Practice ended for most of the team, but Coach Ramirez wasn't done—not with Zach.
"Zachariah," he called, "stay here a minute."
Tyler patted Zach's shoulder before running off. "Good luck, dude! Don't break him!"
Blake shot Zach one last venomous glare before stomping away with his father.
Priscilla stayed near the bleachers, watching with a mix of pride and worry. She recognized the look in the coach's eyes—curiosity mixed with disbelief. She wasn't sure if that was good or bad yet.
Coach folded his arms. "Alright, kid. You've got something special, but I need to see how much of that is natural talent and how much is… pure freak accident."
Zach blinked. "What's a freak accident?"
"Never mind," Coach muttered. "Let's start simple."
He dropped a bucket of baseballs next to the mound.
"Throw five balls right-handed. Fast as you can. Aim for the catcher's glove."
Zach nodded eagerly, hopped onto the mound, and set his stance.
Ping.
"Training Mode Activated."
Minor energy drain reduction: 10%
Zach had no idea what that meant, but it made him grin.
He threw the first pitch—clean, sharp, and faster than any five-year-old had business throwing. The thump echoed across the empty field.
Coach Ramirez raised his brows. "Again."
Second pitch. Faster.
Third pitch. Even more controlled.
By the fifth, the coach removed his sunglasses, staring as though Zach were a small alien.
"…Okay. Now left-handed."
Zach brightened. "Yes, sir!"
He swapped the glove, took a breath, and repeated the process—five swift, accurate pitches. Not quite as strong as his right arm, but the mechanics were nearly identical.
Coach Ramirez's jaw tightened. "How long have you been doing this?"
"Um… a year?" Zach guessed. "Maybe more? I practiced with the wall every day."
"A year?" Ramirez repeated slowly. "You taught yourself mechanics in a single year?"
Zach shrugged. "The wall helps. If I throw bad, it hits me."
The coach pinched the bridge of his nose.
"That is not—Zach, that's not how training works."
"But it worked," Zach said innocently.
Coach Ramirez opened his mouth, closed it, then muttered, "I need to lie down."
The Coach Tests Him FurtherRamirez steadied himself and grabbed a small orange cone.
"Alright, kid. Let's try something else. I want you to hit this cone. Right-handed. From the mound."
He placed the cone on the outside edge of the plate.
"Most adults can't hit this spot," he warned.
But Zach wasn't most adults.
He lifted his leg, exhaled, and threw.
The ball smacked the cone dead center and knocked it over.
The coach stared at the fallen cone, then at Zach, then back at the cone.
"Do it again."
Zach did.
"Again."
Zach did.
"…Again."
Another perfect hit.
Coach Ramirez slowly crouched, hands on his knees.
"…You're five," he whispered.
"Yes, sir."
"Do you… understand what 'five' means?"
Zach tilted his head. "A number?"
The coach groaned.
System ReactionAs Zach picked up another ball, the familiar soft chime echoed in his head.
Ping.
"Quest Progress: Coach's Approval (2/5)."
Skill Gained: Throwing Mechanics (Basic).
Effect: +5% consistency on controlled pitches."
Zach gasped softly. He felt… sharper. Like his arm moved more smoothly and his balance improved without effort.
He threw another pitch and felt the difference instantly.
It was cleaner.
More refined.
Almost like the system had smoothed the rough edges of the technique he'd taught himself.
His eyes widened in awe.
This is amazing…
Coach Comes to a DecisionRamirez slowly stood back up.
"Zach… listen carefully. I've been coaching Little League for twenty-three years. I've seen big kids, strong kids, natural athletes… but I've never seen… whatever you are."
Zach blinked. "Is that good?"
"It might be great," the coach said. "But only if you train properly."
"I do!" Zach said proudly. "I throw against the wall—"
"No more wall."
Zach froze. "W-what? Why not?!"
"Because I don't need you knocking your own teeth out before the season starts," Ramirez snapped. "I'm going to train you myself."
Zach stared, wide-eyed.
"You'll still practice with the team," the coach continued, "but you and I are doing one-on-one sessions twice a week. Both arms. Proper mechanics. Real drills. Got it?"
Zach's heart raced. "Yes! Yes, sir!"
Coach Ramirez nodded firmly.
"But there's one more thing." His voice lowered as he knelt to Zach's height. "Don't show off. Not yet."
Zach blinked. "Why not?"
"Because some kids won't handle it well. Especially Blake."
Zach looked down. He didn't like making Blake angry—but he wasn't sure how to make him not angry.
"I don't want to make anyone mad," Zach said softly.
The coach sighed. "I know. But you can't hide forever. For now, just… don't throw at full power unless I ask. Deal?"
"Deal!"
Zach stuck out his hand. Ramirez shook it.
His grip was small, warm, but incredibly confident.
Priscilla's ReactionPriscilla approached as the sun dipped low.
"How'd he do?" she asked.
Ramirez stared at her like she had just handed him a miniature adult professional baseball player.
"Ma'am," he said seriously, "your son is… different."
Priscilla's heart dropped. "Different how?"
"Different good," he clarified quickly. "I want to work with him. One-on-one."
She blinked. "Wh… what? Really?"
"Yes," Ramirez said firmly. "I don't know how far he'll go… but he deserves the chance."
Priscilla looked at Zach—sweaty, smiling, holding his glove like treasure.
Her eyes softened.
"I'll make it work," she said quietly. "Whatever schedule you need."
Zach grinned up at her. "Mom! Coach said I'm good!"
She brushed his hair back. "Sweetheart, you're better than good."
Zach's cheeks warmed.
They walked home together, hand in hand, as the last light faded.
Before he fell asleep, Zach heard one last ping.
"New Quest: First Game Approaches."
Objective: Prepare for opening day."
Reward: Energy Efficiency (Minor).
Zach smiled into his pillow.
He was ready.
More ready than ever.