Pitching Test

Pitching Test

The next morning, as everyone scattered to begin their respective practice, pitching coach Fujii brought Kōshū back to the bullpen.

The bullpen was buzzing with activity—four pitcher-catcher pairs were training, and Hayakawa was squatting for a pitcher he hadn't seen before. So that's the Shibasaki the coach mentioned yesterday.

"Takashi-kun, don't let your focus wander to other people's training. We have a heavy workload this morning." Coach Fujii tapped the materials in his hand as Coach Yoshioka circled around behind him to home plate, donning protective gear to catch for Kōshū.

"First task: I need to re-record your pitching motion. Please throw one ball seriously." Fujii adjusted the equipment. Kōshū took a deep breath and threw.

"Good, one more, please." Coach Fujii held an iPad, head down, replaying the video just taken.

They continued like this for over thirty pitches before Fujii called a stop: "Stop! That's enough sampling for the pitching motion. We need to slow down the replay to pick apart the details of your form. Rest for now—next up is the accuracy limit test."

"Okay," Kōshū relaxed his shoulders, then suddenly noticed a few curious glances around him.

Several pitchers crowded in, but the focus didn't seem to be on Kōshū—it was on Shibasaki, who had just returned to the team.

"Shibasaki-kun, this is our new pitcher, Takashi-kun." The speaker was Heishi, a First String left-handed pitcher in his third year of middle school, 185 cm tall. Word was he'd been only 155 cm when he joined in sixth grade. His decisive ball was a big curveball.

"Shibasaki-senpai, is your foot completely healed?" This was Sato, a Second String right-handed pitcher in his first year. His ball speed was already in the upper 130s, but once his pitch count passed sixty, he lost accuracy. Yesterday, he'd specifically asked Shibasaki for pitching tips.

Thinking of Sato's disappointed expression, I hope the coaches can figure out a way to improve accuracy.

"Takashi-kun is the second precious experimental sample after you, you know." The slouching speaker was the seemingly intellectual pitcher from Group One, First String—Nozawa Kai, third year, ball speed in the low 130s. So far, he was known to have a fastball and a slider.

"Ha ha ha ha!" Everyone laughed. Coach Fujii shook his head helplessly. "A bunch of idiots, what are you saying?"

"Eh, Takashi-kun?" Shibasaki looked at Kōshū with curiosity.

Kōshū was also at a loss. He raised his hand and said, "My pitching is very accurate. Apparently, my natural rotation axis is relatively straight?"

"That really is an amazing talent. Don't be nervous—I gained a lot from the experimental process. My injury was from other reasons." Shibasaki was a very gentle person; he could tell Kōshū was a bit tense.

"Huh? Just other reasons?" Nozawa undercut him. "Takashi-kun, let me tell you—he was riding his bike, staring too hard at a girl, and bang, he crashed into a signpost."

"Nozawa-senpai! Don't say such misleading things. It was my cousin, honestly. How am I supposed to explain this clearly?"

"Ah, Shibasaki-kun, if it's inconvenient to talk about, you don't have to." Kōshū waved his hand with a smile.

"It's just some messy family stuff. But to keep you from misunderstanding, I should explain. It was my cousin who ran away from home. Everyone searched for two weeks without finding her. When I passed a small alley, I happened to see her rummaging through a trash can. I hurried to chase after her, but I braked too hard and pulled a muscle." Shibasaki glared at Nozawa with some annoyance; Nozawa stuck out his tongue.

"Well, that's... at least she was found." Kōshū nodded. Nozawa tried to expose more, but Shibasaki, quick as a flash, covered his mouth.

"Let's not disturb Takashi-kun's test. I'm also very curious about his limits."

Coach Fujii and Coach Yoshioka had just finished organizing their gear. A group of catchers silently helped on the sidelines. Kōshū looked at them, then at the pitchers around him. It feels like the guests have arrived, the wife is tidying up in the kitchen, and the men are chatting and drinking out front. He shook himself, shaking off that strange impression.

Phase one was testing whether he could accurately throw to the four corners. The captain and First String starting catcher, Ido Shuichi, squatted ahead—a massive frame.

"Inner corner high." He caught it cleanly; the sound of the ball hitting his glove was very loud.

Kōshū's eyes lit up. That catching sound was incredibly uplifting for a pitcher.

"Inner corner low." "Outer corner high." "Outer corner low." No words beyond the commands, but the glove didn't move an inch—that alone was enough to get Kōshū excited.

They shuffled the order and retested. "Mr. Fujii, I think the four-quadrant grid is completely fine. Now let's see if a batter's presence has any effect," Ido suggested.

"Sure, let me be the batter." Nozawa loved jumping into this kind of fun. He put on protective gear and took a stance pressed right up against home plate.

"Inner corner low." Ido had a thought—he made Kōshū's first pitch against Nozawa an inner corner low.

The reason was simple. Kōshū understood the moment he released the ball. Nozawa used a one-legged batting stance, and his raised left leg was very close to the inner corner low position. Kōshū tensed up sharply, but his throwing motion wasn't disrupted. The ball accurately entered the inner corner low.

Nozawa, on the other hand, took a big step back. "You little brat, you've got guts."

Coach Fujii just smiled. Everyone understood that the boldest one here was catcher Ido. After building initial trust over the first few pitches, Kōshū had fully trusted the catcher's glove without knowing the truth. Ignorance is bliss. With this pitch successfully coming in, Kōshū would surely have confidence in throwing inner corner low against this kind of batter.

