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This was obviously a publicity stunt, but who was Satoru to complain? After all, no one was more involved in the public nature of the sport – he could be considered a “spectacle” by the paparazzi, at best, and a “menace” by his coach – so when he was told they had signed on the first ever woman to their team in Major League Baseball history, he didn’t argue.
Did he laugh in their faces? Yes.
Nonetheless, it wouldn’t knock the wind out of his sails. Sure, it might cause them to stumble so early in the season, but there were plenty of games ahead of them before the World Series was upon them. Satoru wasn’t about to let anyone get in the way of getting his team that trophy, especially some charitable contract player who would more than likely blow up in their faces and make the coaches and owners look like idiots.
Iori Utahime might be the first woman to play in the MLB, and she’d probably be the last once they all realized how stupid this was.
With the day’s practice halfway over, the players were restless, all of them waiting for the moment when she would arrive. Satoru thought it was a little rude of her to show up late, but apparently, it wasn’t her fault. She’d been pulled into a meeting with the owners as soon as she arrived at the stadium. They didn’t care about her skill or so-called talent; they just wanted to make sure she looked good for them.
Nonetheless, that meant everyone was dragging their feet during practice. Not that Satoru was complaining, and neither was their current catcher. Kusukabe seemed almost grateful to be given some relief from his pitches to practice elsewhere as Satoru lazed about on the mound and watched his teammates on the field.
“Gojo, I’m almost begging you,” Coach Yaga insisted. “Be good.”
Satoru smiled, lazily tossing a ball into his glove. “I’m always good.”
“No, you’re not,” Yaga said, “especially when it comes to catchers.”
“Only when they’re shit,” Satoru pointed out. “It’s not my fault you all keep signing on players that can’t keep up with me. If you brought someone onto the team that was up to par, we wouldn’t be in this position.”
“They might be able to if you gave them time to acclimate and actually worked with them instead of relentlessly beating them into the ground until they can’t stand you anymore,” Yaga shot back.
Satoru rolled his eyes. Again, that wasn’t his fault. He was the best pitcher in the league by far, his FIP stat putting him in a separate class all on his own. However, he’d be a lot better if they could find a good enough catcher to keep up with him. No one was able to match him in terms of talent, not since Suguru.
That had ended up as a wash too though. The player who had once been his best friend and partner was now playing for a rival team, and Satoru had no intention of losing to him. He didn’t care if this was some sort of stunt to make them look good or bring more women into the demographic of fans. He wasn’t going to let anyone ruin his chances of coming out on top.
A slight shift in the field caught Satoru’s attention – players pausing and trying not to look like they were staring – and Yaga sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he once again stated, “Please be good.”
“I’ll be good if she’s good,” Satoru chirped.
Whether Yaga believed she was good or if this was some ridiculous gamble, it didn’t matter, not as he shook his head and walked away from the mound. Satoru watched with sharp eyes behind his signature round sunglasses as a woman set a massive bag down in the dugout.
Utahimie was a small thing. Not the smallest woman he’d ever seen – some of the models he’d dated seemed to be almost as skinny as the bats he swung – but compared to the boys on the team, she was little. Due to the loose joggers and hoodie she was wearing, it was hard to tell how much muscle she had on her, but it would still be less than their lightest man. What stood out the most, however, was the absolutely adorable bow she was wearing. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, pulled out of the snapback, and a white bow bounced with every move she made.
He watched as she spoke with the coaches. There was something fluid about her movements – easy, practiced, as if she’d done this dance countless times. She either hadn’t noticed or was ignoring the fact that many of the players were now outright staring, her attention on the coaches. When she pulled off the hoodie, he was a little disappointed to see only a small chest, but then again, sports bras were a hell of a contraption. Lithe as she was, her arms did have some muscle on them, so she was at least in shape.
Nonetheless, she was far too slow for his taste, so Satoru called out, “Do you plan on coming out and showing us what you’ve got or do you intend to hide in the dugout all practice?”
While his coaches muttered their complaints and apologies, Utahime stood upright and turned to shoot him a withering glare. Satoru only smiled and waved in response. That had been the first pitch. If she was this easy to ruffle, there was no way in hell she was going to make it in the Major Leagues with the boys – and certainly not with him.
Instead of snapping at him in defense, she turned back to the coaches and said something he couldn’t hear. After that, they left her to her own devices, some shaking their heads and others looking like they were close to praying. They didn’t need to pray. Satoru would show them in record time that this insane gamble of theirs was worthless, and they could get back on the hunt for a catcher that was capable of doing their damn job and making him look even better than he was.
