Chapter 2 A New Beginning

In the evening after school, Shinjiro shook off his doubts and made a decision. He needed to test whether what he experienced was real. He called up Denji.

"Hey, Denji," Shinjiro said as the phone rang. "I need you to pitch to me."

Denji's voice crackled with surprise. "Seriously? You're asking me to pitch this late? Alright....I'm in. Just don't expect me to go easy on you."

A short while later, Shinjiro and Denji met in the backyard of Shinjiro's house. The small space was littered with remnants of their previous games—scratched-up baseballs, worn-out gloves, and a makeshift mound of dirt. Denji arrived with his usual casual flair, carrying a worn-out duffel bag and a grin that suggested he was looking forward to the challenge.

"Ready to get humiliated again, huh?" Denji teased as he set up on the makeshift mound.

Shinjiro, determined to put his newfound ability to the test, took his place at the battered old home plate. "Bring it! Let's see what you've got."

Denji chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe you'll actually hit something this time."

The first few fastballs whizzed by, and Shinjiro's eyes tracked each one with precise clarity. Yet, when he swung, his bat sliced through empty air. Denji's laughter echoed through the backyard. "Come on, Shinjiro! If you keep swinging like that, you'll miss every pitch!"

Shinjiro's face flushed with frustration, but he tried to stay focused. "Just give me a second. I'm trying to get the hang of it."

Shinjiro gritted his teeth, ignoring Denji's jabs. "Just pitch me some breaking balls. I want to see if it's just a fluke."

Denji raised an eyebrow but obliged, tossing in some curveballs and sliders. As Shinjiro faced these, he found himself reacting with surprising accuracy. He connected with a few, sending them skidding across the grass.

"Hey, what's this?" Denji asked, squinting at Shinjiro. "You're actually hitting those? Did you secretly train or something!?"

Shinjiro shrugged, trying to maintain his composure. "Maybe I'm just getting better. Or you're just not as good as you think."

Denji grinned and shook his head. "Chill man, I'm just going easy on you."

The two friends continued their impromptu practice, the backyard echoing with the sound of baseballs being hit and laughter shared between them. For the first time in a long while, Shinjiro felt a glimmer of hope. His ability to foresee the pitches was real, and with practice, he could turn that advantage into something tangible.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the backyard, Shinjiro looked at Denji with renewed determination. "Thanks for the practice. I needed this."

Denji clapped him on the back. "Anytime, Just remember, if you get too good, I might have to start charging you heheh."

Shinjiro laughed, the weight of his doubts lifting as he watched his friend's teasing smile. The road ahead was uncertain, but he was sure now that he still had visions even after not having the necklace on him.

Shinjiro stood in the quiet of his backyard, the sound of Denji's laughter still fading into the distance. He couldn't shake the surreal feeling that had gripped him all day. After their practice, it was clear something strange was happening to him—something he couldn't explain. As Denji left with a smug grin, taunting him about getting lucky with those breaking balls, Shinjiro couldn't help but wonder if luck had anything to do with it.

Shinjiro thought to himself, leaning on his bat. He gazed at the sky, its colors shifting from orange to purple as the day waned. For years, he had asked for just a sliver of the talent his father and grandfather had. Not just the love of the game, but the ability to actually play. Baseball had been his obsession for as long as he could remember—an obsession that had led to nothing but heartache and ridicule.

But today, for the first time, something felt different. It wasn't just his desire or effort; there was something beyond him guiding his actions. He could see the ball before it curved, before it dropped. Every time Denji threw a breaking ball, it was like a map had been laid out for him in motion, each pitch revealing its path before it even left Denji's hand. He could see the pitch. But his body still wasn't fast enough. The ball seemed like a blur, a distant dream of where his skills could be, but weren't yet.

"Was it the necklace?" Shinjiro murmured, deep in thought. When he had taken it off, the ability had remained. If the necklace wasn't responsible, then what was? His mind raced, trying to make sense of it. There were no legends or family stories about mystical powers or gifts. The only thing his grandfather ever passed down was his love for baseball.

Shinjiro's grip tightened on the bat as he stood in the fading light. He refused to let hope turn into doubt. For the first time in years, the familiar sting of shame and disappointment didn't weigh him down. Instead, there was something else: a flicker of excitement, a spark of belief that maybe—just maybe—things were about to change.

"I need to train," Shinjiro muttered to himself. " I'll focus on what I can hit."

Shinjiro made a decision then and there. He would ignore fastballs for now, focusing entirely on mastering breaking balls. He needed to sharpen his reactions, build his confidence, and understand this new ability. Maybe by honing his skills against the pitches he could see, his body would eventually catch up.

