"Why are your hands shaking?" Ozawa asked Sendou, who was eating.
"I don't want them to!
Sunglasses Uncle has been giving me hell lately!" Sendou replied helplessly.
"Sunglasses Un—oh! Your coach!
But you're as bold as ever!"
"What do you mean, 'as ever'?"
"Nothing!
So tell me, how has he been 'giving you hell'?"
"No!"
"Then what about your Practice Match schedule?
If the opponents are any good, I might have time to come watch. Seeing how weak you look, maybe I'll get to watch you embarrass yourself!" Ozawa looked at Sendou with a smile.
"Didn't you say we weren't talking about baseball?"
"My life has basically revolved around baseball. If I don't talk about baseball, I suddenly have no idea what to say!
What, should I talk to you about how to pick cosmetics, clothes, or underwear?" Ozawa grinned wickedly at the end.
She had obviously been led astray by the bastard in front of her...
Sendou didn't dare say anything reckless to her face, afraid his skull wouldn't survive. But over the phone...
Sendou looked at Ozawa's figure and fell into thought...
He wasn't fantasizing about anything strange. He was imagining the rows of muscles beneath her clothes...
She might have been a woman, but she was still a professional!
And a pitcher, at that—a position that demanded explosive power...
"You actually buy cosmetics? Wait, you actually wear makeup?" Sendou wisely skirted around the underwear question and started poking fun at something irrelevant.
He had to tease her...
"I don't buy them, and I don't wear makeup. I don't even know how," Ozawa admitted openly.
That's so cool, Sendou thought.
At that moment, Ozawa slightly extended her hand. Sendou sprang up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on and instantly hid behind the chair he had