MaruMA:Gaiden04:Chapter 6

The love season is a MA summer sea

“Waaaa—aah--- The sun is yellow—”

His friend stretches up his hands to reach the sides of his hat, making a strange noise, while Murata reacts calmly. As for the star that certain someone mentioned, it’s hanging in the middle of the sky right now.

“Of course it is, if the sun at noon looks bright red, then that’d be weird.”

“That’s not what I meant, my brain’s just a bit slow because my nose is blocked and oxygen can’t get reach my head, that’s why I think the sun looks particularly yellow. Oh, yeah, after I fell asleep last night, did you turn on the air-conditioning!?”

“Yup, because it was too hot.”

“No wonder—”

Shibuya Yuuri raises his hands and looks up at the sky, followed by an exaggerated sigh. The blue stone in front of his chest sways lightly too.

“No wonder my nose is blocked, and it feels like I’m getting a cold. Is there any need to turn on the air-con at a beachside resort like this?”

Is he kidding? Whether or not it’s beachside, nighttime temperature this close to the 20th is over thirty degrees. Unlike my friend, I don’t insist on an air-conless life, and I can’t cool myself down just by keeping my head cool. Natural ventilation isn’t enough to get me a good night’s sleep.

“How could I sleep when it’s so hot? Try to take a little advantage of society’s weapons, c’mon.”

“Tell me that when the temperature is over 34 degrees… Hah!”

Yuuri says an exaggerated number as he balances the ice bucket in his arms—there are almost twenty canned drinks in there. Due to the sun and the friction from his apron strap, his left shoulder is feeling slightly sore.

“There should be all kinds of cold cola and fruit juices in here, wanna buy--?”

“What’s up with your attitude, why do you sound so reluctant?”

Murata, the one in charge of collecting the money, swings the coin pouch with a wry smile. Although they agreed to take turns every fifteen minutes, this shift has already lasted forty. His friend wipes the sweat about to enter his eyes, stretching his stiff back,

“The truth is we should have long since gone back to Saitama, but why? For what reason? Why the hell would we be selling drinks at the football game?”

“Working part-time.”

“That ended yesterday, right?”

“It got extended. Ah, good day to you. Thank you for your patronage, two cans of oolong, is it?”

Technically speaking, the ‘M clan’ who were working part-time at the beachside shop slash resort should have been done yesterday, but due to labor shortage, they had no choice but to extend their working time. This is all because the vacation committee suddenly decided to organize a beach football competition.

Since when did they have beachside football competitions? When it comes to beach sports, there’s volleyball, cutting watermelons, and writing romantic messages in the sea, right! Although the baseball-loving high-schooler sighs helplessly, there’s no use making a fuss now that it’s gotten to this. Now, beach football has been officially recognized, even ex-players of J United have joined the casual team, so any complaints have to go straight to Ramos.

Not far from the goal line, the goal – slightly larger than that of a five-on-five field—is surrounded by spectators. Every time the goal net shakes, there’ll be passionate cheering. Such a scene is beyond even the organizer’s expectations.

“Sigh—If we have to sell drinks, I’d rather sell beer at the Tokyo Dome.”

“You!? How could you possibly turn your back to a baseball game and sell drinks?”

“Why not—Work is work, as long as you’re used to it… What’s happening at Koshien?”

Hearing that refreshing sound of a can tab being pulled open, Yuuri hands over a paper cup with a cold drink in it, as he perks up his ears to eavesdrop on a middle-aged customer’s radio. As long as he can hear the game commentary on the way, he’s happy.

“Top of the inning, municipal… high school… all bases clear…”

“Wow, impressive! What’s the score?”

See—Murata doesn’t say it out loud, laughing instead.

If you were at the baseball park, there’s no way you could calm yourself down and work, is there? Just as he’s about to say that, he hears someone calling the name they don’t quite like.

“Found you found you! Mr M, Mr M Clan--!”

The cuter the girl’s voice, the more they’re unable to respond. The girl is indeed calling them, but that’s the name of the shop they’re working at, not their names.

The other person waves as she walks through the crowd to them. She has long brown, almost black, hair, and a nose that’s slightly large for a Japanese, a bright smile on her lips. Her carefully tanned skin is a pretty wheat-color, making them embarrassed for the completely uneven colors on their arms, shoulders and stomach.

“Who is she?”

“Isn’t she the college student whose bikini was washed away?”

It was precisely the person who caused them to get washed into the sea. Not only did they get washed into the sea, they even crossed the world’s border, floating to a different world.

“Oh—The one without the stomach piercing. I couldn’t recognize her in a different swimsuit.”

“Don’t remember how people look by what they wear.”

“Idiot, the day before yesterday she wasn’t wearing anyth… Mgh. I remembered again.”

The impact of the way she looked the last time they saw her, when she was just hiding her chest with her hands.

