Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Breaking Ball Special Training Project
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Before heading out, I did some serious Googling at home.
"Her name's Olivia Ramsey, and she's the same age as me, huh."
The profile of the girl I'd bumped into yesterday. The daughter of Britain's top star chef, Gordon Ramsay, she was apparently studying abroad in Korea all by her lonesome.
"Blue-White Chef's youngest contestant ever, made it to the top 20..."
She'd wowed chefs with her genius talent, but drew the short straw in a one-on-one cook-off ingredient lottery and pulled cheonggukjang, leading to her heroic elimination.
Her screen time wasn't much, but with her stunning looks, exceptional talent, and fluent Korean, she was hugely popular.
'But this paper's her Achilles' heel, huh.'
It looked like study abroad permission documents. Nothing jumped out as weird at first glance. But as I dug for weaknesses, something odd caught my eye.
'...Even if I find it, what am I gonna do with it?'
I'm just possessing Geum Seong-muk, not some bully. I don't have the luxury to go around shaking down people with their secrets, and even if I did, I wasn't about to create trouble that'd trip me up later.
Mulling that over as I headed down the stairs, my leg slammed hard into something.
Bam!
"Ow, shit...!"
I hopped around in agony and glared at it. A motorcycle, perpetually parked in the narrow stairwell.
"You fucking bike. Whose is this...?"
Flashy colors plastered with street stickers—its aesthetic sense was highly suspect. Looked expensive too. Who the hell rides something like this to a dumpy place like this?
"...Whatever. Not important."
My top priority was how much honey I could squeeze from this Pitching Yin Blocked Meridian. No time for petty distractions until that was sorted.
The spot I'd chosen to achieve my goal was a rundown old pitching center.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ [Deoksu Pitching Center]
A traditional batting cage with no fancy English signs like the others. Not even a basic speed gun—the kind of outdated relic nobody visited.
So why come here? Because this place had something unique that boosted breaking ball proficiency way faster than normal during training.
Screech—
"Hello?"
Inside, amid relics of time, sat a grandpa.
"Heh heh... Granny~"
The old man was 'Grandpa Deoksu,' the severe dementia patient guarding this center. I fed bills into the money slot, grabbed the balls in front of him, and stood.
"Gonna throw some."
"Balls? Weird. What was that word starting with ball...?"
I bowed politely to the rambling grandpa, grabbed the ball basket, and stepped into a lane. Then pulled out my prepared items from my bag.
'Tie heated hot packs around the shoulders to secure them.'
To force heat into the shoulder that the meridian couldn't warm, lowering injury risk. And one more: a towel and binding strap from the bag.
'The gag was overkill, honestly.'
Without sealing the mouth, the wandering yang energy leaked out, halving training effects. Stuffing and securing a towel worked just as well. If he'd said so sooner, no misunderstanding.
'...Let's get started.'
I was thrilled about the meridian after confirming it solely because of this training's effects. Where would the heat meant for the shoulder pool instead?
'Fingertips.'
Those fingertips decided breaking ball quality, so awakening that sensation was key. This period with extra ki convergence was like a double EXP event. The first and last chance for efficient breaking ball stat grinding.
My current breaking ball stat: C.
Mid-to-lower tier at best.
To survive, I had to grind it up relentlessly.
'I'll bust my ass to at least B.'
Mastering B-grade breaking ball sensation in three weeks—what others took six months, a year, or three years for, or never learned—was insane.
'But I have to do it.'
If I didn't pull off this madness, my goals were too lofty to reach.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ [Pitching practice mode activated.] I started training with the system's cue.
Deoksu Pitching Center's rule was simple: Throw into the net until 20 balls, then fetch them yourself.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ [Curve proficiency +3.] [Slider proficiency +4.] "Heh heh heh~."
After the first 20, before I could fetch, Grandpa Deoksu refilled them himself. Easy to miss, but that was the key.
The balls he brought were all trashed.
Worn, rough, seams thick in spots, thin in others—freakish balls. Complain, and he'd swap for normals.
"These are perfect. Thanks."
But this was exactly what I wanted.
I gripped a breaking ball grip and resumed throwing.
Whoosh—
Splat!
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ [Slider proficiency +10!] Tight curve and slider slotted perfectly into the net.
This hand feel. Definitely gripped more than standard balls.
"Yes, that's it...!"
Before, it was just cramming the grip and chucking. Now, it wrapped the fingers, bending properly.
The real sensation gap translated to meaningful stat growth.
At least double, up to triple the gains.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ [Curve proficiency +11!] Few cared about unusable practice balls in games, but pounding the sensation in was a shortcut to quick mastery.
"That's enough for today."
About 150 pitches in, my muscles screamed. Makes sense—first real throwing in ages.
My routine stayed monotonous after that.
No skipping days, throwing daily.
Splat!
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ [Curve proficiency +10!] [Slider proficiency +11!] Snow, rain, or fatigue—no matter. I dragged myself here religiously.
"How you doing, Grandpa?"
"Heh heh~"
Splat!
"Argh, fuck, this sucks...!"
Towel clenched in mouth for breathing, hot packs wrapped on shoulders, hundreds of balls—beyond imagination tough.
But I threw.
Until trash bins overflowed with spent packs.
Three weeks flew by, and the big day arrived.
Thankfully, effort didn't betray me.
⚔ STATUS ⚔ ⚾ Curve: B ⚾ Slider: B Both curve and slider hit B-grade.
What's wild? My breaking ball stat was still C.
The stat reflects 'how far this guy's breaking balls can go'—surpassing it normally impossible.
'But I did it.'
A loophole exploiting meridian-heightened sensitivity. Now I could earn a living as a pitcher.