A few minutes later, Utahime was on the field, though she wasn’t in her catcher’s gear. Interesting choice if not a stupid one. If she got hurt right off the bat, that was on her. Maybe that was the point though. She’d signed a contract, so the money was already hers, regardless of if she played multiple games or not. If she got hurt in practice and was forced to sit out, she’d still get paid.
“Cute bow,” Satoru quipped as she made her way to home base.
“Thanks,” Utahime replied in an even tone. “Your mom gave it to me.”
Satoru snorted. “Oh yeah? That’s what you’re coming back with?”
“Well, I heard she likes women more than men these days.”
Behind him, someone coughed on the field, but when he glanced back, none of his teammates were looking at him, all of them seemingly too busy with their practice to watch them. Satoru turned around to face Utahime, who was digging her toes through the dirt to form a barrier of some sort. He was a little peeved that she would bring up such a rumor. Considering his father was a former MLB player, his parents’ marriage and consequent divorce over twenty years later had been in the public eye even before he became famous, it was no wonder he was familiar with how the media worked.
“Didn’t take you for one for the paparazzi rumor mill,” Satoru noted.
“I’m not,” Utahime replied. “Most of them are baseless anyways.”
“Yeah?”
“But I’m a woman in a male-dominated sport,” she pointed out, “so it doesn’t matter if I avoid it or not. They’re not going to ignore me, so it’s better to be aware than ignorant.”
It was a smart move, one his agent probably wished he would take up. Mei Mei was all for publicity – after all, in her opinion, any publicity was good publicity, even if it was for something bad – and so she had deftly handled any rumors and scandals regarding him. Whether it was an ex, the very public fallout between him and Suguru, or something he said during an interview, she dealt with it.
He had a feeling she had a hand in signing Utahime onto the team as well. It’d look a lot better for his image if he was shown to work well with a woman. Plus, it’d make for a great story: the talented but rogue pitcher who had lost his catcher working alongside the first female player in the MLB as she attempted to break the glass ceiling in a game meant for men. Wouldn’t that be the perfect pitch for a movie?
“Okay then,” Satoru said. “Let’s see if you’re more than what the media says about you.”
With no game on the line, Utahime took a relaxed stance behind the base and raised her glove in an overhand position. It was standard protocol to frame a pitch to look good and also made it easier to catch the ball, but he thought it was a bit cocky for her to look that calm. If she knew anything about baseball and especially him, she would know he was one of the most difficult pitchers to counter in history, both for batters and catchers.
Even with his eyes focused on Utahime, he could sense his coaches and teammates watching them. They were all practically holding their breaths, probably waiting for him to throw a ball fast enough to take off her head. That was what they expected him to do, of course, if only because that was how he handled all the new catchers. He liked it hard and fast, he liked to tease. Plus, even his slow pitches were fast compared to most others, so it was better to show them upfront what they would have to deal with.
So when he reared back to throw his first pitch, he could almost hear everyone sucking in a breath – everyone except for Utahime, who remained impassive as she waited and stared back at him.
And then he threw the ball – a straight down the middle palmball pitch. It landed in her glove with a solid smack, but she barely had to move her glove to catch it.
There was a low murmur around them as Utahime stood up and threw the ball back to him. Satoru fought back the urge to smile. They were confused, teammates and coaches alike. It wasn’t like him to lob a pitch and it certainly wasn’t like him to go easy on anyone. He was known in particular for pushing everyone on the field, including his teammates. He didn’t settle for less than the best. There was a reason they’d won the last two World Series.
So for him to throw an easy pitch to Utahime was more than a little mind-boggling. When he threw another pitch, this one a little different but still relatively easy to catch, the talking grew a bit louder. Still, Utahime didn’t react. She just threw the ball back to him. Interesting. She had to know he was going easy on her. The incredible thing about Satoru’s skill as a pitcher was his range. He could throw an assortment of pitches, vary his speed, and control the ball better than most. It was what made him difficult for batters to go up against and catchers to work with.
However, after the tenth pitch that she easily caught, Utahime stood up with a frown. This time, she didn’t throw the ball back to him right away. Instead, she held it, propping her catcher’s mitt on the side of her hip.
“Are your knees hurting from crouching too long?” Satoru smiled innocently. “Or maybe you’re used to it – since catching is your preferred position.”
“They’re fine,” Utahime replied tartly.
“Your catching hand isn’t hurting, is it?” Satoru asked. “Need a break?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Utahime said, “since you’re lobbing the ball at me instead of actually pitching.”
