The streetlights around Korakuen Hall glows against the dusk sky. From the station exit, Shimizu leads the way, his banner rolls carefully under one arm like a sacred object.
Behind him, Shinzo carries a bundle of headbands, already sweating under the strap of his fishing cap.
"Feels like a pilgrimage," Shinzo mutters, panting. "If we're his fan club, then you're our chairman, Shimizu-san."
Shimizu straightens his shoulders, trying not to smile. "Chairman? Hah. Don't talk nonsense. We're just here so Ryoma knows who's behind him."
"Exactly," says another of the group, tightening the knot of his headband. "We're the ones closest to him. We've known him since he was a kid, not like the strangers who only cheer when it's convenient."
"Right, right," Shimizu agrees, puffing his chest. "He'll hear our voices above all others. He'll know his people are here."
