I reincarnated as Isashiki Jun little sister

by KawaiiGoddess22

Summary:

You were just a lazy, sarcastic adult stuck in retail hell—until a sudden accident landed you in the world of Ace of Diamond, reincarnated as Isashiki Jun’s little sister. He’s intense, baseball-obsessed, and now your problem. You, on the other hand? You’d rather nap than deal with high school drama or sports. But when you're dragged into team chaos, emotional curveballs, and a brother who actually gives a damn, your laid-back life might just get... complicated. Welcome to a world where baseball meets blunt honesty—and tea breaks.

Notes:

Welcome galaxies to another story/fanfic from the series Life Reset: Adventures in anime realms. The story standalone off course but anyways I'm not following the manga or the anime this is just made up that I just come up with in my head. Enjoy readers being a little sister to Isashiki Jun.

Go check out my other fanfic

Have a good day/night

Peace out ✌

Chapter 1

Let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t ask for this.

One moment, I was walking home from my retail hellhole of a job, thinking about the instant noodles waiting for me and whether I’d have enough energy to rewatch Mob Psycho 100 for the third time. The next? Bam. Truck-kun.

That’s right. The infamous isekai vehicle finally got me.

I remember lying on the pavement, the cold seeping into my back, staring up at the fading sunset and thinking: Well, at least I won’t have to show up for my 7 a.m. shift anymore. Not the most poetic last thought, but I was tired, okay?

Then I woke up… in a crib.

A literal. Freaking. Crib.

 

Turns out, the universe decided to reboot me as a baby in the world of Ace of Diamond. Yeah, the baseball anime. Don’t ask how I know that. Just know that I spent a solid 30 minutes screaming into a tiny baby pillow the first time I saw a younger version of Isashiki Jun yelling at someone for slacking off during practice.

Now, fast forward fourteen-ish years, and here I am. Officially Isashiki Jun’s younger sister. Name? Isashiki (Y/N). Personality? Still sarcastic. Still lazy. Still completely disinterested in the high-energy, sweat-drenched fever dream that is high school baseball.

My brother, unfortunately, is the complete opposite of me. Passionate. Loud. Hardworking. Extremely allergic to nonsense. And for some cruel, cosmic reason, he insists on dragging me into the baseball club’s mess every chance he gets.

Like right now.

“Oi, (Y/N)!” Jun’s voice rang from downstairs, laced with the familiar edge of exasperation. “We’re going to Seidou. You’re coming.”

“No,” I said from my spot on the couch, unmoving, blanket pulled up to my chin. “I’m extremely busy.”

“Doing what? Being horizontal?”

“It’s a full-time job, and I’m very committed.”

“Coach Kataoka needs someone to help sort the clubroom. You’re good at organizing stuff.”

I peeked over the blanket with the energy of a cat forced into a bath. “Translation: no one else wants to do it, and you’re trying to outsource the pain onto your innocent little sister.”

Jun’s eye twitched. “You’re not innocent.”

I sat up slowly, stretching like a spoiled cat. “True. I’m a menace. But a harmless one. Can’t I just stay here and spiritually support you from afar?”

“No.”

“Cruel,” I muttered, dragging myself off the couch like a tragic heroine in a melodrama. “Truly heartless.”

Five minutes later, I was being marched toward Seidou High with my baseball maniac brother, my hoodie pulled over my head like a gremlin evading sunlight. I made a mental note to haunt whoever reincarnated me here. Maybe leave some petty ghost crumbs in their bed every night.

 

As we walked through the school gates, a familiar voice called out, “Yo, Jun! You brought your sister again? You forcing her into slave labour or what?”

I turned to see none other than Sawamura Eijun waving like an overcaffeinated puppy. Great. The loud one.

“Technically, yes,” I said, deadpan. “Help. I’m being exploited.”

Sawamura laughed like I was joking. I wasn’t.

Then came Furuya, who looked at me with the same unreadable expression he always had. “You always look sleepy.”

“Because I am always sleepy, Furuya. You think this is a lifestyle choice?”

Jun groaned. “She’s like this all the time.”

“That’s a lie,” I said cheerfully. “Sometimes I’m worse.”

We finally arrived at the clubhouse, which smelled like sweat, rubber, and dreams. Mostly unfulfilled ones. I looked around at the mess of bags, cleats, and energy drinks and sighed dramatically.

“You know,” I began, hands on my hips, “I died once already. I think I deserve a little more peace and a little less manual labour.”

Jun raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just thinking out loud.”

As I started organizing the chaos, I couldn’t help but reflect on how bizarre everything was. I had no idea why I was brought here, or how. I just knew this world wasn’t as simple as it looked in anime. These boys? They were more than just characters on a screen. They bled, they fought, they dreamed—and now, I was part of that.

Not willingly, mind you. But still.

Maybe this reincarnation thing wasn’t all bad. I got free food, a decent house, and a front-row seat to some of the most intense high school sports drama ever. And if nothing else, I had a brother who—despite being a loud, baseball-obsessed lunatic—actually cared.

I glanced at Jun as he barked orders at the underclassmen with his usual passionate fury.

“Idiot,” I mumbled under my breath, a tiny smirk tugging at my lips.

Yeah. This was gonna be one weird, chaotic ride.

And I was strangely okay with that.

Chapter 2: I Am Not Your Team Manager, Please Stop Asking

You know how some people accidentally wander into clubs and find their life purpose? Yeah, that’s not me.

I was dragged—dragged—to Seidou’s baseball clubhouse under the pretence of “helping.” That quickly turned into a full-blown assumption by every sweaty, teenage baseball gremlin that I was now part of the team support staff.

Spoiler alert: I am not.

“(Y/N)-chan, could you help fold the uniforms?”

No.

“(Y/N), you brought snacks last time, right? Mind picking some up again?”

No.

“(Y/N)-san, could you—?”

No.

I was sitting on an overturned equipment bucket in the corner, earbuds in, staring at nothing and everything while sipping canned coffee like a war-weary veteran. Jun was yelling about batting form. Sawamura was yelling for no reason. Kuramochi was making some crack about “lazy siblings.” And me?

I was mentally compiling a list of anime protagonists who deserved reincarnation more than me. There were so many.

“You know,” came a voice beside me, low and smooth, “you’re kind of an enigma.”

I looked up to see Miyuki Kazuya leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed and trademark smirk in place. The guy had the charm of a fox and the trustworthiness of one too.

“That’s a fancy word for ‘annoying,’” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Just say what you mean.”

Miyuki chuckled. “You’re always around, but never involved. It’s kind of fascinating.”

“I’m just here to suffer. Don’t read too much into it.”

“Yet you keep coming back.”

“I’m being emotionally blackmailed by my brother.”

Miyuki tilted his head. “Hmm… still interesting.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just tired. All the time. Constantly. Eternally.”

He didn’t stop smirking, which only made me more suspicious. I narrowed my eyes.

“Don’t try to charm me, glasses boy. I’m immune. I’ve watched too much anime to fall for the ‘smirking prodigy with hidden angst’ trope.”

“I have hidden angst?”

“Don’t you?”

He actually laughed at that, and I took a mental note: Miyuki Kazuya—charming, manipulative, dangerously amused by sarcasm. Avoid prolonged contact unless armed with caffeine or verbal grenades.

Jun chose that exact moment to stomp over, sweat clinging to his forehead and annoyance radiating off him like heat waves.

“What did he want?” he asked, glaring after Miyuki like he’d just seen a raccoon digging through our garbage.

“To analyse my mystery factor. I told him I’m just sleep-deprived and dead inside.”

Jun rolled his eyes. “Why do you always attract weirdos?”

“Must be the vibe,” I said with a yawn.

Suddenly, a baseball flew out of nowhere and bonked me right on the back.

“OW. Who throws a ball at a civilian?!”

“I TOLD YOU TO PAY ATTENTION!” Sawamura’s voice rang out from across the field, full of manic energy and zero remorse.

I looked at him, holding the offending ball like a trophy. I picked it up and threw it right back—weakly. Pathetically. It hit the ground halfway and rolled to his feet.

He blinked. “That’s the saddest throw I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, dusting myself off, “I died once already. I don’t need to prove anything.”

Kuramochi jogged past and shouted, “You sure you’re not Jun’s twin? That attitude is too similar.”

“I’m insulted,” I deadpanned.

“I’m not,” Jun said, cracking his neck. “At least I take things seriously.”

I snorted. “Jun, you once argued with a vending machine for ten minutes because it ate your coins.”

“That machine was rigged.”

It was chaos. It was noise. It was sweat and ego and hormones and way too much shouting. And me?

…I was kind of starting to get used to it.

Don’t get me wrong, I still had zero interest in baseball itself. I didn’t care about scores or batting averages or who was going to Koshien. But I did care, begrudgingly, about these absolute weirdos who kept pulling me into their lives.

Sawamura with his golden retriever energy.

Furuya, who once asked me if I was “hibernating” when I napped in the dugout.

Miyuki, with his smirks and secret layers.

And, of course, Jun—who still treated me like I was a helpless kid but also shoved extra rice into my bowl when I skipped lunch.

Whatever this new life was, it was loud. It was annoying. It was ridiculous.

And it was starting to feel kind of… warm.

Ugh. Gross.

“(Y/N)!” Jun barked, “Can you stop zoning out and help me move the gear?”

I groaned. “I knew this was emotional blackmail.”

“C’mon, you’re already here!”

“Next time I’m faking the flu.”

He grinned. “Good luck faking anything when you’ve got the acting skills of a wet mop.”

Rude.

Still, I got up and helped. Begrudgingly. Lazily. With endless complaints.

Because maybe—maybe—being part of this team, even unofficially, wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened to me.

After all, it beats dying. Again.

