Little Spies and Dreams
577 Words
The next day, Operation: Baseball Reconnaissance was underway.
At precisely 3:17 p.m., four children ducked behind a line of parked cars across the street from Westside Hawks’ baseball field, a notebook, a pair of old binoculars, and a juice pouch among them.
“Target acquired,” Justin whispered, pointing as Chris emerged from a car, dressed in the Hawks’ navy uniform, with his gear bag over one shoulder and a scowl carved into his otherwise calm face.
“Look at that armor,” Carter breathed. “Dude looks like a gladiator.”
“He’s just wearing a chest protector,” Wakana said, rolling her eyes but watching intently nonetheless.
Eijun pressed up against the fence, small hands gripping the links. His breath caught the moment Chris stepped into the dugout. He hadn’t seen his niichan like this before—not the calm, sleepy-eyed boy who carried him on piggyback when he scraped his knees, but someone sharper, focused. Older.
“Niichan…” Eijun whispered, eyes wide.
Coach Derell blew a whistle. “Let’s get to it! Riley on the mound, Chris behind the plate. I want to see those signs moving like you mean it.”
The team jumped into motion.
Chris crouched behind home plate, fingers flicking signals effortlessly. Riley, the tall, confident pitcher, nodded. The ball rocketed forward—
SMACK!
It landed in Chris’s glove with a satisfying pop.
“Woahhh,” Carter muttered. “Did you see that? That thing flew like a missile!”
“He caught it like it was nothing,” Wakana said, unusually quiet.
Eijun didn’t say anything. He watched, entranced. Chris gave another sign. Riley threw again. Pop. Over and over, like clockwork.
Justin took notes like a detective.
Eijun barely blinked.
He didn’t know anything about baseball. But he knew this — Chris looked like he belonged there. He looked like something Eijun wanted to understand, even if he didn’t know why yet.
That night, Eijun cornered his brother in the kitchen.
“Niichan,” he said, hugging a cushion to his chest. “Can I come with you next time?”
Chris blinked, caught mid-sip of water. “...You want to come?”
“Yeah. I wanna see again. I wanna understand what you’re doing.”
Chris’s gaze softened, and he looked over Eijun’s head—like he was thinking through the risks and reasons. “Okay,” he said finally. “But you have to promise you’ll sit still. No yelling.”
Eijun grinned. “I promise!” He jumped up and wrapped his arms around Chris’s middle. “You’re the coolest, Niichan!”
Chris ruffled his hair.
The next day, Eijun sat on the metal bleachers next to Ayumi, legs swinging. His friends joined not long after, carrying snacks like it was a movie premiere.
When practice started, Eijun didn’t speak. He just watched.
He saw how Chris moved with silent confidence, how his eyes flicked to every corner of the field. He saw the way Riley trusted Chris’s calls, how the infielders glanced at him before every play.
There was something sacred about it.
And when Chris turned for a brief second—meeting Eijun’s eyes and giving the smallest nod—Eijun felt his chest fill with something warm and electric.
That night, Eijun lay in bed staring at the ceiling, heart pounding for reasons he couldn’t explain.
“I think,” he whispered into his pillow, “I wanna play too.”
- Writer
