The backyard was alive with motion.
The soft rhythm of bat meeting ball, the flutter of netting, and the occasional bursts of laughter echoed under the afternoon sky. The sun had begun to dip, casting a golden glow over the grass. Crickets were already starting to chirp from the bushes.
Alex wiped the sweat off his brow and adjusted his grip on the bat. His new stance felt more natural now—less like an experiment, more like a part of him.
But before he could swing again, Kenta suddenly dropped his glove with a loud thud.
"Alright, alright! Enough! It's my turn now!"
Alex blinked. "Huh?"
Kenta already had the bat in hand, his grin wide and mischievous. "Let me hit a few! Come on, don't hog all the fun!"
"I've never pitched before," Alex said, a little wary.
"So? Just throw it normally. Fast as you can!" Kenta said, sticking a fresh lollipop between his teeth like it was part of his uniform.
Alex raised an eyebrow. "You're seriously okay with that?"
Kenta pounded the bat against his palm confidently. "Bring it on!"
Alex shrugged and stepped back, gripping the ball loosely.
He took a breath, raised his arm, and slung the ball forward the way he used to bowl in cricket—except this time, he didn't release it overhand like a proper pitch. It came out more like a slinging sidearm motion, rough around the edges but full of power.
Whoosh!
The ball zipped through the air.
Thump!
It slammed into the back net before Kenta even twitched.
Kenta just stood there, eyes wide, the lollipop nearly falling out of his mouth. "Bro… what was that?! That was crazy fast!"
Alex tilted his head. "Was it?"
"I mean—yeah!" Kenta laughed, still stunned. "That looked like it came from a cannon! What the hell, you've got an arm!"
Alex walked over and retrieved the ball, casually brushing dirt off his shorts. "It's not proper pitching. The motion's all wrong."
Kenta waved his arms dramatically. "I don't care! That ball flew! You sure you're not hiding a pitcher inside you?"
Alex smiled faintly and shook his head. "Nope. Not interested."
Kenta groaned and flopped down onto the grass, lollipop now sticking out sideways like a defeated flag. "You're seriously weird."
They switched roles again and kept going—batting, tossing, testing different swings. Kenta even tried copying Alex's new stance, but tripped over his own foot and rolled into the net like a tangle of limbs and curses.
"Oi! Stop laughing! I meant to do that!" he shouted as Alex doubled over.
The sky above slowly melted into a warmer shade of orange. Long shadows stretched across the yard, and the wind turned cooler, brushing their skin gently like the day itself was winding down with them.
Eventually, Kenta looked up and let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Crap. If I don't get home soon, I'm gonna be a ghost by tomorrow."
He packed up his things, popped another lollipop into his mouth—like some sort of sugar-powered farewell ritual—and slipped on his shoes.
"See ya, pitcher boy," he said, flashing a wink.
Alex rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop the grin. "Still not a pitcher."
"Yet," Kenta called back, already skipping down the path.
Alex followed him to the gate, standing quietly as his friend disappeared down the street, voice fading into the gentle hum of crickets and breeze.
The warmth of the day lingered on his skin, along with a faint ache in his arm and a strange sense of satisfaction in his chest.
He glanced at the sky—clouds glowing gold—and thought:
Today was fun.
The next day was Monday.
Alex woke up early, like always. He got dressed in his school uniform, brushed his teeth, and went downstairs. The smell of toast and eggs filled the kitchen. His mom had made breakfast, and his dad was reading the newspaper.
"Morning," Alex said.
"Good morning!" his mom smiled. "Eat up, or you'll be late!"
He ate quickly, grabbed his school bag, and waved goodbye. "I'm off!"
Outside, Kenta was already waiting at the gate. He stood with his hands behind his head, a lollipop in his mouth, eyes half-open like he had just rolled out of bed.
"You're late," Kenta yawned.
Alex replied calmly, "Let's go."
They walked down the quiet street, chatting about their homework and guessing what lunch would be. The breeze was soft. A few cherry blossom petals fluttered down from the trees lining the sidewalk.
At school, they placed their shoes in their lockers and headed to class. The day passed quickly—math, science, history… even the long language class slipped by.
