The school gates of Seihoku High.
He looked up at the school building.
Souta whispered, “I’m finally here, Riku.”
He clutched the strap of his bag, inside of which was the same glove his brother once used in with hours of pitch.
The Seihoku High—the school where his brother once carved his name. Now, Souta stood here as a freshman, heart pounding with a mix of pressure and quiet determination.
As Souta passed through the gate, voices floated past him—students chatting, seniors laughing, a group of students pointing at the team photo posted near the athletics board. One of them whispered, “That’s Riku Hayami’s little brother, right?”
> “Riku Hayami’s brother…”
That title followed him everywhere. And as he walked through the hallways for the first time, it clung to him like a second skin.
He looked around the corridors—trophies in glass cases, team banners on the walls, and somewhere in this school, echoes of his brother’s name still lingered. Riku had made his mark. His fastball. His leadership.
“What should I do?” Souta thought as he climbed the stairs toward the first-year classrooms.
He wasn’t Riku. He knew that. His pitches were still wild. His control shaky. His form, far from perfect.
"I’ll find my own way.” Souta murmured.
But deep inside, he knew eyes would be on him. Expectations. Comparisons. Whispers.
> “That’s Hayami’s brother. Think he’s just as good?”
“Probably already a monster like Riku was.”
“Maybe he’s only here because of his name.”
The thoughts twisted in his gut, but he kept walking. Not with fear—but with fire.
--
As Souta walking through the hallway, scanning the signs to find Class 1-A, the air suddenly shifted.
It was subtle, but Souta felt it—like the temperature dropped just slightly.
From his side, a guy walked forward.
He looked about the same age, but everything about him felt different. His uniform was perfectly neat, his steps confident. His eyes sharp and cold. He didn’t look around or slow down; he didn’t need to. Just walking past others, he commanded the space.
There was something heavy about him. His presence. Like the very air bent around his path.
The guy passed Souta without a glance.
After standing still for a moment—shook off the weight and resumed walking.
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"This school… really is filled with monster." Souta smiled.
--
Finally, he found the classroom.
Class 1-A
He slid it open and peeked inside.
Students were chatting and finding seats. It was a typical scene—
Until he spotted him again.
The same guy from the hallway.
Sitting by the window with a calm, unreadable expression. As if he didn’t care with anyone.
Souta swallowed hard.
"He’s in the same class as me…?"
Souta felt it in his gut. Something about this guy pulled him in.
Without thinking, he walked over.
"Uh… hey," Souta said, trying to sound casual. "Looks like we’re classmates. I’m Hayami Souta—"
The guy looked up, slow and deliberate. His sharp eyes scanned Souta—bored.
"Hayami?" he asked. " Riku Hayami you know him?"
Souta felt that mix of pride and pressure rise in his chest.
"Yeah," he nodded. "He was my older brother."
Then the guy scoffed lightly and leaned back in his chair.
"That guy who died from a foul ball?”
His voice was casual—too casual. Like it wasn’t a tragedy but a joke.
“What a lame way to go out.’”
The world went quiet...
At that moment, something in Souta snapped.
Souta looked at the guy with cold stare. No emotion. Just a chilling, unwavering stare—like the surface of still water hiding a furious current beneath.
The tension in the room sharpened.
“Take that back,” he said quietly.
The guy smirk, almost entertained. “Hit a nerve?”
“You don’t get to talk about my brother like that,” Souta said, fists clenched at his sides.
He wanted to hit him. Right there. But his hands held back, shaking with restraint.
Then, slowly, Souta stepped back.
Souta slid into a seat two rows down, back straight, eyes still fixed on the guy--his jaw tight.
A few minutes passed.
Then, the door slid open.
“Alright, everyone, take your seats.”
The homeroom teacher stepped in — a tall, lean man with a calm demeanor.
He scribbled his name on the board:
Mr. Tsunemori, their homeroom teacher for the year.
“Welcome to Class 1-A,” he said, glancing around.
“Let’s do some introductions,” Tsunemori added. “Stand up, state your name and something about yourself.”
--
One by one, students rose.
Souta waited — not really listening, he is just staring at the guy who mocked his brother.
Then, it was the guy turn.
He stood up — calm, composed, with an effortless confidence.
“Kurokawa Shinji. I’m aiming to be the best pitcher. That’s all.”
He sat down without another word, as if the statement alone was fact — not ambition.
A few seconds passed — and then:
"Kyaa! He’s so cool!"
"His voice is so deep…"
"Did you see his eyes?!"
The girls at the back nearly melted in their seats, covering their mouths in excitement.
A few of the boys just rolled their eyes or clicked their tongues.
Even the teacher sighed under his breath.
As Shinji sat back down, Souta’s eyes locked onto him again.
"A pitcher…" he muttered under his breath, finally processing the last word of Shinji’s introduction.
Souta clenched his fists under the desk.
I’m not gonna let that guy stand above me. Not him.
That lingering anger twisted itself into resolve. Souta could feel his heart thumping faster, his chest tightening with anticipation.
“If he’s a pitcher… then that mound is where I’ll crush him.”
He scoffed under his breath.
You walk like the world already belongs to you."
"But I’m not scared of you."
His eyes narrowed with burning resolve.
"I’ll work myself to the bone. I’ll push until there’s nothing left to give."
"And when the time comes..."
"I’ll beat of outta you."
He glanced out the window, eyes full of fire.
"You’re not untouchable, Shinji. Not to me."
Souta was lost in thought, his glare fixed on Shinji, his heart pounding with determination and unspoken rivalry.
But just as that silent vow echoed in his mind—
“Next".
The teacher’s voice snapped through the room.
Souta blinked, startled. He straightened up, caught off guard as all eyes turned toward him.
He stood slowly, swallowing the fire still simmering in his chest.
“I’m Hayami Souta... I came from Misora Middle School.”
The room went quiet.
Then—
“Hayami...?”
“Wait... did he say Hayami?”
“As in... Riku Hayami?”
“No way—he’s that Riku’s little brother?”
The whispers spread like wildfire, students sitting up straighter, craning their necks for a better look. Some looked impressed. Others surprised. A few skeptical.
Souta felt the weight of it—those eyes, those expectations pressing down on him.
He took a breath, then added firmly:
“Yes... Riku Hayami was my older brother.”
The murmuring deepened. Some were clearly fans. Others couldn’t believe it.
Then he met eyes with Kurokawa Shinji.
That same cold, arrogant gaze.
Shinji leaned back in his chair, arms folded, lips barely curled into the faintest, mocking smirk.
His eyes said it all.
Souta’s jaw clenched. A low fire sparked deep in his chest again.
He didn’t look away.
He couldn’t.
Dead silence hummed between them across the classroom.
"Keep looking at me like that," Souta thought bitterly. Mock all you want."
"One day, I’ll wipe that smug face off you."
He sat down quietly, but inside, a storm raged.
After all of them finish the introduction the teacher voice cut back in, ending the introductions.
“Alright, everyone. I won’t take too much of your time today. Just a few things.”
He started running through the school rules. Attendance. Uniforms. Classroom conduct. Clubs.
“...and of course, make sure to report to your clubs properly. Tryouts and applications will begin starting this afternoon.”
That part snapped Souta back.
Baseball.
Tryouts.
This was it. The first step.
The bell rang with a loud, sharp chime.
Students rustled up from their seats, conversations already bubbling. Some made a beeline toward Shinji. Others whispered while sneaking glances at Souta.
He stood up slowly, grabbing his bag.
“This is it,” he thought. “Time to get started.”
