"Yes. Your fundamentals are solid, and your mindset is good too—unlike Kuramochi, that idiot, who keeps switching left and right at the plate like he's dancing instead of batting."
While praising Shirasu, Kanzaki Ryou didn't forget to fire a shot at Kuramochi.
As expected, Kuramochi immediately slammed his chopsticks down.
"What do you know?! Switch-hitting is the coolest!"
Kanzaki smirked.
"It is cool. But with your speed? If you focused on left-handed hitting and boosted your on-base percentage, I dare say you could become the player with the highest OBP of our generation."
"So what? Being cool is enough."
Kurumochi puffed out his chest—unapologetically stubborn. How could he give up switch-hitting when it looked so stylish?
Kanzaki leaned forward, eyes sharpening.
"If you're the leadoff batter in a critical game, and the entire team needs you to ignite the offense… can your switch-hitting guarantee that?"
That hit Kuramochi where it hurt.
He glared at Kanzaki.
"What are you trying to say, Kanzaki?!"
The cafeteria fell silent. Miyuki and Kawakami were about to intervene when Kanzaki chuckled softly.
"You can be a stronger batter. There's a better way to maximize your speed."
Then he threw the killing blow.
"If we lose the Summer Tournament final—will you truly feel no regret?"
"I—"
Kurumochi froze, face flushed. Imagining that scenario, he couldn't even form a sentence.
Kanzaki pushed harder.
"You'd blame yourself. Anyone can see it. You may be fiery and reckless, but you're a kind-hearted, responsible nice boy."
"N-Nice boy…?! Shut up!"
Kurumochi's entire face turned red. Embarrassing or not, it struck home.
Kanzaki continued casually,
"Also—how are your grades?"
"What do my grades have to do with you?!" Kuramochi snapped.
"Well, from what I know, they're… not ideal. Getting into university might be a tiny bit difficult."
"You're so damn annoying!"
"Listen," Kanzaki said seriously.
"If you focus on left-handed hitting and become the player with the highest OBP of our generation, you'll help the team in the biggest moments and increase your value as an athlete. Becoming pro wouldn't be a dream. And even if you didn't go pro, getting into a good university would be easy."
Kanzaki shoved a grand vision into Kuramochi's brain with surgical precision.
"Strong batters aren't as fast as you. Fast runners don't have the advantage you have from the left side. You're unique—rare, even."
Kurumochi froze, stunned stiff for more than thirty seconds.
"R-Really…?"
"Of course. It's a gift from heaven. Genuine genius."
"Heh… now that you say it like that, it does sound right."
Though stubborn, Kuramochi was simple at heart.
Show him the logic clearly, and he would make the rational choice.
Time for the final hit.
"And…"
"And what?" Kuramochi leaned in.
Kanzaki inhaled deeply.
"Practicing left-handed hitting—becoming the clutch savior Kuramochi Yoichi…
versus maintaining switch-hitting, only to be frustrated when your batted balls lack impact."
"Which one is cooler?"
Boom.
A metaphorical hammer struck Kuramochi in the chest.
Savior…?
Me…?
Even Miyuki, Shirasu, and Kawakami, watching from the side, felt goosebumps.
Damn, this guy sounds like a pyramid scheme recruiter.
Kanzaki flashed them a knowing smirk.
Across from him, Kuramochi swallowed hard, then whispered:
"My idol is… Matsui Kazuo…"
(Notes: Matsui Kazuo — former MLB and NPB star; versatile, skilled switch-hitter.)
Kuramochi spent the next few minutes explaining how he started loving baseball and how Matsui became the reason he copied switch-hitting.
Kanzaki listened calmly, then placed a firm hand on Kuramochi's shoulder.
"All of that is fine. But you're not anyone's imitator. You don't need to be the second Matsui Kazuo."
"You just need to unleash your own talent… and become the first Kuramochi Yoichi."
"One day, if you stand before your idol as a pro player, you should be able to tell him proudly: 'You're my idol, but I'm not inferior to you.'"
Kanzaki felt Kuramochi's resolve crystallize almost visibly.
"…I know what to do!"
Kanzaki exhaled quietly.
Success. The effort had paid off.
He exchanged a glance with Miyuki, and the two left the cafeteria together, their plates stacked.
On the way back to the dorms
Miyuki stroked his chin dramatically.
"Hey, Ryou… aren't you tired?"
"Huh? What are you talking about?" Kanzaki frowned.
"First Kawakami, now Kuramochi. You don't even have much time for your own training. To understand them this well, giving advice so precisely… Are you secretly observing all the freshmen?"
Kanzaki sighed.
"You're overthinking it. I don't have time to observe anyone. Kawakami and Kuramochi just happen to be people I interact with more often."
"Hmm… If you say so, then fine."
"I know what I'm doing. Don't worry."
Miyuki shrugged.
"Bath?"
"Yes."
Mid-June arrived in a flash.
In less than 20 days, Seidou played six practice games total—three for the first string and three for the second string.
In the first string, Kanzaki got only one appearance—
but Coach Kataoka let him pitch from the very first inning to the last.
His first complete game.
When it ended, Kanzaki wasn't even tired.
If anything, he was buzzing with excitement.
The feeling of controlling an entire game from start to finish—
It was addictive.
Meanwhile, Miyuki played every game.
Coach Kataoka clearly wanted him to build chemistry with every pitcher.
The summer battle was approaching, and Miyuki would bear a heavy load.
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