Off-Season (3)

Even while she ate, Park Haeun kept stealing glances at my face whenever she got the chance. She still seemed worried about the sigh I'd let out earlier.

"It's really nothing... right?"

"Of course. I just got a text about the wrap-up camp in two weeks. I was just being dramatic for a second."

Once I brushed it off as the wrap-up camp that usually happened around this time, Park Haeun finally looked relieved.

"Ah... you really startled me. I thought something serious had happened... Is wrap-up camp that hard?"

"Uh... probably?"

"I see... Pro players really do stay busy even after the season ends."

I'd been a little worried she might keep grilling me about a wrap-up camp whose schedule hadn't even been announced yet, but luckily Park Haeun didn't press any further.

I scooped up a spoonful of kimchi stew and turned my eyes back to the quest window.

Alright, let's think this through. The first and third tasks I can do anytime as long as I have the willpower.

I could go run along the Han River or hop on a treadmill. Push-ups, squats, and sit-ups I could do at home. Those weren't a problem at all.

Twenty long tosses of 90 m every day. That needs a wide open space, so I'll pretty much have to do it outdoors. And I'll need someone to throw with...

A 90-meter long toss itself was a distance any pitcher could manage if they wanted to. The real issue wasn't the distance—it was the environment. You needed that much open space, and more importantly, 90 meters wasn't a distance you could just start throwing at cold, so you needed a partner to warm up and play catch with.

Maybe I should call a junior who lives nearby... and I'll have to scout a location too.

And then the fourth task.

...I have to throw 157 km/h every single day.

I had to keep my body in a state where I could hit max velocity. For fourteen straight days.

Someone might say, "Can't you just throw it?" but it was a far more complicated problem than it sounded.

In reality, max velocity dropped two or three kilometers the moment your condition wavered even slightly. A restless night's sleep, food from the night before that hadn't fully digested, or a body that was a little stiff in the morning—any of those was enough to keep your top speed from coming out.

And the bigger problem was arm overload. For a pitcher, the act of throwing a ball was literally wringing every muscle in the body in a single instant, so even one full-effort pitch left microscopic damage in the shoulder and elbow. Pros recovered from that micro-damage during rest days and prepared for their next outing. That was why starters rested at least four days, and why consecutive days of pitching was considered the practical limit for relievers.

But this quest completely ignored those limits. There was no concept of recovery time at all. Even if my shoulder ached or my elbow pulled and throbbed, I still had to hit max velocity again in that exact state.

...If I could just use skills.

The more I thought about it, the more I missed Diamond Body. Hell, even Power Pitcher would have let me click off a max-velocity pitch and be done with it—no worries about overload building up in my arm.

Sigh. Yeah, raising velocity was never going to be easy. This is still way easier than actually increasing it the normal way. No point complaining.

I soothed myself with that thought, closed the quest window, and focused on my meal again.

After we finished eating, I pulled out my card at the counter. Park Haeun flustered and waved her hands in a hurry.

"Ah, I'll pay for what I ate..."

"Come on, I told you I'm buying."

"I-it's fine, really..."

"I've always wanted to try this once. Running into a fan at a restaurant and covering the bill."

When I said that and slotted my card into the terminal, Park Haeun finally fell silent, pressing her lips together and ducking her head.

— Beep.

I finished paying and left the shop, leaving behind the owner who was looking back and forth between the two of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠us with a sly expression. The moment we stepped outside I said goodbye to Park Haeun.

"Well then, I'll be heading off first. Get home safe."

"Uh... aren't you going home?"

Park Haeun took one step forward and then stopped. I slipped my hands into my pockets and gave a small shake of my head.

"No. I've got somewhere to stop by for a bit."

"Ah... I see."

"Then... I'll head in. Thanks for the meal today!"

"Yeah. Take care."

Only after confirming that did I turn my body in the opposite direction.

"...Alright."

I walked slowly down the familiar alley. Old commercial buildings lined the street one after another. But among them, only one place—above a narrow staircase leading underground—had an especially bright blue sign glowing.

KINETIC PITCH LAB.