When the final bell rang, students stirred with relief. Bags rustled. Chairs scraped. Kenta stretched with a massive yawn as he slung his bag over one shoulder.
"Ugh, finally."
Alex stood beside him, calmly adjusting his collar. Just as they were about to leave—
"Fraser-kun…"
A soft voice cut through the chatter.
Alex turned his head.
Standing near the back of the classroom was a girl with navy-blue hair that framed her face gently. Shiori. She was one of the most admired girls in class—quiet, graceful, and always polite. Her fingers fidgeted at her side, and her eyes lowered nervously as she stepped forward.
"Um… Fraser-kun… are you free right now? C-Can we go to the Seven-Eleven together?"
The classroom stilled.
A few whispers rose from nearby desks. Someone snuck a glance. Another student froze, halfway into their bag.
Alex didn't blink.
"No. I have baseball practice. Sorry," he said, his tone quiet but firm.
He didn't linger.
He turned and walked out, his footsteps soft against the tile.
The moment he left, the classroom exhaled.
"…Whoa," someone muttered.
"Did she just… get rejected?"
Shiori stood there, frozen. Her cheeks flushed, but she kept her posture. Her eyes followed the now-closed door.
He didn't even hesitate...
She bit her lip and turned toward her desk, whispering almost to herself.
"…Maybe he already has someone?"
Kenta caught up with Alex halfway down the corridor, still stunned. "Dude. Dude. You really just said no to Shiori-chan. Like it was nothing!"
Alex didn't slow down. "I have practice."
Kenta gawked. "You know she's, like, the prettiest girl in our class, right?"
"I'm not interested."
Kenta grinned. "Don't tell me you're into boys~?"
Alex gave him a sharp sideways glance. "No."
"Then what? You got a girlfriend back in New Zealand or somethin'?"
"No."
Kenta blinked. "So then why—?"
Alex walked in silence for a few steps.
Then, in a voice quieter than usual, he said, "I don't want to waste time."
Kenta slowed down a bit. He looked at his friend—still calm, still focused—and for once didn't have a comeback.
"…You're really something, man."
They reached the baseball clubroom. Cleats clacked against the floor inside. Outside, the sun was still bright. The field sparkled in the afternoon light.
From across the grounds came the sounds of bats pinging, gloves slapping, and players calling out to one another.
Alex stood by the doorway for a second.
He exhaled once, slow.
The soft thud of balls hitting mitts echoed across the diamond as the team warmed up under the fading golden light. Cleats scraped against the dirt, laughter and short shouts bouncing around like warm background noise.
A sharp CLAP! broke through it all.
"Alright! Everyone, huddle up!" Coach Oki's voice cut through the air like a whip.
The boys turned mid-stretch, some mid-toss, and jogged over to form a loose half-circle around him. Kenta gave his neck one last twist before plopping down next to Alex, still catching his breath.
Coach Oki stood tall with his hands on his hips, the kind of posture that said something big was coming.
"This Saturday," he began, voice low and deliberate, "we've got a practice match."
The hum of chatter stopped.
"With who?" a second-year whispered somewhere in the back.
Coach Oki let the question hang for just a second longer before answering.
"Niigata Chuo Middle School."
Gasps. Whispers.
Even Kenta's usually relaxed face stiffened. His eyes widened, and he muttered under his breath, "That Niigata Chuo, huh…"
"Huh?" Alex leaned in, brow furrowed.
Kenta turned slightly, lowering his voice. "They're legit, man. Powerhouse school from Niigata. They've sent teams to Koshien multiple times. Like… a lot."
Alex blinked, processing. A slow wave of quiet tension crept through the group.
Coach Oki clapped again, louder this time. "Eyes on me."
The group stilled.
"Fraser!" he barked.
Alex straightened reflexively. "Yes, Coach!"
"You're starting as catcher for this one."
A ripple of surprise passed through the team.
Kenta turned and raised both brows at Alex, mouthing "Dude."
Alex didn't move. On the surface, he kept his expression calm—eyes forward, jaw tight. But inside, his chest felt tight, then weirdly light. A little like the first moment before a bungee jump.
"Yes, Coach," he said, steady but quieter.
