Sidearm Surprise
At first, he'd just seemed like a rookie with obvious physical gifts, hurling fastballs left and right. But after facing the ball coming straight at him, Lee Jun-young's opinion shifted.
'Even a rookie wouldn't dare throw a pitch that hugs the body this tight—it's scary as hell. The manager didn't bring him to camp for nothing.'
But the first pitch to him had been an inside breaker too.
'I saw it from the on-deck circle, but up close it's a whole different beast. No answer for a pitch that sticks right to your ribs.'
Lee Jun-young gripped his bat and settled into his stance.
'He came inside last time, so obviously he'll go low and away now.'
The counter was obvious for a veteran who'd feasted on league seasoning.
'Foul off the inside stuff somehow and hunt the outer half.'
And the veteran's read matched the sign from the catcher perfectly.
'Dropping low and away. Curve? Changeup? Or that diving slider?'
'Low and away slider.'
'A breaking ball dropping low and away.'
Batter, catcher, pitcher—their thoughts aligned. Wear down the inside relentlessly to push the hitter off the plate, then attack away. Textbook pitch sequencing, nothing fancy. But it worked on everyone, from a freshly debuted social league 4th-division newbie in his first at-bat of the season to a locked-in Hall of Famer in the majors.
'No hitter bats 1.000 in baseball. You know it's coming, but you bite anyway—that's the game.'
Thud.
The moment Tae-woong decided on the slider, his grip shifted seamlessly in his glove. At first, just thinking about a pitch type made his fingers move on their own inside the glove, independent of his will. But he'd kept the ball in his hand nonstop since, drilling beginner mission grips until they felt natural.
'Still a bit off. Need more grip work. About 50 days till opening day... plenty of time.'
Scraaape.Whoosh!
The faint sound of his cleats scraping the mound dirt. Knees bent just shy of ninety degrees, unleashing his lower body, torso, shoulders, and arm in one fluid swing. From leg lift to release, no wasted motion—a compact delivery. Smaller range than his old extreme overhand, follow-through tighter for easier fielding. And crucially, no strain on the body.
'Here comes another one, hyungnim!'
Thwack!
The ball left Tae-woong's hand slower than his prior fastball. It hooked sharply away in front of the plate, clipping the strike zone's edge.
Strike three! Looking. Lee Jun-young trudged away.
The batters facing Tae-woong next—and their team's coaches—looked stunned.
"That trajectory's no joke. Nail the command, and lefties won't square it up much."
"Inside with that? Even on contact, it's groundball city."
"Breaking ball stuff is already first-team pro level. He always this good?"
"Not in the Futures Game. Must've exploded these last few months."
"Huh. Rare, but happens. What's his style?"
Flip flip.
The pitching coach scanned Tae-woong's sheet.
"First-pitch strike rate over 75%. Only thirteen innings, sure, but just one walk. Even in the zone when behind, they say."
"Most guys that slow get timid, spraying everywhere. Ballsy."
A pitcher topping just 125 km/h with zero walks meant one thing: something special transcended the velocity. And Tae-woong had shown solid stuff and pinpoint control so far.
"Run him out from camp through spring ball."
"Agreed. Lefty starters or relievers—we need 'em. Better see it live."
The next batter, prepping for that deep-inside heat, abandoned the outer half and stepped back half a pace.
Swoosh!
Tae-woong's first pitch flowed away, a four-seam.
'Outer half this time. Slow as expected... 120-125 km/h?'
The batter, who'd watched, vowed to foul off and hunt mistakes from pitch two on.
Pitch two dove low-inside again.
'No hit? Fine, just cut it foul!'
He poked the bat out for a foul tip. But this wasn't the slow four-seam he'd expected—it was a changeup dropping a full bat length below his swing path.
Thwack!
"Striiike!"
As the bat followed a fastball plane, the pitch plummeted just shy of the zone.
Swoosh.
The whiff sliced empty air.
Tae-woong grabbed the return throw and fired right back—no time to think. The ball floated belt-high...
Thoom!
...then plunged—a curve at least 30 km/h slower than the change, untelegraphed. The batter swung and missed!
Strike three!
