Chapter 12 Reflections

The buzz from the scrimmage lingered long after the final whistle blew, like a low hum across the Nehimon baseball grounds. Shinjiro sat on the bench, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline. His mind replayed the moment over and over—the ping of the bat, the arc of the ball, the stunned silence before the eruption of cheers. He had done it. Against all odds, against the murmurs of doubt, he had hit that home run.

The B team crowded around him, slapping his back, ruffling his hair. "You did it, man!"

Emiko, having decided to become a team manager, was bouncing on her heels. "You shut them all up! Hmph no more whispers about you being all washed up!" she beamed, holding a water bottle out for him.

Shinjiro took it with a nod, still catching his breath. He could hear the remnants of the gossip around the field, whispers trailing off as teammates from both the A and B squads began packing up.

"Did you see that? He hit it like it was nothing…"

"Guess the rumors about him quitting were bogus after all."

"He might actually be something special."

Coach Nakamura stood in the distance, hands crossed over his chest, watching Shinjiro with sharp eyes. The coach had heard the gossip just like everyone else—about Shinjiro's famous grandfather, Sasori, and the expectations that followed him like a shadow. Nakamura smirked to himself.

Kenji walked over, his usual swagger muted by genuine curiosity. "Well, about time you showed up, huh?" He paused, looking Shinjiro up and down. "That was some swing."

Shinjiro shrugged, still not used to the attention, but grateful. "Just lucky."

Kenji's laugh was a low rumble. "Luck doesn't make a fastball that fast disappear like that rookie." He punched Shinjiro lightly on the arm. "Keep this up, and you'll be moving to the A team before you know it!"

As the crowd slowly began to disperse, Ryoichi leaned against the fence, arms crossed, staring at Shinjiro. His brow furrowed, his thoughts churning. Despite striking Shinjiro out twice, that last at-bat had shaken him. His fastball—usually his most reliable weapon—had been timed perfectly. He's no pushover, Ryoichi thought, a knot forming in his stomach. But how?

Daiki, still holding his catcher's mask under his arm, joined him. "That kid's got some vision," he muttered. "He doesn't swing at junk. And when he swings, he means it."

Ryoichi didn't respond, but the look in his eyes said it all. Next time, he thought to himself, next time I'll throw him something he can't see coming.

Denji stood at the edge of the field, watching Shinjiro practice extra swings after the scrimmage. His heart swelled, his eyes stinging as tears threatened to spill. It felt surreal—his best friend, who had once given up on baseball, had just hit a home run off the ace pitcher.

Emiko approached quietly, noticing Denji's glassy eyes. "You okay?" she asked softly.

Denji tried to blink away the tears. "I just… I never thought he'd get here again," he muttered, voice cracking. "I'm so damn proud of him."

Emiko rested her hand on his shoulder. "He's here because you never gave up on him."

Denji couldn't hold it in anymore. He wiped his eyes, watching Shinjiro's carefree smile from across the field. He waved back when Shinjiro noticed them, his heart full.

You did it, man, Denji thought, a tear slipping down his cheek. You really did it.

As the field emptied, Shinjiro felt a mixture of exhaustion and elation. The whispers, the doubts, the weight of his past—none of it mattered anymore. At least, not today. For now, he had proven he belonged on that field, and he had earned every ounce of respect.

---

Under the dim light of his room, Shinjiro sat at his desk, the night air cool against his skin. He stared down at a blank notebook, replaying every mistake from the scrimmage in his mind.

Left field, he thought. I was too slow on that fly ball in the third inning. He scribbled furiously, making notes about his positioning, reminding himself to stay on his toes and react quicker. His misstep had cost them a run. He gritted his teeth. I can't let that happen again.

His mind shifted to his batting. Three at-bats, two strikeouts, and one home run. The crowd cheered when he sent the ball flying out of the park, but Shinjiro couldn't forget the failures that came before it.

"That second at-bat…" he muttered to himself, replaying it in his head. The fastball down the middle—he'd seen it perfectly, but his timing was off. I was too hasty, rushing to swing.

He closed his eyes, visualizing Ryoichi's pitches again—the two-seam, the changeup, the fastball. He could see their paths, anticipate their movements. But the split second between seeing and swinging was where he faltered.

I have to slow down. Trust what I see. Don't rush.

He picked up the bat leaning against his desk and stood in the middle of his small room. He raised the bat over his shoulder, imagining Ryoichi on the mound, throwing pitch after pitch. Shinjiro swung, timing each one in his mind.

"Ti-ta-taa," he whispered to himself, mimicking the rhythm of his heartbeat as he envisioned that low fastball again.

Swing. Pause. Swing. Each time, the bat cut through the air a little smoother.

He wasn't satisfied with just a home run. He had to be better, in the field and at bat. Tomorrow would bring another test, and Shinjiro was determined not to let his weaknesses hold him back.

With a quiet breath, he whispered, "I'll get it right."