Satoru chuckled. “Well, you’re not wearing your catcher’s gear. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
“Oh, so you just plan on disappointing me instead?” Utahime retorted. “I’ve watched your games since you were in college so I expected a lot from you, but if this is all you’ve got, then maybe you’re on the downhill.”
The smile dropped from Satoru’s face, but he didn’t glare at her yet. Trash talk was an integral part of playing sports, something he was also particularly good at, but he wasn’t used to dealing with it on his own team. The last teammate to talk to him like that had been Suguru. It had been more playful in the beginning, the two of them used to goading each other to bring out the best in one another, but something had soured between them as they got older. More personal, even crueler. Fame did that to people, even good ones. Satoru would not try not to pretend like he didn’t have an ego, but it was well-deserved.
He was the best player around, and some publicity stunt girl wasn’t going to knock him down a peg.
Utahime threw the ball back to him. “Pitch like you mean it because if you’re just going to waste my time, I won’t hesitate to go elsewhere.”
Satoru sneered. “You’re not gonna find better anywhere else.”
“Prove it then,” Utahime shot back as she crouched. Again, in the relaxed stance, almost like she was mocking him.
Fine then. If she wanted a better pitch, he’d give her one.
This time, when he threw the ball, he didn’t pick something easy for her. His slider pitch wasn’t his fastest throw, but it was one of the hardest to catch. She had to react a lot faster this time, forced to throw her body to the side and barely catching it within the strike zone. If she was going to be able to handle his more dynamic and on-the-edge pitches, she’d need to learn to frame better.
Instead of complimenting him though, Utahime threw the ball back without standing up and said, “I’ve seen better sliders from triple-A players.”
Satoru glowered at her, more perturbed than pissed off. Was she goading him like this now? Who the hell was she to talk to him like this? He was the fucking best – and she was lucky to be here, lucky that the owners and coaches had agreed on this stupid and pointless venture that would probably cost them a few games before they decided to bench her and only bring it out when they couldn't lose. She was unproven out here. She didn’t have a hat to throw into this fight, not when she’d just got here.
“You’ve got a mouth on you, huh,” Satoru said.
“Not as much as you,” Utahime replied. “Maybe that’s all you’ve got in the end.”
“You sure you want me to show you more?” Satoru retorted. “I don’t think you can handle it.”
Utahime rolled her eyes and stood up again, planting both hands on her hips this time. As irritated as he was with her, the posture was still kind of cute on her. She really was small compared to the rest of them, looking almost like a kid standing at the plate. It wouldn’t just be women excited over seeing her play. He was more than positive quite a few men would pay to sit behind home base to see her ass in those tight baseball pants. She’d better get used to being ogled like that. The media wasn’t going to pay attention to her skill, not in the beginning at least.
“I’ll admit that you’re an excellent pitcher, but you’re a shit teammate,” Utahime told him. “It’s more than obvious that your own arrogance is messing with the team’s dynamic. You’re making the team suffer at the cost of your ego. Yeah, you’ve got the highest stats in the league – congrats, you’re a fantasy league player’s wet dream – but you’re fucking terrible to work with. It’s no wonder all your catchers leave. You refuse to even entertain the idea that they might be good enough to catch your incredible balls. You know what that makes you? A bad pitcher.”
Silence fell over the entire field. The pretense of not watching them had completely vanished, everyone gawking at Satoru and Utahime in shock. While his coaches might have spoken to him about his ego and it was brought up by sportscasters, no one, especially not his teammates, spoke to him like that. He stared back at her, almost more flabbergasted than pissed. She’d berated him like a mother scolding a child. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard in his life.
Him? A bad pitcher? No he fucking wasn’t. He was the goddamn best.
Who the fuck did she think she was? Hell, maybe she was the best female player out there, but here, in the Major Leagues, she wasn’t anyone.
He’d show her. He’d show all of them. He’d run her out of this fucking stadium in record time, and she’d go back to coaching college softball with her tail tucked between her legs. He’d make her regret thinking she could even be on the same level as him.
“Get back down.”
Utahime let out a little huff. “Are you gonna do something this time?”
“Get back down,” he snapped coldly.
Over the years, Satoru had learned that pitching with emotions could be dangerous. It was one thing to be confident and even arrogant in his abilities. It was another to be angry. Pitching out of rage almost always affected his throw. Either the pitch went a little wild, further out than he planned, or it was simply too fast. There was such a thing, or so Suguru had tried to tell him when things were falling to pieces. Too fast, too hard, too much of everything – it wasn’t his fault if no one could handle or match him.
When Utahime lowered herself back down, she chose the ready stance this time. Good, good. She was going to need to be ready to catch this – if she even could. He wouldn’t be surprised if she took a break after. In fact, if he had his way, she’d scuttle off to the locker room with an excuse and not return.
