The Captain

His real name was Sa Eh-joon, but the others on the baseball team called him Eijun, the Japanese rendition of the name he had been born with. Even his parents called him Eijun. Not Eh-joon. Perhaps they were proud for him that he had been accepted into the team. He was the only non-Japanese in it, after all. Or maybe they were simply scared.

His neighbors on the other hand were less proud, less scared. They called him a mutt and a coward. A Japanese-wannabe cowardly mutt. They called him many things. But while it was a small phonetic difference between 'Eh-joon' and 'Eijun,' they never called him 'Eijun.'

He had been born as Eh-joon, but he was known as Eijun on the mound. He had two names, but he was one person. An object can have only one name. So what was his name, then? Was he Eh-joon or Eijun? He didn't know.

The Japanese imperial officer who'd started the baseball team was named Miyuki Kazuya, and he called him Eijun.

The whole town had been taken aback when the Japanese officer in charge of the police station suddenly died. The whispered rumors were that he'd died of food poisoning, and in the week following his death, green-uniformed Japanese officers combed the town in search of the culprit. It was a grim and fearful week, but eventually, they managed to pin the crime on one of the farmers who delivered potatoes to the station. They publicly executed him in the town square, lopping off his head. Thankfully, the executioner was a talented swordsman of the great imperial Japanese army, so the poor farmer died in an instant. Probably, anyways. They scrubbed and washed the bloody area with cold water afterwards, leaving nothing behind.

After that, things settled down, and a few weeks later, the recently decorated Captain Miyuki Kazuya arrived to take over the position.

It seemed astounding at first that such a young man could have achieved such a high position. He must be the youngest officer to have achieved such a high rank, said his neighbors.

To Eijun, however, it seemed like a punishment. After all, who would want to be sent away to a dead-end post in some random backwater town?

Several months after the farmer's execution, Eijun was playing catch with his friends after school, when they suddenly froze. Their faces turned pale as they looked at something behind him, and when he turned around with an impatient retort at the tip of his tongue, he saw Captain Miyuki watching them from the gate.

"You there," said the captain in Japanese. He was dressed in the crisp white uniform of an officer, with epaulettes on his shoulders and the patches and medals on his chest denoting his elevated rank. He pointed a straight finger at Eijun, who blanched. "What's your name?"

Eijun knew Japanese, of course. They all did. They spoke Korean at home, but they were taught Japanese in school, and by law, all the signs in their town were in both Japanese and Korean.

"Sa Eh-joon, sir," he mumbled, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. He didn't look away from the officer's gaze because it would seem as if he weren't paying attention. But at the same time, meeting his eyes would be taken as being insolent, so after a moment's panic, he fixed his eyes on the man's chin. Eijun wracked his brain, trying desperately to figure out if he'd done anything to incur his wrath. The way the farmer's head had rolled across the ground flashed through his mind.

What the captain asked him, however, was the last thing that he had been expecting.

"Have you ever played baseball?"

"Y-yes, sir," he said, trying unsuccessfully to hide the tremor in his voice.

Eijun had heard the rumors, of course. Seen some of it for himself, even. Rumors about how cruel and sadistic the Japanese were. How like beasts they were. Mr. Kim who used to live two doors down, had said that his niece had signed a contract, thinking that she would be working in a company in Japan. But instead, she'd found herself locked away in a military brothel, where she was violated by Japanese soldiers every day.

Mr. Kim disappeared a few weeks after that. The official story was that he'd run away from his gambling debts, but Mrs. Park from the drug store muttered that he was probably being experimented on in some secret Japanese military lab.

"I've got a baseball team," said the captain. "And I've been looking for an interesting new pitcher. Come to the field behind the police station tomorrow after you get out of school." He said all this with the manner of those who were used to their commands being unquestioningly carried out to the letter.

"Yes sir," Eijun squeaked. The captain smiled then, and his mind immediately went into overdrive with visions of his being strapped down onto a hospital bed, as a sparking, spinning rusty metal saw came down at his stomach.

Whirrrr!

As Eijun found out the next day, the field was a rough dirt lot that had bases painted in white at each corner. It hadn't been there until Captain Miyuki's arrival at their town.

