The days at Kurosaki High were passing by in a blur. Practices were still a mess, but each one felt like progress—small, imperceptible shifts that, for once, weren't just about Ryoma's own perfection. It was about the team. About everyone else.
And that... was a feeling he wasn't used to.
On a particularly warm afternoon, the team was gathered for another practice. The sun beat down on the field, but the air was still with the quiet anticipation of something that could only be described as... hope.
Jiro was at third base again. He wasn't the fastest, but his hands had become a little steadier. There was less fumbling when the ball came his way. And when it didn't land perfectly, he was quick to pick it up, no longer letting the moment slip away.
"Good. Keep the glove down," Ryoma called, his voice carrying across the field.
Jiro didn't respond, but the slight nod he gave told Ryoma all he needed to know. He was getting it. Slowly, but surely.
Yuuto was next, standing in the outfield, the same position he had taken up since the beginning. He was no longer tripping over his own feet—though he still had the occasional misstep. His focus had improved. His ability to track the ball in the air, to anticipate its path, was getting sharper.
"Not bad, Yuuto," Ryoma said as he threw a soft pitch toward him.
Yuuto, without hesitation, tracked it and caught it cleanly. His smile was small but triumphant.
"I didn't miss it this time," Yuuto muttered, almost to himself.
Ryoma nodded, not needing to say anything more. There was no need to praise them every time. The satisfaction was already in their eyes. They were learning.
Shin, the self-proclaimed bodybuilder, had been getting better at hitting, though his swings still lacked precision. He was strong, but not always accurate. He wasn't the kind of player who could send the ball flying to the outfield with finesse, but he was starting to hit with purpose. Every swing now had intention behind it, a steadiness that hadn't been there before.
Ryoma called him over, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Focus on your follow-through," he said, tossing the bat in his direction. "No matter how hard you swing, if your form's off, the ball won't go where you want it."
Shin didn't argue. He just grabbed the bat and took a practice swing, adjusting his stance as Ryoma had instructed. It wasn't perfect, but it was better.
"I'll get it next time," Shin said, his voice full of determination.
That was the difference now—where there had been frustration, there was now a sense of belief. The team wasn't perfect, but they were starting to become something.
Two days later, after another grueling practice, Takumi pulled Ryoma aside. He had been quiet the whole afternoon, observing rather than participating.
"You're making them better," Takumi said, his usual sarcasm replaced by something else. "I don't get it."
Ryoma looked at him, almost bored. "What do you mean?"
"Just... the way you push them. You don't care about whether they're good or not. You're just giving them a chance to get better. Most guys would have just left."
Ryoma's expression softened, though just slightly. "I'm not here to be the best. I'm here to make them better."
Takumi stared at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone.
"You really are crazy," Takumi muttered. "But... maybe that's why they're starting to listen."
Ryoma didn't answer right away. He watched as Jiro finally made a clean catch without stumbling. As Yuuto tracked a fly ball and ran to meet it, his steps more confident than they'd ever been before. And Shin? He was actually getting his timing right for once, sending the ball flying to the back fence.
"Maybe," Ryoma said, "they'll surprise us."
That night, as Ryoma lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind was restless. It wasn't about the game anymore. Not just about the wins or losses. It was about something deeper.
I might just be the one to bring this team together.
The thought hung in his mind like a weight. But it wasn't an unwelcome one. Ryoma wasn't used to putting others first, but somehow, this ragtag team of misfits had begun to matter more than the game itself.
He didn't know why. Maybe it was because they were the first to see him, not as a prodigy, but as someone who could make a difference.
He could see it in their eyes now.
They were hungry. Hungry for something bigger than themselves.
He grinned.
Maybe he was bored, but he was beginning to realize that the challenge wasn't going to come from the perfect opponents. It was going to come from building something from nothing.
And for the first time in a while, Ryoma felt like he was right where he needed to be.