[ T{Turn} | 2013.MM.DD{Day} | HH:MM | {WeatherEmoji} | {Location} | ♀️/♂️]

The cold sensation of the aluminum bench pressed against the back of my thighs. That was the first sensation I recognized.

The spectator seats behind the backstop. Beyond the netting hanging from the steel frame, the infield diamond stretched out. The late afternoon sunlight poured down at an angle, making golden particles look as if they were floating amidst the dust.

Sound filled the world first.

——Ping.

The sound of a metal bat hitting the ball. Followed by the dull thud of leather as a glove swallowed the ball. A voice shouting from the bench. The crunching of spikes digging into the dirt. They were all familiar sounds, yet simultaneously all foreign. They were too close. Too vivid.

On the scoreboard in front of me, the words 'Saihai' and 'Hanayama' were written.

My heart skipped a beat.

Someone was standing on the mound.

Hanayama's number 1. The ace. It was the real 'Shinichi Saeki'.

The moment he lifted his left leg high in a wind-up, the muscles of his forearm revealed between his uniform sleeves glistened in the sunlight. The pitching form was completed, and the instant the ball left his fingertips——the sound of it hitting the catcher's mitt echoed all the way to the stands.

——Thump.

Strike. The umpire's call echoed briefly across the ground.

And the batter's box.

Saihai's number 10. A silhouette standing with a bat loosely slung over his shoulder, not even caring about the hair sticking out from under his helmet. His stance upon entering the box was far from standard. A unique stance with feet spread wide and upper body leaning slightly forward.

Kenji Sakai.

The count on the scoreboard changed. 1 strike, 0 balls. Shinichi entered the set position again. The tip of Kenji's bat drew tiny circles, gauging the timing.

The wind blew. A single cherry blossom petal caught on the backstop netting and trembled.

This was no manga.