When Eijun showed up, he was sweating profusely. His teacher had let them out later than usual, and he'd run all the way as fast as his legs could carry him. Eijun wondered if he wasn't running to his death, but he figured that if he were going to die, it'd be better to get it over with.

However, what awaited him at the field was not an executioner with a gleaming sword or a doctor in a blood-stained lab coat. Instead, there were at least a dozen other men there, including the decorated captain Miyuki himself. Some of them were police officers, and others were civilians. But they were all young and Japanese.

They turned in unison to look at Eijun, and he cringed, feeling as if his stomach would drop out through his bottom.

"A Korean?" said a rather vicious-looking one with slicked back hair. "You sure about this, captain?" His name was Kuramochi, Eijun would later learn, and he had a tongue as sharp as his appearance.

"He's our replacement pitcher," said the captain, his eyes gleaming. Eijun noticed that he was wearing some kind of strange visor, and a white baseball uniform instead of his usual military one. "His velocity is at about Jun's level, but he's got an interesting way of throwing. He'll do, until Furuya's wrist gets better."

"What's your name?" asked another boy gently. He was probably the one closest to Eijun in age, though it was hard to judge with half his face covered with hair. His name was Kominato Haruichi, and he would later tell Eijun that he had followed his older enlisted brother (who was also a member of the team) to Korea.

"Eh-joon," he said hesitantly. He hoped they wouldn't ask him for his last name; dimly, he thought that even if he were killed, at the very least, he could protect his parents.

"Eijun?" the other boy repeated, blinking, having misheard him. Eijun opened his mouth to correct him, but the captain let out a sudden laugh.

"Eijun," said Captain Miyuki, with a smile. "That's good. That'll be your name here, while you're our pitcher."

Eijun didn't know what to say. There had been concerned talk among the adults about how a decree might be passed soon forcing Koreans to adopt Japanese surnames, but he'd given it a bare moment's thought. Now, with a single passing remark, the captain had given him the name 'Eijun.' But the captain was a ranked officer used to getting his way, and Eijun was just a random schoolboy he'd picked up at a whim. The captain was Japanese and Eijun was not, and that was all the difference in the world.

When Eijun first went up on the mound, he was – perhaps understandably – terrified. He knew for a fact that his pitches were difficult to time. He'd always had to hold back against his friends. What would these batters do to him if he jammed them – or even worse, struck them out?

A metal saw whirred in the back of his mind as he looked back at the first batter, Kuramochi. He gulped. The vicious-looking man still didn't look convinced about him, a withering glare in his eyes. His heart beating faster, Eijun looked down. It was a mistake, for he then met the captain's eyes. He'd found out to his surprise that Captain Miyuki actually played with them as a catcher. It was not exactly reassuring, knowing that a man who could kill him at a whim was catching for him.

Gramps, he thought to himself. How are you doing in the afterlife? I'm playing baseball with a Japanese imperial officer. He's a captain. Was it a captain who killed you in battle?

Eijun threw the first pitch, and Kuramochi swung. With a crack!, the white ball flew through the air, going straight past the second baseman's glove and making it a base hit. Kuramochi meanwhile threw aside the bat and raced to first base. Eijun's eyes widened at the sight. His legs were a blur. He'd never seen anyone run so fast before in his life.

"Safe!" said the umpire, and those who were watching from the bench let out an amused titter.

The next batter was Kominato Ryōsuke, Haruichi's older brother. He was a man with what seemed like a permanent smile on his face. His kind were the scariest among Japanese officers, in Eijun's experience. They were the ones you had to watch out for the most, for you could never know what they wanted to hear.

Goosebumps rising on his skin, Eijun threw, and the bat cracked against the ball again, sending it flying all the way to the outfield. Kominato Ryōsuke slid easily to first and Kuramochi advanced to second.

The following batter, a brutal-looking man with a small beard, let out a roar with a swing of his bat, and Kuramochi made it to home base. The other team burst into cheers.

Suddenly, the captain pulled his arm back and threw the ball blazingly hard at Eijun. His eyes widening, he barely managed to catch it in his mitt, wincing at the force behind it. Expressionless, the captain stood up and walked to the mound. The others on their team also joined him.

