Let's Evolve Copy All (Can't Do It Right Away)

Crack! "It's an out, damn it."

"Don't worry, Ayul. I'll find a way."

The score was currently 11-14. Thanks to reaching the national tournament semifinals, Daeji High had gained far more opportunities for practice matches against the nation's powerhouse high schools. It was only natural. A baseball program shut down due to its players' misconduct had suddenly acquired a monstrous rookie and the return of the legendary manager who once ushered in Daeji High's golden age. Most schools still dismissed the rapidly rising powerhouse as nothing more than an insignificant team with a freshman ace.

It had been a brutal road. Players had quit, conflicts had flared between teammates. But after overcoming everything, they fought their way through comeback victories all the way to the semifinals.

Crack!

"Ah, I didn't get enough on that one."

Thud.

"Game set!"

This practice match was against Gyeongnam High, who hadn't qualified for the national tournament. Still, as longtime rivals of Gyeongbuk High—the team that had pushed Daeji to the brink in the quarterfinals—they had more than enough firepower to make Daeji bleed.

"Whew, I really thought that last one was going out."

"Still, we beat a national top-four team, didn't we?"

"Top four? Weren't they already eliminated?"

"Their opponent was Haneul High. You know, the one with that insane freshman."

"...Why does everyone assume we're going to lose?! We beat Haneul High's second string too—though we were down by forty runs and only won after they said they'd let us score one point!"

Watching the Gyeongnam High students whisper among themselves, Daeji High manager Kang Ayul burned with indignation.

"Come on, Ayul. Sometimes you lose."

"Anyway, you all worked hard. We've been flooded with practice match offers lately."

Lee Taehyun tried to lighten the mood, but...

"The problem is everyone thinks we'd beat anyone except Haneul High."

"...Did you really have to say that right now?"

"What? I only spoke the truth."

Lee Taehyun wasn't satisfied. Choi Younghoon, Daeji High's starting catcher, received his pitches well enough, but he could only handle up to Taehyun's 100 percent. How was a catcher failing to receive the ball supposed to prove he could push beyond 120 percent? Every time he prepared to fully commit to a game, that frustration would creep in when Choi couldn't handle his full power.

He often found himself thinking about that game against Haneul High's second string—how Lee Seojun had casually caught the ball he'd thrown at over 120 percent when told to cut loose. If only a player like that were on Daeji High...

The team had been thrown together from players discarded by their original clubs, kids who'd already given up on their dreams. The pitching staff was on the verge of collapse without Lee Taehyun. And then there was Lee Seojun—the literal king of high school baseball, showing velocity and command that surpassed even his own. Deep down, Taehyun felt that given time, Seojun would set his sights on the world.

"I promised I'd make it to the major leagues no matter what."

He remembered the promise he'd made as a child with the neighbor who lived next door.

Haha, then I'll have to hold onto the starting catcher spot until you get there, won't I?

The vow from a man who declared he would survive in the majors until the day he could form a battery with Lee Taehyun—once Taehyun had polished his skills and made it himself.

"Sigh... The semifinals are this week."

"If it had been Seoul High or Busan High, we could've won easily. Why did it have to be Haneul High..."

"If you keep talking like that, you'd lose even if you faced them in the finals."

"...Coach? Coach Ryu?!"

The sharp rebuke from Manager Ryu Eunseong cut through the lamenting Daeji High players like a blade.

"That kind of defeatist attitude has no place on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the field. You can beat yourselves up on the bus ride home after the game. And Jung Ho, Si Yeon, Seung Tae—you'll start defensive drills the moment we return. Remember that."

"...Yes, sir."

In the practice game against Gyeongnam High, first baseman Lee Jungho's error had allowed the go-ahead run in the final inning, and the infield defense had leaked hits like a broken screen all game long.

"...Do you think we can win, Younghoon hyung?"

"I don't know. But we'll give it everything we've got."

Chatting with Choi Younghoon, Lee Taehyun waved goodbye to the Busan High players as their bus—nowhere near as old as Daeji's but still not the latest model—pulled out, heading down to Busan.

...

...

...

"Thanks for the hard work!"

"Yeah, you were throwing really well out there."

"...Hearing that from a player I respect is truly an honor."

"Hey, don't say stuff you don't mean."

After the game against the Monsters, I exchanged a few words with the players getting ready to head home.