Inside changeup into a low-away 78 km/h curve: three straight strikeouts on nine pitches.
"Whoa... corner work's insane. He really twenty? Looks handsome, but kinda aged? Age faker?"
Yoon Sung-min, practicing swings on deck, saw the six-pitch double K and nudged Kang Baek-ho.
"He's twenty, hyungnim. We faced off middle-high school tourneys for six years straight..."
"And?"
"Wasn't dropping like that then. Touched 145-150 km/h."
"No tells on that Seo Tae-woong kid? Rookies always got one—I've feasted on 'em."
"Used to telegraph arm speed by pitch type big time. Form's totally revamped lately."
"No kidding? That punk's a beast. Body like that, why so slow?"
"Last time I saw, board hit 145. Body not loose yet, maybe..."
Yoon Sung-min's turn came; he headed up.
"Baek-ho, hyung's smashing one. Ready to grab my bat. Heh."
"Yes, sir! I'll park one next at-bat!"
"Heh, back-to-back us."
Tae-woong, unwittingly, had become the talk of vets, coaches, manager alike—prime study material.
He circled the mound as the batter settled, catching his breath.
'Last hitter this inning. No mistakes. Can't let 'slowball won't hack it in first team' talk start—finish strong.'
Up stepped Yoon Sung-min: 2017's .312/20 HR/105 RBI, exploding from 2018 into Suwon's slugger rep.
'Hyungnim Yoon Sung-min... solid eye, punishes mistakes with power.'
Tae-woong toed the rubber.
'Great hitter, but not flawless.'
His old self lacked talent, luck. He'd bridged it by endless study—of himself, hitters.
Now, effort met gifts, fortune. Slow speed, but sharp stuff, command left-right: brainballer time.
'Show a high fastball kissing the zone away—decoy.'
Sign exchange with catcher Lee Hye-chan done.
'Low-inside, real low. Barely graze.'
Sing.
The ball slipped Tae-woong's hand quick. Or slow. Slower.
Thoom!
With the batter's whiff.
"Hoo..."
Tae-woong breathed steady, last batter of the day in sight. From 2034 regressed to 2017, he'd trained relentlessly, anywhere, anytime. Bone-grinding practice to first live action: now he knew. The hologram popping up, weird powers—all real. No dream. He could grow stronger.
But unlike a rosy future, right now? No first-team pitcher slower than him till his 2034 retirement.
'Velocity's the issue... even I think it's brutally slow. Need early 130s to crack the roster.'
He was 1st-team ready as a rookie by his lights—but coaches might disagree.
'Gotta force their hand here. Make 'em unable to leave me down.'
One out left. This at-bat could define his image: clean inning finisher with upside to plug 1st-team holes despite speed... or just lucky vs. off-day hacks.
"Hoo, tricky."
Lefty Yoon Sung-min dug in.
'High-inside. Four-seam.'
Sign confirmed, Tae-woong went into windup. Same motion—but knee buckled deep, torso torqued near-vertical.
'Huh? Mistake?'
'What? Leg step crossed up?'
"That guy's...?"
Coaches, players gawked. Some vets mixed in trick deliveries profitably. But rookies couldn't stabilize basics, let alone variants.
The 199cm frame, extra-long arms whipped near-vertical like a lash.
The spun ball bore toward the batter's chest.
'Wild pitch? Stay still and eat it?'
No unwanted camp injury flight home.
Unlike prior overhand form, this looked like a crossed step blowing control. Batter bailed back.
As he did—the "wild" pitch snapped sharply in front of the plate into the mitt.
Thwack!
"Strike!"
Catcher, bailed batter, dugout brass—all baffled. Tae-woong hid a grin behind his glove.
Post-form tweak, he'd drilled Rich Hill curve vids—but first live success thrilled him.
'Nailed it!'
A near-sidearm variant dropping at belt height. His pre-regression desperation special vs. unhittable foes. Different slot, but Pitching Balance stabilized it nicely.
As shock faded, manager Kim Jin-woong cracked a smile watching.
"Fun rookie class this year—Baek-ho too. More I see, more reckless he looks. Worth the shot. Fall ball, maybe..."