I’m the third baseman on our high school baseball team.
Every day it’s practice, sweat, and mud—
I never imagined that one person could suddenly change the entire atmosphere of the field.
That day, our coach told us we finally had a new team manager.
We all thought it’d just be someone to help carry water or tidy up uniforms.
But when she walked onto the field, all of us froze mid-practice.
She wore a simple white blouse and a navy pleated skirt, with her hair tied in a low ponytail. Standing at the edge of the field, she smiled and said,
“Hi everyone, I’m Chisaki. I’ll be your new manager. Nice to meet you.”
It felt like a scene straight out of a manga.
We, a bunch of loud, sweaty baseball guys, suddenly forgot how to breathe properly.
From that day on, Chisaki showed up to every practice, right on time.
She recorded our stats, handed out water, filmed our games, and even kept a little notebook tracking our batting averages and pitching errors.
She wasn’t just beautiful—she was hardworking in a way that earned real respect.
But that’s also when things started getting messy.
Some guys began swinging harder, trying to impress her.
Others offered to carry her bags, just to hear her say “thank you.”
A few even started walking her to the school gate after practice.
And me? I just watched from a distance.
Even though I was one of the team’s core players, I couldn’t even string together a full sentence around her.
Every time I tried to talk to her, my mind would go blank—like I’d just been hit by a fastball.
I could only stand there, quietly, watching her smile and chat with the others.
I thought about giving up.
After all, I was just a sweaty, clumsy guy—how could someone as clean and radiant as her ever notice me?
But one day after school, I stayed behind for extra batting practice.
The field was empty except for me.
And then… she walked over.
She placed a bottle of water beside me and said,
“Your swing angle looked better today. I clipped a video of it—I’ll send it to you later.”
I froze for a second, staring at her face glowing in the sunset.
“You made a video… just for me?” I finally asked.
She smiled, “Because I noticed you always stay late, trying hard when no one’s watching.”
That moment—it was like something opened up in my chest.
I hadn’t been invisible after all.
She’d noticed me, too.
From that day on, I still wasn’t the best at talking, but I started showing her how I felt in my own way.
Swinging harder. Fielding sharper.
Just to hear her say, “Great work today.”
Maybe that’s what youth is.
A single sentence that makes your whole week,
A smile that keeps you up at night.
Even if I’m not the one she chooses,
I’ll be the guy who never stopped giving it his all for her—right there on the field.
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