---

Shinjiro stayed up the whole night, determined to start a rigorous training regimen. He spent hours on his computer, researching techniques, drills, and routines for batters. His eyes scanned the screen, taking in advice from professional coaches and athletes.

Shinjiro's Training Program:

1. Swing Mechanics: First, he needed to refine his swing. Breaking balls had different trajectories—curveballs, sliders, and changeups all required different timing and bat angles. To master this, Shinjiro planned to focus on:

- Bat speed drills: Using resistance bands and weighted bats to build muscle memory and improve his swing speed.

- Balance and posture work: Hitting breaking balls required a steady stance and the ability to stay balanced as the ball changed its direction. Core workouts and leg strength training were critical.

- Vision drills: Using tennis balls and colored markings to help his eyes track the ball's spin and trajectory. He would need to recognize pitches earlier if he was going to improve.

2. Hitting Breaking Balls

- Curveballs: Shinjiro knew he had to wait on the ball longer than he would for a fastball. He would need to keep his hands back and not lunge forward, watching for the ball to drop before swinging through the zone.

- Sliders: These would tail away from him late, so Shinjiro focused on keeping his swing level, driving through the ball to the opposite field.

- Changeups: Deceptively slow, they required patience. He practiced sitting back, letting the ball come to him, and ensuring his timing was perfect before launching his swing.

3. Batting Cage Routine

- 100 Breaking Balls per day: He would start with 100 swings against a pitching machine set to throw only breaking balls—curveballs, sliders, and changeups. His goal was to make consistent contact, improving his hand-eye coordination.

- Tracking pitches without swinging: For the first 20 balls in each session, he wouldn't swing. He would just focus on tracking the ball and predicting its movement.

4. Srength and Conditioning

- Lower body workouts: Baseball is played with the legs as much as the arms. Shinjiro's routine included squats, lunges, and sprints to improve his base and explosive power.

- Core workouts: Twisting motions, like Russian twists and medicine ball throws, to build the rotational power necessary for driving the ball.

- Endurance training: Distance runs to improve his stamina for long games and intense training sessions.

---

Later that day, Shinjiro headed to the local batting cage, the clang of metal bats ringing in his ears. The machine in front of him hummed, loaded and ready to fire. He tightened his grip on the bat, his palms sweating despite the cool evening air.

His heart raced, but not from the machine. It was from what he had seen—what he knew was coming. In his mind, it was clear: the pitch would curve slightly to the inside, just low enough that most would miss it. He saw it like a memory, a vision playing on repeat in his mind, offering him a chance to know what was coming before it even happened.

The machine clicked. The ball shot out.

Shinjiro swung confidently, knowing he had seen it—he had seen it—but the bat cut through nothing but air. The ball slammed into the backstop with a hollow thud. He blinked, staring at the empty space where the ball should have been. His breath quickened as confusion twisted in his chest.

Again, the machine clicked. Again, Shinjiro saw the pitch in his mind, this time more clearly. He adjusted his stance, trying to correct. The ball came faster this time. His swing was too early, the bat whiffing through the air again as the ball zipped past.

"How?" His vision had shown him the path perfectly, but it didn't matter. The feeling of certainty he had in his foresight was fading, replaced by a cold realization.

A third pitch shot out. He was too late, too slow. The sound of the ball smacking the backstop was like a slap to the face.

Shinjiro stood frozen, the bat heavy in his hands. His breath came out in ragged puffs. "It wasn't enough." Knowing what would happen didn't make him faster, didn't make him stronger. The truth hit him harder than the ball ever could: "Foresight alone wasn't enough to change reality."

The machine wound up for another pitch, but Shinjiro didn't move. For the first time, he understood — seeing the future meant nothing if you weren't ready to act in the present.

Again.

This time it was a slider, cutting hard to the outside. Shinjiro tracked it, staying patient, then lashed out with a smooth, compact swing. And still missed.

But his heart raced with excitement. Every pitch seemed to move in slow motion before him, each one revealing its secrets. He could see the break, the dip, and the curve with uncanny clarity. It was exhilarating. He continued for hours, each swing getting stronger, each ball getting more controlled. Though his fastball reactions were still sluggish, he felt progress. He felt hope.

What does the future hold?

Shinjiro couldn't answer that yet, but for the first time in his life, he believed he might have a future in baseball after all.

With the newfound ability to see pitches before they broke, Shinjiro felt like he had been given a gift—something beyond talent, something that could change everything. But he knew that it would take more than just a gift to make his dream a reality. He would have to work harder than he ever had before.

As he walked home that night, his muscles aching but his spirit renewed, Shinjiro touched the necklace around his neck and smiled faintly. He wasn't going to waste this opportunity. He had a plan, and he wasn't going to stop until he had honed his body to match the vision in his mind.

Tomorrow, the real work would begin.