Chapter 141: What I Learned That Summer

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Translator: Soafp

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I crouch down. I check the sign from the coach and turn back to face my partner. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and dirt.

The game begins with the signal I send to the pitcher from these fingers. I had no intention of giving up that privilege to anyone. Beyond the glove I held up, I saw the white line drawn by the ball. I was completely captivated by this view.

“Hard work always pays off.”

That's what I believed. …Until that day.

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“You're about to see Aniki being cool.”

That's what Tetsuya said to Sora. She parted from Ginji for a moment to bring the bento boxes to the student council room, then headed toward the field.

Practice for the baseball team had already begun, and energetic voices echoed across the grounds.

“Let's go! Louder!”

“Ehhhhhyyyy!”

“That all you got?!”

“EEEEEHHHHHYYYY!!”

“See? You can be loud!”

“Oooooooosu!”

Ginji called out to the students running laps around the field, and they shouted back. Standing next to him was a teacher in a tracksuit—apparently the one who had put Ginji in charge of leading the warm-ups.

“Whoa… all boys.”

Sora had seen middle schoolers with shaved heads running in formation back in high school, but this rowdy, loud energy was something she hadn't witnessed up close. When she reached the field, she saw Yuki and Sachiko carrying a large kettle together.

“Oh, Sora-san! You came.”

“Y-yeah. Want help?”

“It's okay. If you're just watching, come this way. It's cooler here than out in the open.”

The two female managers guided her to a bench under a tin roof. Even just breathing made her sweat in this heat. Yuki handed her a paper cup filled with chilled barley tea.

“Here you go.”

“Th-thanks…”

It felt a little awkward being looked after by younger girls. Looking out at the field, she saw the warm-up finishing and the players moving into stretches. Then came long throws—what looked to Sora like distant catch balls. The throws went back and forth with ease. Next was infield defense practice. Two catchers were getting ready. One of them was Ginji, struggling slightly with equipment that didn't seem to fit.

“…So he's a catcher.”

Sora didn't know much about baseball, but at least she knew the position.

“You didn't know? Gin-senpai's been a catcher since elementary school. He was the best during fielding drills too!”

Yuki said proudly. Sora's eyes sparkled as she watched Ginji.

“OHHHHHH!”

A wild voice rang out. Sora, who wasn't great at projecting her voice, was overwhelmed. She watched as the ball flew rapidly between bases, as if drawing invisible lines across the field.

Even though they were middle schoolers, their faces were dead serious. Throwing the ball while shouting loudly, they looked every bit like athletes.

“Runner on first!”

Ginji shouted instructions from home plate. Player positions shifted according to where runners would be. It was like an elaborate maze being drawn on the field.

The pop of the ball hitting the glove was crisp and clear, sounding like music with a purpose.

“Home!”

The call echoed. The ball came from first base, and Ginji's fluid motion sent it toward second. The younger catcher barely caught it. Ginji pointed at him—a wordless Nice catch. Sora watched him intently.

The fielding practice ended, and Ginji took off his gear and walked over to Sora. On the field, the coach had taken over hitting practice.

“Good work, Gin-senpai.”

Yuki, who'd been preparing drinks, handed Ginji a cup of tea.

“Thanks. Haven't done this in a while—my thighs are killing me. I'm outta shape.”

“Haha, you were moving just fine! We'll go prep the balls now.”

“Alright. Watch out for heat stroke.”

“Yes.”

As he watched the two managers walk off, Sora came up behind Ginji and placed a towel on his head.

“Here, a towel. You were so cool out there.”

“Thanks. Man, I'm wiped. The guys want me to show them some throwing techniques later… seriously, it's exhausting.”

Despite the grumbling tone, he didn't seem upset at all. Watching him, Sora gently tugged at his sleeve.

“Sora?”

“Hey, Ginji… why didn't you keep playing baseball in high school? There's a team, and you're still close with Saito-kun… You said before you helped with work since middle school, but… did something happen?”

From his tone and what little he had said before, Sora had a hunch something had happened—something important. That's why, even if it was hard for him to talk about, she had to ask.

“…Well, it's not really something I need to hide. Let's sit down.”

Ginji sat on a bench in the shade, towel over his head, looking out over the field. Then he began to speak. Sora stayed quiet, listening intently.

“I really loved baseball. Still do, to be honest…”

When Ginji was in elementary school, a mild economic downturn hit the local factories. It wasn't big enough to make the news, but it was enough to seriously impact people's livelihoods. His parents worked constantly trying to support several small factories, so Ginji and Tetsuya were often left at their grandfather's. The grandfather, unsure how to play with children, taught them his own hobbies—shogi, sumo, and baseball.

“It all started with playing catch. I'd throw the ball back and forth with Grandpa and Tetsuya. Tetsuya preferred shogi, but me? I was all in on baseball. I joined a little league team and later a junior high club team.”

He was made a catcher simply because of his strong arm—but he came to love the position.

“When we went to the shop, there were all kinds of shiny gloves on display. The coolest one to me was the black catcher's mitt, covered in laces. I begged my dad to buy it. I'd throw against the wall by myself, practice pick-offs in games… The more I played, the better I got. I felt unbeatable back then. Even when I saw players better than me, I thought, I'll catch up if I practice. I never even considered things like talent.”

Then he met a pitcher—a true partner—who shared that same passion for baseball.

“He was as into it as I was. Always holding a ball, even during breaks.”

They clicked immediately and practiced constantly—even outside of club activities. And their efforts paid off. They climbed up through school matches, district competitions, even prefectural tournaments. Their world kept expanding.

“But… we stopped winning. Our ‘unbeatable' pitches got hit. Runners stole bases left and right. And we couldn't even touch the other team's pitches with our bats. No matter how much we practiced… we'd always lose somewhere.”

At prefectural training camps, they encountered players with bodies that seemed entirely different from theirs. Ginji was lucky—catchers have clearly defined roles, and the gaps between players weren't as obvious. But pitchers? They're judged on speed, control, types of pitches, reflexes—quantifiable stats. And those numbers revealed a wall you couldn't climb: talent. An unshakable, unchangeable wall.

And Ginji… was just slightly less aware of that wall than his partner was.

“Still, we didn't want to lose. When we became second-years, we pushed aside the seniors and became the ace and main catcher. Even though we were just middle schoolers, we were taking spots from people who trained seriously. If we lost, the whole team lost. So we pushed ourselves. Wrote practice schedules in notebooks that said ‘Hard work always pays off.' We threw ourselves into baseball completely… even made things tough on Tetsuya, since the house was so busy.”

When the pressure of being the ace began crushing his partner, Ginji chose to keep pushing forward alongside him. They practiced relentlessly, until…

“During a crucial tournament in our second summer—one where we wanted to extend the seniors' last summer just a bit longer… in a practice match…”

Bottom of the 7th. Two outs, nobody on base. In junior high, the 7th inning is the last—just one more out, and they'd win.

He gave the sign. Their go-to pitch. A two-seam fastball. This would end it. This would be the final pitch.

…But that pitch never reached his mitt.

“It's nothing dramatic. He'd been pushing himself too hard for my sake—doing extra training on his own. And… he wrecked his elbow.”

That summer taught Ginji one thing:
Hard work… doesn't always pay off.