A few days after joining the team, Ushijima Wakatoshi was already on the baseball field at 4 a.m., running alone.
With his Diamond-level stamina, rest was never an issue.
World-class stamina for a baseball player—abnormal even by professional standards.
Combined with the naturally enhanced physique of a transmigrator, his endurance bordered on monstrous. In the entire baseball world, there was likely no one else like him.
Honestly, he could afford to be lazy.
As long as he signed in every day, opened treasure chests weekly, and relied on the system to grow stronger, effort wasn't strictly necessary.
But he couldn't do it.
Every time he thought about slacking off, the same scene replayed in his mind.
The Seido vs. Inashiro match.
The crushing defeat.
The shattered dreams.
The third-year seniors collapsing after the game—knowing their high school baseball careers had ended.
That pain played over and over like an unending film reel.
Especially the seniors' expressions after the final out.
It was unbearable.
Those scenes never appeared randomly.
They only surfaced when he tried to be lazy.
That alone made everything clear.
He hadn't transmigrated here by coincidence.
He was here to change that ending.
Seido lost to Inashiro not because of their batting lineup—they had even staged a comeback—but because they lacked an ace pitcher who could truly withstand elite pressure.
Pitching was Seido's fatal weakness.
And looking at the skills the system had given him so far, the message was obvious.
He was meant to become that pillar.
If I ever transmigrated to Seido, he had once thought while watching the anime,
I'd definitely take them to Koshien.
Now, that promise was no longer imaginary.
Four in the morning might sound early, but this was Japan, not China.
In northern China, daylight arrived around five.
In Japan, the sky was already bright by four.
Even so, Ushijima Wakatoshi was the only one running on the field.
What he didn't notice was a silent figure standing at the edge of the grounds.
Coach Kataoka Tesshin, sunglasses on, watched him with a complicated gaze.
This was the sixth consecutive day.
For six straight mornings, this first-year—this foreign student, Yuki's cousin—had arrived before anyone else.
No drills. No batting. Just running.
But consistency mattered more than flash.
"Diligent… hardworking…" Kataoka murmured inwardly.
"A first-year who outworks everyone else."
Over the past week, Kataoka had thoroughly reviewed Ushijima Wakatoshi's data.
His batting ability alone already placed him among the top three hitters in Seido's First Team.
The only flaw?
He couldn't hit home runs.
But—
For infield hits, no one in Seido could match him.
Fastballs under 130 km/h? He hit them at will.
Over 130 km/h? Still over 70%.
Over 140 km/h? 50%—an absurd number for a high schooler.
Breaking balls under 100 km/h? Perfect average.
Over 110 km/h? Still hovering around 50%.
Breaking balls weren't about speed, but movement and angle.
Any pitcher who could throw sharp breaking balls above 120 km/h was already a national-level threat.
And Ushijima could still hit those.
Among high school players nationwide, this batting performance placed him firmly at the top.
If only he had power, Kataoka thought.
Then he'd be the kind of batter pitchers fear most.
Unbeknownst to the coach, Ushijima Wakatoshi had already finished his run.
At that moment, he silently opened his system interface.
Weekly sign-in reward available.
Without hesitation, he opened the chest.
Ding!
Treasure Chest Opened!
Congratulations! You have obtained: Silver Cutter Ball
Ushijima exhaled softly.
As expected.
The system was clearly pushing him toward pitching.
Status Panel
Name: Ushijima Wakatoshi
Height: 188 cm
Weight: 160 jin
Dominant Hand: Right
Batting Stance: Right-handed
Stamina: Diamond
Speed: Gold
Pitch Types:
Two-seam (Silver)
Cutter (Silver)
Four-seam (Diamond)
Control: Silver
Batting: Home Run (Gold)
A Cutter—also known as a cut fastball—was still a fastball at its core.
For a right-handed pitcher, the ball broke late and sharply toward the outside of right-handed batters and the inside of left-handed ones.
Compared to a two-seam—which tailed inward with a slight drop—the Cutter sliced away.
Both were fastball variants, relying on speed and late movement.
But speed depended on control.
A Silver Cutter, under ideal conditions, topped out around 131–140 km/h.
Gold-level could reach 141–150 km/h.
Diamond-level? Over 160 km/h.
But without sufficient control, speed was meaningless.
With only Silver Control, even reaching 140 km/h while keeping the ball in the strike zone was unrealistic.
To throw strikes consistently, he'd need to slow it down.
Ushijima clenched his fist.
Looks like the system really wants me on the mound.
Whether he liked it or not, the road ahead was becoming clearer.