In baseball culture, number 1 holds special meaning. It's reserved for the team's ace pitcher.
The tradition symbolizes not just skill and leadership but the respect and faith the team has in their ace.
"Momodani told me to give it to you."
Takashi stared at the number in Anai's hands.
"He said this is your number."
"And only you are worthy of wearing number 1."
Only the strongest deserved number 1.
Until now, that was Momodani Kaname.
But now it was Takashi .
So Momodani had passed the jersey on to its rightful owner—Takashi.
Takashi was silent for a moment, then reached out to take the jersey, heavy with responsibility and dreams.
This number had passed through many hands before his.
Holding it, Takashi felt like he could sense the ideals of those who wore it before him—though in truth, he couldn't feel anything. He just knew this was a match he absolutely had to win.
…
"Ohh! What's that Kitahara is holding? It's jersey number 1!"
With the excited commentary, all cameras zoomed in on Aoba's bullpen.
Takashi slid his arms into the jersey. The way it billowed in the wind made the motion look heroic.
In the VIP box, the head of the Kujou family stared at Takashi in jersey #1, dazed, his expression filled with nostalgia.
Because once upon a time, that number had belonged to him.
Back then, he had been just like Takashi—young, bold, proud.
After a long pause, he finally said, "He looks amazing."
Watching Takashi, it felt like seeing his younger self again.
Seeing this, Hitomi could tell—he was very satisfied with Takashi.
He was the elder who had watched her grow up. As a girl and as his junior, Hitomi hoped both she and Takashi would receive his blessing.
Just as Hitomi thought their marriage was practically set, the Kujou family head said,
"I have a granddaughter about the same age as Kitahara. She's also ready for engagement. Hitomi, why don't you let me have this one?"
Old bastard!
Go to hell!!!
In Shinomiya Ganan's murky eyes, a flicker of something passed—no one could tell what he was thinking.
…
"Takashi, where is he?"
In the VIP box, Eriri still hadn't seen Watanabe Takashi for a long time. When she asked Narii, she casually replied, "No rush. It's not his turn yet."
But the game was almost over, and she still hadn't seen him. Eriri couldn't hold back anymore. She began to suspect her mother had lied to her.
Utaha also turned to Narii, clearly hoping for a clearer answer.
The moment Takashi appeared on the screen, Narii suddenly stood from her seat in excitement and pointed: "Isn't Takashi right there?"
Narii pointed directly at Takashi .
"I'm talking about Watanabe Takashi, not Kitahara Takashi !"
Eriri felt like she and Narii were on completely different wavelengths.
She said Watanabe Takashi, and Narii replied with Takashi .
"Are you both blind?!"
Narii laughed at the stunned expressions of the two girls.
"Watanabe Takashi and Kitahara Takashi —aren't they the same person?"
Crash!
Eriri and Utaha jumped up from their seats. The sudden movement caused them to knock over popcorn, soda, and ice cream.
"What did you say?"
Utaha asked each word slowly, her gaze filled with shock—and even more, with anger.
"There's no way Takashi could be that womanizing bastard."
Eriri was absolutely furious.
She thought Narii was slandering Watanabe Takashi.
To her, Watanabe Takashi was a pure-hearted, devoted prince of true love. How could he possibly be that two-timing sea king?
"It's true, Eriri."
At that moment, Sayuri finally spoke, "Watanabe Takashi is Kitahara Takashi ."
"Mom, what nonsense are you spouting?"
"There's no one named Watanabe Takashi on Aoba's roster."
"I don't believe this. I must be dreaming. Yes, that's it—I must be dreaming!"
Eriri screamed at her mother in a rage, shaking her head like a rattle drum.
"Takashi isn't like that."
"You're all lying to me, aren't you?"
"You all think I've lost my mind, and that Watanabe Takashi was someone I just made up?"
"I'm not crazy. He's real!"
"I have his photos—I can even draw him for you!"
Sayuri looked at her daughter, who had messed up her own hair and refused to accept reality. Heart aching, she pulled Eriri into a tight hug.
"It's real, Eriri."
"There was never a Watanabe Takashi."
"The person who was always by your side was Kitahara Takashi . Watanabe Takashi was just his disguise."
Sayuri never wanted to shatter Eriri's fantasy either.
Because in Eriri's heart, Watanabe Takashi had become too perfect—so much so that not even the real Takashi could live up to it.
"I don't believe it!"
Eriri struggled in her mother's arms and shouted, "He's not him… he's not…"
But as she looked at the big screen, at the tall, dazzling, radiant young man—far more handsome than the face in her memories—tears began to fall.
Even now, she refused to admit that Kitahara Takashi was Watanabe Takashi.
Yet in his features, she saw traces of the boy she had always known.
She had seen Watanabe Takashi's face countless times.
She couldn't be wrong.
And so, she cried.
Because even she could no longer lie to herself.
Utaha was far calmer than Eriri. But her wine-red eyes never left Takashi .
…
"You're seriously that popular? I won't joke with you so casually again."
"Call me dad next time."
"I've got enough chat logs to ruin your life."
"…I'm sorry."
Takashi strolled casually toward the field under the blazing sun, chatting and laughing with Tanaka Kota amid the roaring cheers.
"Leave the defense to me."
As they parted, Takashi dropped that line.
Tanaka Kota shouted at his back, "Then the offense is mine!"
Back on the pitcher's mound, Takashi adjusted his glove, rolled his neck, and just as he was preparing to pitch, Sudo Ken got into batting stance and shouted, "Bring it on!"
Takashi paused, then switched his glove to his right hand and gripped the ball in his left.
"Left hand?"
"Is Kitahara really going to pitch with his left?"
Suzuki Ichiro looked surprised.
Takashi was known to be right-handed. Switching pitching arms isn't something you can do casually.
"You bastard, are you looking down on me?"
Sudo Ken thought Takashi was mocking him. His nostrils flared, face twisted in anger.
Takashi ignored him. He took a deep breath, lifted his leg, twisted his body, then swung his arm.
The ball flew out sharply.
So fast!
To Sudo Ken, the white ball turned into a blur streaking across the sky like a sword cleaving darkness.
By the time he swung, all that followed was—
Thud!!!
Like a death knell.
Beep!
On the big screen, the pitch speed displayed: 164 km/h.
The entire stadium fell silent.
Takashi turned slowly, like a conductor lifting his baton.
Then, the half of the stadium filled with Aoba supporters exploded with thunderous cheers.
"Ahhhhhh!!!"
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