(Eijun's POV)
When I get to the cafeteria, I grab some food and thank the dinner ladies before turning toward the tables.
"Sawamura!" Kuramochi calls, waving me over.
I grin and head straight for him, dropping into the seat beside him and across from Miyuki.
"Mochi-senpai, Miyuki Kazuya — how fare you this fine evening?" I ask grandly.
Kuramochi snorts. "Your way of talking is so weird, Sawamura. Hey, did you hear about the intrasquad Red vs. White game tomorrow?"
*Oh yeah — I almost forgot.*
"Huh? Game? I get to play?" I shoot to my feet.
Miyuki laughs. "First string doesn't play, Eijun. Besides, no one would be able to catch your pitches." He smirks.
"I could throw slower," I mumble.
"It's not just the speed that makes them hard to catch," he adds.
I glare. "Then I'll use my old form." I grin.
"You're first string, Sawamura. You're not playing," Kuramochi says.
"But Mochi-nii, I wanna play. I'm a first year," I pout.
"Mochi-nii?" Kuramochi repeats, flustered.
"Well, yeah. You're like my big brother." I blink at him.
Miyuki bursts out laughing.
Our conversation gets cut off when Rei-chan walks over.
"Rei-chan, hi!" I say, grinning.
"Sawamura, Coach Kataoka wants to see you after dinner."
I gasp. "B-Boss does? Did I mess up?"
She shakes her head. "No. You're fine."
I nod and finish eating at record speed. "Thanks for the food!" I call, already heading out.
I knock on the office door.
"Come in."
I step inside and close it behind me. "Pardon the intrusion. You wanted to see me, Boss?" I salute.
Coach Kataoka sighs lightly. "Yes, Sawamura. Sit."
"Yes, Boss." I take the chair across from him.
"How are school and the team treating you so far?"
I think for a moment. "I've gotten used to the hierarchy, and I'm getting along with my teammates and roommates. School though…" I sigh. "I'll be honest — it's too easy. I already know most of the material, so I end up falling asleep. I know that's bad."
He nods. "Is there anything that would help you stay focused?"
"In middle school, I used to work on baseball stuff during class — schedules, training plans, scorebooks, game scenarios. Sometimes I'd listen to pro games and analyse them. The school allowed it because of my situation. If it's new material, I can focus fine."
Another thoughtful pause. "If I gave you scorebooks and a game video each day, would you stay awake during lessons?"
I grin. "One hundred percent — unless I'm completely exhausted or my brain goes into overdrive."
He studies me for a second. "Sawamura, I'm considering making you a core player on the team. What do you think?"
My mouth falls open.
*Jack… am I dreaming?*
"No, Eijun. He's serious," Jack answers in my head.
I swallow. "I'd love that, Boss. But what about the others? Most of them haven't seen me play. They'll doubt it — first string is one thing, but core player? I'm just a first-year. Are you sure you won't regret it?"
He stands and places his hands on my shoulders. "You have the greatest potential I've seen in years. You're already better than most third years. I believe you can raise this team higher."
I stay quiet for a moment, then nod firmly. "I won't let you down, Boss."
I bow. "Thank you."
Afterwards, I get in some bat swings, hit the bathhouse for a quick shower, then head back to the dorm. I grab my journal and a game tape and make my way to Miyuki's room, pushing the door open.
"Yo, Miyuki Kazuya — you busy?"
"I'm always busy. What is it?" he says without looking up.
I hold up the tape. "Giants vs. Tigers. Last week's game. Want to watch?"
He finally looks over and nods. "Yeah, haven't seen it yet. Come on."
He pulls out a chair while I load the tape.
"It's four hours long," I warn him.
"We've got time," he says.
The game loads up, crowd noise humming through the speakers.
I've got my notebook open. Miyuki has the remote — which means this is already a hostage situation.
"If you skip anything important, I'm taking that," I say.
"You say that every time."
"And every time you deserve it."
"That's because you think every pitch is sacred."
"Every pitch is sacred."
"Some pitches are garbage."
"Garbage has educational value."
He sighs and presses play.
First batter steps in.
Pause.
"Two-seam," I say.
"Four-seam," Miyuki says immediately.
"Thumb position — look at it," I point.
"Look at the wrist angle — that's riding high."
"Because he's pronating late."
"Because he's cutting unintentionally."
"Because— rewind it."
He rewinds three frames.
We both lean so close our shoulders bump.
"…Late pronation," Miyuki admits.
"Thank you."
"You sound proud."
"I am proud."
"That's unhealthy."
Play — tailing two-seam, weak contact.
I tap the notebook. "That's one."
"You're actually counting?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you won't."
"That's fair."
Next pitch sequence rolls — fastball, foul, fastball, foul.
"Breaking ball," Miyuki says.
"Changeup," I counter.
"He hasn't established speed separation yet."
"That's why now."
"That's backwards."
"That's disruptive."
"That's risky."
"That's baseball."
"You're dramatic."
"You're conservative."
Pitch — changeup. Swing and miss.
I slowly turn my head.
"Don't," Miyuki says.
"Doing it."
"Don't."
"Did it."
He rewinds the pitch twice.
"Alright, explain your reasoning," he says. "And don't say 'vibes.'"
"Release tempo slowed half a beat. Catcher set deeper. And the hitter's load was early — he was sitting hard stuff."
"…Okay that's solid," Miyuki admits. "Annoyingly solid."
"I accept your formal apology."
"That wasn't an apology."
"Emotionally it was."
Runner on first now. Left-handed hitter.
"He's not throwing inside," Miyuki says.
"He should," I answer.
