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The afternoon sun beat down on the diamond, reflecting perfectly off the crisp, pristine pinstripes of Copia's uniform.
He stood just outside the dugout, leading a tight huddle that consisted of Secondo, Terzo, Nihil, Perpetua, and Plushia.
Copia adjusted his cap with a sharp, dramatic flick of his wrist.
On the other side of the field, the opposing team was already stretched out and looking dangerously professional, but Copia wasn't deterred.
He looked magnificent.
His knee-high socks were pulled up to perfection, his gloves were strapped tight, and he was ready for glory.
He leaned into the huddle, dropping his voice into a confidential, high-energy whisper that was pure team captain.
"Alright, listen up, ragazzi," Copia said, pointing a finger dramatically at each of them.
"This is it. The big diamond. The field of dreams. We have the uniforms, we have the stamina, and most importantly, we have me. I need clean runs, sharp catches, and absolutely no distractions. Do we understand each other?"
The huddle nodded in unison.
Copia smirked. "Excellent. Now let's get out there and show these bastards who is fucking boss!"
Suddenly, the dusty baseball diamond vanished.
The entire background transformed into a vibrant, pastel purple expanse covered in floating, sparkly black roses.
A chibi version of Perpetua appeared—incredibly cute, adorable, and practically bouncing with bubbly, enthusiastic energy.
With oversized eyes and a tiny, floating rulebook in his hands, he happily chimed in, "But brother! It's not about who wins or loses. It's about having fun and learning the spirit of the game!"
Right on cue, a chibi Nihil popped into the frame, happy tears twinkling in his cute eyes as he threw an arm over his son, pulling him close.
"Exactly right, my boy! A father and his son, sharing the great American pastime on the field together. It's beautiful!"
Pop!
The sparkly roses shattered, and the normal background rushed back into place.
Copia stood completely frozen, utterly stunned by the sheer amount of wholesome, unhelpful energy that had just blasted into the huddle.
His eyes had literally transformed into shocked, blank white disks with thick black lines comically vibrating around the edges.
For a solid three seconds, he didn't breathe.
Then, Copia vigorously shook his head from side to side with a cartoonish rattling sound, snapping his eyes back to their normal, mismatched state.
"Uh? Oh. Yes. Sure, sure," Copia stammered, clearing his throat.
"Yeah, yeah, 'having fun.' Very nice, very wholesome. We will do a lot of... of that... right after we utterly crush the other team into the dirt. Fun is for the winners!"
Before anyone could argue the philosophy of sportsmanship, Copia turned on his heel, grabbing a sleek black bat from the rack.
He strutted toward the home plate, settling into the batter's box with an over-the-top, theatrical swagger.
He tapped the bat against his cleats, held it high over his shoulder, and locked his eyes on the pitcher, determined to set a flawless example for his utterly hopeless team.
The pitcher wound up and let fly a screaming fastball right down the center of the plate.
Copia didn't hesitate.
With a perfectly timed, over-the-top theatrical swing, he brought the bat around.
CRACK!
The sound echoed across the entire stadium as the ball soared high, high into the afternoon sky, clearing the outfield wall by a mile.
A home run!
The scattered crowd erupted into cheers, and Copia practically floated down the baseline.
He ran the bases with an immense, unshakeable pride—tipping his cap to the empty sections, blowing imaginary kisses, and stepping squarely on every single base without the other team even coming close to throwing him out.
He slid elegantly into home plate, even though he didn't need to, just to kick up a dramatic cloud of dust.
Rising to his feet, he brushed off his pristine pinstripes and pointed a thumb back at himself, looking at his dugout with a smug, triumphant grin.
"And that," Copia announced loudly, crossing his arms, "is exactly how it is done! Top tier athletic prowess!"
Meanwhile, high up in the nosebleed section of the stands, Primo sat in the shade, watching the spectacle with a look of profound disapproval.
Perched comfortably on his shoulder was Mercy, his black pet crow, who let out a cynical croak.
Right next to him was Plushie Primo, who was holding a pair of opera glasses to his stubby face to get a better look at the field.
Primo crossed his arms, looking down at his "successors" with absolute disdain.
"Look at them down there," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Running around in dirt, chasing a leather sphere like common street urchins. They all look completely ridiculous. Foolish, the lot of them."
Plushie Primo, lowering his opera glasses, handed them up to Primo, who took them as he looked down at the Ministry's dugout as the next batter stepped out onto the field.
The moment the figure came into view, Primo's face contorted into a grimace of pure annoyance and utter disgust.
