wasn’t baseball anymore—it was pride, pettiness, and teenage stupidity dressed up as a sport.

And the worst part? They were both getting better.

Sawamura’s pitches kept snapping sharper. 

Haruka’s control got meaner, his fastball nastier. 

Whatever weird psychic war they were waging, it was dragging them both into a level of play that really should’ve required a warning label.

And maybe instructions on how to deal with them.

And how to not get caught in the crossfire.

And maybe an emergency off switch, so they can end the fuckery they were witnessing.

“This is getting out of hand,” Miyuki muttered as Sawamura blew another strike past a batter who looked like he’d just seen God.

“What’s gotten into him?” someone asked from the dugout.

“I have no clue,” Miyuki said. “And I’m not asking. I value my life.”

By the sixth, their little dirt-scribble rivalry is nearing it’s end. 

The grid was almost full, X’s and O’s locked in a battle that looked less like tic-tac-toe and more warzone. 

Every move was petty. 

Every counter was pure spite. 

And somehow, it all made sense—if you were a teenage boy with zero impulse control.

Haruka stood on the mound like he was about to decide the fate of nations, eyes locked on the dirt grid. Sawamura had put up more of a fight than expected—turns out the idiot had some brains buried under all that hyperactive barking.

But not enough.

With surgical precision, Haruka used his cleat to mark an O in the bottom left corner, completing a perfect line from top to bottom.

Game. Set. Match. Checkmate, you loud-mouthed, obnoxious, catcher-stealing bastard.

He straightened up, unable to suppress the small, genuinely satisfied smile that crossed his face. It was the first time all day he'd looked actually happy about anything, and his teammates noticed immediately.

"Did he just... smile?" Todo whispered like he'd witnessed a miracle.

"I think he did," Chihaya replied, sounding equally amazed.

"Should we be concerned that we're more surprised by Haruka showing emotion than by any of the weird shit that's happened today?"

"Definitely."

Then again. All the so-called weird shit happened because Haruka showed a fraction of emotion.

When Sawamura came back out for the next inning, something in him shifted.

The puppy-like obnoxious chaos was gone, replaced by a sharp and dangerous edge.

“Oh, you bastard,” he muttered, just loud enough for the infielders to trade alarmed looks.

“What was that?” someone asked.

“NOTHING!” Sawamura barked, with the kind of tone that made it sound like it was definitely something .

“Nothing doesn’t usually sound like a death threat,” Chihaya muttered from the batter’s box.

“Pretty sure that’s what plotting a war crime sounds like.” Todo muttered back from the on deck circle.

What followed was less “pitching” and more “a one-man natural disaster.” Sawamura stormed the mound like a man out for revenge and dismantled Kotesashi’s lineup with brutality. 

Three batters, nine pitches, nine strikes. 

Boom, boom, boom. 

Gone. 

It was less baseball and more a public execution.

“Jesus Christ,” Chihaya whispered. “What did we do to him?”

“We existed,” Todo said weakly.

Even Miyuki, who’d built his entire career babysitting lunatic pitchers, looked a little rattled.

“Sawamura,” he called cautiously once the inning ended. “You good?”

Not that he was complaining about the godly pitching but still. It was godly enough to warrant concern.

“Never better!” Sawamura chirped, grinning with the manic brightness of someone clearly one bad pitch away from setting the field on fire.

The game finally ended after that, Kotesashi losing by a scoreline that was somehow both humiliating and… not that bad? Normally they might’ve been proud. Normally.

"Seriously," Kuramochi said, staring at the mound where evidence of the most ridiculous rivalry in baseball history was still scratched into the dirt, "what the actual fuck happened there?"

That's when Miyuki, being the observant bastard he was, decided to investigate. 

He walked over to examine the crime scene, expecting to find nothing more interesting than the usual collection of cleat marks and stress-induced damage.

What he found instead was a perfect tic-tac-toe grid, complete with X's and O's arranged in a pattern that told the story of a strategic battle between two competitors who'd taken a children's game seriously.

Way too seriously.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he said out loud.

That got everyone's attention.

"What is it?" someone called from the dugout.

"Come see for yourselves," Miyuki replied with the weary tone of someone who'd just discovered his life had become a sitcom without his permission.

One by one, the Seidou players gathered around to stare at the evidence of what might have been the most ridiculous motivation for good pitching in the history of organized sports.

"Is that..." Ryousuke started.

"Tic-tac-toe," Kuramochi finished flatly.

"On the fucking mound."

"They were playing tic-tac-toe."

"During the game."

"While pitching."

The questions came all at once, everyone trying to process the fact that their southpaw had just fought a war over tic-tac-toe.

“So let me get this straight,” Tetsu said, his voice calm in that terrifying way that made people brace for earthquakes. “Sawamura spent the entire game playing tic-tac-toe. With their pitcher.”

“Yes,” Miyuki confirmed.

