[ From the moment it leaves his fingers, Kazuya knows: it's a good pitch. The kind of pitch that tells him whatever's got Nori's head in the clouds isn't the end of the world, probably. (The break is always too short when it is.) It lands in his mitt with a satisfying thump, and he smiles, at that and the joke both. ]
You can't compare the net to me, it's unfair. Nice pitch! [ His arm whips, the ball arcs back toward Nori's glove. ]
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You can't compare the net to me, it's unfair. Nice pitch! [ His arm whips, the ball arcs back toward Nori's glove. ]