The kanji printed across the page catches Furuya's attention immediately, along with the accompanying picture of a boy in catcher’s gear, Seido High's jersey on his back. A first year, the article explains. Genius catcher.
Maybe, Furuya thinks, the most hopeful he's been in months, maybe this catcher would be different than everyone else.
Maybe genius could stand with monster and live to tell the tale. Maybe genius could hold firm to a cannon-like arm, Furuya’s weapon. What makes him strong, but what drives others away from him.
Maybe this is a beginning, a new opportunity, rather than the stagnant pace here. An escape from the solitude of pitching to a wall. A chance at finding a place where kids won't refuse to play with him, where they won't call him a monster.
(The next day in class, Furuya slouches a little less in his seat next to the window, pays attention to the teacher a little more as she speaks about high school entrance exams.
The next day, Furuya picks up a baseball again, ignores the biting cold on his cheeks as he walks past the other kids gathering to play with each other, once again settles for the smack of the baseball against the concrete wall.
The difference, though, is that he has something to look forward to now.)
.
Even though he had seemed confident when he approached Miyuki in the cafeteria, shoving his way into the seat next to him and asking him to catch his pitch, Furuya can't help but ignore the nervous turning of his stomach as they stand across from each other--ball in Furuya’s hand, waiting to be thrown, Miyuki’s mitt out and ready, waiting to catch it.
What if even this genius, the best, can't catch his pitch?
What if Furuya takes this chance only to have it end up serving as a confirmation of the things the kids back home always said. Monster. We can’t play with you. We don’t want to play with you.
But he throws it anyway. This is what he came to Seido for. He at least has to try.
For the first time, the ball smacks against a mitt rather than a slab of concrete.
For a moment, he can't believe it. He never thought he'd hear the sound of his pitch being caught, never thought he'd get this chance. But now.
But now...
Miyuki calls something out from across from him, ready to throw the ball back, unfazed and waiting for more.
The picture, Furuya quickly realizes, does Miyuki Kazuya no justice. The printed words that attested to his skill hold no light to the real thing.
This is something he could get used to. Miyuki catching his pitch is a sound Furuya thinks, knows he could get used to hearing.
FILL: TEAM KURAMOCHI YOUICHI/MIYUKI KAZUYA, G
468 words
Miyuki Kazuya.
The kanji printed across the page catches Furuya's attention immediately, along with the accompanying picture of a boy in catcher’s gear, Seido High's jersey on his back. A first year, the article explains. Genius catcher.
Maybe, Furuya thinks, the most hopeful he's been in months, maybe this catcher would be different than everyone else.
Maybe genius could stand with monster and live to tell the tale. Maybe genius could hold firm to a cannon-like arm, Furuya’s weapon. What makes him strong, but what drives others away from him.
Maybe this is a beginning, a new opportunity, rather than the stagnant pace here. An escape from the solitude of pitching to a wall. A chance at finding a place where kids won't refuse to play with him, where they won't call him a monster.
(The next day in class, Furuya slouches a little less in his seat next to the window, pays attention to the teacher a little more as she speaks about high school entrance exams.
The next day, Furuya picks up a baseball again, ignores the biting cold on his cheeks as he walks past the other kids gathering to play with each other, once again settles for the smack of the baseball against the concrete wall.
The difference, though, is that he has something to look forward to now.)
Even though he had seemed confident when he approached Miyuki in the cafeteria, shoving his way into the seat next to him and asking him to catch his pitch, Furuya can't help but ignore the nervous turning of his stomach as they stand across from each other--ball in Furuya’s hand, waiting to be thrown, Miyuki’s mitt out and ready, waiting to catch it.
What if even this genius, the best, can't catch his pitch?
What if Furuya takes this chance only to have it end up serving as a confirmation of the things the kids back home always said. Monster. We can’t play with you. We don’t want to play with you.
But he throws it anyway. This is what he came to Seido for. He at least has to try.
For the first time, the ball smacks against a mitt rather than a slab of concrete.
For a moment, he can't believe it. He never thought he'd hear the sound of his pitch being caught, never thought he'd get this chance. But now.
But now...
Miyuki calls something out from across from him, ready to throw the ball back, unfazed and waiting for more.
The picture, Furuya quickly realizes, does Miyuki Kazuya no justice. The printed words that attested to his skill hold no light to the real thing.
This is something he could get used to. Miyuki catching his pitch is a sound Furuya thinks, knows he could get used to hearing.