Mash-Up: I'm Not A Substitute

The moment Takashi's arm dislocated, Amatani Kensuke finally closed his eyes in despair.

The shoulder is the most mobile joint in the human body. 

Both forward flexion and abduction can reach 180 degrees, but that very mobility also comes with a price—poor stability.

The shoulder joint is like a large stick shoved into a small bowl; the contact area between the bones is extremely limited. 

Compared to the hip joint, which has a snug, interlocking structure, the shoulder joint is far less stable.

Perhaps it is precisely because of this lack of anatomical stability that the shoulder is surrounded by numerous muscles and ligaments that help maintain its position.

In normal activities, this doesn't usually pose a problem.

But if the shoulder joint is pushed to the limit of its range of motion and then subjected to significant external force, the soft tissue surrounding it can easily tear—resulting in a dislocation.

And unfortunately, baseball is a sport that relies entirely on the use of the arms.

Once a pitcher suffers a dislocation, it means only one thing: he's out.

Was this how Momodani was going to go out?

Amatani Kensuke slowly opened his eyes, face somber. "Ushiku, get up there."

"Coach, I…" Ushikubo Hiiragi stood like a student whose name had just been called during roll.

He hung his head, not daring to meet the coach's gaze.

Maybe every boy has fantasized about being like Takashi—emerging from a dim, narrow tunnel, walking toward the light of the stadium, standing under the spotlight, performing brilliantly on the sacred field of Koshien before fifty thousand people, triggering a roaring sea of applause.

There's hardly a boy who doesn't long for that moment.

Everyone wants to be Takashi, but when the time actually comes, how many truly have the courage to take that step?

Forget stepping into the spotlight like Takashi—even having the courage to face a camera can be too much for some. 

Asking them to give a speech on stage is like asking them to die.

Let alone going on in front of fifty thousand people.

Just like people say—if you weren't born for the big stage, the pressure of it can crush you.

That's exactly what Ushikubo Hiiragi felt now. No matter how many times he had rehearsed in his head, when it was really his turn to go up, his instinct was to run.

Takashi had raised the bar far too high—if he messed up, he'd be roasted alive.

Not to mention the army of Takashi fans who'd tear him apart.

"Our big bro carried you to the semifinals, and all you can do is mess up the pitch and fumble the field?"

"With skills that trashy, how dare you show your face on the field?"

"You think you deserve to stand next to our Carry King?"

"You don't have the confidence?" Amatani Kensuke yelled when he saw his student didn't even have the guts to take the field.

"…"

Ushikubo Hiiragi kept his head low, too ashamed to speak.

He really didn't dare go out there.

In this situation, whoever goes out takes the fall.

And whoever takes the fall gets the hate.

Not just him—everyone else in the bullpen stayed silent too.

"If you're not going up, do you expect Takashi to keep pitching? Right now, I'm ordering you—get your ass out there!"

Amatani Kensuke roared with fury.

Clenching his molars, Ushikubo Hiiragi finally stepped out of the bullpen, head still down, ready to take over for Takashi.

…

"I admit Takashi is incredible," Kaguya said coolly from the luxury VIP box with its blasting free air conditioning.

"But one person's power has its limits."

After these last three matches, she had changed her opinion of Takashi—ever so slightly, barely more than a strand of her own hair.

But she still didn't believe Aoba could win the championship.

The era of solo heroes was over.

And miracles?

Sorry, Kaguya had never believed in such things.

"Ai, you and he won't have a future."

Those words were not only Kaguya trying to keep Hayasaka Ai from leaving her, but also out of genuine care and concern.

The Shinomiya and Hayasaka families were long bound together. 

Hayasaka Ai knew far too many of the Shinomiya family's secrets. Knowing how her own family operated, Kaguya was certain—they would never allow Ai to leave.

If Takashi truly wanted to be with Hayasaka Ai forever, he'd have to become a live-in son-in-law.

Kaguya didn't know Takashi well, but she didn't believe for a second he was the type who'd ever agree to live under someone else's thumb.

And besides, the Shinomiya family's in-law system wasn't like traditional ones in Japan. 

Other families might let you live peacefully into old age after working hard. 

But in the Shinomiya family, even after you give your life working for them, once you're useless, you'll be kicked aside without a second thought.

Kaguya truly cared for Ai. But at this moment, Ai couldn't hear her.

"Takashi…" she whispered, eyes filled with worry, gazing at the boy on the pitcher's mound.

Everyone else was talking about the game.

Only she cared whether Takashi was okay.

She wasn't alone in that thought. Umaru, Momo,Tsubame, Nagisa, and Kotonoha all felt the same.

…

In the broadcast room, Sakurajima Mai said with a hint of regret, "Player Takashi is going to leave the game."

"It can't be helped."

As a fellow pitcher, Suzuki Ichiro could most empathize with what Takashi was going through.

His eyes, locked on Takashi, were full of regret and sorrow. 

He looked at him like a fading hero: "He really gave it everything."

With his shoulder like that, there was no way he could keep playing.

Every raise of the arm would feel like being ripped apart. He'd be powerless. For now, physical activity was out of the question.

No matter how dazzling Takashi had been before—he lost, and losing means nothing.

The loser eats dust.

People might pity the loser, but pity doesn't change the ending.

The game won't pause just because Takashi's injured. Nor will the rules bend.

"Let's see who they send in as relief pitcher…" Suzuki Ichiro began, but suddenly stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide.

Sakurajima Mai, sitting beside him, was just as stunned, her cherry lips parted.

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