The healthy boy with a low immunity towards girls presses his nose instinctively thanks to his unhealthy imagination. Once he’s sure there aren’t any liquids leaking out, only then does he start pretending to do business seriously.

“Oh dear, thanks for your patronage! Fruit juice, is it… Waaa!”

It’s just that the hand that moved away is immediately moved back to where it came from—to check again whether he’s having a nosebleed.

Because the girl who’s walking over with a smile hadn’t tied her bikini strip tightly, and it loosens again, until all the males in the vicinity hold their breath, staring at the elusive right breast.

“Waa!”

“This is bad, her shoulder is… again… Waa--!”

The highschooler with his head full of baseball takes a ton of damage. He loses his grip on the ice bucket resting on his waist, and it suddenly flips over. To make things worse, the lid was still open. so the remaining cans, more than ten of them, all fall onto his foot.

“…The high school batter launches a series of vicious attacks!”

Even the live baseball commentary is timed exactly right.

But that’s not the only bad news. The former J United player unleashes a killer kick, and the ball flies past the goalposts like a bullet, hitting the back of Shibuya Yuuri’s head spot-on.

“Whoaaa!”

The guy makes a hoarse sound and then slowly falls forward, his entire face buried into the sand.

“Shibuya!?”

Although Murata hurriedly helps him up, his body is limp and he’s lost consciousness.

“…Prefectural… Second year ace pitcher… -kun, unfortunately broke his right leg in a car accident before the match… The one playing now is the number two pitcher… -kun’s pitching with all his heart…”

“Hey, Shibuya! Wake up, Shibuya!”

Although it’s hard to see on his sunbaked face, his face is indeed pale.

Murata looks around, and finally sees a worker walking over slowly. He almost wants to yell, “Why are you moving like a tortoise!? Run, run over here!”

“Commentator Mr Gengoroumaru, I believe the ace pitcher… -kun is also cheering him on from the hospital.”

“That’s right.”

“Sorry, someone take this stretcher… That doesn’t seem to be any use either! Ambulance… Someone please call an ambulance--!”

Only the radio in the hands of the audience is still coolly broadcasting the live commentary.

  I used a public phone to call the Shibuya family in Saitama, explaining the situation before returning to the ward, only to find that female college student sitting by the hospital bed. Apparently she drove here, following the ambulance. But instead of a swimsuit, she’s wearing a sleeveless singlet, and her expression is laden with guilt as her shoulders droop,

“Sorry, it’s my fault again.”

“It’s not your fault this time.”

“If I hadn’t called out to you guys, the drinks wouldn’t have fallen onto his feet, right? In that case he might have been able to dodge that ball.”

If you really want to go that specific, nothing would have happened if your bikini shoulder strap didn’t go loose—Although Murata thinks that in his heart, he still puts on an act and comforts her,

“Who knows—After all, he did look back just then. If he had eyes on the back of his head, things may have been different.”

Shibuya may have learned how to avoid wild pitches a long time ago, but when it comes to the super flying ball by an ex J United player, it’s most likely his first time seeing it, as well as his first time being hit by it. But with killer balls like that, it’s best not that get hit at all your entire life.

However, the victim of this incident is now sleeping peacefully, dressed in a pale green hospital gown. His tightly shut eyelids tremble at times, maybe he’s dreaming about something. The IV drip and the bandage on his head make him look particularly pitiful, but at least his pulse and breathing are really steady—only his left wrist, pierced by the drip, is all pale. The tan lines from his baseball clothes are finally fading a little, so now that’s the only place that’s not completely dark. Murata can’t help a small smile.

The doctor who diagnosed him said “concussion” and then left. Since there is a continuous stream of serious cases streaming into the emergency room, he doesn’t have that much time to spend on a patient who was just hit on the head with a ball.

The August sky stretches infinitely outside the window. The air-conditioning in the hospital is really cool, and the air is really dry too. Cicadas fly past the remnants of the summer rain, this scene is just like something out of an elementary kid’s picture diary.

“I wanted to apologize to him for what happened the day before yesterday.”

She says, staring at Yuuri’s face.

That was when she and her friend asked the working high schoolers to retrieve the yellow bikini that was washed away, and then disappeared without a trace.

“Sorry, but we didn’t run away on purpose, we were chased away by a scary lifeguard, really.”

Although he couldn’t be sure how true her words were, she’ll have to wait for Shibuya to wake up before she can apologize. That was what Murata wanted to say, then he finally noticed that she was here at the hospital alone.

“Eh, where’s that friend who was with you?”

“She got a boyfriend.”

“Is that so~~”

“Of course, it’s just a boyfriend for the summer vacation. On the beach in the heat of summer and in ski resorts in the cold of winter, everyone always aims for that.”

Mn, it really is the season of love.

“College student life sure seems like a lot of fun~~”

“That’s until the end of this year, by this time next year we’ll start getting busy looking for jobs. Ah—I really miss my high school years instead, there was no need to wonder if I was suited for this path, or whether my job was stable.”

