Mash-Up: I'm Not A Substitute

In the central seating area, Kaguya smiled as she looked at the sulking Hayasaka Ai. "I brought you to the stadium to see him, so why are you still upset?"

"Did you bring me here to see him, or to watch him fail? You know the answer, don't you, Lady Kaguya?"

Hayasaka said flatly.

No matter how she'd begged before, Kaguya hadn't allowed her to watch Takashi's games.

Now suddenly she had brought her—Hayasaka knew exactly what that meant.

"If he's not strong enough, how's that my fault? I don't play dirty."

Kaguya shrugged innocently.

She didn't deny it—she had brought Hayasaka here just to see Takashi fail, to watch his embarrassment.

And it wasn't just her.

There were plenty of people here for the same reason.

Takashi had been too flashy, too eye-catching, too arrogant, too good at stealing the spotlight.

Didn't he know the saying—The bird that sticks out gets shot?

Youthful arrogance… always has a price.

…

In the first base section, Kamiki Hikaru, wearing a bucket hat, trendy outfit, and sunglasses, glanced at Hoshino Ai, who kept looking around. 

"Since when did you become interested in baseball? I don't recall hearing about that."

"Only recently."

Hoshino Ai replied casually.

Kamiki's gaze darkened. He stared at her for a moment before saying, "Is it because of that guy—Kitahara Takashi?"

Hoshino Ai stiffened for a moment, then smiled. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you've been mentioning him a lot lately."

Kamiki said solemnly, his eyes piercing.

"Ai… have you fallen for him?"

Like a wild wolf locking onto its prey.

Under Kamiki's gaze, Hoshino Ai felt goosebumps rise all over her skin.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hikaru."

"Good. I was starting to worry you'd fallen for someone else."

Kamiki, who had looked sinister just a second ago, suddenly broke into a pure, childlike smile.

"Ai, you know… you're the only one I can rely on."

"You're not going to leave me, right?"

Kamiki looked at her with eyes full of hope, gently placing a hand over hers.

"…Of course not."

Hoshino Ai wanted to pull her hand away for a moment.

But if she really did, she was afraid Kamiki's mental condition would spiral again.

So she held back.

Physically, she endured.

But inside, she began to feel a sudden sense of irritation.

She didn't know why, but she was starting to lose interest in Kamiki Hikaru's problems.

No, to be exact—she didn't even want to hear about them anymore.

She used to feel heartache every time he told her his stories.

What's wrong with me?

…

The crowd was loud and buzzing.

People chatted to pass the time as the match approached.

The air raid siren blared, and stadium staff began entering the field to prepare it. 

At the entrance across from Aoba's third-base cheering section, a massive group of boys began to file in.

They were all dressed in matching dark blue uniforms—at least five hundred of them—marching in orderly formation, quickly filling the entire cheering section.

As they appeared, two teams emerged simultaneously from both sides of the corridor.

One led by Takashi for Aoba, and the other by Osaka Toin.

As the two teams appeared together, three boys in uniforms with fluttering white headbands stood at the front, their backs to the field. 

In perfect unison, they raised their arms, sleeves fluttering, and shouted:

"Who will dominate the nation?!"

The 500+ students in the stands responded, shaking plastic bottles filled with soybeans in rhythm and shouting:

"Osaka Toin!"

"Who can reach the summit?!"

"Osaka Toin!"

"Reforge the glory of Toin!"

"It is our solemn duty!"

Over five hundred voices roared in unison, instantly suppressing the entire stadium with their overwhelming energy.

"They have the numbers. So what? Who's afraid of who!"

Narii turned to the cheer squad and support team. "Let's start too."

"Right."

Unlike the thunderous chant from 500 people, Narii and her group chose to respond with their own orchestral performance.

The sports clubs, led by the kendo club, took charge of shouting cheers.

After both sides finished warming up, the umpire checked the time and immediately blew the whistle to start the match. 

The teams lined up and bowed to each other.

Takashi stepped onto the pitcher's mound, took a deep breath, wound up, and threw the pitch.

Beep! 156 km/h!

"Strike one!"

The Osaka Toin batter didn't even bother swinging—he just watched the white ball land in the glove, expressionless.

Two games in, and everyone already knew: Takashi only throw fastballs right down the middle.

In preparation for Takashi, teams across the nation had been training with pitching machines that fired at 160 km/h to adjust to his speed.

Takashi was fast—but not that fast.

Beep! 156 km/h!

Crack!

Before the umpire could even speak, the ball was struck by a metal bat and flew off.

The batter from Osaka Toin had just let go of his bat and started to sprint to first when he suddenly stopped.

Because the ball, after passing third base, had hit the protective netting in the stands.

It was a classic foul ball—the difference between this and a home run being the trajectory.

If the ball flies within the baseline and lands outside the field in the stands, that's a home run.

But if it veers outside the foul line during its flight, it's a foul ball.

"Strike one!"

The umpire signaled that the pitch was valid.

The first two foul balls count as strikes, but from the third foul onward, they don't—batters can keep swinging until they miss or put the ball in play.

"He hit it! The Osaka Toin batter made contact!"

Even though it was just a foul, the male commentator shouted as if Takashi had lost.

Uezu Yuta mimicked Takashi's signature stance with the bat, pointing it directly at him and shouting:

"You might be gold, but at Koshien, gold is everywhere!"

Uezu Yuta despised people like Takashi—gifted yet wasting their talent.

People like him had no idea how much effort it took for others to get this far.

They also didn't understand how desperately those without talent yearned for what he took for granted.

Uezu Yuta knew his ceiling was probably barely getting into the pros.

He'd never match Takashi in the long run.

Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day—so long as Takashi tried even a little, he'd surpass him.

But not today.

Today, Uezu Yuta would prove that effort can overcome talent.

"Nice!"

"Yeah! Crush that arrogant kid in one go!"

"Takashi, are you ready to cry like a baby?"

Cry?

Sorry, not a tear.

Takashi caught the ball tossed back to him, rolled his wrist, and grinned wickedly.

You worked hard?

Sorry—but I'm about to go full cheat mode!

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KAMIKI HIKARU!!!!

PLEASE TAKASHI, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE ABOUT THE OC IN HAREM OR WHATEVER. PLEASE FUCK UP THAT GUY'S LIFE OR STEAL AI.

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