They trained harder than we did.
They shouted louder.
They fought as a team.
And yet, they still lost.
They say a person's strength is defined by the strength of their will.
If that's true… then what does it mean when people with stronger wills lose anyway?
"…Whatever. Thinking about it is a hassle."
"Strike! Game set!!"
The white ball snapped into the catcher's mitt.
The referee's voice thundered across Koshien Stadium.
On the opposite side of the field, players collapsed onto the dirt. Some clawed at the ground. Others buried their faces in their gloves, shoulders shaking as tears soaked into the soil.
Normally, this was when teammates rushed together—laughing, shouting, celebrating.
Not today.
"Hey. You lost us the damn game."
"Yeah, genius. If you're gonna play like that, do it alone."
"Selfish prick."
"Lone wolf asshole."
I stepped off the mound as the insults followed me.
Same as always.
Everyone hated me.
My parents abandoned me first—why would the rest of the world be any different?
That was fine.
I hated them too.
"If losing bothers you that much," I muttered, "then quit. I'm not stopping you."
"…Huh?"
I hadn't meant to say it out loud.
A senior whose name I never learned swung at me.
I didn't dodge.
Thud.
"Nice game."
A hand caught the punch midair.
Ryu.
The senior froze, face draining of color.
"I—I'm sorry, Ryu…!"
"Line up," Ryu said calmly.
"…Yes."
He bowed—not to me, but to Ryu—and hurried away.
Ryu was untouchable.
Son of a major company executive.
Top scorer in the national mock exams.
Model. Influencer. Always smiling. Always kind.
Perfect.
My complete opposite.
Upperclassmen spoke to him politely. Even teachers treated him carefully, like glass.
Ryu turned and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Sora. You were flawless today."
"…Yeah."
His praise was the only one that ever mattered.
We lined up, exchanged handshakes, and left the field.
A camera crew rushed toward us.
"Congratulations on advancing to the Koshien finals! May we have an interview?"
"No."
"…Pardon?"
"You asked. I answered."
"If it's alright, I'll do it."
The reporter turned instantly.
"Thank you! Please!"
"Sora, go cool down," Ryu said.
"…Alright."
I jogged away.
Outside the stadium, cheers erupted. Girls screamed my name, waving towels and notebooks for autographs.
They didn't care about me.
They cared about the title—Koshien Pitcher.
If you never let anyone close, it doesn't hurt when they leave.
Relationships break.
People disappear.
Being alone hurts less.
Behind me, a reporter gasped.
"Congratulations on reaching the finals despite your illness! How are you feeling—ah!? Blood?!"
"I'm fine," Ryu said, wiping his mouth. "Just overheated."
"Are you sure—?"
"One more win," he said quietly. "It's my last."
He smiled, pale and fragile.
He always pushed himself like that—like he had something to prove before time ran out.
Later, I found myself wandering unfamiliar streets.
"…Phone. Forgot. Wallet too."
I sighed and sat on a park bench.
Nothing would change, no matter how long I stayed here.
In front of me, a small boy—maybe five or six—threw a baseball at a wall marked with a crude target.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Always alone.
I watched him longer than I realized.
It hurt.
Memories I thought I'd buried clawed their way back.
I was four years old when my parents left me.
The year everything ended.
I used to throw a baseball my father gave me against a wall, from morning until night. Alone. Hoping he'd praise me.
He never came back.
Dusk was the worst.
The park would grow quiet as families left hand in hand, laughing.
I wanted to hold my mother's hand too.
"You played a lot today."
A tight hug.
"What do you want for dinner?"
I wanted someone to come pick me up.
But no one did.
Still, every day I waited.
Tomorrow. I'm sure tomorrow.
"Mom… Dad… Please come get me."
That day never came.
"It won't happen," someone said on a rainy afternoon. "Stop expecting anything from people who already threw you away."
I cried and denied it.
But that same person pulled me into a quiet embrace.
"If you can't stand alone," he said, "then take my hand."
His hand was cold.
So was mine.
But when we held them together, they warmed.
"Come with me."
That was how I met Ryu.
"Hey, mister—are you good at baseball?"
I blinked.
The boy stood in front of me, pointing at my uniform.
"I wanna get better… but I can't hit the target."
"Your parents?"
"Dad's not around. Mom works late."
"…That target?"
"Yeah."
Normally, I would've brushed him off.
Today, I didn't.
I took the ball and threw.
"Like this."
"Whoa! Dead center! Again!"
I threw again. And again.
Each time, his eyes shone brighter.
I corrected his grip. His stance. His release.
When he smiled, something warm stirred in my chest.
"…You're amazing," he said, panting. "But you're bad at explaining."
"…Someone told me that once."
"But thanks! I feel like I can do it now!"
"…Good."
"If I get good… can we be friends?"
"…Aren't we already?"
"Do you have friends?"
Friends.
Abandoned by parents.
Hated by caretakers, teachers, teammates.
But…
"…Maybe one."
"Cool! Being alone sucks! If I hit the middle next time, we're friends for real!"
He threw.
The ball bounced wildly and rolled toward the road.
He chased it.
A horn blared.
Tires screamed.
The stench of burning rubber hit my nose.
The boy froze.
My body moved before my thoughts.
I grabbed him and shoved him aside.
The truck swerved—metal shrieking.
Still—manageable—
"Mom!!"
The scream ripped through me.
A woman sprinted toward us.
Same path.
Same ending.
The world slowed.
Not like me.
Not alone.
I braced myself.
Pain exploded as my arm met steel. Nails tore. Bones screamed. The taste of iron filled my mouth.
I forced myself forward and shoved her away.
Crash.
My body flew.
The world spun.
Horns. Screams.
Warm blood pooling beneath me.
…So this is how it ends.
No one would mourn me.
Except—
"…Ryu. Sorry. The finals…"
Footsteps rushed closer.
The boy and his mother were safe.
She clung to him desperately, sobbing.
He wasn't alone.
"…Good."
I closed my eyes.
Cold.
Dark.
I couldn't move.
"—He's born…?"
Warmth.
I was held.
Soft. Safe. A gentle scent.
"…Leo… my baby… you did so well."
A language I didn't know.
But it felt kind.
"Thank you for being born. Thank you for coming to me."
Ogya…?