The days after their steady practice improvements had been quiet. Ryoma had been slowly getting used to the feeling of responsibility, but a part of him still wondered if he was doing enough. The team was improving, yes, but could they handle real pressure?
It wasn't long before the answer came in the form of a message from the coach.
"Kurosaki High vs. Reiga Academy. First official match. Saturday."
Ryoma stood at the front of the field, his eyes scanning the notice board. Reiga Academy. It was a well-known team, respected for its strength and strategic play. This wasn't just another practice game; it was their first official test. And it was coming up fast.
His teammates gathered around, most of them looking as excited as they were nervous. Ryoma could hear the buzz of conversation, but he stayed silent, watching each one of them. This was the moment they'd been working toward.
Yuuto was first to speak, his voice a little shaky but filled with determination. "We're ready for this, right?"
Ryoma didn't answer immediately. He let the question hang in the air for a moment before speaking.
"If we keep playing like we've been practicing, we've got a chance," Ryoma said, his tone firm but not dismissive. "But this isn't just about playing. It's about being ready for anything. Reiga's going to come at us hard, and if we want to win, we need to push past our limits."
The words were true, but they carried a weight with them. Ryoma knew they weren't quite ready yet—not entirely. But this match, this test, would force them to evolve faster than they ever had.
The night before the match, Ryoma found himself alone at the baseball field. The sky above was painted with dark clouds, a storm threatening to roll in. He wasn't worried about the weather. What bothered him was the pressure weighing on his chest. The team had come so far, but was it enough?
His thoughts were interrupted when Takumi appeared beside him, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. Takumi's presence was familiar, but there was something different about his posture tonight. He wasn't his usual sarcastic self.
"You're overthinking it," Takumi said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "We've all been working hard. They've got your back. And you've got theirs."
Ryoma didn't respond immediately, just staring at the field. He could feel the weight of Takumi's words, but it wasn't enough to ease the anxiety twisting inside him.
"I'm not worried about myself," Ryoma finally said, his voice quieter now. "I'm worried about them."
Takumi smirked, leaning back slightly. "You sure you're not just worried about being the one who leads them to failure?"
Ryoma stiffened at the remark, but Takumi held up a hand to stop him from snapping back.
"Look, I get it. You're not used to depending on others. But that's the thing about leadership, Ryoma. It's not about being perfect. It's about trusting the people you lead." Takumi's expression softened, almost serious. "You're not alone in this. And neither are they. Trust them. Trust yourself."
The next day, the atmosphere was electric.
Kurosaki High's team stood in the dugout, their uniforms slightly damp from the morning mist. Ryoma could feel the tension in the air as the game began. Reiga Academy was as intimidating as they had been warned—an experienced, tactical team, with sharp hitters and a defense that seemed impenetrable.
The first few innings were rough. Ryoma pitched the first few balls, his control sharp, but the hitters from Reiga were ready. They had a sense of the game that Ryoma hadn't seen before—every move calculated, every hit deliberate.
"Focus up," Ryoma muttered under his breath, watching his team. He could feel the pressure building. The team wasn't playing badly, but they weren't playing together yet. Every player was trying to do their best individually, and it wasn't enough.
Then, in the bottom of the third, it happened.
Yuuto, normally quiet and reserved, misjudged a catch. The ball sailed past him, and a run scored. His face turned pale, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the mistake.
"Yuuto!" Ryoma called out, immediately rushing to his side. "Shake it off. Don't let it get to you."
But Yuuto's eyes were wide with panic. "I—I can't do it... I'll mess up again. I—"
"Focus!" Ryoma cut him off, his voice sharper now, not out of anger but urgency. "One mistake doesn't define you. You've been doing well all week. You've got this. Just keep your head in the game."
The words seemed to snap Yuuto out of his panic, and he nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he gripped his glove.
The next few plays were tense, but Yuuto didn't let the mistake define him. He made a crucial catch in the next inning, his movements sharp and controlled. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.
By the sixth inning, the game was close. Kurosaki High had managed to keep the score even, but they were down by one. It was now or never. Ryoma could see it—the team was starting to rally. They were no longer focused on themselves but on each other.
It was then that Ryoma realized something: he wasn't alone in this. He had a team behind him. And they were starting to believe in themselves.
Shin, who had been quiet all game, stepped up to the plate. He had struggled with his swing earlier in the match, but something about the atmosphere had shifted. Ryoma could feel the tension in the air, the eyes of the entire field on Shin.
Shin took a deep breath. He lifted his bat, steadying himself. The first pitch came fast, and he missed. The crowd murmured in disappointment, but Ryoma didn't let the doubt creep in.
"Again," Ryoma urged quietly from behind him. "Just trust the swing. You've got this."
Shin nodded, determination flashing in his eyes. The next pitch came, and this time, Shin connected. The crack of the bat rang through the air, and the ball soared into the outfield. A deep fly ball.
Yuuto, watching from third base, sprinted toward home. The crowd held its breath as the ball fell into the outfielder's glove—but it was too late. Yuuto crossed the plate, tying the game.
In the final inning, the game was still tied. The tension was palpable. Ryoma was on the mound again, pitching with everything he had left. The game was slipping into overtime, and the pressure had never been higher.
But as the last batter stepped up to the plate, Ryoma felt something shift inside him. He wasn't just leading his team anymore. He was with them.
He struck the final batter out. The game was over.
Kurosaki High had won.
The team erupted in cheers, rushing the field to celebrate their victory. Ryoma stood back, watching as his teammates celebrated, his heart pounding in his chest.
They had done it. Together.
And in that moment, Ryoma knew—this was just the beginning.