..::: Kachi wo Sagashite ( Searching for a Victory ) :::.. Chapter 23
Kachi wo Sagashite ( Searching for a Victory )
Chapter 1
Desire for Freedom
Downtown Tokyo glistened with summer heat. People walked along with water bottles to cool their bodies; cars honked and moved at a slow pace that kept their air conditioners on high; newsstands, equipped with electronic fans, had the radio turned up for the sidewalk public. To top it off, the summer-time sport of baseball was roaring at full strength throughout all of Japan.
For the Tokyo Tigers, one would think this would be a time of celebration: their new stadium was the crown jewel of the baseball world, more advanced and beautiful than any of the American stadiums. Almost any observer would see this and expect a stadium full of roaring admirers. However, it was anything but. They were last in the intercontinental league, behind teams such as the Pittsburgh Pirates and the Texas Rangers. The stands were filled with fans of other teams or old enthusiasts, coming only to jeer at their team’s suffering.
For the players, being sent to the team felt like a death sentence. Many would beg their way out of the team, paying money to get out of their own contract, so they could find a team that could possibly win.
For Touko Watari, it was a struggle just to suit up each morning. No amount of attention could keep the depressed feeling away from seeing his locker. When he had come aboard as a promising player fresh out of high school, his eyes were full of dreams. The coach had promised him many things, including making him the star of the team. For months, he went through the talk shows; he did the autograph signings; he even dyed his hair a deep blue to match the team’s color. As a young adult, it was almost too much to handle, and it swelled his ego. But when the team came out cold and when the losses began to pile up, all of the talk shows and all of the autograph signings suddenly disappeared.
“Maybe if I swing the bat like this, I can finally get a home run.” His teammate pondered out loud. “Hey, Touko, what do you think of this?”
Touko growled, slamming the locker shut and walking into the bathroom. “How about you lean into the ball? That way we could finally get a man on base!” He yelled back, instantly regretting the words coming out of his mouth as he unzipped his pants and began to relieve himself. Behind him, he could hear the teammates begin to mutter about his recent outburst: every eye in the locker room was trained on him right now. Yet, he didn’t mind. If pissing on the team was a way to get traded, then he would create as big of a problem as possible.
“Sounds like you are giving the team one of those famous pep talks,” Coach walked in, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as Touko finished up and moved to the sink. His face looked a million and one years old, and an old gray beard dipped past the Tiger’s logo on his shirt; he always walked with a slump that made him look twenty years older than he was.
Touko instantly shrugged that thought off, dipping his head low so that he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with the coach. “How about we forfeit today’s game? I mean, do you really think we stand a chance against the Kyoto Cobras?” He asked, waving a hand to the stands above them, where the cheers for the Kyoto team could be heard all the way down to the locker room. The acoustics were originally meant for the home team to get roused up by hearing their own cheers, but now it just served as a let down.
Coach just shook his head, stepping to the doorway and resting his hand there. “You will be on deck during the first inning, so start warming up,” his voice, deep and full of annoyance, brooked no argument. “Your contract also stipulates that you have to be at ten fan events during the year, so you’re doing an open tryout after the game.” He added almost as an afterthought, stepping out of the room.
Touko spun around in shock, water running out of the sink and splashing onto his cleats. “It’s already thirty six degrees out there; I’ll die from heat stroke!” He moaned, the rest of his teammates snickering as he walked past each of them and picked up his bat. “Not a word from any of you,” Touko growled, stepping onto the field as the team followed.
“Let’s just get through another loss.” He whispered to them as the crowd began to jeer and boo.
--------
Baseball is a game of many things. It’s a game of strength; it’s a game of reaction; it’s a game of waiting; but most of all, it is a game of endurance—endurance of pain, exhaustion, and heat. At that moment, as Touko stepped up to the batter’s box, the heat was already beginning to take its toll on him. Already sweat dripped out of his helmet, ran down the bridge of his nose, and fell onto his lip. The JumboTron flashed his picture, and the added heat of just that seemed to bear down upon him.
Fans began to move, some shifting in their seats, while others began to leave. It was the top of the seventh, and the team was already down by twelve. “Please, God, let lightning strike me down...” Touko mumbled, swinging the bat a few times to test it. He shook his head, trying to shake the sweat from his eyes, as the pitcher reared back and sent the ball sailing past him for an easy strike. Hitting the ball would have meant running, which would have meant even more exhaustion in the heat, and since most of the fans had already left, what was the point…?
The second pitch sailed past. Another ball that could be easily hit. Another strike.
He glanced over at the coach, who was glaring daggers back. “This is what you get for making me do that stupid open tryout,” Touko mumbled, tapping the dirt off of his cleats and pulling the bat back for the last ball. “C’mon. Strike me out.”
