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The next few days at Seidou were business as usual morning runs, endless batting practice, and the constant hum of drills echoing across the field. But amidst the hustle, Eijun's eyes were constantly drawn to Asahi Kuroda. No matter how much Asahi tried to blend into the background, there was something about him that felt out of place like a flame hidden under a blanket, waiting to burn brighter.
During practice, Asahi rarely spoke, quietly performing his duties as an outfielder with precision and focus. Yet, every now and then, when no one seemed to be watching, Eijun would catch glimpses of something extraordinary: the way Asahi tracked the ball effortlessly, how his throws were almost mechanical in their perfection, or how he handled pressure without a flicker of emotion. It wasn't just skill it was like watching a professional at work.
Eijun wasn't the only one who noticed.
"Have you talked to him again?" Miyuki asked one afternoon as they rested between drills. He followed Eijun's gaze toward Asahi, who was helping the second-years with fielding practice.
Eijun shook his head. "Not yet. But he's definitely hiding something. I can feel it. He's too good to just be in the outfield."
Miyuki chuckled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You always get excited when you sense a challenge, don't you? But it's not just skill he's hiding. There's something deeper going on."
Eijun frowned, his instincts telling him the same thing. "What do you think it is?"
Miyuki leaned back, watching Asahi in silence for a moment. "He's carrying some baggage. Maybe something happened that made him give up pitching. But if there's one thing I know, it's that he can't run from it forever."
Eijun's mind raced. He didn't like to pry into people's pasts, but Asahi intrigued him. There was potential there, just waiting to be unleashed.
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Later that day after practice
The sun was starting to set, casting an orange hue across the field. The rest of the team had already left the locker room, but Eijun lingered, staring at the pitching mound. He'd been working hard, pushing himself to improve his control and add more to his arsenal. But no matter how hard he trained, the pressure of being Seidou's next ace weighed heavily on his shoulders.
As he stood there, he noticed someone else on the field Asahi.
Eijun watched as Asahi stood in the outfield, alone, staring at the mound. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, and for a moment, his usually calm expression seemed troubled. Eijun had seen that look before—on his own face, in the mirror, during times of doubt.
He made up his mind.
"Hey!" Eijun called out, jogging over to him.
Asahi blinked, looking up in surprise. "Sawamura."
Eijun stopped a few feet away, panting slightly. "What're you still doing out here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Asahi replied, his voice as calm as ever.
Eijun grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just… thinking. About pitching. About how much more I need to improve. You know, the usual."
Asahi's eyes softened, and he nodded. "I get that."
There was a pause, and Eijun took a deep breath. "Look, I know you said you don't want to pitch anymore. But I don't get it. I mean, you've got a killer arm. And I know you were a pitcher once. Why'd you stop?"
Asahi's gaze dropped to the ground, his jaw tightening. "It's not that simple."
"Then make it simple for me," Eijun said, crossing his arms. "If you've got talent, why would you just give it up?"
Asahi let out a long breath, the tension in his shoulders evident. "Because… I hurt someone. Badly. And I can't let that happen again."
Eijun blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in Asahi's voice. "What… do you mean?"
Asahi hesitated, then finally spoke. "In middle school, during a championship game… I hit a batter. My fastball got away from me, and it hit him in the head. He was in the hospital for weeks. And after that… I just couldn't do it anymore. Every time I stood on the mound, I'd see him lying there, motionless. I couldn't even pick up a ball without shaking."
Eijun's eyes widened, the weight of Asahi's words settling heavily in his chest. He could feel the pain, the guilt that had been eating away at Asahi for so long. "I'm sorry, man… I didn't know."
Asahi gave a small, bitter smile. "It's why I came here. To start fresh, away from all that. I thought maybe I could still play baseball, but from the outfield. It's easier that way less pressure, no one relying on me to throw the perfect pitch."
Eijun was quiet for a moment, letting Asahi's words sink in. But then, with his usual fire, he shook his head. "You're wrong."
Asahi looked at him, surprised. "What?"
"You're wrong," Eijun repeated, his voice firm. "You can't run from pitching. It's in your blood. I can see it every time you throw the ball, even from the outfield. You've got the heart of a pitcher. And yeah, maybe something bad happened, but you're not going to let that one mistake define you, are you?"
Asahi blinked, taken aback by Eijun's intensity.
Eijun stepped forward, his fists clenched. "Look, I get that it's scary. I've had bad games, too. I've made mistakes that I thought would ruin me. But you can't quit because of one bad pitch. You're better than that."
Asahi stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he let out a slow breath. "You don't understand, Sawamura. It's not just fear. It's guilt. I can't take that back."
Eijun's gaze softened, but he didn't back down. "Maybe not. But if you don't get back on that mound, you'll never move on. You'll never know how great you could've been."
For the first time since they met, Asahi's mask of calm cracked, and something deeper, more vulnerable, shone through. "You really think I can pitch again?"
Eijun grinned, his eyes blazing with confidence. "I know you can. And I'll be right there, pushing you every step of the way."
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The next day at practice, Eijun kept his promise. He stayed close to Asahi, urging him to try pitching, even if just in practice. At first, Asahi was hesitant, his throws cautious, but with each passing day, the old fire that once made him a prodigy began to return.
The rest of the team noticed the change, too. Miyuki, ever the observant captain, began to include Asahi in the pitching drills, subtly nudging him back toward the mound. Even Furuya, who usually kept to himself, watched with interest as Asahi started to embrace his natural talent once again.
It wasn't long before the murmurs started—about the mysterious transfer student with a pitch that could rival even Seidou's best. But Asahi wasn't ready for that level of attention just yet. He still had a long way to go before he could face the pressure of a real game.
But for now, he was making progress. And that was enough.
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In this chapter, we dive deeper into Asahi's past, revealing the trauma that caused him to give up pitching. Eijun's persistence and belief in Asahi's potential begin to break through his emotional barriers, setting the stage for Asahi's gradual return to the mound. The dynamics within the team continue to shift as they recognize the hidden talent within the quiet transfer student, building tension as Asahi's true abilities begin to surface.
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