"Damn." Kuramochi clicked his tongue inwardly. No wonder he and Kōshū had once been such good partners.
With that, the early ball was offset by the strike they had stolen, and Hirano on the mound visibly relaxed.
So there's nothing to worry about if you listen to me. Hayakawa spread his arms again. Whenever he worked with Hirano, he deliberately spread his arms after they got ahead in the count, trying to build a conditioned reflex in the pitcher.
Pavlov's Dog. The first time he heard about that experiment, he felt as though his mind had connected with that scientist from a distant age. It was a reflex experiment: ring a bell and give the dog food. After a period of training, as long as the bell rang, the dog would naturally salivate, believing food had arrived.
It was just like when an adult raised a hand and his younger self would reflexively cover his head. Even if the slap never came down, his scalp would still tighten with pain, as though that pain had already been branded into his body.
Perhaps he had once resented it as a child, believing that the scolding and arbitrary accusations had damaged his dignity. But that shameful feeling only lasted until he encountered the Pavlov experiment. After learning about it, he quickly forgave his once-rough parents and his once-timid self, because once one acknowledged that humans possessed the same animal nature as dogs, social concepts unique to people—such as dignity—would fade a little.
So relax. I've trained you like Pavlov for nearly two months already. Seeing Hirano's clearly settled expression, Hayakawa smiled.
The third pitch was still Outside Low Corner. Having just thrown to that spot, Hirano felt no psychological pressure at all throwing this one.
Outside again! Kuramochi had just let a