Chapter 35 Multiple Paths

It was a quiet afternoon when Denji arrived at the Takumi household, his sneakers crunching softly against the gravel path leading to the front door. The house, framed by a well-kept garden, felt heavy with a lingering sadness. The loss of Shinjiro's grandmother had hit the family hard, and though a week had passed, Denji knew that grief had a way of lingering longer than anyone expected.

He knocked lightly, feeling the familiar knot in his stomach tighten. He hadn't seen Shinjiro since the funeral, and though the team had won their latest game against Tatsuno, something felt incomplete without their star rookie. After a moment, the door creaked open, and there stood Shinjiro, his eyes tired but a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Hey, Denji," Shinjiro greeted softly.

Denji returned the smile, though his eyes were full of concern. "Yoh, just thought I'd drop by... see how you're doing."

Shinjiro stepped aside, motioning for Denji to come in. "I'm hanging in there," he said, his voice quieter than usual.

They sat down in the living room, and after a brief silence, Denji spoke up, "You know, Seimei won the game against Tatsuno."

Shinjiro's eyes flickered with a mix of pride and relief. "That's good. I've been itching to hear about it. Who pitched?"

"Kai started," Denji said, leaning back. "Then Kazuya took over in the middle innings, and Koshida closed it out. A good relay, to be honest. And guess what—Shota took your spot in the lineup."

Shinjiro nodded thoughtfully, though there was no bitterness in his expression. "As long as he's contributing to the team, that's all that matters."

Denji grinned. "He played really well. But man, it's not the same without you out there. When are you coming back?"

Shinjiro glanced out the window, his expression distant. "Soon, I hope. My body's ready, but my mind... well"

Denji shifted in his seat, feeling the weight of the moment. He had always admired Shinjiro's dedication, but he also knew that baseball had a way of intertwining with life's heavier moments.

After a moment, Denji stood up. "Hey, wanna play some catch? It's been a while, and I figure getting outside might do you some good."

Shinjiro hesitated, but then nodded, a small smile crossing his face. "Yeah. Let's go to the backyard."

---

In the backyard, the air was crisp and cool. The sun had dipped behind a few clouds, casting long shadows across the grass. Denji tossed Shinjiro a baseball, the familiar weight of it immediately bringing back memories of practice, games, and days spent honing their skills.

Shinjiro caught the ball easily, feeling the worn leather of the seams under his fingers. His grip tightened momentarily, memories of his father's coaching sessions flooding his mind. He remembered the countless hours spent in the backyard, his father guiding his throws, teaching him how to feel the ball and its movement.

Denji took a step back, grabbing a bat from the fence. "Alright. Let's see what you've got, you're pitching to me today and don't up a vow you made as a brat."

Shinjiro chuckled, though his heart raced slightly. He hadn't pitched in a long time—since the day he'd vowed never to do it again. Pitching had always been something he'd enjoyed, but there was something about the pressure, the responsibility that came with it, that had led him to quit. He thought about refusing, but the look in Denji's eyes stopped him.

"Come on, don't chicken out," Denji teased, twirling the bat in his hands. "Let's see if that arm still works."

Shinjiro rolled his eyes, though a competitive spark ignited inside him. "Alright, alright," he muttered, walking toward the makeshift mound. "Don't blame me if I throw a fast one."

Denji grinned. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

---

As Shinjiro stood, he twirled the ball in his hand, feeling the seams and weight like he hadn't in a long time. The familiar sensation sent a jolt of energy through his arm. He stared at the ball for a moment, gripping it tightly. "It's been a while," he thought, his heartbeat picking up speed.

His mind wandered back to the days when his father had coached him. He could almost hear his father's voice in his head, guiding him through each throw.

"Feel the seams, son. Feel the ball in your hand."

Shinjiro stood in the backyard, gripping the baseball in his hand. The seams felt familiar beneath his fingertips, the weight of the ball taking him back to the days when pitching was just another skill he had struggled with.

"Come on, Shinjiro!" Denji called out, grinning as he held the bat in his hands, poised for the next pitch.

