On the outskirts of Hokkaido, in an empty plain, lay a construction site that had been abandoned for reasons unknown. The area appeared particularly desolate, with potholes scattered everywhere and the road extremely uneven. Passing through here in the dark could easily lead to a fall.
Despite the harsh conditions, a few teenagers with a passion for baseball were undeterred. In this open field, several boys aged 15 or 16 were engaged in a spirited game. They had placed large stones at designated spots to serve as bases, and a mound of dirt had become the makeshift pitcher's mound.
Their baseball gloves were worn and tattered, yet their faces were filled with joy and laughter. However, retrieving a ball in this field could pose a significant risk. Setting aside the question of pain, anyone who recklessly dove for a ball might end up with a concussion.
"Hahahahaha, another strikeout!" laughed a young man with a buzz cut from the pitcher's mound, his mood soaring with each out.
"You truly deserve the title of Azan!" praised the catcher squatting at home plate, the backbone of the game, as evident from his sturdy build.
Some teams enforce strict regulations on haircuts, requiring players to maintain buzz cuts. Most teams with such militaristic rules are strong contenders. This isn't a tradition; it's simply practical, as the heavy training and excessive sweating make long hair difficult to manage.
On this field, however, Azan was the only player sporting a buzz cut. He hailed from a renowned youth baseball team in Hokkaido, and his strength was undeniable. Yet, his dynamic talent was lacking—he couldn't run fast, jump high, and his pitching speed was mediocre, relegating him to a substitute role in youth baseball. Often, he didn't even get a chance to play in crucial games.
But on this field, he was a dominant player, as the only other participant was a minor league player. Whenever Azan felt down, he would call his friends to play, relishing the thrill of being the strongest among them. His inability to step out of his "comfort zone" might be the reason he hadn't improved.
"Ahahahahahahahahahahaha! Two of you are out now. If one more gets eliminated, you'll lose!" Azan taunted, his voice dripping with provocation.
"This is terrible. We're doomed if this continues," lamented a chubby boy on the sidelines, covering his face.
"We haven't had anyone score against him yet. This is the last inning, and we're still one point behind!" The opposing team was visibly anxious. Although the outcome of the game held no real significance, at their age, they were deeply invested in winning and the thrill it brought.
"Who's next?" the chubby boy asked, glancing back.
"I am," came a cold voice as a handsome boy stepped forward, taking the bat from the player who had just struck out and walking onto the uneven field.
"It's over," Azan thought, initially surprised by the newcomer but soon sensing something was amiss.
"Yes, we still have Zhou Hui!" his friends exclaimed, their spirits lifting.
Zhou Hui was clearly no ordinary player. His physique and the aura he exuded marked him as a prime candidate for baseball. He was the starting first baseman and main fourth batter for the Hokkaido youth baseball team, the Eagles. With a vast defensive range, quick reflexes, incredible speed, and a fearsome batting ability, he was a force to be reckoned with. Over three years in the minor leagues, he had hit 50 home runs, boasted a batting average of 70%, and had only struck out once!
In comparison, Azan felt inadequate.
"Hiss," Azan gasped.
"What? Are you still planning to send me this time?" Zhou Hui sneered, disdainful of those like Azan who remained in their "comfort zones" and sought superiority over weaker opponents.
To avoid exposing the disparity in their skills, Azan had always let Zhou Hui take the lead in previous matches, but everyone understood the difference in their levels.
Stimulated by Zhou Hui's words, Azan felt a surge of excitement. He extended his hand to the catcher, who had just stood up. "Just stay there; no need to walk him!"
Zhou Hui smiled slightly, eager for a direct confrontation. Although Azan had instigated it, he still felt a twinge of uncertainty facing such a formidable batter.
"Can I really do this?" Azan questioned himself, glancing at the baseball in his hand, his earlier confidence wavering.
Zhou Hui, however, felt no such pressure. For him, facing Azan was akin to a dimensionality reduction attack.
"Whoosh!" Azan threw the ball, but nerves got the better of him, and it veered off target. It was a stark contrast to how he had handled weaker opponents.
Azan seemed to deliberately aim for the outside corner.
"Ball!" Zhou Hui called out, using his judgment. In this game, there was no referee; everyone acted as one. Disagreements were settled by Zhou Hui, who had the strongest skills and thus the authority.
"Is your control really that unstable? I'm surprised. As a player about to enter high school and aiming for Koshien, your pitch speed is just over 130 kilometers, and your control is so poor," Zhou Hui remarked, his words striking at Azan's vulnerabilities.
"Stop talking nonsense!" Azan snapped, unable to bear the criticism any longer. Disturbed by Zhou Hui's taunts, he quickly prepared to throw the next pitch. He knew it was frustrating to always dominate weaker opponents, but he felt it unnecessary for Zhou Hui to be so harsh.
Yet, Zhou Hui's intention was to push Azan out of his comfort zone. While it might be uncomfortable, hard work would ultimately yield positive results.
"Clang!" The baseball soared high into the sky, but Zhou Hui remained calm, as if it required no effort at all. For him, it was merely a casual swing.
Azan was left stunned. Was this the gap in their abilities?
A house loomed behind the field, and Zhou Hui's heart raced as he watched the baseball hurtling toward it, sensing impending disaster.
"Ping!" The sound of breaking glass echoed, and Zhou Hui's heart sank.
"It's over. This time, I'm going to have to pay a lot of money!"