"You can't switch pitchers, captain!" one of the members of the other team hollered at them gleefully. "You're the one who brought him!"

"Captain," said one of the young police officers nervously. His name was Kanemaru and he was the third baseman for their team.

"Do you know who I am?" said the captain to Eijun, ignoring the others.

"Yes sir," Eijun said, his life flashing before his eyes. "Captain Miyuki."

"Why are you holding back and throwing such weak pitches?" he demanded, and Eijun gulped.

"I'm - I'm not a very good pitcher," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Did you know that lying to an officer of the Japanese Imperial Army is a capital offence?" said the captain.

"Yes sir," Eijun squeaked.

Whirrr!, the saw buzzed.

"No more holding back now," he said warningly. Then motioning to the others to return to their positions, he put back on his catcher's mask.

The next hitter hit another single, bringing a runner home, but Eijun retired in quick succession the next third batters.

"Better," said the captain, thumping Eijun on the back as they returned to the bench to change equipment. Eijun froze momentarily at the touch, wondering for a second whether a blade wasn't sticking out of his back now.

The game progressed, and their team was in the lead when the captain ended it at the bottom of the seventh inning.

"Duty calls," he explained, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the police station.

"I can't see his arm when he throws," complained one of the batters for the other team, a square-faced man named Sakai. He put down his bat. "It's not fair."

"Yūki had no trouble hitting them," said the captain, switching his strange visor for a pair of glasses. "So quit complaining."

"That's not a fair comparison," someone else grumbled.

As Eijun hung around anxiously at the edge of the pack, wondering what to do, he heard someone approach him. His heart sunk when he saw that it was Kuramochi; after that first at bat, Eijun had never let him on base again, and he wondered whether he was back for revenge.

But instead, the mean-faced man said, "Eijun was it? You're not a half-bad pitcher." Taken aback, Eijun looked around, wondering if the man had been talking to someone else. "I'm talking to you, idiot."

"Yes sir," he said, not knowing what else to say.

Kuramochi let out a snorting sound, and from in front of them, the captain let out an amused laugh.

The news that Eijun was now the pitcher for the baseball team spread like wildfire through the town. At first, they were merely curious and wondering.

"What are they like?" his classmates asked, crowding around him at school.

"Are they like us?" his parents asked.

"Shirking their duties and playing baseball," muttered Mrs. Park from the drugstore.

"Some of them could probably be cleanup batters in the pro league. There's one who could be an Olympian runner. And another one has the loudest roar I've ever heard. They're all scary," Eijun reported dutifully, feeling like a spy infiltrating an enemy's ranks. That was probably what the others considered him at the beginning.

At his words, they gave each other uneasy looks.

"So they're that different from us, huh?"

Eijun couldn't say.

As time passed, his life fell into a strange pattern.

In the morning and during school, he was still Eh-joon. He ate rice and pickled radish at home and then walked to school, where he alternatively looked out the window or slept on his desk in class. He'd used to stay after school to play catch with his friends or go back home and help his parents out on the fields, but now, he ran to the baseball field in the more modern part of the town, where he became Eijun and pitched to a group of Japanese batters.

In many ways, Eijun felt like he was suspended somewhere in between two different worlds. How long would this strange divide last?

The others on the team had long since stopped grumbling about his being on the team. Even when their other pitcher returned, Captain Miyuki told Eijun matter-of-factly that he expected to see him back on the field the next day.

The pitcher was a man named Furuya who threw the fastest and scariest pitches he'd ever seen in his life – another monster among them – and he had been out of commission for a month due to a fractured wrist.

Eijun didn't know how he felt on the mound. At first, he'd been terrified, of course, the metal saw never far from his mind. He'd ran to the baseball field because he'd been scared of what the captain would do to him if he were late.

But lately, he wondered if the pounding in his chest wasn't just from fear, but from something else. He wondered if the reason why he ran quickly – so quickly in fact, that his reflection on the surface of the rice paddies blurred – wasn't out of a desire to get death over with. Maybe it was something else.

"Nice ball," said the captain, throwing the ball back to him.

"Stop grinning," Kuramochi snapped, waving the bat threateningly at Eijun. The first time he had done this, Eijun immediately froze in place, thinking that his time had come. But nothing happened beside Kuramochi marching off the field.