Chapter 3: Bribery, Brats, and Batting Cages

You ever have one of those days where you just want to lie in bed, scroll through cat videos, and completely ignore the existence of the outside world?

Yeah. That was today.

Except the outside world came stomping up the stairs in the form of my big brother.

“(Y/N).”

“Go away.”

“(Y/N).”

“Still here. Still ignoring you.”

The door creaked open. I didn’t even flinch. My back was to him, cocooned in my blanket like a bitter little burrito.

“Are you skipping school?” he asked, voice dripping with that older-sibling mix of judgment and exhausted acceptance.

“I’m studying from home,” I mumbled.

“Studying what? The art of becoming a fossil?”

“I’m mastering the ancient skill of resting my eyes. It’s very spiritual.”

He sighed, a long-suffering sound that echoed through the room like a father realizing his child just flushed a phone down the toilet.

“Get up. You’re coming with me to the batting cages.”

That made me turn over, one eye cracked open like a gremlin peeking at daylight. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a team bonding thing. Coach wants the players to relax, blow off some steam. I promised I’d bring you so you stop sulking around like a depressed ghost.”

“I am a depressed ghost.”

“You’re also putting on pants in the next five minutes.”

“…Make it ten and bribe me with food.”

“Fine. Udon.”

I was up in four minutes flat.

The batting cages were loud. Like, “I’m having second thoughts about being alive” loud. I had my hoodie up, earbuds in, and arms crossed like a creature trying to avoid eye contact with humanity.

Sawamura was already yelling about hitting a home run. Furuya stood like a statue beside him, holding a bat with a calm expression that said he could accidentally destroy a city block and not blink.

Kuramochi greeted me with his usual smirk. “Still allergic to sunlight?”

“Still waiting for you to trip and faceplant.”

“You wound me.”

Miyuki gave me a lazy wave. “Hey, lazy-chan.”

I returned a deadpan nod. “Hey, chaos incarnate.”

Jun ignored all of us and started prepping for a round. I sat on the bench, sipping iced tea and quietly judging everyone’s batting stances.

They tried to get me to participate.

Sawamura handed me a bat. “C’mon, (Y/N)-chan! Just one swing!”

“No.”

“But it’s fun!”

“I have a deeply personal vendetta against physical activity.”

“You’ll never know if you’re good unless you try!”

“I’m reincarnated, Sawamura. That means I already lived a full life. I know I’m not good.”

He blinked. “…Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Eventually, I gave in. Mostly because they bribed me with melon bread and dared me. And if there’s one thing I never back down from, it’s a dare that ends in snacks.

I stood at the plate, bat in hand, helmet slightly too big, hoodie sleeves rolled up with zero actual technique in mind.

“Just relax!” Miyuki called out. “Pretend the ball is societal expectations.”

That, actually, helped.

I swung.

Missed.

“Okay,” I said. “That was a warm-up.”

Next pitch.

Swung again. Missed.

“Wow,” Sawamura said, “you swing like a video game character whose controls lagged.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled. “I’ve been dead before. What’s your excuse?”

Third pitch.

I hit it.

I actually hit it.

It was a weak little ping, and the ball barely rolled out of the machine, but the team exploded like I’d just won the lottery.

“WOOOOOO!”

“(Y/N)-chan, MVP!”

“BASEBALL PRODIGY INCOMING!”

Jun facepalmed in the background. “Stop encouraging her. She’s never going to shut up now.”

He was right.

I turned around, bat slung over my shoulder. “I expect to be scouted any day now. Tell Coach Kataoka I’m ready to bat cleanup.”

“You hit it once.”

“Exactly. A perfect batting average.”

They laughed, even Jun, despite himself.

We spent another hour there, and I didn’t even mind. I sat with Kuramochi and Furuya on the bench, argued with Sawamura about whether melon pan was superior to curry bread (it is), and even let Miyuki steal one of my drinks without threatening legal action.

Weirdly enough, I felt… okay.

Maybe even happy.

Maybe.

Not that I’d admit it out loud. Ever.

As the sun started to set, Jun came over and nudged my shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for coming today.”

I blinked. “Who are you and what did you do with my emotionally constipated brother?”

He rolled his eyes, but I caught the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. “Shut up.”

I smiled back, small and rare.

In this world of bats, sweat, ridiculous boys, and emotional whiplash, maybe I was starting to find something that felt… weirdly like home.

And that terrified me.

But hey.

At least I got free udon.

Chapter 4: The Transfer Student Has Main Character Energy, and I Hate It

Ah, high school. The hallowed halls of forced group projects, uncomfortable uniforms, and the soul-sucking realization that you're surrounded by people who peak at age seventeen.

It was a regular Tuesday, which meant I was half-asleep at my desk, doodling in the margins of my notebook while pretending to take notes. I had successfully avoided any actual social interaction until lunch, when the class president—who treated me like I was one bad mood away from arson—stood up and cleared his throat.

“We have a new transfer student joining us today.”

I looked up.

Cue dramatic anime moment.

The door slid open, and in walked the most main-character-looking person I’d ever seen in both my lives. Tousled hair. Sharp eyes. Tall, but not freakishly so. The kind of presence that screamed "I'm here to shake up the plot."

I instinctively narrowed my eyes.

Trouble.

“I’m Kenzaki Haruto,” he said, voice calm, polite, with a hint of mysterious stoicism. “Nice to meet you.”

Some girls giggled. I gagged internally.

The teacher motioned for him to sit in the empty desk behind mine.

Of course.

OF COURSE.

As he walked past, he glanced at me. Just a split-second thing. But it was enough.

You ever look at someone and immediately know your peace is about to be ruined?

Yeah.

At lunch, I escaped to my usual quiet corner of the courtyard. My sanctuary. My holy land. Only one other person knew about it—and Jun was too busy with practice to rat me out.

But guess who showed up five minutes later?

“You eat here too?” Kenzaki asked, hands in his pockets like some shoujo manga lead.

I stared at him over my rice ball. “No, I live here. This is my moss patch. Welcome.”

He blinked. “You’re... Isashiki Jun’s sister, right?”

“Ugh. Don’t lead with that. I have an identity.”

“I heard you were a little… eccentric.”

“Ah. So you’ve spoken to literally anyone at this school.”

He didn’t leave.

He sat next to me.

My spot.

“You play baseball?”

I choked on my rice. “Absolutely not.”

“But you’re always around the Seidou team.”

“My brother’s there. I’m morally obligated to occasionally show up and prevent him from self-destructing.”

“…You don’t like baseball?”

I squinted at him. “Let me put it this way: if I had to choose between running laps with the team or listening to a raccoon scream into a megaphone for an hour, I’d ask the raccoon if it needed backup vocals.”

Kenzaki chuckled. Chuckled. Like we were old friends.

“I’ve played baseball since I was five,” he said casually, picking at his lunch. “I’m transferring from a school in Osaka. Coach Kataoka offered me a spot.”

Of course. A new player. A new competitor. A walking, talking plot device here to shake up the roster.

“So you’re here to be dramatic,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Later that week, I made the mistake of showing up at practice again. Jun begged me. Actually begged. Said something about needing help sorting team gear because the managers were overloaded. I should’ve said no. I really should’ve.

And guess who was already there?

Kenzaki. With his sleeves rolled up, talking to Miyuki like they were long-lost childhood rivals fated to clash under a cherry blossom tree.

Miyuki noticed me and waved. “Yo, lazy-chan. Your new friend’s fitting in real fast.”

“Not my friend,” I said instantly. “Just a background character who hasn’t realized he’s not the protagonist.”

Sawamura ran up. “Hey, (Y/N)-chan, did you hear? Kenzaki’s a pitcher!”

Oh, of course he is.

“He’s got great control,” Furuya added, looking mildly impressed—which, for Furuya, was basically shouting.

“He might make the roster before the next tournament,” Kuramochi said, jogging past. “Think he’ll give Eijun a run for his money.”

I looked at Jun, who was watching everything with narrowed eyes.

“You worried?” I asked.

Jun shook his head. “Not yet. But there’s something about him.”

“You mean how he’s obviously written to cause tension, growth, and character development?”

“…What?”

“Nothing.”

That night, as I collapsed onto the couch, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Kenzaki Haruto was about to become a very big problem.

Not because he was smug or rude—he wasn’t. He was calm, polite, and probably raised by wolves that taught him good manners.

But because people like him? With their quiet ambition and tragic past vibes?

They changed things.

And I didn’t like change.

I liked naps. I liked stability. I liked when baseball drama stayed far away from me.

But knowing my luck?

Kenzaki was about to mess with all of it.

And somehow, I was going to get dragged right into the middle of it.

Chapter 5: I Did Not Sign Up for a Love Triangle, Thanks

There are a few things I’ve accepted about my reincarnated life:

Baseball is the religion here.

I will never be free of Seidou’s chaos.

The plot has no respect for my personal boundaries.

That last one hit real hard this week.

Because, as if Kenzaki “I Have Plot Armor” Haruto wasn’t already stirring the pot, now there were rumours.

Rumours that somehow, some way, involved me.

I first heard it from Sawamura, because of course it was him.

We were walking home—well, he was walking and talking like a podcast on 3x speed. I was simply trying not to lose brain cells.

“Oh! And did you hear the latest?” he said, eyes sparkling. “Apparently Kenzaki likes you!”

I stopped walking. “…What.”

“Yeah! Some third-year girls said they saw him looking at you during lunch and smiling! You’ve got suitor vibes now!”

“I’m sorry—suitor?”

“You’ve got that mysterious deadpan aura! Like the love interest in a shoujo manga!”

I stared at him. “Do I look like I have time for a romantic subplot?”

Sawamura blinked. “...No?”

“Exactly.”

The next day at school, the whispers started.

“Did you hear?”

“They say he sits near her on purpose.”

