Six Weeks to the Mound
Other than the Wiz, the four games between the remaining eight teams all wrapped up smoothly without a single comeback. That allowed news about Tae-woong to spread far and wide. And whether it was because they saw it as someone else's misfortune or not, people's reactions were even hotter than he'd imagined.
He couldn't go around replying to every single comment from all these people just to clear up misunderstandings.
"Man, this is insane. Should I make an SNS account right now or what?"
Before his regression, he'd been constantly trashed for not even being worth the minimum salary, so after going pro, Tae-woong had deleted all his SNS accounts and cut ties completely.
"When was the last time I even touched SNS? Feels like it's been about fifteen years..."
He figured he'd have to start up again eventually, but not right this second.
First, finish rehab. Throw a flashy comeback game. Then that night, drop a cool MVP interview. Snap a selfie—bam! Perfect.
Tae-woong drifted off to sleep, lost in fantasies of a distant future.
The next morning, after choking down a so-called "healthy" meal that tasted like cardboard, Tae-woong headed to the doctor with Manager No to hear about his injury, treatment, and rehab plan.
"Player Seo Tae-woong, no issues overnight, right? I didn't get to see you yesterday since my schedule was clear—no consultations—so nice to meet you."
"Ah, yeah. Hello."
"I'm originally from Suwon, so I've been a Wiz fan since the team's inception. I was at the game live yesterday, and when you collapsed in the eighth, I about jumped out of my skin."
The doctor wasted no time revealing himself as a die-hard Wiz fan, expressing his regrets before diving into the exam.
"Player Seo Tae-woong, no drinking or smoking, I assume?"
"Of course not. I only drink occasionally in the off-season. Never touched a cigarette in my life."
"Good to hear. Plenty of baseball players love their booze and smokes, and that really slows down injury recovery."
"Ah, got it."
"The dislocation itself wasn't too severe, luckily, and the manual reduction went quick and clean. Rehab should take about three to four weeks, then another two weeks to get your feel back once you're cleared. Give it a generous six weeks total for full return. No need to rush."
"Of course."
"We'll start with skin traction—you know, that adhesive tape athletes use—to stabilize the joint and gradually rebuild muscle strength. Then progressive weight-bearing, and finally aim for full range of motion. Got it?"
The explanation dragged on, but since it mirrored the rehab he'd gone through before regressing, Tae-woong followed most of it easily.
"Yes, I understand."
He answered politely, but in his head, Tae-woong was calculating the effects of yesterday's item, Madecassol.
Three weeks until full recovery...
If it tripled his healing speed, that meant about a week. Then another week of practice pitching and basics in the second team to shake off rust before starting as a second-team ace.
The real question is getting back into the first-team rotation after that... But I can worry about that later. Pass for now.
"Player Seo Tae-woong, since you mentioned some dizziness and headache from the spinal anesthesia aftereffects, rest in your room today. We'll start rehab tomorrow at 10 a.m.—I've got you slotted in."
"Yes, understood."
"And before you go, could I get an autograph? Maybe a photo together too? Big fan personally, but with my job, I never catch you after games. Haha."
"Of course. Hyung Seung-min, mind snapping a pic?"
After the checkup, Tae-woong crutched back to his room and rested as instructed. His headache lingered a bit, and moving too much now could aggravate the injury site.
"Hyung Seung-min, how about some ox bone soup? They say the place across the street is killer."
"Sounds good. Corporate card, so I'll be right back."
Around lunchtime, fed up with the bland hospital slop, Tae-woong convinced Manager No Seung-min to fetch two bowls to go. Just as he was unpacking them to dig in, the door swung open and four familiar faces piled in.
"Manager! Coach! Captain! And Baek-ho!"
It was Manager Kim Jin-woong, Coach Jeong Myeong-eon, team captain Park Kyung-seo, and his sole first-team classmate, Kang Baek-ho.
"Hey, Tae-woong. How's the body holding up?"
"Better than yesterday, at least."
"Tae-woong, does it hurt bad? I dislocated my hip a few years back—woke up from anesthesia at thirty and bawled like a baby from the pain."
"Ah, Manager, I should be discharged by dinner, so you didn't have to come all this way..."
"Cut it out. It's our off day, so we swung by together. Don't get ahead of yourself."
His gruff tone couldn't hide the worry. Personally, he fretted over his protégé like a son; as manager, he had to scout starters with Tae-woong out for weeks alongside the coaches.
