The Monster Arm

After free batting—and before they ever got to live at-bats—the next test was the position test.

In high school, Do Kang-hyun had been an outfielder. He had been fast enough back then to draw praise for the size of his range, and center field had usually been his. The position he wanted as a professional was, naturally, the same one.

"We'll begin the outfield test!"

Eleven players, Kang-hyun among them, were hoping to play the outfield. Of everyone who had applied to this Titans tryout, pitchers made up the largest group; infielders and outfielders ran roughly even after that, and catchers were the fewest. The test went one player at a time.

"Damn! Look at the wheels on that guy!"

"He's fast, but his reads are a little sloppy."

"No way—he doesn't even look fast, and he's catching everything? Yeah, that's why they say an outfielder lives and dies by knowing where the ball's coming down!"

"Doesn't matter. His range is too small. He won't get a good grade."

"Look at that arm! If he really airs it out, that ball's going home on a line!"

"Ah... weak shoulder, and the accuracy is way off, too."

While they waited for their own turns, the tryout participants loosened their nerves by grading everyone who went ahead of them. If someone looked better, they watched with wary eyes and quietly hoped for a mistake. The moment they spotted a corner of the test where their own strength showed, they couldn't quite hide how much easier they felt.

Kang-hyun said nothing. He watched the others work, and when his turn came he let out a short breath and dropped into a ready stance.

Will this even work?

Honestly, his defense was a question mark even to him. In high school he had been on the quicker side, and people had told him he had a pretty good feel for reading the ball—but that was well over ten years ago.

He couldn't believe any of that old instinct was still in him. He hadn't trained his defense in any special way regardless. He trusted the ability he had been given: Spider Sense. What he needed right now was the speed and the stamina to run a ball down, and so he had run until it nearly killed him.

The coach hit a high fly. The crack of the bat, and Kang-hyun ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was already moving, as if by instinct—chopping his steps, sprinting deeper to his left.

An outfielder at the top of a league has to judge distance from the sound of contact and the shape of the arc alone. In that sense, the coach running the defensive test gave a small nod at the ease of it: a quick jump, and a calm catch right where the ball came down.

"Good feel for the landing spot. So he's confident in his defense, is that it?"

The defensive coach had never seen Kang-hyun's demonic bat. The way he settled under the ball with more time to spare than anyone else led him to entirely the wrong conclusion—that this was a glove-first player. Wanting to test that glove, he sent the next ball shallow and to Kang-hyun's right, a short one dying in front of him.

This one was hard to catch unless at least one thing sat at a high level: reaction speed, pure footspeed, or the read on where it would land. Even in the KBO as it stood, a center fielder below the upper-middle tier of defenders would struggle to get there. Kang-hyun caught it so easily he trampled the coach's expectations underfoot.

"Hah. Look at this guy. He caught that? He doesn't even look all that fast."

The coach made the next one harder—a low, fast liner stuck against the fence in deep outfield. It was a ball even a top-tier KBO outfielder would not catch easily, and yet the sound of contact might as well have been a starting gun. Kang-hyun turned, raced back, and stretched his glove out to haul it in.

The coach found something else to give him extra credit for, too. Even as he collided with the fence, Kang-hyun knew how to protect his body well enough to lower the risk of injury.

Now and then a good defender hustled himself straight into getting hurt, and from a team's point of view nothing was worse than a player going down, so that kind of play was hardly encouraged. By that standard, his defense felt so fluid and so sure that even a hustle play seemed like something he could make completely safe.

"The defense is unbelievable."

After that the coach kept raising the difficulty, trying to find where Kang-hyun's limit actually was. Even on balls you had signaled and then hit, some were simply hard to catch. His concentration was startling. He caught every last one.

"He really knows how to use his body."

The coach's hunch had been right. On balls that looked uncatchable, Kang-hyun committed without hesitation to slides and dives, and there was none of the sickening unease of a play about to end in an injury. Defense like this would rank among the best not on the Titans' second team, but on the first team, right now.

There was nothing to fault in the way he handled fly balls, so it was time to test line drives and ground balls. The throwing test would run alongside them. Grade out well there, too, and Do Kang-hyun's defense would need no further evaluation. Line drives—the ball some outfielders dread—he caught with ease. Next came ground balls, and his arm.

"Throw it home!"

Kang-hyun nodded from the outfield. The coach hit a ball that skipped just past second base, and he broke hard. His read was so sharp that he fielded on one hop a ball that ought to have taken two, and in the same motion—smooth as running water—he pulled it from the glove and fired it home with everything he had.

Rip—!

A laser beam shot from Do Kang-hyun's fingertips.

Alongside Spider Sense, the other ability Do Kang-hyun possessed was Armored Cannon.

The moment he gloved the ground ball, he closed his hand around it with a single thought: throw home, as hard as he possibly could. For an instant he felt the muscle of his shoulder swell, and the catcher's mitt waiting at home plate entered his vision as if it had blown up to enormous size. It was as though that mitt hung wide open right under his nose. He didn't believe he could have thrown the ball in any other direction.

Rip—!

With a sound that seemed like it might tear his ears apart, the ball Kang-hyun had thrown flew at a tremendous speed. Not in a parabola. In a straight line.

POP!!

The catcher standing with his mitt open. The coach who had hit the grounder. The other outfielders watching from around the field. Even Do Kang-hyun, who had just thrown the ball home. Every one of them was past mere surprise. They looked from Kang-hyun to the catcher's mitt and back again with the faces of people who had seen something they were never meant to see.

"In... insane..."

The most shocked of all was the man himself.

