Once Upon a Time, There Lived a Genius Pitcher (1)

"Ha…… so that's why nothing showed up for a whole month?"

The feeling that hit me first wasn't joy so much as hollow disappointment.

After everything I'd suffered because of this Status Window — all that grinding, all that misery — the answer hadn't been to grit my teeth and tough it out in the first team or even the second. It had just been to train in the developmental squad?

"If I'd known, I never would've gone off on the front office……"

I'd gotten all worked up and begged them to cut me loose. Looking back on that pathetic display made me cringe.

The manager and the team leader hadn't been wrong about a single thing. And in the end, moving down to the developmental squad really had been the right call.

"Next time I see the manager and the team leader, I have to apologize."

Past mistakes could wait. For now, I looked at the first quest.

Honestly, if I just poured enough time into it, it wasn't that hard of a quest. The 50% wild-pitch penalty just meant ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd have to grind twice as hard.

Judging by my control, roughly one out of every five practice pitches could hit the borderline cleanly. Factor in the wild-pitch penalty and that became one out of ten.

At about fifty pitches a day with two rest days a week, it would take roughly a month.

"Can't I do it any faster than that?"

A month. Long if you looked at it one way, short if you looked at it another — but after the pure hell of the last thirty days, I wanted this cleared as soon as possible. No matter how hard I thought, though, no clever shortcut presented itself.

"Come on. If you were going to give me the quest, you could've at least dropped it before today's workout. Zero sense. Absolutely zero."

I'd already thrown earlier, but I headed to the indoor pitching facility anyway, just to test things out.

Whoosh.

I gripped my easiest pitch — a four-seam fastball — aimed for the lower left corner at about seventy percent effort, and let it fly.

Thwack!

Lucky. On the very first try, the ball buried itself dead on the corner of the strike zone.

"Seriously. When the wild pitches don't kick in, my control is actually pretty good."

The quest window had already registered the pitch.

"Just two more for today."

I'd come all the way out here — throwing only one ball felt like a waste. I decided to put a few more in before I left.

Whoosh.

Thwack!

…

Whoosh.

Thwack!

"Tch. Not even close."

I threw about ten more. Not a single one clipped the borderline. Frustrating, but pushing any further risked my shoulder, so I was about to pack it in when—

"Wait a second…… what if?"

A brilliant idea suddenly hit me.

I picked up a ball, crouched right in front of the rectangular strike-zone frame at the far end of the indoor facility, and—

Tap.

—lightly tossed it toward the borderline. The distance was so short that of course the ball hit the edge and dropped.

And then:

Incredibly, the quest stack had gone up by one.

"OOOOOOOH!!!!"

Why does this even work?

After practice ended, Kim Taehwan met with Cheon Sojin to talk about Han Doyoon.

"Sigh…… I keep wondering if I was too hard on Doyoon earlier."

Cheon Sojin still seemed bothered by how coldly she'd spoken to him, her voice laced with worry.

"Don't overthink it. I think you handled it perfectly, Team Leader. If you hadn't been firm, that kid would've dug his heels in all the way to the end."

"Still……"

Even after Kim Taehwan's reassurance, the guilt hadn't fully left her. Apology dripped from every word.

"Something like this happened back in high school. It was a tournament final. Doyoon had already thrown a hundred and thirty pitches the day before, and he still insisted on going out there again."

"What?! Seriously? And then?"

Cheon Sojin looked stunned, but Kim Taehwan pressed on as if it were nothing special.

"He went up. And then—"

Pop.

"—the incident you already know about happened."

"……"

Cheon Sojin nodded, understanding exactly what he meant, and fell into thought.

"I keep thinking — if I'd just stopped the manager that day, or even stopped Doyoon himself……"

"……"

"So you did the right thing. For Doyoon's sake, and for the team's."

Kim Taehwan's comfort seemed to help; Cheon Sojin's expression brightened, if only a little.

"I'll give Doyoon a proper talking-to myself. Far as I'm concerned, that kid's got the worst manners ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of anyone. Throwing a tantrum in front of the people who pay his salary? Unbelievable."

Kim Taehwan had clearly picked up on her mood, and he said it with a playful edge.

But then—

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

"Hm? What's that sound?"

Something strange was coming from the bullpen.

Taehwan and Cheon Sojin walked slowly toward it.

And there, they found—

"Hehe. Hehehe. This is free real estate, baby."

—Han Doyoon, standing right in front of the strike-zone frame mounted on the wall, tossing balls at it. He looked like a kid who'd just discovered the world's most entertaining toy, but from the outside the whole scene was pure nightmare fuel.

"Oh no……! Is he actually okay……?"

"Okay, just a little more."

Five minutes of bouncing balls off the strike zone and the quest stack was already at seventy-two. A quest that should have taken a full month, and this exploit was actually working.

I was grinning as I scooped up another ball to keep going when—

Rustle.

—I felt a presence behind me.

Whip.

I spun around. No one there. For a second it almost looked like someone had ducked out of sight in a hurry.

"……Must've imagined it."

Whatever. Back to work.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

A few more bounces against the strike zone, and then:

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Whew. Done!"

I'd cleared the first quest with almost no effort.

"……No reward or anything?"

I'd been secretly hoping for a surprise bonus. Apparently not.

Well — I'd cheesed it this easily. Expecting a reward on top of that might've been shameless.

"Wonder what the second journey is…… Something easy would be nice."

"……?"

Excuse me? One-fifty?

I'm sitting at 140 right now. When exactly am I supposed to hit 150? Can I even throw that hard anymore?

"Three years ago, sure……"

Sssk.

"……Haa."

Even through the fabric of my shirt, I could feel the rough, uneven scar tissue.

Four years ago. That day was still vivid.

Cheongmyeong High was clinging to a precarious 3–1 lead through the top of the eighth.

But then—

Crack!

Runners on first and second. The ball the batter hit glanced off the tip of the pitcher's glove and rolled hard toward center field. The center fielder fired home immediately, but the runner's fingertips slid across the plate a half-beat ahead of the catcher's mitt.

The home-plate umpire spread both arms wide.

"Safe!"

In the same breath, the batter-runner bolted for second. The throw was slightly offline. Safe.

Just like that, it was 3–2 — a one-run game — with runners on second and third.

A strange tension settled over the Cheongmyeong dugout.

That was when it happened.

"Put me in! I can pitch!"

Han Doyoon shook off Coach Kim Taehwan's hand and burst into the dugout. His face was flushed red, his eyes raw with desperation.

The manager stared at him in silence for a moment. Something complicated flickered behind that gaze.

"……"

Just as the manager opened his mouth to speak, Coach Kim Taehwan rushed in right behind him, voice urgent.

"You can't, Manager! Doyoon's arm is already at its limit. Surgery's already scheduled. If you let him throw any more, something really bad is going to happen!"

The manager lowered his eyes, thought for a beat, then spoke quietly.

"……Go warm up in the bullpen for now."

"Manager!!!!"

Kim ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Taehwan raised his voice.

But the manager only looked at him with a set, hard expression.

"Coach Kim. I have a plan. I am not putting him on the mound. Not under any circumstances."

"Then why the hell—!"

The manager turned his gaze slowly toward the mound and spoke in a low voice.

"Even if Doyoon just goes out there and loosens up, it'll put pressure on the other side. That's enough."

Kim Taehwan bit down on his lip.

Han Doyoon already had his spikes on, looking ready to sprint onto the field at any second.

"But……!"

The manager raised a hand and cut him off.

"I'll have him warm up a little and then call him back in. Don't worry."

Silence stretched between them.

In the end, Kim Taehwan's shoulders sagged, and he sat back down.

"……Understood."