Bound In Diamond

The Secret Stalkers Get Caught

For the next two weeks, Eijun and his friends became shadows.

Every afternoon, they snuck over to Westside Hawks’ practice field. Wakana handled the “recon route”—navigating fences and bushes to avoid being spotted. Carter brought snacks. Justin brought his ever-growing notebook of “Baseball Observations.” And Eijun? He brought his boundless energy, his wide eyes, and an ever-growing fascination with the world Chris commanded behind home plate.

Chris never looked their way again.

Not once.

Eijun was convinced he hadn’t noticed them. But Justin had his doubts. “I think he’s pretending he doesn’t see us,” he mumbled one afternoon, pen scribbling furiously as Chris made a double-play call at practice. “Your brother’s scary good. He probably knows we’re here.”

Eijun didn’t reply. He was watching the curve of Chris’s shoulders, the way he moved like water even under pressure. He didn’t fully understand what a “catcher” did, but he knew Chris made everything look easy.

“Hey,” Carter whispered suddenly. “What’s that?”

The team had taken a short break. Some kids were doing stretches while Coach Derell huddled with the assistant. Chris was off to the side, tossing a ball up and catching it absentmindedly. Then it happened—one of the players overshot a throw and the ball bounced off the fence and rolled right toward—

“Crap!” Eijun yelped, jumping up and scrambling to grab the ball before it could roll back onto the field.

Too late.

Chris turned.

Their eyes locked.

Everything went still.

Wakana cursed under her breath. Carter dropped his chips. Justin froze mid-scribble.

“...Eijun?” Chris’s voice carried across the field.

Coach Derell raised an eyebrow. “Who are these kids?”

“I—I was just watching!” Eijun called, flushing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt! I just wanted to see you, Niichan!”

There were a few chuckles from the team, but Chris didn’t smile. He walked over, eyes unreadable, and stopped right in front of Eijun, towering over him in his full gear.

“You’ve been watching me for two weeks,” he said flatly. “You and your spy squad.”

Wakana stepped forward. “We weren’t spying! It’s called ‘observation for educational purposes.’”

Carter nodded vigorously. “Yeah! And Eijun didn’t even know what baseball was until we brought him here.”

Chris sighed, but his expression softened. “You could’ve just asked, Eijun.”

Eijun pouted. “I wanted to see if it was fun first!”

Coach Derell approached with a smirk. “You Chris’s little brother?”

Eijun nodded. “Yup!”

The coach crouched to Eijun’s level. “You like what you see?”

Eijun beamed. “It’s cool! But I don’t get the positions. What’s a catcher, really? And why does Niichan always kneel? Isn’t that painful? And what’s the guy with the glove on the hill called?”

Chris groaned. “So many questions…”

Coach Derell laughed. “Tell you what, kid. You keep watching, and I’ll let you shag balls during practice. Might as well put you to work.”

“Shag?” Eijun blinked. “What’s that?”

Chris flushed slightly. “It just means collecting the balls that go wild or foul.”

“Oh! I can do that!” Eijun pumped his fist. “I’ll be the best ball collector ever!”

So began Eijun’s official presence at practice.

While Chris’s team ran drills and prepared for their big tournament game, Eijun chased balls, brought water bottles, and asked a hundred questions a day.

He still didn’t understand the game, not really. But every day he watched, his admiration for his brother grew.

Chris became more patient with the questions—sometimes sighing, sometimes explaining, but always making sure Eijun felt included. When Wakana, Carter, and Justin showed up, the team started waving at them from the dugout.

And then came the game.

The local championship. Westside Hawks versus the Eagle Cubs.

The field was packed.

Ayumi and Kenji sat in the front bleachers, Ayumi holding a camera, Kenji with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed in his usual way. Eijun sat between them, bouncing with excitement, his eyes glued to the field.

“I can’t believe Niichan’s playing in a real game!” he gasped.

Chris stood behind the plate like he was born there, calm and composed.

The Cubs’ pitcher was intense—he threw fire, every ball a bullet. But Chris didn’t flinch once. His signals were sharp, and his glove snapped shut every time. He threw runners out at second, dove for a pop-up, and even blocked a wild pitch that had Eijun clutching his seat.

When Chris threw out the final runner and sealed the win, the stands erupted.

Eijun launched himself toward the fence.

“NIICHANNNNN!” he screamed, waving both arms. “YOU’RE SO COOL!! YOU’RE THE COOLEST CATCHER EVER!!”

Chris grinned and gave a thumbs up before getting mobbed by his team.

That night, Eijun couldn’t sleep.

His legs ached from running around the field, his throat sore from cheering. But his heart thumped with excitement.

He sat up in bed, hugging his pillow.

“...I wanna be a catcher like Niichan,” he whispered into the dark. “But… my thighs hurt so much. That position’s mean…”

Still, he fell asleep smiling.

A decision had been made.