Believing She Has Been Reincarnated into a Baseball Game, My Little Sister Is Aiming for the Koshien, While I Give It My All to Keep Her from Finding out That It’s Actually an Ntr Game - Chapter 24

The pitching practice went on uneventfully, blandly completing—finally, the umpire calls for play.

Now begins pitcher Yamada Kyugo’s strikeout show.

Casually adjusting his cap while peering into the catcher’s signs, he scrapes off a bit of sweet syrup with his thumb. As he enters the set position and just before he grips the ball, he spreads it between his index and middle fingers inside his glove.

Preparations are complete.

As he steps forward with his left foot, he pulls his right arm back. With a shift in his center of gravity, his body rotates and his right arm swings down from above, unleashing stored power. The feeling of the ball’s seams catching on his fingertips is stronger than ever before. The power of a secret weapon.

“My strength, honed by cheat abilities, is transmitted to the ball through a cheat substance with utmost efficiency…”

“Phew—!”

With a grunt, the ball, given a vigorous backspin, slices through the air—and in the next moment, an explosive sound reverberates.

“What’s the matter? Right down the middle.”

The white ball settles into the catcher’s mitt. After a moment, the dumbstruck umpire calls a strike. The opposing batter stands agape in the left box.

My fastball, a strike taken by surprise.

But the batter must have been truly startled. Not just by the speed—nearing 150 km/h—but by the trajectory. The rise. The illusion that it’s lifting.

From the opponent’s bench, shouts of “Too sweet a spot!” and “Swing at it, swing at it!” can be heard, but the batter has no such luxury.

The true threat of the four-seam fastball with its phenomenal spin rate is known only to those who stand in the batter’s box.

“Nice ball, Yamada!”

As he throws the ball back to me, Catcher Yogi calls out. A third-year student of medium build from Netora Academy’s baseball team, though he’s started to grow beyond what could be considered ‘medium.’

Only he knows I’m using a sticky substance. It’s necessary. I couldn’t keep it from him. We’ve practiced with the sweet syrup I extracted in the bathroom before.

If I suddenly threw a strangely extending fastball or a wildly curving slider in a game, even he couldn’t catch it.

Moreover, we need to collaborate to conceal the sticky substance on the ball.

Well, my sweet syrup, unlike pine tar, has the perfect properties of being sticky yet easily removable, so covering it up should be straightforward.

By the way, the reason Yogi looks so refreshingly proud and happy is simple: he doesn’t know the true nature of the sticky substance.

I told him it’s a mix of sunscreen spray, rosin, and sweat. That’s something he can tolerate (though it’s still unethical).

When I shared the plan with a cold, serious demeanor, he nodded gravely.

After all, he’s originally one of the faceless mob characters who would grovel before Sakura Miyakotona.

Essentially, he can’t defy me.

Thus, I made the first batter lose his composure with a high four-seam fastball, causing him to swing twice for the first strikeout.

Against the second batter, I aimed high again. Though the straight pitches gathered in the middle, I made him swing under, resulting in the second strikeout.

Facing the third batter, I pushed him to no balls and two strikes with another high fastball.

“About time to pitch.”

Though he couldn’t hear my mutter, Yogi read my expression and gave the sign I wanted.

This time, I mixed in a bit more sweet syrup than usual, aligning my fingers on different seams.

“Phew—!”

With a sharp flick, like slashing, I completed my pitch.

“Uh…!”

A cry escapes from the strong hitter, considered a draft prospect.

Thrown off balance by the greatly sliding sweeper, he makes a weak swing. Naturally, the bat misses, and the ball settles into the catcher’s mitt.

“Oh, nice practice swing imagining a real game.”

Three consecutive strikeouts. Three outs. Switch sides.

I return to the bench with as cool an air as possible.

Now, finally, as the liquefied sweet syrup builds up, a drop trickles down from the brim of my cap. It stinks. I’ve been maintaining a calm demeanor, but the smell has been lingering the whole time I’ve been pitching.

“Ah, it’s that thing. The NTR heroine who, after doing something with the homewrecker senpai on the emergency stairs after school, walks home with the protagonist as if nothing happened. Just as they part in front of the house he’s always lived in since childhood, that thing… the one that trickles down her inner thigh at just that moment. Now I finally understand the mechanism after feeling it trickle down my own cheek.”

Yeah, the downsides weren’t just one. From now on, I’ll plant it somewhere other than just under my hat.

“Nice pitch, Yamada. As expected, your evolved pitches are amazing.”

“Yogi… well, yeah. Considering all the trouble I’ve caused you guys until now, I plan to do whatever I can from now on.”

The attack in the top of the second starts with the fifth batter. It won’t be my turn or Yogi’s, who bats fourth, for a while. Yogi sits down next to me in the depths of the bench, playing the role of my spouse.

“Trouble, huh. Ahaha, well, sure, we’ve been pretty much exploited by the old Yamada.”

Yogi says this with a relaxed smile, but in reality, the Kyugo Yamada from before my reincarnation must have been the worst kind of boss monkey. I might have subjected them to more sufferings than can be simply described as “trouble.” For them, that Yamada Kyugo and the current me look the same.

Yet, they trust me and follow me like this. They believe my words.

So, yes. I should also take more to heart what they say, their thoughts. I should engrave them more deeply into my ears, my brain, my heart.

“Yamada, actually, you see,” Yogi speaks, gazing distantly, “Last year, my dad died.”

“Is that so.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t a great man! Mom got fed up and left, taking only my well-behaved younger brother! But, but, I couldn’t abandon Dad. He was the one who taught me baseball, and even if he earned little, he always spared no expense on baseball gear for me as a kid. Well, that was also why Mom and the others disowned him!”

“I see.”

“Hehe, this catcher’s mitt, it was the last gift from Dad. A fountain pen for my brother and a mitt for me, funny, right? I was too embarrassed, and never managed to thank him. But, just before he passed, Dad finally said, ‘Make the most of baseball with that mitt.’ So, I’ll catch your best pitches with it and take us to Koshien. I believe that’ll make Mom and Sota reconsider their view of Dad, the baseball nut—the first and last act of filial piety, together with this partner mitt—ah, that was a bit cheesy, haha, my bad.”

“…………”

“Well, what I’m trying to say is, I’ll keep polishing this partner every day, catching your fastballs and sweepers properly! Don’t hold back and throw with all you’ve got!”

“Got it.”

I listened to the starting catcher’s words, showing a thumbs up with a white smile, but I ignored them. Decided not to hear them.

Sorry, Dad. It’s just that. It’s just sunscreen cream. It’s not a problem even if it gets on the mitt. Maybe it’ll even somewhat nicely blend into the leather, yeah.

And so, I headed behind the bench. I need to hurry up and kiss my beloved Maika and prepare for the next inning.