Mash-Up: I'm Not A Substitute

"Salute!"

Removing their caps, the Aoba baseball team gave a respectful bow to Chukyo's team.

This time, Takashi didn't leave early.

Everyone had seen the state of his arm now—there was no point hiding it anymore.

More importantly, Chukyo was a tenacious, respectable team.

Since his debut at Koshien, no team had ever pushed Takashi to extra innings.

Though this was just the semifinals, Takashi felt like even the finals wouldn't be tougher than this.

To him, it felt like he'd already played the championship match.

"Thank you very much."

The crowd erupted in passionate cheers.

This match had it all—shouts, frenzy, tears, inspiration, youth, and dreams. It was the embodiment of Koshien's beauty.

Even as the players bowed to each other, the Chukyo team still looked dazed, unable to shake off the shadow of defeat.

They never thought they'd lose.

Especially after Takashi's right shoulder was dislocated—some of them had even started celebrating at halftime.

Though his tenacity to fight on with an injured arm earned their respect, in truth, they'd already stopped taking him seriously.

A healthy Takashi was terrifying, yes—but he was injured now.

Even if Takashi gritted his teeth and endured, how much longer could he really last?

Maybe one pitch. 

Maybe the next.

But in the end, the result crushed them.

That man lived up to the "Demon King" nickname they gave him—pitch after pitch, dragging them from euphoria into despair.

After such emotional highs and lows, by the end, even Chukyo's players had stopped believing they could win.

That final collapse might've looked like a coincidence, but it was really fate delivering its price.

They were given a chance to defeat Takashi—but they didn't seize it.

Missed chances come with consequences.

But… the cost was too heavy.

Kabe Keita's eyes stung. Something welled up inside him, and as he wiped his face, he realized—he was crying.

"Senpai!"

"I'm sorry!"

Everyone, including Furusu Ryota and Shiyo Koya, had red-rimmed eyes.

"Let's go."

Kabe Keita forced a twisted smile uglier than crying and turned to leave.

"Hey!"

Takashi called out to them.

Kabe Keita turned around.

And so did all the Chukyo players.

They stood on their half of the field, staring at the man who had become their nightmare.

"You're the only team that's pushed me to go all out."

"Losing to me—Japan's best—you can hold your heads high."

His voice was clear and steady, echoing into every one of their hearts.

Saying no more, Takashi turned and walked toward the player tunnel.

"Japan's best, huh…"

Kabe Keita looked up at the sun, no longer blinding overhead, and suddenly smiled.

"Losing to him... there's no shame in that."

Chukyo didn't lose to Aoba—they lost to Kitahara Takashi of Aoba.

Taking a deep breath, Kabe Keita shouted at the figure about to disappear into the tunnel:

"Takashi!"

Takashi's footsteps paused.

"Win the finals!"

"Go show us what the top of the mountain looks like!"

Takashi didn't turn around. 

He didn't answer. 

He just kept walking toward the tunnel.

That's what he came for.

Whoever blocked his way—he would crush them all.

Takashi didn't look back. Neither did any of Aoba's players.

They followed behind him, like warriors charging into certain death, yet never hesitating.

Under the cheers and gazes of more than 50,000 spectators, they disappeared into the player tunnel.

…

The moment he entered, Takashi was intercepted halfway by Narii and Hitomi.

They didn't care about his opinion and dragged him off—how outrageous.

"He's not here?"

Because she got intercepted, Nagisa ended up finding an empty locker room when she came looking for Takashi.

'Those two b*tches!'

On the surface, Nagisa thanked politely, but inside, she was already cursing.

"Where's Takashi?"

Just after she left, Momo arrived, also looking for Takashi.

Upon hearing he wasn't there, she left without even saying goodbye.

A minute later, Tsubame crept over like a thief, looking around before slipping inside the locker room and whispering:

"Hi, I'm looking for Kitahara Takashi. Can you call him out?"

Katsuta Musashi could only repeat the same thing again.

Tsubame left disappointed.

Just as Katsuta Musashi was about to shut the door again, he heard Noda Yusei mutter,

"Captain, you might as well just stand there. I feel like more people are gonna come asking about Takashi."

"They shouldn't. That's already three waves," Katsuta Musashi began to say—but before he could finish, another soft voice came from the door:

"Um… is Kitahara Takashi here?"

Katsuta Musashi: "…"

Noda Yusei wore a "See? Told you so face."

For the next half hour, Katsuta Musashi stood at the door like a receptionist, repeating, "Takashi's not here, he's been taken away," over and over again.

By the end, his lips were dry.

'Seriously? How does he manage to chat with so many girls at once? Doesn't his hand cramp from all the typing?'

…

"Ahhh! That hurts! Easy, easy!"

From the VIP room of a private hospital came a series of wails that sounded like someone being tortured.

Takashi was pinned down on a luxurious single bed by seven or eight burly men, completely immobile.

His right arm was being manipulated by a doctor in a white coat.

Well, to be precise—he was setting the dislocated joint.

After repeated dislocations and re-settings, a slight misalignment had developed in the bone.

Normally, it wouldn't have been a big deal.

But... whether the doctor's technique was lacking or something else, it hurt so much that even a battle-hardened guy like Takashi couldn't bear it.

"Enough already, can't you be quiet?"

Hearing Takashi screaming like a pig being slaughtered, Hitomi couldn't take it anymore and snapped at him.

She thought he was exaggerating for sympathy.

Takashi had done that kind of thing before.

Especially since he had just silently reconnected his dislocated arm on the field and continued playing without a word.

Now he was screaming like a dying animal over a joint adjustment?

Obviously faking.

"It really hurts!" Takashi hissed, sucking in a sharp breath. "Tch—Mister, what do you even do for a living?"

Nakano Maruo looked down at his white coat, at the arm he was working on, then back at Takashi. 

He wanted to ask: what do you think I do for a living?

But he wasn't a man of many words. Instead, he silently increased the pressure on Takashi's arm.

That's for tricking my daughter into coming all the way to Nishinomiya.

That's for being a womanizer!

That's for toying with my daughters' feelings.

Tonight, I'll let you understand the wrath of a doctor.

"AHHH!"

Takashi screamed even louder.

Wait a sec—was this guy really qualified?

Why did it hurt more the longer it went on?

Was he going to break his arm at this rate?

Should he just ask for a different technician?

Number 8 would be fine!

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