One Drop [3/?]
Title: One Drop
Chapters: 3/?
Author: yumemirunosekai
Pairing: Kame/Ueda (KameDa), MaruDa (friendship), AkaKame
Rating: PG 15 (in general)
Warnings: adult themes, NO explicit smut, quotations, pre-teen angst
Genres: Slice of life, friendship, school life, teenage angst, angst, romance
Synopsis: It's but a game with a beginning, but no end.
Disclaimer: Some of the events here are completely fictional. I do not own anything except for the imagined situations, some of the plot, and the OCs. This is based on real events, but ONLY BASED ON. So please do not take any of the over-exaggerated incidents in this story to be true - I only write for the enjoyment for KameDa fans out there and to feed my over imaginative mind.
A/N: Douzo!
Score 3: Baseball
He's been in love with baseball ever since he can remember.
Kazuya may just be in elementary school, but that doesn't stop him from following the sport like a dedicated fan. He doesn't go for manga and toys and silly little game consoles like other boys his age, but turns to a sport that he believes is the best thing in the world. Ever.
His dad is always working, and his mom always stays at home to look after him, so Kazuya knows that he really isn't as well off as other kids. He never asks for things, and if his dad hadn't seen him staring at that russet-coloured glove, perched innocently on a stand in a random sports shop, he would never had thought that his son was fanboying over a sport that he hardly even noticed existed.
Kazuya still keeps it, that glove.
It sits on his bedside table and he runs his fingers over the rough stitching every night before bed. Kazuya is only 12, but training as hard as possible to reach his goal of being an international star. He wants to go pro, and is determined to work as hard as possible to achieve this.
He doesn't attend a fancy school, nor is he good looking, and he doesn't have stellar grades - in fact he isn't very good at his studies - but he survives. Therefore it isn't a surprise that hardly anyone notices him at all. Despite his natural talent at baseball, he isn't one of the 'popular' kids at school, and honestly doesn't try to be one. He has his own clique of friends, but he's not very close to them either. Teachers don't like him, but they don't hate him either.
To them, Kamenashi Kazuya is just your average boy in the crowd. It's lonely, but Kazuya has grown accustomed to it. However, he can't help but feel alone and unnoticed - an insignificant splotch in a world full of amazing people. He lies back in his bed at stares at the poster of 'THE GIANTS" tacked to his ceiling, and he longs to be one of them.
Maybe one day it'll be him staring out of a poster tacked to some random kid's bedroom ceiling. Perhaps one day someone out there will look at and actually see him, him as Kamenashi Kazuya, the professional batter, or pitcher - Kazuya doesn't mind, either is fine with him. One day, maybe people won't see him as 'that boy' or 'that guy's friend' or 'that baseball fan' - they'll see him as something more.
Kazuya hopes that that day will quickly come, but to achieve that, he is determined to work as hard as possible, and strive as hard as possible.
"Kazuya!"
His older brother sticks his head into his room. "Dinner." Kazuya notices his eyes drift to the large A3 sized poster and sniggers.
"Still fanboying?" he grins, and Kazuya scowls.
"Go away."
His older brother raises his hands in defeat and laughs. "Whatever. C'mon, mom's calling." he grins suddenly. "Last one down has to do the chores!"
Kazuya blinks and his brother is gone, hurried footsteps echo away from his door.
He sighs and pushes himself off his bed, feet touching the floorboards before running out of his room.
That russet coloured glove sits on the bedside table, still and alone. Silhouetted against the bedside lamp, it looks as though hiding a secret that only it knows.
///
"Kamenashi, this is your last year in elementary school?" asks his coach one day after training.
Kazuya is lying sprawled on the grassy field, his chest heaving and bright beads of sweat slide down his face like pearls. "Y-yes," he pants, squirming uncomfortably in his sweat-soaked T-shirt.
His coach looks grave as he eyes Kazuya's smallish body from top to bottom. "You are… 13?"
"12." Kazuya corrects, and sits up, wondering why coach is looking so doubtful. The coach turns to look at the other boys in his team, and Kazuya follows his line of vision and sees Nishiyama and Sawatari having a leisure throw and catch with the ball. They are both talented players, slightly weaker than Kamenashi when it can to skill, but definitely miles above him when it came to strength.
They are both around the same age as him, and they attended the same school, but Kazuya can't help but notice something for the first time since they were put on the same team - NIshiyama and Sawatari were strong. Their stocky build and broad shoulders gave them a reasonable amount of power as batter or pitcher, and Kazuya knows he can never match them in strength even if he tried.
Unlike many of the boys his age, Kazuya is strangely undersized, his frame slender like a girl's (something he hates) and his arms and shoulders bonier and more angular. He never let this stop him though, training hard until his skill was well above par, but was this enough?
His coach turns back to look at him, his expression doubtful. "Aren't you aspiring to be a pro?"
Kazuya nods.
"Really?"
Kazuya nods harder.
The coach suddenly looks strange. "Then I suggest you do something about your build."
Kazuya can feel his jaw drop open. and he hurries to scramble to his feet, heart pounding and face flushed. "W-What?"
