Rapid Fire King:Volume1 Prologue

Basics of Shoot ‘Em Up Games

1: You

2: Your Shots (Your Bullets)

3: Enemies (Weak ones, multiple varieties, and tanks exist)

4: Midsized Craft (Can be enemies or item carriers)

5: Stage Boss (Different for each stage)

6: Enemy Bullets (You lose a life if one hits you)

7: Power Up Item (Makes you stronger)

8: Bomb Item (Gives you another bomb)

9: Bomb Explosion

10: Player 1 Score

11: Player 2 Score

12: High Score

13: Remaining Bombs

14: Remaining Lives

15: Background (Changes based on stage and progress through a stage)

Opening

“Boys, baseball is a game where you gotta have fun. You do that by winning.” -Dave Bristol, Baseball Coach

Prologue: 19XX

1

The dirt ground was awash in the evening light.

A large white building dyed in that scarlet light sat next to the flat ground.

It was a school building.

Several shadows were cast on the dirt sports field that looked up at the school.

Those shadows belonged to the white-uniformed people dotting the north end of the field.

They were playing baseball.

A blackboard scoreboard stood at the bench in front of the western net. According to that scoreboard, it was April 21, this was an intrasquad game, the score was 3 to 2, it was the bottom of the 9th, and there were two outs. The only runner was on third.

The batter was lefthanded and #7. The count was 2 strikes and 2 balls.

The average height batter held the bat up by his shoulder and a teammate called out to him from the right side of the bench.

“Takamura-senpai! Hit it! Just hit it!”

The batter, Takamura, did not respond.

Meanwhile, a teammate on the left side of the bench called out to the pitcher.

“Naka-senpai! One more pitch! Just one more pitch!”

The pitcher, Naka, turned his head toward that call for one last pitch.

Takamura responded by raising the bat as if resting it on his shoulder.

Just then, he narrowed his eyes.

He looked off into the distance. He stared past the backstop to the walkway connecting school buildings.

2

Takamura was watching the girl crossing that walkway.

Her long ponytail swayed behind her and she was resting a camera tripod on her shoulder.

She turned toward him and waved.

But she waved while walking, so the tripod lost its balance and nearly fell from her shoulder.

He watched as she quickly supported it and entered the other school building.

“You idiot,” he muttered under his breath.

Then someone else called out to him as if they had heard him. It was the pitcher named Naka in front of him.

“Taka.”

He ignored the frown from the coach on the bench.

“Are you in the zone?”

Takamura did not respond, but an underclassman on the bench responded for him.

“You’re totally in the zone, right!? Your defense is on fire today, so show us 1st years how to bat too!”

Takamura did not respond to that either.

He simply spread his legs and thought to himself.

…I’m not so sure.

He looked to Naka who held the ball hidden in his glove with the blood vessels bulging out on his arm. He knew Naka’s pitches were like launching all that strength. The boy never held back when he was like this.

And Naka asked him another question.

“Can you take this seriously?”

3

Naka did not ask if he was taking it seriously.

Which is why Takamura had to wonder about it.

Their underclassmen had said he was doing well on defense today.

But he understood defense was different from the one-on-one battle of pitcher vs. batter. It came down to how much they had practiced catching balls flying their way.

What mattered in defense was the movements and decisiveness to catch any and all balls like some kind of machine, and that was learned through repetitive practice.

Takamura was aware he enjoyed practice. He had started playing baseball in elementary school and he did like it.

But…

“Naka.”

He looked to the pitcher.

“Are you going to pitch seriously?”

“You’re damn right I am.”

“I see,” said Takamura with a nod.

…I’m no good at this.

He disliked these situations.

Not the situations where the game came down to him.

…I don’t like being up against players who take this all so seriously.

Takamura liked baseball.

He liked the catching practice, the batting practice, running laps around the field, and everything else too.

But…

…I have to wonder.

He felt no pressure when he looked at the scoreboard or the count. He simply knew that the outcome of the game came down to him.

He felt no real desire to follow through on that or fight hard for victory.

Because…

…Is having fun not enough?

He liked baseball.

He liked the feeling of the ball digging into his glove, the feeling of the bat hitting the ball, and the feeling of his cleats throwing dirt into the air.

But…

…I’m no good at this.

He had to wonder why all of those things he enjoyed had to be used for scoring points.

Of course, that was just how the game of baseball worked. Scoring points was the goal.

