Haneul High's Chaotic Entrance Test [2]

"Wow, the young master’s personality really hasn’t changed one bit."

"Are you two pretty close?"

I asked Yang Uijin, who had suddenly slipped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up beside me and draped an arm around my shoulders, whether he got along with Kim Sihu.

In the original story it was only mentioned in passing.

"Hmm… He throws the ball well, but his attitude is downright filthy? That’s the feeling I got. So I like you more than Kim Sihu. Your fastball has more weight behind it than his, and it’s rare to find a pitcher who listens to his catcher the way you do."

Ah, so he’s the type who recognizes talent but refuses to bow to the personality.

If that was the case, I could understand it. Kim Sihu, who was supposed to arrive as Haneul High’s ace, would naturally try to get on Yang Uijin’s good side—he was the team’s core hitter and only catcher—or he’d try to control him with that arrogant stunt of chasing the pitcher away earlier. But Yang Uijin wasn’t a catcher with a weak enough mentality to be driven off by Kim Sihu’s sharp tongue, and excluding the new catchers joining this time, he was the only one at Haneul High with more than a year of experience.

In fact, it was Kim Sihu who should be the one lowering his head. So even when Yang Uijin ran his mouth, Kim Sihu couldn’t really talk back because the talent was real. The stress from that… once he became an upperclassman, he must have vented it in a way that was similar yet different from Yang Uijin.

I had assumed Kim Sihu’s nasty attitude was something he picked up from Yang Uijin, but it seemed my thinking had been too locked into the original novel. I couldn’t speak for the other pitchers, but I hadn’t started out as one. I had never played in an environment where pitchers were precious, and because I believed I could seize another chance despite my injury, I made it a point to follow the catcher’s lead as much as possible when I pitched.

"But are all pitchers that egotistical?"

"Well… In middle school, one ace usually carried the whole team. They probably thought they were the king of the diamond."

Yang Uijin muttered that without a catcher a pitcher’s ball was nothing but a wild pitch, and his eyes held a complicated depth. The novel never mentioned it, but given the author’s habit of cramming in every possible setting, something must have happened during Yang Uijin’s middle-school days.

"So you’d better stick around. I think you and I could form a pretty good battery."

"Yes, sunbae."

"Next. Lee Seojun, step forward!"

"Looks like it’s already your turn. Better get out there."

"Yep."

I walked slowly toward the mound. Every kid in the pitcher group turned to stare at me in unison.

Hmm… I can more or less understand how they feel…

Roughly forty percent of the students who had come for Haneul High’s baseball club entrance test were pitcher prospects. The problem was there were only five spots. Since I—who was already at a passing level as a hitter—was trying to snatch one of those precious slots, they were understandably furious.

And then there’s Kim Sihu.

With only four real spots available, I was basically a massive boulder rolling straight at them.

"What pitches do you have?"

"Four-seam, two-seam, changeup, and slider."

"Hmm… Never learned curve or forkball?"

"Ah, I only converted to pitcher last year. I plan to learn them properly when I have time."

The coach, hearing that I had been pitching for less than a year, seemed to be thinking deeply about the throw I had made earlier.

"All right. Start with the fastball."

When I stepped on the rubber, I expected to see Yang Uijin crouched behind the plate in his mask, but an unfamiliar face was sitting there instead.

So they’re testing the catchers at the same time.

But… would he even be able to catch it?

"Oh, nice pitch. The movement on that ball is so filthy the catcher couldn’t glove it."

"C-Coach, just one more chance…"

"Enough. Next catcher, come out immediately."

The catcher who had let the ball get past him begged for another opportunity, but the coach’s eyes were already scanning for the next candidate.

"Coach, I’ve caught Seojun’s pitches before… Honestly, I’m probably the only one here who can handle that guy’s stuff."

"…Then get behind the plate."

"Yes!"

Yang Uijin volunteered for the catcher’s spot himself—probably worried about whoever came next.

"Next is the changeup."

Zone nine, inside corner.

"Huh?"

Wasn’t I just supposed to throw it down the middle? Yang Uijin suddenly started flashing signs. His face practically screamed, If you throw it down the middle I won’t catch it, and the cheeky look was so annoying I had no choice but to follow his request. I placed the changeup right on the edge of zone nine.

The coach’s eyes began to tremble faintly.

"Next, two-seam."