“I bet she’s secretly super smart and cool—like the type who gives love advice but doesn’t know she’s the main heroine.”

“Maybe she has some kind of tragic backstory.”

Yeah. Death by car. Thanks for bringing that back up, strangers.

By lunch, Kenzaki cornered me. Again. In my courtyard. With that calm expression like he wasn’t the cause of a social avalanche I wanted to bury myself under.

“You’ve heard the rumours,” he said.

“Hard to miss,” I replied dryly. “Apparently, we’re in love now. Congrats.”

He smiled. A real one this time. “You don’t seem fazed.”

“Sir, I’m too lazy to feel emotions beyond irritation and hunger.”

“I tried to tell people it wasn’t like that, but—”

“Don’t bother,” I said, opening my juice box. “High school rumours are like pigeons. No one knows where they come from, and they’re impossible to stop once they start circling.”

“I like your metaphors.”

“I like when people leave me alone.”

“Guess we both lose, then.”

I blinked at him. “...Are you flirting with me?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Don’t. I’ve already got enough on my plate dealing with my brother’s ‘training arc.’”

Speaking of which—Jun found out.

I don’t know who told him (probably Kuramochi, the traitor), but he cornered me at dinner that night, chopsticks in hand like he was ready to throw down over tofu.

“I heard some idiot’s been bothering you.”

“Define ‘bothering,’” I said around a mouthful of rice.

“Tall. Transfer student. Future threat.”

“Kenzaki’s not bothering me. He’s just… being main-character adjacent.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like anyone who breathes within ten feet of me.”

“That’s because your judgment is terrible.”

I gave him a flat look. “I didn’t choose to reincarnate into your family, y’know.”

“And yet, here we are.”

“You could be supportive. Maybe let me have one mysterious anime boy interaction in peace.”

“You want a romance arc now?”

“I want quiet. I want naps. I want no one asking me what ‘type’ I like in boys, which, by the way, is ‘nonexistent and far away.’”

Jun stared at me for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Good. Keep it that way.”

Things escalated fast.

At practice the next day, I walked into the clubhouse to find Kenzaki and Jun having a very quiet, very intense conversation near the lockers.

I couldn’t hear them, but their body language said everything:

Jun: “You touch my sister and I end your baseball career.”

Kenzaki: “I fear no man, only mediocre pitching.”

When I approached, both looked away like I hadn’t just caught them mid passive-aggressive anime tension.

“You two good?” I asked.

“Fine,” Jun said, sharp.

“All good,” Kenzaki replied, too calm.

“Cool,” I said. “Great talk. I’m leaving before this turns into a filler episode.”

That night, as I laid on my bed eating chips and avoiding homework, I stared at the ceiling.

Let me be clear: I do not want a love triangle.

I do not want to be a shoujo heroine.

I do not want these two tall baseball idiots glaring at each other over me like I’m some coveted Pokémon.

But the universe, clearly, has no interest in my preferences.

And something tells me… this is just the beginning of the chaos.

Chapter 6: Of Yukatas, Jealous Brothers, and a Goldfish of Chaos

I love festivals.

Not for the reason you think—no, I don’t care about yukatas, fireworks, or romantic summer vibes. I love festivals because it’s the one day I can disappear into a crowd, gorge on takoyaki, and avoid responsibility under the guise of “community celebration.”

Or so I thought.

Because, unfortunately, I forgot one critical detail: I have a brother.

And worse—that brother goes to Seidou, and Seidou’s baseball team is helping run the school’s cultural festival.

So naturally, my day of peaceful food coma plans was doomed the moment I walked through the front gate.

“(Y/N)-chan!!” Sawamura practically threw a cotton candy at me. “You made it!”

I blinked. “Why are you dressed like a frog?”

He beamed, proudly puffing out his chest in his full green mascot suit. “I’m the festival’s official greeter!”

“You look like a rejected Pokémon.”

Miyuki strolled over with a fan in one hand and a bored expression. “Kuramochi and Furuya are manning the haunted house. You should stop by—tell them I said to scare you extra.”

“Haunted house? No thanks,” I said, sipping my bubble tea. “Last time I went into one, I punched a ghost actor. Reflex.”

Miyuki smirked. “You’re a menace.”

I pointed my straw at him. “And you let chaos happen because it amuses you. We are not the same.”

Then Jun arrived.

Wearing a yukata.

A dark blue, traditional, very aesthetically pleasing yukata that made the girls around us do double takes.

I nearly dropped my drink.

“…You clean up weirdly well,” I muttered.

He adjusted the sleeves like it was nothing. “Team’s doing a traditional café theme. Yukatas required.”

“And you didn’t warn me?”

“I figured you wouldn’t show if you knew.”

Fair.

I got dragged into helping.

Apparently, someone told Coach Kataoka that I was “reliable.” Which is hilarious. I think it was Kuramochi trying to be funny. I will get him back.

So now I was inside Seidou’s classy little café setup, wearing a borrowed yukata (black with red sakura prints, which I’ll admit looked pretty good), pouring tea for giggling underclassmen who kept asking me if Miyuki was single.

(He is. I told them he’s married to baseball and emotionally unavailable.)

Halfway through the shift, Kenzaki walked in.

Oh no.

Oh no.

He wore a white yukata with grey accents and looked, predictably, like a tragic prince character from a summer drama.

The girls next to me started whispering instantly.

He walked right up to my table, looked me dead in the eyes, and said:

“Do you have a minute?”

Oh NO.

“Depends,” I said. “Are you here to order tea or drop another plot bomb?”

“Both.”

Jun, from across the room, tensed so hard he nearly cracked his tea bowl.

Kenzaki leaned slightly closer. “The fireworks are later. You want to go watch together?”

I blinked.

Let me explain something: I don’t do romantic tropes. I don’t walk with boys under fireworks. I don’t trip into someone’s arms. I don’t blush like an anime heroine.

I do sarcasm, blunt honesty, and avoiding anything that smells like emotional vulnerability.

So I said:

“You do realize I’m not the kind of girl who turns fireworks into a date, right?”

Kenzaki smiled. “I know.”

“…Then why ask?”

“Because you looked like you could use a distraction from all this,” he said, motioning to the crowded room, “and I think you’d enjoy complaining about everything with a good view.”

I paused.

Okay, that was a weirdly accurate read.

“…Fine. But if I end up third-wheeling someone else’s confession scene, I’m leaving.”

Later that night, we sat on a hill, far from the main crowd, snacks in hand. The fireworks began, loud and bright and heart-poundingly cinematic.

“Everyone’s going to make a big deal out of this,” I muttered.

“Let them,” Kenzaki said, eyes on the sky. “We’re just watching fireworks.”

Jun showed up exactly eight minutes later, holding a paper fan and wearing the exact expression of an older brother seconds away from demanding a duel.

“Kenzaki,” he said flatly.

“Isashiki-senpai,” Kenzaki said with equal flatness.

I sighed. Loudly. “Boys, can we not? It’s summer. I’m tired. Can we at least pretend I’m not a plot device for your rivalry?”

Jun turned to me. “You said you weren’t meeting anyone.”

“I said I was going to watch the fireworks. Technically, he just showed up.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“It is in my headcanon.”

Kenzaki raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know I had to ask your brother for permission to sit on a hill.”

“You don’t,” I said quickly. “No one here is asking anyone for anything. Except me—asking you both to calm down before I push you into a goldfish-scooping booth.”

They actually listened.

We watched the rest of the fireworks in silence. Awkward. Tense. But also… weirdly peaceful.

I’ll admit: maybe a small part of me enjoyed the attention.

Not in a “romance anime” kind of way. More like, “the disaster is happening and I have popcorn” kind of way.

As we walked back down, Kenzaki offered to walk me home. Jun immediately volunteered himself instead.

So naturally, I said:

“You two can walk each other home. I’m going to take the long route and stop for a popsicle.”

And I did.

Alone. Finally.

I sat on a bench near the park, watching the night sky, slowly licking a ramune popsicle, and thinking.

This world is loud. Messy. Complicated. And filled with dramatic boys who wear yukatas like they were born for fan service.

But as I sat there, cooling off under the stars…

…I realized maybe, just maybe, I didn’t mind being part of the chaos.

Even if I’d never admit it out loud.

Chapter 7: I Accidentally Became the Baseball Team’s Mascot and I’m Not Okay

Let’s start with one very clear statement:

I did not sign up for this.

I mean, yes, I’m Jun’s little sister. Yes, I show up to Seidou’s practices sometimes. Yes, I have a sarcastic streak and a face that apparently gives people “tough love but somehow comforting” energy.

But that doesn’t mean I wanted to become the emotional support gremlin for a bunch of teenage baseball boys with more hormones than sense.

And yet here we are.

It started with a single text from Jun:

Jun: “Come to practice. Bring snacks. Don’t ask.”

That alone was suspicious.

So naturally, I brought snacks and asked anyway.

I showed up to Seidou’s field with a bag full of convenience store goodies and found the team sitting around in various states of distress. Coach Kataoka looked like he was considering meditation or homicide. Possibly both.

“...What happened?” I asked Kuramochi, who was lying on his back like a starfish.

“Team slump,” he groaned. “We’re all in a rut. Coach thinks it’s psychological.”

“We lost a scrimmage yesterday,” Miyuki said, arms crossed. “The freshmen are rattled, the second-years are overthinking, and Furuya keeps staring into the void.”

“Okay, but why am I here?”

Jun nodded toward the snack bag. “You brought morale.”

“Morale comes in the form of strawberry milk and shrimp chips now?”

“Yes,” said three voices in unison.

I blinked. “Are you all okay?”

“No,” said Eijun, dramatically dropping to his knees. “We’re dying, (Y/N)-chan. Mentally.”

I handed him a chocolate bar.

Instant revival.