Even now…

“–––––”

Naka prepared to pitch. He shrank down, bent his body, and stepped forward.

His arm formed a curve and the white ball…

“Shah!”

…was thrown.

In that instant, Takamura’s eyes determined this ball was curving in toward the low outside corner.

A moment later, the catcher moved slightly and he heard the ball slam into the mitt.

After that dry sound, everyone looked to him.

The teammate acting as the umpire hesitated for a moment and then…

“Ball!”

Everyone on the bench sighed. Some in relief and some in disappointment.

And when the catcher returned the ball to Naka, Takamura saw the boy click his tongue.

…Are you upset?

At the same time, someone called out from the bench.

“Takamura-senpai! Good eye!”

No, Takamura said in his heart. If I had intended to hit anything at all, I would have swung.

He had seen plenty of people who had swung at that kind of pitch from Naka.

He knew that was Naka’s killing pitch.

His decision not to swing was less about having a good eye and more about being familiar with it and…

…Because I didn’t really feel like hitting the ball.

Naka was making no attempt to hide his irritation over that pitch not working. He faced to the side and lightly kicked down the dirt mound with his heel.

…He really is upset.

Then should Takamura have been happy with this result? The count had shifted from 2-2 to a full count of 2-3.

Whether or not they would earn any more points was up to his batting.

“Just one more point!” shouted everyone on the bench.

They kept saying it.

Just one more point.

That was all it took for the game to continue.

…It’s all about the points, isn’t it?

But for Takamura…

…It all goes back to playing catch.

He thought back.

The team he had played for in elementary school had not been very good. No matter how hard they tried, they had failed to earn any points and they had not had many players, so the coach had told them to start by getting familiar with the ball and the field and learning to enjoy baseball.

That may have been why he felt the way he did about that pitch.

…I’m no good at this.

He felt like he was missing something that Naka and his other teammates had.

He was always overwhelmed when faced with a pitcher like Naka. The ball did not simply fly his way; it carried an intent to defeat him.

But he did not understand why they had to look at it that way.

He understood intellectually that was just how the game worked, but he could not bring himself to look at it that way.

Even now, he hoped to hit the ball if he could, but he had no real desire to defeat Naka through doing so.

…God, what is wrong with me?

Just as he thought that, he realized he was losing himself in thought.

…Oops.

“Nh.”

He stepped out of the box and raised the bat again for no real reason.

But he could not rid himself of these thoughts. He felt there was something wrong with him and he also felt some impatience because he did not know why exactly he felt that way.

…Is there something wrong with me?

He was in his third year.

That was the year for entrance exams.

Most of his classmates had started to attend cram schools and some were trying to get recommendations.

But he still did not know what he wanted to do or where he wanted to go.

So here he was still playing baseball which he liked but had no stronger feelings about.

Lately, he had vaguely started wondering something.

…Am I…?

He could not deny the possibility.

…Am I just incapable of getting serious about anything at all?

This would be his last year of high school baseball. He had to look to his future now.

But in both baseball and life in general, he felt like he was lagging behind other people.

Was he really?

What would become of him if he really could not get serious about anything?

…I don’t know.

He wanted to find something – just one thing – that he could get serious about. If he did, he felt like he could get by. Then he would know he was capable of getting serious.

So it could be anything and it did not have to last long. He just wanted to know and believe that he had gotten serious.

Once he knew he could do that, he could be confident in the path he chose for his future. Then he could say he was choosing that path so he could find that thing he could get serious about.

…But can I do it?

If he kept playing baseball after this, would it mean he was serious about baseball?

If he researched all sorts of schools and careers to decide on a future for himself, would he find something he could get serious about?

He did not know.

He still did not know as Naka prepared another pitch.

A fastball was coming.

…I’m no good at this.

With the previous sort of technical pitch, he just had to trust his eyes. Those pitches were slow, so they were easy to reach with the bat.

But fastballs were different. Worse, he could feel Naka’s intent to defeat him.

He felt awkward about it.

He felt like it was wrong for him to stand up to someone who took the game so seriously.

“Kh.”

With a quiet groan, he swung the bat.

…I need to get serious.

He tried to tell himself that, but even in his own mind, he had to add the following qualifier:

…If I can.

He heard the ball digging into the mitt as he swung the bat, so he wondered the same thing once more.

…Am I even capable of getting serious?

He felt the chill of the evening air on his skin as he wondered if he would ever find an answer to that question.

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