Diamond no Ace: Coach, I Want to Be a Batter, Not a Pitcher!

”Ten pitches done.”

Miyuki stood with a smile, addressing Ushijima Wakatoshi. The ten-ball duel had concluded.

The result: Furuya missed five pitches, four went out of bounds, and one was poorly thrown. In other words, Ushijima had struck him out three times. Even balls out of bounds counted as good practice.

”Why…?” Furuya asked Miyuki Kazuya, confused.

”Ushijima’s pitch speed isn’t even as fast as mine,” Furuya continued. ”So why can’t I hit his ball?”

Miyuki removed his face shield and explained patiently:

”This is the importance of ball control. Your pitching is good—you’re ranked third among first-years: Ushijima is first, Kominato Haruichi is second, and you’re third.”

”Your strikes are decent, but weaker than Ushijima’s. Your batting stats against fastballs around 140 km/h are excellent, but Ushijima’s fastball is around 145 km/h. He prioritizes control over sheer speed. One pitch low to the inside corner, the next high outside—it disrupts your rhythm. And he knows more pitch types, including left-right combinations of cutter and two-seam. That makes his fastball deceptive.”

Furuya, naturally a bit clueless, could only grasp part of the explanation. Miyuki, knowing his personality, didn’t push further.

”Got it,” Miyuki said slowly. ”So, speed is important, but control is even more crucial. A pitcher can’t just throw fast blindly—they must use their brains. If speed and control aren’t compatible, lower the speed to maintain control. A 145 km/h fastball with perfect control is more dangerous than a 150 km/h pitch without control. Ushijima already understood this before he even got on the mound—that’s why he went undefeated in the Spring Tournament and Kanto Tournament.”

Furuya and Sawamura nodded, finally understanding the lesson.

Chris chuckled. ”We’ve been teaching them for so long, but a ten-pitch duel worked even better.”

Miyuki sighed, ”Yeah… if I’d known, I would’ve sent Ushijima instead.”

Ushijima Wakatoshi, passing by, added:

”For stubborn pitchers who only think about throwing fastballs, talking is useless. Experiencing it themselves is the simplest and most direct way.”

His approach won immediate approval. Players immediately called out, ”Ushijima! Let’s start!”

Yuki Tetsuya instructed the team’s starting batters to take turns facing Ushijima. With seven batters each receiving thirty balls, that added up to 210 pitches.

”Yoshaa!” Ushijima called, pointing at Shirasu. ”Strikeout!”

Shirasu groaned. Ushijima’s pitching was relentless. He rotated among three pitches—Four-Seam, Two-Seam, and Cutter—but his selection was random. Batters had to anticipate both the type and trajectory of the next pitch. Even a 0.1-second misjudgment could ruin the swing.

Despite having trained five times already, the batters still couldn’t reach the coach’s desired average—it was that difficult.

”See that, Sawamura?” Chris said. Sawamura watched carefully, silent.

”Mixing pitch types makes batting a nightmare. If your repertoire is limited, batters will adapt quickly in two or three games, even to your trickiest pitches.”

”I understand,” Sawamura said. ”What should I do next?”

Chris instructed: ”First, master your pitching technique. Then learn additional pitch types. Practice combinations of two pitches to improve control. Work hard for a year—by your second year, your skills will improve dramatically. Don’t rush; you’ll have plenty of competitions to participate in.”

Sawamura exhaled slowly, finally nodding.

”Yoshaa~” Ushijima Wakatoshi cheered from the mound after knocking out Masuko again.

”Haha! Senior Masuko took his punishment willingly.”

Shirasu, Kuramochi, Kominato, Isashiki, and Masuko were all enduring the same grueling training. 120 base runs, 200 swings—that was nothing short of brutal.