And then it got worse.

Because Sawamura had a terrible idea.

“Hey,” he said, halfway through chewing a rice cracker, “what if (Y/N)-chan gave us a pep talk?”

Everyone paused.

I stared. “Absolutely not.”

But it was too late. Their eyes sparkled with the kind of unearned hope I hadn’t seen since someone tried to microwave cup noodles without water.

“You’re always honest,” Furuya added.

“You roasted Kenzaki and made him try harder the next day,” Miyuki said thoughtfully.

“You told Jun his batting stance looked constipated once and it actually improved,” Kuramochi pointed out.

I turned to Jun, horrified. “You told them that?!”

He shrugged. “It was accurate.”

And somehow, somehow, I ended up standing in front of the entire team, holding a half-eaten dorayaki and trying to give a motivational speech.

“Okay, listen,” I began. “I don’t care about baseball. That hasn’t changed. But I do care about you all not moping like abandoned puppies in summer rain.”

They blinked.

“This is a sport. You win, you lose. You swing, you miss. You pitch, you get hit. But if you’re gonna play like the world's ending every time something goes wrong, then maybe you should take up knitting instead.”

“…Knitting?” someone whispered.

“Yeah. The yarn won’t disappoint you.”

I took a bite of dorayaki. “Point is: get over yourselves. You’re good. You’re better than this. Stop spiralling and hit the damn ball.”

Silence.

And then—

A round of cheers.

Sawamura burst into tears. Miyuki looked like he’d just watched a TED Talk. Even Furuya clapped. Furuya.

I turned to Jun, bewildered. “What just happened?”

“You inspired them.”

“With insults.”

“Apparently that’s what they needed.”

Miyuki patted me on the head. “Congrats, (Y/N). You’re officially the team’s mascot now.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Oh yeah,” Kuramochi grinned. “Morale officer. Emotional chaos manager. Our own personal trash-talking hype gremlin.”

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“You don’t have to,” Jun said smugly. “It’s already done.”

By the end of the week, I had a nickname.

A nickname.

They were calling me "Team Oni-chan" — a cursed fusion of “oni” and “onee-chan.”

“I hate all of you,” I muttered as I handed out water bottles like some kind of reluctant team mom.

“You say that,” Miyuki said, sipping tea, “but you brought us homemade cookies today.”

“I was bored and the oven was there.”

“You cut them into baseball shapes.”

“Coincidence.”

“You used icing to write ‘Don’t Suck’ on them.”

“...That part was intentional.”

Despite all my resistance, something weird was happening.

They were improving.

Their energy shifted. Practice got sharper. The mood lightened. Kenzaki even cracked a joke, which caused Eijun to scream “CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT” loud enough to scare the crows off the fence.

Coach Kataoka nodded at me once. Just once. But it was the kind of nod that said: You did good, Gremlin Child.

And I gotta admit...

Watching them hit their stride, seeing Jun smile more, feeling the team come alive again—

…it was kind of nice.

Not that I’d ever tell them that.

Publicly, I maintain that I’m being held hostage by a bunch of sweaty athletes and emotional blackmail via strawberry milk.

But maybe…

Just maybe…

…I don’t mind being the team’s chaos mascot after all.

Chapter 8: The Practice Match, the Meltdown, and My Sudden Reputation as a Therapist

Let’s talk about danger.

Danger is usually a ball speeding at 90 mph toward your face.

Or Kuramochi attempting karaoke after three energy drinks.

Or Coach Kataoka giving you a rare smile—which is either a blessing or a warning.

But true, true danger?

Is when Jun and Kenzaki are put on opposing teams during a Seidou intrasquad practice match.

While they’re still not speaking to each other.

And I, unfortunately, was court-side for all of it.

It started simple enough. Kataoka split the players into two teams: Blue and White.

Jun: Team Blue.

Kenzaki: Team White.

Me: Snack committee and unwilling emotional support animal.

“Is this… safe?” I asked Miyuki, who was setting up the batting order with his usual chaos-glint.

“Define safe,” he said, sipping his tea. “I just want to see who snaps first.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I prefer ‘agent of fate.’”

I squinted at him. “You rigged the teams on purpose.”

He smirked. “Did I?”

The match kicked off.

Everything was fine—for maybe five minutes.

Then Jun struck Kenzaki out in the first inning, and Kenzaki smiled like he was plotting vengeance in four dimensions.

By the third inning, Kenzaki had hit a double off Jun’s fastball and didn’t say anything, but his smirk said, “Try harder, old man.”

Jun's jaw tightened so hard I thought he was going to shatter his own teeth.

And then… oh boy.

Bottom of the fifth. Tied score. Jun was pitching. Kenzaki up to bat.

Everyone on the field went silent. Even Coach stopped chewing gum.

The tension?

Palpable.

Me?

On the sidelines, stuffing my face with sweet potato fries and regretting every life choice that led me to this moment.

Jun pitched. Fast. Sharp. Controlled rage in the shape of a baseball.

Kenzaki connected. The crack echoed like a thunderclap.

Homerun.

And then—

He looked at me.

Not Jun. Not the team. Me.

Just a single glance. Calm. Steady. Satisfying.

Like he’d just said, “This is for your entertainment.”

Jun saw it.

Oh no.

After the match (which Team White won, surprise surprise), Jun stormed off without a word.

Kenzaki stayed on the field, stretching casually, completely unbothered.

I stared at both of them and realized something horrifying:

I was the common denominator.

This wasn't just baseball beef.

This was "I am in the centre of a sports anime character rivalry and it’s getting way too personal" kind of beef.

And now, like some kind of cursed therapist, it was up to me to fix it.

Great.

I found Jun brooding behind the vending machines like a melodramatic protagonist.

“Go away,” he muttered.

“Nope,” I said, sitting next to him. “Because apparently I’ve been cast as the team’s emotional janitor.”

He didn’t respond.

So I opened a bottle of melon soda and tossed him one.

“…He’s not a threat, you know,” I said after a moment.

Jun snorted. “That’s not what the scoreboard said.”

“I mean to me.”

He stiffened.

“You think I can’t see it? Every time Kenzaki so much as breathes in my direction, you act like he’s plotting to kidnap me.”

“He is suspicious.”

“He’s a little awkward. And yeah, maybe he likes me. Or maybe he’s just trying to be nice and you’ve been treating him like a supervillain with good hair.”

Jun looked away.

I sighed. “Look, I’m not helpless. And I’m not an idiot. If Kenzaki ever pulls any creepy anime nonsense, I’ll roast him alive. You taught me that much, at least.”

“…I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he mumbled.

I blinked.

It was quiet. Honest. Raw.

A rare peek past Jun’s sarcastic exterior.

“I didn’t get a lot of say in having a little sister,” he added, voice low. “But now that I have one… I’m keeping her safe. Whether she likes it or not.”

I stared at him.

Then shoved a fry in his mouth.

He choked.

“Okay, sap boy,” I said. “Feelings time over. Let’s go back before Miyuki starts narrating your character development to everyone.”

Later, Kenzaki passed me in the hallway. He didn’t say anything, but he nodded. Slightly.

A truce, maybe.

Or maybe just an acknowledgment that I wasn’t taking sides.

I’m not here for drama.

I’m not here for love triangles.

I’m here for snacks, sarcasm, and survival.

But I guess if I’m going to be dragged into emotional showdowns and baseball tension…

…I might as well own it.

Chapter 9: The School Trip, the Shared Room, and the Confession I Didn’t Ask For

Let me make one thing crystal clear:

I don’t do group trips.

You know the kind—mandatory fun, enforced bonding, and an inescapable schedule full of sightseeing I could’ve Googled in five seconds flat.

But nooo, Seidou High decided it was time for a “cultural enrichment weekend.”

Which somehow translated to:

A three-day overnight trip to Kyoto with your classmates, your brother, half the baseball team, and the emotional disaster stew known as Kenzaki.

Kill me.

“Smile a little,” Jun grunted as we boarded the train.

“I smiled once in 2011. That was enough,” I deadpanned, already putting in earbuds.

Sawamura bounced in his seat beside us. “(Y/N)-chan, it’s gonna be so fun! We’ll eat dango, visit temples, maybe even buy matching charms—”

“Touch me with friendship energy again and I will throw you out this window.”

“Noted!”

Things went downhill fast.

Turns out, room assignments were randomized. (Allegedly. I blame Miyuki.)

Which is why, when we arrived at the inn, I was handed a key labelled:

“Room 203: Isashiki Jun, Kenzaki Haru, Isashiki (Y/N)”

I stared at the teacher.

“You’re joking.”

“It’s gender-separated,” she replied brightly. “But since you’re Jun’s sister and technically in the baseball club as team morale manager—”

“I never agreed to that title.”

“—we figured you’d be fine sharing.”

Jun’s face was already twitching.

Kenzaki, of course, was calm as a Zen monk.

I turned to both of them. “You’re not allowed to breathe weird.”

The room was small. Tatami floors. Three futons. One table. Zero personal space.

I immediately claimed the futon by the window, using my backpack as a wall barrier.

Jun muttered something about protective circles and started unpacking like he was bunkering down for war.

Kenzaki quietly sat on his futon, reading a mystery novel like this wasn’t the most painfully awkward room in Japan.

I tried to sleep. Really, I did.

But sometime around 11 p.m., I heard whispering.

“Why are you staring at her like that?” Jun hissed.

“I’m not staring,” Kenzaki replied, voice annoyingly calm. “I was checking if she was asleep.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Maybe you should stop trying to control every interaction she has.”

“You think I want to be in this position?”

“I think you’re used to protecting people by pushing everyone else away.”

Oh no.

I rolled over and sat up. “If you two are gonna passive-aggressively flirt, do it when I’m unconscious.”

Silence.

Jun looked mortified.

