**Rookie of the Year**
Prompt: Rookie of the year fanfiction Henry learns that shoehei ohtani is trying to break his no hitter record
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm ember glow on the hallowed grounds of Wrigley Field. The air was thick with anticipation; fans were buzzing about the matchup of the century, the kind that gets carried down through the ages—young Henry Thompson, the Rookie of the Year, was set to face the legendary Shohei Ohtani. Everyone in the league had their eyes glued to this showdown, especially since Ohtani was rumored to be vying for Henry's no-hitter record.
Henry leaned against the dugout, his heart hammering in his chest. It had been a whirlwind season for the rookie. He stepped into the majors with wild determination, quickly turning heads with his record-breaking no-hitter during just his fifth start. It wasn’t just the fans that became enamored; the media recounted his every pitch, painting him like a young titan standing tall against the giants of baseball. This was supposed to be his moment—his yardstick against the greats.
But what lay ahead created a knot in the pit of his stomach. News had spread like wildfire that Ohtani was ready to take aim at that very record. The irony wasn't lost on Henry; a fellow rookie stepping in, willing to stake a claim on the same sky-high pedestal.
As the first pitch was about to be thrown, Henry tried to block out the noise. The veteran teammates patted him on the back, offering words of encouragement. “Just remember, you’ve already made your mark, kid,” said Sam, the team captain.
Henry just nodded, his gaze drifting toward the field where Ohtani was warming up. He knew that the two of them had different styles; Henry was known for his aggressive fastballs and change-ups, while Ohtani danced with finesse, varying speeds with the deft precision of a master.
The game began, and moments turned into innings. Each pitch became a heartbeat, each swing of the bat drew gasps from the crowd. Henry’s competitive spirit flared as he struck out a couple of players from Ohtani's lineup, but the ace remained unflappable on the mound. Both pitchers had settled into a duel, exchanging blows in their own silent war.
By the fifth inning, Henry realized Ohtani hadn’t let a single batter reach base. His heart sank just a little more. Sheer concentration echoed through Wrigley, drowning out the unnecessary chatter of announcers. Ohtani was in his groove, every pitch a testament to his exceptional skill, and here Henry was, where it all began—chasing a ghost.
During the seventh inning stretch, the amateur orchestras rose in tribute to the players on the mound, and the crowd erupted into cheers. At that moment, Henry felt the pressure mount. He couldn’t help but go over the statistics in his mind. Ohtani was still perfect, still locked into a rhythm that had never been matched.
As they entered the ninth inning, Henry felt a surge of adrenaline. Every time he threw the ball, it was like a rubber band pulled tight within his chest; anticipation mixed with desperation. It wasn’t just his record that hung in the balance—it was a showdown of dreams, a battle of youth and ambition against seasoned expertise.
The ninth inning began with the top of the order for Ohtani. The first batter stepped up, and Henry buried the tension deep within. Strike one. The second batter followed, swinging at air. Strike two. The crowd erupted, and Henry could feel the weight of their excitement mash against his shoulders.
But as the third batter stepped to the plate, Ohtani’s slick demeanor morphed into a steely gaze, leaving Henry breathless. Everything fell away as the world narrowed to just him and the game—every pitch a defining moment. He struck out the first batter, but dread gnawed at his gut for the remainder of the inning. Ohtani was still perfect.
One out left. The last batter stood like a mountain before him. The air crackled with tension, and as Henry wound back, he began to doubt. What if Ohtani pulled this off? The thought was suffocating, but he shook it off, focusing instead on the noise of the crowd and the rhythm of his heart.
He released the ball, a beautifully spun curveball that danced low and away from the batter’s swing. The crowd gasped as the ball sailed past him into the catcher's glove. Two strikes. Henry focused, ignoring the swelling anxiety threatening to drown him. This pitch could define his career.
“C’mon, kiddo! You got this!” Sam shouted from the dugout, urging him on.
With a deep breath, Henry summoned every ounce of his strength and skill, launching another fastball that roared toward the plate. The batter made contact, and for a moment, Henry felt time enter slow motion. The crack of the bat echoed like thunder, sending the ball arcing toward the outfield.
Henry’s heart sank, but rather than curl in despair, he found himself leaning forward. As if in a cinematic twist, the ball spiraled toward the left field, only to be caught by a flying glove—the crowd erupted into jubilant cheers!
Henry couldn’t believe it. He had done it! He’d maintained the no-hitter! Instead of basking in his triumph alone, he turned toward the mound, locking eyes with Ohtani. The star pitcher nodded, an unspoken respect shared between them, two competitors with a passion for the game that transcended records.
Both had fought hard that day, and Henry realized that while records may be broken, the spirit of baseball—competition, respect, and camaraderie—remained immortal.
As celebratory cheers echoed around him, Henry knew that today was more than just about his record. It was about passion, heart, and the appreciation of every pitch thrown and caught—the beauty of baseball, forever etched into his memory. A rookie, after all, was learning not just to play the game, but to cherish every moment spent in the grand tapestry of it.