Chapter 49: When the Bats Go Silent

The field was already cleared the next morning.

No chalk lines. No bases. Just damp earth and the slow rustle of wind over grass that had been stomped flat by too many feet. It looked like any other field now. Not the place where hearts had beat faster, where the Miracle Nine had almost—almost—made it to the final.

Haruto stood outside the wire fence, fingers curled around the cold steel. He hadn't gone home the night before. No one had.

The group had lingered. Sat on their bags. Talked in whispers.

Reina eventually walked them home—one by one. Jun didn't stop looking at his glove. Takeshi had gone quiet in a way that unsettled everyone. Ayumu mumbled about trying again, even though everyone knew they couldn't.

They were third-years.

This had been the last game.

No repeats. No resets. No do-overs.

Now, everything was still.

A crow landed on second base.

Haruto closed his eyes.

Footsteps approached.

It was Sōta.

"Locker room's open," he said, voice low. "Principal called for a final cleanup."

Haruto nodded.

They walked back without speaking.

When they reached the small shed-like room the school called a clubhouse, most of the team was already there. Dust floated through the air in golden shafts of light. Someone had propped the door open.

Takeshi was folding jerseys. Jun was oiling gloves with automatic hands. Reina sat in the corner, her clipboard beside her, flipping through the injury sheets she had meticulously kept for Haruto all season.

"Still pretending you're not a manager?" Jun asked with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Reina didn't respond. She was staring at something in her lap.

Coach Inoue entered then, silently, with Principal Nakahara behind him.

All chatter stopped.

The principal cleared his throat.

"You boys did… far more than anyone expected. That is something this town will remember."

He paused, like he didn't know how to say the rest.

"But as you know, our middle school's budget for next year is being restructured. And since we do not have an official coach, or school-certified athletic infrastructure, the board has decided…"

He looked at the coach.

Coach Inoue nodded slightly.

"The baseball club will be disbanded after this term."

Silence.

The kind of silence where no one knows how to feel.

Not shock.

Not sadness.

Just emptiness.

"Wait," Takeshi finally said. "Like… gone? Forever?"

"I'm afraid so," said Nakahara. "There's already a petition from the PTA to prioritize academic programs instead."

Ayumu whispered, "But we put this team together ourselves…"

Jun stood up. "We brought wins to this school. People from town started coming to our games. Doesn't that mean anything?"

The principal hesitated. "Emotionally, yes. But—"

"Then stop there," Reina said quietly, standing.

Everyone turned.

She wasn't yelling.

She just looked tired.

"If it meant something emotionally, it meant something real."

The principal didn't respond. Just gave a slow bow and exited.

Coach Inoue remained.

"You all did well," he said, voice slightly rough. "Better than anyone thought. Better than even I hoped."

He looked at Haruto.

"At least one of you is going somewhere far beyond this town."

That got everyone's attention.

Haruto blinked. "What do you mean?"

Coach Inoue stepped aside. Reina opened her folder.

She walked over and placed two letters on the table.

Sōta immediately looked away.

Haruto stared.

> "Meiwa High Summer Tryout Invitation"

[Recipient: Haruto Fujiwara]

[Recipient: Sōta Mizuno]

Jun muttered, "Wait—what?"

Reina stepped back. "They saw you. A scout. From Meiwa. You were being watched."

Ayumu's eyes widened. "That guy with the notebook in the third row…"

Coach Inoue gave a rare smile. "He only comes to a few games a year. He came to yours."

Haruto said nothing. He picked up the envelope, hands trembling slightly. He read the name.

Fujiwara Haruto.

It looked foreign.

Like someone else's future.

Sōta quietly folded his envelope and placed it in his backpack.

Jun suddenly laughed, short and dry.

"Guess the Miracle Nine's splitting after all."

Takeshi raised a hand, stopped him. "Let them go. They earned it."

Ayumu punched Haruto in the shoulder. "Don't act like you didn't save our butts in like six games."

Reina smiled softly. "Maybe you didn't win the last game… but you earned a new one."

Haruto finally looked up.

And for the first time in days, he smiled.

Not because it didn't hurt.

But because it meant the pain meant something.

The rest of the cleanup was quiet. Gloves placed in boxes. Helmets stacked. Jerseys folded.

Jun nailed a wooden plaque to the back wall before they left. It read:

> "ここに奇跡があった."

There was a miracle here.

No one said goodbye.

Because none of them believed this was really the end.

Haruto stepped outside and took one last look at the empty field.

Reina stood beside him, arms crossed.

"Go," she said. "Go see how far that pitch of yours can fly."

Haruto took a breath.

And walked toward the unknown, the letter clutched in his hand.

The Miracle Nine was over.

But Haruto Fujiwara's story was just beginning.

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