"What the hell are you doing, Mr. Superstar?!" Nathan snapped, slamming his glove down in frustration the moment they returned to the dugout.
They had just survived the sixth inning — barely. Dranred had struck out three batters, but it was sloppy and slow. The team was trailing by one run against the Major League lineup, and tension was running high.
Dranred hadn't started the game. Charlie had assigned him as the closing pitcher — their secret weapon. For the first five innings, their defense held surprisingly well under Nathan's sharp game-calling, allowing only two runs. They managed to claw one back before the fifth ended, but it was a grueling effort. The Major League players were on another level — in pitching, fielding, and even batting.
Then came the sixth. Dranred took the mound, and everything felt off. His first four pitches went wild — all balls — giving the batter a free walk to first base. The next hitter laid down a perfect bunt, advancing the runner to second. The third batter dragged the at-bat into a long, grueling exchange of fouls before grounding out to third. They barely salvaged a double play.
Everyone noticed it — the lack of sharpness, the dull rhythm, the uncharacteristic sluggishness in his throws.
That fierce precision that used to define Dranred's pitching was gone.
Even the crowd could sense it. Charlie's expression tightened in the dugout. Something was clearly wrong.
In the stands, James crossed his arms, watching quietly beside Rosette.
"So this is how he's playing now?" he muttered, his tone low and tense.
He'd come to watch the exhibition game with his sister — partly because it was his day off, but mostly because he couldn't stand seeing her so quiet lately. He had seen the distance between her and Dranred grow, and while he had always been skeptical of the pitcher, seeing his sister hurt like this bothered him even more.
He glanced at Rosette. Her hands were clenched on her lap, eyes fixed on the field.
She looked like she wanted to cry.
James exhaled sharply through his nose. He hated to admit it, but watching Dranred pitch like this — distracted, lifeless, broken — made something inside him twist.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "Pull yourself together, Red."
But deep down, he already knew why the boy couldn't.
"Are you worried about him?" James asked, noticing how tightly Rosette was gripping the strap of her bag.
"If you're this anxious, then why didn't you talk to him before the game started? You two ran into each other, but you acted like he didn't even exist."
Earlier that day, just before entering the stadium, they had crossed paths with Dranred. Rosette hadn't said a word. Her coldness made it clear that something between them hadn't healed since the last time they spoke.
"I don't know what happened—" James began.
"I told him… I didn't want to see him anymore," Rosette whispered. Her voice cracked, and before she could stop herself, tears rolled down her cheeks.
James froze, caught off guard. For so long, he'd wanted them apart. He'd never liked Dranred — not after everything that happened in the past — but this… this was different. Whatever was between Rosette and Dranred had nothing to do with the old scars he carried.
"Then why are you crying right now?" he asked quietly. "If you ask me, what you did was the right thing. I've said it before — you shouldn't see him anymore. Even your friendship—"
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw her tears fall harder.
"Silly girl," he murmured, placing a gentle hand on top of her head. "If it hurts you this much, then maybe you shouldn't have said that. Even if you thought it was for his own good, you should've held on. Don't make the same mistake Estelle and I did. You're better than us… at least, that's what I believe."
Rosette looked up, startled by the raw honesty in his voice.
"Don't look at me like that," James said, glancing away. "I still haven't forgiven him. But hey, we're not talking about me and him right now."
He sighed. "If you really think what you did was the right choice, I won't try to change your mind."
After a pause, his gaze shifted toward the field. "Man, he's a mess out there. How's he supposed to make it to the Major League when he's playing like this? He doesn't even look like the Fire Ace anymore."
Rosette stood up suddenly. "I'll go talk to him."
"Go ahead," James said. "If you can change the way he's playing, that would be great — better than watching a pitcher ruin his own game."
He watched as Rosette hurried down from the stands and made her way toward Dranred's dugout.
"James!"
He turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Standing a few rows behind him was Chief Morales, his late father's old friend — the man who had once helped them during the investigation of their parents' case.