At his next at bat, he hit a single off of Eijun and then stole two more bases.

The captain was the only one on the team who could consistently catch Eijun's pitches, so as a result, they were always paired together as a battery.

At first, once they'd learned each others' signs, they hadn't talked much. Eijun was a scared high school boy and Captain Miyuki was a celebrated imperial officer. The captain was Japanese and Eijun wasn't, and that was enough of a difference for them not to talk. The captain gave him signs, and Eijun threw for a seven-inning game, and then they each went their separate way. The captain, to the police station. Eijun, to his run-down home at the outskirts of the town.

The first time the captain asked him a question, it was oddly enough about his school.

"What do you learn at school?" he asked one summer day, as they took off their equipment at the bench. It was evening time, but the sun was still high in the sky. Eijun was wondering whether he had enough daylight to drop by the market square before going home, so he answered without thinking.

"Wha?" Eijun said. Captain Miyuki raised an eyebrow at him, and as he suddenly realized what he had just said, he grew pale. The saw buzzed threateningly in his head for the first time in a while. In a weak voice, he tried to fix the damage. "I - I...what do you mean, captain?"

"What are they teaching you at school?"

"Math," he stammered out. "Science. History. Japanese. And...and literature..."

"History? Japanese history?"

"Y-yes sir," said Eijun. "Mostly."

"Hm," the captain smiled. "What do you know about the Japanese empire?"

"It...it's the greatest empire in the world, ruled by his Majesty the Emperor," he answered hastily.

"Very good," said the captain, and with a flash of teeth, he removed his visor for his glasses. He turned away, and Eijun knew that he was dismissed.

It was only after the police station disappeared from view that he allowed himself to relax, slumping against the wall of a building in relief, his heart pounding furiously in his ears.

At this rate, Eijun thought to himself, his heart was going to give out before he'd even turned twenty.

Nevertheless, for a time, there was peace in the town. Things had settled down since the young captain's appointment there. Though there were some grumbling complaints about Captain Miyuki spending too much time playing baseball and not taking care of his duties, people were in actuality relieved to be left alone.

Things may very well have continued to go on in this way, if a piece of official paper had not suddenly appeared on the town square post, declaring the arrest and imminent execution of Mrs. Park from the drugstore for the crime of being a sympathizer of the Korean independence movement.

Summer was ending and the days had been growing colder and shorter when she was publicly executed by firing squad at the town center. Perhaps the cleaning squad lingered too long before cleaning, or perhaps the blood stained better on cold ground. Or perhaps it was Mrs. Park's last grudging gift to the world.

But even after they'd scrubbed at it with water and soap, a dull, ugly reddish stain remained.

Eijun was there when it happened. He was there to see the woman struggle against her bindings in her last moments. Saw the way the muzzles of the rifles pointed at her gleamed. He was in the same class as her eldest son. He'd used to go over sometimes to buy pain relief patches for his parents. He listened patiently to her grumbling, so she had always slipped an extra patch into the bag.

The captain himself gave the order for the officers to fire, his white uniform almost blindingly bright under the sun.

The next day after school at the baseball field, he smiled proudly at Eijun, telling him, "nice ball."

A week after Mrs. Park was killed, Eijun found himself surrounded by some of his classmates during lunchtime. At the forefront was Mrs. Park's eldest son.

They asked no questions. It was purely physical. Their faces were twisted sullenly, their jaws clenched. Knuckles were cracked. Eijun felt his nose crack.

Mrs. Park's eldest son was crying when he punched Eijun, and he would have cried too, but he held it back for their sake.

When classes resumed, the teachers avoided looking at his bloodied-up face. His swollen nose wouldn't stop bleeding no matter which way he tilted his head, so after a while, Eijun gave up and left.

He couldn't go back home looking like that, so after some deliberation, he began heading for the public bath, thinking he could bury his face in a wet towel and wait for the swelling to go down. But the public bath was on the other side of town, and just as he passed by the front of the police station, the doors opened and the captain himself stepped out with a ruminating look on his face.

