Chapter 3 — First Day, First Impressions
The Little League field wasn't much—rusty chain-link fences, patchy grass, and a scoreboard older than half the town—but to Zach, it looked like a major-league stadium.
Kids were already warming up when he arrived with his mother. Parents chatted on aluminum bleachers, the air full of sunscreen, dust, and the slap of leather gloves.
Zach held his new rubber ball in both hands like it might float away.
Priscilla squeezed his shoulder. "Remember, sweetie. Have fun. Don't worry about impressing anyone."
"But I want to impress them," Zach said honestly.
She smirked. "Just… maybe not by taking someone's head off."
Zach puffed up. "I'll try."
Coach RamirezA tall, fit man with a graying beard and sunglasses stood near home plate, clipboard in hand. His voice boomed across the field.
"Alright, gather up! Let's form a circle!"
Kids jogged over—some confident, some nervous, some clearly dragged here by their parents.
Zach rushed to join them, eyes bright.
The coach cleared his throat. "I'm Coach Ramirez, and this is the start of your Little League season. Before we assign positions, I want to see how each of you throws. Simple warm-up tosses. Nothing crazy."
Zach tried not to grin.
Nothing crazy. Got it.
First Contact With the Other KidsA boy in a bright red cap nudged Zach.
"You're new," the boy said. "I'm Tyler."
"I'm Zach!" he said cheerfully. "Do you want to play catch?"
Tyler shrugged. "Sure."
Zach raised his glove—borrowed from Thomas and a little too big—and Tyler tossed the ball softly. Zach caught it with ease.
Then Zach threw it back.
Fast.
Not as fast as he could—his mom had warned him—but faster than the average five-year-old should throw anything.
Tyler flinched. The ball slapped his glove with a sharp thwack.
"Dude!" Tyler yelped. "What was that?!"
Zach blinked. "Throwing?"
"That was like… like a rocket!"
Zach looked down shyly. "I can throw it harder if you want."
"No thanks!" Tyler said quickly. "I like my bones."
Zach smiled. He liked Tyler already.
Coach NoticesCoach Ramirez scanned the kids lazily—until he saw Zach's throw.
His head snapped up.
He watched the next throw.
Then the next.
His eyebrows rose slowly.
"Hey, blond kid in the Cubs hat," he called. "What's your name?"
"Zachariah Miller! But you can call me Zach!"
"How old are you?"
"Five!"
The coach froze. "...Five?"
"Yes, sir!"
Tyler held up his glove. "Coach, he throws like my brother, and my brother's in middle school."
Ramirez rubbed his chin. His voice lowered. "Kid, can you throw left-handed too?"
Zach's grin widened. "Wanna see?"
The coach blinked. "Uh… yeah. Show me."
Zach switched the glove to his right hand, lifted his left arm, and tossed the ball lightly back to Tyler.
But it wasn't light.
It was fast. Straight. Clean.
A few parents gasped.
One dad muttered, "No way that kid's five…"
Ramirez let out a low whistle. "Alright, kid. You're sticking near me today."
Ping.
"Performance Recognition Achieved: Coach Awareness."
Reward: +1 Control."
Zach stiffened in excitement.
YES.
The Jealous KidNot everyone was impressed.
A bigger boy—stocky, strong-looking, maybe seven—walked over with a sour expression.
He crossed his arms. "You think you're hot stuff because you can throw a little hard?"
Zach blinked. "Um… no?"
"I've been the best pitcher on this team for two years," the kid said proudly. "Coach calls me 'Ace.' That means I'm the strongest arm here."
"Oh," Zach said politely. "Okay."
The older boy scowled. He clearly wasn't used to not intimidating someone.
"What's your name?" the boy demanded.
"Zachariah Mille—"
"Whatever. I'm Blake. And don't get any ideas. You're too small to pitch anyway."
Zach tilted his head, confused. "But Coach Ramirez just said—"
"I don't care what he said." Blake leaned closer. "Stay out of my way."
Tyler whispered, "Don't worry about him. Blake's always like that."
Zach nodded slowly. But something in his chest tightened—not fear, but determination.
He wasn't going to let anyone push him aside.
First DrillsCoach Ramirez clapped his hands. "Alright! Let's see some pitching! One at a time!"
Blake strutted to the mound first. He wound up dramatically and fired a pitch. The ball smacked the catcher's mitt with decent speed.
"Good, Blake," Ramirez said. "Solid."
Blake shot Zach a smug look.
Then Coach called, "Zachariah! You're up!"
Zach walked to the mound. The ball felt warm in his hand. The sand, the sunshine, the eyes watching—he loved all of it.
He set his feet, took a breath, lifted his leg…
And threw.
Not a bullet—he wasn't trying to hurt anyone—but a sharp, precise pitch that snapped into the catcher's glove.
The sound was louder than Blake's.
Parents murmured.
Kids turned to stare.
Blake's smile vanished.
Coach Ramirez stood there, stunned.
"…Holy—" He caught himself. "Where did you learn to throw like that?"
Zach shrugged. "The wall."
"The wall?"
"Yes, sir! It's bumpy, so if I miss even a little, the ball bounces weird and hits me in the face. So I learned not to miss."
Ramirez stared.
Tyler whispered, "Dude… what kind of training arc is that?"
Blake clenched his fists so hard his knuckles whitened.
Coach Makes a DecisionAfter a long silence, Coach Ramirez cleared his throat.
"Alright," he said loudly. "I don't hand out positions on the first day, but… Zach—"
Blake leaned forward, tense.
"—you're going to train separately with me for a bit."
The other kids murmured.
Blake's jaw dropped. "What?! Why him?! I'm the pitcher!"
Ramirez sighed. "Blake, you still are. But this kid is… different. I want to see what he can do."
Blake turned bright red, glaring at Zach with pure jealousy.
Zach swallowed hard, suddenly nervous.
But then—
Ping.
"New Quest: Earn Coach's Approval (Stage 1)."
Progress: 1/5.
Reward: Pitching Form Analysis (Level 1).
Zach smiled slightly.
He didn't want to take anything from Blake. He didn't want to fight.
He just wanted to work hard.
And now… he had a coach willing to help him grow.