"Chief," James said, surprised. "You're here to watch the game?" His eyes fell on the boy standing beside the older man — the Chief's eldest son.
"Yes," the Chief replied, smiling as he guided his son to a seat. "He wanted to see Dranred play. He's a big fan."
"A fan of Dranred, huh?" James said with a faint chuckle.
"Oh, definitely. If I hadn't brought him today, he might've run off on his own just to watch." The Chief laughed, then glanced back at James. "You too, huh? Watching a game. Did you and Dranred finally patch things up? I suppose he already told you what he did for you."
James frowned. "Told me what?"
The older man blinked, realizing too late what he'd let slip.
"He… didn't mention it?"
"What are you talking about?" James's voice grew tense. "What does Dranred have to do with my parents' case?"
As far as he knew, Dranred had been a witness who refused to testify ten years ago — one of the reasons the case had gone cold for so long.
Seeing James's expression twist in confusion, the Chief's smile faded.
"I— Forget what I said," he muttered, looking away.
"Don't treat me like a child," James snapped. "I heard you clearly. What did you mean?"
The Chief sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It's better if you hear it from him."
"You think a stubborn guy like him will actually tell me?" James shot back.
The Chief gave a small, wry smile. "Stubborn? You're one to talk. No wonder the two of you were inseparable back then."
James blinked, startled.
The older man held his gaze for a moment, then exhaled heavily. "Fine," he said. "You deserve to know."
He looked toward the field, where Dranred was standing on the mound. "It was him who gathered the evidence that helped us win the case — evidence against his own grandfather."
James froze.
"Imagine that," the Chief continued quietly. "For Dranred, to bring down the man who raised him — just to give your family justice. Tell me, James… can you even begin to imagine how heavy that must've been for him?"
grandfather ten years ago. So why—"
The rest of his words faded as the Chief spoke quietly.
"Try to understand Dranred. He was just a boy back then, confused and afraid. He knew that even if he testified, it wouldn't guarantee we'd win the case. And worse — he knew that if he spoke, his grandfather would come after you and your siblings. That man was determined to destroy your family."
James's chest tightened.
"He did what he did to protect you," the Chief continued. "Maybe not in the way you wanted, but it was all he could do. He had already failed to save your parents — the same people he saw as his second family. For the past ten years, he's been helping me gather evidence against his own grandfather. It wasn't easy. You know how powerful that man was. If Dranred were a worthless friend, he would've let the case stay buried. But he didn't."
James could barely breathe. "He asked you to keep this from me?"
The Chief nodded. "Even when the case finally reached the court, he stayed silent. He watched his grandfather go to prison — because he knew it was right."
"Then why did he stay quiet all this time?" James said through clenched teeth. "He let me hate him. He let me believe he was a coward." His hands trembled as he tightened them into fists. "What right do I have to be angry at him now?"
He lowered his gaze, his mind spiraling.
He gave up baseball for ten years… for me. And I despised him for it.
What could he possibly say now? Why didn't Dranred tell him the truth? Did he really think being hated was better than being forgiven?
The Chief exhaled softly. "You know… I think I understand why he kept quiet. His grandfather caused your parents' deaths. Maybe Dranred believed it was his burden to pay for that — to carry the weight of his family's sins. Ten years of isolation, guilt, and silence… don't you think that's punishment enough?"
James's jaw tightened. "He's still as stupid and stubborn as ever."
The Chief chuckled. "You two are the same." His tone softened as he looked back at the field. "Don't tell him I said anything, or he'll come after me for sure."
James smirked faintly. "Don't worry. I won't."
He turned his eyes toward the field, where Dranred stood beside Nathan and Charlie, his posture steady but weary.
For the first time in years, James didn't see an enemy — he saw a friend who had carried a burden alone.
Maybe it was time to stop living in the past. Rosette had been right all along.
He and Estelle weren't the only ones who had been blind for ten years.
They just hadn't realized that Dranred — the boy they thought had abandoned them — was the one who never left their side.