"That's incredible! Just a group of first-years… and they've defeated powerhouse schools in West Tokyo and reached the top eight. Today, they even took down Ichidaisan High School—one of the 'Three Giants.' Truly remarkable, wouldn't you say, ladies?"
A light, carefree voice drifted into the Tsukishima sisters' ears.
They turned.
A man stood there with his cap worn backward, lazily fanning himself with a "Victory" fan.
Beside him stood a cheerleader.
Without a hint of shame, he tugged at the hem of her skirt.
"If you're aiming for Koshien, maybe dress a bit more—well, let's say boldly. Haha, just kidding!"
"Ugh… what an outdated pervert," one girl muttered.
"Exactly! That kind of behavior isn't funny anymore!" another added.
Wakaba watched him quietly.
"…That person," she murmured, "reminds me of someone."
Aoba blinked, then nodded immediately.
"Ah—! I know! He's like Dad!"
"…Ah. Now that you mention it…" Wakaba and Momiji agreed at the same time.
Tsukishima Batting Center
At the Tsukishima family batting facility, their father lay sprawled across the safety net, smiling dreamily as he watched a girl in a short skirt take practice swings.
Completely captivated.
BOOM!!!
A sudden, thunderous crack echoed through the area.
Three familiar figures froze.
"…Was that—?"
They followed the sound.
There—
Todoroki Raichi.
Swinging with explosive force.
For some reason, they quickly ducked and hid, watching from a distance.
"…It's Raichi!" Sawamura Eijun whispered.
"His surname is Todoroki," Kominato Haruichi corrected quietly.
"He's already practicing after the game…" Furuya Satoru observed.
Raichi swung again.
And again.
His movements were relentless.
"ONE HUNDRED SWINGS!" Todoroki Raizō barked, sitting nearby. "Memorize that feeling! Then go home!"
Kominato narrowed his eyes.
"…That swing speed… how much practice does it take to reach that level?"
Raichi stopped, breathing heavily.
Then—
he laughed.
"I want more! More pitches! More pitchers! I want to crush them all—every pitcher in the country!! Hahaha!"
Raizō smirked.
"Good. With that mindset, you'll survive in pro baseball."
His eyes gleamed.
"…In two years, you'll be a star. Then we'll clear my debt."
Raichi grinned.
"Then I'll just beat Narumiya too."
At the mention of a certain name—
his eyes sharpened.
"…Narumiya Mei."
The fire in him burned even hotter.
He resumed swinging.
Stadium Entrance
"Wakaba, Aoba, Momiji!"
Ichiyo arrived, having just returned from the restroom.
"Are you waiting for Kou to come back with you?"
"Yes," Wakaba replied with a soft smile.
"I have to head back to the shop," Ichiyo said. "Dad's probably struggling alone. Aoba, Momiji—let's go."
"No way!" Aoba objected immediately. "I can't leave Wakaba alone with someone dangerous! I'm staying with her to protect her!"
"Hehe! I'm staying too!" Momiji added cheerfully.
"Alright then. Take care of Momiji," Ichiyo said with a laugh before leaving. "Bye-bye!"
"Thief! Stop!"
The same man from before.
Running wildly.
Chasing a thief.
Then—
he stumbled.
"Help! Catch him!"
Aoba's eyes sharpened.
A weapon.
She needed one.
"Aoba! Catch!"
A baseball flew toward her.
She reacted instantly.
Her stance—
clean.
Natural.
Effortless.
She threw.
The ball flew straight—
fast.
Precise.
It struck the thief squarely.
Direct hit.
Everyone froze.
Yakushi's group happened to pass by.
"…Did you see that?" Yamauchi said slowly. "That form… looked familiar…"
"…Yeah," Watanabe nodded. "That motion…"
Realization hit him.
"Wait—!"
He slammed his fist into his palm.
"That's Kitamura's pitching form!"
The group collectively froze.
Then—
turned to Kou.
Teasing immediately followed.
"Hey, Kitamura," Maruyama grinned, leaning in, "you've got some explaining to do, huh?"
Kou sighed.
"…Are you idiots? Didn't you notice something else?"
They paused.
Then fell into thought again.
"Hey, Kou and everyone from Yakushi!"
Wakaba approached, smiling.
They looked at her.
Then at Aoba.
Then back at Wakaba.
Then Aoba.
Something clicked.
"…They look alike," someone muttered.
Silence.
Then realization spread through the group.
Two sisters.
Same face.
Different presence.
And just like that—
the post-match chaos quietly continued.