In that case, she’s a second year in college? Meaning she’s four years older than us. Shibuya, don’t you fall in love now. Since his friend seems to like older ladies, he whispers some advice his friend can’t hear.

Without noticing his thoughts, the college student sighs heavily and murmurs,

“Back then when I was in high school, I always believed I could reach my target~~”

“What did you want to be?”

“Me?”

Her gaze finally moves away from the patient, turning to Murata as she smiles mischievously,

“A car racer.”

Murata replies with “Ah, is that so~~”, thinking how stupid his question was.

She reminds one of summer clothing and a sun umbrella, so no matter how you put it she seems more suited to be a racing model. No matter what he did, he couldn’t imagine her in the racing gear covered with sponsorship logos, wearing a helmet, and stuffing herself into the driver’s seat.

But even if he can’t imagine the actual scene, he can still make up a few encouraging lines.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Still, it seems pretty hard to do.”

“Of course it’s hard—and it’s a job only a very few people can do, it’s really hard just to get an A-grade Japanese license. There are even fewer people who can make it big as an internationally famous racer. For a normal female college student, it’s a job that’s just too out there, huh?”

She’s smiling self-deprecatingly, but she has no idea how esteemed the high school student sleeping in front of her is, and how impressive.

Of course, I don’t plan on telling her, and only a few people believe that he’s the maou anyway.

“Even if it’s racing, there are many different types, it depends on… Ah, hello.”

She doesn’t finish her sentence when the nurse comes in, asking, “He’s not awake yet?” The nurse then checks whether the emergency call button is functional, and expertly pulls out the drip after it completed the prescribed amount. Maybe that stimuli reaches his central nervous system, because Yuuri groans and cracks open his eyes.

“…Shibuya.”

He immediately closes his eyes again, probably not used to the blinding light. The nurse, who seems very experienced, quickly pulls up the curtain around his bed. Yuuri’s fingers flex a little, and Murata heaves a sigh of relief. It seems there’s no need to worry about anything wrong with his body.

“This… is…”

His voice is a little raspy.

“It’s the hospital.”

“Why am I at the hospital?”

“Urk—You got hit by a ball, it’s natural that you wouldn’t remember. After all, it was a sudden hit to the back of your head.”

He slowly gets up, his features twisting with the pain from his legs and the back of his head. He reaches up to touch the bandages on his forehead, and says something with all the force of a sucker punch,

“Who… am I…”

Time instantly freezes in that moment.

  The nurse who seems very experienced reacts extremely quickly,

“Is it amnesia!?”

Just as Murata was wondering how the pink uniform suddenly disappeared, she has already taken something out—a pen and a sketchbook. Before Murata can ask what she wants to do, she tells the patient to pick up the marker pen, and her expression is exceptionally cheerful as well.

“Wait a sec, that kind of reaction seems a little off…”

But the nurse ignores him completely, even asking the patient excitedly if he can draw a piano. As for the patient, he’s overcome by the nurse with her shining eyes as well, so all he can do is start drawing with an expression of confusion.

A baseball bat and ball are drawn onto the white sketchbook, and drawn in one stroke too. What a textbook baseball fan he is.

Murata thought the nurse would be disappointed, but instead she gasps,

“Goodness—This BAT is drawn perfectly! I know, he must be Batman!”

“No, that’s not it! This has nothing to do with Batman at all!”

“Yeah, he’s right! Because he is Bikini-man!”

The female university student protests alongside Murata. She probably wants to help, but she digressed again.

Before Shibuya gets more and more nicknames, Murata hastily stops the nurse and the female university student. If they called him Bacteria-man or Super Bittergourd-man, that would just be too sad.

“Hold on a sec! His name is Shibuya Yuuri, doesn’t it say so on his chart? His identity is written clearly there too. As for his memories, he’s just confused for now. After all, he was hit by an ex J United player’s full strength blow in a beach football competition, it’s normal even if he loses his… Wait a sec, it’s usually the doctor who says this, and not the patient, right? And the reason he drew a baseball bat, is because he’s through and through a baseball boy… Right, Shibuya?”

“Competition… Baseball…”

Yuuri, who was nearly given a strange nickname, mumbles as he puts his hand on the bandages on his forehead, and then he suddenly raises his head, yelling his friend’s name,

“That’s right, Murata! The competition!”

“See, he remembers now, right? This doesn’t count as amnesia, does it? Isn’t that right, Shibuya? Not only can you say your name, you can also tell us your house address, right? After all, you’re not a canine cop who can’t stop crying.”

“The one who can’t stop crying is the kitty, right?”

Exactly right. So Murata immediately rides on that momentum,

“See, he can even remember the lyrics of nursery rhymes so clearly, and is even calmer than me, so how could he have lost his memories?”

