April 2044
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Ami was fifteen, a firecracker on the softball field, and possessed a level of confidence that usually made her feel invincible. She didn't "do" delicate emotions; she did home runs and sliding catches.
But one Tuesday afternoon, the front door didn't slam with its usual force. It opened quietly, and Ami walked past the kitchen without a word, her cleats dangling limp from her hand.
"Ami? Practice get canceled?" Kevin called out from the sofa, where he was reviewing scouting tapes.
No answer. Just the soft click of a bedroom door.
The Quiet Collapse
An hour later, Shino went upstairs. She didn't knock—she just entered with two bowls of hot, spicy ramen, the "Kato Universal Cure-All."
Ami was face-down on her bed, still in her dirt-stained jersey. Her phone was glowing on the nightstand, showing a chat screen that had been muted.
"His name is Sato-kun, isn't it?" Shino asked softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "The one with the fast outfield arm?"
Ami sat up, her face a mess of smeared eye liner and frustration. "He’s an idiot, Mom. He’s statistically insignificant. He told me he liked me, and then today... I saw him behind the gym with the captain of the cheer squad. He didn't even have the guts to tell me it was over."
She let out a shaky breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "I wanted to punch him. But then I just felt like... like I’d struck out in the bottom of the ninth with the bases loaded. I hate this feeling. I hate that I care."
The Father's Instinct
Downstairs, Kevin had been listening by the door. His first instinct was the "Kevin of 2013": find the boy, have a "stern talk" about respect, and maybe show him exactly how fast a retired pro-scout can still throw a heater.
But he stopped when he heard Shino’s voice through the door.
"Ami, look at me," Shino said. "Your father and I... we didn't just 'happen.' We had years where we didn't know if we’d ever see each other again. We had people who tried to come between us. I had a summer where I thought your dad had forgotten I existed."
"Really?" Ami sniffled, reaching for the ramen.
"Really. Heartbreak isn't a sign that you're weak, Ami. It’s the tax you pay for being brave enough to like someone. You’re a power hitter—you're going to swing and miss sometimes. The trick isn't to stop swinging. It’s to walk back to the dugout, adjust your grip, and wait for the next pitch."
Later that night, Kevin found Ami in the backyard, aggressively pitching tennis balls into a net in the dark.
"Want to talk about it?" Kevin asked, leaning against the plum tree.
"I’m going to out-play him, Dad," Ami said, her voice hard again. "I’m going to make sure that every time he looks at the scoreboard, he sees my name and remembers he’s a coward."
Kevin grinned. "That’s my girl. But Ami? Don't play for him. Play for you. The best revenge isn't a win on the scoreboard; it's being so happy with your own life that you forget he was ever in the lineup."
Ami stopped, the ball clutched in her hand. She looked at her dad, then up at the window where Shino was watching from the library.
"I think I’ll take tomorrow off," Ami decided. "Mom says there’s a new bookstore opening in the city. I might go buy something that doesn't have a score."
Kevin hugged her, smelling the grass and the sweat of a girl who was growing up much too fast. The curveball had landed, but the Katos were already preparing for the next inning.
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and then Add to home screen.