The pitcher pulled back and threw the ball at a speed that seemed almost incredibly slow.
Touko swung this time, aiming low to purposely miss the ball. “And I’m out.” He walked back to the dugout.
--------
Across town sat Tokyo General Hospital. In the forty-story hospital, there lay thousands of sick people, from broken bones, to women about to give childbirth. No one would ever look at the hospital for the Tokyo Tiger’s biggest fan. No one would suspect that that fan would lie in the children’s ward, receiving chemotherapy for a type of lung cancer and fighting a losing battle. That fan was named Naiya Koyama, an energetic young girl who had been diagnosed with adenocarcinoma when she was eight. Before she had been admitted to the hospital, she had been the best little league pitcher at Heisei Elementary School. Now she lay in bed, IV stuck in her arm, and her body reduced to just skin and bones.
“Touko, you idiot!” Naiya screamed, jerking her arms in the air as she watched her favorite player strike out. The IV shook in her arm, sending waves of pain, only matched by the horrible fluid of the chemotherapy.
“Calm down, Miss Koyama!” The nurse cried, turning off the television and placing her arms on each side of Naiya, to try to keep her from moving too much. “You will yank the IV out and we will have to start all over again.”
Naiya flicked her eyes over to the nurse, glaring back before turning and looking at the blank screen of the television. “But he purposely missed! How could he do that?” She asked in shock.
The nurse glanced around the room, looking at the different stuffed animals and other Tokyo tigers merchandise that dotted the room, including photographs of one player in particular: Touko Watari. “He could just have been having a off-day.”
Naiya was already livid: she didn’t need any excuses. “He’s freaking Touko Watari! He doesn’t have off-days.” She then reached for the remote, wrestling it out of the nurse’s hands and turning on the television just to see the game go to break before the next inning.
The nurse drew in a breath to calm herself before injecting another shot into the IV and stepping in front of the television. “You can watch the end of the game. But have another outburst, and I will sedate you.” She threatened, her voice going to one of those places that only old ladies and mothers seemed to reach.
Naiya twisted around in her bed, trying to see past the nurse as the Tokyo Tiger’s logo flashed upon the screen. “Fine, move, move.” She waved the nurse off with her free hand as the manager of the team came on the screen, a live feed showing outside of Tokyo Stadium.
“This is Hiro Yoshimura, and I am outside of beautiful Tokyo Stadium, where fans are already lining up for the first ever open tryout for the Tokyo Tiger’s baseball team. Any fan, young or old, over the age of eighteen is free to come and tryout for the team.” He motioned to the ever-growing line that seemed to stretch past him and down the side of the stadium.
(Naiya noticed how uncomfortable he had to be, the man was already overweight and wearing a suit in front of a crowd that were wearing short sleeves. Not to mention that sweat was beginning to dot his forehead, and drip down his cheek the longer he stayed out.)
“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! Come and see if you have the talent to be a part of the Tokyo Tigers!”
For many people, they would laugh: “talent” and “Tokyo Tigers” seemed to have become mutually exclusive terms. Yet, for Naiya—for one twelve-year-old girl who dreamed of baseball—it filled her with hope of something more beyond this hospital room.
“This is Li, checking in for the weekly status report. Chemotherapy is proceeding as it should,” a voice whispered from Naiya’s side. When she turned, there was nothing there: only the window, looking out from the thirtieth floor. “Nothing else to report.” The voice added, a feline touch in the voice now… almost like those talking cats on cartoons.
“Who’s there?” Naiya asked, muting the television and waiting to hear the voice again.
“Expect my next report in seven days, Li signing off.” The voice said, and a small tiger with white fur, and ice blue stripes wavered into view. Its wings fluttered in the air, and a tiny cell phone in its hands—no, its paws—disappeared in a small puff of smoke. “Great. She turned off the television.”
“Are you a ghost?” Naiya asked, reaching out with the hand that had the IV stuck in and poking the small beast.
The tiger, no bigger than a kitten, did a flip in the air in shock before fluttering down to face Naiya. “You can see me?” The beast asked, looking surprised, placing a paw on his chest. “You can see me?” He asked again his voice rising higher, now with a hint of alarm. Naiya nodded in response, peering forward at the beast. “Oh shit! Something’s wrong; something’s wrong!”
“What’s wrong?” Naiya asked.
The beast, stopping its midair pacing, turned to look her in the eye. “Humans are not supposed to see Shinigami!” The beast explained with great distress.
“Shinigami?” Naiya asked, sounding out the unfamiliar word.
The beast sighed, shaking his head. “My name is Li. I am a Shinigami—an angel of death. Your name is Naiya Koyama, and, in three months…” Li took in a long, deep breath.
“In three months, you will die.”