“And when he lost…”

“He annihilated their batting lineup like it personally insulted him.”

“…Because he was pissed about tic-tac-toe.”

“Yep.”

Jun stared at him for a long moment. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Get in line,” Miyuki muttered.

Even Chris had walked over to the mound to see what the commotion was about. “This is all it takes to get him to pitch seriously?”

Life was starting to drain from his eyes— oh my god, Sawamura broke him. Not even his injury made his eyes look that dead.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Jun roared from besides the manager.

“Language,” Ryousuke reminded him, but his eyes were narrower than usual. It’s the scariest they’ve seen him look.

“FUCK THAT? DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET HIM TO PITCH THAT WELL—”

“You’re not even a catcher” someone muttered unhelpfully.

Meanwhile, Sawamura had noticed the crowd gathering around his battlefield and was starting to look nervous in the way that suggested he was beginning to realize his secret might not be as secret as he'd hoped.

"Uh," he said to nobody in particular, "is everything okay over there?"

"Oh, everything's cool," Jun said with the kind of false sweetness that usually preceded violence. "We're just admiring your strategic masterpiece."

"My what now?"

"Your tic-tac-toe game, you walking disaster."

Sawamura’s face cycled through denial, anger, bargaining, and despair in record time—then stopped. His pupils narrowed, his posture went rigid. The team collectively recoiled.

“Oh god,” someone whispered. “He’s gone full cat-eyed.”

Sawamura, wide-eyed and feral, looked one startled noise away from bolting straight into the outfield fence.

"Kuramochi," Ryousuke spoke softly.

Sawamura was so done for.

Everyone turned to look at the shortstop, whose expression had shifted from "mildly entertained" to "actively planning violence" faster than anyone should be physically capable of.

"Yes, Ryou-san?"

"Catch him."

That was all the encouragement Kuramochi needed. He let out his trademark "HYAHAHA!" and cracked his knuckles with the sound of someone preparing for therapeutic violence.

“Wait—what’s happening?”

Everyone turned. The entire Kotesashi team was wandering over, drawn in by Jun’s roaring and the ominous cloud of doom that always seemed to hover around Seidou.

“Is everything… alright?” Yamada asked carefully, like he was trying to de-escalate a hostage situation.

“Everything’s fine ,” Jun said through gritted teeth. “We’re just having a friendly little chat about the consequences of recreational activities.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s mad because I played tic-tac-toe,” Sawamura blurted out from where he was being wrestled by Kuramochi, like that was somehow going to help.

It did not.

Kotesashi’s players froze, staring at each other with expressions ranging from what the fuck to please tell me I hallucinated that sentence .

“…Tic-tac-toe?” Chihaya asked, very slowly.

“On the mound,” Miyuki helpfully clarified. “With your pitcher.”

The silence that followed was so heavy it could’ve cracked the dirt.

“…Our pitcher?” Todo asked, dread already in his voice.

“Haruka,” Miyuki confirmed. “They were playing tic-tac-toe. On the mound. During the game. While the rest of us were out here trying to play actual baseball.”

The Kotesashi bench collectively short-circuited.

“Haruka,” Yamada said finally, testing every syllable like it might explode. “You… were playing tic-tac-toe.”

“During the game.”

“On the mound.”

“With their idiot.”

“While we were getting demolished.”

Every head snapped toward Haruka

“…Is that true?” Yamada asked, his voice creeping toward insanity.

They needed to get this man a psychiatrist, with all the bullshit their battery puts him through.

Haruka glanced at the dirt. At the grid. At Sawamura, who was looking like the sore loser that he was. Then back at his team.

“Yes,” he said flatly.

The explosion was immediate.

“WHAT THE HELL, HARUKA?!” Yamada shrieked.

“YOU WERE PLAYING GAMES WHILE WE WERE DYING OUT THERE?” Todo added.

“Did you win atleast?” Chihaya grinned, which wasn’t really the point but somehow felt vital.

“I won,” Haruka confirmed, with the smugness of a man who didn’t give a damn about consequences.

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” Yamada’s voice cracked three octaves higher. “The point is you were playing children games while we were being humiliated!”

“I wasn’t just playing,” Haruka corrected. “I was winning.”

Meanwhile, Kei—sweet, oblivious Kei—finally spoke up, looking like he was trying to calculate nuclear physics with crayons.

“…Wait. Is that why you looked so happy? Because you won at tic-tac-toe?”

“I won the war, ” Haruka corrected, because apparently that was all that mattered to him.

The next ten minutes would go down in baseball history. 

There was screaming that sounded like a pig being butchered. There was chasing that looked like a very violent version of playground tag. There were bats, helmets, and mitts being weaponized in ways their manufacturers absolutely never intended.

And yet—when the sun dipped low over Seidou’s pristine fields, painting everything in soft orange and pink, you could almost believe this had been a normal practice match.

Almost.

It would’ve been, too. If it weren’t for fucking tic-tac-toe.