The ball soared high, cutting through the night like a comet.
Charlie stood from his catcher's stance, following the ball's flight with wide eyes. Rosette gasped, her heart skipping. Dranred could only watch, his pulse hammering in his ears.
The ball struck the scoreboard. A loud metallic clang! echoed across the field.
A perfect home run.
For a moment, silence.
Dranred stared blankly at the scoreboard, chest heaving. It had been his best pitch—and James had crushed it. Fair and square. The sting of defeat burned deep, not because of pride alone, but because of everything it meant.
"James!" Rosette called, hurrying toward them, fear and confusion mixing in her voice. She watched her brother walk toward the mound, bat still in hand, expression unreadable.
"I won," James said flatly as he stopped before Dranred.
Dranred met his gaze. There was no anger in his eyes—only acknowledgment. He didn't argue. He couldn't. The result spoke for itself.
It hurt, yes. Losing always did. But what hurt more was knowing how much it mattered—to both of them.
"James…" Rosette whispered, grasping her brother's arm, her other hand half-raised toward Dranred. She wanted to comfort him, to bridge the silence between them, but her heart froze. She didn't know what James would do—or if he'd even let her.
The air between the three of them hung heavy, like the quiet before a storm.
"As agreed," James said coldly, his bat resting on his shoulder. "You'll stay away from Rosette. If you can't even defend your own field against someone like me, how can you call yourself a world-class player? You can't even protect the person you claim to love."
He turned away.
"James," Rosette called softly.
"Don't," he cut her off, stopping but not looking back. "You heard the deal. I won."
"You did," Dranred admitted, his tone calm but unwavering. "But don't think that means I'll give up on her that easily. I'll reach the top—and when I do, I'll win her back."
James glanced over his shoulder, eyes cold. "Then try," he said simply, before walking off toward the exit. "Let's go, Rosette."
"Red…" Rosette's voice trembled as she turned to him.
"I'm okay," Dranred said with a faint smile. "He's a tough opponent. That was my best pitch—and he still hit a home run. But that home run taught me something." He looked down at his hand, clenching it lightly. "It reminded me that I'm still growing, still far from where I want to be. If I want to protect my dreams—and you—I need a pitch that no one can touch. James made me realize that."
Rosette's eyes softened. "So you're sending me away?" she asked, her voice breaking. "After everything you said… were those just words?"
Dranred stepped closer and cupped her cheek gently. "Of course not. Please don't look like that. If you do, I might not be able to hold myself back from hugging you—and I wouldn't want to let go. You're my weakness, Rosette."
She blinked through her tears, a shaky smile forming. "You're both so stubborn," she whispered.
"I know," he chuckled softly. "That's probably why your brother and I can't stop clashing."
"Rosette!" James called from across the field. His voice echoed sharply in the night.
"He's calling you," Dranred said, giving her a gentle nod. "Go on."
For a moment, she just stood there, staring at him. Then, before he could react, Rosette suddenly threw her arms around him.
Dranred froze, surprised by her warmth. His heart leapt.
"This is the third time," he murmured with a teasing smile. "You're getting bolder."
"Don't say anything," she whispered against his chest, her face burning. She didn't even know why she'd done it—her body simply moved. She wanted to comfort him, to hold him just once more.
"I can feel your blush," Dranred said softly, smiling down at her.
"Don't tease me," she muttered, pulling back slightly. "You did well today, Red. You were amazing out there. I'll say it again—you're the brightest star when you stand on the mound."
"I already know that," he said, his grin playful but his eyes tender.
"Even if James stole a run from you," Rosette whispered, "you still won in my eyes." She hesitated, her cheeks glowing. "Because… you've already won my heart."
Before Dranred could respond, she slipped from his arms and ran toward James, her face flushed and her pulse racing.
Dranred stood frozen, watching her go—his heart pounding harder than it ever had in any game.
That girl… Dranred thought with a quiet laugh as he watched Rosette run toward her brother. I can't win against you.
"Is that the face of someone who just lost?" Charlie's deep voice broke his thoughts. The older man approached, glancing at Rosette and James as they disappeared from the stadium.
"You're the only loser I've seen smiling like that," Charlie said, crossing his arms. "I thought that home run would crush your spirit. But look at you—still grinning like you just won the championship. You should see your face in a mirror."
Dranred chuckled, unable to hide the curve of his lips.
"That smile won't fade anytime soon," Charlie added with a knowing grin. "That girl really does—"
"She does," Dranred interrupted gently. "That's why I'll make sure to earn her brother's blessing… whatever it takes."
Charlie studied his nephew for a moment, then smiled faintly. "You're serious this time, huh?"