Shinjiro nodded but kept quiet, his thoughts racing. He hadn't pitched in years, not since he'd vowed to give it up after he overheard his grandfather say he was disappoint and shame. As he wound up, he felt the world slow down around him, and suddenly, he saw it.

Multiple paths.

The ball hadn't even left his hand, yet Shinjiro could see the trajectory in his mind, determined by the grip he chose, by the angle of his release, by the subtle shifts in his mechanics. It was the same ability he had when he stood in the batter's box—the ability to visualize the outcome before it happened. But here, on the mound, it was completely unexpected.

"What the f...?" he thought, momentarily thrown off.

His grip tightened as he tried to focus, but as he adjusted the ball in his hand, the trajectories shifted again. One showed a curveball that would break just outside the strike zone, another a fastball that would stay high and inside. He could see it all, like a branching tree of possibilities, each decision changing the path the ball would take.

But with the power of this new ability came the realization of his limitations. His body, with no balance and fluid motion, he couldn't keep up with the visions in his mind. The coordination wasn't there. His fingers hesitated on the seams, his wrist stiffened, and his motion, though clear in his head, fell apart in execution. The disconnect between what he saw and what his body could do was painfully obvious.

"I'm not ready," he thought, a small frown forming on his face. "My body isn't..."

He released the ball, but the pitch was off. It sailed high, nowhere near where he had wanted it to go.

Denji, standing at the plate, raised an eyebrow, watching the ball miss the strike zone by a wide margin. "That was... a little wild," he said with a laugh. "Still shit huh?"

Shinjiro caught the ball as Denji tossed it back, though his mind was miles away from the light-hearted banter. "I can see the paths," he thought, turning the ball in his hand. But my body can't follow through. His mechanics weren't smooth. He was out of practice, and it showed.

"This ability... it's more than just seeing the possibilities," he realized. "It's about coordinating my body with what I'm seeing. But if I can't move the way I need to, it doesn't matter how well I visualize the pitch."

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to relax. His body needed to loosen up, to move with the vision, not against it. But that was easier said than done. His body wasn't conditioned for this anymore, at least not yet.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and focused on the ball in his hand. He could still see the trajectories, still see the different paths the pitch could take. But this time, instead of focusing on all of them, he chose one. A simple fastball, low and inside. He visualized it clearly, but he also knew his body wasn't in perfect condition to execute it.

"Alright, relax," he told himself, trying to let the tension in his arm slip away. "Follow through as best you can."

He wound up again, his body still stiff but more relaxed this time. As he reached the peak of his motion, he let his mind and body align, even if only for a moment. He felt the ball snap out of his hand, and though his arm lacked the agility and smoothness it once had, the pitch came closer to his intended path.

Denji swung, but he was too late. Strike one.

Denji blinked, surprised by the pitch, though his grin quickly returned. "This bastards luck is really good!"

Shinjiro's heart was pounding, but not just from the exertion—it was from the realization that his body wasn't capable of fully keeping up with his newfound ability. His mind saw the paths clearly, but his body was too rusty, too slow to execute them with precision.

"This isn't enough," he thought, tossing the ball back and forth in his hand. "I can't rely on just seeing the paths. If my body can't move fluidly, I'll never be able to pitch the way I want to."

He caught Denji's eye, and he simply wound up for another pitch. This time, he focused harder, trying to loosen his body and let the visualization guide him. As the ball left his hand, he could feel the limitations of his motion—the stiffness, the lack of coordination—but he pressed on. The ball moved closer to his intended path, but it wasn't perfect.

Denji swung again, fouling the pitch.

Shinjiro's heart pounded harder. The vision was there, but the body wasn't ready. If he had been in better shape, if his body had the coordination to match his mental projections, he knew the pitch would have been exactly where he wanted it.

"I need to train again," he thought, the realization settling in. "If I want to do this... if I really want to pitch again... I need to rebuild my body. To match what I see."

Another pitch was coming—but it wouldn't be perfect until his body was as sharp as his mind.