The Moment I Receive My Jersey Number

My stats had definitely gone up... but the guaranteed History-grade random skill draw ticket was the real prize here. Among the History-grade skills, there were some that permanently boosted a player's abilities. Things like National Slugger (H), which raised batting stats by around fifteen points, or Korean Monster (H) and Peregrine Falcon (H), which each increased every pitching stat by five. ".....Status window." All my skills had come back.Iron Arm (H) was gone, but since it had only been a limited activation skill anyway, that made sense. Still, seeing them again felt both welcome and reassuring. Of course, even if I combined all of them, they still weren't worth as much as Iron Arm (H). ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ Overwhelming high value. In Strike the Show, History (H) skills were the kind that could raise a player's worth by anywhere from ten times to as much as a hundred times. Epic-grade skills were what most regular players eventually acquired through performance. Legendary-grade skills were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the baseline for those who would win Gold Gloves or MVPs. But History was different. These skills were created to honor the legends who had literally left their names in baseball history—the symbols of entire eras. There was no way their value would be low. Personally, I'd love it if Iron Arm (H) came up again... Among my pitching stats, which had already reached Gold Glove levels in most categories, stamina was the only one still below average. If I got Iron Arm (H), the burden on my stamina would drop dramatically. Even in the most extreme situations where my stamina had bottomed out, I could keep pitching through the ninth inning with inflated stats and the same velocity and condition as the first inning. ......So if I want a skill tied to a specific person, I need to go to a specific place. I had a feeling. It probably meant locations where those legends had left their records. I'll save this for later. If I was going to use it, it'd be when I went to Busan later. Either near Sajik Baseball Stadium... or actually, since using it at Sajik could also give me Chosun's Cleanup Hitter (H), I should use it in front of the Choi Dong-il statue. More importantly, the reactions around me were getting strange. Yang Uijin was already next to me, proudly bragging about his own achievements, but besides his voice, I could hear other voices too... "Wow, this crazy bastard! He really threw a perfect game!" ".......Tsk, if I'd gone all the way, I would've had a shutout." "Seojun, that's amazing!" Someone beside me was marveling at what I'd done, someone in the dugout was claiming they would've gotten a shutout if they'd finished the game, and Epinel was cheering from the manager's seat. For now, I slowly walked over to Oh Jihun. "Thanks, man. Seriously." I held out my hand with a hundred percent pure gratitude. Oh Jihun took it with a bright smile and shook it firmly. "Aw, catching a weird bounce like that is every shortstop's dream, so you don't have to thank me. Anyway, congrats on the perfect game. You're definitely locking down a starting spot, right?" You too, buddy. The opposing team had brought in Haneul High's starting shortstop. But Oh Jihun had shown he was a clear upgrade both offensively and defensively. Especially that play where he couldn't handle the irregular bounce and even made a throwing error—it looked like something straight out of an orange-colored nightmare. If the coach doesn't start Oh Jihun after seeing that, then that coach must've taken a bribe. If that was the kind of coach he was... then I probably wouldn't want to join Haneul High's baseball team. I've already shown what I can do, and the high school scouts and pro team scouts out there must've come to see me too. So, now that the intra-squad game was over, I decided to wait for Coach Kim Taehyun's announcement. ... ... ... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠After the test ended, we all lined up and slowly made our way up to the podium where the coach was waiting. Next to the coach were twelve home uniforms with black pinstripes that screamed Yankees—fitting for the team nicknamed the "Black Wings" in the novel—and twelve away uniforms that were their color-reversed counterparts. There were even marking machines ready to instantly print names on them. Those machines were seriously expensive. As expected of a crazy rich school that had its own dome stadium. "Alright, the numbers on this paper are the ones still available." The coach held up a sheet listing every number not currently used by the starting second- and third-year players. Yang Uijin has 25, Heo Kangmin has 13. Among the remaining numbers, the more symbolic ones were 1, 10, and 99. Surprisingly, the infielders' traditional number 7 was still open too. "I'll start with the pitchers." He's probably going to call Kim Sihu first, right? Kim Sihu was the son of a GL Group executive—an elite among elites. He was the guy who loved the number 1 more than anyone. That was probably why the other upperclassmen had left it open during his enrollment period. Yeah, there's nothing worse than having your elite number stolen by someone only to lose it to Kim Sihu later. "Lee Seojun, step forward." ?! Surprised murmurs rippled through the crowd. Of course I'd expected to make the starting roster, but I never thought I'd get my number before Kim Sihu. As I slowly walked forward, I caught sight of Kim Sihu's complicated expression. Was that jealousy over losing the first pick for number 1, or was he just looking at his future rival with a bold, challenging gaze? "Lee Seojun demonstrated elite-level defense as a center fielder and recorded a perfect game in the intra-squad match—a first in Haneul High history. I stake my entire coaching career on this: there is no special admission student who can surpass this kid. However... if anyone has a problem with my decision, raise your hand right now." Special admission. If there were no issues, it meant the school would cover all tuition with a full scholarship. It was also a symbol that let you say "I'm an honors student" within Haneul High, where you could watch GL Devils games and practices. Everyone stayed silent. Even Kim Sihu kept quiet, so the kids who'd been with him since middle school and formed their own little faction remained quiet too. I turned my head to look at the available numbers. They really were lined up like symbols of certain players. The team's ace wore number 1, the leadoff hitter took 7, power hitters usually got 25—but Yang Uijin already had that—and the cleanup hitter's traditional 9 was apparently already taken by someone else. I turned to look at the numbers pitchers usually wore. 11, 18, 19, 22, and 47 were the main ones... but aside from 19, 11, and 22, the others seemed to be taken already. ......Right. My choice is... I slowly picked my number and handed it to Epinel, who was operating the marking machine. She smiled and said it suited me perfectly as she printed the number onto the jersey.

(Uniform Image) After that, I watched the other kids choose their numbers. As expected, Oh Jihun picked 10, and Kim Sihu took the remaining number 1. It wasn't really my business, so I just snapped a photo of my name printed on the number 11 jersey with my phone and sent my parents a text saying I'd passed the Haneul High entrance test.