Chris truly wanted Sawamura to understand something important—
That a pitcher who throws his most confident pitch at a batter who has already read the trajectory was walking into a dangerous trap.
But right now, Sawamura wasn’t in a state where he could hear any of that.
His mind was completely consumed by one thought:
Strike him out with my best pitch.
And end this game properly.
For Chris.
For his final high school game.
The white ball left his hand.
Chris watched the batter’s movements carefully.
Zaizen had clearly read the pitch trajectory.
Everything suggested it would be hit cleanly.
But—
At the moment the ball reached the plate, Zaizen’s swing hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Just that tiny delay.
His timing broke.
And the ball slipped cleanly into Chris’s mitt.
“Batter swings and misses—strikeout!
Game over!”
Chris slowly stood up.
His gaze shifted toward Zaizen, who had dropped to one knee, pain flashing across his face.
A quiet sadness passed through Chris’s eyes.
Injuries.
They were always the most unforgiving enemy of an athlete.
Sawamura ran off the mound immediately.
“How was it, Chris-senpai?
That pitch!”
In his mind, he was satisfied.
A dead-center four-seam fastball.
Just like in his previous life, it had finished Zaizen.
Perfect.
But Chris didn’t respond the way he expected.
He simply said—
“Nice pitch.”
Cold.
Flat.
Distant.
That was all.
After that, Chris’s attitude toward Sawamura changed.
Even someone as dense as Sawamura could feel it.
Chris was angry.
Sawamura thought about it.
It seemed like ever since that game, Chris had been like this.
But he didn’t understand why.
So, in an attempt to fix things, Sawamura started doing everything he could.
Carrying trays like a cafeteria worker.
Handing Chris towels in the bath.
Even awkwardly asking if he needed toilet paper in the restroom.
At one point, he even performed his dramatic “tiger landing” greeting on the third-year floor.
The entire team quickly noticed it.
Chris and Sawamura were clearly in conflict.
But no one took it too seriously.
After all, tension between pitchers and catchers was normal.
It was part of baseball.
It would settle eventually.
As the saying goes—
A persistent suitor can eventually melt even the coldest heart.
And Chris, known for his kindness, was no exception.
Finally, one evening, Chris called Sawamura to the indoor training facility.
He said nothing unnecessary.
He simply put on his glove.
Crouched down.
And spoke:
“Bottom of the ninth.
Two outs.
Bases loaded.
One-run game.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Your deciding pitch is a changeup.”
“The batter is the fifth hitter, Matsuoka.
He has excellent pitch recognition.”
“Your fastballs won’t work anymore.”
He paused.
“Now, Sawamura.”
“How do you pitch in this situation?”
Chris held out his glove.
His expression was serious.
This wasn’t just an exercise.
Sawamura closed his eyes.
He pictured it.
The stadium.
The pressure.
The count.
The runner situation.
After a few seconds, he opened his eyes.
“I can’t afford a walk.”
“I can’t afford a hit.”
“So I have to finish it with a strike.”
He nodded firmly.
“An inside pitch.”
He delivered it with full force.
The changeup shot straight into Chris’s glove on the inside corner.
Clean.
Perfect.
After the throw, Sawamura immediately asked:
“So?
What happened?”
Chris looked at him quietly.
Then said:
“I think… it’s a walk-off home run.”
“…What?” Sawamura blinked in disbelief.
“That can’t be right.”
Chris didn’t argue.
He simply continued, calm and precise:
“Because it’s the bottom of the ninth.”
“You’ve pitched the entire game.”
“And the batter—the fifth hitter—is also a pitcher.”
“He knows your tendencies better than anyone.”
“And after facing you repeatedly, he has already read your changeup pattern.”
Chris’s eyes sharpened slightly.
“And more importantly…”
“He is betting on exactly what you just did.”
“That you would choose an inside strike to finish it.”
A pause.
“Since your fastball can no longer get him out…”
“Then the only pitch left… is your changeup.”
Sawamura froze.
He hadn’t considered that scenario at all.
A walk-off home run in that situation…
Just imagining it made his chest feel tight, as if something was pressing down on him.
Chris said nothing more.
He simply walked forward, placed a hand on Sawamura’s shoulder, and gently set the ball into his palm.
Then he spoke.
“Sawamura.”
“Your style is to challenge batters within the strike zone.
When your rhythm is right, your pitching gets better and better.”
“But a game doesn’t always unfold the way you expect.”
“So don’t become too fixated on your own style.”
His gaze deepened slightly.
“You said something correct earlier.”
“Give everything you have to the batter… and trust your teammates behind you.”
Chris paused.
“But remember this as well.”
“Your teammates are also trusting you.”
“And in situations like that… the pressure they feel is no less than yours.”
“Think about it carefully.”
After saying that, Chris turned and left.
He believed Sawamura would understand.
After that day, their relationship returned to normal.
At least on the surface.
Sawamura was still the same loud, carefree presence as always.
But when he stood on the mound, something had changed.
Every pitch he threw became deliberate.
Focused.
As if each one might be his last.
Chris noticed the change.
But he said nothing.
He simply continued working with him as always.
The sunset stretched across the field.
The baseball diamond, now empty, still seemed to hold the echoes of their relentless training.
“Have you decided on the players for the first string?”
A voice asked.
“Yes,” Coach Kataoka replied.
“The preparations for the Summer Tournament began long ago.
There is no time for slow selection.”
“All players—assemble immediately.”
That night, the Seidou High School baseball team gathered inside the indoor training facility.
Among the first-years, only Sawamura understood what this meeting meant.
The others looked around in confusion.
But among the second- and third-years…
Especially the third-years…
Some faces had already darkened.
They knew.
Coach Kataoka stepped forward.
“I will now announce the roster for the first string.”
“Based on performance and evaluation, I have decided the players who will be promoted.”
His voice remained firm.
“The selected players must understand their responsibility as representatives of Seidou High School.”
“And those not selected will support the first string in practice until the Summer Tournament.”
Then came the names.
“The players promoted to the first string are:”
“First-year, Kominato Haruichi.”
“First-year, Furuya Satoru.”
“Report complete.”
Sawamura remained still.
He had expected this outcome.
And yet—
Hearing it still left a dull weight in his chest.
Chris wasn’t among them.
Even knowing it was logical…
Even knowing it was inevitable…
It still felt like something had been taken away.
This was the cruelty of baseball.
“The first string, along with these two players, will represent Seidou in the Summer Tournament.”
“That is all.”
“The remaining third-years… stay behind.”
“The rest are dismissed.”
Sawamura didn’t stay to watch what followed.
He turned away.
Walked out.
He didn’t want to see it.
Not again.
Not that feeling.
But as he left, he made a quiet promise to himself.
I won’t let those third-years down.