The sun almost set, bringing a chilly breeze with it that sent goosebumps down my spine as I cooled down and waited for the final announcement of the results.
'Man, this Sunday sure has been pretty long!'
Another 15 minutes passed and all of us found ourselves lined along the baseline, caps in hand, facing Coach Okabe as he stepped forward with his clipboard. The rest of the coaching staff stood behind him, silent. All the parents too far to be in earshot.
Coach Okabe looked at all of us — one by one — before he spoke. His voice, deep and deliberate, carried across the entire field.
"Two days," he began. "That's all it takes for some people to show their potential — and for others to show their limits. Baseball is not about how good you are today. It's about how far you're willing to go from here."
He let the words hang, scanning the crowd.
"The results you'll hear today don't define you. What you do after this will."
He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked over our line. "Before we begin, I want you to meet some people you'll be playing alongside if you make it."
He waved his hand. From behind the dugout, fifteen or twenty boys in the team's official red-and-white Setagaya uniforms walked out, sharp and confident. They looked like the embodiment of what we were all aiming for — calm, composed, and already seasoned. A few laughing and joking around but everyone had a veteran's look.
Among them was a tall boy with jet-black hair and a bulked up muscular body, the captain — Ren Iwasaki. He looked a lot older than he probably was, and his demeanor matched his visage. He had a quiet authority to him. The kind that didn't need to shout to be heard.
Coach Okabe turned to him. "Ren, a few words?"
Ren stepped forward, hands in his pockets. His tone was low but steady, every word carrying weight.
"I don't have much to say," he began. "But if you make this team, remember one thing — this jersey doesn't mean you've arrived. It means you've started. Everyone here fights for their place every single day. That's the only way we win — together."
He bowed slightly and stepped back, the kind of speech that said everything by saying almost nothing.
'I would definitely get along with him'
Coach Okabe gave a satisfied nod. "That's our captain for a reason."
Then his voice turned sharp again. "I'll be handing things over to Coach Nakano now for the official roster announcements. Listen carefully. This list has been finalized. Once read, there are no discussions."
He walked off toward the older players, who greeted him quietly. Nakano, clipboard in hand, stepped forward — posture stiff, face unreadable.
He cleared his throat. "We'll begin with the outfielders. Two selections this time."
He read aloud the first name.
"Masaki Fujikawa."
The tall, lean kid from the White Team jogged forward, beaming.
"The second outfielder — Rento Saito."
The same lanky guy who'd told me about Kentaro nodded slightly as he stepped ahead.
"Infielders next," Nakano continued. "We're taking four this time. Shinobu Kawakami. Daisuke Morita. Kazuma Ito… and Hiroto Shimizu."
A murmur spread. Hiroto — the shortstop from the White Team who had made that spectacular diving catch. No surprise there.
"Catcher," Nakano said next. "Only one — Shiro Anderson."
I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my face as Shiro fist-pumped lightly and jogged forward, flashing me a grin.
Then came the final line.
"Pitchers."
Nakano looked down at his clipboard, the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.
"We're taking two pitchers this year."
He paused for effect.
"First — Takeshima Haruno."
A confident, left-handed kid from the White Team stepped forward, nodding respectfully.
Nakano's finger trailed down the page. He took longer this time. Far too long.
"And second…" he finally said, voice calm but colder than before, "Kentaro Nakano."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut air.
Then Kentaro puffed up his chest, strutted forward, and turned slightly — just enough to shoot me a smirk.
"Better luck next year, kid," he muttered under his breath as he passed by.
I didn't say anything. Didn't even flinch. I just stood there, eyes steady, hands clenched behind my back.
But inside, my blood was boiling. Every ounce of restraint I had was the only thing keeping me from throwing that smug grin into the dirt.
The rest of the unselected players began to disperse slowly. I turned to leave, keeping my face calm. That's when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
"Hey," said Rento — the tall outfielder who'd talked to us during the game. He jogged over, his cap in hand. "You know, it's not like you weren't good enough to make it."
I gave a small, tired smile. "Thanks. That's kind of you to say."
He frowned. "No, I mean it. You were on the list, man. I saw it before they came out here. Your name was under pitchers — right under Haruno's. Not Kentaro's."
I froze. "...What?"
He nodded grimly. "Coach Nakano must've swapped the name. I don't know why, but I saw the sheet. It said Riku Tanaka. Not Kentaro Nakano. That's you, right?"
The air felt heavier suddenly. I let out a small breath, forcing my tone to stay calm. "I see… Thanks for telling me."
Rento scratched his neck awkwardly. "Sorry, man. That's messed up."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "It is."
