"You're giving me signs that'll let the batter walk," Dranred snapped. "No one's on base yet. Do you honestly think it's a good idea to give the leadoff a free pass? I thought this game mattered to you. It does to me. If you're going to keep that up, maybe you should ask to be replaced as my catcher."
"What did you just say?" Nathan growled, grabbing Dranred by the collar. But he froze when Dranred met his glare head-on, eyes unflinching.
"I'm not running with your half-baked game calling," Dranred said evenly. "Conceding a game isn't in my playbook. If you want to throw this one away, do it when I'm not on the mound."
He looked past Nathan, his gaze lifting toward the stands—where Rosette sat watching.
"That person waited ten years to see me play again," he murmured, voice tightening. "I'm not letting anyone ruin that."
Nathan's hand slowly dropped. His eyes followed Dranred's line of sight—and then he saw her. Rosette. Sitting there, clapping, her face bright with pride. Suddenly, it all made sense: the first fiery pitch, the intensity. He's playing for her, Nathan realized. And somewhere inside, jealousy burned.
"So that's it," Nathan said, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. "You're trying to impress her."
"I don't have to," Dranred replied, his voice steady. "She already trusts me. That's what I don't want to break. So—get your signs right."
Nathan's lips curved into a thin smile. "You've got quite the arsenal, you know that? Guess I underestimated you."
"You did," Dranred said coldly. "And I don't appreciate it."
"You're one twisted pitcher."
"That goes both ways," Dranred shot back.
Nathan turned away and jogged back to home plate. When Dranred took his place on the mound again, the air shifted. His next pitch was fire—clean, precise, unhittable.
"Strike!" the umpire called. Then another. Two pitches, and the batter was gone.
The crowd roared. Even the commentators were stunned. Something's changed between the pitcher and catcher, they said. It's like they're breathing in the same rhythm now.
The next two batters suffered the same fate—three strikes each. No hits.
By the end of the fourth inning, not a single opposing batter had reached base. Dranred and Nathan were in perfect sync, leading the team to a 6–0 victory.
The stadium thundered with applause. And from the stands, Rosette's smile shone like it had ten years ago—proud, bright, and full of faith.
The team had barely stepped out of the tunnel when a crowd of fans surged toward them. People were shouting Dranred's name, holding out balls, photos, and jerseys for him to sign.
Dranred and his teammates froze in surprise, momentarily stunned by the sheer number of people waiting for them. For most of them, this was a first — baseball had never drawn crowds this big before.
"Is he always this popular?" Nathan asked, eyes following Dranred, who was surrounded by fans.
"Of course," one of the players said, half in awe. "He used to be a basketball player — the Shooting Star. He dominated the league. Honestly, it's strange he never went to the NBA. With his skills, any team would've wanted him."
Nathan scowled. "He's getting on my nerves."
He started to walk away but stopped when he caught sight of Rosette in the crowd. She had been making her way toward Dranred but hesitated the moment she saw another girl hand him a photo for an autograph.
"He's famous," Rosette murmured softly. She smiled, but there was a trace of melancholy in her eyes. She was happy for him — truly — yet somehow, he suddenly felt so far away.
"All right," Dranred said, taking the picture from the fan. "But before I sign, may I borrow this?" He gestured toward the pen in her hand.
"Of course! Anything for you," the girl replied eagerly, cheeks flushing as she handed it to him.
"Thank you," Dranred said with a polite smile. His grin made the girl blush even harder.
"You were incredible out there," she said breathlessly. "I've been your fan since your basketball days. I didn't expect you to be this amazing at baseball too. Because of you, I think baseball might become my favorite sport."
Dranred's expression softened. "Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed the game," he said, handing her back the pen after signing her baseball.
"I'll be watching your next match!" she said enthusiastically.
"I'll look forward to that," he replied, flashing that same warm smile that once lit up arenas.
The girl stood frozen, clutching the signed ball to her chest, her face red as he turned to greet the next fan.
From a few steps away, Rosette watched silently — her applause from earlier now replaced by a quiet ache she didn't quite understand.
"Hey!"
Rosette froze when she heard the familiar voice. She looked up toward where Dranred was standing. A few minutes ago, she had stopped walking toward him, turning away instead after seeing how easily he laughed with his fans. A small, unexpected sting of jealousy had settled in her chest.
But now, hearing him call out, she instinctively turned — just in time to see something flying toward her.
She caught it on reflex.
When she looked down, she saw a baseball resting in her hands. Written across the surface, just beside a small doodle of a smiling face wearing a cap, was Dranred's signature.
Rosette blinked in surprise. Then she looked back at him — but Dranred was already busy again, signing autographs and shaking hands, fans crowding around him for pictures.
Her gaze dropped to the ball again. Scrawled in his handwriting were the words:
"My first autograph as a baseball player belongs to my number one fan."
Rosette couldn't help but smile. Her heart fluttered as warmth spread through her chest.
"What's that?" Nathan's voice broke through her thoughts. He had walked up beside her and noticed the smile on her face. When his eyes fell on the baseball in her hands, he raised a brow.
"A baseball?" he asked, glancing toward Dranred. "So, he gave you that ball?"
Rosette nodded faintly, her fingers tracing the signature.
Nathan studied her face, then smirked lightly. "Is he courting you?"
"H-Huh?" Rosette stammered, looking up at him, her cheeks instantly turning red.
"Is that question surprising?" Nathan asked, tilting his head. "From the way he looks at you, it seems like you're… someone special to him."
Rosette hesitated, her smile faltering. "W-we've known each other for a long time. He's like a brother to me."
But as soon as the word brother left her lips, a sharp ache struck her chest.
She knew exactly what that pain meant.
Because deep down, she already understood what she truly felt for him.
And what hurt most was knowing that, to him, she might only ever be a sister.
"Is that how you feel too?" Nathan asked quietly.
Rosette blinked, confused by his question. There was something in his tone — gentle, yet disarming — that made her uneasy.
"Sorry if I sounded too forward," Nathan added, rubbing the back of his neck. "The truth is… I like you. And if there's really nothing between you and Dranred, then maybe… maybe it's not so wrong for me to try. I know we've only just met, but I can't help how I feel. I'm a straightforward person. I hope that's okay with you."
Rosette froze. Her heart thumped faster. It was the first time anyone had ever confessed to her like this, and she didn't know how to react.
"It's sudden, I know," Nathan continued, his voice softening. "You don't have to answer now. I'm willing to wait and—"
He was cut off by a deep voice behind him.
"You should give up," the voice said, low and steady. "Because that's something I won't allow."
Both Rosette and Nathan turned toward the sound.
Dranred stood there — eyes dark, expression unreadable — the air around him heavy with quiet intensity.
Rosette met his gaze, her mind spinning.
What did he mean by that?
Why did it sound so much like… a warning?
She couldn't bring herself to speak. All she could do was stare at him, her heart pounding harder with every second of silence that followed.