The Beginning - Miho - June [Part 6 of 7]
Later that night, I couldn't sleep.
The usually drowsiness-inducing sound of the waves stuck to my ears. This is the first time I've had this feeling. A strange sensation, like a thin layer, wrapped around my body. I sighed and turned over and over. One, two, three, four-- And when the count reached five, I quietly slipped out of bed.
I opened the curtain, revealing the full moon that drew a path of light on the sea of the Five Islands. Contrasting the sea was the Kendama Rock's silhouette in pitch black.
Why does my heart feel so flustered?
The news wasn't even anything unusual.
The Koshien regular team with an Ace player in tow, grasping total victory when faced with a public school team in the first game. The kind of match that happens throughout Japan during each year's preliminaries. Yet it's making me feel a burning sensation in my chest.
...I wonder, why did he have that look in his eyes?
That public high school's pitcher, whose name wasn't even introduced.
Although his pitches were hit countless times by the geniuses of the champ-level school, he persistently pitched on, avoiding at least having the game called off by the mercy rule.
That level of achievement should have been enough as something his team can be fully proud of. So why did he have that look in his eyes? The look of being in a fervent pursuit of something. The look of desperate longing.
When it comes to baseball, I tend to naturally watch them in the perspective of the pitcher, regardless of the team. That's simply because the pitchers are the ones that get the most screentime. Each of those pitchers, whom I've fought together with up to now, approached their batters with a myriad of emotions. Anger, joy, sorrow, regret, fear, excitement.
And then there's him. The fiery emotion in his eyes was completely different from all that I've felt before. When one of the lower-ranking batter hit a homerun, when the #4 batter hit three of his pitches, and even when he narrowly held on when the game was about to be called off by the mercy rule for the seventh time, the fiery emotion of his never faltered. It burned on in silence, as if he was constantly in search of something far away, something completely unrelated to the competition at hand.
That's right, he's searching for something. By himself, all alone. With all his strength.
I can feel it in my chest, burning hotter and hotter.
The ceaseless roar of the waves resounded in my ears, as if they were inviting me to the open sea.
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Later that night, I couldn't sleep.
The usually drowsiness-inducing sound of the waves stuck to my ears. This is the first time I've had this feeling. A strange sensation, like a thin layer, wrapped around my body. I sighed and turned over and over. One, two, three, four-- And when the count reached five, I quietly slipped out of bed.
I opened the curtain, revealing the full moon that drew a path of light on the sea of the Five Islands. Contrasting the sea was the Kendama Rock's silhouette in pitch black.
Why does my heart feel so flustered?
The news wasn't even anything unusual.
The Koshien regular team with an Ace player in tow, grasping total victory when faced with a public school team in the first game. The kind of match that happens throughout Japan during each year's preliminaries. Yet it's making me feel a burning sensation in my chest.
...I wonder, why did he have that look in his eyes?
That public high school's pitcher, whose name wasn't even introduced.
Although his pitches were hit countless times by the geniuses of the champ-level school, he persistently pitched on, avoiding at least having the game called off by the mercy rule.
That level of achievement should have been enough as something his team can be fully proud of. So why did he have that look in his eyes? The look of being in a fervent pursuit of something. The look of desperate longing.
When it comes to baseball, I tend to naturally watch them in the perspective of the pitcher, regardless of the team. That's simply because the pitchers are the ones that get the most screentime. Each of those pitchers, whom I've fought together with up to now, approached their batters with a myriad of emotions. Anger, joy, sorrow, regret, fear, excitement.
And then there's him. The fiery emotion in his eyes was completely different from all that I've felt before. When one of the lower-ranking batter hit a homerun, when the #4 batter hit three of his pitches, and even when he narrowly held on when the game was about to be called off by the mercy rule for the seventh time, the fiery emotion of his never faltered. It burned on in silence, as if he was constantly in search of something far away, something completely unrelated to the competition at hand.
That's right, he's searching for something. By himself, all alone. With all his strength.
I can feel it in my chest, burning hotter and hotter.
The ceaseless roar of the waves resounded in my ears, as if they were inviting me to the open sea.
Previous Part
Next Part
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