Shirakawa returned to the dugout and immediately bowed at a ninety-degree angle.
"It was my fault. If I hadn't been thinking about getting on base and had just tried to hit a ground ball, I wouldn't have been doubled off."
Coach Kunimoto stepped forward and patted Shirakawa on the shoulder.
"It's a good thing that you have your own ideas. After all, you're the ones playing on the field. Although your judgment failed just now, I believe in your judgment."
Shirakawa let out a sigh of relief. As long as he wasn't being blamed, it was fine.
"However, when you make your own judgments, I hope you can do so without letting down your teammates."
Shirakawa's eyes, which had still held a trace of wishful thinking, widened at once. That was right. Carlos had trusted him so completely that he had run without even looking back. And he had betrayed Carlos's trust.
Shirakawa unconsciously clenched his fists.
"Yes!"
Coach Kunimoto raised a hand, signaling that Shirakawa could return to the field on defense.
Shirakawa grabbed his glove and ran out without looking back.
Coach Kunimoto watched Shirakawa run onto the field, concern in his eyes. Perhaps he had gone a little too far. He understood Shirakawa's mindset better than anyone—what tool would willingly accept being a tool?
But Shirakawa's role on this team was that of a utility player. Someone always had to stand in that position. It wasn't that Coach Kunimoto was heartless, but he had to consider the team before the players.
Besides, Shirakawa's strengths weren't particularly pronounced. At Inashiro, he could only be considered a middle-order batter, a little better than the lower-order batters, but not by much. If he couldn't clearly define his role, someone would replace him sooner or later, just as he had once