His heart pounding, Eijun immediately began to pick up his pace, but that was the wrong move, as it caught the captain's attention. He looked up, and at first, his eyes slid easily past Eijun's face, clearly not recognizing him – but suddenly, he came to a stop, his gaze refocusing.

"What...?" said Captain Miyuki, looking taken aback. "Eijun? What happened to you?"

"I ran into a door," Eijun lied, hanging his head and trying to look ashamed. It wasn't hard.

"You ran into a door," the captain said slowly.

"Yes sir."

For a moment, he regarded Eijun with an unreadable expression, his mouth thinning. It was clear he didn't believe him.

"I told this to you on the first day," he finally said, "that lying to an officer of the Japanese Imperial Army is a capital offence."

"Yes sir."

The captain gave him a sharp look – and then let out a sigh.

"Come with me," he said, and he took Eijun to the doctor to get stitches.

As the sharp needle pulled painfully through his broken skin, tears came to his eyes, and he sobbed.

To Eijun's apprehension, the captain started paying closer attention to him after that. Eijun showed up several more times at the field with bruises and cuts on his face. Soon, even the others on the team took notice.

"Are you...okay, Eijun?" Haruichi asked him concernedly.

"I tripped down the stairs," said Eijun, grinning (with his front tooth missing).

"Either you're clumsy, or doors and stairs really love you," the captain remarked dryly.

"I'm going through a growth phase, so I've been running into things," he insisted.

"You must be growing in unmentionable places then, because you look like the exact same height to me," Kuramochi said leeringly, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"I have, actually. Thanks for noticing, I didn't realize you were paying such close attention," said Eijun with a straight face. The others laughed as Kuramochi's face twisted into a scowl.

"It's going to be winter soon," said the captain, his laugh fading into the wind as he looked up at the grey sky.

When it got too cold to play baseball, Captain Miyuki told Eijun that he didn't have to come again until the next year.

This would have relieved him just a few months ago, but for some reason, Eijun felt his heart sink at the news.

"Yes sir," he said obediently, carefully making his face blank.

"Have a happy new year," Haruichi cheerfully called out. The others nodded and waved at him, and Kuramochi gave him a playful kick on the back of his legs.

The way back home was long, and he felt ashamed.

For the most part, once winter break had started, Eijun stayed home. His parents understood and left him alone. They said nothing to him, but he could tell from their withdrawn and worn out faces that they were also likely suffering the consequences. His father trudged out to the marketplace in the morning with his hitched wagon overflowing with grain, and came back at night with it just as full.

They ate a lot of rice that winter.

When his father collapsed from exhaustion at the start of the new year, Eijun knew that they were in trouble. Thankfully, one of his parents' remaining friends worked as the head editor of the local town newspaper, and he offered Eijun a job as a delivery boy. He would hand out the paper at the crack of dawn, when there was barely anyone walking the streets, so it was the perfect job for him.

Happy to finally be able to stretch his legs, Eijun eagerly took to the job. He didn't have a bike, but the town was not very big, so he ran every morning, carrying the stacks of newspapers in a knapsack on his back. It was cold, hard work, but he was usually sufficiently warmed up halfway through.

The captain would be proud if he saw me, he thought wryly to himself.

Eijun came to hate snowy days. He'd used to look forward to it when he was younger because it meant snowball fights, and school was closed if it happened during the semester. But now, it meant the ground was extra icy, and his hands grew so numb he feared he would get frostbite. And then they'd really have to saw off his hands.

It was on one such snowy day that, just as he'd thrown a newspaper over the walls of a house, a pair of hands suddenly lunged out from behind him. They were large and hairy, clamping over his nose and mouth, and for a second, Eijun's senses deserted him, as he wondered what was going on. Then the hands tightened around his face, and as he realized that he couldn't breathe, his senses returned. He immediately began to struggle wildly.

I don't want to die!, he screamed silently, clawing and trying to bite at the hands. But they didn't let go. Oxygen-deprived, he could feel himself losing consciousness. His lungs were screaming at him. His head and heart pounded in his ears.

Just before Eijun thought he would explode, there was a grunting sound. The hands holding his face tightly slackened. Eijun fell to his knees, coughing, crying, the cold brutal oxygen sucking painfully into his lungs.