I gave him a short nod and walked toward the fence where Dad was waiting, his hands buried in his coat pockets. Beside him stood Coach Yamada. Both of them had been watching from the sidelines, unreadable expressions on their faces.
As soon as they saw my face, Dad spoke first. "You didn't make it?"
"Apparently, I did," I said evenly. "But then that coach Nakano was called."
I continued and told them everything I heard from Rento. I saw both of their expressions change as I kept talking, my own voice much deeper and chillier than normal, much older. By the time I finished retelling the whole thing, my own fists were balled tight, knuckles turning white, while Dad and Coach Yamada were looking like they half couldn't and half expected such a thing.
Coach Yamada's jaw clenched. "He really did that?"
Dad's eyes darkened. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," I said, keeping my tone even. "One of the players saw the sheet. Said my name was listed before he changed it."
For a long second, neither of them spoke. Then Yamada's calm, usually warm expression turned sharp as a blade.
"Stay here," he said, voice low. "I'll handle this."
He turned and strode toward the field where Coach Okabe was still talking with the senior players. I watched as Yamada called out to him.
Their conversation started quiet, but as Okabe's expression changed — from confusion, to disbelief, to anger — voices began to carry.
"Is this true?" Okabe barked.
A tense silence hung for a moment before Nakano stammered, "T-there must have been some misprint, sir—"
"Enough!" Okabe's voice boomed across the field, making even the players flinch. "You think I don't see what's happening here?!"
Kentaro, who was still holding his glove proudly, froze mid-grin.
Okabe turned his furious glare on him next. "You! Leave before I lose it. Now! You're done here."
Kentaro's mouth opened, but no words came out.
Then Coach Okabe turned back to Nakano, eyes burning. "And you, pack your things. You're finished. I will not tolerate dishonesty on my field."
The whole ground was silent. Even the senior players stood stiff as statues, except for a couple of players snickering at the back.
Finally, Okabe turned to me.
"Tanaka," he said, his tone softening. "You don't need to prove anything else. You've got something rare — control, composure, instinct. Keep growing, and you'll be one of the best. Maybe the best. I did not think you would be any good considering your age but if you keep this up and keep working, you might become the best player on the team before that growth spurt hits."
I bowed deeply. "Thank you, sir."
He nodded once. "Practice starts tomorrow evening. Don't be late."
With that, he turned back to the other coaches, muttering about "ethics" and "standards," his anger still simmering.
I turned to see Dad walking toward me. Coach Yamada clapped a hand on my shoulder from behind me. "You handled that better than most adults would've, Riku. I'm proud of you."
Dad smiled faintly. "Told you all that hard work wouldn't go to waste."
Before we left, Shiro came jogging up from the dugout, still in his gear. "Hey, I heard the noise. What happened?"
"Nothing," I said with a small grin. "Just… a change in the lineup."
He blinked, then grinned wide. "So you made it?"
"Looks like it."
He whooped loudly, nearly tripping over his shin guards. "I knew it! Knew they couldn't leave us split up."
"Guess we're teammates again, huh?"
"Teammates, partners, battery bros — whatever you wanna call it," he said with a grin. "See you tomorrow, Chibi-chan."
I rolled my eyes. "Don't make me regret this already."
He laughed and jogged off to join the others in leaving the grounds.
Dad and I walked back to the car together. The field behind us bathed in the faint last glimpses of the sunlight. We drove back to the house listening to songs on a much higher volume than we usually do. It was a jovial scene, not at all reminiscent of the 'Nakano Incident' as we called it.
When we got home, Mom and Maki were already waiting by the door.
Maki rushed forward first. "So!? What happened!? Did you make it!?"
I smirked. "You think I wouldn't?"
Mom clasped her hands together, relief and pride flooding her face. "I knew it. I knew you would."
Dad chuckled. "Wasn't exactly smooth, but the result's what matters."
As they all talked, I glanced out the window at the fading light, the faint chill of the night rolled in.
Everything I'd worked for — every drop of sweat, every bruise, every early morning — had led to this.
The beginning.
'I made it. I'm in.' I thought as I took in the scene of my mother and sister reacting to Dad's animated reenactment of the Nakano Incident. They were almost on the verge of tears as Dad talked about when I was on my knees, distraught.
'I guess a few things can be added for dramatic effect.' I chuckled.
After I added in the actions of Kentaro during the game, everyone ended up hugging me congratulations and cussing at Coach Nakano and Kentaro. Soon we were all ushered over to bed by Mom bringing an end to this action-packed weekend.
'Tomorrow, I join my first team.'