Goodness knows if the nurse got things straight, but she finally leaves the hospital room to look for a doctor. Murata grabs his friend’s shoulders and sighs, that annoying sweat gathering on his spectacles rims,

“That was close, you nearly became a variety show’s exclusive feature.”

“Exclusive feature? This isn’t all that impressive, right?”

Yuuri, completely unaware that he’s the cause of it all, lifts his leg lightly. His cheeks and lips have both regained their color, and he looks a lot more spirited than before.

“That’s right, Murata. Although I hurt my right leg, why does it not hurt even if I pat it?”

“Mn? Of course, you just knocked your leg a bit. It’s swelling, sure, but there’s nothing wrong with the bone, of course it wouldn’t hurt if you just tap it with your hand. Thank goosness—”

“There’s nothing wrong with the bone!? You mean I didn’t break my leg?”

“The doctor says you didn’t. Forget about your leg, Shibuya, it’s your head, your head. Ahh—If only your head was uninjured too—”

“And there’s no plaster either…”

Is it so weird that there’s no plaster? Yuuri even desperately rubs the back of his foot.

“Please, it’s just a knock, of course you wouldn’t need plaster. But thank goodness, if you got hurt while working and ended up with any lasting effects, I wouldn’t know how to face your parents… Shibuya?”

Murata thought he would complain, “Just how old are you?” But Yuuri is getting ready to get off the bed, even reaching his hands out towards the pale-colored ward curtain.

“What’s the matter?”

He leaves the sickbed without replying, and he’s barefoot too.

“Shibuya, where are you going? Ah, is it the toilet? At least wear your slippers first!”

“Of course not!”

The casualty turns back to shrug at Murata, and all the other patients in the same ward are peeking through the curtain to see what’s going on.

“Since I didn’t break any bones, there’s no need to stay here.”

“But the doctor hasn’t approved you yet… And your parents should be getting here anytime now.”

“I don’t have the time to stay here!”

His hand, with the patient ID badge still on it, pulls the door open lightly. It seems he wants to leave no matter what.

“I have to go.”

“Go? Go where?”

I thought he was anxious to get back to work, because he was injured while on duty. It surprised me, and made him admire his professionalism. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said something as rude as ‘you wouldn’t be able to work in a baseball park’.

But the patient, with his white bandages and seemingly serious injuries, is walking barefoot on the icy cold corridor as he mysteriously murmurs,

“Do you even have to ask? Koshien, of course!”

“Oh—Koshi—Koshien!?”

Shibuya quickly glances at the stunned Murata before dashing out of his hospital room, striding down the corridors filled with patients and hospital worker. Maybe his right leg still hurts a little, because he’s dragging it behind him as he makes a mad dash for the hospital entrance.

“Wait a sec, Shibuya! At least put your shoes on! And your clothes, you have to get your clothes from your room!”

“My baseball clothes are more than enough.”

“Baseball clothes aren’t an apron, are they? Ah—wait a sec—Wearing that apron outside of the ward isn’t too appropriate, is it? And we haven’t even paid the bill yet, are you trying get out of paying!?”

Murata chases behind hurriedly his friend while telling him to pay, but the normal Yuuri would never leave without paying. In other words, the fact that he doesn’t slow down after hearing that means that the normal model citizen Shibuya Yuuri has truly lost his wits.

What on earth is happening here!?

Murata just can’t understand what his friend is thinking. Why is the person who was previously avoiding high school baseball on purpose deciding to head for the sacred land of baseball now, of all times?

As Murata is still lost in his troubles, Yuuri has already arrived at the nursing station, and the experienced nurse from before raises her head, saying,

“Oh dear, is something the matter? Just in case, it would be better for you to lie down and rest.”

But before she finishes her sentence, the patient has already passed the station, even kicking away the stretcher he brushes past. It slams into the wall with a terrible sound.

He shouldn’t usually be that violent, but the exaggerated noise changes the surrounding atmosphere instantly. The nurse yells nervously,

“Oh no! Batman is getting away! Someone call security, call security! Batman is trying to escape!”

“I told you he’s not Batman.”

And what does she mean by escape… A hospital patient is still a consumer, not a criminal whose movements are restricted.

Following the instructions of the experienced nurse, the younger nurse quickly picks up a telephone receiver. This is bad, it’s becoming more and more like an American comic.

“Shibuya, you should still better do a brain…”

At first Murata wanted to take him for a detailed check, but he immediately realizes that’s a bad idea. If he were to refute the patient’s actions blindly, it would only make him even more stubborn and unwielding.

“Hold on, could you explain the situation to me please?”

“What are you talking about? You still can’t see!? If my leg’s not broken, then I can still pitch, right?”

Before Murata can ask anymore, a barrage of footsteps come from behind them. The noise uncharacteristic of a hospital is coming for them. Crap, it’s the security!

By now Yuuri has already mixed into the crowd of outpatients, but even if he tries to avoid attention, his pale green hospital clothes make him a beacon that couldn’t possibly be missed. The security rapidly runs past Murata, and catches up to their target at the entrance within a few more steps.

