Diamond No Ace: Life As Sawamura Eijun

The Tokyo Autumn Tournament Finals, which had drawn attention not only across Tokyo but all of Kanto, had finally come to an end.

The result itself wasn't exactly surprising.

Whether Seidou or Inashiro won, most had seen either outcome as entirely plausible before the match began.

Both teams were evenly matched—a true 50-50 battle.

So while the result wasn't unexpected…

The process was.

Especially the shocking moment in the top of the sixth inning—

When Seidou's ace, Sawamura Eijun, was forced to leave the mound.

That, more than anything, became the decisive factor in Seidou's defeat.

It's not that Seidou became powerless without Eijun.

Rather, it was the timing—

Leaving the mound after surrendering a run in that critical moment…

That was the real blow.

...

Furuya, who came in as relief, clearly couldn't stabilize the situation.

Not because Furuya lacked skill.

Not because Inashiro's lineup was unstoppable.

But because Furuya had never experienced that kind of high-pressure, mid-game relief appearance.

Some fans might question:

Why not send in Kawakami instead?

After all, in terms of experience and stability,

Kawakami was far more suited to take over.

And in a clean-inning situation, with no runners on base, Kawakami might have even shut them down without giving up a single run.

In that case, a one-run gap would've still been well within Seidou's striking distance.

But again—

That's just a "what-if."

...

Looking back at the situation as it unfolded—

Yes, in terms of matchup and role, Kawakami made more sense.

But could he really have held things down under that pressure?

Not necessarily.

That's the truth behind these kinds of decisions.

There is no guaranteed right answer.

Furuya, after all, had a power fastball—

Something Kawakami didn't.

And though Kawakami was more stable on paper,

both options carried risk.

Understanding this, Coach Kataoka and Ochiai's choice becomes easier to follow:

1. Furuya had raw power—a unique, standout strength as a pitcher.

2. At that point in the lineup, the pitcher's spot was up—

And between the two, Furuya's batting—while still rough—was miles better than Kawakami's.

There may have even been one more unspoken reason behind the choice.

In that moment, when Eijun left the mound,

and especially with the score slipping…

Kataoka and Ochiai may have already accepted that the game was effectively lost.

And if that were the case—

Rather than risking everything for a slim chance,

they chose instead to use the moment to polish a rough gem.

An emergency relief appearance in a final—

That kind of experience is invaluable for a developing pitcher.

And Furuya was definitely worth grooming for the future.

Some of the more perceptive spectators saw that reasoning.

...

If it had been the original story (canon):

This would've been Seidou's last stand, having lost in the summer.

Kataoka might have gambled everything then.

But in this alternate timeline—Seidou had just become national champions a few months prior.

This Autumn Tournament was more about building chemistry for next summer's Koshien.

So making sacrifices, taking losses, and allowing growth—

Was acceptable.

...

In the end—

The result of the Tokyo Autumn Finals didn't need much discussion.

But the process—the drama, the emotion, the decision-making—

That was what became a hot topic among baseball fans across Tokyo and Kanto.

But none of that mattered much to Eijun right now.

At this moment—

He was seated in the back of a taxi headed for the hospital, wearing a grim expression.

Glancing forward, he could see Coach Kataoka sitting in the front passenger seat.

Next to him in the back was the icy-faced Takashima Rei, arms crossed.

And beside him was Captain Miyuki, who looked far too relaxed for the situation.

After the match ended and formalities were dealt with, the rest of the team, led by Ochiai and Ota, had taken the bus back.

But Kataoka and Takashima insisted on taking Eijun to the hospital for a proper check-up.

...

Naturally, after the match—

The first priority was to let Eijun meet with his family.

This was high school baseball—not the pros.

When a player gets injured and their parents are present, as an educator, Kataoka felt it was his duty to inform them directly.

Unsurprisingly, both Eijun's father and grandfather were easygoing types.

"It's fine, it's fine! My grandson's been tough as nails since he was a kid—he'll be fine! No need to apologize, Coach! Hahaha!"

That was Grandpa Sawamura's exact response.

But beside him stood Aotsuki Wakana.

Her bright eyes were filled with visible worry and quiet pity—

Leaving Eijun at a rare loss for words.

After Takashima Rei called for a taxi, Eijun made a small gesture with his hand, pretending to hold a phone to his ear.

Wakana caught the gesture, smiled faintly, and gave a small nod of understanding.

With that, Eijun ducked into the taxi and was whisked away alongside Takashima and the others.

...

As for Miyuki—there was no debate.

Whether it was due to his personality, his duty as team captain, or the guilt he felt as Eijun's battery partner—

Of course he was going to come along.

...

Originally, the plan had been for Takashima Rei and Ota to take Eijun to the hospital.

Under typical circumstances, anything related to player welfare or daily life falls under the domain of the club manager and assistant manager—which in Seidou's case, meant Takashima and Ota.

This is standard practice under Japan's high school baseball regulations, which specify that:

The manager and coach are responsible for game strategy and training.

The club's official and assistant managers (who must be teachers from the school) handle daily affairs, including the players' health and welfare.

So yes, that was the plan at first.

But then Coach Kataoka spoke up and said he'd take Eijun himself.

Naturally, that meant Ota went back with the team—

And it left this taxi ride... deeply intimidating.

...

The mood in the small taxi cabin was crushingly heavy.

Eijun's heart thudded like a drum.

"Um... didn't Dr. Yoshino say one month of rest would be enough? Do we really need to go to the hospital?"

The silence in the car was so thick it hurt.

Eijun swallowed and asked timidly, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Hmph. Dr. Yoshino also said that just to be safe, you needed a proper hospital examination. What you got earlier was just a temporary treatment. If you hadn't insisted on staying to watch the rest of the game, we should've taken you to the hospital immediately."

Takashima adjusted her glasses—

And the gleam off the lenses was practically icy.

Eijun reflexively shrank back.

Holy crap… she's still mad?! So scary!!

He winced and grumbled internally.

...

"Ugh…"

Eijun cautiously shifted his gaze forward toward Coach Kataoka, hoping for mercy.

Their eyes met—completely by accident.

The light reflecting off Kataoka's sunglasses glinted coldly.

Eijun froze.

He reflexively raised his left arm to scratch the back of his head—

Only to yank on his injured, swollen arm.

Pain shot through him like lightning.

He immediately twisted his face in agony.

Damn, Coach! That stare was enough to kill!!

Eijun nearly teared up from the sheer pressure of the moment.

This tiny taxi felt like a pressure cooker.

...

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the ever-scheming captain, Miyuki, covering his mouth and laughing to himself.

That mischievous grin—

It made Eijun want to chuck a brick straight at him.

"Damn you, Miyuki!!"

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