The hitting already defied explanation, but if he bent over backward a hundred times, he could somehow let that pass. The throw home just now was different. It was an arm you would not easily see even in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the KBO—a truly extraordinary throw.

"Th-that throw just now... what was that?"

The catcher who had taken the ball looked at the coach, dazed.

"How should I know? How'd it feel?"

"Like a rock buried itself in my mitt."

"How fast do you think it was?"

"Over 160 kilometers an hour, minimum. It has to be."

"...Cannon arm."

"It's past that. A monster's cannon."

At the catcher's words, the coach nodded as if to concede the point.

"Coach, have him throw to the bases, too."

"Shall we?"

"Let's start with first. With a throw that fast—if the ball comes off the bat hard and the hitter isn't a runner... I think you might even get a groundout to center."

"A groundout to center? Does that even make sense?"

"Well, they do happen sometimes, don't they?"

"That's a specific shift, or a genuine fluke. In a normal situation, you really think you can record an out on a ground ball to center field?"

He wasn't wrong, so the catcher said no more. Even so, the same thought crossed both their minds. With the throw Kang-hyun had just shown—really, on some vanishingly small chance—couldn't he throw out a slow-footed hitter?

"Anyway, tell him the next one's to first."

At the coach's word, the catcher relayed it in a loud voice. Then the coach hit a fairly hard grounder past second base. The crack of the bat and Kang-hyun's first step were the same instant. Again he fielded it on one hop, and without breaking the momentum of his charge he fired toward first with everything he had.

Rip—!!

The first baseman who caught it at the bag stared down at his own mitt, dazed. The coach and the catcher, watching from home plate, looked on in sheer disbelief—then their eyes met, and they spoke ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at nearly the same moment, neither waiting for the other.

"...He gets the out."

"At that speed, he gets the out."

A groundout to center field. The coach and the catcher both believed that if it actually happened in a real game, the ballpark would come unglued.

"This time, from in front of the fence. Send it to third."

The coach signaled that he understood and waved the third baseman into place. Two more tests followed. One was a ground ball thrown to third; the other was a fly caught right in front of the fence and thrown to third the same way. Watching both throws, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠catcher grinned like a man who had lost his mind.

"I'll swear to it. Not a single runner alive can run on that guy."

"You see it too? So do I. A monster arm like that would be rare even in the major leagues."

"Seriously, I am so fucking jealous of that shoulder. An arm like that, and you could gun down every stolen base there is."

"What was your caught-stealing rate again?"

"...That's cold."

When Do Kang-hyun's position test ended, everyone who had watched it reached the same conclusion. Perfect. This was not the level of a tryout. They could say with certainty that if he started in the KBO tomorrow, his defense would sit at the very top. Through instant reactions to the ball, his footwork, and his ability to catch it, he had proved an enormous range—and through that monstrous shoulder, he had shown off a terrifying arm.

"No... why? Why on earth?"

Maeng Seong-hwan, who had watched the position test from the first ball to the last, felt his head spinning. The man he had believed was a bat and nothing else had just shown a talent for defense every bit as overwhelming as his hitting.

A devil's gift for hitting. Defense at the highest level. A monster's arm on top of it all. Every club in the KBO could show up this instant with signing bonuses stacked to the ceiling, grab Do Kang-hyun by the pant leg, and beg him to please sign—and it would not be strange in the slightest.

Maeng Seong-hwan thought about it seriously. Was this man deceiving the whole of Korean professional baseball?

Further tests were meaningless for Kang-hyun. He had shown top-tier ability with the bat and with the glove, so before the tryout was even over, the club's officials called him in.

"My dear junior! You went and demolished that tryout! Bwahahahaha!!"

No one was happier than Yang Joo-il. He was the one who had recommended Kang-hyun to the club that had been his home, and privately the burden had weighed on him. All through the test he had been on edge, hoping only that the kid would be better than average. When the club officials fell so hard for what they were seeing that they looked struck dumb, Yang swelled with pride as if the accomplishment were his own.

"Park Hyun-woo, head of scouting."

"Do Kang-hyun."

"Kang-hyun, I'll be direct. Sign with the Titans. The terms are a developmental-player contract. The 2026 season starts in the second team, and depending on how things look, we'd be aiming at a call-up to the first team from midseason on..."

"Director Park, that won't do."

It was Yang Joo-il who cut him off. Looking thoroughly displeased, he turned to Park Hyun-woo.

"Did you not see what my junior can do?"

"I saw it perfectly well. But Player Do has no experience on a professional field—he doesn't even have experience in the second team. Taking the steps one at a time is what's best for him, too, I believe. It's the offseason. He can build a proper base of stamina by spring and start getting his experience on the farm. Isn't that how it ought to go?"

"In an ordinary case, you'd be right, Director. But my junior's situation is different, isn't it?"

"If you mean his age, I'm fully aware. And that is precisely why we need to follow procedure carefully, both inside the organization and out."

"You think I don't understand those circumstances, internal and external? Even so, when I think about my junior's age, every single day feels too precious to waste. I'm asking you to consider that."

Kang-hyun was grateful to Yang Joo-il for stepping in on his behalf. If he had had to handle the contract alone, could he really have pressed his own position this hard? And it would be the same from here on out. The need for an agent came to him naturally—and with it, a single person.

"Please discuss the contract with my agent."

"...You have an agent?"

Park Hyun-woo stared at Kang-hyun as if the words made no sense. Not once had he imagined that Do Kang-hyun—who had never played professionally, nor even in an independent league—would have an agent.

"Ah! That's right! My junior has a very capable agent! Well now, look at me, meddling where I wasn't needed. Haha!"

Yang Joo-il glanced at Kang-hyun and slipped him a wink, as if to say the line had been an excellent one.