Kenzaki… blinked once. “We weren’t flirting.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I pulled the blanket over my head. “I’m going to sleep. If either of you makes this weirder, I will suffocate myself with this pillow.”

The next day was temples, sweets, and relentless classmate gossip.

Apparently, half the girls in Class 2-A were convinced I was part of a love triangle now.

I heard the phrase “forbidden co-ed rooming” whispered at least twice.

I ignored it. Bought mochi. Pretended I was a ghost to avoid tour guides. Classic me.

Everything was going fine.

Until that night.

I couldn’t sleep.

Not because of the boys (shockingly). But because my brain refused to shut up.

Being in this world still felt like some absurd fever dream.

Sometimes I forgot I wasn’t in my old world anymore. That I’d died. That I had a whole different name now. A whole different life.

And somewhere in the middle of that spiral—

Kenzaki sat up.

“…You okay?” he asked, quiet.

I considered ignoring him. Then sighed. “Just… thinking.”

He didn’t push. Just nodded, then hesitated.

And said:

“I like you, you know.”

…

Excuse me?

“What?”

“I like you,” he repeated, voice steady. “Not because you’re Jun’s sister. Not because of baseball. Just… you.”

I stared at him.

“Did you hit your head on a temple bell?”

He cracked a small smile. “I expected rejection. That wasn’t quite it.”

“I don’t do this,” I said flatly.

“I know.”

“I’m emotionally dead inside.”

“I noticed.”

“And I eat convenience store pudding for breakfast.”

“…I admire that.”

I stared harder. “You’re serious.”

“I am.”

And for the first time since entering this world, I felt something twist. Not romance. Not butterflies. Just…

Complication.

I didn’t say anything. Just turned back toward the window.

“…Thanks for telling me,” I muttered eventually.

That was all I could give him.

For now.

Later, Jun came out onto the veranda where I was pretending to meditate.

“He confessed, didn’t he?” he said bluntly.

I didn’t answer.

He sighed. “If he hurts you, I’ll break his kneecaps.”

I grinned. “Aw. Big brother threats. Classic.”

We watched the moon in silence.

And somehow… it wasn’t so bad.

Maybe I didn’t know what I wanted. Maybe I wasn’t ready. But I had a weird little life here.

A found family of idiots.

A brother who’d fight gods for me.

And apparently… someone who liked me even though I was a snarky gremlin in hoodies.

Weird.

But kinda nice.

Chapter 10: Sidelines Are Safe—So Why Do I Want In?

Let’s make something clear:

I. Don’t. Do. Main Character. Energy.

I like my safe zone—on the sidelines, hoodie on, judgment active, snacks nearby. I don’t want to be part of the plot. I want to comment on the plot from a safe distance like the chaos gremlin I was reincarnated to be.

But the problem is…

Apparently, the plot wants me anyway.

Ever since the Kyoto trip, things have been... different.

Not dramatically. No one’s writing my name in the sky or anything. But people look at me now. Really look.

Like I’m part of this team. Part of this world.

I don’t like it.

Okay—maybe I don’t hate it. But I’m definitely not used to it.

Jun’s back to acting like the overprotective big brother he swore he wasn’t.

“Who were you texting?” he asks casually every ten minutes.

“Miyuki,” I reply every time. Just to mess with him.

It’s not Miyuki. (Well, sometimes it is.)

It’s Kenzaki.

Ever since his “I like you” bombshell during the school trip, things between us have settled into this strange… grey space.

Not quite romantic. Not quite platonic.

It’s like emotional purgatory. With subtle eye contact.

I didn’t respond to his confession. Not really. I didn’t reject him, but I didn’t dive headfirst into the anime trope pool either. I’m just here. Watching. Thinking. Wondering why a boy who throws sliders could make my brain lag like a broken video player.

Which brings us to today.

Practice match against another local high school.

Crowds in the stands. Energy in the air. The usual.

And me?

Sitting in the dugout, sipping barley tea and trying to ignore the tension hanging over Jun like a storm cloud.

Because Coach just announced something none of us expected:

Kenzaki’s starting at third base. Jun’s on the bench.

“Rotation trial,” Kataoka explained. “We need to test the depth.”

Jun didn’t protest. Didn’t speak. Just nodded.

But I could see it in his jaw. His eyes. The way his hands curled into fists.

He was pissed.

He wouldn’t say it—but he felt replaced.

By the fourth inning, Jun still hadn’t moved from the bench.

Kenzaki was doing well. Clean throws. Solid batting. No errors. He looked confident—unshakable.

And that seemed to make things worse.

“Go talk to him,” Miyuki said behind me.

I raised a brow. “To who? The storm cloud or the golden boy?”

Jun. He meant Jun.

I sighed. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the only person he doesn’t ignore when he’s like this.”

Challenge accepted.

I found Jun alone behind the dugout, throwing a baseball into the air and catching it over and over like a brooding anime protagonist.

“You mad?” I asked, leaning against the fence.

“Nope.”

“You’re mad.”

He caught the ball. Didn’t look at me. “Not my team anymore, huh?”

There it was.

“You’re still a core player,” I said.

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t feel like it.”

I didn’t say anything.

Just sat down beside him, pulling my knees up to my chest.

“…You know,” I said slowly, “Kenzaki didn’t ask to start. He didn’t demand it. He earned it.”

“I know.”

“But you think you’re being replaced.”

“I am.”

I looked at him.

“Jun,” I said, voice flat, “if you were being replaced, would Kenzaki look like he was trying not to throw up every time you looked at him?”

He blinked.

“He looks up to you, idiot,” I muttered. “He’s not trying to take your spot. He’s trying to prove he deserves to be near it.”

That got a reaction.

“…He confessed to you,” Jun said, deadpan.

I groaned. “This again?”

“I’m not letting someone date you unless I beat him in a practice match first.”

“Oh my God. You’re not my dad.”

“No, but I can throw faster than him. I’ve timed it.”

“You’re emotionally unwell.”

“You like it.”

…I do, kinda.

Jun returned to the dugout.

Kenzaki didn’t speak to him.

Jun didn’t speak to Kenzaki.

But when Kenzaki made a diving stop in the top of the seventh, Jun was the first to clap. Once. Sharp. Controlled.

Progress.

After the game, Kenzaki found me while I was pretending to count snack wrappers to avoid dealing with people.

“I’m not trying to take his place,” he said. No preamble.

“I know.”

“I just want to stand beside him. On the team. With you.”

Pause.

“Okay, you got weird at the end there.”

He laughed. Just a little.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he added. “I just… wanted you to know.”

Something in me cracked. A little. Not all the way.

But enough that I met his eyes and said:

“…Thanks.”

I still don’t want to be the main character. Still don’t want romance or drama or heart-pounding moments of growth.

But I guess...

Sometimes life picks you, even when you don’t pick it.

And maybe—just maybe—I’m ready to stop sitting on the sidelines and see what happens when I finally step into the game.

Even if I’m still wearing a hoodie and holding tea.

Chapter 11: Festival Chaos, Love Fortunes, and an Unwelcome Rival

The school festival is supposed to be fun.

Right?

Right???

Wrong.

Because Seidou High’s version of “fun” is equal parts chaos, baseball rivalry, and the kind of social pressure that makes me want to hide under the nearest kotatsu.

It all started when Miyuki dragged me to help run a “Love Fortune” booth with the rest of the baseball team.

Yes, you read that right.

Love fortune.

Because apparently, predicting romance is a “team-building exercise.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I swear I almost saw my brain.

The booth was decorated with pink streamers, heart-shaped balloons, and suspiciously cutesy charms that looked like they were stolen from a shrine gift shop.

Kenzaki showed up first, looking oddly uncomfortable but committed to his role as “assistant fortune teller.”

Jun was nowhere to be found—which was probably a good thing, since he hates that kind of nonsense with a passion.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Kenzaki said nervously, holding up a handful of fortune slips. “Think people will actually buy this?”

I smirked. “For teenage love drama? Probably. Especially with your puppy-dog eyes on display.”

He blushed.

Cue the first customer: a wide-eyed first-year girl who wanted a “guaranteed love match.”

I handed her a random slip that basically said “Good things come to those who wait.”

She smiled and skipped away.

Easy.

But then he showed up.

Rival school pitcher Shirasu, with his usual smug grin.

“Thought I’d check out the competition,” he said, glancing at our booth like it was a joke.

Kenzaki stiffened.

I sighed. “Why is this guy everywhere?”

Jun appeared then, arms crossed, clearly ready to throw down.

“Shirasu,” Jun said flatly. “This isn’t a game. It’s a school festival.”

“Every day’s a game if you’re worth playing,” Shirasu replied.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a baseball bat.

I decided to intervene before this turned into a full-blown duel in front of the festival-goers.

“Hey, Shirasu,” I said, stepping forward. “How about you try the love fortune? Maybe your luck’s better off the mound.”

He raised an eyebrow but accepted a slip.

He unfolded it and read silently.

“’You will face unexpected challenges but grow stronger.’” I read aloud.

He smirked. “Sounds about right.”

Jun glared. “You’re still coming to our practice match next week.”

Shirasu nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Later, as the festival lights flickered on and the crowd thinned, Kenzaki leaned closer.

“You’re really good at this,” he whispered.

I shrugged. “I’m a professional at sarcasm and dodging responsibility. Fortune telling’s easy.”

He smiled. “Still, I’m glad you’re here. Makes all this... less crazy.”

I looked at him. “You’re not half bad yourself.”

Jun appeared beside us, clearing his throat.

“You two behaving?” he asked.

“Trying,” I said.

Jun smirked. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Maybe the festival wasn’t so bad after all.

Maybe being the little sister of Isashiki Jun wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever signed up for.

And maybe, just maybe, a little chaos with some awkward feelings was exactly the kind of story I could get behind.

