[After School – Fujima East Middle School Grounds]
The final bell rang. Students began pouring out of classrooms, stretching, laughing, chatting. Club time had officially begun.
Alex closed his notebook, gently placing it back into his bag. He stood up and looked at Kenta, who was already slinging his baseball bag over his shoulder.
"Ready, Fraser?" Kenta grinned.
"Yeah."
"Come on, I'll show you the way."
They stepped out of the classroom, walked past the corridors, then down a narrow hallway near the gym. As they exited the back door of the school building, the faint thwack of balls hitting gloves and metal bats striking balls filled the air.
The sun was still high, and the field was full of golden light.
"Over there." Kenta pointed.
In the distance, the baseball field stretched out in full view. Dust flew up as players sprinted across the diamond. Catcher's gear clanked, coaches shouted, and someone was doing push-ups near the dugout.
Alex stopped walking. His eyes scanned the field. There were barely more than ten players.
"...This doesn't look like a powerhouse," he murmured.
"Huh?" Kenta tilted his head.
"Nothing."
They approached the dugout. Kenta took off his shoes and stepped onto the dirt field, waving at a coach standing by first base.
"Kantoku! We have a new guy!" Kenta shouted.
The man turned. He had a square jaw, tanned skin, and wore a white and navy uniform with "Fujima East" written across the chest in bold red letters.
He walked over, arms crossed.
"...New guy?"
"Yeah! Transfer student from New Zealand!" Kenta said proudly, patting Alex on the back.
The man raised an eyebrow. "New Zealand?"
Alex bowed politely.
"I'm Alex Fraser. Pleased to meet you, Coach."
The coach's eyes widened for a second. Then he chuckled.
"Interesting," he muttered. "I'm Oki Kurou, the baseball coach. Just call me Kantoku."
"Yes, Kantoku."
"You ever played baseball before?"
"No, sir."
"You sure you came to the right field?"
Alex nodded once. "I want to try."
Coach Oki smirked. "Alright then. Let's see what you got."
[A Few Minutes Later – Batting Area]
"Here," a senior handed him a uniform. "Put this on. You'll feel like a real player."
Alex took it politely and changed inside the dugout. The uniform fit nicely—white pants, white jersey with red trim, and a blue cap with the school's "F" logo. He came out, adjusting the cap under his eyes.
"Whoa, it suits you," Kenta whistled.
"Thanks."
Coach Oki stood near the pitching machine, arms still folded.
"Let's have you try batting first."
"Yes, sir."
The coach waved a hand. Another player brought over a rack of bats.
"Choose one. We'll go slow first."
Alex walked toward the rack. His eyes moved over the collection of shiny metal bats—standard gear in Japanese middle school.
But something at the corner caught his eye. A wooden bat, slightly scratched, leaning against the fence like it had been forgotten.
His eyes narrowed. That looks more familiar...
He walked past the metal ones and reached for the wooden bat.
Kenta, who had been drinking water, almost spat it out.
"Alex!! Take the metal bat! No one uses wooden bats in middle school!!"
Alex turned his head.
"I'm used to this kind of bat."
"W-What kind of sport are you from?!"
"Cricket."
Coach Oki raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Alex stepped up to the batter's box, wooden bat in hand.
But instead of the stance the others expected—legs apart, bat held over the shoulder like they were taught—he stood differently.
He placed his front foot slightly forward, back foot turned a bit inward. His knees were bent, but not like a typical batting crouch. His hands were lower, close to his thigh, holding the bat angled downward and behind him like a blade ready to rise.
It was balanced, focused, but completely alien.
"Oi… what kind of stance is that?" a player muttered.
"Is that how they bat in New Zealand or something?"
"It's like… he's playing golf and fencing at the same time."
Even Coach Oki frowned. "That's not a baseball stance..."
Alex adjusted his grip. His eyes focused on the pitching machine.
The machine whirred.
BZZZZZK!
A fastball—80 miles per hour—launched forward.
Alex didn't flinch.