He let out a loud groan.
Meanwhile, in a mid-level seating section closer to the action, Lucy was leaning over the railing with an eager smile.
Tucked safely under her arm was Weenie, Terzo's brown dachshund, whose little nose was twitching as she scanned the stadium.
"Do you see him, Weenie?" Lucy asked, her eyes darting across the baseline as she looked for a familiar face.
Weenie perked her floppy ears up, squinting down at the diamond.
Suddenly, her tail began to wag like a propeller. She let out a sharp, happy "ruff!" and pointed her snout directly toward the batter's box.
Lucy followed her gaze, her face lighting up. "There he is!"
Stepping into the box was Terzo.
He completely ignored Primo's distant, booming boos from the nosebleeds.
The pitcher threw a standard, easy ball.
Terzo took a swing (whoosh!), but missed the ball by a solid two feet.
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled.
Terzo scoffed, adjusting his uniform as if the ball was at fault.
The pitcher wound up and threw the second pitch.
Determined to make contact, Terzo lunged forward with an aggressive, dramatic swing, completely tangling his own feet in the process.
His cleats caught the dirt, his arms windmilled wildly, and with a comical THUD, he tripped and face-planted directly into the dust.
Lucy let out a worried gasp. "Terzo!" Without a second thought, she bolted from her seat and began rushing down the stadium stairs to check on him, with Weenie still securely tucked under her.
Primo witnessed the majestic face-plant and erupted into a fit of cruel, booming laughter. "Ha! Look at him! A total disgrace to the lineage!" Mercy let out a synchronized, mocking "Caw! Caw!"
Primo shook his head, instantly bored now that his favorite target had humiliated himself. "Well, I've seen quite enough of this circus," he said to the bird on his shoulder as he stood up.
He started heading toward the exit, leaving the field behind.
Meanwhile, Plushie Primo was still sitting in his seat, eyes utterly glued to the game.
A few seconds passed as Primo returned to the row.
He stood over the tiny plush, crossing his arms and throwing down a stern look that said: we are leaving right now.
Plushie Primo slowly lowered the opera glasses.
He turned his head and stared up at big Primo.
Dead silence passed between the two.
The wind blew. A cricket chirped. The plush didn't move a muscle.
Sighing with irritation, Primo snatched the plushie.
"Come on," Primo grumbled, turning around and finally walking out of the stadium for good. "I have actual work to do as well as a garden to get back to."
...
Lucy sprinted down the remaining stadium stairs, bursting through the gate and rushing straight toward home plate.
She dropped to her knees beside Terzo, heedless of the dirt and dust.
Lucy set Weenie down, and the little dachshund immediately began sniffing Terzo with a worried whimper.
"Terzo! Oh my goodness, are you okay?" Lucy asked softly, her voice filled with sweet concern as she gently took his hands to help him sit up.
Terzo groggily shook the dust from his hair, blinking up at her.
The moment his eyes focused on Lucy, his dazed expression completely melted into a sweet, swooning smile.
"I am now, amore," Terzo told her, his voice smooth and entirely unfazed by the fact that he was currently sitting in a pile of dirt.
He gave her hands a tender squeeze. "A fall is nothing compared to the joy of seeing you rush to my rescue. Truly, my heart is healed."
The chaotic noise of the stadium completely faded into the background.
A shower of sparkles and tiny pink hearts materialized out of thin air around them.
Lucy and Terzo stared deeply into each other's eyes, adorable pastel-pink flush marks appearing on both of their cheeks as they shared a blissful, smiling moment.
Behind them on the mound, the pitcher raised an eyebrow, completely bewildered by the sudden romance novel unfolding at home plate.
Shrugging, the pitcher wound up and casually tossed the ball right down the middle.
The ball landed squarely in the catcher's mitt.
Neither Terzo nor Lucy even blinked. They were still completely locked in their own sparkly, lovesick world.
"Strike three! You're out!" the umpire bellowed.
Copia's jaw literally unhinged, dropping so low it practically hit the dugout floor with a cartoonish clack.
His eyes turned back into those blank white disks as he stared at his teammate getting eliminated without even looking at the ball.
With a heavy, miserable groan, Copia brought his gloved hand up and facepalmed.
Lucy gently clasped Terzo’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she began guiding him toward the stadium gate.
Weenie trotted happily right behind them, her little tail wagging at the prospect of a walk.
"Come on," Lucy said with a warm, caring smile. "Let's head back to my place so we can get you properly cleaned up. I'll even help you reapply your face paint."
