Work Text:
Top of the 8th Inning — Fourth Batter
The dugout was a cage of bursting energy; the extensive cheers made by the whole team rang loud and apparent. "Hell yeah! Way to bury them!" a faint but somewhat audible voice shouted, either an away fan or a general baseball enthusiast. Although, it did not matter. The static air felt cold yet vibrating but each image of the stadium was obvious. The faces worn on the opposing team— rattled and eagerly challenged. The whole stadium jerked in ascending volume, repeatedly roaring each syllable of the name Miyuki Kazuya.
By the top of the eight inning, the Swallows had long already seized control. As the visitors— the away team they firmly held a two-run lead; yet the rumbling roar of the dugout suggested it was not over.
The crack of the bat that swung not just too long ago felt as if the vibration was still in the atmosphere. The ball speedily soared— and flew towards the light, promptly disappearing deep into the left-field bleachers. Miyuki was not phased; he did not even need to look too long at the dropping image in the far bleachers.
The main catcher— standing on the chalk lines that were blurred from experienced cleats digging into them all game, promptly tilted his chin and perhaps, a ghost of a smirk had eyes that were not looking at the ball anymore but at the aggravated faces in the opposing dugout. He let a sharp, rhythmic puff of air out his lips— less like a sigh but more of a prideful exhale of triumph.
Miyuki almost found himself sneering at the expressions of the home team as he threw his bat aside with a flick of his wrist. He trotted— a rhythmic and steady jog across every single base: the first, the second, and eventually, the third. He locked eyes with the third-base coach in a celebratory nod as he turned. The home plate was evidently waiting for him at the end; Miyuki firmly stepped on the home plate and fixed a competent gaze at his own dugout.
The coach and his teammates wore a resigned expression with a sense of pride of their own. Miyuki Kazuya was recently appointed as the main catcher of the Swallows three weeks ago. It was a tedious process trying to compete for that position in a competitive environment such as the Swallows.
The only other catcher was Harada Masatoshi, the main catcher of Inashiro until he graduated; and Chris Yu Takigawa— the former main catcher of the Swallows and the veteran catcher Miyuki highly respected since his first-year in Seido. Chris was the main catcher for two years in the Swallows before passing the position down to Miyuki shortly after proving his extensive athleticism and aggressive game play.
The bustling stadium blurred into a set of teammates commending Miyuki as he walked to the dugout with a sharp effortless and most likely, annoying smirk that made a few people a bit offended rather than overjoyed. Miyuki lifted his hand to remove his helmet and shook his hair free, leaving his teammates waiting for his comments on the pitcher that was swapped in the last minute at the top of the eight inning.
He wiped the sweat on his foreheat with his hand and deliberately spoke, not hesitantly but in a way that felt like a switch was turned on— "I think that was either a high-speed slurve or a hard sweeper. Judging at the vertical drop and lack of that big, slow "loop" hard sweeper pitches have— I can be sure that it's a high-speed slurve, a slider + curve hybrid." Miyuki squint-blinked to glare at the pitcher, who promptly threw a rosin bag in his palms before continuing to explain. "It has the velocity of a slider but the depth of a curveball, if you swing where you see the ball, you will almost always swing over the top of it. "
Chris stepped forward, with a raised hand holding a towel to Miyuki before uttering, "Basically, you need to put weight on your back leg a split-second longer than usual. Swing low— just at the catcher's knees. Let it dive deep and low into the path of the bat." The blond catcher took a second to peer over his teammates and softly commended, "Miyuki did a great job hitting the slurve."
Miyuki extended his gratitude with a simple nod. He patted down his sweaty face with a dry towel before he conversed, "Thanks, Chris-senpai— Such a nasty pitch." Miyuki heaved a sarcastic sigh. In the first week of his debut as main catcher, Miyuki has never shown pity to Chris or felt terrible taking his position after two years. He felt he needed to fill that role and feeling bad about "stealing" that position would be disrespectful to Chris.
"Very well." The captain and the fifth batter coldly muttered. Tetsu flared in a terrifying aura. His teammates felt fear striking down their spines at the sight. He had already worn a helmet, walking out of the dugout to the batting box. Miyuki watched the scene, quietly snickering to himself. The look on his teammates' faces was ridiculous. He peered over to the batting box and already knew his captain was going to swing his bat at the first pitch
Miyuki strolled to the more muffled portion of the dugout— in the dark, where he left his sports bag in the corner of the bench. He promptly sat on the cold bench and lifted a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, before taking a sip out of his tumbler. Miyuki noticed a faint movement in his side-view.
"I overheard from the managers that a new face will be joining the roster." Miyuki lifted his gaze to Chris conversing with him. "He's been slotted directly into the starting lineup— it seems. A pitcher, Miyuki." Chris firmly emphasized his last few words with a gentle grin. Miyuki rested his tumbler down as an interested smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, twitching a bit at the piece of information.
