April 23
Saturday
Morning
Sunny
"How about you, Kurusu-kun?"
"Sir."
"Between music, theater, and chariot racing, which sport did Nero win when he participated in the Olympics?"
"…All of them. As he was incredibly gifted."
"Haha, quite so. He had the greatest gift—being the emperor. And after rigging the competitions, he won many awards. Mix this selfish behavior with his lecherous nature, and Nero became known as a despot. A fine example of how absolute power corrupts absolutely. As always, very good, Kurusu-kun."
Akira turned his focus back to the view, even though he could hear the whispering of classmates. He had been ranked first for the entrance exam to his former school in Yokohama and had never let his grades slip, lest his parents find a reason to scold him. Perfect grades and perfect manners were the key to peace and quiet in the Kurusu household.
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.
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After School
Sunny
"Good work today, everyone!"
"Thank you!!!"
As the team started to disperse, the sturdy middle-aged coach approached Akira.
"Kurusu-san."
"Coach Kagami."
"Let's talk in my office."
Akira followed along, but he could feel the eyes of several players on him—and on the head coach of the Shujin Academy baseball team.
- - -
"Excuse me," said Akira as he stepped into the neatly organized office. While it was smaller than the one belonging to his head coach at Yokohama Kouhoku, it was more organized and digital, almost as if it belonged to a statistician rather than an athletics coach.
"How have you been adjusting to the team so far?"
As Daiki Kagami settled behind his desk, he carefully scrutinized the young man who had yet to take a seat.
"Feel free to sit. No need to stand."
Only after politely saying thank you did the second-year sit.
"The team is… surprisingly strong. Since this is Tokyo, competition is steep, and only schools with national-level players can qualify."
For some reason, the answer displeased Daiki—or rather, it was Akira's attitude. When Koretomo Nanba, the advisor and assistant coach of the baseball team, had told him about an elite pitcher from Yokohama, Daiki had initially been skeptical. Even if his family moved, most players would remain at their school, especially since Yokohama was not too far from Tokyo.
Whether it was his standoffish personality or his polite yet seemingly curt speech, Daiki had painted Akira as a problem kid who would not fit into the system he was building at Shujin. That was until Akira went through the team evaluation. Strength, speed, flexibility, and explosiveness—he wasn't just gifted for high school, but could make a pro team on sheer athleticism alone.
Then he went to the batting cage. Beautiful mechanics and an uncanny ability to hit line drives. Excellent reaction times, a soft glove, and a sniper's arm. Then he pitched—picturesque mechanics paired with blistering speed, command, and break.
The film had not done the kid justice. He was a force of nature, one that could potentially make it to an international stage. Daiki's opinion had done a near 180, and he was on board with having Akira; the issue was the team.
Rumors about Akira's past had spread through the team in a way that Daiki found suspicious. When he approached Akira about getting closer to his teammates and explaining his past, the teen flatly—but respectfully—told him no. Thus began Daiki's inner turmoil. He had a gem, a genuine superstar, but he feared what would happen if Akira joined the starting lineup.
After winning a few matches in the Spring Regional, the coaching staff had easily identified the team's weakness: pitching. They lacked an ace—a bona fide ace who could carry an entire game if necessary. After much discussion, the majority, including Coach Nanba, decided that making Akira the starting pitcher for Monday's game would be ideal. As head coach, Daiki was the one who had to deliver the news.
"Akira, let me ask you something. What is an ace?"
"…The definition, or my definition?"
"…Hm. Your definition."
Akira took a moment, carefully selecting his words based on his understanding and experience.
"An ace is the soul of the team."
"…"
Daiki couldn't help but agree internally. Even professional teams needed an ace—the one you couldn't help but rely on.
"We've decided that for Monday's game, you'll be starting. Expect to pitch the entire time. That's all."
"…Thank you, and good evening."
- - -
{You seem conflicted.}
{Wouldn't you be?}
{Fair.}
{I didn't expect to be given such preferential treatment, let alone asked to pitch in a game so soon.}
{…Almost sounds like you're scared.}
{Haha, as if.}
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.
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Evening
Sunny
"Where are you headed?"
"A batting cage. I've got some ideas I want to work out."
Akira kept his voice low as he responded to Morgana, so as not to draw any undue attention.
After practice, the teen decided to take Monday's game seriously. He recalled a batting cage near LeBlanc and figured he would try there first.
"Welcome in!"
"Thank you. I was wondering if you have anywhere to practice pitching."
"Pitching? Actually, we do—but it's the same rate as batting. You pitch until you decide to stop. How does that sound?"
"Perfect."
After paying the fee, Akira was led to a well-made bullpen with enough room for three pitchers to practice simultaneously. He was still dressed in his baseball gear, apart from his cleats. After putting them on and retrieving his glove, Akira began warming up.
He stretched, twisted, and threw a few practice pitches to loosen his shoulder.
"Alright."
The calm, slightly indifferent aura associated with Akira melted under the sheer intensity of his gaze. His gray eyes seemed to glow red as he began his motion. His mechanics and release were effortless. Once the ball left his fingertips, an arrow of fire seemed to materialize, flying toward the backstop and crashing into it with a heavy thud.
The speedometer read 151 kph.
"…That's faster than when I was a first-year… Even my command…"
Unsure, Akira returned to the mound and began his motion once more. With even greater fluidity, he released the ball, hitting the same spot on the backstop.
152 kph.
"W-W-WHAT IN THE WORLD?!"
Akira was equally shocked. As a freshman, he had topped out in the mid-140s. His speed had been enough to get noticed, not to mention his excellent command of the fastball and a split-finger fastball in the low 140s. He expected physical growth to bring increased strength—but not this level of command.
During practice with the Shujin team, he had taken it easy, throwing in the upper-140s with exceptional control—enough to be the ace of nearly any team in Japan. He had never thrown at full strength.
Inspired, Akira continued. His motion—once good but imperfect—had smoothed out to the point where he could feel how little power he was losing as he rotated, directing strength from his lower body up to his fingertips. Each pitch felt increasingly natural, as if throwing at 155 kph were routine.
Growing adventurous, Akira tested pitches he had only lightly practiced. Unsurprisingly, he failed at first. But after several throws, he felt it—that familiar sense of fluidity, unlike anything else.
With Morgana's help, Akira tracked his pitches and noted areas for improvement.
1. Fastballa. Speed: 155 kphb. Command: A+2. Split-Fingera. Speed: 152.5 kphb. Command: A+3. Slidera. Speed: 150 kphb. Command: A+4. Circle Changeupa. Speed: 135 kphb. Command: A
It was hard to believe that the slider he once threw wildly at the end of his first year—and the changeup he struggled with for weeks—had become not just usable, but genuine weapons. More than the velocity increase, it was his absurd body control that shocked Akira. He could intentionally throw his fastball and splitter at 150 kph so that, alongside the slider, they all arrived at similar speeds with drastically different results.
"So that rumor about you being good at your old school was true? I only watched a little on TV, but you don't seem much worse than the pros!"
"…You might be right. But at the end of the day, baseball is a team sport. I could be incredible, but my team has to work together to win."
"Hmmm… similar to the Phantom Thieves, no? We have to work together as one to conquer any obstacle."
"Right…"
Akira pitched for a while longer before heading back to the café. After changing, he helped Sojiro and, in turn, was tutored on the ever-growing complexities of coffee brewing.
Lying in bed, Akira's thoughts wandered, eventually settling on his family—the parents who had all but abandoned him, the friends who mocked and scorned him. Finally, his thoughts drifted to that fateful night.
The details, as always, remained blurry—shifty, unclear…
{Strange… so obviously, yet frustratingly strange…}