Chapter 35: “Behind Closed Doors”

The sun beat down on the dusty school field as Haruto adjusted his cap and exhaled, slowly. His shoulder still throbbed, but he'd learned how to mask the discomfort. A pitcher couldn't show pain—especially not now.

It was the third game of the season.

Their ragtag team from rural Nagano had shocked the district with two back-to-back wins. Not by finesse. Not by polished mechanics. But through scrappy plays, unpredictable tactics, and sheer will. Inoue-sensei had called it "baseball chaos"—but even chaos, he admitted, needed strategy to survive.

They were about to face Kitami West—a school with funding, uniforms that actually matched, and a clean white bus parked by the gates. The contrast was laughable. Their opponents stepped out in formation, coaches barking orders, cleats gleaming. Meanwhile, the Miracle Nine arrived in bikes, dusty sneakers, and borrowed gloves held together by tape.

But none of that mattered.

Not to Haruto.

Not anymore.

---

"...Top of the second inning, and it's still 0–0, but this countryside team is keeping up!" a local radio commentator buzzed from the press tent. "Haruto Kurosawa with another low fastball… caught the corner! Strike two!"

Haruto felt his fingers tighten around the seams. The batter—a third-year slugger from Kitami West—was twice his weight, but Haruto didn't care. He saw only the mitt. Reina's mitt, steady behind the plate.

She gave him the signal.

Changeup.

Haruto nodded.

The pitch left his hand with a strange snap, dipping just as it crossed the plate.

"Strike three! Down he goes!"

The stands, filled mostly with local farmers and curious townsfolk, erupted.

Reina stood and threw the ball back, her eyes catching Haruto's for a split second. Neither smiled. They didn't need to. The rhythm was theirs.

---

Meanwhile, just beyond the dugout, Inoue-sensei watched quietly, a clipboard tucked under one arm.

He hadn't officially returned to coaching. The school board had made it very clear: if they found him involved again, the club would be shut down. But that hadn't stopped him from showing up after school hours, or scribbling play diagrams on the chalkboard after everyone left.

Hidden from view, in the storage shed behind the gym, the chalkboard was full of strategies now—color-coded plays, position swaps, even tailored batting orders depending on opposing pitcher types.

He watched Jun's swing pattern, took notes on Sōta's field coverage radius, and analyzed Takeshi's footwork.

The kids never asked if he was coaching. They just showed up each night to the shed like it was church.

Inoue would call it something else: a silent promise.

---

Back in the bottom of the fourth, things got messy.

Jun misread a bunt. Takeshi hesitated on a double play. Kitami West got runners on second and third.

"One out, runners in scoring position. The underdogs are cornered."

Haruto gritted his teeth. His shoulder burned.

Reina called for a fastball. Haruto shook his head.

Slider.

She hesitated, then nodded.

He wound up—and threw it.

The pitch curved hard. The batter, thinking it was a strike, swung and missed.

"Strike two!"

From the outfield, Jun pounded his glove. "Let's go!"

But then… the next pitch.

It slipped.

Not much. Just enough.

The batter made contact. A soft blooper.

Sōta sprinted.

Grass kicked up beneath his cleats. The crowd rose. Reina shouted.

Sōta dove—

Caught it.

Threw to third.

Double play.

"OUT! WHAT A PLAY!"

The crowd lost it. Farmers waved handkerchiefs. The school janitor rang an old cowbell he'd brought for luck. Haruto dropped to one knee, catching his breath.

"Saved me again," he muttered.

Reina walked out toward the mound. "Your shoulder's slipping again, isn't it?"

He didn't answer.

She knelt beside him. "If you fall, we fall."

Haruto stood up. "Then I won't fall."

They bumped gloves and walked back.

---

The game ended 3–1.

Their third win.

Kitami West left without shaking hands. The countryside team celebrated like they'd won nationals.

"The Miracle Nine does it again! This little team is climbing the ranks of Nagano fast!" the commentator announced. "Keep your eyes on this Kurosawa kid. That arm's something special."

---

Later that evening, Inoue-sensei stayed behind in the storage shed. He erased part of a diagram, then paused. Reina stood at the door.

"You're helping more than they know," she said softly.

"They don't need me."

"They do."

He looked at the playbook. "This team… they're more than players. They're stories trying to be heard."

Reina stepped forward. "Then keep writing them."

He smiled, finally.

---

At home, Haruto lay on his futon, ice wrapped around his shoulder. The moonlight spilled through the shoji screen.

He stared at the ceiling.

Not in pain.

But in thought.

Their wins weren't clean. Their play wasn't perfect. But they were real.

And in that reality—raw, clumsy, and underdog as it was—something was being born.

A team.

A dream.

A reason to fight.

And it was only beginning.

---

End of Chapter 35