"When you eat, do you use your left hand or your right hand to hold chopsticks?"
Zhang Han's childhood memories were already hazy. Even with an IQ over 130, those early fragments were scattered and unclear.
But he could answer this question.
Once, Lan He had been chatting with her colleagues right in front of him. One of them complained that her child always used their left hand to eat.
"Actually, it doesn't matter whether you use your left or right hand," another colleague said. "Some people even say that habitual left-handedness is a sign of genius."
Lan He smiled and exchanged pleasantries.
"Your Hanhan is so smart. Why doesn't he use his left hand?"
The colleague sounded a little irritated.
"Who says he doesn't?" Lan He laughed. "He did when he was little. I corrected him a couple of times, and he changed."
At the time, Zhang Han hadn't paid much attention to the conversation.
But now, hearing Coach Kataoka's question, the memory resurfaced clearly.
"I used my left hand."
When Zhang Han answered, Coach Kataoka and Takashima Rei exchanged glances and nodded slightly.
"Since you joined the team, we've conducted multiple tests and evaluations to determine your future direction," Coach Kataoka said calmly. "At first, we didn't consider your left hand at all. Judging solely from your right-handed pitching, your potential has already been largely developed."
Zhang Han listened quietly.
"Objectively speaking, you have solid fundamentals and some potential. But your ceiling as a pitcher is limited. You won't reach Hidezawa's level. Your pitches lack defining characteristics. They're straight, mechanical, almost like balls coming out of a pitching machine. There's no late movement. Your velocity and control are good, but not enough to become true finishing weapons."
Zhang Han was momentarily speechless.
In truth, he had sensed something similar during the team's welcome match.
Kawakami's talent as a pitcher wasn't outstanding.
Not just the coaches. Even Zhang Han could tell.
Kawakami still had plenty of room to improve, which meant his potential hadn't been fully tapped.
Zhang Han, on the other hand, had already received professional training at Matsukata Little League and had practiced pitching for three full years.
For someone his age, most of his natural talent had already been excavated.
Compared this way, Coach Kataoka's assessment was fair.
His path as a pitcher wasn't impossible.
But it wouldn't go very far.
"From the team's perspective," Takashima Rei continued, "having you pitch can strengthen our lineup to some extent. But for you personally, it would be a waste of time. After discussion, the coaching staff decided not to train you as a pitcher, but to focus on you as a shortstop. If you want long-term development and a possible future in professional baseball, this is the better path."
Zhang Han's eyes stung slightly.
At that moment, he felt incredibly fortunate to be at Seido.
This was a team that didn't sacrifice players' futures for short-term results.
Their original philosophy hadn't changed. They still prioritized development.
Being able to join such a school was truly his luck.
However, one question lingered.
If everything Takashima Rei said was true, why was he still required to do pitching drills alongside his fielding practice?
Wasn't that inefficient?
The confusion on Zhang Han's face was obvious. The leaders of the Seido Baseball Club immediately understood.
"Don't misunderstand," Takashima Rei said. "Our judgment isn't based on one or two games. It requires long-term observation. That's why you continued pitching practice. And it was during that process that we discovered something important."
She looked at him steadily.
"Your left hand is stronger than your right."
So that was it.
Zhang Han nodded in understanding.
"Director, does that mean you called me here to have me switch to left-handed pitching?"
His sharp intuition made Takashima Rei smile with pride.
After all, Zhang Han was someone she had personally recruited.
If he succeeded, it reflected well on her too.
"We discovered your left-hand advantage two weeks before the Summer Tournament," Kataoka said. "But at that point, it was too late to make changes. Switching wouldn't just affect your pitching. Your hitting, your fielding, your entire system would need to be rebuilt."
Zhang Han immediately understood.
Such a change required time.
If he failed to adapt, his original mechanics could collapse, and his overall performance might decline.
That would be disastrous for both him and the team.
"The Summer Tournament isn't over yet," Zhang Han said slowly. "And after that, there's Koshien…"
"Yes," Kataoka nodded. "But we've already completed our basic objective. Now we must think about autumn and next year. If we wait until the last minute, it'll be too late."
He continued, "We didn't call you here to have you start practicing immediately. We want to discuss your future and design a personal training plan for the second semester."
"There's nothing to discuss," Zhang Han replied without hesitation. "I trust the Director and the coaches completely. You make the plan. I'll follow it. Whether that means training as a fielder only or continuing pitching as well, I have no objections."
His tone was sincere.
Zhang Han did have his own ideas about the future.
But compared to the plans carefully crafted by Coach Kataoka and the coaching staff, his thoughts felt insignificant.
If what they proposed was right, why wouldn't he follow it?
He was someone who listened to advice and accepted good counsel.
"We will design the most comprehensive plan possible," Kataoka said. "But there are risks you must understand. As a position player, you're already successful. Changing now guarantees nothing. If it fails, it could affect your current achievements."
"That's fine," Zhang Han replied calmly. "If it doesn't work, I'll just switch back."
"You're oversimplifying it," Kataoka said firmly. "Whether left-handed pitching works can't be judged quickly. You'll need time to develop it to a meaningful level. Control, velocity, breaking balls, unique traits—everything must be rebuilt from scratch."
He paused.
"Even with experience, it will take at least one or two months, possibly longer. That's enough time for your body to form new muscle memory. Once that happens, your old habits and rhythm may be affected."
The room fell silent.
"Go back and think carefully," Kataoka finally said. "Give me your answer by the night after tomorrow."
"Are you willing to take this risk?"
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