"Consistency comes from taking care of yourself..."

"Power? Just fix your batting stance properly."

Lee Hyunbin was asking Park Yongtaek about the secrets to consistency and power, while Lee Surin and Oh Jihun peppered Jung Euiyoon with questions about hitting for power.

"...I have no regrets left in this life...!"

Oh Hanil wore the face of someone who'd achieved enlightenment after receiving an autograph from Coach Lee Seungyeop.

Even so, most of the players had gathered around me. The majority of questions were about velocity and command. Being surrounded by so many legends didn't feel bad at all.

In fact, it felt pretty good.

It's a shame, though.

I'd thought the showdown with Park Yongtaek during the Monsters game would let me access his legend data. Unfortunately, I hadn't gained anything from this particular match... or so I believed.

Oh, damn.

Instead of legend data, I'd obtained something far more valuable—the evolution of Copy All (L). Excluding the unused History-grade skill draw ticket and the still-locked God of Baseball (H), this would essentially be my third History-grade skill.

Ten wins, 100 strikeouts, 50 home runs, 100 stolen bases...

It didn't seem to include every previous record.

If things go well, I can evolve it before first year is over.

The difficulty was on a completely different level from God of Baseball (H).

The difficulties are all different. Some are exponentially harder than others.

If Iron Arm (H) that Teacher Choi Dongwon gave me is the easiest, I can form one hypothesis. God of Baseball (H) was unlocked by playing every position. When combining skills, Teacher Choi Dongwon's intervention allowed me to obtain the locked Iron Arm. And visiting the Choi Dongwon museum let me meet him and receive Iron Arm (H) under very easy conditions.

The hypothesis that formed as a result: Legend data is a crucial factor when obtaining History-grade skills. By following the paths the legends took or recreating their feats, you can increase opportunities to make contact with that data.

Oh, and touching items they once used or objects that symbolize them—like the Choi Dongwon Award—also raises the contact probability.

Man Who Lives for the Fans (H) looked pretty useful.

It was an insanely valuable skill that increased hit probability in proportion to fan support. If not for Copy All (L)'s skill slot limit, I would have spun the History-grade gacha ticket right in front of Park Yongtaek. But there was a limit, so it was smarter to save it. The safest approach was to wait until I had accumulated as many cheering fans as Park Yongtaek before trying again. So I'd put it on hold.

The Monsters game was pretty fun.

On the broadcast, I wouldn't be surprised if they portrayed us as something beyond villains—final boss level. After all, I basically threw a near-perfect game and shut them down through the eighth inning ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the second match. The production team would struggle to get any decent footage out of that. They might split it up like (Episode 1: two-thirds of Game 1, Episode 2: the remaining third of Game 1 plus the second game after viewer feedback).

"Hey, Kim Sihu, where did you..."

I wanted to let Kim Sihu meet the Monsters players too since it would help him, so I looked around for him, but...

"Your form looked good, but you were gripping the ball a little too tight. Trust the defense behind you more and throw with some ease."

"Yes, thank you so much. It was a truly meaningful experience."

"By the way, 150 in your first year of high school... Heekwan, what were you throwing as a freshman?"

"...Around 120-130?"

It looked like Kim Sihu had already latched onto the lefties Jang Wonsam and Yoo Heekwan, absorbing their know-how ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like a sponge.

"Come on, so with just one Lee Seojun the Monsters are easy pickings?"

"That's not what I meant!"

Coach Kim had been cornered by the two commentators and was enduring a near-torture-level barrage of questions. Even so, he declared to them like he was making a formal announcement.

"You can invite us again next year. Haneul High will win then too, so make sure you adjust the win-loss record properly."

...Wow.

He was throwing out provocation that strong? When I asked him about it later, he said it was to pull as much of the malicious editing toward himself as possible.

"Since I sacrificed myself like this, you better throw complete-game shutouts in the semifinals and finals."

"...But I provoked them a bit during my interview yesterday too."

"...This time let's flatten Ryu Eunseong's nose. It's fine if we lose in the finals, but don't you dare lose in the semifinals..."

"Coach, saying it's okay to lose in the finals but we have to win in the semifinals is a bit..."

The orders were getting excessive. I had been planning to go all out against Daeji High... but my selfish wish to ride the bus comfortably and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠beat Haneul High quietly sank deep into the bottom of my heart.