Twisting the ball between his fingers from inside his glove, Satoru forced a smile onto his face. “Just remember, when you’re whimpering and holding an ice pack over your hand and wrist later and wondering if you can truly hack it in the big leagues, you asked for this.”
His four-seam fastball held the world record for speed, a feat no one had come close to beating since he broke out into the Major Leagues. He didn’t use it often – his two-seam fastballs and cutters were faster than most pitchers’ best throws – only busting it out for three reasons: he needed to get someone out immediately, he was in the mood to show off, or he wanted to prove a point. Sometimes, that point was to show a batter they weren’t good enough; other times, it was to scare a player. He couldn’t do it all the time because his catchers struggled with it, and fumbling a pitch could cost them.
They weren’t in a game now though, so he could afford to let loose, throwing a pitch so hard and fast that more than one catcher had chosen to dive out of the way instead of trying to catch it.
He let it loose now, a determined grin tugging at his lips. Even before the ball slipped from his fingers, he could hear Yaga yelling for him to stop – she wasn’t geared up, she could be seriously injured – but there was no stopping it now. The ball was loosed from his hand and shot to home base like a bullet. He could’ve thrown it directly down the middle as he usually did, but no, if Utahime wanted his best, she’d get it. He’d aimed the pitch so it toed the right side of the strike zone, just enough to stay inside the box but close enough to terrify a batter, an almost impossible catch for an unprepared catcher.
The loud smack of the baseball against the glove resounded in the air, echoing in the stunned silence of the stadium.
She’d caught it. Utahime had fucking caught his hardest and fastest pitch without missing a beat.
A little breathless from the pitch, Satoru watched as Utahime retracted her closed glove back into position in front of her. As she stood upright, she couldn’t hide the small grimace that flickered across her face, but she didn’t complain as she pulled the ball out of her catcher’s mitt. There it was. For a moment, he thought he might have hallucinated her catching it, but no, the ball was in her hand, looking like a perfect fit.
Somewhere behind him, he heard what sounded like Kusukabe muttering, “Holy shit, I would never do that,” but he couldn’t look away from her. She’d captured his full attention, rendering him speechless for the first time in his entire life. Most men struggled with that pitch, but she’d caught it, silent and fierce.
When Utahime threw the ball back at him, Satoru was snapped out of his daze, barely managing to catch it before it struck him directly in the face. The throw was harder than her previous ones and harder than anything he would have expected from a woman. If he had doubts about her being able to throw to second base, they were gone now.
An almost impressed look flickered across her face as she tilted her chin up. “Oh, so you are more than just a pretty boy, huh?”
For a brief moment, Satoru could only gaze back at her, more surprised than anything else. Sure, she wasn’t the first person to catch that pitch, but he had expected her to flounder more, maybe get her knees dirty or knocked back by the force. The most she did was stretch out her hand from inside her glove, but she didn’t whimper or complain like previous catchers had. Kusukabe wasn’t lying when he said that he’d never catch his four-seam fastball; he outright refused to do so.
She tilted her head as if to question him, and his heart skipped a beat. Everything rushed back to him like a flood – the excitement of the game, the adrenaline from a great pitch, the thrill of a solid play. Satoru was the best player in the league and he was obsessed with winning, but sometimes, it was nice to be reminded of how much he simply loved the game too.
He also really loved being complimented.
A smirk tugged at his lips. “You think I’m pretty?”
Utahime scowled, but she couldn’t hide the cute blush that dusted across her cheeks. “Just throw the damn ball, Gojo,” she muttered as she crouched down into a ready stance.
Satoru tossed the back up in the air and caught it with a firm swipe. He had been a little curious about how a woman had managed to worm her way into the Major Leagues, but now she had his full attention. Whether that was a good thing or not, she was about to find that out for herself. Few people could handle that , but if she was going to be stubborn, then he would be as well.
Pitching and catching had its own dance in a baseball game – its own partnership, its own language, something that not everyone could understand. Not all pitchers and catchers were compatible with each other, and it was easy to see when people were too imbalanced.
No, Utahime wasn’t as good as him. It had nothing to do with gender or biology. He was simply the best, and that wasn’t arrogance talking. But if they could figure out this dance, if they could maybe come together as partners despite their differences, then maybe, just maybe, she had a chance. One thing was for sure, Utahime was not the type to run away. She’d go down swinging, and that was exactly what he needed to kick him into gear.
Satoru winked at her from over his sunglasses, and she pressed her lips into a warning line.
Oh yeah, this was going to be fun .