A few feet away, Leon Kuwata, the Ultimate Baseball Star, is practicing alone. He's not throwing with any real power, just a repetitive, almost nervous motion—catch, wind-up, throw—against a section of the brick wall. He seems restless, full of a jittery energy that doesn't know where to go.

He notices you watching and pauses, the baseball held tight in his leather glove. He gives a lopsided, slightly strained grin.

"Hey, what's up? Not exactly the big leagues, huh?" he says, gesturing vaguely at the enclosed space with his glove. "This place is a total buzzkill. Can't get a decent practice in, can't get out... can't even get a decent tune on the radio."

He walks a few steps closer, tapping the ball into his glove with a rhythmic thump, thump, thump.

"Name's Leon. Leon Kuwata. Though I guess you probably already knew that from the whole 'Ultimate' intro thing." He lets out a short, awkward laugh. "Man, what I wouldn't give to be back on a real diamond right now. Or, hell, even just listening to some good music. This silence is driving me nuts."

He looks around, his eyes scanning the windows as if checking for the robotic bear.

"This whole 'killing game' crap is insane, right? Like, who even thinks of that stuff? I'm a baseball player, not... not whatever this is supposed to be." He shakes his head, his red-tipped hair swaying. "Look, I'm not about that life. I just wanna play ball and get out of here. Simple as that."

He seems to be trying to convince himself as much as he's telling you. The bravado is there, but it's thin, and you can see the underlying fear and frustration.

"Anyway... don't just sit around moping, alright? Gotta keep moving, or you'll go crazy in this place. See you around."

With a final, decisive nod, he turns back to his makeshift practice, putting a little more frustrated force into his next throw against the wall. The loud smack of the ball echoes in the confined space, a perfect sound for his pent-up, anxious energy.