(You can skip this if you don't like it)
That night, at Kitamura's house—
Tsukishima's father and Kitamura's dad sat together in front of the TV, drinks in hand. Both were passionate baseball fans, and with the Koshien Summer Tournament coverage playing, the atmosphere was lively.
"The final four teams of the West Tokyo Summer Preliminaries have finally been decided today!"
The announcer's voice echoed from the television.
"Group A: Yakushi High School—the dark horse that has consecutively defeated two powerhouse teams, Ichidaisan High School and Seido High School!"
"Group B: Sensen Gakuen, a consistent top-eight contender in West Tokyo!"
"Group C: Inashiro Industrial High School, last year's dominant champions!"
"And Group D: Sakurazawa High School, a prestigious academic powerhouse!"
"Which team will claim their ticket to the dream stage? The semifinals begin at 10:00 AM the day after tomorrow—"
"Yakushi High School, huh?"
Tsukishima's father raised his glass with a grin.
"Kou's really done it. Making it this far without us even noticing… Kitamura, let's toast to Kou and his team making the semifinals! Hahaha!"
"You're giving him too much credit, Brother Kiyoshi," Kitamura's father replied with a laugh as he clinked glasses. "That kid still has a long way to go. Cheers!"
"Too modest, as always!" Tsukishima's father waved it off. "Wakaba told me everything. In that game against Seido, Kou came in last and completely shut down their lineup—no walks, no hits, nothing! Hahaha, cheers!"
"You're overestimating him. Maybe he just got lucky," Kitamura's father said, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.
"He only joined the baseball team in high school, after all. Back in junior high, he didn't even join a club—total homebody."
"Though… he did start training at home every day after his fifth-grade birthday."
He paused, taking another sip.
"To be honest, I originally planned for him to go straight to Seishuu Academy High School. But one day, he suddenly came to me and said he wanted to attend Yakushi High School."
"I was completely stunned. I didn't even know what kind of school Yakushi was at the time. Giving up a nearby, well-known school for something unfamiliar… I was so angry I almost…"
He shook his head, laughing it off.
"Ah, forget it. That's all in the past. Cheers, Seiji-nii!"
"It's normal," Tsukishima's father said with a sigh. "Kids grow up and start making their own choices."
"My Wakaba's the same. The moment she heard Kou was going to Yakushi, she kept pestering me, saying she wanted to go there too."
"I couldn't talk her out of it in the end… so I just agreed. At least with Kou around, I feel a bit more at ease."
"Sigh…"
"Hey, enough sighing," Kitamura's father chuckled. "Like you said, they've grown up."
"But really… after all these years, they're still such good friends."
"Yeah…" Tsukishima's father nodded, a nostalgic look in his eyes. "Time flies. Momiji's already in fifth grade, and Kou's grown into quite a reliable young man."
"As a former catcher… I'd love to try catching his pitches someday."
"Mr. Tsukishima, would you like some more snacks to go with your drinks?" Kitamura's mother asked kindly.
"No, no, this is more than enough," he replied with a smile. "Right, Kitamura? Come on, one more drink!"
"Let's hope Kou and his team can defeat Inashiro and make it to Koshien!"
Glasses clinked once more.
And just like that, the night quietly passed.
The next day—Clover Café.
"Hey! Are you done yet? Hurry up and leave!"
Tsukishima Aoba's voice rang out sharply as she glared at Kitamura Kou, who sat leisurely by the window sipping water.
"Hm?" Kou blinked, confused. "What's with you today?"
"You've been sitting there forever after ordering just one coffee!" Aoba snapped. "There's a major tournament going on, and you're just relaxing here? Doesn't your team have practice? Don't you feel any pressure at all?!"
Kou frowned slightly.
"What kind of attitude is that? Is this how you treat customers?"
Aoba froze, momentarily speechless.
She wanted to argue back—
But couldn't find the words.
"By the way, where's Wakaba today?" Kou asked casually. "Haven't seen her all day."
"She went shopping with her friends this morning," Aoba replied with a smirk. "Hehehe… feels bad getting left behind, doesn't it?"
"Is that so?" Kou replied calmly, completely unfazed.
"Aoba, thanks. I'll take over."
Ichiyo Tsukishima's gentle voice came from behind the counter.
The moment Kou saw her, his eyes lit up.
"Ichiyo-nee! Can I get a bowl of bok choy noodles?"
"…So that's what you were waiting for!"
Aoba finally realized the truth—and instantly exploded in anger.
"Ichiyo-nee, can you come here for a moment?"
Tsukishima's father suddenly pushed open the door.
"Okay," Ichiyo replied softly. She turned to Aoba. "Sorry, Aoba."
Then she left.
"…Huh?"
Kou stared blankly.
"So, you want meat sauce noodles instead, right… sir?" Aoba said sweetly—far too sweetly.
In the end, Kou finished every last bite of the meat sauce noodles Aoba made.
After paying, he was about to leave—
"Hey, Kou, come here for a second."
Tsukishima's father called out to him.
Outside, in the open space—
The two of them began playing catch.
"Is this really okay? Shouldn't we be watching the shop?" Kou asked.
"It's fine, it's fine. Not many customers today anyway," Tsukishima's father waved it off.
"I've been hearing all about you from Wakaba and the others… I really want to see what kind of pitcher you've become."
"Alright—come on!"
After warming up, Tsukishima's father crouched down, glove ready.
"Let me see it!"
Kou didn't hesitate.
He threw.
SWOOSH!
"Smack!"
The ball landed perfectly in the glove.
"Wow… so fast!"
Tsukishima Momiji, holding NOMO, watched with sparkling eyes. Though she had seen Yakushi's games before, this was her first time seeing Kou pitch up close.
"That should be fine, right?" Kou asked.
Then—
He threw again.
"Strike!"
"Smack!"
"Incredible…" Tsukishima's father said, flexing his hand slightly from the impact. "I could barely catch that."
"You really are the pitcher who shut down Seido's lineup."
"…Idiot."
From upstairs, Aoba peeked down, muttering under her breath.
"If he threw seriously… there's no way you'd catch it."
"Do you think you're still the catcher from thirty years ago?"
A peaceful moment—
Before the storm of the semifinals.