He stepped forward with his front foot, hips shifting, wrists rolling. He twisted into a strange diagonal swing—one that started like a hook shot, curved through his motion, and ended like a powerful off drive.
CRACK!!!
The sound rang out like a thunderclap.
Everyone froze.
The ball launched high and deep, cutting through the sky toward center field. It soared over the practice net, past the trees, and out of bounds.
"H-HOME RUN?!"
The team stood in stunned silence.
Coach Oki stared, completely dumbfounded.
"...What kind of swing was that?"
"Was that even baseball?"
Kenta looked like his soul left his body. "It looked like two different swings in one. Did he hook it into a straight drive?!"
Coach Oki blinked. "Is that a cricket thing…?"
Alex blinked too, gripping the bat loosely. "That felt… decent."
Then, without warning, he started sprinting—straight toward the pitcher's mound.
"Oi, oi, oi!!" Kenta slapped his forehead. "WHERE'S HE GOING?!"
"Alex!!" Coach Oki bellowed. "DROP THE BAT AND RUN THE BASES!!"
"EH?!"
"IT'S BASEBALL!! ROUND THE BASES!!"
"YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOTTT!!" Kenta screamed.
The team burst into chaotic laughter, but it quickly turned to awe again.
Because Alex ran—fast.
Lightning-fast.
"Whoa—his speed!!"
"Is he a track kid?!"
He rounded first, second, third… his long hair flying behind him, footsteps light, movement like water across the dirt.
He touched home plate, chest rising and falling.
"…Did I score this time?" he asked earnestly.
Coach Oki wiped his face with one hand and grinned.
"Oh yeah," he said. "You definitely did."
The field fell silent again, tension hanging in the air like a drawn bowstring. Coach Oki stood with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the transfer student calmly stepping into the batter's box.
The first hit had been shocking—but it could've been luck. A fluke. A perfect mistake.
"Set the machine to 87 mph," Oki ordered.
The assistant coach blinked. "That's pro-level for middle schoolers…"
"Exactly," Oki said, voice low.
The machine's hum deepened, its mechanical purr rising in pitch. It was fast—dangerously fast for a beginner.
Alex didn't flinch.
He rolled his shoulders, then stepped into the box with the same stance as before. Compact. Upright. Front foot slightly ahead, bat held close like a cricketer waiting on the bowler. It wasn't textbook baseball, but it was natural. Balanced. Taught.
The machine fired.
A white blur—87 mph.
Alex stepped forward—his weight shifting perfectly into his front foot—and brought the bat down in a fluid, straight arc. It wasn't a baseball swing. It was sharp, compact. A front foot straight drive.
CRACK!!
The bat met the ball flush. Not with a looping arc, but with a crisp, low-angle shot.
The ball ripped through the infield, a laser skimming the dirt. It passed the mound in an instant. The pitcher barely twitched before it blew past him—his glove coming up too late to even try.
The center fielder took two steps forward—
Too slow.
The ball blazed past, skipping once before bouncing violently off the back fence.
Gasps echoed.
"What the hell was that?!"
"Not a home run…"
"But nobody's stopping that thing!"
Kenta whistled low. "That wasn't just a hit. That thing was a missile…"
Coach Oki didn't speak immediately.
His eyes were narrowed, jaw clenched slightly.
'...That wasn't a baseball swing.
No uppercut, no hip twist. He stepped into it like—like he was swatting the ball dead-on. Not trying to lift it, just… send it through.
And it worked.
The pitcher didn't even blink. That thing shot past him like a bullet.
Where the hell did this kid learn to hit like that? It's clean. It's sharp. But it's not ours.
Cricket, he said?
Tch… what kind of sport teaches you to hit like that?'
Alex lowered the bat, completely calm. "Did I do it right?"
Kenta could only laugh. "You smashed it, man. Just—wow."
Coach Oki watched silently.
Author's Note:If you spotted any mistakes, inconsistencies, or things that felt off—I'm all ears! Feedback and criticism are always welcome. Thanks for reading!