The Baseball Club's Problem Child
"Just hang on a second, will you?"
"Haa…"
Higuchi Shiori, a first-year girl at Seisho High School, let out a long, heavy sigh.
The second-year upperclassman who had been relentlessly hitting on her — Hongo Yukihisa.
He'd gone quiet for a while, so she'd figured she'd finally shaken him off. Why was he acting like this again today?
"What do you want?"
"Hahaha."
Seeing that Shiori at least seemed willing to talk, Yukihisa curled his lips into a sly smile.
Seisho High School, a nationally renowned baseball powerhouse in Tokyo's Nerima District.
Hongo Yukihisa had been born with enough pitching talent to enter that school as a specially recruited athlete.
But now, as a second-year…
"There's a rumor going around that our little Higuchi — the one who wouldn't even look my way — has been hanging around some guy."
"And what does that have to do with you, senpai?"
"What does it have to do with me…"
Yukihisa gradually backed Shiori toward the wall.
A second-year with zero restraint, pressing in on a first-year girl who had already rejected him more times than she could count.
Standing over 190 centimeters with a commanding build, the so-called "future ace of Seisho baseball" — the kid who'd thrown a fastball over 150 km/h as a first-year — had become the school's problem child.
He hadn't shown up to baseball practice since winter break, and the only thing that interested him anymore was fooling around with the girls nearby. And now that problem child was extending his reach all the way to Shiori.
"You said you weren't interested in guys, so I left you alone for a bit. And now you've got a boyfriend? If you're not just messing with me after I had my eye on you from the start, then what the hell is this?"
"I'm asking you what any of that has to do with you."
"You're cute when you're mad, Higuchi."
"…"
So crude.
Shiori closed her eyes and turned her head to the left, as if she couldn't stand to listen anymore.
"I get that you like planting a competitive spirit in guys, and I get that those contemptuous eyes of yours are part of the charm. But if you keep poking at me like this, even I have my limits."
"If you've got nothing else to say, I'm leaving."
Shiori showed not the slightest fear standing in front of her massive upperclassman. If she kept listening to that garbage any longer, she was sure her ears would rot off.
His hand clamped down hard.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Let go of me!"
Yukihisa snagged her wrist. Shiori struggled against him.
Of all places, they were in a somewhat secluded spot outside the school building, and Yukihisa — clearly set on something today — refused to let her go.
"You're a girl too, right? You want to date a guy like me. Stop playing hard to get already!"
"…Disgusting."
"What?"
In the brief moment Yukihisa loosened his grip, Shiori glared up at him. The revulsion in her eyes — he felt it instantly.
"Are you serious right now?"
Higuchi Shiori, the beautiful girl with that ice-cold, rigid air about her. But that very quality gave her a strange mystique, and even though only a month had passed since she'd enrolled, she'd already captured the hearts of countless boys.
Yukihisa was no exception — he'd already lost his heart to her. And now, with Shiori not only resisting him but looking at him with outright disgust, his temper finally snapped.
"Ugh."
The instant Shiori closed her eyes—
"Shiori!"
"…Huh?"
A boy's voice rang out, loud and clear.
"Yusuke?"
"…"
"Who the hell is that? And did he just say Shiori?"
Hongo turned to look at the male student who'd suddenly appeared, wearing a Seisho uniform.
A first-year, same as Shiori.
But the way he'd said her name grated on Yukihisa's nerves.
When a guy and a girl called each other by their first names that freely, it meant they weren't just ordinary acquaintances. He himself still called her by her surname — Higuchi — and this punk was calling her Shiori? Yukihisa's hand trembled with humiliation.
That little bastard.
His height was maybe a bit above the average for a Japanese high school boy. Skinny frame. Not particularly handsome either. And yet Shiori had given him permission to use her first name?
"Hah!"
"Huh?"
While Yukihisa stood there flustered, Shiori slipped free and ran to the other boy.
"You okay, Shiori?"
"Yeah."
Shiori spoke to her classmate and childhood friend, Kajima Yusuke.
Even after nearly getting into real trouble, she nodded as if to tell him not to worry. Of course, it was a face Yukihisa had never seen before.
