Taking on the Fierce Showa Era with Data Baseball - 1

In a dimly lit room, I sat in front of three monitors, watching footage of tomorrow’s starting pitcher.

I had already submitted my initial report via the dedicated terminal, but I couldn’t shake my doubts. I needed to double-check it one last time for any mistakes or oversights.

The video switched between three angles—behind center field, the batter’s point of view, and a high angle from the first-base side—each loop repeating the same pitching motion.

“This slider… It breaks more vertically than usual.”

My voice echoed faintly in the quiet room. The tilt of the spin axis and the vertical drop—details that might be invisible to an untrained eye—were clear to me. I jotted each observation down in my notebook.

When this pitcher threw his slider, the height of his right shoulder shifted slightly. The difference was minimal—just a few degrees in angle, a matter of millimeters in movement. However, in today’s professional baseball, such a habit is a fatal weakness.

He was a young player who had just been called up to the top team. His mechanics were polished and, from a front-on view, nearly impossible to detect. But when you overlay several pitches from an oblique angle, the differences in his release become apparent. Noticing these minute details could sometimes decide the outcome of a game.

The team’s dedicated app had been introduced the previous spring. Now, every player received swing analyses and detailed reports on pitching tendencies. The footage was uploaded that same day, and by the next morning, players could review it all on their smartphones. It was a convenient system, but it didn’t tell you everything.

“The habits behind pitch selection… aren’t reflected in the numbers.”

I once said that to a player who had dropped by the video room. It was always the younger players who sought my advice the most. Their questions were always things like: “I can’t read his pickoff move,” or “I feel like I lose my breath when I throw a curveball.”

It was an encouraging trend; it showed everyone was eager to learn. But in the end, it all came down to your instincts and what your eyes could pick up. No matter how much technology advanced, that fact would never change.

During my playing days, I focused solely on getting on base. A shoulder injury from overuse in high school forced me to move to the infield, a position I kept throughout college. Because of that injury, my throwing was never great, to say the least.

Still, I earned my spot on the top team thanks to my baserunning and observation skills, even winning the stolen base title one year.

My path to the pros was cut short when I went undrafted, but it was a blessing in disguise. It led me to sports medicine and statistical analysis, and I credit that knowledge for allowing me to prolong my playing career despite my injuries.

The team’s management had noticed the baseball notebook I always kept on the bench, which led to them offering me an analyst role after I retired. Even though I was no longer on the field, being able to remain involved in the world of baseball was a blessing. If everything I had seen and the knowledge I had accumulated could contribute, even minimally, to the team’s victories, that was all that mattered.

I looked at my watch and saw that it was almost 1:00 a.m. I summarized the key points for the report and stored the dedicated terminal in my locker. I slipped on my windbreaker, and after walking through the building’s automatic doors, the cold night air stung my cheeks.

On my walk home, my phone vibrated with a notification:
“《…》homered in two consecutive MLB games. His 15th this season.”
A faint, unconscious smile touched my lips. That guy… still hitting, huh.

He was my college teammate, a slugger I was often compared to. I’d even won the college league home run title once. But after turning pro, I was told to leverage my speed. I abandoned my power-hitting approach, shortened my swing, and focused on making precise contact.

I kept telling myself it was the right decision. I was convinced of it. But…

“I just… wanted to play more baseball.”

The moment the words left my mouth, a deafening, explosive roar erupted by my ears. A blinding light rushed toward me from ahead, and my vision turned pure white.

Then, a violent force slammed into me. There was no time to think. My consciousness was swallowed by a deep, black void.