Heartstrings & Homeruns | Kenji Sato

CHAPTER 28

Chapter Twenty- Eight: The Complexity of Us

Kenji's Point of View

The morning sunlight streamed through the glass windows of the Yomiuri Giants' training facility, but it did nothing to lighten the weight pressing on my chest. Practice was in full swing, the sound of bats cracking and balls hitting gloves filling the air, but I couldn't focus.

My mind was consumed by Asami—her voice, her tears, the way she had looked at me when she told me to leave.

I'd barely slept since that night, the memory replaying in my head over and over. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had failed her, that I hadn't done enough to prove that I was willing to stand by her no matter what.

"Kenji, you with us?" Coach Shimura's sharp voice cut through my thoughts, and I turned to see him glaring at me from the dugout.

"Yes, Coach," I said quickly, grabbing my glove and jogging over to join the team.

Shimura didn't say anything else, but his gaze lingered on me for a moment too long. I knew he could sense something was off, but I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of asking.

The drills dragged on, each movement mechanical and devoid of energy. By the time practice ended, I was exhausted—not from the physical strain but from the mental battle raging inside me.

As I headed to the locker room, Shota fell into step beside me, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You look like crap," he said cheerfully.

"Thanks for the observation," I muttered, yanking open my locker.

"Let me guess. Girl trouble?" Shota leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

I shot him a warning look, but he only grinned wider.

"Come on, Kenji. You're not exactly subtle. Everyone's been talking about the photos."

"I don't want to talk about it," I slammed my locker shut, the sound echoing through the room.

"Fair enough," Shota said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But if you ask me, you're going about this all wrong."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I turned to him, narrowing my eyes.

He shrugged. "You're sitting here sulking when you should be out there doing something to sort this out. Actions speak louder than words, right?"

His words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I hated that he was right.

"Mind your own business, Shota," I said, grabbing my bag and heading for the exit.

But his words stayed with me as I drove home. Actions speak louder than words.

I pulled into my driveway, the familiar sight of my house doing little to ease the tension in my chest. As I sat in the car, gripping the steering wheel, an idea began to take shape.

If Asami was afraid of the media, of the damage our relationship might do to her reputation, then I need to do everything in my power to protect her.

Even if it meant taking a risk.

Asami's Point of View

Kenji was avoiding me.

It had started subtly—averted eyes during practice, quick nods of acknowledgment when we crossed paths, and barely a word exchanged when he came to the therapy room. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but after a week of near silence, there was no denying it.