When he'd finally calmed down, he turned to see his assailant lying very still on the ground. His face was hidden from him. The area around his neck was bright red, standing out sharply from the gathered white snow.

Standing beside the body was the captain, looking down at him very quietly. His blade was drawn, its end sticky with blood.

"Can you get up on your own?" said the captain. Eijun mutely nodded. "Very well." He returned the blade to its sheath and left.

Eijun shakily got to his feet. He hesitated. He didn't want to see it. But nevertheless, he limped over and turned over his assailant's head to look at his face.

He was one of the men that Eijun had seen every now and then at the marketplace when he tagged along with his parents. They had never talked before, and for that one little mercy, Eijun felt grateful.

He delivered the rest of the morning newspapers before going back home.

Several days later, Eijun was still huddled in a futon when his mother suddenly slid open his room's door with an uncertain look on her face.

"Eijun," she said. "The...the captain is here to see you."

Eijun shot to his feet, his eyes widening. But before he could even take a step, the door slid further open to reveal Captain Miyuki himself. For the first time, Eijun noticed, he wasn't wearing either the officer's uniform or the baseball uniform. He was dressed soberly in a grey, unassuming suit.

The captain's eyes raked over his room before coming to a rest on his figure, and Eijun felt his cheeks go warm, knowing what a sight he must make. He hadn't washed in several days and his hair was mussed, his clothes wrinkled and threadbare. His room too was a mess, and if he sniffed, he thought he could smell mold. The captain on the other hand, made a striking figure even in a civilian suit, all sharp angles and cuts.

"Could you spare me an hour of your time, Eijun?" Captain Miyuki asked him, and he stammered out a yes. Pausing to hurriedly put on a jacket and a scarf, he followed the man outside his house.

It was snowing outside again. It fell slowly, covering the empty paddies around his house in white. For several minutes, they steadily walked in silence on one of the paths that led through the field.

"I am going to be re-assigned soon," the captain suddenly said. "To the frontlines in China."

"Yes, captain," said Eijun, wondering why he was being told this.

"I came here to tell you a story," he said, as if reading Eijun's thoughts. "But before I tell you it, I have a favor to ask of you."

"A favor, sir?"

"A request."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Here it is, then: I want you to give me your complete honest opinion on the man whose story I am about to tell you. How does that sound?"

"Y...yes sir," said Eijun hesitantly.

"Right," said the captain, nodding. "Then here it is."

The man I am speaking of was the second son of a prominent family in Japan. He grew up without lacking for anything. Money, education, social status...the entire world lay bare at his feet. He was intelligent and quick on his feet, and he was the most popular boy in school. Girls fawned over him. Boys clustered around him, seeking his attention. Teachers adored him. You know the usual tripe.

The only person who could objectively be compared with him and come out on top – at least in this man's point of view – was his older brother. He was only a year older than this man, but somehow, he was always several steps ahead. At the same time the man thought of building a bridge, this man's brother would already be hammering the last nail into the finished bridge. But unlike this man, the man's brother cared little about money or social status. He could easily have beaten out the man to be the most popular boy in school, but he had little interest in such things.

The brothers got along, regardless, but they had very few things in common. The one thing they had in common, in fact, was their mutual love for baseball. They even played the same position – catcher. They each formed their own baseball teams and often played games with one another.

After some time, however, the man grew frustrated. It seemed that no matter how hard he and his team trained, they could never beat his brother's team. It seemed that his brother was simply more talented than him as a catcher, and was able to out-read anything he tried. But nevertheless, the man loved his brother too much to hate him for this.

Upon graduating high school, both brothers joined the imperial army, following in their father's footsteps. They were both immediately recognized, both for their social status and for their talents, and were rapidly promoted to a commanding officer's position.

Along with their units, they were both assigned to a foreign post alongside a celebrated colonel, when something terrible happened. A band of rebels that had been acting as a menace in that region was caught and brought in for questioning.

Torture wasn't working, however. They were tough men and women. They didn't make a single noise when their fingernails were ripped out. The toughest of them was a woman, maybe in her thirties. She was a proud one. When they pressed a molten metal cylinder against her foot, she asked them if they could get her a glass of water because it was starting to get hot.

