Chapter Text
Prologue
Can’t Stop by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Go write your message on the pavement
Burn so bright, I wonder what the wave meant
The Kanazawa Kaiju were hands down the worst team in Japan. Not only were they suffering from a lack of talent, but the fanbase had given up on them, with record low attendance year over year. It was a miracle the team was even still around, with their best days far, far behind them. Only the die hard fans, fans with deep ties and nostalgia from their ‘06 championship days were still rooting for them. Everyone else had moved on.
That was until this season.
Kanazawa knew something had to give; they must force an evolution or die.
So, as the new owner of the franchise, Masamichi Yaga set out to turn it all around. He combed through game footage, scouted for fresh talent at amateur and university games, wined and dined the biggest agents in Tokyo to try to secure a new face for the Kaiju. Someone that he could build a team, a brand, a reputation around, and put the Kanazawa Kaiju back on the map before it was sold for parts.
Submitting competitive offers to baseball veterans who had the recognition he was looking for, he was denied every time. Up and comers weren’t interested either, all of them with their eyes on more marketable teams, better records, and higher salaries. The best, well, they all wanted to play in the states, and Kanazawa wouldn’t even be a pit stop for them. It would be a prison realm, stalling their careers until they withered away and were forgotten, as nothing but a footnote in Japanese baseball.
Imagine Yaga’s surprise, however, when one such individual entertained his offer.
The shortstop had agents and teams lining up at his door, eager to get a piece of what was likely to be a limitless career. He had been scouted young, dubbed a prodigy at just eight years old. Both his batting and fielding skills were impeccable, flawless. He had honed his athleticism and sharp mind into a mighty weapon, one that most players balked at as he jogged from the dugout to his spot in the batters box.
Some of his opponents said that it was like he could see the ball move before it did, anticipate a change up from just a slight hitch of the pitcher’s shoulders. They said he moved like lightning, as though he wasn’t stealing a base but just taking what was owed to him.
“Cut that salary in half and invest in pitching. I’d rather not have to do much fielding.”
“You can be a designated hitter. No fielding required.” Yaga took a deep, rattling breath. “I just need you on this team.”
And if Yaga could see the face on the other end of the line, he’d see the most arrogant, aneurysm-inducing grin known to man.
“Aw, Yaga, where’s the fun in that?”
“So you’ll do it?”
“I’ll think about doing it.”
A long pause. Yaga was chewing on his lip, nervous. This was the furthest he’d come to getting someone signed and it quite literally had the potential to give Kanazawa the push they needed towards greatness. Signing him would just be the start.
“Listen, kid,” he let out a deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses dug in, “I’m not going to sit here and beg. I’m not going to tell you how badly this franchise needs you. And I’m certainly not going to blow any more smoke up your ass. From what I hear, those snobs in Tokyo are towing the line between flattery and making your head explode with thoughts of self-importance and righteousness. That isn’t me.”
Wow. Wow. A childish giggle snuck down the line and into Yaga’s ear. It was infuriating. “Well I’ll only do it if you put a clause in the contract that I must be flattered with self important ideations for at least an hour before every game. Should that not be met, I demand mochi imported from Nara for emotional damages.”
“Be realistic-”
“No, you!” His voice was more serious now. “You need me more than I need you.”
Exasperated did not even begin to describe it. A headache was forming, right between the eyes from the childlike arrogance of the all star on the phone. “But do you know what you need more than anything?” His patience was waning but he was finally at the end of his rope, clinging to the last card he had to play.
“A valium, if you have any.”
“A legacy.”
It was the shortstop’s turn to quiet. Taking it as an invitation to push on, Yaga continued.
“I’m offering the opportunity to be the face of a franchise; the opportunity to build something. The Kaiju have been an underestimated team hungry for more. We will go to the championships this year.” He said it matter of fact, with no hesitation and the unbridled confidence of someone betting on a winning hand.
“The question is, do you want to be known as a player that coasted on a built out roster and established coaching? Or do you want to be the undeniable best? The strongest?”
The silence lingered as the shortstop chewed on his words. It was tantalizing, the idea of pulling them out of their rut to a complete victory. Building a legacy.
“I’ll do it.”
Yaga smiled.
“But-“ ah, yes, there it was. The proverbial “but”. Here is where Yaga lost him to demand after demand. He’d never let on, but he’d give him most anything to just say yes.
“Yes?”
“You have to fill those stands. I feel uninspired when people aren’t chanting my name.”
The now fully formed headache throbbed. “That,” Yaga responded, voice remaining neutral, “that I can do.”
Satoru Gojo signed the contract the next day.