Tch.
Yukihisa was furious. But he wasn't so far gone that he didn't realize he was crossing a line. Deep down he wanted to beat the kid senseless and claim Shiori for himself, but civilized society didn't exactly permit that kind of thing.
"Hey, first-year brat!"
"…"
Yukihisa called out to Yusuke, doing his best to sound casual.
"I don't know what trick you used to reel her in, but use her however you want and then give her back! You already know she's the type who goes through guys like nothing, right?"
"Ha…"
"Shiori?"
Hearing that verbal assault, Shiori froze on the spot.
She was so angry the air caught in her throat — she couldn't do a thing.
The baseless rumors from other girls since middle school. The same phenomenon continuing right into high school.
That she swapped out guys like it was nothing. That her specialty was stealing boyfriends from couples and then dumping them. That she'd been notorious for being promiscuous back in middle school. The lies just kept coming.
She'd long since decided that actively trying to clear her name was pointless, so she'd shut the door on her heart and simply looked the other way. But to have it thrown in her face like that—
"Hmph."
Yukihisa gave one last dismissive snort and turned his head away.
The classic immature, pathetic type of guy who would rather trash-talk a girl he liked just to make her acknowledge his existence.
"You stop right there!"
"…Huh?"
Yukihisa looked back.
"Wha—?"
And there was Yusuke, charging straight at him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"…"
The first-year brat — a kid a full twenty centimeters shorter than him — was staring him down with eyes wide open.
"Apologize."
"What?"
"Apologize to Shiori! She's not the kind of person who deserves to hear that crap from you!"
"Ha!"
Of all the things to say — talking down to an upperclassman a full year older and demanding an apology.
With even his last scrap of pride under assault, Yukihisa half-lost his grip on reason.
"I've been putting up with you two long enough!"
A first-year boy and girl who wouldn't do what he wanted and only got on his nerves.
Yukihisa clenched his fist, ready to swing it at any second.
"Hongo!"
"Huh?"
This time it was Yukihisa who froze.
A conditioned fear.
Heavy footsteps approached.
A man with a build like a bear came walking over.
"M-Matsuda-senpai?"
Matsuda Masahiro, third-year at Seisho High School.
Seisho's immovable starting catcher and cleanup hitter.
A prospect already all but locked in as a first-round pick in next year's NPB Draft — and the baseball club upperclassman Hongo Yukihisa feared most of all.
"You're losing it more and more by the day."
"…"
A face too terrifying to believe belonged to a high schooler, and a deep, heavy voice to match. His height barely cleared 180 centimeters, but he weighed close to a hundred kilograms, with a massively thick torso.
Masahiro's appearance sent a jolt of fear through not just Yukihisa but Yusuke as well — even though Yusuke, a baseball fanatic who'd long idolized this school's baseball club, already knew exactly who Masahiro was.
"I'm sorry."
"Huh?"
"Looks like a fellow club member caused you trouble. As his senpai, I apologize."
Third-year Masahiro spoke to first-year Yusuke. He'd tried to soften his voice as best he could, but it didn't help in the slightest.
"N-No, not at all, Matsuda-senpai!"
Whatever fire Yusuke had shown while chewing out Yukihisa vanished completely; he fretted and stammered. Having his idol — a man radiating the raw pressure of a wild animal — standing right in front of him had short-circuited his brain.
"Hongo. Come with me. We need to talk."
"Yes…"
Even with Shiori watching, Yukihisa — terrified of Masahiro — hung his head and answered pitifully.
"Oh, damn. This kid's cool."
I couldn't help muttering in admiration as I flipped through the manga. This was exactly why I read romantic comedies.
A slightly ordinary but kind and brave guy, paired with a beautiful girl who seemed cold on the outside but was soft on the inside — that combination was pure comfort food.
Standing up for a girl and demanding an apology from a guy who looked stronger than him, plus the perfectly timed arrival of a reliable ally. It was cliché and childish, but entertaining all the same. Couldn't help it.
"Nnngh!"
I'd been sitting in the manga café reading for over an hour. I stretched my arms over my head.
The Childhood Friend Everyone Calls the Ice Princess Only Opens Her Heart to Me.