Chapter 12: Trouble on the Field, Trouble in My Head

Somewhere between the school festival and now, I forgot this was supposed to be my low-responsibility second life.

Because suddenly I’m knee-deep in baseball drama, emotional landmines, and worst of all: other people’s expectations.

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want to care.

…But I do.

Which is extremely inconvenient.

Today was the practice match. Seidou vs. Shirasu’s school. Tension was high. Ego was higher.

Jun hadn’t said much all morning. He didn’t have to—his aura screamed “I’m going to dominate or die trying.”

Kenzaki, on the other hand, was cool and unreadable.

And I?

I was in the dugout, hoodie on, sipping green tea like a caffeinated gremlin therapist.

Top of the 3rd. Seidou was down 0–1.

Jun was benched.

Kenzaki was on third. His throws were tight, clean—almost too clean. Like he was trying to be perfect, not play.

And Coach Kataoka noticed.

“Isashiki,” he finally said. “You’re in. Switch with Kenzaki.”

The air shifted. Kenzaki flinched.

Jun stood without hesitation. But he didn’t gloat. He didn’t say a word.

He just looked at Kenzaki once—expression unreadable—and jogged onto the field.

“What just happened?” I whispered to Miyuki.

He looked tired. “Kenzaki’s overthinking. Jun’s grounded. We need grounded.”

In other words:

The ace of sarcasm is back.

With Jun back on third, things picked up.

The tension eased. The team’s rhythm clicked into place.

And then—

Crack.

A line drive right at third base.

Jun dove.

Caught it.

Rolled.

Popped back up like it was nothing.

The crowd roared. I exhaled for what felt like the first time in twenty minutes.

Typical.

Later, after the win (6–3, no big deal), the locker room was loud with victory nonsense.

I slipped outside for air—and found Kenzaki leaning against the fence.

I joined him.

He didn’t look at me. “I blew it.”

“You didn’t,” I said simply. “You cracked. That’s not the same.”

“…I thought I was ready.”

I sipped my tea. “You are. But being ready doesn’t mean you won’t mess up.”

He finally looked at me.

“And I’m still glad you like me,” I added, eyes on the field. “Even if I don’t know what to do with it yet.”

His smile was small. But real.

“I can wait,” he said.

“Dangerous words,” I muttered.

“I like danger.”

“Now you’re just flirting to flirt.”

“Maybe.”

Back at home, Jun tossed his glove onto his desk and looked at me across the hall.

“Thanks,” he said.

“For what?”

“Whatever it is you do that makes people talk to each other.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Therapist goblin magic.”

He huffed a laugh.

“You’re not like most little sisters,” he said after a pause.

“Wow. Thanks.”

“No, seriously. You’re the only one who could survive this much chaos and still make it feel normal.”

That made me go quiet.

Because for once...

I didn’t hate hearing that.

I came into this world lazy, cynical, and allergic to anything resembling effort.

But now?

I care. I get mad when they bench Jun unfairly. I worry when Kenzaki hesitates. I yell at Sawamura for trying to put wasabi in protein shakes.

Somewhere along the line, I stopped being an observer.

And started becoming part of the team.

Ugh. Gross.

Chapter 13: Ghosts of the Past (And One Unexpected Compliment)

If someone had told me in my old life that I'd be reincarnated as a high school girl surrounded by emotionally constipated baseball players, I would’ve laughed, choked on my instant ramen, and gone back to ignoring customer service calls.

But here I am.

Living in a shojo sports anime, with a soft spot for idiots and a slowly crumbling wall of sarcasm.

And today?

Today broke me a little.

It started with a box.

A small, boring cardboard box that showed up at the Isashiki household, addressed to me.

Which was suspicious because:

I didn’t order anything.

I don’t do effort, including online shopping.

This name—the one written on the package—was my name from my past life.

My hands froze.

I stared at it like it might explode into my old apartment or my awful retail job or the manager who always called me "sweetheart" in a way that made me wish for death.

But the box didn’t explode. It just… sat there.

Waiting.

That night, Jun caught me still staring at it.

He raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Define ‘okay,’” I replied, dead-eyed.

He didn’t push. Just sat beside me, leaned against the wall.

For a while, we didn’t talk.

And then I opened it.

Inside:

A stack of journals.

A folded hoodie I hadn’t seen in what felt like centuries.

And a note that said, in looping handwriting:

“To whoever I end up being next—don’t forget who you were. Or who you wanted to become.”

I didn’t cry.

I don’t do crying.

But I sat there for a long time with a hoodie that smelled like old laundry detergent and the weight of two lives pressing down on me.

Jun didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

He just stayed.

And that meant more than anything.

The next day, I was quieter than usual. Which made everyone suspicious.

Sawamura poked my face. “Are you broken? Blink if you’ve been possessed.”

“I will end you,” I muttered.

“You’re not even holding tea,” Miyuki pointed out. “That’s like… a red flag for you.”

 

“She’s clearly dead inside,” Kuramochi added. “Finally joined the rest of us.”

I rolled my eyes. But it felt weaker than usual.

Kenzaki caught me alone during lunch. “You seem... off.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

Pause.

Then: “I got a reminder of who I was before all this. And it kinda knocked the wind out of me.”

He didn’t ask more.

He just offered me his drink without a word.

Peach tea.

My favourite.

I took it. “You’re alarmingly good at this emotional support thing.”

He smiled. “You’re alarmingly bad at accepting it.”

“…Touché.”

Practice that afternoon was intense. Prepping for the big regional game.

Jun was laser-focused. Coach barked drills. Everyone was in the zone.

And yet, between the chaos, Jun looked at me.

Really looked.

And later, while walking home, he said quietly, “You’re reliable, you know that?”

I blinked.

“What?”

“You’re the one person who never sugarcoats things. Who tells us the truth. Who keeps the team grounded. You’re solid.”

Pause.

“I mean, you’re a gremlin—but like, a reliable gremlin.”

Something in me cracked.

 

Because in my old life?

No one ever called me that.

Not once.

Reliable.

I stopped walking.

Jun did too. “What?”

“…Thanks,” I said. And meant it.

For the first time in this world—or the last—I felt seen.

Not as the lazy background character.

Not as the sarcastic sister.

Not even as the reincarnated weirdo.

Just as me.

Maybe that’s what this life is about.

Not escaping the past.

But building something better with it.

One brutally honest comment at a time.

Chapter 14: Rain, Revelations, and Closet Confessions

Rainy days are for naps.

Rainy days are for binge-watching dramas while wrapped in a blanket burrito.

Rainy days are not for accidentally agreeing to a full-blown Seidou team sleepover.

And yet… here we are.

It all started with the rainstorm that hit right after practice. Streets flooded. Trains delayed. Half the team stranded at school with nowhere to go.

Naturally, Coach thought this was a great opportunity for “team bonding.”

Translation: pure, unsupervised chaos.

The school gave us access to the extra dorm wing. Sleeping bags were distributed. Food was ordered.

And me?

I was stuck in the middle of it all because Jun said, “You’re here anyway. May as well help.”

You know what I should’ve done?

Gone home. Faked an illness. Faked a coma. Faked death.

But no.

I stayed.

The night started out normal enough. Card games. Dumb dares. Sawamura tried to arm-wrestle a vending machine (he lost). Furuya fell asleep upright against a wall.

Then came the thunder.

A huge crack shook the windows.

Half the team flinched.

And someone—not naming names (Kuramochi)—screamed.

“Okay!” Miyuki said, laughing. “New game. Two-person truth or dare. Random draw. Losers go in the supply closet.”

“Hard pass,” I muttered.

Too late.

My name was drawn.

And the universe, with its twisted sense of humour, paired me with Kenzaki.

“Of course,” I deadpanned as we were herded into the dark closet.

“Sorry,” Kenzaki said sheepishly.

“This closet smells like mould and lost hope.”

“Just like high school.”

I snorted despite myself.

Then silence.

Too much silence.

I squinted through the dark. “Okay. If we’re trapped, let’s get the awkward confession stuff over with so we can breathe normally.”

He chuckled. “Alright. Truth?”

“Shoot.”

“What was your biggest fear when you woke up in this world?”

That one hit harder than expected.

“…That I’d have to start over. Be someone new. That I'd lose who I used to be.”

A pause.

“Your turn,” I said, voice quieter. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

I smirked. “Why me?”

He hesitated.

Then: “Because you don’t try to impress anyone. You just… are. You speak your mind. You make everything feel real. You’re the only person who makes this world feel like home.”

Silence.

My sarcasm failed me.

My brain?

Absolute static.

I blinked in the dark. “That’s—okay. That’s unfairly sweet. You’re ruining my emotionally detached aesthetic.”

He laughed. “Sorry. Kinda my thing.”

Eventually someone let us out.

Sawamura and Haruichi were pretending to cry. Jun gave us both a look.

I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, nothing scandalous happened. Unless you count existential bonding.”

Jun rolled his eyes. “You always attract the weird ones.”

“You love me.”

“Debatable.”

Later, as we all settled in for the night, the thunder had passed.

I lay on a sleeping bag between Jun and Miyuki, listening to the rain fade.

And maybe it was just the leftovers of the closet conversation, but I whispered,

“…Hey, Jun?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks. For letting me be here.”

He didn’t reply right away.

Then: “You don’t have to thank me for existing. You belong here, lazy gremlin or not.”

And that?

That was enough to make the chaos worth it.

Chapter 15: The One Who Remembers

Let me start by saying this:

I didn’t think anything could shake me anymore.

Not high school baseball drama.

Not closet confessions.

Not even emotional pep talks from Jun, a man who once grunted for thirty minutes instead of apologizing.

But life—or whatever twisted anime magic runs this world—had other plans.

And today?

