The storm and the shield- "the bat and the net" sequel

The meeting was held in the old practice gym — the one with bad ventilation and a dent in the wall from Albatross's ill-fated attempt to dive-catch a medicine ball.

Lippman didn't come. Neither did Doc. Hirotsu set up the folding chairs and left.

So it was just the players, sitting in a crooked semicircle, pretending it wasn't weird that there were five empty seats and that no one knew if the guys who used to sit there were coming back.

Chuuya sat at the far end. Arms crossed. Back straight. Not talking.
His hoodie sleeves were shoved halfway up his forearms. His right knee bounced without rhythm.

"I just think we should be honest," Dazai said, scanning the group. "People are nervous. The nationals are in seven days, and the core lineup's falling apart."

Mori nodded, arms crossed over his clipboard. "This isn't a form slump. This is surgical."

No one said Verlaine's name.
They didn't need to.

Adam arrived ten minutes late and didn't apologize. Just stood in the doorway with that quiet, unimpressed face of his and a tablet in his hand.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, unconvincingly. "I have information."

"New recruits?" Chuuya asked, dry.

Adam looked straight at Chuuya.

"Targets," he said. "Verlaine's not done."

He stepped forward, placed the tablet on the table, and tapped to zoom. A list of names. Familiar ones.

Chuuya's breath caught halfway up his throat when he saw the last one:
Shirase Kōta.
No team affiliation. Currently listed under local maintenance staff.

"...You've got to be kidding," Chuuya muttered.

"You know him?" Adam asked.

Chuuya's jaw clenched. "He used to be in the Sheep."

"The what?"

"My old baseball team. He was second baseman. Impulsive. Sharp hands. Could catch a bullet." He paused. "We haven't talked since I left."

Adam tilted his head. "Left?"

"Was blackmailed into volleyball. Different story." Dazai mutters to Adam.

Chuuya found Shirase near the back entrance of the middle school where he was working now — mop in one hand, earbud in the other, and a face like he was ready to throw a punch before anyone spoke.

He looked older than Chuuya remembered. Not in age — just in the way people look when they've been waiting too long for someone to come back.

"Didn't think I'd see you," Shirase said, without looking up.

"Didn't think I'd need to warn you about French volleyball psychos, so here we are," Chuuya shot back.

That got half a smile. But only half. Shirase probably was thinking that Chuuya had lost his mind or just had invented a story to make him betray baseball too.

"I'm fine," Shirase said. "I don't need your help. Period."

"Verlaine's been cutting off people around me. He's gonna come to you next. I'm just trying to keep you safe."

"Now you care?" Shirase turned. "You left, Chuuya. One day we're prepping for regionals, next you're gone. No texts. No explanation. Then you show up in headlines."

"I didn't leave," Chuuya said. "I was forced into something else."

"Sure. But you stayed there." Shirase spit out with hate.