The New Coach Arrives Fashionably Late

The new coach arrived late.

In the third week of September, Kōshū had been with the team for a full month, and he faced another round of checkups.

"It looks like you've been eating well every day." Coach Yoshioka said with a smile. Kōshū's weight had increased by 3KG compared to before, reaching 70KG. After several weeks of strength training, he had become much more solid.

"Of course. Otherwise, all that meat every day would go to waste."

Next came the ball speed. With the boost from his weight and physique, the results came out quickly. "It's basically stable at 125, which is 2 kilometers faster than the test two weeks ago."

"How about it? I feel like I can finish the four-month or even six-month plan early." Kōshū moved his arm on the pitcher's mound.

"Don't be too impatient. You know you've only been at this for a month. It's too early to talk about stability now. Besides, your body is still growing, and the form we've settled on needs constant monitoring." Coach Yoshioka brought out the camera he'd used for testing last month. "Come on, let's record your current pitching form."

"Okay." Kōshū had grown used to the coaching staff's caution. Whenever he wanted to rush ahead, they were the ones pulling him back.

The testing took up half the morning. For the remaining time, Hayakawa Aki crouched behind the plate for Kōshū.

"Kōshū-kun, are you going to pitch or not?" Hayakawa stood up, looking helplessly at the guy who was hanging around ChaiZaki's test.

"Hayakawa-kun, relax." Senior Nozawa, who was still warming up nearby, kept glancing over between pitches.

"Nozawa Kai, if bullpen pitching is bothering you, we can move outside." Captain Ido struck a fatal blow.

"Hayakawa-kun, Shibasaki-kun is also an important asset to our team. Don't you care about how he's doing right now?" When it came to being a troublemaker, Kōshū took the lead. He was now staring intently at the numbers jumping on the scale. "66KG, not bad, Shibasaki-kun."

Coach Yoshioka also let out a sigh of relief. "It looks like adding dietary fiber to the diet long-term can effectively improve digestion. Shibasaki-kun, even though your body can handle the current training intensity, this weight alone isn't enough. You understand, right?"

"Yes. I'll eat a little more every day from now on."

"That's not it. Recently, when we communicated with the nutritionist about your situation, his suggestion was to increase from the current four meals a day to seven meals a day. Even if you're not hungry, you need to eat a set amount at each meal. I'll send the meal plan to your mother today, so please don't leave any leftovers."

"I understand." Shibasaki's joy was tinged with bitterness. His appetite really wasn't strong enough. Even with four meals a day now, he sometimes had to force the food down.

"Seven meals a day..." Kōshū was pondering when those seven meals would be when Coach Yoshioka interrupted him. "Kōshū-kun, everyone's situation is different. Shibasaki-kun has a weak stomach and can't digest too much food at once. Even though increasing to seven meals will keep his digestive system working constantly, it's the only option for now. Please stick to your own meal plan."

"Fine..."

"Next, ball speed." This item didn't cheer anyone up. Shibasaki seemed to know it too. After throwing a few pitches, he spoke up. "Still stable at 127."

"Mm, it's okay, Shibasaki-kun. Your biggest problem is slowly being solved. I'm sure there will be results in a few months." Coach Yoshioka's reassurance had its effect. "Now then, I'll record your pitching motion. Throw 30 fastballs and 30 fast cutters each."

The fast cutter was the pitch Shibasaki had used when he faced off against Kōshū before. Its rotation was similar to a four-seam fastball, but it was a cutter that changed direction quickly right before the plate. Because the throwing motion was closer to a four-seam fastball, its speed was also high, around 120.

Kōshū was very interested in this fast cutter. He had secretly learned the throwing motion from Shibasaki, but the coach strictly forbade him from throwing breaking balls, so he obediently stopped trying. Still, that didn't stop him from watching now.

"Kō--shū--kun," came Hayakawa's resentful voice from behind. "Throw--the--ball--already."

"I know." Kōshū had no choice but to turn around and get to his own work.

Hayakawa-kun adjusted his mask and made a signal. Since Kōshū's fastball had initially stabilized, Coach Ninomiya had started letting him get used to the team's signals. It seemed he really intended to put Kōshū to use. The pitcher across from him finally nodded seriously and began his practice throws.

Their practice was done in sets. Hayakawa-kun kept his glove in the same spot, and Kōshū had to throw fastballs with different spin rates into it. During this time, Hayakawa-kun's glove wouldn't move.

High rotation speed straight balls dropped less, so he needed to aim for the lower half of the glove, about half a ball to a full ball's distance away—that was where his normal fastball would land. But the most important thing was the feel of each pitch at that moment. Different finger sensitivity and different humidity levels brought uncertainty to every ball. So to throw it perfectly into the center of the glove, besides aiming correctly at the start, Kōshū also had to make adjustments the moment the ball left his hand.

It was like a shooting game, with the prey being the feel of the ball. Kōshū's goal was to adjust his body to match that feel at the last moment. Although the prey always appeared within a certain range, it only showed up at the very instant of release—that was the final window for adjustment.

Of course, when everyone heard Kōshū's prey theory, they were all a bit stunned. Even Coach Ninomiya added another key note to Kōshū's file: "When he holds a baseball, the baseball becomes part of his body, even at the moment of release."