B-grade breakers made me mid-to-upper staff in this high school league. Even as velocity climbed, they'd keep me from getting shelled.
"Pah! This hellish training's finally over."
I hurled the towel from my mouth.
Squeezed all the honey from the meridian.
Time for treatment with a clear mind.
"Thanks, Grandpa! I'll be back!"
"Heh heh heh... "
As I left with a wave, I felt his gaze—profound. Probably just my imagination.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The awaited treatment day.
I bathed ritually and awaited Master Seo Hyuk-jun. Needing quiet focus and avoiding last time's misunderstanding, I'd invited him home.
"Watch the step there. Sit here."
I helped him to a spot and he laid out his acupuncture tools with a rustle.
"...A heads-up: this treatment brings immense pain. Open your mouth, and qi leaks—shoulder could rupture badly."
"No worries. I handle pain like a champ."
Just don't open mouth? Easy. Gamers whine about healing, but it's overhyped.
"...Everyone says that at first. Want a test taste?"
"Haha, no need, but if you insist—grrruuuugh..."
I let out an undignified groan involuntarily.
Fucked up, but insanely painful.
"Hm, as expected. Better get used to it with pokes first."
"No way that's a thing—grk, gaaah—!!"
After merciless acupuncture baptism, I was drained but acclimated.
"Do it..."
Half out of it, I mumbled weakly. Better to zone out and endure. But the main event wasn't easy.
"Here we go!"
Pok pok pok!
"...!!"
Prior pain was nothing—like my brain exploding, spreading through my body. Blood hammering shoulder vessels—a novel agony beyond experience or imagination.
"Endure! You must!"
My body trembled uncontrollably.
Loosen even a bit, and I'd pass out or scream.
"Grrrrrr...!!!"
Eyes bulging, pure grit—how long? Something blocking inside melted away. Despite no word from Master Seo, I knew it was done.
"Congratulations. Your talent's free to soar again."
"Thank you, Master. You worked hard."
Expressing thanks, catching breath—alerts popped up.
⚔ STATUS ⚔ [Cured fatal debuff!] [Breaking Ball stat: C → C+] [Breaking Ball stat: C+ → B] [Geum Seong-muk's Breaking Ball Potential → S] [Latent Keyword 'Heavenly Pitching Body' enhanced: EX → EX+] '...Holy shit, jackpot.'
Breaking ball stat up two tiers, potential to S—boosting Heavenly Pitching Body (tied to S-count) to EX+.
If I had energy left, I'd be jumping for joy. So grateful, I tried emptying my broke pockets for fees, but
"No need. Helping a fallen youth fly again is enough."
He refused vehemently and left. I'd planned deferred pay anyway, but outright no was different. I grabbed his hand amid tool-packing.
"Master, next year I'm going pro."
"Oh ho, really?"
"All thanks to your acupuncture. Then, accept my humble thanks."
"...Understood."
Master Seo smiled faintly, nodded, and departed. Offered escort, but he preferred solo.
"Whew."
Slipped on stray slippers by the door and stepped out. Pre-spring chill nipped; I wiped runny nose.
"Now, just focus on baseball."
With time, no doubt I'd be the best. Problem: only a year left.
"Time to build it. The baseball team."
Goal: National domination.
Finally, gather comrades to fight with.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ A ballpark mid-game between Jinseong High and Seonyu High. Cleanup hitter Do Do-jin swung fiercely.
Crack!
Clean game-tying RBI slicing the right-center gap.
Everyone gawked as he raised his arms post-hit.
"That's his fourth hit today already."
"Coach, did you put him through special training?"
"Ahem, something like that. Kid seemed troubled with hitting, so I gave him pointers. Haha!"
Dugout chatter made Do Do-jin nauseous.
'...Let 'em yap.'
His heart was already gone from this school.
Seniors lurking for his sister, incompetent loudmouth coaches.
Soon as Geum Seong-muk called for tryouts, he'd transfer.
⚔ BATTER STATS ⚔ (*Potential) ⚾ Power: F ⚾ Contact: B+ (*A) ⚾ Speed: B ⚾ Plate Vision: B+ (*A+) ⚾ Defense: B (*A+) ⚾ Shoulder: B Recommended Position: 2B Do Do-jin, after brief Geum Seong-muk guidance, had contact jump two tiers.
Built-up effort, baseball insight, recent hitting groove, newfound confidence—synergy.
His heroics clinched Jinseong's win. As he exited post-cleanup, a woman waved.
"Do-jin! Here!"
"Sis!"
Do Do-yeon, picking him up in her compact car.
"Whoa, Do-jin's sis is smokin'."
"Jealous..."
Simple white tee and jeans, but flowing black hair, innocent face, killer curves drew all eyes.
Ignoring stares, they drove home. Do-jin, usually dour post-game, beamed.
"You killed it today. Good condition?"
"Nah, switched methods. Got a new mentor."
"Mentor...?"
"Yeah, guy's a baseball genius. Tweaked my swing for better contact."
She flinched at 'saw his form.' She'd corrected it per his request, but lacked confidence in her theory.
"...What'd he say was wrong?"
Snicker—
Reading her instantly, Do-jin grinned.
"Praised the form to the skies. Said whoever taught it was amazing."
"Really...?!"
Her face lit up.
Praise for her expertise was her greatest joy.
"He suggested tighter takeaway for better point..."
"Uh-huh."
His explanation revealed high school-unbelievable knowledge.
"Gotta reflect. Missed that."
"Nah, your fixes made it work."
She'd never seen tight-lipped Do-jin praise anyone so.
Curiosity piqued.
"So, this bro you're hyped about—what's his name?"
"Hyung Seong-muk. Geum Seong-muk. From Busan."
"...What?"
Her smile froze solid. Like she'd heard the unthinkable.