Today brought me face-to-face with something I wasn’t ready for:

Someone who remembers me.

It started like any other aggressively average school day.

Rain gone. Clouds scattered. Jun yelling at Sawamura for trying to throw with one foot “just to see if it works.”

I was sipping melon soda on a bench near the front gate when a voice cut through the noise:

“(Y/N)? …Is that really you?”

I froze.

That voice.

That name.

The name no one here should’ve known.

Slowly, I looked up.

And standing in front of me—wearing a different school uniform, holding an umbrella and looking just as stunned—was Shou, my coworker from my past life.

Except his name wasn’t Shou here.

“Riku,” he said, giving a tight, awkward smile. “I go to Ichidai Third now.”

He looked older. Taller. But it was him.

I knew that face. That dumb little scar under his eye he got from tripping into a display stand during a Black Friday sale.

I stared at him like he was a ghost.

Because, honestly? He kinda was.

We sat on the bench.

Neither of us said anything for a long time.

Then he spoke.

“I remembered everything about a week ago,” he said, staring at the soda in his hands. “Woke up from a dream about restocking toothpaste, and it just... clicked.”

I snorted. “Of all the memories to unlock reincarnation, it had to be retail?”

“Poetic, isn’t it?”

And then came the hard part.

“Do you remember how you died?” he asked quietly.

I looked down. “Car accident. You?”

“Heart failure. During a night shift. Alone.”

That shut me up.

He looked at me, and for once, his voice lost its jokey tone. “You’re different here. Happier. Less... worn down.”

“I’m still lazy.”

“But you laugh now.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I didn’t.

That evening, I told Jun about it.

Because I had to.

He didn’t interrupt. Just listened as I laid it all out—my old life, Shou-now-Riku, the fact that someone else remembered and it made everything suddenly too real.

When I finished, Jun leaned back against the wall and said, very quietly:

“I always felt like you weren’t really here. Like some part of you was holding back. Not because you didn’t care—but because you were afraid to.”

I blinked. “And what makes you think that?”

He shrugged. “I’m your brother. I don’t have to guess. I know.”

Pause.

Then he looked at me, and for the first time, his voice cracked just slightly.

“I used to wonder if I was dragging you into my world too much. Baseball, school, this whole life. But if this is your second chance... I’m glad you spent it here. With us. With me.”

My heart did something very inconvenient.

And very warm.

“You’re such a sap when you’re not yelling about proper glove form,” I mumbled.

He smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t tell the team.”

That night, I sat on my bed, hoodie from my old life in my lap, and thought:

Maybe this second life isn’t about forgetting the first.

Maybe it’s about finding people who help you carry both.

Chapter 16: The Background Character Steps Forward

Let’s be clear about one thing:

I never wanted to be the main character.

Background energy? That’s me. Benchwarmer in life. Apathetic queen of tea and sarcasm.

So the fact that I was now walking directly into Seidou’s most important game of the season, heart pounding, logic screaming, and sweat mildly threatening to ruin my entire vibe?

Unacceptable.

But here we are.

It started this morning with Riku.

He met me outside the stadium, eyes stormy under his cap.

“Ichidai’s bench is talking,” he said. “They think Seidou’s third base is the weak link.”

I blinked. “Jun?”

He nodded grimly. “They’re targeting him.”

Let me explain something very important:

I can make peace with a lot of things.

Time travel? Sure.

Reincarnation? Been there.

High school boy drama? Constantly.

But trash-talking my brother?

Absolutely not.

The game started tense.

Top of the 1st. Both teams evenly matched.

Furuya pitched like a stone-cold sniper.

Miyuki was calling pitches like he could see the future.

Jun was solid.

But Ichidai wasn’t just playing—they were provoking. Every inning, their base runners got mouthier. Their third base coach kept sneering in Jun’s direction.

And I could see it: the slow burn of frustration behind Jun’s eyes.

I knew that burn. I’d lived it in retail break rooms.

They wanted him off-balance.

And it was working.

By the 5th inning, Jun had missed two clean throws—not errors, but not his best.

I clenched my drink so hard the plastic crinkled.

Sawamura flubbed a bunt. The air around the dugout tightened.

And Coach Kataoka called a timeout.

That’s when I did something incredibly dumb.

I walked straight to the dugout.

Coach blinked. “You shouldn’t be—”

“Give me thirty seconds,” I said, stepping up to Jun. “Then I’ll go back to being the unbothered gremlin you know and tolerate.”

Jun raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

I leaned in. “They want you off your rhythm because they know you’re better than them. So here’s what you do: stop trying to be perfect. Be you. Be the guy who steals bases when no one tells him to. The guy who growls at vending machines when they eat his change.”

I smirked.

“They don’t need a machine at third base. They need you. Flaws, sarcasm, fire, and all.”

Jun stared at me.

Then smirked right back.

“Get off the field, gremlin.”

“Love you too.”

Bottom of the 6th.

Ichidai slammed a line drive toward third.

Jun dove.

Caught it. Barehanded.

Threw it to first.

Out.

The stadium roared.

And I exhaled.

Seidou won 4–2.

The locker room was a mess of yelling, high-fives, and someone (Sawamura) crying into a protein bar.

I slipped outside for air.

Riku found me by the vending machine.

“You did that,” he said quietly.

“No. I nudged. Jun did the rest.”

He looked at me.

“You know you’re not just in the background anymore, right?”

“Don’t say it.”

“You’re a main character now.”

“Delete that sentence from reality.”

But even as I groaned, some small part of me… didn’t hate it.

Maybe I was still lazy. Still sarcastic. Still not signing up for any grand emotional arcs.

But maybe—

Just maybe—

Being here mattered.

Chapter 17: Bruises, Bluntness, and Brotherly Truths

You know those calm before the storm moments?

The ones where everyone’s laughing, joking, tossing around energy drinks like confetti—and then, boom. Everything goes sideways?

Yeah.

Today was one of those days.

The Seidou team was riding high after the win against Ichidai. Even Miyuki looked slightly less smug than usual. Jun was doing his usual broody-but-satisfied thing, and I was treating myself to a very well-earned nap under the bleachers while they wrapped up light practice.

Everything was perfect. Suspiciously perfect.

Which is how I should’ve known something bad was about to happen.

It started with a sharp crack.

Then silence.

Then shouting.

I bolted upright just in time to see a small cluster form near the pitcher's mound. My stomach dropped. You don’t get that kind of silence unless something’s wrong.

And sure enough—when the team stepped back, someone was on the ground.

Kuramochi.

His leg was twisted at an angle that legs are not meant to twist.

“Sprain?” I asked breathlessly, crouching beside Jun a minute later.

“Worse. Fracture, maybe,” he muttered, voice tight.

Kuramochi was trying to play it off, teeth gritted. “It’s fine. I’ll be back in a week.”

Coach wasn’t buying it. Neither was anyone else.

And as the ambulance pulled away, a strange kind of dread settled over the team.

Not fear.

Pressure.

Someone would have to step up. Fill that void.

And everyone was looking at Jun.

That night, the silence in our apartment was suffocating.

Jun paced the hallway. I knew that look—he was preparing for something he didn’t want but felt responsible for anyway.

“Stop doing that,” I said, lounging on the couch, arms behind my head.

“Doing what?”

“Blaming yourself for things that aren’t your fault.”

He paused.

“I’m not blaming myself.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. “Fine. I just… I’m not good with change. Or people. Or—”

“Emotions?”

“Exactly.”

We stared at each other for a beat.

Then I said, “You know it’s okay to admit you’re scared, right?”

He didn’t respond. Not right away.

Then, softly, like it hurt to say:

“I’m scared I’ll mess up. That I’ll lead and no one will follow.”

And that—that broke something in me.

Because no matter how many jokes I made, how many sarcastic remarks I threw around to keep everyone at arm’s length—Jun was the one person I always thought was unshakable.

But even pillars crack.

So I stood up.

Walked over.

And—for the first time since being reborn here—I hugged him.

Full-on, arms-wrapped, stubborn-sibling hugged him.

He stiffened.

Then—slowly—relaxed.

“You’re not alone, Jun,” I said into his shoulder. “Not anymore. Not with this team. Not with me.”

He pulled back slightly, eyes unreadable.

And then, in a voice I’d never heard from him before, soft and certain:

“I’m really glad you’re my sister.”

I blinked. “Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I already bought a commemorative plaque.”

He snorted. “Gremlin.”

“Broody bench goblin.”

We stood there in silence, the air heavy but somehow lighter between us.

No longer just brother and sister.

But teammates.

Partners in crime.

And maybe—finally—family.

Chapter 18: Final Chapter: This Life, This Choice, This Me

High school ends the way most things do.

Not with a bang.

Not with some grand finale.

But with a quiet kind of weight that settles in your chest and refuses to budge.

The season wrapped up. Seidou didn’t make it to Nationals—not this year—but they fought like hell. Jun walked off the field with dirt on his knees, tears in his eyes, and that rare, quiet pride that only comes from giving something everything you had.

And me?

I stood at the edge of it all, watching.

No longer background noise.

No longer just a reincarnated gremlin hiding behind sarcasm and snack wrappers.

Graduation Day

The gym was filled with suits, uniforms, and the low hum of students who couldn’t believe it was already over. I sat in the crowd, resisting the urge to yawn through the ceremony. Jun stood on the stage in his cap and gown, stiffer than usual.

When he gave his speech—short, awkward, and painfully sincere—he looked right at me.

And for the first time, he didn’t look like a boy shouldering the weight of the world.

He looked like someone who knew he wasn’t carrying it alone.

Afterward, we all gathered outside: the team, the coaches, even Riku, who had become a kind of weird honorary Seidou member despite being from a rival school.

Miyuki was already teasing Jun about retirement.

Sawamura was crying.