"Don't take it personally, Kamenashi, but in all my years coaching juniors wanting to be pros - and trust me, I've trained a lot of juniors like you - only a handful of them get chosen, and those that get chosen are normally the ones with a more… muscled build."
Is this guy serious?
Kazuya's throat is dry and his can feel his heart sinking. He's always known that his body was small, and although he has been teased a couple of times because of this, he didn't really care. But to hear that his little defect is about to cost him his dream is just too much.
"B-But… isn't there anything I can do to make up for it?" Kazuya doesn't want to believe it, he just doesn't.
The coach scratches the bottom of his chin, and Kazuya can see the rough greying hairs there. "I don't know, Kamenashi. It's really very hard to say. They do let some who are very talented or skilled in the team even if their build isn't qualified, but it's so rare it's nearly impossible."
Especially someone with such a frail body as yours.
"But is there a chance for me?" whispers Kazuya, wishing his voice wouldn't break.
The old coach sighs. "In all honesty, I don't think so. I want to say yes, Kamenashi, I really do. Because I know how dedicated you are to this sport. I also know that you are very skilled, that is without a doubt. But skilled or not, if you don't have the strength to deliver a good, hard hit or throw, it's pointless because the opponent will have the upper hand."
Kazuya doesn't move, nor does he speak. This was his lifelong dream they are talking about here, and he's always been determined to ensure that nothing, nothing would stand in his way, and now this?
"B-but…"
"Do some work on your build, Kamenashi, that is my only advice for you. I won't pull you out of the team, don't worry, but I'm just giving you a heads up about what may happen in the future."
///
It is hours since practise ended, and Kazuya is still lying there sprawled on the grass of the playing field. The sky is a burning orange, and the autumn air nips at his skin, caked in dry sweat. Baseball, it was something he doesn't want to lose. He'll get bigger. Kazuya is sure, because everyone gets bigger when they grow up. He sits up and dusts the grass off his T-shirt and blue sports pants.
He needs to go home. His family must be worried sick - Kazuya is always home by dinner - and so he picks up his glove and bat, sighing heavily as he exits the field.
He lives in a small housing area just off the main road. The buildings there are nothing impressive: sturdy metal gates, wooden doors, wire fencing - a stark contrast to the house on the west side. Kazuya can see the towering mansions and bungalows sticking up into the evening sky - an array of soft grey and shining glass structures.
He doesn't notice another body hurrying in his direction, and he feels his shoulder jarred roughly. Kazuya is knocked to the ground while the other person merely stumbles. With his baseball cap on and from his awkward position Kazuya can only see pair of black sneakers with mean looking skull patterned on it, attached to a pair of long legs in jeans.
"What the- Are you blind!? Watch it!"
The person has a slightly deeper voice, and Kazuya thinks that he must be older, and so he fumbles to apologise.
He is interrupted before he can open his mouth though. "Whatever, forget it."
Before Kazuya can look up, the person stalks rudely past him and down the pavement. Kazuya turns around in time to see a head of short, awkwardly cut black hair disappear around the corner.
Suddenly he feels like crying. Is he this weak?
Life is unfair.
Why are people like him, left vulnerable and exposed to people like that boy? Did that boy think that just because he's stronger, older, he can push Kazuya around?
He probably did.
After all, he must be stronger than Kazuya.
When he finally reaches home, his mom runs out from the kitchen with a worried frown on her face. She bombards him with questions along the lines of 'Where did you go?' 'Why are you so late?' 'Did something happen?' and 'Why are you bleeding?'
Only then does he feel the sting. Looking down, he sees that his elbows are scraped - probably from when he was knocked to the ground by that person, whoever it was.
His mom cleans the wounds while chastising him to be careful. Kazuya nods, trying to feign a look of concentration as his mom continues to speak.
The smell of antiseptic is nauseating, and Kazuya doesn't hide the fact the hates the stench.
It's a smell that sticks.
///
Dinner is a silent affair, and his mom is still fussing over his wounds. His older brother is trying to cheer him up, and Kazuya is happy that they are trying for him. Again his dad isn't home - working probably - so Kazuya doesn't hang around long after dinner, since his dad isn't here to discuss baseball with him (and he seriously needs encouragement now).
He goes to bed, annoyed and disappointed. Arms crossed behind his head, Kazuya stares up at the poster tacked to the ceiling. He now notices the bulging muscles of the players he admired, and compares it to his pathetic frame.
He reaches to the side of his bed and grabs that russet glove off the bedside table, stroking the stitches. No. He isn't going to just throw everything away. He'll become strong, and he'll show the coach, and Nishiyama, and Sawatari, and that strange boy with that stupid hair that he - Kamenashi Kazuya isn't just some frail weakling to be pushed and shoved around.
He'll become tough. In fact, Kazuya decides to start tomorrow.
He thinks for awhile.
Perhaps he should start with his image? Then maybe people would stop looking at his slender frame, and focus more on him. But Kazuya doesn't know what style to go with.
He then remembers that strange boy.
///
The next day, Kazuya goes to the second hand store with his mom and picks out a black T-shirt with the meanest looking skull there is.