Shohei Ohtani was about halfway through his home-run trot when Taro Abe stood up from his second-row seat in the Vin Scully Press Box and tucked his green scorebook under his right arm.

“Let’s go,” Abe said in Japanese.

Abe, a writer for Japan’s Chunichi Sports newspaper, was followed into the concourse of Dodger Stadium’s suite level by four other reporters from his country. They were on a mission: Find the person who caught Ohtani’s home-run ball.

There was nothing special about this blast, which was Ohtani’s second on Friday in an eventual 8-5 victory over the New York Yankees. The homer was Ohtani’s 22nd of the season and reduced the Dodgers’ deficit at the time from three to two.

“We have to do this every time,” Abe said.

This practice started a couple of years ago, when Ohtani was still playing for the Angels. The appetite for Ohtani content was insatiable in Japan, but the two-way player started speaking to reporters only after games in which he pitched. Naoyuki Yanagihara of Sports Nippon and Masaya Kotani of Full Count figured out a solution for their problem: They started interviewing the fans who caught his home-run balls.

The feature was received well by their readers and gradually spread to other publications. Now, besides the homers that land in bullpens or any other place inaccessible to fans, a group of Japanese reporters will be there to interview the person who snagged the prized souvenir.

Neither Yanagihara nor Kotani was on this particular journey into the right-field pavilion, as Yanagihara was temporarily back in Japan and Kotani remained in the press box. Both of their publications were represented by other reporters. I was there too.

One of the reporters, Michi Murayama of Sports Hochi, looked at me curiously.

“You’re coming?” she asked.

Abe joked: “He’s coming to write how ridiculous the Japanese media is.”

As we walked down a carpeted hallway by the suites down the first-base line, Abe turned around and asked if anyone had seen who caught the ball.

No one had.

Before departing from the press box, reporters usually study replays of the homer to find identifying features of the ballhawk. But in this case, the scramble for the ball was obscured by a short barrier that divided a television cameraman from the crowd.

Abe led the pack out of an exit near the Stadium Club. When we re-entered the ballpark at the loge level, we heard a familiar chant: “Fre-ddie! Fre-ddie!”

The reporters stopped to watch the game from behind the last row of seats. Freeman doubled in a run to reduce the Dodgers’ deficit to one, and pandemonium ensued. A young woman clutching a beer danced. Strangers exchanged high-fives. Others performed the Freddie Dance.

Yankees manager Aaron Boone removed Max Fried from the game, and called Jonathan Loáisiga from the bullpen. It was time for us to move on.

Seniority heavily influences professional and personal interactions in Japanese culture, which was why when we reached the top of the right-field pavilion, the two-most-junior reporters were told to find the ball-catching fan and return with him. Iori Kobayashi of Sports Nippon, 25, and Akihiro Ueno of Full Count, 27, accepted their fates without question.

However, the veteran Murayama noticed they weren’t making any progress, and soon she was in the middle of the pavilion with them. She came back soon after to tell us we were in the wrong place.

“We have to go down to the Home Run Seats,” she said, referring to seats directly behind the right-field wall that are in a separate section as the rest of the pavilion.

The ushers there were helpful, describing how the ball struck the portable plastic wall behind the cameraman, rolled under the barrier, and was taken by a boy in a gray jersey. Murayama found the boy and said he would speak to the group when the inning was over.

“They usually come after the inning because they want to watch the game too,” Abe said.

While we waited, Eriko Takehama of Sankei Sports approached Abe and showed him a picture of a fan holding up a piece of the plastic wall that was struck by Ohtani’s homer. The piece had broken off, and the fan told Takehama that he was taking it home.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Takehama asked Abe. “He said he caught a ball three years ago.”

Abe declined.

While watching Max Muncy taking first base on an intentional walk, Abe said, “Everyone has a story. You ask them where they live, where they work and there’s usually something interesting. We’re writing human-interest stories with Ohtani as a cover.”

This story would be about a 14-year-old eighth-grader from Monrovia named Fisher Luginvuhl. With his mother standing nearby, the Little League catcher gushed, “It’s like the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The reporters circled the boy and photographed him holding up the ball. They exchanged numbers with Luginvuhl’s father so they could send him links to the stories they produced.

While the reporters worked together to locate Luginvuhl, they were also in competition with each other to post the story first. Murayama wrote hers on her phone as she walked. Ueno sent audio of the six-minute interview to the Full Count offices in Japan, where the recording was transcribed by an English-speaking reporter, who then used the quotes to write a story.

Walking to the right-field pavilion and back was exhausting. I mentioned this to Abe, and he reminded me, “This was my second time doing this today.”

Abe wrote 13 stories on Friday night, 10 of them about Ohtani, including two on fans who caught his homers.

Just as we returned to the press box, the next hitter was announced over the public-address system: “Shohei Ohtani!”

Abe laughed and braced for another long walk.