Kuramochi had his arm around Jun’s shoulder, holding it together for once.

I stood on the sidelines with my juice box, trying not to get emotional. Spoiler: I failed.

Riku found me later, hands in his pockets, looking out at the field.

“You’re gonna miss this,” he said.

I didn’t deny it.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” he continued. “We died. We lost everything. And somehow… this became our second chance.”

“Yeah,” I said, watching Jun laugh with his teammates. “And this time… we chose to live it.”

He looked at me. “You’re not just living it, you changed it.”

I shrugged. “Mostly by accident. With a lot of naps in between.”

He grinned. “Still counts.”

That Night

Jun and I sat on the balcony at home, the stars scattered across the sky like spilled rice.

“You ever think about going back?” he asked.

I blinked. “Back where?”

“To your old life.”

I was quiet for a long time.

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “But it’s more like a memory than a longing. That life made me who I was. But this one…”

I looked at him.

“This one made me who I am.”

Jun didn’t say anything. He just handed me a canned coffee, bumped his shoulder against mine, and muttered:

“Glad you’re here, sis.”

So this is where it ends.

Not with me saving the world.

Not with some epic power or romantic kiss in the rain.

Just a lazy, sarcastic girl who fell into a new life and found something better than escape:

A reason to stay.

And maybe, just maybe...

That’s the real win.

Chapter 19: Bonus Chapter: The Wedding Speech (And Other Disasters)

It’s been five years.

Five years since Seidou, since high school, since the mess of emotions and baseballs and growth that somehow turned into a second life worth living.

Now?

Now I’ve got a job I chose—writing weird little comics online and occasionally napping under my desk like a legally distinct raccoon.

Jun?

He’s… well.

Let’s just say the man who once yelled at vending machines now coaches a bunch of first-years and is the vending machine they fear.

But today? Today is not about baseball.

Today is about something far more dangerous.

Today… is Miyuki Kazuya’s wedding.

And guess who got roped into giving a speech?

Jun.

And guess who’s sitting in the front row, armed with snacks and emotional blackmail?

Me.

Scene: Reception Hall, Somewhere Fancy

The place is way too expensive. There's a champagne fountain. Kuramochi is trying to pickpocket the shrimp platter. Sawamura is crying into a tissue because "Miyuki actually got someone to marry him??"

And Jun?

Jun is standing at the mic.

Sweating.

Hard.

He clears his throat.

“I’m… not good at this stuff.”

No kidding.

“But Kazuya’s been my teammate, rival, captain, and pain in the ass for years. He’s also—unfortunately—someone I respect.”

Polite laughter. Miyuki smirks.

“And seeing him find someone who puts up with his smug face every day? Inspiring. Slightly terrifying. But inspiring.”

I suppress a cackle.

Jun continues, a little softer now.

“Baseball teaches you how to fight for people. How to trust, even when it’s hard. I think… love is kind of like that. A game where you show up every day, even when it’s raining. Even when you’re tired.”

He glances at me, just once.

“And if you’re lucky, someone shows up beside you.”

Then, in the most Jun-like fashion ever, he finishes with:

“So… yeah. Congrats. Don’t screw it up.”

The room erupts in applause.

He walks back to the table, looking like he aged five years in five minutes.

“You didn’t burst into flames,” I say, handing him water.

“Did I black out?”

“Only briefly. During the part where you got sincere.”

He mutters, “Disgusting.”

But he’s smiling.

Later

As the night winds down, I catch Riku leaning against a column, sipping punch like it’s wine and pretending he doesn’t miss Seidou.

“Can you believe we made it here?” he asks.

“Alive? Emotionally semi-functional? No. Not at all.”

He laughs.

And in that moment—watching old teammates dance badly, seeing Jun talk with Miyuki’s new wife like she’s already part of the chaos—I realize something:

We weren’t just reincarnated.

We were reborn.

And this life?

It’s weird. Messy. Unfair. Exhausting.

But it’s ours.

Final Scene

As the couple cuts the cake, Jun leans over and mutters:

“If you ever get married, I’m not giving a speech.”

I grin.

“That’s fine. I’ll be the one making a scene.”

“…That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Chapter 20: Bonus Chapter 2: Coach Isashiki’s Meltdown (And My Quiet Revenge)

There are few things more terrifying than watching your once broody, sarcasm-powered older brother become a full-blown responsible adult.

Like, I always knew Jun had potential. But I figured he’d retire somewhere with a punching bag and a sour attitude—not end up back at Seidou as the new assistant coach.

Even worse?

He’s good at it.

He yells a little less now. Still intimidating, still deeply allergic to social interaction, but somehow—he cares. Maybe too much.

Which brings us to today:

The day Jun completely, utterly, and magnificently snapped.

And I, being the supportive little sister that I am, filmed the entire thing.

Scene: Seidou Field, Early Summer

Jun is running drills. The new first-years are a mess. One of them just tried to bunt during a fielding drill. Another accidentally threw a glove instead of a ball.

Jun’s vein? Throbbing.

“I told you to charge the ball, not stare at it like it's your grandma’s ghost!”

The kids flinch. One actually yelps. I sip my iced tea from the bleachers.

“Ah, youth,” I murmur, zooming in on Jun’s rage-face.

He catches me.

“You better not be recording this.”

“I’m absolutely recording this.”

By the time practice ends, Jun looks like he aged seven years.

I follow him to the clubhouse, where he collapses onto the bench with the grace of a man emotionally kicked in the shin.

He groans.

“I don’t get it. They’re talented, but it’s like their brains shut off the moment they touch a glove.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Like you your entire second year?”

He throws a towel at me. I dodge.

“They’re kids,” I say. “They’ll figure it out. Or they’ll cry. Either way, entertaining.”

Jun glares.

“You know I care about them, right?” he mutters, almost defensively.

I blink. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

He laughs—actually laughs—and leans back, staring at the ceiling.

“They’re gonna break my sanity.”

“Yup. But at least you’ll have the mental breakdown on camera.”

He grunts.

I grin.

The Revenge

Later that night, I upload the video (heavily edited, don’t worry) to a private group chat: Seidou Old Guard Shenanigans™.

Miyuki immediately replies:

“Still scarier than Kataoka.”

Kuramochi:

“I watched this five times. I think I saw him cry at minute 2:18.”

Sawamura:

“COACH JUN I’M SORRY I’LL RUN LAPS”

Jun finds out in the middle of dinner.

“You’re evil.”

“I’m gifted.”

“You’re dead.”

I raise my chopsticks. “Not before dessert.”

Epilogue Vibes

Jun will never stop pretending he’s the serious one.

And I’ll never stop poking the bear just to hear him growl.

But watching him coach, watching him pass on what he once carried—it hits me.

He’s not just living a new life.

He’s building one.

And somehow, I ended up right here with him.

Still sarcastic.

Still lazy.

Still grateful.

Chapter 21: Bonus Chapter 3: Jun on a Date (Kill Me)

Also known as: The Day I Questioned Everything I Knew About My Brother.

So. Jun has a date.

I’ll give you a second to recover from that.

Done? Good. Because I wasn’t.

It Started Like This

I walked into the kitchen. There he was. Ironing a shirt.

Ironing. A. Shirt.

I blinked. “Who are you and what have you done with my emotionally constipated brother?”

“I have a date,” he said flatly.

I dropped my toast.

“You WHAT.”

Let me paint the picture:

Jun Isashiki. Baseball-obsessed. Human scowl emoji.

He once ghosted a girl by pretending to fall asleep during a group project.

He doesn’t even like eye contact unless it’s on the field.

And now he’s wearing cologne.

Cologne. That I bought. And that he used half the bottle of.

This man smelled like "Citrus Panic Attack."

The Disaster in Motion

Of course, I had to follow him.

Don’t judge me. You would too.

I disguised myself with sunglasses, a hoodie, and a juice box like a true agent of chaos. Sat two tables behind them at the café.

And it was… wild.

Because he was actually trying.

Like, leaning forward, listening, nodding. NODDING.

At one point he even… laughed. And not the “I hate this” laugh. The real one. The one he usually reserves for watching me trip over nothing or seeing Miyuki get hit with a stray ball.

Was it cute?

Yes.

Was I mentally screaming?

Absolutely.

Then It Happened

Midway through, the girl (her name was Emi, apparently—cute, polite, clearly had no idea what she was walking into) asked him:

“So what made you want to go on this date?”

He paused.

And I leaned in, ready for the worst.

Then he said:

“My sister dared me. But then I thought… maybe I could try.”

Emi blinked. “Oh?”

Jun shrugged. “I’ve lived a life that never slowed down. Baseball. Coaching. Protecting someone I care about. Maybe I figured it was time I figured me out too.”

I felt like someone kicked me in the chest.

Because that? That wasn’t broody, angry, emotionally repressed Jun.

That was grown-up Jun.

Afterward

He didn’t kiss her. (Praise be.)

But he did walk her to the station. Said he’d like to see her again.

And as I peeled myself off the bench and wandered back home, he texted me:

"You suck at hiding."

I replied:

"You ironed a shirt, Jun. You have no power here."

That Night

He came home late, looking way too calm.

I was sprawled on the couch like a Victorian aunt awaiting scandalous details.

“Well?” I asked.

“It was fine.”

“Fine?”

“Good.”

“Good?! Jun, are you dying?”

He smirked, walked past, and ruffled my hair like I was twelve.

“I’m just evolving.”

I stared after him, floored.

“…Like a moody Pokémon?”

He didn’t answer.

But I swear I heard him laugh as he shut his door.

Final Thoughts:

Jun on a date?

Terrifying.

Surprisingly charming.

Weirdly emotional.

10/10 would spy again.

Notes:

Follow my journey of fanfic (づ ◕‿◕ )づ

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Life Reset: Adventures in Anime Realms