The uniformed men plan to grab his arms from both sides. He’s just a high school student, these two guards are really overreacting.

Murata is a bit lost—Should he let them bring Shibuya back to his bed? Or should they set him free into the blue summer sky? Which would truly be for his own good?

The blinding sunlight from the entrance makes Murata squint. Staring against the glare, he sees Yuuri wave aside the guards’ hands.

“Let go of me! I need to get to Koshien now!”

Just that action alone makes the guards hold their breath, and at the same time their attitudes become more forceful,

“Stop him, stop him now!”

The raised voices sound like a threat. One of them reaches for their tool of self-defense, while the other holds up a walkie-talkie to call for their comrades,

“There’s a confused patient making a fuss at the entrance. Not only is he resisting arrest, he’s also putting up a fight, and it may endanger the outpatients, please come for backup immediately!

Hey, wait a second—Murata mutters inwardly.

Wait a second, Shibuya may be confused, but not only is he not making a fuss, he hasn’t gotten anywhere near the other patients either, has he? And he just instinctively waved away the hands trying to grab him, he hasn’t done anything to resist other than that. Are you really going to employ so many men against a defenseless high school student?

The guard continues requesting for support,

“And he keeps saying some weird things too, there’s obviously something wrong with his sanity, bring a psychiatrist pronto!”

…There’s obviously something wrong with his sanity.

That line makes Murata’s shoulders jerk involuntarily.

Adults would think something’s wrong as soon as they hear something they don’t understand. If you said you could see the souls of the dead, or that you had memories of your past lives, they would start plotting to get rid of that.

Isn’t this a familiar scene?

The hospital visitors make way one after the other, until Yuuri finally reaches the automatic door, his white bandages falling onto the dolomite floor. At the same time, a flurry of footsteps approach them from behind, as many others are in hot pursuit. Although this has happened many times before, it’s still a bit too exaggerated for a high school student who was just stretchered into the hospital.

“Shibuya!”

Murata can’t help but call out his name, dashing forth before their pursuers can reach them. He grabs a surprised Yuuri by the shoulders and rushes past the glass doors, which swing open to both sides.

“I can’t stand you, you’re moving so damn slowly, even the refueling team is here.”

“Refueling? Shouldn’t the cheer team reach first?”

The response is completely unlike what he expected.

Murata sucks in a breath of warm air, looking left and right for a way to escape. But this isn’t like a hotel entrance, there aren’t taxis lined up outside.

“How troublesome.”

Murata turns around to look behind him, and the security that had infinitely expanded are just passing through the automatic doors. One of the men is even holding a baton—what do they plan on doing with that? Just thinking of it makes his mood heavy.

Just as he decides to escape on his own two legs, a car zooms over from the direction of the parking lots at high speed.

The car swings so hard it almost leaves tire marks on the ground, grinding to a steady stop outside the hospital entrance. It’s a bright lemon yellow CABRIOLET, and despite it being yellow, it doesn’t look anything like a taxi. The reversing CABRIOLET stops just in front of the stunned boys.

The petite little driver in the driver’s seat puts her palms on the banister, saying,

“Get on, Bikini-man!”

To think that the person holding the steering wheel is the female university student they had just met.

 

It was already rather cramped in the CABRIOLET with three people. The two boys sitting at the back are trying desperately to grip the car door and seats, because the driving is rather rough… No, it’s rather hard to stomach. It’s also an open-top car, meaning one moment of carelessness could send them flying out.

“Alright—Let’s make a dash for Koshien! Since it’s in Hyogo, we’ll take the Tomei expressway and then the Meishin expressway. The fastest woman headed south is me!”

It was fine in the hospital area, but they could get arrested if they sped on the expressways, and she would even have her license suspended. But the female university student driver doesn’t seem to care, and she doesn’t seem to care much about the screams coming from her backseat either.

“You can swing on the spot even with such terrifying G force?”

“Waa—Shouldn’t you reduce your speed in a parking lot--!?”

“To think that there really are people whose personalities completely change behind the wheel! Speaking of which, your dream was to become a racer, right?”

“My target is Heinz.”

“I see, so you are a master after all.”

“Idiot, what are you all in awe about? This is not the time to be admiring that sort of thing, is it, Murata!?”

Gripping onto the side of the car tightly, Yuuri’s complexion has changed completely. Looks like he’s the type who can’t really stand fast cars.

“Miss Heinz! Slow- slow down a little! Hey, Murata, say something!”

Murata presses down his glasses with a finger to prevent them from flying away, saying,

“Miss Heinz, even if you are a world-class racer, it’s common rule to drive carefully on the expressways.”

“Oh dear me, you are absolutely right.”

As though those words brought her back to her senses, the CABRIOLET starts reducing in speed, and she turns back into a model driver. That way, it’s fine even if she’s driving on the expressway, and of course they don’t have to worry about biting their tongues when they talk.