Dranred nodded, his gaze still fixed on the stadium gate where Rosette had vanished. "Yeah. More than ever."
"Come on, let's go home," Charlie said, patting him on the shoulder.
"Yeah," Dranred replied softly as they began walking toward the exit together. Despite the night air cooling around them, the warmth of Rosette's hug still lingered on his skin—and the smile never left his face.
The sound of their footsteps echoed softly against the empty street, the distant hum of the stadium lights fading behind them. The air was cool, carrying a faint scent of grass and dust — the lingering traces of the field they'd just left.
Charlie walked with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, glancing at his nephew from the corner of his eye. "You know," he started, "I've seen a lot of players lose games. Some curse the world, some blame their team, some don't even show up next season."
He paused, then gave a small, approving nod. "But you… you lose once, and somehow you end up looking like a man who just found his reason to play again."
Dranred gave a quiet laugh. "Maybe that's because I did."
Charlie smirked. "A girl, huh? I should've known."
"Not just any girl," Dranred replied softly. His tone carried no hesitation now. "Rosette… she's been there since the beginning. Even when I didn't notice. She's my reason, Uncle. My anchor."
Charlie hummed thoughtfully. "Hmm. An anchor can steady you… but it can also hold you down if you don't handle it right."
Dranred looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Charlie stopped walking and faced him. "You said she's your light. That's good — every man needs something to reach for. But don't make her the only reason you move forward. Otherwise, when things get hard, you'll forget who you are without her."
Dranred fell silent for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hand — the same one that had thrown his final pitch and caught Rosette's warmth minutes ago. "You're right," he admitted. "I lost tonight. But… it didn't feel like failure. More like a wake-up call. I've been chasing the top because I thought that was enough. But now I know what I'm really playing for — not just for fame or pride, but for something real."
Charlie chuckled, shaking his head. "You sound just like your father when he finally stopped pretending he didn't care about your mom."
That made Dranred glance at him, eyes widening. "You're kidding."
"Dead serious," Charlie said, grinning. "He made a mess of things too. Took one good loss to set his head straight."
Dranred laughed, a genuine sound that cut through the night air. "Guess it runs in the family then."
"Guess it does," Charlie said. Then, in a gentler tone: "Just remember, Red — in baseball and in love, consistency beats perfection. Don't rush. You'll get there, one pitch at a time."
Dranred nodded, his eyes clear and steady. "One pitch at a time."
As they reached the corner of the street, the lights of the city reflected faintly on Dranred's mitt, still hanging from his side. He tightened his grip on it and looked ahead — toward the path that led to both the majors and the girl waiting at the end of it.
Charlie smiled to himself. He's grown up, he thought. Finally.
"Why?" Rosette asked, glancing at her brother. They were inside the car, the soft hum of the engine mixing with the faint sound of the night outside. She noticed James staring down at his hand — and only then did she see the faint tremor in his fingers.
"Your hand's shaking," she said quietly, her brows drawing together. "Why is it shaking?"
"It's that punk's fault," James muttered, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He could still feel the dull ache creeping through his arm. During the match, every time he connected with Dranred's fastballs, the impact had numbed his hand a little more. By the time of that final pitch, his arm had felt like lead — yet somehow, miraculously, he'd still managed to send the ball flying. The price of that home run was now clear: the throbbing pain and the lingering tremor.
"You didn't have to challenge him like that, you know," Rosette said softly, her voice carrying both concern and quiet reproach.
James turned to her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Who exactly are you worried about? Me, or Dranred?"
Rosette lowered her gaze, saying nothing.
"You don't need to answer," James continued with a sigh. "Your face already says it all. But I meant every word I said earlier. If he can be beaten that easily by someone like me, then he has no right to pursue you. I'm saying this not just as your brother, but as someone who practically raised you. I'm not trying to be harsh, Rosette. I just want what's best for you."
"I know that," she replied quietly, looking out the windshield.
"Then can't you let go of the past?" she asked after a moment's silence.
James exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "This isn't about the past, young lady," he said as he started the engine. "He still hasn't done anything to earn my approval."
Rosette frowned. "You're so old-fashioned and stubborn."
"That's my best quality," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"That's you being insufferable," Rosette shot back, pouting slightly before turning to look out the window.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The streetlights passed in rhythmic flashes over James's face, softening the edge in his expression. He stole a brief glance at his sister — still sulking, her reflection faintly visible in the glass — and a small smile found its way to his lips.
"You've really grown up, haven't you," he murmured under his breath before focusing back on the road, the car rolling steadily into the quiet night.