Behind the Mask

All's Fair in Love and Baseball

"You know what I think you should do?" Juri asked as she shoved her hand into a giant tub of buttery popcorn and shoveled a handful into her mouth.

"What?"

"You should give Rin Takahashi the middle finger and quit your job," she said, her voice muffled by the popcorn.

I sighed heavily.

Rin had suspended me for a week, until the media circus died down. He claimed it was only a way to address potential conflicts of interest and maintain the company's professional standards. There were speculations that I had tried to seduce Ken Sato for a story and Rin wanted to "uphold journalistic ethics and credibility." Honestly, I thought he had pulled those words right out of his ass.

I didn't know what was worse, the comments on social media, or being treated like a rookie.

"Say what you want about Rin, but he pays well, and I need the money," I said to Juri.

"Fuck capitalism," she replied.

I snorted.

If there was one thing being away from work gave me though, it was rest. I got to spend more time with Chiho and on evenings like this, I could attend my favorite games as a spectator and not a reporter.

The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of stadium snacks—hot dogs, popcorn, and pretzels. Juri and I were seated among the throng of fans, the metal of the bleachers cool against my legs despite the warmth of the evening. Around us, people chatted animatedly. Some clutched foam fingers and banners, while others wore jerseys proudly displaying the names of their favorite players.

I wore an old Tigers jersey I had gotten two years ago. The cotton was soft on my skin and smelled faintly of detergent. I was a huge fan of the Tigers, the baseball team I'd grown up watching just to spite my father. After college, I always went to their games whenever I could. When I started work as a sports reporter, writing articles about them and interviewing my favorite players was the icing on the cake.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and I looked up to see the teams enter the field. My gaze moved to a huge monitor above the stadium, where I could see their faces clearly. My heart skipped a beat when the camera focused on Kenji, as I knew it would.

His uniform, pristine white with bold, navy-blue accents, clung to his form. The way he moved was mesmerizing—each step purposeful, every motion fluid as he moved across the field. His dark hair was hidden underneath a helmet, but I could still see the curve of his jaw, and the sharp angle of his cheekbones.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and he flashed a crooked grin, the same one that had been haunting me since the day he showed up at my house. I knew what he looked like under that uniform. My fingers remembered the feeling of his hard muscles, his warm skin, his perfect body.

I swallowed.

"You know," Juri said. "The fact that you're supporting Kenji's rival team is kind of ironic."

"But I love the Tigers," I muttered, adjusting the glasses on my nose.

"Well, are you hoping they win today, and Kenji loses?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"That's cold, Ami."

I shrugged. "All is fair in love and baseball," I said. Maybe I could comfort Kenji after his loss.

The announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, and the players took their positions. The cheers were even louder as Kenji took his place in the batter box. He tilted his head from side to side and exchanged a few words with his opponents. His eyes narrowed as the Giants' pitcher, Tanaka wound up, his bat raised and ready.