So finally, they brought in some of the children that they'd found at the rebels' hideout. They threatened to kill the children in front of the rebels if they didn't talk. They grew pale then, but their mouths remained resolutely stiff.

"Kill one," said the colonel, nodding at the man's brother. The brother grew very still.

"I can't, sir," he replied.

"That's an order from your superior officer, lieutenant," said the colonel warningly.

"I can't, sir," said the man's brother.

"That's an order."

"I can't, sir."

The colonel grew very quiet. He suddenly reached for the blade in his sheath, and drew it in a single movement. He pointed it at the man's brother, who also grew pale but didn't move. Everyone in the room froze and watched them. Even the children.

The man then drew his own blade, and stabbed it through the heart of the nearest child. A young girl with short black hair and freckles. She fell to the ground, and the rebel woman, the toughest one of them all, fainted at the sight.

This satisfied the colonel, and he returned his sword to his side.

"Very good, lieutenant," he praised him. "I'll be sure to put in a good word for you at the capital."

And he was true to his word. He put in a good word for the man, embellishing his actions in battle, and he was promoted to the rank of captain. At his request, they even gave him a short vacation, letting him stay at a small, peaceful backwater place, away from the heat of battle, for some time.

"And that's the story," said the captain, ending his tale abruptly. He stopped walking, his hands folded behind him as he looked out at the white field. "Now, I have a question for you. Did the man kill the child because he loved his brother? Or did he kill the child because it was the one time he would be able to outshine his brother?"

Eijun hesitated, before answering, "I think only the man himself could know that."

"Very good," said the captain, his face twisting into a wry smile. "Very good. Now here's the real question. What is your opinion on this man?"

For a while, Eijun didn't answer. He looked down at his feet instead, thinking.

Thinking.

He looked up, and saw that the captain was looking back at Eijun with a fierce expression on his face. It was the usual look he wore, but for the first time, Eijun thought he could sense something brittle like glass lurking beneath.

I could shatter him with a single blow, Eijun thought to himself in wonder. With a single word. Like the way he said 'fire!'

He opened his mouth – and then closed it.

Gleaming rifles. Gleaming needles. Gleaming swords.

How had they come to this moment? How did he hold such power over the captain? How did the captain hold such power over him?

"I think he must still be playing baseball in whatever backwater place he ended up in," Eijun finally said.

The captain's mouth dropped open. He blinked at him. And then rearing his head back, he let out a roar of laughter. The moment was broken, then. The fragility was completely gone again. He was all sharp angles and cuts again. With a smile back on his face, Captain Miyuki thumped Eijun on the back.

"We'll play baseball together again, one day," he said lightly. "We made a good battery, partner."

The snow was starting to pick up, so they walked back to Eijun's house in silence. The captain left soon afterward, his grey back fading into the white horizon, and Eijun never saw him again.

Captain Miyuki was replaced by an older man with a beer belly who barked orders and never stepped foot on the field behind the station. The ragtag baseball team scattered, and many of the younger officers returned to Japan or were sent to another post.

Time passed, and memories faded. The red stain on the floor of the town center was covered up with paint. The beatings at school stopped. His father recovered, and life returned to something that could have passed as normal.

Eijun wondered every now and then where the captain could have gone.

News trickled in of the Japanese army's conquests abroad. Hundreds of thousands of innocent Chinese were slaughtered in the Nanking massacre, people said. Maybe even millions. Men, women, and children alike hacked to pieces by Japanese soldiers. Men, women, and children alike raped on their own doorsteps by Japanese soldiers.

Some of those soldiers must have loved baseball too. They must have played baseball on a baseball diamond. Maybe even as a catcher, or as a pitcher. How could men who loved baseball kill someone?

But it did happen, and Eijun wondered if Miyuki Kazuya was among them.

"We'll play baseball together again, one day."

He visited the field every now and then, though it was getting harder to move around freely nowadays. It seemed that the war effort abroad wasn't going as well, for they'd clamped down on their rule and had started to actually enforce the laws. He'd recently had to start working at the factory, helping add to the belching smokestacks as they churned out supplies for the army. His whole body hurt.

The field was slowly disappearing, being taken over by weeds. One day, it would be completely gone.