After throwing, Kōshū's heartbeat sped up considerably. But the ball returning to the glove and the catcher's "NICE BALL" across from him put him at ease.

So this is a First String catcher. Not bad—I'm super excited.

"Next, Takashi-kun, just watch my glove."

Ido's glove was positioned across the nine zones of the strike zone. He caught every ball without moving an inch. Nozawa watched up close, goosebumps rising on his back and arms. His mouth never stopped.

"Takashi-kun, throwing three inner corner lows in a row—aren't you afraid of hitting me?"

"Shibasaki-kun, look, I've got goosebumps all over my arms. Look."

Shibasaki indicated that he was too noisy.

"Takashi-kun..."

"Coach Fujii, if Nozawa Kai keeps being noisy, can we call Coach Ninomiya over?" Ido, who had grown up with Nozawa, knew exactly where his weak spot was.

Sure enough, Nozawa shut his mouth after that. After another twenty-plus pitches, Ido threw the ball back, clenched his right fist, and pounded his left glove hard a few times. His mood was clearly not calm either. "Coach Fujii, they all came in clean."

Coach Fujii was still staring at his tablet. "Then start the test—half a ball outside the strike zone."

Ido nodded. If pitches grazing the strike zone could also come in accurately, their strike zone range would undoubtedly expand significantly.

The first pitch was still inner corner low, half a ball outside the strike zone. Ido's glove was positioned very precisely, right beside the batter's knee. Nozawa didn't look down to see where the catcher's glove was, but he knew—this seemingly honest guy was definitely going to mess with him.

Inner corner low? Am I afraid? If a batter is afraid of the ball, what's the point of batting? Coach Fujii shook his head inwardly. This kind of approach could affect the pitcher's performance, but against someone bold and inaccurate, a hit-by-pitch was unavoidable. He didn't know how Coach Ninomiya had communicated with him to let him get away with this nonsense.

Nozawa's stance was already forward. When he lifted his left leg to swing, he extended it a bit toward home plate. That inner corner low pitch grazed right past Nozawa's leg into the glove. Even through the protective gear, the sharp gust of wind was palpable. "That was dangerous!" the pitchers behind him shouted in unison.

Kōshū belatedly sensed something was off, but Nozawa over there burst out laughing: "Are you really a rookie? You don't have an ounce of rookie fear. Bring it on!"

"Then I'll throw an inside corner low next, Senior Nozawa—watch your legs!" Kōshū bluffed.

"Shut up, the one calling pitches is the catcher. I'm not falling for that." Yet he flinched back from an inside corner high pitch that just grazed the edge.

"Is that even a strike?" Nozawa felt a flash of embarrassment.

Ido adjusted his mask. "This umpire has seen dozens of pitches by now. He trusts Kōshū's accuracy. My glove didn't move this time either, so he'll call it a strike."

"Scary guy—he can influence the umpire's judgment." Second String's Satō, long plagued by control issues, couldn't help muttering under his breath.

"Tch, not scary at all. Only 120 km/h—if I got to swing, I'd have hit it long ago." Nozawa's eyes were ice-cold, but his mouth never stopped provoking. "I'm really good at hitting fastballs, you know. I'd turn every one into a double. There's a runner on second right now, so one double from me and you're giving up a run, Kōshū."

'Hey hey, don't add drama to yourself.' Having thrown nearly eighty pitches, Kōshū was nearing his limit, and the chatter from the other side kept buzzing in his ears. In a moment of distraction, he actually felt a flicker of panic.

Ido made no move to comfort the pitcher. He watched the boy, who had started breathing through his open mouth just to keep going, and understood that the batter ahead was applying constant pressure. He was at his limit now. But the open glove stayed motionless. 'You're exhausted, aren't you? If this were a real game, we'd be in the latter half. The opponent's attack is relentless, and your focus is starting to scatter. In this state, can you still throw a good inside corner?'

The pitch left his hand.

The last inside corner high—a beautiful arc straight into the catcher's glove.

Nozawa stared seriously at the glove's position, then broke into a lazy grin. "Not bad, rookie. Alright, my job here is done."

Coach Fujii spoke up at the right moment. "Yes, that's eighty pitches—the daily limit. Today's test ends here. Hayakawa, please get him an ice pack."

'Finally... it's over.' He'd been holding his breath in front of everyone, and now as he slowly let it out, his whole body ached.

"I'll help too." Shibasaki-kun draped Kōshū, whose legs had gone weak, over himself and led him off to ice down.

Nozawa-kun also pounced from behind, landing right on the exhausted Kōshū, making his vision go dark. Kōshū weakly protested: "You're so heavy, Senior Nozawa."

"Don't get so cocky, Missile-kun."

"Pfft—" For some reason, Satō had followed along too. "What does Missile-kun mean?"

"Like a precision-guided missile. Don't you think it fits?" Nozawa then draped himself over Satō, making the first-year junior sag under the weight. "Senior Nozawa... have you gained weight again?"

"It's muscle gain, muscle. Muscle is a pitcher's shield."

I heard you can't stop updating between signing and going live?

Just in time for National Day, I have time to stockpile. I'll save up more these next few days.

Once National Day ends, it's quarterly performance review time. I haven't even written the PPT yet. I'm dead, I'm dead.