Back to 2018

Up until now, after finishing one season, he'd receive rewards based on his performance, and the next season would start right away. The only choices for the player were things like the league and team affiliation, uniform number, and role. But season selection? After being essentially forced into retirement and drowning his sorrows in booze for a few days, Tae-woong dove back into the game, only to stare in bewilderment at this completely unfamiliar screen.

"Season selection? Never seen this before. Did they drop an emergency patch in the last few minutes?"

It had been over ten years since Tae-woong started playing Real Baseball Ace. As Korea's most famous and long-running mobile baseball game, it had undergone constant patches and changes over the years. Tae-woong, who'd stuck with it faithfully, prided himself on knowing every patch note inside and out. So discovering a message he'd never seen before left him flustered.

But the real problem was something else.

Even after winning the World Series, the new season reward was just ten A-grade enhancement tickets?

"Whoa, now they're nerfing the rewards? Just ten A-grade tickets? At 8% success rate? Might as well not call it an enhancement ticket if it doesn't work right. Screw these ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠scammy bastards."

Enhancement tickets, they called them, but Tae-woong couldn't recall ever seeing one actually succeed.

"It says 8% success rate right there—why can't I get even one after burning through a hundred? You ignoring me 'cause I ain't whaling hard enough?"

And the reward for the new 2018 season option? Even worse.

He didn't know what hidden skill he'd get yet, but in exchange, all his stats would revert to 2018 levels? After nights—hell, years—of grinding, this would wipe it all out. Infuriating.

"Ha... Classic Korean game devs. Impressive. Really impressive."

Tae-woong cursed the operators as he scrolled through the explanation on screen.

"Damn, the rewards are stingy as hell. Worse than a dodo bird. Do these devs even play their own game?"

But raging wouldn't change anything, so he decided to check the details on the hidden skill.

Separate from his anger at the cheap rewards, he was curious what skill he'd get.

'Alright, let's see just how good this skill has to be to justify such a bullshit penalty...'

He tapped the screen.

Tae-woong's eyes flew across the screen, widening in shock. Among the three hidden skills offered as rewards were some of the absolute best in the game.

"Wild Thing? Breaking? Whoa, they're handing these out now?"

His mind swirled with rage and excitement.

"Hidden skill from 2018 season reset? Stats revert? Damn crazy devs! No wonder they were holding out..."

The skills were insanely powerful, but the penalty matched it.

"Ha... Gotta replay from 2018. What kinda bullshit is this?"

The game system assigned starting rotation spots 1-5 based on stats, but raising a starter usually took about 30 games per season. Each game? At least 30-40 minutes.

He ground his teeth, thinking of the time, effort, and bit of cash he'd sunk into his mediocre character that no one else would bother with.

He chugged from the beer can by his bed and sighed.

"Hidden skills never dropped before. Total crooks."

But even as he grumbled, he started analyzing each one carefully. The penalty was huge, but his mind was already leaning toward it.

Three types: fastballs, breaking balls, control boosters.

The one that grabbed him most? No contest—Breaking, the breaking ball enhancer.

The more he read, the more its value shone.

'For a starter build, Breaking would be OP.'

Sacrifice some on his two fastballs—four-seam and two-seam—for overwhelming breaking balls? Obvious choice.

Imagining his character with the skill, a picture formed: sliding sliders to gain ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠counts, massive curves dropping for whiff Ks. A true ace.

Of course, if not fixated on starting, Wild Thing was plenty good too. A filthy, high-velocity four-seam was every gamer's dream in Real Baseball Ace.

Breaking balls would weaken from the penalty, but a single dominant fastball would make his character unstoppable. Focus solely on four-seam and control? He'd be the ultimate bullpen guy.

Unlike reality, stats could grow forever. KBO would be a pit stop, then MLB contenders' closer.

But as he mulled those two, his face twisted like he'd eaten shit at the last one.

Unlike the blatantly OP first two, Pitching Balance was trash.

'Forget the rest—dropping 25km/h velocity? How the hell do you play like that? Why's this penalty so brutal? Ah... And I'm broke now, can't even afford the 5,500-won monthly pass.'

To make Pitching Balance viable, he'd need at least a million won in whaling, he figured.

150-160km/h four-seams. Breaking balls vanishing like magic. That overwhelming dominance was the thrill of Real Baseball Ace.

No matter how much control you gained, who in their right mind would sacrifice 25km/h?

Not a single sane player.

And the gains weren't even better than the other two. Pitching form optimization? Who knew what that meant exactly in a data-driven game. Form mattered in real life, sure, but this was a game—different from real baseball.

Sure, a dynamic delivery like Nomo Hideo or Lincecum might look cool. But with a 25km/h velo drop? Nah.

'If I somehow land Pitching Balance, all my hard work turns to shit.'

Easy conclusion.

"So, jackpot, decent, trash."

Decision made, the final dilemma hit. One trap card, but the other rewards too tempting.

But his indecision didn't last. Hidden skills rarer than a 2018 reset dangled before him. His grinding faded from memory.

Plus, no amount of extra seasons would beat that cheating bastard, Ace Brainard.

"Yeah! It'll work out! Nothing else to do anyway. Holed up gaming it is!"

...Or so he said.

His fingers trembled.

"Fingers, why you shaking?"

Unlike his bold shout, he gripped his shaky hand and selected 2018.

"2018 season, let's gooooo!"

"Please... God, Buddha, Allah, Grand Commander of Heaven... Anything but Pitching Balance. Just one of the other two... Does the game system even know what pitching form is?"

Tae-woong knelt piously, hands clasped on his phone, praying.

Then, a pitch-black reward box appeared on screen. Light burst from it, growing brighter.

"I smell it! Jackpot smell!"

And the reward he got was...

SMASH!

"Aaaargh! Damn it! You shitty devs!"

Tae-woong spewed curses from deep in his throat and hurled his phone onto the pillow.

"Busting the 66% for the 33%... My luck sucks."

But his obsession with the game was too strong to abandon the character he'd nurtured through hell.

"Hahaha! Yeah! That's me! When have I ever had it easy? Smooth sailing's boring anyway!"

As he shouted into the void, a list of available leagues for his character appeared.

Baseball's mecca MLB, leagues worldwide, and finally his home, Korea's KBO.

"Hmm... Skip Central/South America—too few games, too variable. Where to?"

Choices halved instantly.

"USA and Japan too elite..."

Left: Taiwan, China, Australia, Korea.

"Australia and Taiwan too few games, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠China too weak..."

Like investing his last pennies in Bitcoin, he pondered deeply.

League choice in Real Baseball Ace was crucial. Too high a level hindered growth; too low or few games did too.

After more thought, he picked KBO.

"Worst case, start in the minors."

Next message:

Left: Yes. Right: No. Center: A timer counting from 10.

"Start immediately? What?"

First time seeing this in years of play. Suspicious, but before he could think, it hit 2. He chose.

"Obviously Yes."

Bzzz, bzzz, bzzzzzz.

The moment he tapped Yes.

Bzzz, bzzz, bzzzzzzzzz.

Screen went white, phone vibrated wildly.

Bzzz, bzzz, bzzzzzzzzz.

"Gah! Wh-what the hell? Why's it doing this?"

Spooked, Tae-woong flung the phone away and backed up.

But the phone's glow outpaced his retreat, blinding him.

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

"What? Light from the screen...?"

Arms up, eyes squeezed shut, he blacked out.

At that instant, the dropped smartphone displayed an unknown message on the floor.

The final message on the black screen held shocking content Tae-woong would gape at.

Tae-woong's nineteenth season.

The start of his second baseball life.