"Thanks for visiting despite your busy schedules."
The manager, pitching coach, and captain handed over a box of drinks they'd picked up en route, inquiring about his discomforts. After some chit-chat, they left with Manager No for the doctor's office, leaving just Baek-ho and Tae-woong in the spacious room.
"Yo, why'd you come? Not here just to mess with me, right?"
It didn't look like a major injury, so Baek-ho instinctively started ribbing him.
"Nah, spot on. Here to gawk at a eunuch. So this is what one looks like. Wild. First time seeing one in the flesh. Thanks for the life experience, buddy."
"You psycho..."
"Saw the article. Six weeks real?"
As Baek-ho asked, the news pegged Tae-woong's return at five to six weeks out. Sports fans knew the drill: most players beat those estimates, barring exceptions. Overrun them, and fan rage targeted the team and reporters for bad info—not the athlete. Especially for stars or hyped rookies like Kang Baek-ho or Seo Tae-woong; any delay amplified the backlash.
"Eh, probably less than six. Still close to a month, though."
"A month's huge."
"Yeah. But what can ya do? Thank your stars you didn't lose the whole season."
"Plus escaping eunuch status."
"Yeah, thanks for the reminder, asshole."
"So discharge tonight, rehab starts tomorrow?"
"Yup. Morning schedule locked in."
"Never been hurt myself, so no clue, but they say it's brutal. Seniors claim rehab's worse than surgery."
"Figures. Surgery's anesthetized, done in a day max."
"Wanna see you writhe in agony firsthand. Shame."
"You saw it yesterday, dick."
"Yesterday was too sudden—no buildup. I'm prepped now. Got two, so spare one's fine. Pop the other."
"Crazy bastard thinks it's a water balloon."
"It ain't? Lmao. Never taken one myself. Cut me some slack—you're the expert."
"Hope you foul one off right into your nuts someday. Soon as I'm mobile, I'll do 108 bows every night before bed."
They bantered on. About fifteen minutes later, the group returned from the doctor's, business done.
"Manager's back?"
"Yeah, Tae-woong. Roughly six weeks to return? Three for rehab alone?"
"Yes, that's what I heard this morning. Doc said even at best, about five weeks."
"Mm... yeah. Don't rush early and worsen it—take it slow till you're fully healed."
"Yes, Manager."
As the manager finished, Coach Jeong Myeong-eon chimed in.
"Tae-woong, you know I was first to you on the mound and in the dugout yesterday?"
"Sorry. Vision was all purple haze—no memory."
"Check the replay later; you'll see. Plus, I've got solid proof."
"Huh? Proof?"
"Yup, proof."
Coach Jeong rolled up his pant leg to mid-calf, revealing a handprint-sized purple bruise.
That must hurt like hell. Kinda matches my hand size...
Tae-woong's question answered itself.
"You latched onto my leg with both hands yesterday, twisted it like a towel till I thought it'd snap. Lucky you passed out—twenty more seconds, and I'd be limping backward."
"That... rings a bell. Was in so much pain, no clue what I did. Sorry. Leg okay?"
"Forget it. Badge of honor—wanted to show it off. Reminder not to forget me when you hit it big. Heh."
"Of course, Coach. Soon as I FA and cash in, top-shelf health gift sets every year."
"Heh, that's a ways off."
"Not far, Coach. Less than ten years."
"Ten years? I'll be sixty-plus. Hurry up—too old, and even premium stuff's wasted."
"Just trust me."
Manager Kim Jin-woong, who'd been listening, cut in.
"Tae-woong, spoiling the coach and ditching your manager?"
"Ditching? Obviously you're next..."
"So health sets for Coach—what's mine?"
"Manager, that's..."
"See? Wasn't even on your radar."
"No! I had it planned!"
Tae-woong knew Coach Jeong was a health food nut but drew a blank on Manager Kim beyond instant coffee.
"Lifetime supply of mix coffee for you, Manager!"
"Bwahahaha!"
"Kek—cough, cough."
The room erupted; Baek-ho laughed till he choked.
Manager Kim shook his head. "Little punk."
Captain Park Kyung-seo piled on. "Manager, this rookie's getting cheeky."
"Right? Can't let him FA if Coach hogs all the goodies—better keep him in the minors."
"No! Manager, please—not that!" Tae-woong clasped his hands in plea.
"Hahaha!"
The laughter echoed till they left.