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Standing at a second-floor railing, four Japanese reporters (and one American) marvel at the crowd gathering outside the minor league ballpark gates. It's three hours until the first pitch, and hundreds are waiting to enter. Soon, the park fills with nearly 12,000 people, and the hometown mascot -- something that resembles a giant red weasel in a baseball uniform -- dances in center field. There are a surprisingly large number of Japanese families present.

The crowd at Dr Pepper Ballpark, 25 miles north of Dallas in Frisco, is here to witness the return of Yu Darvish, the 29-year-old international icon who was once one of the most feared pitchers in baseball. Coming off Tommy John surgery, he's scheduled to throw only two innings today, but no one seems to care. It's been 20 months since his last major league start and nearly 14 since he pitched to anyone other than a teammate.

Before his injury, Darvish was an All-Star in each of his three seasons in America -- and the fastest pitcher in history to notch 500 MLB strikeouts. If he can return to pre-injury form, he'll not only give the Rangers a much-needed boost as the team's ace but also give the league a bump in international viewership and merchandise sales. And he'll greatly increase his chances of a $100 million payday when he becomes a free agent, which could happen as early as next season. But if this rebuilt arm can't throw some of the five -- or is it seven? or nine? -- different pitches previously in his quiver, his career could be over.

Darvish steps into the bullpen to warm up. Wearing a light blue RoughRiders uniform, he holds his signature glove and a clear bottle containing a pink liquid. He looks 10 or 15 pounds heavier than the last time he pitched in a regular-season game, on Aug. 9, 2014. But then he throws, and there it is, those powerful drop-and-drive mechanics. Fans crane their necks and jump to get a look. The lucky ones up close take selfies. Others just yell his name. A man in his 60s is wearing a Hokkaido Nippon-Ham Fighters jersey, his wife an i love yu T-shirt. A few people wave signs with messages or, in one case, a 4-foot-tall depiction of Darvish's face. The real Darvish doesn't seem to notice the mass of humanity -- or he's just that good at ignoring it.

When he walks to the mound a few minutes later, the ballpark DJ blasts Soulja Boy's "Crank That," and the PA system repeatedly thunders: Yoooouuuu! Darvish has always exuded a superhuman confidence -- telling interviewers in high school that he could throw faster than the pros, that the batters who got hits off him were lucky. But in the year and a half since he last pitched for the Rangers -- the longest hiatus of his baseball life dating back to childhood -- the universe has conspired to make him a bit more human. First, the injury and surgery, the most serious of his career. Then the controversies: arrests, investigations, a lawsuit. Finally, the personal: the birth of his third child.

As the music dies down, Darvish stands at the mound, head down, kicking dirt around with his foot. He's ready to pitch for his future.

A FEW WEEKS earlier, Darvish is in the Rangers' clubhouse in Arlington, playing pingpong against his interpreter, a 32-year-old man named Hide Sato. (The older Japanese reporters call him Sato-san.) Athletic though Sato might be, he's no match for the 6-foot-5, 220-pound superstar athlete. Darvish is quicker, and when he extends his arms, his span covers nearly 7 feet -- enough to get just about any ball that bounces his way. He also has several modes of attack, including a secret serve of sorts, where he holds the ball and pretends to be distracted, looking the other way, then -- bam! He snaps back and sends an unreturnable ace across the table for another point.

This is Sato's first year with an MLB team, but he's Darvish's fourth interpreter. He stresses the trouble he'd be in if Darvish were to think he said anything remotely unflattering about him to an American reporter. Worse still is if Darvish were to think Sato mentioned something about the pitcher's private life. (He doesn't.)

Sato hits a shot that skids off the back edge of the table -- impossible to return -- and Darvish emits a frustrated yell. The next chance he gets, he slams the ball across Sato's side of the table. He's normally so cool -- a coach in Japan once compared him to both Elvis and Fonzie -- but watching how competitive he gets can be slightly uncomfortable. With every point, Darvish makes an exaggerated grunt or moan, like he's on a roller coaster. He clenches his teeth as he stretches to get to the ball. Even in pingpong, he wants to not just win but dominate.

That instinct is what's driven him his entire life. Four years before he left Japan for Texas, he told a reporter through an interpreter: "I don't need much motivation. ... I'm never satisfied until I win all the games and have an ERA of 0.00. I want to throw a faster fastball. I want a sharper curve. I want to improve all my pitches."

He is a strikeout artist. In the majors, he has averaged more than 1.2 strikeouts per inning pitched. He led the league with 277 strikeouts in 2013 and was the Cy Young runner-up. "It's actually boring when he pitches," shortstop Elvis Andrus jokes. "You just stand there and don't do anything."

