Baseball Practice at Ueno Park
2026-07-12On a rare free weekend, Gyuba-chan invited Kuroneko-chan to meet at Ueno Park.
The sun was fierce — fierce enough to hear the cicadas screaming their hearts out.
Before the meeting time arrived, Gyuba-chan waited in the shade and glanced over toward the ballfield — one glance, and TA couldn't look away.
No spectators, no broadcast cameras. Just a handful of kids in uniforms, swinging bats, catching balls, running bases, over and over, under a cloudless midday sun.
Their uniforms were soaked dark with sweat, faces flushed red, but they stood steady at the plate, eyes locked on the pitcher, never blinking.
A thought crossed Gyuba-chan's mind: the world is changing so fast — AI can write novels, paint, do the books now. This stuff these kids are practicing — swing angles, glove feel, base-running strides — does any of it still matter?
But they didn't seem to have time to wonder about that.
The crack of a ball connecting sounded no different than the thousandth time, or the ten-thousandth.
Kuroneko-chan had appeared beside TA at some point, camera around the neck, not lifted to shoot. Just watching the field too, for a long while.
Gyuba-chan asked: "Do you think there's still a point to what they're practicing?"
Kuroneko-chan watched the field a while longer before speaking slowly: "Whether you get stronger today, and whether the world changes — those are probably two different things."
Gyuba-chan said nothing, but something lit up quietly in TA's eyes, and TA gave a small nod.
From the field came another dull crack of a bat, followed by shouts between the young players — unintelligible, but full of force.
Gonna do my best today too.
Not because TA knows it'll win.
But because, standing on this ground, only "this one pitch, right now" is worth giving everything to.
