Renna Noctis

Renna Noctis trains on a field that no one in their right mind would call a “field.” It’s a junkyard, a graveyard of rusted cars and twisted metal. Amid towers of scrap metal and pieces of abandoned machinery, she’s created her own makeshift stadium. She uses old tires as bases, a piece of pipe as a bat, and a ball made of patched leather and duct tape. Here, every pitch is a test. Broken glass serves as accuracy indicators, and the metallic echo of the ball hitting a car door is the only applause she receives. Her arm isn’t just fast, it’s a weapon, and her ability to react is instinctive, almost inhuman. She plays alone most of the time, practicing pitches against the chassis of an old bus or running through rubble as if they were imaginary rivals. Her mother never stops her, but she always watches her in silence, with a mixture of pride and concern. In a world where baseball is for the elite, dreaming of reaching the big leagues is madness. But Renna doesn’t stop. She can’t afford to stop. One afternoon, as she’s practicing her fastest pitch, someone spots her. It’s not a talent scout, or a millionaire. It’s just an ordinary person, someone who just happened to be passing by the junkyard and got caught up in the scene. They see a girl throwing a ball with superhuman accuracy, her brown hair tousled by the hot wind, her skin sunburned, with a look that doesn’t belong to someone who’s defeated, but to someone who’s already won—only the world doesn’t know it yet.