Miyuki let out a sneer, "I didn't take you for an eavesdropper, Chris-senpai—"
The whole dugout screeched into a scream of victory as Tetsu hit a home run between the center fielder and right fielder. The sight on the mound was evident; the opposing pitcher felt his own shoulders tensed after giving two runs in a row. It was an alarming situation to the opposing team to have their own ace pitcher get crushed with two homers in a row. Chris resigned with a smile, "I think we just broke their pitcher's spirit." Miyuki nodded in return, biting back a snicker. What a show off...
Miyuki squared his shoulders to cross his arms together, returning his focus to the recently interrupted conversation. "A pitcher, huh?" Miyuki sniffed an eager chuckle— "Are you tryna make me hopeful?" The brunette clenched his sides, almost giving up a tear. (As if there were any other pitcher as interesting.)
Chris lingered in calm stillness before heaving a puffed snort. "I haven't heard from him in nearly three years, Miyuki— neither did anyone else in Seido." The taller catcher uttered under his fluttering eyelashes with a downward tilt. Miyuki did the opposite— expectantly fixed on the ceiling. (Bakamura...)
"He's going first overall— in the draft pick. A big league like the Swallows would definitely drool over a pitcher like him." Miyuki pressed his shoulders against the wall behind him with a solid posture, arms crossed and a confident leg over another. The catcher flared a snort out of his system. "Not that I needed to be updated with the NPB draft announcements. If any time was the best to be drafted, it was now—" A tug on the corners of his mouth became more prominent.
"Every team would be itching to play against him."
A moment of silence— stillness branched between the two catchers as they shifted their focus to their own dugout. The dugouts— the navy blue, red, and green dugouts continued to sizzle in unyielding strength or rather, in volume (or perhaps, both.) against their persistent opposing team.
The whole field started to become a mosaic. A blur moment of static then— a crescendo fuzz of victorious roaring across the stadium bloomed. The Yakult Swallows continue to reign victorious in their on-going unyielding win streak. It marks their 7th win in a row— though not surprising with their terrifying set on the roster. Nonetheless, an impressive feat.
--------------------
Click.
The clubhouse meeting room smelled like an abusive combination of stained whiteboard, tactical diagrams, and rows of plastic chairs. White painted walls, air-conditioned room, well-ventilated space— a picture of hell. And a flat-screen television mounted on the wall. The reeks of used ball-tip pens started to become a usual bitter taste on the tongue. Miyuki did not pay it any piece of his mind. A few wrinkled pieces of bond paper spread across his table dirtied with dried streaking ink— a few comments, then a few pointers on the next opposing team they will be against.
The Yomiuri Giants was the oldest and the most successful team in the big leagues. Hence, they were frequently widely wrath upon by other teams. Miyuki was certain his team could crush them even more though. It felt terribly quiet in the room; the catcher nearly missed the sound of the door creaking.
Tetsu strolled over the vicinity of the catcher. The sound of steady and confident footsteps, the captain of the Swallows. "Stop the scouting report for a second. Take a look at the TV, Miyuki— the live feed is starting." Tetsu, as always, blankly directed.
The click of the ballpen did not hesitate, not once. "Sorry, Tetsu-san. I'm kinda busy. Not interested in some rookies' PR." Miyuki quietly murmured, clearly occupied— clearly occupying his mind with data that seemed way too interesting for him today. Or it seems that way.
"You'll want to see this one— trust me." Tetsu firmly assured, securing with a knowing slight-grin. A rare image of the stoic captain.
With a resigned breath and a drop of a pen on the clear table, Miyuki finally lifted his gaze or rather, his glare. The mounted TV flickered with reoccurring flashing lights— it almost made it seem like some sort of red carpet runway with the amount of flashes blinking on the screen. The press conference sounded like it was filled to the brim. It felt like an entirely different place than the clubhouse meeting room they were.
It was a sea of camera flashes— suits and suits drowning the screen. A flick of the camera— the TV, it flashed to a player. No, a pitcher.
It was obvious.
The creased fabric on his shoulders wore heavy and awkward, a suit slightly too stiff for the player. Then—
that sickening, blinding smile. (Sickening in a way I could never get sick of.)
There he was. He— him.
Miyuki felt his world fall— into a trance-like nostalgia. A sense of comfort? Heartache? There was a knot down his throat— definitely. Possibly, his heart.
The pen suddenly felt like it could snap under his grip. It fell— but somehow, he had to grasp on a piece of reality to regain his own sanity. Maybe, a split-second ago. Miyuki didn't even realize it.
The pitcher opened his mouth— with a click of a remote, gone; the screen blacked. The catcher had shut it off.
Tetsu was stunned, blinked at the sudden action. "Mi—" Miyuki stood, pushing himself away from the seat. The pen rolled away— with the relief of the released tension along the thin laid out paper; the worn wrinkled paper was now left. A sense of urgency— to leave, apparently. The captain paid no effort to question him. Miyuki wouldn't answer him, anyway.
The clubhouse room sounded awfully silent now.