Chapter 93: Fracture
Not long after, they returned to the cafeteria for a small meeting.
The main points were just reminders of things they needed to pay attention to.
…
"Our opponents just defeated Inashiro. Their morale is high, so until we secure the win, nobody is allowed to relax."
"Yes!"
"That's all. Dismissed!"
The short meeting ended, and people began leaving one after another.
Rinichi stayed behind with a few of the other second-years to watch the footage again.
"Seiichi Umemiya… he's definitely their key player, both as a pitcher and hitter," Kuramochi remarked.
"He's the one who got the game-winning hit off Narumiya," another added.
"He didn't force the outside pitch but instead drove it to the right side…"
They all fell silent for a moment.
Miyuki finally spoke: "That was basically suicide…"
Everyone turned to look at him.
"The catcher's pitch-calling clearly built up to finishing the batter with a breaking ball. I don't know what Narumiya was thinking, but the moment he shook his head, the game was as good as lost. If I were the catcher, I'd never allow him to call his own shots."
As Miyuki said this, his expression turned almost frightening.
The others instinctively looked toward Rinichi.
Truthfully, their own pitcher-catcher pairing wasn't perfect either. The fundamental problem hadn't been solved.
But Rinichi sat there absentmindedly, propping up his chin. His eyes looked heavy with drowsiness, and he even let out a yawn.
No one could tell if he'd even heard what Miyuki just said.
Noticing everyone's stares, Rinichi blinked. "Huh? Why are you looking at me? I'm not Narumiya…"
Everyone: "…"
Oddly enough, up until now Rinichi had never once shaken his head against Miyuki's calls.
"I'm not some idiot like Narumiya who doesn't even know how to call pitches," Rinichi added flatly.
Everyone: "…"
That wasn't the point at all, was it?
Besides, a pitcher calling his own pitches… that was unheard of.
They couldn't tell if Rinichi was just boasting.
"But a catcher who can't even handle the pitcher's throws properly has zero credibility," Rinichi said while staring at the footage.
In his mind, he pictured himself throwing a pitch only for the catcher to miss it, yelling, 'Who could possibly catch that?' or 'Any catcher would die trying.'
His irritation started to bubble up.
Though his tone was calm, the others picked up on something in his words.
Wasn't this, in a roundabout way, his way of saying he did trust Miyuki's pitch-calling?
Just as they thought so, Rinichi said: "I don't completely trust Miyuki."
No honorific added.
Everyone: "…"
Miyuki: "…"
It was true—when Rinichi stood on the mound, he followed the signs given. As long as Miyuki called it, Rinichi threw it.
But whenever Miyuki gave him the freedom to choose and place pitches himself, Rinichi would often choose something difficult to catch—almost like he was doing it on purpose.
For Miyuki, aside from Rinichi's attitude problem, there was nothing to complain about. His pitching was flawless. He barely needed to worry.
As long as it didn't interfere with games, Miyuki tolerated him to a large degree.
After all, the team couldn't win without Rinichi.
Still, the friction between them was obvious. If it grew any worse, it might become impossible to mend.
"In the end, no matter who our opponents are, there's only one thing we have to do: beat them," Miyuki declared.
"We're going to crush Ugumori's momentum in one blow."
His words were firm, a deliberate attempt to shift the focus.
"But seriously… Watanabe's notes are amazing. He didn't just observe Inashiro—he even analyzed Ugumori's players."
"If it were me, I'd have spent one hundred percent of my attention on Inashiro."
As they spoke, Rinichi had already scooted closer to Miyuki to look at the notes with him.
"Wait… did you really think this far ahead when you sent Watanabe instead?" Kuramochi asked.
Miyuki nodded. "He's the kind of guy who notices every detail in a game. But honestly, I'm afraid he won't go again next time."
"Won't go again? What do you mean?" someone asked.
"Does Watanabe not want to?"
Kuramochi recalled something. "Didn't they come to consult with you about something the other day? Did you say anything to them afterward?"
Miyuki replied, "I talked with Watanabe. He seemed like he couldn't find the right timing to bring it up, but… I think they might be considering quitting the club."
Quitting the team?
Rinichi lifted his gaze from the notebook.
He noticed the surprised looks on everyone's faces.
"W–wait a second…" Maezono Kenta seemed to realize something.
Miyuki continued, "He really seemed troubled. Compared to the rest of us, his enthusiasm felt… lacking."
"No way. They all survived summer training… and now you're saying they want to quit?"
Kuramochi broke into a sweat. "But they didn't actually say that themselves, did they?"
Miyuki gave a small nod.
Beside them, Rinichi—lost in thought—slid the notebook out of Miyuki's hands and sat off to the side with it.
"So then, what exactly did you tell Watanabe?" Maezono pressed, sounding nervous.
Focused on the notes, Rinichi didn't notice the tension rising—until Maezono suddenly shouted: "You said what?!"
Rinichi looked up to see Maezono already gripping Miyuki by the collar.
"Maezono, stop…"
"Come on, let go of him."
The scene grew chaotic.
"You really said that to him?" Maezono demanded. "That's ridiculous! If someone wants to leave, then let them—how can a captain say something like that?!"
Shirasu tried to intervene. "Maezono, cut it out. We've got a game tomorrow."
But Miyuki himself didn't think he'd done anything wrong. "What else should I have said?"
"We came to this school to play baseball. It's not just about hanging out together for fun. There's no such thing as everyone holding hands, walking down the same path forever. That's impossible."
"Watanabe-senpai and the others all went their separate ways too. Sooner or later, we'll all split apart. It's only a matter of time. If that's really how they feel…"
Maezono still couldn't calm down. "Hold on—don't go assuming Watanabe and the others are quitting just like that! They haven't even said they want to! If they really planned to leave, why would they come talk to you at all? They must've had something else they wanted to say!"
"You can't just force your own values onto other people!"
Silence fell.
Kuramochi's eyes shifted to the notebook in front of Rinichi.
"Miyuki… I get what you're trying to say. But would someone who really wanted to quit bother making notes this detailed?"
Another moment of silence.
Then someone else spoke up. "All of us sitting here have doubts. Can I make the starting roster? Will the coach even use me in a game? What if I don't get a number? That anxiety is always there. But even so, no one would easily say they want to quit. Because we all know we're not the only ones who feel that way."
Maezono bit his lip. "You've always been a regular. All you need to worry about is how to win the game. Maybe you'll never understand how we feel… But pulling along teammates who carry that same doubt and still fight on—that's what being captain means, isn't it? If you're going to throw those people away and just tell everyone 'do as you please,' then I'll never accept it. I'll never accept you as captain!"
With those words hanging in the air, time seemed to slow.
One by one, everyone left the cafeteria.
Kuramochi called back, "C'mon, Rinichi, let's go."
Rinichi nodded, pushed the notebook back in front of Miyuki, and followed Kuramochi out.
The cafeteria was left quiet, with only Miyuki staring at the notebook, his expression complicated.
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