With the autumn camp over, the only official team events remaining were the fan appreciation day and the year-end party, leaving us with a relatively relaxed schedule. Top athletes might spend this time at a hot spring or a resort abroad to recover from the year's battles, but I was not in that position. Nor did I have the money for such luxuries.
So, I stayed in the team dormitory and continued practicing on my own. The dormitory was comfortable, providing well-balanced meals prepared by a nutritionist three times a day and access to a clean bath.
One day, after finishing my morning practice, I was heading back to the dorm for lunch when a woman in her thirties called out to me. She was dressed simply, with little makeup, but she had a cute, petite appearance and a neat and tidy demeanor.
"Um, are you Takahashi?" she asked.
As a professional baseball player, I was sometimes approached by fans for autographs. "Hey bro, can you give me your autograph?" they would ask. Often, they didn't actually know me; they just wanted the autograph of a professional player.
"Thank you for your help at that time," the woman said.
I didn't recall helping anyone recently. I had met many people, but this woman seemed familiar. It wasn't that long ago, maybe within the past year.
"I'm sorry, I remember meeting you somewhere, but I can't quite place it," I admitted.
The woman smiled. "It was six months ago."
Six months ago... I still couldn't remember.
"My son got his jersey signed in April."
Hearing that, I remembered. A boy about elementary school age, wearing a uniform with my number, had asked for my autograph. It was the first time I saw a fan wearing my uniform, and it made me very happy. The boy was small and had a tube in his nose, and this woman had been nearby.
"Now I remember. You're the mother of my first fan."
The woman's face lit up. "Yes. I'm glad you remembered."
"Is he not coming today?" I asked.
The woman's face suddenly darkened, and tears welled up in her eyes. She wiped them away with a handkerchief. I waited patiently until she calmed down.
"I'm sorry... I wasn't going to cry, but... My son passed away recently."
Passed away? When I told him he was my first fan, he looked so happy. How could he be gone?
"The baby was born with a medical condition, and the doctors said he wouldn't live long. Thanks to my husband's influence, he had been a fan of the Shizuoka Oceans from a young age. He loved watching games on TV and collecting merchandise. His hospital room was filled with Shizuoka Oceans memorabilia."
The mother showed me a photo of the hospital room, decorated with the team's flag, mascot toys, and numerous photos. The boy was sitting on a bed, wearing the uniform I had signed, making a peace sign.
"In January, my son was looking through a fan book and suddenly said, 'Hey, mom, this year we're getting a player with the number 58 on the team. His name is Takahashi Ryusuke.' He felt a special connection to the number 58 because he was born on May 8th. When merchandise for new players went on sale, my husband bought all of Takahashi's items. My son read every magazine and newspaper article about Takahashi from his high school days."
"In April, the doctor allowed my son a short outing. When I asked where he wanted to go, he said he wanted to meet Takahashi. That's why we came that day."
I remembered that day. I was so happy to see the boy wearing my uniform that I not only signed it but also gave him the bat he was holding. He was overjoyed.
"The boy slept with the bat you gave him until just before he passed away. We dressed him in the signed uniform and placed the bat in his coffin. He always drew in his sketchbook while in bed, and he left behind a picture of a player in a blue uniform hitting a ball with the number 58. He imagined Takahashi's success."
Unfortunately, my performance in the minor leagues hadn't matched his dreams. But the picture, drawn with such hope, touched me deeply.
"If it's not a bother, could you please take this picture? I'm sure he drew it with the dream of giving it to Takahashi."
"Are you sure it's okay for me to have it? Isn't it a precious keepsake from your son?"
"Please, take it. And remember him, even if just a little."
"Of course. He was my first fan since turning professional. I'll never forget him."
I carefully placed the painting in my bag. "Thank you. I'm sure he's praying for your success in heaven. Please do your best." Saying that, she bowed her head and left.
Watching her walk away, I made a vow—one I would never forget.
He's my biggest fan.
Until I turned professional, I played baseball mainly for myself. But as a professional player, I now realize that my success can inspire others.
Right now, there might only be a few people encouraged by what I do, but as I achieve more, that number will grow.
Being a professional baseball player means giving people dreams.
I felt a renewed sense of responsibility.
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