This time zone four, a little low.

"Hup—!"

The ball flew as if it would sail outside the strike zone, then broke sharply at the last moment and disappeared into Yang Uijin’s mitt.

"Whoa… No matter how many times I see it, that two-seamer is seriously impressive."

Epinel let out an admiring sigh from outside the netting.

"Last one. Slider."

This one to eight.

The slider swept smoothly through the air, tracing an ambiguous path that could have been mistaken for a curveball, and vanished into Yang Uijin’s glove.

"…Pass, Lee Seojun. Looks like you really aren’t cheap scrap metal, just as Yang Uijin said."

"Thank you."

There was still the scrimmage ahead, so preserving my stamina was the right move.

"All right. Now that we’ve finished recruiting by position… all that remains is the internal blue-white game."

Coach Kim Taehwan took the data from Epinel, who had been tapping away at her keyboard, and displayed a single screen on the monitor.

They must have pulled in some second-years to fill out the numbers. Given the lineup, the reactions were… understandable.

Anyone who doesn’t make this cut is eliminated immediately, and I’m taking up two spots. No wonder they’re mad.

"Lee Seojun is a special case, so we’re testing both his pitching and hitting. Any objections?"

"None!"

The faces of the eliminated students as they headed home were painful to watch.

"Hic… sob…!"

"Mom… I didn’t make it. It’s okay. There are other schools still recruiting nearby. I’ll try again."

Some students broke down in tears while others tried to stay calm and look for the next opportunity.

If you can’t endure this kind of setback, the draft will be far crueler.

If they couldn’t handle this vaccination, they had no business dreaming of going pro.

"Oh, we’re on the same team?"

"Oh, it’s Oh Jihun."

I exchanged greetings with Oh Jihun, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who was wearing a blue uniform. The number 7—symbolizing the shortstop—was stitched on his back. Ironically, my own uniform bore the number 31 that I had often worn during my youth-national-team days. I had chosen it after the famous pitcher Greg Maddux…

I should change it. If I’m determined to reach a different ending than before, I need a different number.

Personally I was thinking about 11 or 0, but… I’d decide after ruling out 31.

"Everyone, line up!"

At the coach’s command, the surviving students formed two straight lines facing each other. My position was pitcher and designated hitter. Standing in front of me was Haneul High’s fourth batter and DH, Lee Surin.

I’d better do well. For my own sake too.

The blue-white game began, and at the same time—

"Oh, I saw you on defense earlier. You looked pretty good… So you’re a two-way player?"

Yang Uijin, now crouched behind the plate with the catcher’s mask on, grinned.

"Start with a show of force against the first batter?"

"Sounds good to me."

Yang Uijin returned to his position.

"Play ball!"

Fastball down the middle. Trust me and throw it with everything you’ve got.

"Man, this guy is actually insane."

A normal pitcher wouldn’t have been tired from the earlier test, but I had already played every position except catcher. My stamina situation was completely different from the other pitcher prospects. Still, I stayed calm, kept runners off the bases, and shut them down cleanly.

"Strike! Batter out!"

Haa…

I had managed to get through the first inning well, but our team’s batting lineup was essentially hopeless.

-Crack!

"Safe!"

The second-years made solid contact off Kim Sihu and reached base safely, but—

-Boom!

"Strike! Batter out!"

"Aaaargh…! Just a little faster…!"

The first-years who followed were helpless against the storm of strikeouts, so the runners who had reached base never came home.

It’s harder to attack than I expected.

That made sense. Kim Sihu was a left-handed pitcher. On top of a fastball that sat in the low 150s, his sidearm delivery gave right-handed batters a slider from hell.

No matter how many times I saw them, those were not numbers a first-year should possess.

And so the pitching duel between Kim Sihu and me continued. The second, third, and fourth innings all ended scoreless. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fatigue from taking endless fungos during the test gradually began to weigh on my body.

There’s no sign for a substitution…

Coach was probably testing how I would overcome my limit. He would pull me once I truly reached it. The chronic problem of two-way players—poor stamina management leading to early removal and increased injury risk. If I couldn’t overcome that, I would have to give up one of the two roles.

?!

While I was thinking about my future path, the system window in front of me suddenly blurred. Golden ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠letters appeared on a pitch-black screen where nothing should have been visible.

"What the hell is this all of a sudden?"