Terzo's eyes widened slightly, a small pout forming on his lips. "But amore—"
"No buts," Lucy interrupted gently, offering a playful shake of her head.
"This game clearly wasn't made for a man of your... artistic talents. We'll just watch the rest of it together on the couch once you're fresh and clean."
She then leaned in just a little closer, her voice shifting into a lighthearted, cute, and flirty tone. "Besides, you know... you actually looked pretty hot out there before the tumble."
Terzo instantly melted.
A genuine, bright blush flared across his cheeks beneath his dust-smudged makeup.
He let out a soft, pleased chuckle, completely charmed, and reached up with his free hand to rub the back of his neck in a rare, genuinely shy gesture. "Ah, dio mio... you think so?"
"Hey! Hey! Where the hell do you think you are going?!" Copia yelled. "You cannot just leave mid-game! We are down a batter! Hey! Terzo!"
Terzo didn't even bother looking back as Lucy led him through the gate.
Copia let out a long, agonizing groan that sounded like a deflating balloon.
He slapped his gloved hand right back over his eyes—only this time, he didn't pull it away.
He slowly dragged his hand all the way down his face, stretching his skin comically in pure, unadulterated annoyance.
"I am surrounded by amateurs," Copia muttered to himself.
...
The next few innings flew by in a rapid, chaotic montage of pure athletic disaster.
Each clip felt like a frantic snippet from a cartoon as Copia's blood pressure ticked steadily upward.
Crack! The opposing team's star batter connected with a vicious pitch, sending the baseball rocketing high into the deep left field.
Back on the pitcher's mound, Copia's eyes widened in sheer panic.
He whirled around, pointing a frantic, gloved finger toward the outfield.
"Secondo! Catch it! It's coming right to—"
Copia froze.
His eyes darted across the empty grass, scanning the left field line. Secondo was nowhere to be found.
Frantic, Copia's gaze whipped toward the sidelines, his eyes bulging as he finally spotted the second papa.
Secondo was leaning casually against the stadium wall near the lower stands.
He was currently using a sharpie to sign a baseball for the stadium's mascot—who had her oversized fuzzy costume head tucked under her arm, revealing herself to be a very attractive woman.
With a smooth, practiced flourish, Secondo handed the signed ball back to her, offering a sharp, theatrical wink that made her giggle.
Back on the mound, Copia's face went entirely red.
His teeth ground together so hard they made an audible clicking sound.
He cupped his hands around his mouth, his composure shattering as he screamed across the diamond at the top of his lungs.
"Hey! Get your keister back on the fucking field!"
Secondo slowly turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the screaming captain.
"Huh? Oh, sure, sure. In a second, Cardinal," Secondo drawled dismissively, his voice dripping with his usual deadpan, unbothered tone.
The sheer, ultimate disrespect of his past title sent Copia over the edge.
"Cardinal?!" Copia shrieked, his voice cracking. "I am Frater! I am the Team Captain! You call me—"
Suddenly, realization hit him that the ball was still descending.
Looking over, he saw Perpetua and Nihil both scrambling toward the dropping shadow, their gloves raised in absolute, starry-eyed excitement.
"I got it!" Perpetua shouted optimistically.
"No, no, I got it, my boy!" Nihil yelled back, completely locked into the father-son bonding moment.
They both ran full speed toward the exact same spot, completely ignoring each other until—GONK!
They both fell backward into the grass, rubbing their heads.
Instead of being upset, they looked at each other and broke out into wholehearted, booming laughter, completely delighted by the mishap.
THUD.
The baseball plummeted back to earth, landing with a heavy, dusty bounce right beside them.
Copia stood on the mound, his eye twitching violently as he growled in pure annoyance at the display.
But before he could even open his mouth to yell at them, a loud, definitive buzz rang out across the stadium scoreboard.
Copia blinked, slowly turning back around toward home plate. The scoreboard flashed the final, devastating score.
The game was over.
They had officially lost.
Instantly, the opposing team erupted into a massive, raucous victory celebration.
Bright, colorful confetti rained down from the stadium rafters out of nowhere.
The players rushed the field, gathering around the star batter who had secured their win—who was revealed to be none other than Plushie Nihil, who was indeed sentient.
The opposing team lifted tiny Nihil high into the air, tossing him up and down in a triumphant victory toss while the little plush doll held his stubby arms out in glory.
Back on the pitcher's mound, Copia went completely rigid.
Color drained from his face as he stuck in a frozen state of absolute, vegetative shock.
