Kanzaki Ryou's words made Ono Hiroshi frown slightly. Kanzaki had already said that much, yet the catcher still didn't take the bait?
But the smile on Kanzaki's face was so bright that Ono couldn't help but doubt himself. Was I being too serious just now? They were all teammates, after all, and Kanzaki just wanted to hit Kawakami's pitches. Maybe he really was overreacting.
Unintentionally, Ono Hiroshi began to reflect on his own attitude.
"Um, can we start?" Kanzaki asked casually. Ono suddenly realized he'd been zoning out. What's wrong with this guy? Kanzaki wondered. Did he not sleep well last night?
Snapping back to reality, Ono quickly pulled down his mask with a sharp slap. "Let's start."
Kawakami, standing on the mound, saw the two finally finish talking. But for some reason, his heart grew nervous. The image of Kanzaki Ryou standing in the batter's box reminded him of that powerful home run from before. Will my pitch get sent flying too…?
Even so, Kawakami steadied his breathing and threw according to Ono's signal.
A slider cut toward home plate — smooth, elegant, and completely unlike Kanzaki's violent, untamed pitches.
Even when Kanzaki threw a slider, it carried a dangerous energy — like the ball itself was trying to kill someone. Their styles couldn't be more different.
Kanzaki didn't swing. He just watched the pitch all the way into Ono's glove, carefully analyzing the ball's trajectory.
Yeah… it's completely different from mine.
Kawakami grabbed another ball.
"One more," Kanzaki said evenly.
Ono hummed in acknowledgment, his expression turning thoughtful. Kanzaki had said he wanted to hit Kawakami's pitches — but from how he was watching, he wasn't trying to hit. He was studying something.
Kawakami's second slider came out fast — perfectly balanced in both speed and break. Not too sharp, not too flat. A textbook slider.
Kanzaki didn't swing again. After several more pitches, not once did the bat leave his shoulder.
Watching from the side, Kuramochi couldn't take it anymore. "Hey, Kanzaki! What the hell are you doing? You gonna hit or just stand there?"
Right then, Kawakami released another pitch. This time, Kanzaki swung decisively. Crack! The ball connected cleanly, shooting out to left field.
"I'm done," Kanzaki said with a grin, lowering his bat. He seemed satisfied.
"Oh? Did you figure something out?" Ono asked, his tone curious. He had been calling sliders the whole time per Kanzaki's request — never once moving his glove — so he could tell Kanzaki wasn't hitting for fun.
Kanzaki nodded. "Yeah. I got something. Thanks."
"Glad I could help. You're an important asset to our team now," Ono said sincerely.
After thanking Kawakami as well, Kanzaki was immediately intercepted by Miyuki.
"You figured out a fix?" the catcher asked, clearly itching to know.
Of all the people there, Miyuki knew best what Kanzaki had been experimenting with. So when he saw Kanzaki's satisfied expression, his curiosity spiked.
"I've got a few ideas," Kanzaki said vaguely.
"Then tell me."
Kanzaki smirked. "No rush, no rush. Let's talk after tomorrow's game. Right now, it's just a small idea."
Miyuki sighed, visibly irritated. Kanzaki's teasing nature really tested his patience, but it was clear he wasn't going to reveal anything — not yet.
The two walked to the edge of the field, each picking up a bat and starting to swing.
"Kazuya," Kanzaki said suddenly. "Your batting…"
Miyuki turned his head. "What about it?"
"Your batting's solid, especially your pitch selection. You're even better when there are runners on base. You're able to read the catcher's pitch-calling, aren't you?"
Miyuki blinked, surprised. Kanzaki had only seen him in one or two games — and yet he'd already noticed that detail?
If Kanzaki knew what Miyuki was thinking, he'd probably spit out his drink in disbelief. Not obvious? Later, everyone will know.
"That's right," Kanzaki continued, "but I also noticed that when there are no runners on base, your batting's not as sharp. Is it because the catcher's pitch options are wider then? Harder to predict?"
Kanzaki grinned slyly, like some kind of trickster prophet.
Miyuki's expression stiffened. "You're getting creepier by the day, you know that?"
"Heh. My advice? Start strengthening your batting. Try to perform well even without runners on base." Kanzaki's tone turned serious.
In the original timeline, after Chris was injured, Miyuki took over as Seidou's main catcher — but the pressure and responsibility weighed him down. He had less time to train himself.
Now, with Kanzaki at Seidou, things were different. Miyuki's burden would be lighter. And if Kanzaki could push him to train harder now, maybe Miyuki could reach his peak a whole year earlier than before.
Miyuki thought for a moment. "I get what you're saying, but batting isn't something you can improve overnight. You just have to keep swinging, day after day."
"That's true," Kanzaki said, grinning, "but there's another way."
"Oh? And what's that?" Miyuki asked curiously.
"Strength training."
Miyuki tilted his head. "We already do that every day. The gym's packed, and we even have assistant coaches for it."
Kanzaki shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no. You don't get it. In the past few weeks, I've noticed something — everyone's obsessed with upper-body training. All they care about is building those 'demon backs.'"
Miyuki thought back to the shirtless players flexing in front of mirrors. Yeah… that sounded about right.
"So, what? You mean… leg training?"
"Exactly." Kanzaki's eyes gleamed. "You should know by now — whether it's pitching or batting, power starts from the legs. How's that saying go again? The calves are a man's second heart!"
He made a circle with his hands to show size. "I swear, if you can get your thighs and calves this thick, your batting will level up instantly!"
Miyuki frowned, seriously considering the idea.
Kanzaki patted him on the shoulder. "Trust me! A man who doesn't train his legs will eventually become impotent!"
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