The field wasn't theirs.
Everything about it screamed Aoyama Prep: the geometric cut of the grass, the perfect white chalk lines, even the dugout benches, which looked polished enough to reflect faces. In contrast, Haruto's team stood awkwardly in their mismatched secondhand uniforms, Reina fussing over a loose shoulder seam while trying to hide the tape on the team captain's ankle.
> "...Do we even belong here?" Takeshi muttered, trying to adjust his oversized glove.
> "Maybe not," Sōta said, settling into his crouch, "but we're here anyway. That has to count for something."
The bleachers were fuller than expected — a mix of Aoyama's student body, a few local spectators, and a scattering of Haruto's village folk who'd made the long morning train ride. The difference in cheers was deafening.
> "Batting third for Aoyama Prep — Nozomu Senda!"
Announcer's voice rang out clean and confident.
> "A 1.98 ERA this season," murmured a sideline reporter into his mic. "And he's still a junior."
From the dugout, Haruto silently watched Senda step into the batter's box. The boy moved like water, smooth and rehearsed, shifting his weight with perfect balance. Haruto felt his grip tighten on the ball inside his glove. It wasn't fear. It was… clarity. Cold and still.
> This pitch matters.
They were already four runs down. The top of the fourth. His control had been shaky in the first two innings, and Aoyama's batters had punished every fastball that strayed too high. There were murmurs in the crowd — something between pity and disappointment.
Aoyama's coach stood arms crossed, impassive. On the other side, Coach Inoue didn't even sit in the dugout. He leaned against the outer fence, cap pulled low, a small notepad in hand.
Haruto stepped onto the mound, cleats scraping against the dirt. The sky had that odd grey tint that wasn't quite rain but felt heavy anyway.
> "Let's go, Haruto!" someone shouted from the stands.
It was Reina's voice. Not loud, but it reached him.
Sōta gave the sign.
> Curve.
Haruto blinked once. No. Not yet.
He shook his head.
Sōta narrowed his eyes. Gave another sign.
> Fastball. Outside.
Haruto nodded.
His windup was slower this time. More deliberate.
> Step. Twist. Elbow up. Hold breath.
Release.
The pitch cracked through the air like a thin whip. Not as fast as the others. But it spun — cutting across the plate like a whisper.
Senda didn't swing. He froze.
> "Strike!"
The umpire's call felt like thunder.
Senda turned, blinking.
> "That was…?" he muttered to the catcher. "That was a fastball?"
Sōta gave no answer. Just stood.
Aoyama's coach glanced up for the first time.
Haruto exhaled. Not because he felt proud, but because he finally felt something connect.
That was the pitch. The one from his dreams. The silent thunderbolt that his grandfather once described.
> "Don't throw hard," the old man had once told him, "throw true."
---
The rest of the game was a slow burn of humiliation. They lost 10–1. The one run came from a lucky steal and a wild pitch. Haruto gave up three more runs before Coach Inoue subbed in another pitcher — a quiet kid who hadn't played in months.
But even in defeat, something had shifted.
At the bottom of the sixth, a man in a dark jacket and sunglasses scribbled something in a notebook. He stood behind the third-base fence. No press badge. No school tag.
Just a quiet nod when Haruto passed.
> "That pitch," Rin Katsuragi whispered to himself, "isn't natural."
---
After the final out, the teams lined up for handshakes.
Aoyama's players offered polite nods. No mocking. No words.
Just a few curious glances — especially from their catcher.
Reina stood by the dugout entrance, arms crossed, biting her lip.
> "That thing you threw… it wasn't from any of your drills, right?"
Haruto looked at her, eyes dark but calm.
> "I don't know where it came from."
She nodded.
> "Then maybe you should find out."
---
Back on the bus ride home, no one spoke. The countryside rolled by like a dream. Rain started tapping against the window halfway through. Haruto leaned his head against the glass.
Sōta tapped his shoulder.
> "You know, that pitch… it kinda scared me."
> "Scared you?"
> "Yeah. Because I know what comes next."
Haruto turned.
> "What?"
Sōta grinned.
> "Now you'll want to throw it again."
And somewhere, deep in the silent chamber of his mind, just before sleep took him—
Haruto heard it:
> "—diamond interface pending… anomaly detected…"
But the voice vanished before he could understand it.
---
[END OF CHAPTER 29]