His arms hung limply at his sides, his mouth hung slightly open, and a single, dramatic gust of wind blew a stray hotdog wrapper right past his knee-high socks.
He had lost, defeated by a plush toy.
...
Copia remained stuck in his frozen state of ultimate defeat, a stiff, pinstriped statue of pure disbelief.
Suddenly, the aggressive, high-pitched hum of an electric motor shattered the victory music.
From out of nowhere, a bright bullpen cart came tearing across the infield dirt at a completely unsafe speed.
BAM!
The cart collided squarely with Copia, hitting him with full cartoon force.
The impact literally spiked him straight down into the diamond like a giant lawn dart, burying his entire body into the ground until only his head was left poking out above the dirt, his cap sitting comically askew on his messy hair.
The occupants of the cart, however, didn't even tap the brakes.
Sitting behind the wheel was Plushie Nihil, his stubby fabric arms steering the cart with reckless abandon.
Right next to him in the passenger seat was the real, full-sized Nihil, comfortably cradling his shiny gold saxophone in his lap.
Riding in the back of the cart was Perpetua, proudly holding a massive, gleaming brass tuba.
As Plushie Nihil drove directly over the spot where Copia had been standing, neither Nihil nor Perpetua paid a single shred of attention.
They were completely oblivious to the fact that they had just turned their team captain into an infield marker.
Nihil turned around in his seat, beaming warmly at his son. "I must say, son, I am quite excited to go fishing with you! And once we catch our prize, I simply cannot wait to hear you play that tuba alongside me while I jam out on the sax."
Perpetua looked up, his face lighting up with that same bright, relentless optimism as he focused entirely on his dad.
He gave the heavy tuba a joyful squeeze. "I am so excited too, Daddy! I can't wait for our Father-Son Day to officially begin!"
Plushie Nihil hit the gas, veering sharply off the field and toward the stadium exit, leaving a thick cloud of dust in their wake.
Down in the dirt, Copia slowly blinked his mismatched eyes, spitting a small clump of infield clay out of his mouth.
He couldn't move a single limb, completely stuck in the earth as the celebratory confetti drifted down around his head.
"I hate baseball," he whimpered to the empty sky.
...
Copia suddenly notices a small shadow.
He blinked, shifting his gaze.
Standing just inches away from his head was Plushia.
The little plush doll stood perfectly still, his blank, stitched eyes staring at his captain with an unreadable expression.
A small spark of hope ignited in Copia's chest.
For all the incompetence he had suffered today, surely his loyal little plush companion was here to save him.
"Ah, Plushia...," Copia mumbled, a strained, grateful smile cracking through his face paint.
"Amico mio... thank goodness. Can you do me a small favor and... I don't know, find a shovel? Help me out of this dirt?"
Plushia hopped backward into a sturdy stance and thrusted one of his stubby, fabric hands forward, curled into a tight little sphere.
He had thrown a rock.
He wanted to play Rock, Paper, Scissors.
Copia blinked, staring at the little plush hand. A slow, mischievous, and deeply competitive smirk began to spread across his face.
"Oh..." Copia chuckled, his eyes narrowing with a sudden surge of renewed confidence. "Oh, I see. You want to play Rock, Paper, Scissors, huh?"
Finally! A sport that didn't require running, hitting, or relying on his utterly useless family. A game of pure wits and strategy. A game he could actually win.
Grunting loudly, Copia strained every muscle in his upper body.
With a dramatic pop, he managed to violently tug his right hand free from the tight infield dirt, shaking the loose clay from his glove.
He raised his hand, locking eyes with the plush.
"Alright, Plushia," Copia declared, his voice full of over-the-top, dramatic intensity. "Let's do this. No mercy!"
They both began to pump their hands in perfect, rhythmic sync.
Rock... Paper... Scissors... SHOOT!
With a triumphant flourish, Copia flattened his hand entirely, laying it out flat in the air. Paper!
He quickly looked down at Plushia. Rock!
Copia's face lit up with absolute, euphoric glee.
He threw his head back, letting out a loud, boastful laugh that echoed across the empty stadium.
"Ha! Paper beats rock! I win! I finally win!"
Plushia stared at Copia's celebrating face for a fraction of a second.
Then, without a single sound, the little plush casually uncurled two of his fabric fingers, forming a perfect, undeniable 'V' shape right over Copia's paper.
He had changed his mind. He threw scissors.
Copia's laughter instantly died in his throat.
"Noooooo!" he shrieked, his voice echoing in a long, agonizing, theatrical cartoon wail toward the sky.