“And then?”

Miss Heinz (alias) asks the two boys in the back seats as she reaches beyond the dashboard to find her sunglasses. The sunlight reflected off the irregular waves is really blinding.

The car drives down the straight seaside path, and the sea breeze gently caresses their hair and face. Although the sun is intense in the late summer, it’s still pretty good weather for a ride on a road lined with coconut trees on both sides. Except for the rare few cars passing them by from the opposite side, they don’t see a single car in front or behind them. If they played a fun, light tune as background music now, it would be really easy to forget the situation they’re in, and just enjoy the moment while it lasts.

“Why does Batman… I mean, Yuuri want to go Koshien?”

She seems to remember Shibuya’s name, but to a high school boy who had decided that he has no luck with the ladies, it’s rare for a lady who’s older than him and who also looks pretty decent to say his name directly. It’s enough to make your heart race a little, and as expected, Yuuri is slightly flustered.

Shibuya, whatever you do, don’t fall in love.

Murata has already lost count of many times he’s sighed.

“I-I wouldn’t know even if you asked me.”

“But you escaped from the hospital barefoot, right? So the situation must have been very urgent.”

“That’s right, it’s really, really urgent, super urgent. If I go, we won’t lose.”

Wha--? Lose what--?

The university student who dreams of becoming a professional racer and the high school boy who likes football ask in unison. He was just selling fruit juice at the beach football match, what kind of competition does he plan on joining now? No, since he won’t shut up about Koshien, it should be baseball. He should be talking about the Summer National High School Baseball Competition.

The injured boy says impatiently,

“Since I got into a car accident and broke my right leg before the match, the number two pitcher had to play instead, right? But since nothing broke after all, of course I can pitch for the match. If I don’t get there quickly, our team will lose.”

“He said ‘the team will lose’…”

The ace pitcher getting into an accident before a match… that sounds kind of familiar. Murata suddenly exclaims, “Aah!” and slaps his knee, thinking of the live broadcast Shibuya heard before he got hit by that ball.

“Second year ace pitcher… -kun, unfortunately broke his right leg in a car accident before the match… The one playing now is the number two pitcher… -kun’s pitching with all his heart…”

“So that’s the one~~”

But it’s still weird when Murata thinks about it.

It’s just too strange for him to suddenly say he’s a player at the baseball nationals. If he had past personalities like Murata did, it would still be possible for the past personality to surface due to the impact of that ball.

But as far as Murata knows, Shibuya Yuuri was never a high school baseball player in his past lives, and besides, if he tried to explain it using that kind of reasoning, Yuuri would surely retort with, “If you talk about past lives all the time, your own life would be over.”

But if his thoughts now are based on the live broadcast he heard on the radio, that’s a completely different story. In other words, thanks to the flying ball from the former J United player, he assumed the news he heard at the time of impact as his own memories.

“…And so he thinks he’s a second year pitcher from some high school in some prefecture.”

The broadcaster had even said, “I believe the ace pitcher is also cheering him on from the hospital.” But Shibuya, who thinks he’s that ace pitcher, escaped from hospital, and is now on his way to Koshien. This is becoming a problem.

As Murata holds his head in frustration, Yuuri is next to him stretching his right leg out from underneath his hospital clothes to confirm,

“See, it can move, and it doesn’t hurt even if I use force. I can pitch on the mound, no problem!”

“How mysterious.”

Looking at them through the rearview mirror, Miss Heinz says,

“In that case, why were you guys working part time at the beach? And you were carrying such heavy crates, too… Ah, I know! You were doing physiotherapy, is that right?”

“Physiotherapy? That’s right that’s right.”

“Ah, just as I thought.”

Murata really wants to retort, “What kind of lame explanation is this?” But Murata can’t decide whether or not he should reject his friend’s current memories either, since it wouldn’t be a good idea to throw him into disarray. At the same time, Murata also feels that rather than interrogating him and pointing out the contradictions to confuse him, it would be better for his brain and mental state to wait for him to recover naturally.

“So unless I get there now, the team won’t be able to win. That’s why even a second faster would be great, I just want to get to Koshien as soon as possible.”

“So that’s the reason~ In that case we should really step to it. For Yuuri, Onee-san will drive to break my own best record.”

“Miss Heinz sure is a nice person. Ah, but I still hope you will obey the speed limit, since we don’t have time to spare if we were to get pulled over.”

“You two—”

Looking at the straightforward and naïve duo in front of him, Murata feels his headache getting worse.

“I didn’t say anything wrong, getting into Koshien is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Although I’m not sure who the previous winners are, but I bet they’re a small group of the elite. To most players, Koshien is just a dream, and it could even be a chance that would affect their entire futures. That’s why I can’t let my one injury affect the whole team, and make them lose.”

