Even during practice games, everyone knew their pitcher and catcher couldn't get along. Nathan's bluntness and Dranred's pride often clashed — so no one could tell how things would turn out now that they were in the preliminaries. If the two couldn't work together, the team was doomed to lose.
The first inning began. The national team took offense, facing off against a private, company-funded team on defense.
This tournament featured six teams from across the country. The champion would go on to represent the nation at the Asian Cup — and after years of failing to qualify internationally, the pressure was heavier than ever. Several private leagues had even built their own teams just for this event.
For the national team, losing was not an option.
The leadoff batter managed to connect, reaching first base. The second hitter followed with a clean bunt, allowing the runner to advance to second. One out — a runner in scoring position.
Third in the lineup: Dranred.
He stood tall at the plate. The first two pitches came fast, but he didn't move — both were called balls. The scouts in the stands nodded, impressed. He can read the pitcher, someone murmured.
The third pitch — foul.
Then came the fourth. A fastball.
Dranred swung.
The crack of the bat rang through the air like lightning. The ball soared in a perfect arc, glinting under the stadium lights before disappearing over the fence.
Home run.
The stadium erupted.
Dranred circled the bases, calm, composed — the sound of the crowd washing over him like a wave.
At home plate, Nathan watched silently, eyes following Dranred's every step. Around them, their teammates shouted and cheered, unable to contain their excitement.
Above it all, the crowd chanted the name written on the banners fluttering in the stands:
"Shooting Star! Shooting Star!"
Rosette couldn't stop smiling as she watched Dranred circle the bases. Applause burst from her hands without her even realizing it. For a moment, it felt like she was back in that championship game years ago—back when Dranred first hit a home run in the finals.
Now, under the bright stadium lights, that same brilliance had returned.
Around her, professional scouts whispered to one another, impressed by his control and power. But for Rosette, none of that mattered. All she could see was him—the Dranred who once loved the game more than anything else.
"You seem like a different person today," Nathan remarked as Dranred reached home plate.
"Focus on the game if you don't want me to leave you behind," Dranred said, brushing off the comment.
But as he turned his head toward the stands and spotted Rosette, clapping with a bright, proud smile, something inside him lit up. A part of him wanted to shout across the field that he did it—for her. That she was the reason he was standing there again, proving himself.
Nathan followed Dranred's gaze and saw the girl he was staring at. "You seem to care a lot about her," he said casually. "Are you two together?"
Dranred's eyes snapped to him. "And what if we are?" His tone was sharp, his patience thin. Something about the way Nathan looked at Rosette rubbed him the wrong way—too direct, too confident.
"So you're not denying it," Nathan replied with a faint smirk. "Because if not, I'll tell you straight—I plan to court her. She's the kind of woman—"
"Don't even try."
Dranred cut him off coldly before Nathan could finish. He brushed past him and walked toward the dugout, where his teammates were still celebrating his home run. Nathan frowned, watching him go, trying to make sense of that warning.
The next two batters after Dranred struck out, ending their offensive inning. Now it was their turn to defend. Dranred took the mound as the starting pitcher; Nathan crouched behind the plate, ready as catcher.
From the dugout, their teammates could already sense the heavy air between the two men. It wasn't just rivalry anymore—it was personal.
Their first opponent stepped up to bat but hesitated as he glanced between the two. The tension was palpable. Nathan squatted low, signaling the first pitch, his expression stone-serious. Dranred stood tall on the mound, his eyes locked on the target but his mind still running elsewhere.
The batter swallowed hard, gripped his bat tighter.
Between the pitcher and the catcher, the air crackled like a storm about to break. It felt, to everyone watching, as if two tigers were circling the same prey—each daring the other to make the first move.
"Strike!"
The umpire's voice rang across the field as Nathan caught Dranred's first pitch cleanly. The batter froze, eyes wide — he hadn't even seen the ball coming. The speed left him stunned.
The crowd erupted. Fans who once cheered for Dranred in basketball now roared just as loud for him on the baseball field. But the celebration was cut short when Nathan fired the ball back to Dranred — hard, sharper than necessary. The sound of leather meeting leather echoed with irritation.
Even Rosette noticed. Her brows furrowed. They're not in sync, she thought, watching the two men.
Dranred exhaled, catching the ball with a tight grip. He glanced at Nathan, who was already crouched down again, mitt raised but giving no signs. Just that cold, steady stare. Then, finally, Nathan flicked his glove — a signal to pitch.
"Ball!" the umpire called.
A murmur spread through the stands. Dranred's rhythm was off. Three balls now. One more, and the batter would walk to first base.
"Red…" Rosette whispered under her breath. She flinched when, from across the distance, Dranred suddenly looked straight at her — as if he'd heard her voice through the noise.
Damn it.
He could feel her worry even from here. He hadn't meant to miss those pitches, but Nathan's signals were throwing him off. He hated being dictated to. His style was aggressive — direct, challenging the batter head-on. Nathan's calls were making him hesitate, breaking his tempo.
Nathan frowned when Dranred shook off his next sign. He gave another. Dranred shook his head again. The crowd began to murmur — clearly something was wrong between pitcher and catcher.
"Timeout!" Nathan called, jogging to the mound.
"What the hell, Dranred?" he snapped. "You're shaking off every sign I give you!"
"If you're that pissed," Dranred shot back, "then stop giving me signs that don't fit the batter."
"And what the hell do you think I've been doing?" Nathan barked, eyes narrowing.