Chapter 58 Confrontation (1)

Rikuto Sakurai, the towering captain of Shukugawa's baseball team, stood confidently in the batter's box. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field, but Rikuto's energy was far from fading. As the pitcher wound up, Rikuto's eyes narrowed, focusing entirely on the incoming pitch. With a sharp crack, the ball was sent flying deep into the outfield, soaring far past the fences.

"Nice hit! Hahah!" Coach Taira bellowed, his laughter booming across the field. The coach gave Rikuto a thumbs-up, his broad smile never faltering. "You're really on fire today!"

Rikuto wiped the sweat off his brow, grinning back. "Next!" he barked, ready for another pitch. The next pitcher wound up, looking nervous as he faced the powerhouse captain. Again, Rikuto connected, sending the ball deep for yet another home run.

Take Muraoka, their catcher, stood up. "There's no one next, dummy. Use a pitching machine already! You're crushing the morale of our pitchers."

Rikuto snorted, planting the bat in the dirt. "Not my fault they're weak," he shot back, flexing his arms dramatically.

Nearby, Kengo Saito, their ace pitcher, was warming up his arm in wide circles, his face comically scrunched up in frustration. "That bastard!" he muttered. "Steps on a pitcher's pride like it's nothing! I'll show him a piece of my pitches!"

The other players sighed, seeing the familiar rivalry play out again. "Not this again..." one of them muttered.

On the sidelines, reporters Renjiro and Yamamoto watched the practice unfold. "Rikuto's a beast," Yamamoto remarked, scribbling notes. "I wonder how he'll fare against Seimei's pitchers."

Renjiro, nodded. "He's strong, no doubt. I was really hoping to see him face off against Ryoichi. That would've been a match-up."

As the practice wound down, Coach Taira wandered over to where the reporters were gathered, still grinning from ear to ear. When asked about the upcoming semi-final, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then gave his usual optimistic answer. "We're ready for Seimei! Our boys are tough, and we've been preparing for this moment. Shukugawa's going to give them a fight they won't forget!"

Later that evening, as practice ended, Kengo and Take walked home together, the streets dimly lit by flickering streetlights. Kengo, still irritated by Rikuto's antics, grumbled under his breath. "I swear, if Rikuto tries that on our underclassmen again, I'll—"

Before he could finish, a voice echoed from a nearby alley. "Well, well, look who it is," the voice drawled, laced with mockery. Kengo and Take turned toward the sound, spotting a group of boys wearing another school's uniform, standing in the shadows. The leader of the group, Shuta, stepped forward, cigarette smoke curling from his mouth. His face twisted into a sneer as he flicked the cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with his shoe.

Behind him, the other boys followed suit, one spitting on the ground while the rest cracked their knuckles, clearly looking for trouble.

Take raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. "Look, man, we're not looking for trouble. Just let us—"

Kengo interrupted, eyes narrowing. "What do you want, Shuta? Just let us go on our way."

Shuta let out a cruel laugh, his gang joining in. "Your way?" Shuta tugged at the collar of his shirt, revealing a jagged scar across his neck. "This is your way?" he sneered. "But right now I'll be showing you my way heheh."

Take's heart pounded in his chest as the situation escalated. "Run!" he shouted to Kengo, grabbing his arm and pulling him. They bolted down the street, feet slamming against the pavement as they dashed away from the alley. Behind them, Shuta's voice rang out, furious. "Fucking rats! Catch them!"

Kengo cursed as they sprinted through the narrow streets. "Why now of all days!?"

They turned a sharp corner, breath ragged, as Take glanced behind them. "Over here!" he called, hoping to lose the group. But in his panic, Take tripped, sprawling onto the concrete with a sharp thud.

"Take!" Kengo shouted, but it was too late. Shuta had caught up, throwing himself onto Take with a vicious laugh. The rest of the gang closed in, surrounding the fallen catcher. "Got you now, you little punk," Shuta spat, his fingers digging into Take's collar. The others circled, their malicious grins barely visible in the dim light.

"Run!" Take gasped, eyes wide with fear. "Just go, Kengo! I'll be fine—"

But Kengo wasn't about to leave his friend behind. Dropping his backpack to the ground, he turned back, fists clenched, heart racing. "I'm no coward" he growled, stepping forward.

Shuta's eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he released Take, stepping back. "Careful, boys," he taunted. "He's a nasty little fucker."

"Just stay down, Take," Kengo muttered, his eyes focused on the other boys. The narrow alley gave Kengo some advantage, but that didn't mean he could get careless. Scattered around were remnants of urban life: broken crates, discarded boxes, and trash bins. He saw them for what they were—tools.

"Look at him!" Shuta spat, his voice full of venom. "This fucker actually thinks he can take us!? This ain't your playground anymore bitch."

Kengo's lips curled into a small, tight smile, though his eyes remained cold. He remembered that scar. He had put it there. Shuta had come looking for payback.

The first one, a towering guy with fake tattoos made from stickers crawling up his neck, made his move, rushing in with a wild haymaker aimed at Kengo's head. Kengo sidestepped easily, his body light on its feet. As the thug tumbled past, Kengo grabbed a discarded wooden plank off the ground. With a fluid motion, he brought it crashing down onto the back of the thugs shoulders. The wood cracked on impact, and the fell face-first onto the concrete.

Shuta's smug expression wavered. "What are you waiting for?" he snarled at his crew. "Get him!"