“Is that so~~ Future, huh? Speaking of which, every year there the school that wins at Koshien would have a player go pro, so there must be scouts watching the competition. That’s right, a person’s future does ride on this opportunity.”

“Although once the game starts, you don’t have time to worry about the scouts or whatever, all you can think about is how to strikeout the batter.”

“I see~~”

“That’s right.”

Murata’s eyes are fixed on the person beside him—Yuuri’s short hair flies in the wind, and his eyes are sparkling.

“How am I going to get more outs? How should I handle the batter in front of me? Or how to kill my opponent’s swings? Or how can I strike them out? Should I let them swing? Or should I send him? Should I use a foul ball to lure the natter out? Or should I give him a good ball from the start? In truth, my brain would be full of all these things.”

She expertly puts her hand on the gear as she laughs, a very feminine laugh. Just then the red traffic light goes green, called “SIGNAL GREEN” on the racetrack.

“Sorry—But just seeing how passionate you are towards baseball makes me think that in the future, you should… Ah!”

“Ah!”

“He seems to be making a signal.”

The three of them notice the person waving a bat at the crossroads at the same. There isn’t anyone else around them, so he should be targeting this lemon-yellow CABRIOLET. He’s waving his wooden bat, about as tall as a child, with desperate, clumsy movements.

“Topnotch racers are very friendly to hitchhikers as well, huh?”

Just a few days ago, she had performed an empty show, but today she is seriously playing the part of a world class racer. Instead of swiveling on the spot again, she brings the car to a steady stop as though there was a baby on board.

“Thank goodness! Since there are so few buses, I was just planning on walking, but I’m not really in the right shape for that now.”

He points at the plaster setting his right leg below the knee with his chin.

The boy is about their age, waiting for a ride by the road under the hot sun. His arms and face have been exposed to the sun so much there’s no telling what color they used to be, and his head, covered with hair just slightly longer than an army cut, is sweating non-stop. Maybe because of the crutches under his arms, there are large sweat stains on his armpits too, soaking through the T-shirt. It seems that the thing he was waving just now were those crutches.

“I walked halfway and then I couldn’t anymore. The weather is this hot, and there aren’t any vending machines nearby either. If possible, could you take me to the station?”

Since he’s so tall, his legs are really long too, which makes the plaster on his right leg especially eye-catching. But the plaster isn’t pure white, there are blue and black stains all over it.

“Are you sure I just need to get you to the station? Speaking of which, where is the station?”

“Ah, judging from your car plate number, you’re from Tochigi, aren’t you? To get to the station you just have to go straight. I want to take the Shinkansen, but if you’re willing to drive me to Higashiguchi, that would be swell—After all, my right leg is a problem.”

The boy smiles innocently, showing off white teeth that completely contrasts his skin color. Yuuri murmurs, “What an impressive guy.” Murata doesn’t know which part of him is impressive. For all he knows it’s because this high school student looks normal, but can talk freely with a female university student who’s older than him. Well, the truth is that anyone with sisters at home would be very used to it without needing any practice.

But what the boy on the crutches says next talks even Murata by surprise. Clamping the stick wrapped in a few layers of white cloth with his arm, he shrugs as he says,

“After all, I’m rushing to Koshien.”

And so the lemon yellow CABRIOLET takes on its fourth passenger.

Murata gives the back seat to the sunshine boy with the broken right leg. Although he doesn’t want to have Yuuri, his memories all confused, interacting with a person they just met, it’s still much better than having a hospital patient sitting in the front passenger seat for everyone to gawk at.

The dark-skinned boy peeks at the passenger beside him, asking,

“You look like you abruptly left the hospital, is that it?”

“I didn’t break any bones, so there must have been no need for me to be warded in the first place…”

“But you had a concussion.”

Murata interrupts his explanation.

“I said I’m fine, all those checkups and resting or whatnot would only make me more impatient, so I may have slightly forced the hospital to leave earlier.”

“That’s right, the hospital with the university likes to force their patients into checkups—Like me, I just have a broken bone, but they forced me into so many types of checkups, and now I can finally leave the hospital.”

“In that case, you’re headed straight for Koshien without going home first, too?”

Don’t say unnecessary nonsense—Unaware of Murata’s thoughts, the CABRIOLET driver continues,

“Koshien sure is festive today.”

“Eh, you’re going there too?”

“Not me, it’s these two high schoolers. And Yuuri over there wants to go onto the field, too. How about you? Are you going to cheer them on?”

The fourth passenger puts his hands on his crutches, now stacked on top of each other, his suntanned face crumpling,

“No, I’m not there to cheer anyone on, and of course I’m not going to play ball either.”

He stretches his body in the cramped space, his back leaning on the back seat as he narrows his eyes and looks up at the sky,

“I’m going there to regret.”

Yuuri’s gaze floats towards the right leg he has stretched forward, fixing on a certain point. Murata, who had turned his head around, pushes his glasses up to hide the subtle disappointment in his eyes, thinking, “If only he never noticed.” The blue and black stains on the plaster are all scraggly words.

