Legends' Impossible Records

Tae-woong entered the dugout and pulled an ion drink from the fridge, heading to an empty corner. The seniors nearby had tactfully given him space. They figured that since Jeong Myeong-eon, the pitching coach, had allowed a home run for his first run during his perfect game streak, he needed time alone to sort out his thoughts.

"Ended up alone by accident. Perfect. Ace, you can show me right now, right?"

Ace:Shall I? If that's what you want.

A sharp clapping sound that only Tae-woong could hear rang out, and a long message appeared before his eyes.

"Whoa! What the hell is this...?"

Tae-woong's jaw dropped as he scanned the list.

Ace:There it is—the achievement list you've been so curious about. Read it all? On to the next page.

Tae-woong stared in disbelief.

"Hold up. Time out. This is what you call achievements?"

30 wins in a season, 25 losses, 36 complete games, 427 1/3 innings, 175 runs allowed... 232 pitches in a single game. And 22 straight wins. The first page was packed with records that looked straight out of a video game.

"Hang on, Ace. What is all this?"

Ace:What else? It's a collection of records you can achieve for rewards.

"How am I supposed to hit any of these? One would shred my left shoulder to pieces."

Ace:Hey, I'm not saying you have to. Just that if you do, there's a reward. Don't get it twisted.

Park Cheol-soon's 22-game win streak was something that required insane skill and luck on steroids. The rest were impossible—or should be—in modern 2018 baseball.

"This has gotta be rigged... or manipulated, right? No way."

Ace thumped his chest indignantly, as if the truth itself was being doubted.

Ace:Kid! If you don't trust me, search the green window after the game. I'm the one who's offended here. Who you callin' a con artist...?

Jang Myeong-bu the raccoon, Park Cheol-soon the phoenix, Sun Dong-yeol the Mt. Mudeung bomber. Tae-woong had heard their legends endlessly during his ten years playing in Korea before heading to the States. But he'd only known their names and vague feats. He never imagined this level of dominance. Even if told to do it now, he couldn't.

"Is this the end of the achievements? 'KBO Achievement List' suggests other leagues too."

Ace:Of course not. MLB and NPB have their own.

"Yeah, that's for later. Show me the rest first."

Ace:Wise choice, meatballer. No one succeeds by obsessing over the present over the future.

Ace clapped again with a chuckle, and the next list appeared.

After checking the second list, Tae-woong abandoned any hope of easy achievements. Not just the records' difficulty—wins depended on the team, and MVPs/Golden Gloves were tied to team success in the KBO.

"Alright, shattering even the tiniest hope, huh."

Ace:Honestly, throw till you drop and maybe one'll happen?

"Yeah. Die once more and it might work. But if this is page two, what's with the question marks?"

Ace:Beats me.

"What? You don't know? Didn't learn that getting caught bullshitting draws blood?"

Ace:For real. I told you—I'm just part of the system, not the whole thing.

Tae-woong eyed him suspiciously despite the explanation.

"Fine, I'll play along. Even if I know better."

Ace:Paranoid much? Anyway, I don't know the full list yet either.

"Guess we'll find out eventually. Show me page three."

Ace clapped silently, flipping the page. As Tae-woong read from the top, catcher Ha Chan called out.

"Tae-woong, time to warm up."

"Oh, time flew. Yeah, hyung! Getting ready now."

Ace:Check the rest after the game. Peeking early won't change squat.

"True enough. Let's go."

Tae-woong grabbed his glove and cap, heading out of the dugout.

* * *

Top ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the 7th. Wiz got two on with hits but went down quietly, stranding them. Bottom of the 7th. Still on the mound for Wiz, Tae-woong's One More After Out skill made it feel like the 1st inning all over again.

Normally, a starter in the 7th loses stamina and focus—grip weakens, pitches sail high. Rookies especially rush, overgrip, and cough up mistakes. But not Tae-woong today.

—Seo Tae-woong allowed a leadoff single to Heo Kyung-man in the 7th but induced a grounder from Park Geon-woong on a changeup, turning a 6-4-3 double play. With two outs, he faced cleanup hitter Kim Jae-hwang with curve-fastball-curve, popping him up to the outfield on three pitches to end the inning.

—Seo Tae-woong's pitch count is high, but his precise control shows plenty of gas left. Still, he'll probably be done next inning.

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

—That's our Staewoong. See that big-breaking curve to Kim Jae-hwang? Flew right into a pop-up. Kid's got endless talent—I'm tellin' ya.

He wrapped the 7th scoreless and returned to the dugout, where Kim Jin-woong approached.

"Good work. Pitched great."

"Nah, Director. More pitches, more fun."

"Pitch count's up. Wanna call it?"

"Huh? Well, I..."

His actual count was under 30 thanks to the skill, but he couldn't say that. Directors knew rookies wrecked themselves with overuse, so they pulled back early. He could've thrown 70-80 more, but instead, he negotiated.

"Director, how about one more inning to the 8th? You saw—I'm fine. Or till the first runner on."

"Hmm?"

Kim Jin-woong pondered: pull him for bullpen to save stamina, or let him go one more for confidence and experience?

No easy answer. He turned to Jeong Myeong-eon.

"Coach Jeong, thoughts? Keep Tae-woong in? Or stop here?"

Jeong answered without hesitation.

"Keep going. Let him till one on, then pull. That's the fire of youth."

"Yeah? If you say so. You hear that, Tae-woong?"

"Yes! Thanks!"

"Stay loose. Grab an ion drink and banana from the fridge."

"Got it!"

Ace:You a man or a monkey? How many bananas is that?

"They're ripe. And only three so far."

Ace:Gonna lean forward throwing later. Ball and banana same color—kinda cheating, but cool.

"Whatever. I'm hungry."

Ace:Yes, sir. Swallow first, ya brute. Who’s gonna steal it?

As Tae-woong devoured his banana like Jane Goodall's chimps, two seniors nearby argued.

"No, for real. Saw it on my phone before getting off the bus."

"Cut the BS. Guy getting hit in the nuts is the fourth-worst pain humans can feel? Makes zero sense."

"Was so wild, I memorized top five. 1: burning alive. 2: finger/toe amputation. 3: childbirth. 4: nut shot. 5: chronic back pain. Cancer and muscle tears below that."

"Wyverns' Hee-seong hyung had back pain and got nut-shot, right?"

"Oh yeah? He has chronic back pain too?"

"Think so. Few years back, said one start left him bedridden next day."

"Next Wyverns game, ask him. Too weird for phone."

"Yeah. Shoulda asked at dinner three days ago..."

Ace, observing Tae-woong's feast, overheard too.

Ace:For real? Pain has rankings? Wild.

"Huh? What?"

Ace:That convo next to us. Nut shot fourth-worst? True?

Tae-woong, half-listening, chimed in.

"Dunno? Only muscle tear from overtraining—side ripped, hurt like hell."

Ace:Huh. So there's truth to it. Nut shot fourth... fascinating.

"Why's a guy who can't get hit so curious? You're the fascinating one."

Ace:Can't experience it myself—that's why it's intriguing.

"That curious? Someday I'll try it and report back."

Ace:For real?

"Yeah, but no clue when."

Ace:Still, it'll happen eventually. Dying to know—how'll I wait?

"That eager to see me suffer?"

Ace:Misunderstanding. Pure pursuit of knowledge.

At that moment, Tae-woong had no idea what the 8th would bring.