"Thud—" Hayakawa Aki caught just one pitch and could already tell he was in top form. 'Speaking of which, does this guy ever have an off day?'

"NICE! Still in great shape today."

"Haha, that's my first point today."

This was another game between Kōshū and Hayakawa Aki. It started as a way to test Kōshū's familiarity with the signals, with points casually assigned. A correct pitch counted as one point.

Later, it turned into a little pitching game between the two. As long as Kōshū threw it perfectly into the glove, it counted as one point.

In the end, even the coaches got involved. They recorded Kōshū's score every day. Scoring 55 or more out of 60 pitches meant 'very good form.' Scoring 45 to 54 out of 60 meant 'good form.' If the pitch count was insufficient, it was noted accordingly.

So far, Kōshū's status only had these two tiers. But as his ball speed increased and his pitch variety grew, this score would certainly change. What the coaching staff had to do was fully record his growth process.

Coach Fujii, while checking on the first-string pitchers, also reviewed the test results for Kōshū and Shibasaki.

'Shibasaki-kun's condition is slowly improving. By the time the team is reorganized next year, he should be around 135, and with his sharp breaking balls, he can fully serve as the number two starter.'

He then looked at Kōshū, who was shouting out numbers loudly. 'As for Kōshū-kun, he'll probably be our team's ace by next year. When his physique reaches 76KG or even 80KG, as long as he's guided properly, his ball speed will skyrocket. Add in his batting ability, and next year's team will be built around him.'

Thinking of the other coach who was about to arrive, 'Coach Ninomiya will probably have him guide Kōshū-kun's batting. The team's batting adjustments are still a bit lacking right now.'

The person Coach Fujii was thinking about was still waiting at the airport.

"Ah-choo—" The young man with dyed golden hair sneezed violently.

"You okay? Did you party too hard last night?" Another guy teased.

"What are you talking about?" The golden-haired man suddenly leaned close to Ninomiya Haruno, a weird grin on his face. "Don't you know whether I partied last night or not?"

But the other person wasn't affected and kept nagging. "When we get to my dad's place, don't be so flippant. He's a very serious person."

"Ugh, just thinking about seeing my mom is annoying. She's always threatening me with her illness."

"In the end, you chose to come back to Japan yourself, didn't you? She's an old lady. Could she really cross the Pacific Ocean to drag you back from America?" Haruno had heard Kinoshita Yanagi's complaints ten thousand times and didn't have an ounce of sympathy.

"You cold-blooded bastard. You really inherited that from Coach Ninomiya." Then Haruno slapped him on the back. Just then, the boarding announcement rang out. Haruno used the last moments to give one more instruction. "Kinoshita, the club is your father's life's work. The people still sticking with it over there are a bunch of old-timers. You know their physical condition. Help out properly, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah—and then welcome back the head coach Ninomiya Haruno from the Major League?" Kinoshita Yanagi still waved his hand lazily behind him. He had just finished three years as a coaching assistant in the minor leagues and was called back to Japan with a barrage of phone calls. No wonder he was a bit resentful.

Twelve hours later, the plane departing from the West Coast of the United States arrived at Tokyo Airport in Japan. Kinoshita Yanagi's hair was a mess from sleeping, the roots clearly hadn't been dyed in a while, already showing their original black.

Sure enough, Tokyo was still the same Tokyo. In the taxi, Kinoshita Yanagi looked at the familiar scenery and all kinds of people. The switch in language and the difference in the view before him left him feeling a bit listless.

"Sir—Sir—" The taxi driver looked at this passenger with some hesitation. The car had already arrived at a certain house in West Tokyo. The tall man inside had just turned over to face inward, his sleeveless shirt revealing his bulging muscles.

The driver was a bit afraid to wake him, so instead he started pressing the doorbell of this house.

"Who is it, cough cough." A weak yet gentle, aged female voice came through the intercom.

"Ah, hello. It's a passenger from the airport. He fell asleep in the back seat..."

"What! That little brat is finally back!" The voice suddenly became full of energy, the intercom crackling with static from the sudden increase in volume.

Immediately, the front door of the house swung open. An old woman with a kind face, now frowning tightly, rushed out. She still had an apron on, and the spatula in her hand was still steaming. She came to the car door and directly pressed the oily heat of the spatula against Kinoshita Yanagi's bare arm.

"Ah—!"

"Thump—!"

"That hurts, Mom!" The burly man curled up inside the car, even kicking his legs to keep the old woman from reaching in with the spatula again.

"Get out here," the old woman said, ignoring the man's shouts inside the car. She changed to a kind face. It was clear she took good care of herself; her face had no strange wrinkles, and when she smiled, her eyes curved into crescent moons. Her smile must have been beautiful when she was young. "Driver, how much is it?"

The driver nervously took the money, didn't dare check if the car was dirty, and quickly fled the scene.

"You—get inside!"

"Alright—!"

Dragging out a long sigh, after two years, Kinoshita Yanagi once again set foot in this home.

Last chapter in the backlog, starting to write without a net.

Been dealing with work reports all week. I'm first up tomorrow, sucks to be me.

But once the report is done, I can start writing normally again.