Game Day

A cool morning breeze swept over the baseball field under a spring sun. The whole team was out for a light practice to warm up before the game later that afternoon.

Coach Suzuki watched his players doing drills run by the assistant coaches.

His eyes looked to Nobu, the first year pitcher who played like a third year. Every drill he gave it his all, each throw made with deadly accuracy.

Next, he moved to watching Chuujirou Matsuda, the second baseman in his fourth year. He had a solid chance at turning pro, but not a guarantee. The man practiced like he had everything to lose. It was obvious the lack of certainty was taking a toll on his nerves.

Then there was Hiroki, the shortstop first year with exceptional talent, but didn't practice with a full, honest, effort. A player who used his talent as a crutch to make up for a lack of diligence.

Hiroki entered the dugout following practice, grabbed his bag, and started his trek home. His mind spun like a loom. The entire practice, he had been watching Kotaro, the starting shortstop in his third year.

Kotaro was a decent player, but Hiroki felt he was better. He wasn't certain, he just had a nagging in the back of his mind that told him something was off. Is there something I'm not seeing? he thought to himself.

Today's game would be the true test. An answer to the question of what Kotaro is capable of. And a sign of how Hiroki might stand in comparison.

"Twenty minutes until game time," Coach Suzuki said to the locker room full of players.

Hiroki looked around to each of them, gathering their moods. The one who stood out to him most was the unpredictably quiet Nobu, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees and empty eyes staring at the floor.

Hiroki was surprised to see that side of him, not expecting that type of pre-game personality coming from the type of player he saw in their high school baseball days. It wasn't the calm and confident Nobu that he knew.

Korato was laughing and chatting to a couple of the other third years. His expression showed quite clearly this wasn't his first university game.

Hiroki turned to Sora next to him, who was rather calm – likely because he wasn't on the starting lineup.

"How do you think we'll do?" Hiroki asked.
"Hard to say," Sora replied, "I think we're pretty evenly matched."
"Where's your team spirit?" Hiroki jested.
Sora shrugged, "I'll leave my cheering for when we get out there. It's not like I'm playing today."

The Wastune baseball team entered the stadium to a roaring crowd. The place was huge, far bigger than his high school championship. The place was packed to the brim with cheering fans; some theirs, some for Koiji.

The voice that stood out most, was that of a young woman screaming from above the dugout. Hiroki didn't catch a glimpse of who it was before they entered, but the woman was repeatedly yelling, "Come on Nobu! Get a home run!"

Hiroki looked to Nobu, who was leaned against the fence, his right hand covering the top half of his face, trying to hold back laughter, but unable to contain it.

"Hey Nobu, who is that yelling?" Hiroki asked.
"It's Aki," Nobu snickered, his hand finally moving from his face.
"Does she pitchers don't usually bat?" Hiroki continued.
"She doesn't really understand how baseball works," Nobu smiled with raised eyebrows.

Hiroki couldn't help but chuckle alongside him. Nobu's entire aura changed from what he was in the dressing room. He was calmer, smiling, and holding his head up.

The team exited the dugout. All of the players in second year and beyond waved to the stands and bowed to their adoring fans. And the first years, catching on to the routine, joined them.

Hiroki finally spotted Aki, or Murasaki rather, in a seat right above the dugout, still screaming endlessly in a gutteral voice some words of encouragement. "No-BU! No-BU!" she hollered.

Then he noticed beside her, on her right, one Chinami's friends, one he had seen at the cafe. Another seat over he saw another one of Chinami's friends. Another seat over he finally noticed Chinami sitting there, smiling at him and clapping with a quieted cheer he certainly couldn't hear over Murasaki's gleeful shouting.

Hiroki turned his body to face Chinami directly, removed his hat with a gentle grin on his face, and bowed to her. After returning upright, she started clapping her hands above her head, and let out a "woo!" Hiroki could just barely hear.

A hand firmly patted him on the back. Hiroki turned to see Nobu smirking at him, "very smooth, my friend."

The national anthem played and both teams and the crowd stood in respect. The players returned to their dugouts for the start of the game.

Hiroki's eyes focused on his prey, Kotaro. His newfound rival. The competitor for the starting lineup. To Hiroki, nothing else in the matched mattered beyond how Kotaro's capabilities compared to his own.

The other team was to start at bat. "Let's go, boys," Coach Suzuki commanded. The starters exited the dugout and jogged to their placements on the field.

Hiroki watched as Nobu stood on the pitching mound fondling the baseball in his mitt. The nerves were back.

Koiji's first batter made his way to the plate. Number fifteen. A towering man, built like a Titan from the original creators of this earth.

Nobu didn't seem to notice. His eyes were still trying to burn a hole in his glove. The crowd silently watched, waiting for Nobu to make a move.

An uncomfortable amount of time passed. The infielders looked to each other, their eyes alone revealing the question of whether they should say something.

"Let's see a knuckleball right over the plate! Ah-woo!" Hiroki heard from atop the dugout. A voice he assumed belonged to Murasaki again. Some of the players in the dugout chuckled.

It got Nobu's attention. He looked over to her with a little more life in his eyes, though not enough to break a smile. Still serious, but at least awake.

A deep breath in. And breathe out.

His eyes moved back to the batter, finally seeing what he was up against, however he didn't hesitate. Nobu's left leg picked up from the ground, he wound his arm and the rest of his upper body like a coiled spring and his right arm whipped the ball toward homeplate.

"Strike!" the umpire called as the ball hit the catchers glove.

151.2 KPH – read the speed sign. The crowd gave a brief cheer.

By the 5th inning, Hiroki had come to the conclusion that Kotaro was a good player, but not remarkable.

He made every catch he should have. Always went for the most logical outs, but nothing that would show up on a highlight reel. There was no craving; no need to do the outstanding.

In the end, Watsune lost four to three.

Back in the dressing room, the atmosphere was gloomy with energy far lower than at the start of the game.

The team had fought hard, nevertheless there were small mistakes that ultimately added up to a loss.

Hiroki had noted in his mind that Kotaro made one single mistake in the eighth inning.

Koiji had a runner on first and third. The batter hit a pop fly, Kotaro made a running effort to get the catch – good – but the runner on first base was half way to second, not expecting Kotaro to make the catch. Kotaro threw to first base, but the throw was rushed, leaving Watsune's first baseman to take a few steps off the bag and race back to first to get the out.

The runner on third noticed the wayward throw and sprinted for homeplate among the chaos to make Koiji's fourth, game-winning, run.

It was close for all previous innings. One bad throw was enough to end it.

But Hiroki wondered, was that enough to take Kotaro off the starting lineup?