In a forgotten corner of Japan, where weeds cover the baseball field and the school gave up on sports long ago, one boy refuses to let go of his dream.



Thirteen-year-old Haruto Saito is a baseball prodigy born in the wrong place. Gifted as both pitcher and batter, his talent burns bright—but in a rural middle school with no team, no coach, and no one who believes, it’s like screaming into the void. Except… one person still listens.

Sōta Nakamura, his quiet best friend, would rather read math books than swing a bat. But when Haruto asks, he picks up a catcher’s mitt—not out of love for the game, but for the friendship they share. Together, they form a club from scratch: no equipment, no strategy, just raw heart and late-night dreams.

As they gather misfit teammates and find unexpected support in their stern math teacher—once a forgotten player himself—the boys discover that baseball isn’t just about winning championships. It’s about building something where nothing existed before. It’s about scraped knees, quiet encouragements, shared bentos, and the girl who stitches their uniforms by hand.

But the road to glory isn’t smooth. Injuries, failures, heartbreaks—and the haunting knowledge that talent might not be enough—test every ounce of their resolve. Because no one expects legends to be born in countryside classrooms.

Will their dream reach Koshien—or will they remain the team no one remembers?
A story of friendship, failure, and the field that held their youth.
⚾ The dirt may forget their footprints… but the sky never will.

"Some dreams are not inherited—they're fought for."


The sun dipped low over Kamiyama town, washing the hills in amber.


Haruto biked slowly down the gravel path toward the edge of town. Not to school. Not to practice. But to the one place he both feared and respected—his grandfather's house.


The gate creaked as he stepped in. Old wood. Clean porch. A worn-out pair of slippers neatly beside the door.


Haruto flinched. Of course, he'd noticed him already.


Hiroshi Yamazaki sat beside a cracked sundial, trimming bonsai with slow, deliberate hands.


"You said you'd be here before sunset," he said.


There was no malice in his voice—just expectation, carved deep into years of silence.


The living room smelled of old tatami and green tea. A single photograph sat on the mantle—Haruto's father in a high school baseball uniform, eyes bright, glove raised mid-pitch.


"He was better than you, you know," Grandpa muttered without looking.


"I saw you pitch on that muddy field the other day," Grandpa said.


Haruto's shoulders tensed. "Thought you didn't watch."


"I didn't say I don't. I said I won't cheer until you give me a reason."


"Your arm's fast. But your mind's slow."


Haruto clenched his fists. "I'm trying."


"Trying is for schoolboys. You want to carry the Yamazaki name onto a real mound? Then earn it."


Haruto finally snapped. "You think I'm not serious?! I show up every day. I throw till my fingers hurt. I formed a team with nothing!"


"I know I'm not Dad. But I'm still me."


Grandpa looked up at him for the first time.


"You're only you. And right now, that's not enough."


The words hit harder than any fastball.


Grandpa stood slowly. Walked to a dusty drawer. Pulled something out.


Not just any glove—his father's old one. Worn leather. Tightly laced. Well-loved.


"If you're going to chase this dream… then chase it with no excuses. No whining. No shortcuts."


Haruto swallowed hard. "I won't let you down."


"Then stop coming here for approval… and start coming here to prove me wrong."


That night, Haruto didn't say a word on the bike ride back. But he clutched the old glove tighter than he ever held anything.


He didn't have the polished school club.


Chapter 10 - Chapter 9.5: The Weight of His Name