The next morning, during Seidou High School's baseball club practice, Coach Kataoka officially introduced Ochiai Hiromitsu to the entire team.
When they learned that a new Technical Director had joined the coaching staff, everyone instinctively turned their eyes toward the mustached man standing beside Kataoka. Ochiai maintained his usual inscrutable expression, hands clasped behind his back.
Once morning practice began, Kanzaki Ryou noticed Ochiai walking slowly around the field with a small notebook in hand. From time to time, he would stop beside a player, jot something down, and quietly offer a few words of advice.
"Ryou," Miyuki asked as he rested a bat on his shoulder and walked over, "you knew about him for a while, didn't you?"
Kanzaki shrugged casually.
"I found out when the Coach called me to his office. Otherwise, why do you think I dragged you into core training back then?"
Miyuki froze for a moment, then suddenly understood.
"So that was his suggestion?"
"Yeah," Kanzaki nodded. "If you've got technical questions, you can ask him too. Coach Ochiai is… very sharp."
Although Ochiai Hiromitsu might not excel at managing a team's atmosphere, when it came to technical insight alone, even Kanzaki had to admit that the man was formidable.
"I see," Miyuki replied thoughtfully.
Seidou was clearly in a phase of strengthening itself. While the first-year players still lacked experience, the school was sparing no effort in reinforcing the team's foundation—especially the coaching staff.
Not long after practice began, several transport trucks pulled into the parking lot outside the stadium. Workers began unloading various brand-new training machines and equipment.
"Whoa, new equipment?" Kanzaki's eyes lit up. Although Seidou already had excellent facilities, people naturally liked shiny new toys.
"Hehe, our Seidou is really loaded," Miyuki said, nearly drooling as he stared at the machines.
Kanzaki nodded. Ever since winning last summer's Koshien, the school board's investment in the baseball club had increased dramatically.
"They must be aiming for consecutive Summer Koshien championships," Kanzaki said. "New coaches, new equipment… if only they'd improve the cafeteria food too."
Kuramochi suddenly appeared behind them.
"Seriously. If they're spending money anyway, at least let us eat better."
"Ugah! I want seafood!" Masuko Toru lumbered over as well.
Kuramochi burst out laughing.
"Masuko-senpai, if you keep eating like that, you'll end up heavier than Azuma-senpai. Running the bases will be impossible."
Masuko's face flushed red. Coach Kataoka had indeed mentioned his weight more than once—but if he didn't eat, he'd feel like he was dying.
"Don't listen to him," Kanzaki said calmly, patting Masuko's stomach.
"Senior, this isn't fat. It's solid muscle."
Kuramochi sighed.
"Honestly, Ryou, your words aren't any better than mine."
Kanzaki smiled faintly, then turned back to Masuko.
"Senior, how about this—I'll treat you to seafood, and you treat me to pudding."
"Ugah!" Masuko nodded furiously. "Ten!"
"Haha, so generous," Kanzaki laughed. Everyone knew pudding was Masuko's lifeline.
Just a few days earlier, Sawamura had eaten one of Masuko's puddings—and the burly slugger had nearly cried on the spot. Naturally, Sawamura hadn't escaped Kuramochi's merciless scissor-kick punishment afterward.
Once the novelty wore off, the players returned to their training.
That evening, just as Kanzaki was about to begin simulated pitching practice with Chris, Fujiwara Takako walked over.
"Kanzaki, the Coach wants to see you."
Kanzaki glanced toward the dugout. Coach Kataoka was standing there, speaking quietly with Ochiai Hiromitsu.
"Understood."
He jogged over.
"Coach."
Kataoka nodded and turned to Ochiai.
"Coach Ochiai, you explain."
Ochiai adjusted his glasses and looked directly at Kanzaki.
"I've been observing your pitching simulations for some time now."
"Oh?" Kanzaki raised an eyebrow. "Is there something that needs improvement?"
"The concept is sound," Ochiai said, stroking his mustache.
"I've heard you've been using this method for over a year, and it has clearly produced results. However—its efficiency is still too low."
Kanzaki listened silently.
"I propose a change," Ochiai continued.
"From today onward, the simulation training should target fixed starting players only. Once every two days. Ten pitches per person. After each session, batting averages will be recorded."
Kanzaki frowned slightly.
From an efficiency standpoint, Ochiai was absolutely right. But excluding non-starters entirely would inevitably cause dissatisfaction. The system had been in place for a year—changing it so abruptly could create friction within the team.
He hadn't expected Ochiai's first official move to be so decisive.
"Kanzaki," Coach Kataoka said calmly, "do it."
That settled it.
Kanzaki nodded.
"Understood."
From a physical standpoint, the change actually reduced his burden. Previously, he threw nearly sixty pitches a day—three pitches per person for the entire first team. Now, even including Miyuki and Chris in rotation, there were only eight or nine starters. Ninety pitches every two days was well within his limits.
Training began immediately.
As expected, confusion spread among the first-team members—especially those who weren't starters. Being suddenly excluded felt like a clear dividing line had been drawn.
This would only widen the gap.
But at the same time, it lit a fire under them.
If they wanted opportunities, they would have to fight for a starting position.
Meanwhile, the fixed starters had already lined up.
One by one, they stepped into the batter's box.
After thirty minutes, all eight starters—including Miyuki—had completed five pitches each.
Fujiwara Takako meticulously recorded every swing, hit, and out.
Days passed quickly.
In the blink of an eye, Seidou advanced smoothly into the Top 8 of the Spring Metropolitan Tournament. During the fourth and fifth rounds, Kanzaki never took the mound—but still crushed three home runs with his bat.
Back at school, after evening practice, Coach Kataoka finally released the compiled data.
It was a detailed comparison:
Seidou's starting lineup versus Kanzaki Ryou's pitching.
And the numbers spoke louder than any words.