From every angle, there are all sorts of different messages written in different handwritings.

“I’m such an idiot, how could I have gotten into an accident on the eve of the competition? And I need a month to recover too.”

Written in black ink is “Why did you hafta challenge a motorbike for no reason, idiot!”, and underneath that is “Hurry up and get well! If there’s a hot nurse there remember to introduce her to us! We’re waiting for you at Koshien!”

“I was supposed to be standing on the mound and pitching, but in the end I can only cheer them on from the hospital bed.”

Yuuri notices the attention-grabbing messages, touching them with his index finger. Maybe the it’s the team color, because written neatly in dark blue ink is:

“We’ll clear the path for you until you recover.”

The owner of the plaster smiles at Yuuri, his expression as though saying ‘so you noticed’,

“But it ended just now.”

“How…”

“We lost.”

In that hot place, only the team standing at the very end never loses. All the other teams would have lost someday, becoming the strongest losing teams in all of Japan.

“So I want to go there and regret with everyone, I want to take up this regret with all of them.”

The true casualty turns around and lightly touches the passenger’s wrist with his fingertip, as though saying, ‘How much longer do you have to keep yours?’

“After all, they are my comrades. I want to share everything with them, so I ran out in a hurry with only my wallet.”

Only then does Yuuri notice the white plastic cup on his hand, and hurriedly takes it apart. No matter how Murata twists, he can’t see Yuuri’s expression under his lowered head from the passenger seat.

He can only hear Yuuri’s determined voice—

“Your team… is very lucky to have an ace pitcher as good as you.”

“In what way!? I’m the pitcher who got hurt at the most critical moment, and couldn’t be used at all, y’know? How lame is that. Ah, it’s there, turn left over there.”

With a turn of the steering wheel, a modern-looking train station comes into view just ahead of them. If one takes the line by the sea, surely they could see some really wonderful scenery. The boy maneuvers his crutches nimbly, getting off the car without anyone’s help to stand on the sidewalk. He keeps bowing his head and thanking them, sweat dripping off his face and onto the asphalt.

“If you guys want to go to Koshien, though, taking the train would be faster and cooler than taking the expressway.”

“We…”

“Ah—We’re fine, we’ll just drive there. We’ll speed all the way there.”

Before the young passenger can say anything, the university student quickly turns on the engine, the slight vibrations travelling to their backs and waists. Staring at the train station and the true ace pitcher as they grow smaller in the distance, Yuuri asks his friend, once more sitting at his side,

“Hey, Murata.”

“Hm--?”

“Could it be possible for the exact same thing to happen twice in one match?”

“About that, although I won’t say it’s impossible, the chance should be pretty slim, huh—”

The car takes a bending road back to their original road, leaving the station behind them. But he still turns around and stares, then with a gaze so focused as to unravel the knots before, he mutters,

“I’m guessing I’m not the ace pitcher who broke his right leg, am I.”

Murata carefully explores a little further,

“If that’s what you think, maybe you really aren’t.”

“Then why would I believe I was?”

That’s probably your dream… He swallows back the words that nearly leave his tongue. Let’s just say that Yuuri was hit by a flying ball. As for what happened after that, it’s something he doesn’t know himself. As for Murata, the best friend with a somewhat unique relationship with him, although it’s a little lonely, all there is to do is wait until he says it himself.

Thank goodness Murata is long since used to that.

“That’s strange, who on earth am I? No, I know, I know my name is Shibuya Yuuri, and I remember that I’m a baseball boy. You are my best friend. But darn it, I can’t remember why I was in the hospital. That’s right, Murata, do you know? You should know, right. After all, you were always at my side, right? Why was I at the hospital… Ah!”

He frowns, putting his hand at his forehead and groaning softly, “Ah—“

“I think… There was an ominous net and a really fast ball… Tell me, Murata, what ball was that?”

“Of course I’ll tell you, but…”

The CABRIOLET abruptly speeds up, and the sea breeze caressing their necks gets stronger. Murata reaches one arm towards the back of the seat, narrowing his eyes behind those lenses,

“Even if I don’t tell you, you would remember it yourself.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s right, if you don’t remember…”

If you really choose so.

“Then I’d go with you anyway.”

“Go with me? Go where? I’m not a lost policeman.”

“The lost one is the kitten—”

The university student, unaware of this conversation, pushes aside her hair as she says very energetically, her whole body emanating an aura of being about to raise a fist yelling, ‘Let’s Go’,

“Alright, let’s make haste for Koshien!”

To the female university student who hopes to become a racer, every moment holding the steering wheel is a happy moment. If she had passengers that felt likewise, that would be even better.

“On the other hand, I didn’t have the chance to ask you just now. Yuuri, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Me?”

He finally pulls his gaze back to the front, facing the windshield. When I notice that, he answers the question, almost instinctively,

“A king.”

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