A sleek logo that didn't match the shabby exterior of the building at all. The indoor pitching lab I stopped by every off-season to build my body. It had motion-capture equipment that broke down pitching mechanics into fine detail, and it spit out every kind of data—velocity, spin rate, release point, the works.

...Of course, I never paid attention to any of that and just came here ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to throw.

This place was also where my high school senior worked as an instructor. He could have gone on to college, but he'd declared himself "talentless," quit playing early, and started studying theory instead. Now he was the main instructor at this lab.

"Doyoon, you're coming back after the season ends, right?"

"If you want to build your body, give me a call."

Just looking at the sign, his way of talking floated up automatically.

I started down the familiar stairs. The metal steps still creaked and rang underfoot, but the thick soundproof door ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at the bottom gleamed like it was brand new.

I grabbed the handle and pushed—

— Clack.

Warm air from inside rushed out in a wave. The lit pitching cage, motion-capture machines with cables exposed everywhere, and that distinctive rubber-mat smell all welcomed me just as they always had.

And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠then—

"Welcome... huh?"

The person lounging sideways on the sofa, looking at something on a tablet, went wide-eyed and shot upright.

"Doyoon?"

Loose sweatpants that were basically pajamas, bangs barely held down by a hairband. He was clearly in full "no students today" comfort mode. My senior roughly tossed the tablet onto the sofa and shuffled over in his slippers.

"Hey! What's with the sudden drop-in? If you're coming, at least text first. What if there was no space?"

"Come on, like there'd be no space."

"Listen to this punk's mouth."

He grumbled with his words, but his face was clearly thrilled to see me.

"So what brings you here? Didn't you pitch yesterday?"

"I did, but I want to throw a little."

I answered casually, peeled off my coat, and immediately picked up a glove. My senior's expression hardened in an instant.

"Hey. Hey. No. Has this bastard lost his mind."

He grabbed my arm almost on reflex.

"You pitched yesterday and you want to throw again today?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Fine my ass! I watched you throw eight innings yesterday!"

Even while he barked, he saw me already fiddling with the glove in both hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Ah, seriously. I've got something I have to throw for today. Just trust me this once."

"No. Absolutely not."

He crossed his arms and shook his head hard.

"...I know why your elbow got wrecked. And you're going to do something dangerous right in front of me again?"

"Hyung, it's really different from back then. Back then I went up knowing my arm hurt. Right now I'm actually fine."

When I spoke seriously, my senior dropped his head and sank into deep thought.

"Haa..."

He stood there a long time without speaking, pressing his fingers hard against the bridge of his nose like his head was throbbing, then finally lifted his gaze slowly.

"You... even if you don't throw here, you'd just go throw somewhere else, right?"

"Obviously."

At that, he sucked in a breath like he was swallowing a curse, then finally nodded with a resigned face.

"Sigh, fine. Fine."

He pointed a finger at the cage.

"Then throw in front of me. If you throw right under my eyes... at least I can stop you the second anything looks off."

I gave a short laugh and nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Still looking thoroughly displeased, my senior flipped on the radar gun and muttered.

"Seriously... what kind of crazy bastard are you. Take better care of your body, yeah?"

"Thanks to that, you got 'Phoenix Flag champions' written on your high school record, didn't you?"

His eyes bulged.

"I'm not grateful at all, you punk. I'm just glad your arm recovered... Do you know how much guilt I lived with back then."

Then he added quietly,

"It wasn't just me. All the third-years back then... we were grateful to you and sorry at the same time. We couldn't just be happy about winning when we'd basically ground your arm down for it."

For a moment the pitching lab went quiet.

The whir of machine fans, residual glow from the lights, and my senior's sigh.

I pulled on the glove and spoke calmly.

"Hyung. Back then... that was my choice. Nobody ordered me to do it."

He bit down hard on his lip at my words.

"Even so. All of us who just let it happen were in the wrong."

"Today I've got a real reason I need to. Seriously."

"That reason... it's not just 'because I felt like throwing,' is it?"

I stepped past his half-suspicious gaze and into the cage. The rubber mat compressed under my toes with its characteristic spring.

"Hyung."

I paused for a beat. My senior stared straight at me. And then, wearing a meaningful smile, I spoke.

"What I'm about to say is going to be hard to believe, but it's all true, so listen carefully."