But the drive to dominate comes with a price: In setting up batters for those deadly secondary pitches -- the sinker that drops off a cliff, or even his so-called slow curve -- Darvish isn't very efficient. He likes to work an opponent down and surprise him, which means at-bats can go to seven or eight pitches and never see a ball in play. As a result, his 3.95 pitches per batter faced put him in the bottom sixth of the league among starters. If he wants this new arm to last, he'll have to change his approach.

DURING SPRING TRAINING, the typically reticent Darvish would sometimes sit by his locker, sip from a Starbucks cup and pontificate to the pack of Japanese reporters about everything from whether young players back home should lift weights to the details of his Tommy John surgery, which isn't common in Japan. Tall and regal, he'd avoid eye contact and appear to talk to the back wall, as if he were holding court. He'd also tell deadpan jokes that had the pack of Japanese reporters laughing uproariously.

Players have noticed the different attitude this year. Andrus encouraged him to speak more English with his teammates. "He just had to get comfortable," he says. And Darvish is more easygoing. Maybe it's the year off. Maybe it's the new baby. Maybe it's the time he's spent with his family cooking and getting his driver's license.

"He's really loosened up," says Chris Gimenez, the catcher who worked with Darvish the most this spring before being traded to the Indians in May. "He's actually a really big prankster. He's not afraid to hide things, and he's a big seed thrower."

One of Darvish's closest teammates is pitcher Martin Perez, who tells a story about the time they were on the road, in Anaheim in 2013, and Darvish called his hotel room and invited him out for sushi. Perez was scheduled to pitch the next day, and Darvish was confident he'd get the win -- so confident that as they walked up and down Rodeo Drive, Darvish bought him "a really, really nice watch" as an early congratulatory gift. Perez won the next day.

Perez, who underwent Tommy John surgery in 2014, has talked to Darvish about not pushing himself too hard too early in his comeback. "Dialing back," he calls it. Mostly, though, they just make each other laugh. "People would be surprised at how funny he is away from the media," Perez says. "He's quiet, but he's always got jokes."

Andrus says the same thing: "I couldn't repeat most of them around a microphone."

As a prank, Derek Holland has stolen Darvish's weightlifting belt so often that Darvish wrote in marker across the back: #11 NO DEREK. At an early-April news conference in Arlington, Darvish is asked, in jest, what he'll do if the team doesn't have room for him when he's healthy. He tries to tell a joke, something along the lines of I'll make room, but it's lost in translation when Sato tells the group Darvish "will build a room." It gets a chuckle.

Still, when the clubhouse in Arlington opens to media, reporters aren't sure what they'll get. The Japanese contingent will inch ever closer to Darvish, trying to determine whether he feels like speaking. The reporters bow before talking and openly worry about saying something wrong.

I don't need much motivation. ... I'm never satisfied until I win all the games and have an ERA of 0.00.

 - Yu Darvish

Despite such acquiescence, Darvish can be guarded. He's been trailed by cameras and microphones since he was 15 and once was caught smoking underage in a pachinko; he ended up holding an impromptu news conference in front of more than 200 reporters in which he apologized and promised never to smoke another cigarette in his life. The experience hardened him, making him cautious and deliberate in front of the media. He avoided off-field headlines for years -- until last season.

May 2015 brought a lawsuit in which Alexander Witmer, a former personal assistant who was hired to care for Darvish's three dogs and three birds in Texas, claimed one of the dogs "jumped up" and bit him on the cheek and upper lip, sending him to the hospital. The lawsuit also alleged that Darvish's management company fired Witmer when he complained. Two months later, Darvish tweeted that his son had been born. His longtime girlfriend, Seiko Yamamoto, won multiple gold medals for Japan at the world wrestling championships. Darvish has said they plan to wed soon. Then in October, the lawsuit with his personal assistant was settled -- no terms were divulged, and neither side may comment.

But a few weeks later, the real drama hit. Darvish's younger brother Sho was charged in Japan with taking bets on professional baseball. Prosecutors alleged that Sho ran a pool in which people placed bets worth 10,000 yen (about $90) on American and Japanese games through a phone app. Depending on the report, he allegedly collected anywhere from $85,000 to $150,000. The investigation lasted more than a year, according to The Japan Times, which also reported that Sho admitted to illegal gambling but not to running the pool. It isn't clear whether Sho is accused of betting on Rangers games or any game in which his brother might have been pitching. Not long after the arrest, MLB announced that it had investigated and had cleared Yu in the case. He issued a statement through his Los Angeles-based management company saying that he had never been involved with gambling activities and that he would not comment further because he was getting ready for the upcoming season.

The Japanese reporters know not to ask about his life away from the ballpark, and aside from organized question-and-answer sessions with Sato, most Americans don't talk to him much at his locker. When an American reporter spotted him alone in a hallway and approached recently, Darvish turned 180 degrees and said "I have a meeting" as he walked away.