The sound of cleats scraping against gravel echoed through the empty halls of Kurosaki High. Ryoma was walking towards the baseball field, his footsteps purposeful, but his mind was far from the game.
Leadership.
It had never been something he thought about before. At Seidou, he had always been one of many prodigies, part of a team where everything was built around talent. The pressure was different there—everyone was expected to be the best, but no one had to teach anyone how to get there. They already knew.
But here? Kurosaki was a different story. He wasn't just expected to play—he was expected to lead. And that felt like a weight on his shoulders, one he wasn't sure how to carry.
The field came into view as he turned the corner. Takumi was already there, leaning against the fence, his eyes scanning the horizon.
"Yo," Takumi called out, his usual grin never quite reaching his eyes. "Ready for another disaster?"
Ryoma didn't respond right away, but when he looked up, he saw the others slowly trickling onto the field: Jiro, Yuuto, and Shin, all with their various quirks and shortcomings, but something was different today.
They were ready. They were showing up.
Ryoma exhaled slowly, stepping onto the field. "Let's go," he said, his voice steady.
Takumi raised an eyebrow. "You gonna tell them what to do again?"
Ryoma nodded. "They need structure. And maybe a little direction."
The practice was slow to start, as usual. But today, Ryoma was more focused. He noticed little things: the way Yuuto still struggled with positioning in the outfield, the way Jiro flinched whenever the ball was hit toward him, and how Shin's swings still lacked control.
But instead of criticizing them outright, Ryoma started approaching each moment with patience, teaching them as he went along.
With Yuuto, he practiced footwork, showing him how to adjust his steps so he could react faster. Yuuto was slow to grasp it at first, but Ryoma didn't push him too hard. Instead, he kept the mood light, cracking a joke here and there, letting the tension ease up.
"Watch your feet, Yuuto. You're basically a tree with roots. No wonder you can't move fast enough."
Yuuto's response was a laugh, and though he was still fumbling, his confidence was slowly building.
Jiro, on the other hand, had trouble with his form. Every time the ball came to him, he was a split second too late, like he was thinking too much about what he was supposed to do.
Ryoma approached him after he missed another easy grounder, his tone firm but not unkind.
"Stop overthinking it," Ryoma said. "Just react. If the ball's coming to you, don't wait for it. Go for it."
Jiro nodded, a little hesitant. But when the next ball came his way, he didn't freeze. He dove for it, barely managing to stop it from rolling past him. His glove closed around the ball, and he stood there, eyes wide.
He had done it. He didn't even need Ryoma to tell him this time.
Ryoma smiled. "Not bad."
Jiro's chest puffed out a little. He didn't say anything, but the pride in his eyes spoke volumes.
Shin's development was a little trickier. The bodybuilder's swings had been getting harder, but they still lacked precision. Ryoma knew he had the power, but power without control was useless.
"Keep your head down," Ryoma said as he pitched. "You're swinging like you're trying to knock a building down. Focus on hitting the ball, not killing it."
Shin growled under his breath, but Ryoma saw the determination in his eyes. He adjusted his stance, and when he swung this time, there was a noticeable difference. It wasn't perfect, but the ball actually went where he wanted it to—a clean hit into the outfield.
"You didn't break the bat," Ryoma teased, earning a laugh from Shin.
"You're a pain," Shin muttered, but the smile on his face was genuine.
Takumi had been watching quietly from the sidelines, his arms crossed. He wasn't the type to engage much, but after a while, he sauntered over to Ryoma, who was giving some last-minute instructions to the team.
"You're not half-bad at this," Takumi said, his voice low, almost begrudging. "I'll give you that."
Ryoma didn't look at him, focusing instead on Jiro, who was now catching grounders like a pro.
"I'm not doing this for you," Ryoma said. "I'm doing it for them."
Takumi chuckled softly. "Yeah, well, looks like it's working."
Ryoma turned to him then, eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Takumi just shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "They've got more heart than I gave them credit for. You've got something to do with that."
Ryoma didn't say anything. But deep down, he knew Takumi was right. This wasn't just about winning—it was about the process. About bringing these guys up to a level where they could stand with anyone, no matter how strong the opponent.
Later that evening, as Ryoma walked back to the dormitory, his mind wandered again. It was different now. He wasn't just the prodigy anymore. He wasn't just a player who'd come in to show off his skills. He was someone these guys were looking up to, relying on.
What if I can't make them better?
The thought lingered in his mind, but Ryoma pushed it aside. He knew what his role was. He didn't need to be perfect. He just needed to be there. To teach, to push, and to believe in them—even when they couldn't believe in themselves.
And for the first time in a long while, Ryoma wasn't just playing for himself.
He was playing for them.