Rebirth of Toujou Hideaki

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The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon as Toujou Hideaki stood on the grassy patch behind Hikari Gakuen Elementary.

He felt the familiar weight of the baseball in his hand, the leather worn smooth from countless hours of practice. The air was cooler now, a sign of the coming evening, but his determination remained hot.

"Ready?" Coach Ichiro Tachibana's gravelly voice broke the silence, making Toujou glance over his shoulder. The retired catcher stood a few paces away, his arms crossed, watching with a sharp gaze that never missed a thing.

Toujou nodded, adjusting his stance. He had been working tirelessly on refining his pitching form under his coach guidance, and today was no different.

This time, though, they were focused on the basics—the mechanics of the pitch itself. With Ichiro's guidance, he was finally learning the importance of the proper stance, the angle of his arm, and the subtle movements that would maximize his speed and control.

"I know you've been training hard on your own," Ichiro began, his voice carrying a sense of calm but firm authority. "But there's always room to refine your fundamentals. Let's focus on those."

Toujou's heart raced as he set up for his first throw of the day. He knew the importance of what his coach was saying.

If he was to be a pitcher, his body had to be in perfect harmony with his mind. Every movement had to be precise.

Coach Ichiro watched him closely as he adjusted his grip on the ball, setting his stance.

His body bent slightly at the knees, back straight but not rigid, and his shoulders aligned, just like Ichiro had instructed.

He felt the weight of his body shift as he wound up and released the ball with a controlled motion, sending it toward a target drawn on a nearby tree trunk.

Thud.

The ball hit its mark, but it wasn't quite perfect. He could feel it in his shoulders, a slight tension where there shouldn't have been.

Toujou wiped his brow, noting the small frustration bubbling up, but he didn't let it distract him.

Ichiro stepped forward, taking his time to watch the ball's flight path, then nodded, though there was a hint of critique in his gaze. "Your form's coming along, but you're putting too much weight on your back leg. Try pushing from your core more. And remember, your upper body needs to lead the throw."

Toujou listened intently, taking mental notes. He wanted to be perfect, but more than that, he wanted to understand the mechanics behind it.

Why did it work? How could he make it better?

"Try again," Ichiro encouraged, settling into a more relaxed stance.

Toujou stepped back into his position, closed his eyes for a moment, and then relaxed his shoulders.

He took a deep breath, remembering what his coach had told him, feeling the ball's weight in his fingers. His thoughts cleared, and with a renewed focus, he threw again.

Whoosh.

This time, the ball flew with more velocity, hitting the target with a satisfying pop.

"Better," Ichiro muttered, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're improving. But I want to see more control—your speed is good, but that's just part of it. Now, work on consistency."

Toujou nodded, feeling the familiar rush of determination. "I'll keep practicing."

---

Later that evening, after dinner, Toujou sat at the small desk in his room, a notebook open in front of him. His hand hovered over the page, still a little stiff from the afternoon's practice.

The glow of his desk lamp cast a soft light over the papers, but his mind was sharp, eager to record his thoughts and progress.

He flipped through the pages filled with neat rows of notes, each one detailing his self-made training regimen.

He'd carefully documented everything—repetitions of his drills, the types of exercises he'd focused on, the numbers he'd aimed for in terms of speed and accuracy.

Now, on the page in front of him, he drew a comparison between his old routine and what Coach Ichiro had taught him today.

His own notes read something like:

Self-Training

Threw 100 pitches a day, focusing on accuracy.

No formal analysis, just repetition.

Ball speed: 45-50 mph.

But today's formal training was different.

Coach Ichiro's Training

Focused on mechanics:

body alignment, leg push, and core control.

Focus on precision and body flow.

Ball speed: 55 mph (target: 60 mph in two weeks).

Toujou underlined the key differences. His old methods were based on raw repetition, while Ichiro's guidance was structured, with attention to detail and gradual progress.

He felt his body responding differently—more agile, more in sync with his mind. He was training smart, not just hard.

After making his notes, Toujou leaned back in his chair, stretching out his sore arms. He glanced over at the picture of his parents on his desk, a reminder of why he was working so hard.

They had always supported him, even when he hadn't understood what he wanted. Now, his path seemed clearer.

His mother came into his room, offering a small, knowing smile. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "How was practice today?"

Toujou looked up at her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "It was good. Coach Ichiro helped me with my form. My ball speed's improving."

She stepped into the room and ran a hand through his hair. "We're proud of you, you know."

Toujou nodded, feeling a warmth in his chest. "Thanks, Mom. I'm going to get better, no matter what."

His mother's eyes softened, her voice gentle. "I know you will. Just don't forget to have fun, alright?"

Toujou smiled, the weight of his journey ahead already heavy in his mind. "I will. I won't give up."

And with that, he turned back to his notebook, adding the final note of the day:

Improvement: Steady, but I'm not there yet. But I'm closer.

---

As the night deepened, Toujou felt a quiet determination settle within him. Tomorrow would bring more training, more challenges, but he was ready for it. Under the watchful eyes of his coach, his family, and his own resolve, he would continue pushing forward, step by step.