I Want to Be Like Niichan
811 Words
Eijun's world changed after the championship game.
It wasn’t just about watching anymore. Something inside him had clicked, flipped, ignited. He wanted more than to sit on the sidelines, chasing foul balls or fetching water. He wanted to play. He wanted to be like Chris.
No—he wanted to catch like Chris.
“Niichan,” Eijun said the next morning, mouth full of toast, “I wanna be a catcher too.”
Chris blinked. He had been sipping his tea, eyes still heavy with sleep, hair mussed from bed. “...You do?”
Ayumi, stirring eggs over the stove, looked over with a soft smile. “That’s sudden.”
Eijun bounced in his chair. “Not sudden! I’ve been thinking about it a lot! Catchers are so cool! They wear the armor, and they’re the boss of the field, and they’re the ones who stop the ball with their body even when it’s scary!”
Chris raised an eyebrow, amused. “That’s not exactly how I’d put it.”
Kenji entered the kitchen, adjusting his tie. He glanced at Eijun, then at Chris. “You serious, Eijun?”
“I am!” Eijun nodded rapidly. “I wanna learn everything! Signals! Blocking! Throwing! I’ll be Niichan’s apprentice!”
Chris nearly choked on his tea.
Ayumi chuckled. “He’s already picked out his future.”
Kenji gave Chris a long look—one Chris didn’t return. “Then you’ll teach him?”
Chris shifted. “...Yeah. I will.”
So began the catcher boot camp.
The first lesson: squatting.
“Put your feet shoulder-width apart. Now squat down. Knees out,” Chris instructed, arms crossed, watching with the blank but precise gaze that made opposing runners freeze.
Eijun tried.
And promptly fell on his butt.
“Again.”
Eijun tried again. And again. Each time, his thighs trembled a little more.
“My legs feel like jelly!” he cried after the fifth squat. “This position’s mean!”
Chris smirked. “You’ll get used to it. A real catcher doesn’t complain.”
“I’m not complaining! I’m suffering with style!”
The second lesson: catching the ball.
Chris lobbed tennis balls at Eijun from five feet away.
“Keep your glove centered! Don’t flinch!”
Eijun flinched every time.
“My hand has feelings, Niichan!”
Chris didn’t stop. “You’ll never be a catcher if you’re scared of the ball.”
“I’m not scared! I’m cautious!”
Chris threw another one.
Bonk.
It hit Eijun in the forehead.
Ayumi, watching from the porch with a glass of lemonade, winced. “Maybe start with underhand tosses, sweetie.”
The third lesson: gear fitting.
Chris let Eijun try on his old chest protector. It hung down past his knees. The helmet slipped over his eyes. The shin guards flopped like loose noodles.
“I look like a crab,” Eijun muttered.
“You’ll grow into it,” Chris said, amused.
“I’ll grow crab legs?”
Chris ignored that.
Despite the soreness, the bruises, the ridiculous gear, Eijun never gave up.
Every day after school, he begged Chris for another session. And Chris, for all his grumbling and dramatic sighs, never said no.
They practiced in the backyard, the driveway, even inside the garage when it rained.
Eijun learned how to frame pitches using a soft rubber ball. He learned to drop his weight to block grounders. He learned how to pop up fast from a crouch and throw imaginary runners out at second base.
And slowly, it started to make sense.
His body got used to the squats. His reflexes improved. The bruises faded into nothing more than tiny badges of pride.
And Chris?
Chris watched with something warm in his chest.
He hadn’t expected this. Eijun was loud, clumsy, always talking—but he never backed down. Never whined (much). Never once said, “I can’t.”
He reminded Chris of someone.
Himself.
One night, after a particularly intense catching drill, Eijun collapsed onto the grass, arms splayed.
“I’m gonna die here,” he groaned. “Tell Wakana she can have my comic books. Tell Carter I forgive him for that time he ate my chocolate pudding. Tell Justin he can keep my notebook of fake pitch names.”
Chris lay beside him, stretching out his legs.
“I’m not delivering your last wishes.”
“I thought catchers were supposed to care about the team,” Eijun moaned dramatically.
Chris snorted. “You’re not on my team yet.”
Eijun turned his head, grinning. “But someday?”
Chris hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. Someday.”
A breeze rustled through the grass. The sky above them glowed orange and purple with sunset.
“Niichan?” Eijun asked softly.
“Yeah?”
“You’re really cool.”
Chris turned his face toward the sky.
“...Thanks.”
- Writer