"He won't."
"He should."
"He won't."
"He should."
"You're doing this on purpose now."
"Yes."
Pitch — outside fastball.
I point. "Coward."
"That's not cowardice, that's scouting."
"That's fear."
"That's data."
"That's boring."
He rewinds the defensive alignment.
"Look at the second baseman," Miyuki says. "He's cheating toward the hole."
"Which means they expect away contact."
"Which means inside would work."
"…Yes," he says slowly.
"Say it clearly."
"No."
"Say it."
"Moving on."
He fast-forwards.
I grab his wrist. "Illegal."
"That was three waste pitches."
"There is no such thing as a waste pitch if it teaches you something."
"What did pitch two teach you?"
"That you fast-forward too much."
He exhales through his nose.
New batter. Power hitter.
We watch the first pitch — called strike on the edge.
"Bad call," I say.
"Good frame," Miyuki says.
"Ball was off."
"Glove presentation sold it."
"Ump bought a lie."
"Receiving skill."
"Fraud."
"Art."
He rewinds just the catch three times.
"See how he sticks it?" Miyuki says. "No recoil, no drag — just quiet hands."
"Yeah but his pocket turns early," I counter. "Better hitters won't get that call."
"True. But this ump does."
"…Okay that's fair."
"Write that down."
"I already did."
"You actually did."
"Yes."
"That's disturbing."
Later inning — pitcher misses twice arm-side.
"He's overthrowing," I say.
"He's aiming," Miyuki replies.
"Overthrowing."
"Aiming."
"His stride's longer."
"His fingers are stiff."
"Stride."
"Fingers."
"Rewind."
We replay the delivery five times.
"…Stride," Miyuki concedes.
I make another mark.
"You're enjoying this too much."
"I enjoy being right the correct amount."
Cleanup hitter returns — same guy from earlier.
"He goes soft away here," Miyuki says.
"He goes hard in," I counter.
"He learned from the last at-bat."
"The hitter learned too."
"That's why you change."
"That's why you double down."
"That's terrible strategy."
"That's conviction."
"That's ego."
"That's pitching."
Pitch — hard inside — jam shot flare.
I grin. "Conviction."
He rubs his temple. "You're impossible."
"Yet effective."
"Debatable."
We rewind the entire at-bat — pitch tunnel, eye tracking, swing path.
"His swing starts when the shoulder fires," I say.
"His swing starts when the hip commits," Miyuki replies.
"Shoulder trigger."
"Hip trigger."
"Shoulder."
"Hip."
We replay again.
"…Hip," I admit.
"I'm writing that down," Miyuki says.
"You don't have a notebook."
"I have a memory."
"That explains the selective accuracy."
Ninth inning. Two outs. Full count.
"What do you call?" Miyuki asks.
"Elevated fastball above the zone," I answer.
"Too obvious."
"Only if it starts obvious."
"Tunnel it then climb?"
"Exactly."
"…Yeah, I'd call that too."
Pitch — tunnel fastball, climb — swing and miss.
We both nod at the same time.
No argument. Just agreement.
He shuts off the TV.
"You're exhausting to watch games with," Miyuki says.
"You're slow to admit I'm good at this."
"You're good at this," he says.
I blink.
"…Say that again."
"No."
"Coward."
"Go to sleep, Sawamura."
"Captain Jerk."
"That's future Captain Jerk."
"Still jerk."
He smirks.
"Alright, I'm heading to bed. You watching the Red vs. White intrasquad tomorrow?" I ask, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
Miyuki doesn't look away from the notes on his desk. "Yeah. We've got self-training, so I'll get some reps in first, then head over."
"Catching or batting?" I ask.
"Catching."
I grin. "Want help? I'm throwing anyway. You can practice that fancy framing you keep bragging about."
"I don't brag," he says flatly.
"You absolutely brag."
He finally looks up. "Inside facility. At seven, an hour before the game?"
"Deal."
"Don't be late," he adds.
"I'm never late."
"You're always late."
"That's slander."
"That's documented."
I point at him. "Goodnight, Captain Jerk."
"Future Captain Jerk," he corrects. "Goodnight, Sawamura."
I grab my stuff, step out, and close the door behind me. The hallway's quiet now — most of the dorm already settling down. I head back to my room, put everything away, stretch once, then flop onto the bed.
*Jack, stats.*
---------------------
STATS MENU
Attribute Points: 10
Stamina: A (59/100)
Speed: B- (51/100)
Agility: B- (71/100)
Strength: B- (37/100)
Flexibility: A (57/100)
Control: A (52/100)
Batting: B- (10/100)
Bunting: A (59/100)
Fielding: B- (9/100)
Base Running: B- (58/100)
Mentality: A+ (79/100)
Baseball IQ: A+ (77/100)
Non-Dominant Arm: C+ (90/100)
Skills: 29 (tap for more info)
---------------------
*Jack, add all 10 attribute points to Non-Dominant Arm.*
-------------------
STATS MENU
Attribute Points: 0
Stamina: A (59/100)
Speed: B- (51/100)
Agility: B- (71/100)
Strength: B- (37/100)
Flexibility: A (57/100)
Control: A (52/100)
Batting: B- (10/100)
Bunting: A (59/100)
Fielding: B- (9/100)
Base Running: B- (58/100)
Mentality: A+ (79/100)
Baseball IQ: A+ (77/100)
Non-Dominant Arm: -B (0/100)
Skills: 29 (tap for more info)
----------------------
*Set the inner clock. Goodnight, Jack.*
"Goodnight, Eijun," Jack answers.
I close my eyes.
Sleep comes fast.