Coach Oki turned to a tall, broad-shouldered second-year with spiky hair tied back in a small band at the base of his neck.
"Takuya."
"Here, Coach," he replied in a gravelly voice.
"You'll be pitching. Get used to Fraser's signs and tempo. You two'll be working closely. Start after warm-up."
Takuya nodded once, eyes flicking over to Alex. "Got it."
Alex gave a small nod back—neutral, polite. Inside, though, gears were already turning.
He raised his hand, respectful but assertive. "Coach."
Oki looked his way. "Yeah?"
"Do we have any data on Niigata Chuo's lineup? Since I'll be catching… I want to prepare."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Oki's mouth. "Ho~ You're already thinking like a real catcher, huh?"
Alex didn't respond—just waited quietly, focused.
Coach Oki let out a low breath through his nose. "Alright then. Listen up. Here's what we've got."
He pulled a small, worn notebook from his back pocket, flipping through pages that looked like they'd been through sweat, rain, and years of dust.
"Number one—Nishida Yuji. Leadoff. Fast. Real fast. Doesn't swing big, just gets on base and runs wild. You let him on, and he's probably halfway to second already."
Some murmurs of acknowledgment passed through the team.
"Number two—Takahashi Yuto. Contact hitter. Doesn't strike out much. Smart. Bat control's solid. Don't give him anything he can square up."
Alex's gaze narrowed slightly, already picturing the sequence.
"Three—Nakajima Haruto. Captain. Balanced. High baseball IQ. He reads pitchers and catchers. Don't try anything obvious."
Kenta muttered, "Yikes…"
Alex didn't react.
"Four—Fujiwara Renjiro. Cleanup. Swings like he's trying to send the ball back to Tokyo Dome. Lotta power. You can bait him, but only if you're subtle."
Alex gave a faint nod, mind racing.
"Five—Sawada Kaito. Patient. Won't chase garbage. Make him earn it."
Coach Oki flipped the page with his thumb.
"Six—Tokuda Hikaru. Fastball lover. Good at hitting to the opposite field. Don't serve it to him easy."
"Seven—Matsumoto Sora. Strong but green. Can't pick up off-speeds well. Changeups, curves, sliders—mix it."
"Eight—Fujimoto Makoto. Defensive guy. Weakest in the order, but don't get lazy. One mistake and he'll find a hole."
Alex stayed still, arms now crossed, taking it all in like a sponge.
"Nine—Matsumoto Tsubasa. Don't let his spot fool you. He bunts. He pokes. He surprises. Timing's solid. He's like a second leadoff guy."
Oki snapped the notebook shut. The small sound was crisp in the hushed circle.
He looked at Alex, eyes sharp. "Use that head of yours, Fraser. Don't just memorize it. Feel it. Plan for it."
"Yes, Coach," Alex replied, voice firmer now.
Kenta leaned in and whispered, "You just downloaded that whole lineup into your brain, didn't you?"
Alex didn't look at him. "Of course."
Coach Oki's mouth curled into a satisfied grin. "Good. A catcher who can think ahead is already halfway to winning. Now—get to work."
"Yes, Coach!" Alex and Takuya echoed together.
As the huddle broke, players jogged off, energy kicking back up.
Takuya stepped beside Alex, casually rotating his shoulder. "Guess we're battery mates again."
Alex turned with a half-smile. "You didn't hold back last time either."
Takuya chuckled, cracking his neck. "Would've felt worse if I did and still missed the strike zone."
Alex snorted. "Let's just not aim for my face this time."
A short laugh passed between them—loose, comfortable.
Takuya's grin widened. "No promises."
Alex met it with a calm look. "Didn't think so."
The two walked off toward the bullpen, a quiet charge in the air—like two pieces clicking into place.
And just like that, practice was on.
To be Continued….
— Alex Fraser —
Image here.
Author's Note:
Hey everyone,
Sorry for the delay—it's been four hectic days, and I've been caught up with office work. Thanks so much for being patient!
I really appreciate you taking the time to read this chapter. If you spot any mistakes or have thoughts about the story so far, feel free to drop a comment—I'd love to hear what you think.
Your feedback means a lot and keeps me motivated to keep writing.
Thank you as always!