The title's a bit much, though.
It was the kind of title that made you a little embarrassed to admit you were reading it. But light novel originals lived and died by title clickbait, so it was what it was — and the fact that it had gotten a comic adaptation at all meant it had proven popular enough.
Of course, I had my own reason for picking up this particular manga.
"…"
The blurb mentioned a school famous for its baseball club, and that setting had caught my eye. I'd been playing baseball myself until recently, and I'd always taken a pretty serious interest in Japanese high school baseball.
The male lead was a baseball fanatic who loved NPB, Major League Baseball, and high school ball alike. His childhood-friend heroine didn't know much about the sport, but she quietly listened whenever he went on about it.
There was even a setup where the male lead idolized Seisho High School's baseball team. The story opened a year before the main timeline with Seisho losing in the regional Koshien finals, and the male lead crying over it.
Though honestly…
Baseball didn't seem all that necessary to the plot. Japan being a baseball-obsessed country, it was probably just the author fishing for attention. But it was a romantic comedy first and foremost, so fair enough.
"Hmm…"
Baseball.
Baseball was a sore spot for me.
Yesterday had been the end-of-term ceremony for second-year winter break.
Until recently I'd been on the baseball team, and now I'd been dumped unceremoniously into the role of a college-bound exam student. I'd never seriously studied a day in my life, and with a career-ending injury as a pitcher, I couldn't play baseball either…
My homeroom teacher had at least suggested I try for a physical education college entrance track, but I still couldn't shake the feeling of being left completely adrift.
If I'm being honest…
Even without the injury, would I have made it as a pitcher? Looking at it coldly, I didn't think so.
I'd worked harder than anyone, but my natural physical gifts had left my fastball velocity low.
People said I had talent in command and breaking balls, sure — but low velocity and a small frame for a pitcher put me well short of the guys who actually made it as pros.
In the end, I was just one more baseball hopeful among countless stars who never made the pros and simply faded away. That was the reality of being eighteen.
I worked that hard, and this is where it got me.
Maybe I was just a useless guy.
I'd grabbed a baseball to prove I existed and clung to it harder than anyone. Even with a school that offered generous athletic scholarships, I'd lived fiercely — and the result was failure.
It felt like the world simply didn't want me.
"Ah, damn it."
I'd come here to enjoy some manga, and now reality was grinding me down all over again.
"…"
I looked back at the manga in my hands.
This was a school romantic comedy — which meant it was about growth.
Naturally, every character had their flaws and their immaturity. But they were teenagers, so that was allowed.
They had to entertain the readers, so of course they'd all grow by the end.
But what about me, living in the real world? Next year I was heading straight into the arena of proof.
I wasn't in a position to grow at my own pace — I had to show results right now. And Korean society, in particular, made it hard to climb back once you fell off the established track.
"…"
This sucks.
Maybe there was still a path. Maybe this could even turn into a blessing in disguise. But getting thrown off the road of baseball had left something broken in me.
I slumped forward.
I didn't renew my time at the manga café. I just got up and left my seat.
The door slid open.
"Huh?"
The moment I stepped out of the manga café, a sudden light enveloped me.
"How about you try explaining yourself for once?"
"…"
"You haven't actually done anything wrong. Tell them to stop judging you based on some made-up reputation."
"…Huh?"
"Hm?"
I blinked.
I couldn't process what was happening. First of all — where was this? Some kind of storage shed? And the person standing in front of me—
Matsuda Masahiro?
A character from the manga I'd been reading just moments ago.
Matsuda Masahiro, third-year on the Seisho High School baseball team, was standing right in front of my eyes.
And what the hell was this?
Why can I understand him?
The words coming out of his mouth were clearly Japanese.
And yet I — who didn't know a single word of Japanese — was understanding him perfectly.
"You're not even listening to your senpai anymore?"
"…Uh, s-sorry!"
"For crying out loud."
I realized mid-sentence that I needed to speak Japanese, not Korean. It came out a little dazed, but still…
Matsuda looked at me like I was pathetic. Setting aside the question of why I was even here, I just wanted to get out of this uncomfortable situation first.
