Shinjiro trudged home from school, his backpack hanging loosely over his shoulder, still heavy from the textbooks and notebooks crammed inside. His mind replayed the day's practice—his timing was off again, and the upcoming game against Shukugawa High loomed like a shadow over his thoughts. As he opened the front door, he heard the familiar sound of his father watching TV, the sports news flickering on the screen in the living room.
"I'm home," Shinjiro called, kicking off his shoes at the entrance.
Hiroshi turned in his chair, eyes gleaming with excitement. "You're just in time. I've got a surprise for you!"
Shinjiro raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. His dad's surprises usually involved a last-minute trip to the batting cages or helping fix something around the house. "Surprise?"
With a grin, Hiroshi reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets, waving them in the air like a magician revealing his trick. "We're going to see the Orix Buffaloes tonight!"
Shinjiro's eyes widened as he snatched the tickets from his dad's hand, scanning them quickly. "No way! Are you serious? Orix vs. Nippon Ham Fighters?"
Hiroshi chuckled. "That's right. A chance to see some real pros in action."
Shinjiro's heart raced with excitement. "This is awesome!"
"Better get ready. We'll need to leave soon if we want to beat traffic," Hiroshi said, already rising from his chair and grabbing his jacket.
They were on the road to Hotto Motto Field Kobe, with the evening sun casting a golden hue over the city. Hiroshi was behind the wheel, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm to the light jazz playing on the radio. Shinjiro sat in the passenger seat, still buzzing with excitement over the upcoming game. His mind replayed clips he'd watched of Masataka Yoshida, Orix's star left fielder, who was known for his incredible hitting precision.
"Yoshida's batting average is insane," Shinjiro muttered, half to himself, already thinking about seeing the man in action.
"Yup," Hiroshi replied, eyes focused on the road. "You're in for a treat. You'll see exactly why they call him a 'hitting machine.'"
As they approached the city center, traffic thickened, cars moving at a snail's pace. Hiroshi grumbled, gripping the wheel a little tighter. "Looks like we've hit the usual Kobe traffic."
"We're not gonna be late, are we?" Shinjiro asked, eyeing the clock.
"We'll make it, don't worry," Hiroshi muttered.
Just as the words left his mouth, a car swerved recklessly into their lane, cutting them off and causing Hiroshi to slam on the brakes. The car jolted forward, stopping just inches from the other vehicle.
Hiroshi rolled down his window, leaning out to yell, "What kind of driving is that, you retarded fucker!!"
Shinjiro burst out laughing, the shock of his father's sudden outburst catching him off guard. Hiroshi rarely lost his cool like that.
Hiroshi grumbled but managed a small smirk. "Well, if they drove like normal people, I wouldn't have to."
The tension eased, and soon they were back on track, the stadium lights shining brightly in the distance. The excitement returned, and within minutes, they were parking the car and heading toward the stadium entrance, their spirits lifted once again.
The stadium was electric, buzzing with energy as fans crowded into their seats. Shinjiro marveled at the sight—thousands of people, all united in their love for the game. The smell of grilled food wafted through the air, and the sound of vendors calling out to sell snacks echoed through the concourse.
"Not bad seats, huh?" Hiroshi said as they settled in, a clear view of the field stretching before them.
Shinjiro's eyes immediately darted to the Orix dugout, searching for Masataka Yoshida. He spotted the star left fielder preparing, adjusting his batting gloves, and stretching out near the on-deck circle. His heart raced with excitement.
The first few innings were tense, with both teams locked in a scoreless battle. The pitchers on both sides were dealing, keeping the hitters at bay. Shinjiro couldn't help but admire the precision of the pitching—every fastball, every breaking ball executed perfectly. But as the game entered the bottom of the fourth inning, the Orix fans came to life.
"Here we go," Hiroshi said, nudging Shinjiro. "Yoshida's up next."
Masataka Yoshida strode to the plate, his eyes calm and focused as he settled into his stance. Across the mound, Kohei Arihara, the Nippon Ham pitcher, stared him down, clearly aware of the threat Yoshida posed.
"This guy's got unreal plate discipline," Hiroshi commented, leaning forward. "You won't see him chasing bad pitches."
Shinjiro nodded, his own focus narrowing on Yoshida. He'd read all about the man's hitting prowess—his ability to read pitches, to adjust to any kind of delivery, and to make solid contact. But seeing it live was something else entirely.
Arihara threw his first pitch—a fastball just outside the strike zone. Yoshida didn't flinch, letting it go by without even a twitch. The umpire called it a ball.
Arihara wound up again, this time firing a changeup, closer to the plate. Yoshida swung with a smooth, controlled motion. The crack of the bat was sharp and clean, sending the ball screaming down the right-field line.
Shinjiro leaned forward, breath caught in his throat as he watched the ball sail through the air, a perfect line drive that zipped past the right fielder and smacked against the wall with a loud thud. Yoshida rounded first base with speed, sliding effortlessly into second for a double.
The crowd erupted in cheers, and Shinjiro found himself clapping along, his grin stretching wide across his face.
"That's a good line drive!" Hiroshi said, voice filled with admiration. "Yoshida's not for his power, he knows how to make contact."
Shinjiro couldn't take his eyes off Yoshida, who stood confidently at second base, dusting off his uniform. "He makes it look so easy," Shinjiro muttered, still awestruck.
"That's because he's mastered the fundamentals," Hiroshi replied. "His pitch recognition is one of the best in the league. Hell it's like he knows what's coming before it even leaves the pitcher's hand."
Shinjiro absorbed every word, his mind racing with thoughts of his own game. Pros are just a different kind of breed.....even with my ability, breaking balls are difficult to hit with precision... He thought about his own struggles at the plate.
The game continued, and the Buffaloes capitalized on Yoshida's double, bringing him home with a sharp hit to center field. As the crowd roared in celebration, Shinjiro leaned back in his seat, feeling a newfound sense of determination settle in his chest. Watching Yoshida, seeing his level of precision and control he played with—it was inspiring.
The ride home was quieter than the journey to the stadium, but the excitement of the game still lingered in the car. Shinjiro sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, his mind replaying the highlights of the game—Yoshida's perfect swing, the sound of the bat connecting with the ball, the way the crowd had erupted when he crossed the plate.
"That was incredible," Shinjiro said quietly, breaking the silence.
Hiroshi glanced at him and smiled. Shinjiro said, still in awe. "His timing was perfect. And the way he makes contact... it's so clean."
Hiroshi then said. "Yoshida's not overpowering pitchers and looking for home runs with every swing. He's just doing what he does best—making solid contact, putting the ball in play, and letting the game come to him. That's what you need to aim for."
Shinjiro nodded, the words sinking in. It wasn't about hitting home runs or making flashy plays—it was about consistency, about focus. About mastering the basics and knowing when to strike.
As they pulled into the driveway, Shinjiro felt a quiet determination settle over him. He had seen greatness tonight, and now it was time to bring that focus to his own game.