Otani might be one of the most exceptional baseball players of his time, but he’s similar to his peers in one important pursuit: a long, uninterrupted sleep. He loves nothing more. Getting up early is for the birds, and Otani is decidedly not among them, especially on that cold, sunny day in Kamagaya this January, when he slept until a team official reluctantly knocked on his door a little after 10 a.m. Otani fell out of bed, threw on a navy blue tracksuit, strapped up a pair of black-and-neon-yellow Asics with “Shohei” stitched into their velcro braces, and hopped on an elevator heading down from the modest Fighters dormitory where he lives.

Okay—quick pause. Yes, Otani, a multi-millionaire and one of the most recognizable celebrities in Japan, lives in a dorm not unlike the one you inhabited during university. It’s not uncommon for NPB players under the age of 25 to live in team residences and even generational talents like Otani are not exempt from such treatment. In-season, Otani stays at the Fighters major-league facilities in Hokkaido and out-of-season he sleeps at the complex in Kamagaya. If he wants to leave the dorm, he must first secure permission, either directly from his manager, Hideki Kuriyama, or from another team official if Kuriyama isn’t around. This doesn’t happen often, as Otani dislikes the attention he receives in public and has everything he wants at the Fighters complex—food, a gym, rehab facilities, entertainment. He says instead of going out, he fills his free time reading about training and nutrition or watching films about sports, such as his favourites: Rudy and Remember the Titans. He’s never been witnessed enjoying Japanese nightlife despite the entire media beat dedicated to covering his every move. (Reporters tailed him to the airport when he recently renewed his passport.) He doesn’t even have a driver’s license. “If he was up to anything, people would find out,” Coskrey says. “There’s been no scandals, no controversy. He’s just as normal a kid as you can possibly be—humble, mild-mannered, down to earth, even-keeled.”

Anyway, back to that cold, sunny day in Kamagaya: Otani strode through the Fighters complex and into the massive, turf-floored warehouse where the team trains during the winter. There’s a full-size infield complete with a mound and backstop, several batting cages, a three-rubber bullpen, and everything else a ballplayer could ever need. Otani nodded hello to some teammates, dealt with his daily media responsibilities, and sped off for a quick massage. From there, he grabbed his glove and walked across the street, past hundreds of fans screaming his name, to the ballpark where the Fighters minor leaguers play their games. The temperature was barely above freezing as Otani worked through a throwing routine under the steady gaze of three Fighters coaches for nearly an hour. When he was satisfied with the work, he made the walk back past all those fans and into a small equipment room where he shot the breeze with teammates and collected two black bats and a pair of white batting gloves. Time for BP.

Back in the warehouse, Otani took 20 minutes of flips from a coach before advancing to an hour of proper pitches from the mound. Otani has a quiet, smooth swing with a firm leg kick, and even in batting practice it was impossible not to marvel at his raw power as he drove pitches to all fields. After, he helped collect all the balls he’d crushed and then walked over to a full-length mirror where he worked diligently on his swing sans ball—adjusting his hips a little here, straightening his back a little there.