"Fine. There's nothing left to say to a guy who's already checked out of the baseball club."
"…"
"Do whatever you want. But as long as you haven't formally quit, don't drag the club's name through the mud."
"Understood."
I bowed my head at a full ninety degrees.
"Hmph."
With that, Matsuda walked out. Seeing him in person, the pressure he gave off made it hard to believe he was really a high schooler.
"…"
And just like that, I was alone.
"What the hell is this?"
Something had crossed my mind a moment ago.
If Matsuda had been chewing me out — then who was I right now?
"Ah!"
There happened to be a mirror inside the storage room, and I got a look at myself.
Hongo Yukihisa.
That was right. I had become a character from the manga I'd been reading just minutes earlier.
I had become Hongo Yukihisa.
Which means this is…
Transmigration. I'd been pulled into the manga.
I flopped down hard.
"Well, this is something."
I lay on the bed to sort out my thoughts.
In the middle of this absurd situation, the one silver lining was that I'd inherited Hongo Yukihisa's memories.
They felt a little hazy in places, but… at least I'd been able to find my way home.
A house in Tokyo's Nerima District. Within walking distance of school, and honestly nicer than I'd expected.
"…"
But this is a little too much, isn't it?
Of all the coincidences — this guy didn't have parents either. The house had been left to him by a grandfather who'd looked after him until he passed away three years ago.
The old man must have put some money aside; I could probably live off it for a good ten years without working. Still, the feeling that stirred in me was hard to put into words.
I'd been born an orphan, and the body I'd transmigrated into belonged to a guy whose parents had already been dead for years.
At least this Yukihisa had memorial photos of his parents, so he was better off than me in that regard. He could at least see the faces of the people who'd given him life.
"…"
I set those thoughts aside and started considering the most important thing: the future.
I had no idea how to go back. So how was I supposed to live from here on out?
What caught my eye was a baseball glove.
"You bastard."
So he'd left the glove somewhere easy to see in the room.
I dug through the memories of the body I now inhabited — Hongo Yukihisa's.
From middle school on, he'd made a name for himself as a baseball prospect, with more than enough talent to become an ace in high school ball.
But the temptations that gradually crept in had been a problem, and the baseball club's underwhelming results relative to expectations had drained Yukihisa's interest in the game.
Looking at his frivolous personality — a decently handsome face, a solid build, and the label of a baseball prospect — it was more than enough to drive the girls wild.
In middle school he'd had a buzz cut and plenty of acne, but once he hit high school the hair regulations loosened and his skin cleared up a lot. On top of that, high school girls with fully developing adult figures got a red-blooded high school boy's heart racing far more than middle school girls ever had.
Club activities hadn't been much fun either. As befitting a baseball powerhouse, the training volume was beyond imagination — and he'd started wondering why he even bothered. The result: a loss in the regional finals for summer Koshien, no advancement. Spring Koshien had ended the same way, with a fall regional elimination.
After that, with his heart already half-checked out, Hongo Yukihisa had effectively quit the baseball club.
"…"
But me?
I was different.
I'd be living in Hongo Yukihisa's body, but I wanted to play baseball.
I clenched my fist hard.
"Whoa."
I was startled by the raw grip strength in my hand. My hands were big enough that I could probably throw breaking balls I'd never been able to handle before.
Unlike my old 178-centimeter self, this body stood 191 centimeters tall. It was a bit lean, but I was still a high schooler — I could put on weight going forward. There was almost no excess fat on me.
And hadn't he thrown a fastball over 150 km/h as a first-year?
Even among Japan's famous flamethrowers, not that many had cracked the 150 barrier as high school freshmen. Most pitchers didn't fully develop until their second or third year.
But if you combined this blessed physique with the experience of someone who'd clawed and scraped to overcome mediocre talent — even I couldn't begin to predict the result.
Watching Japanese high school baseball, reading baseball manga, I'd always dreamed of standing on the Koshien stage. And now I had a real shot at that dream. How incredible an opportunity was that?
"Hoo…"
All right.
I'd gotten the baseball talent I'd never had in my previous life. Just like those lines that always showed up in Japanese baseball manga — let's go aim for number one in Japan.