Manager Kim Jin-woong Pens Tae-woong's Name on the First-Team Spring Camp Roster

The moment Kim Jin-woong, the manager, wrote Tae-woong's name on the final line of the first-team spring camp roster.

Having finished all the bullpen tests, Tae-woong showered with a refreshed mind.

Shwaaaaa.

"Ughhh, this feels good. So refreshing!"

Words that no twenty-year-old fresh out of high school would ever utter slipped from Tae-woong's mouth.

The ears of a middle-aged man who knew how to savor the shift from warmth to coolness caught the sound, and a message popped up.

"Yes! Awesome! Nice! Very good!"

In a situation where even 0.5km/h, no, 0.1km/h mattered, his velocity shot up by a full 1km/h.

Overjoyed, Tae-woong spotted Kang Baek-ho slowly entering the players-only shower and charged at him.

"Hey, you! Kang Baek-ho! Baek-ho! We did it! I did it!"

"Aaaah! Stay back! Get away! You crazy bastard! Get lost! I like girls!"

A 2-meter giant, covered head to toe in suds, barreling toward him with something flopping in the middle—it was pretty terrifying.

Unfortunately, the senior players watching just dismissed it as cute rookie antics and let it slide.

"Aaaah! Seniors, save me! Anyone! Please! Help!"

The sheer power difference from that 199cm frame was impossible to handle.

Just then, the bullpen catcher and pitching coach noticed the scene.

This was the second time they'd seen Tae-woong in such high spirits today.

"I told you, Coach. He's a total psycho."

"Yeah. Definitely not normal. But you're lucky. At least that nutjob's a rookie, not your senior."

"If a psycho like that was my senior, I'd quit baseball. Ugh, gives me chills."

And sure enough, goosebumps rippled across the arm he extended to the coach.

Having aced the first-team spring camp tests, Tae-woong strode home proudly.

As he opened the front door, his family—who'd been waiting all day—greeted him warmly.

"I'm home!"

"Tae-woong? You worked hard on those tests today. Hungry? Let's eat dinner quick."

His parents and sister.

Before his regression, Tae-woong had always felt guilty toward his family.

But now, the weary faces of his parents, worn from endless work and streaked with white hair, were gone. His sister's hollow eyes from night shifts to pay off debts piled up because of him—they were gone too.

His family looked exactly as they had 17 years ago, just like him.

It had felt awkward at first, but family was family.

He'd occasionally get called an old soul for habits slipping out unconsciously, but after a few days, they just shrugged it off.

He hugged each one tightly, vowing to succeed this time around.

"Yes, that's me. Who's this?"

"Oh, right. What can I do for you?"

The next day, Tae-woong got the call confirming his spot in the first-team overseas training.

He'd expected it after the mission cleared yesterday, but hearing it directly felt great.

"Yes! We're in!"

He forgot the call was still connected and yelled into his smartphone.

"Ah. Yes. Sorry. I got too carried away..."

"Yes, thank you! Stay warm and don't catch a cold!"

After hanging up with the team staffer, the second beginner mission appeared before Tae-woong's eyes.

'Oh! A mission? Reward's ten B-Grade Enhancement Tickets?'

Checking the details, Tae-woong spotted the fine print.

(At 0.2x slow motion)

"No way... 5,000 times each at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠0.2x speed? With my five pitches, that's... 25,000 reps? And failure drops all pitches by 1? No wonder it seemed too easy."

What choice did he have? He was the one desperate. If it said throw, he'd throw.

Tae-woong steeled himself, reaffirming his goal.

"I'm signing a 10-billion-won FA deal! 10 billion! No, 100 billion!"

Except for eating, sleeping, and washing, he never let go of the ball, diving into slow-motion training.

Two weeks had passed since Tae-woong started his second mission.

Today, like always, he left home at 7 a.m. and swung a towel slowly—very slowly—until sunset.

He had to finish before heading to Arizona tomorrow.

For two weeks straight, he'd done nothing but shadow pitch nonstop in the indoor practice facility.

No actual throws, just gripping and motioning—but the sheer volume made it tougher than expected.

He'd become the first to arrive at Wiz Park, the AT Wiz home stadium, and the last to leave every night.

Pouring all his focus into training had finally brought the end into sight.

"Phew... Almost there? How much left?"

"The end's in sight!"

Tae-woong started calling out the reps.

"4,998! Two more! Hah! 4,999! One left! Hup! 5,000! Done! Wooaaaaaah! It's over! I did it! I freaking did it!"

Alone in the empty indoor facility after everyone went home, Tae-woong tossed the towel and screamed in joy.

"Ugh, look at these hand stains on the towel. Filthy."

The towel had started white, but now no trace of white remained in his grip.

"System! Rewards! Gimme the rewards! Quick! Level up!"

Without hesitation, Tae-woong chose velocity... but.

The message left him deflated.

"Damn... Didn't see that coming. So where do I use these?"

No velocity upgrades meant tough choices. Boosting control seemed solid. His two-seam fastball, with its dirty movement over the four-seam, wasn't bad either. For a slow pitcher like him, changeup and curve were essentials too.

'But first...'

After a moment's thought, Tae-woong decided.

"Alright! Control it is!"

Holding his breath to avoid any interference, he burned through seven tickets in a row. The results were brutal.

'Typical Korean gacha luck...'

Tae-woong was reminded anew that 9% was brutally low.

"Damn, I expected fails, but seven in a row? What kind of reward is this!"

Only three tickets left.

"If these flop too, the whole mission's wasted... Please! Just one!"

He squeezed his eyes shut and used the last three in a frenzy.

When he opened them...

"Huh?"

Control had jumped from 35 to a whopping 41—a +6 boost.

Tae-woong quickly checked what 40 meant.

40: 25-man roster mainstay, MLB 5th starter / KBO 1st starter

The ace level for his KBO league!

The shock didn't end there.

'MLB 5th starter level? Me?'

He'd spent more time in KBO 2nd team than 1st, but he'd watched closely enough to gauge it roughly.

MLB? Not even Triple-A for him before. He couldn't even fathom it.

This was unimaginable for his pre-regression self.

"Jackpot! Me? Hahaha! Mom, Dad, your son's pulling it off!"

Tae-woong reveled in the thrill of success matching his grind.

And finally, the next day.

The Arizona-bound flight departed Korea.

"Tae-woong, got all your stuff?"

"Sis, I've checked like ten times. Relax."

"You always forget something."

"I'm not a kid..."

"Son, be safe. Call when you can. Nothing left behind?"

"Yeah, Mom. I'll text and KakaoTalk too, so don't worry."

"Don't get hurt, son!"

"Got it, Dad. It's cold—head in quick."

After sending his parents inside first, Tae-woong turned back for one last look at the house.

A cramped 16-pyeong public apartment, twice his age, slated for demolition in three years for redevelopment.

His family had clung to it until the wrecking ball nearly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hit.

Half his signing bonus from the New York Yankees went to debts; the rest vanished on U.S. living expenses.

'This time, I'll take care of you all—Mom, Dad, Sis! Just trust me!'

Grinding his teeth in resolve, Tae-woong headed into Incheon Airport.

Arizona is famous for spring training alongside Florida.

Teams from the U.S., Japan, Korea, and beyond flock here.

Warm weather, MLB spring games, top facilities, and costs make it ideal.

Back in his minor league days, Tae-woong had sweated day and night here every winter.

'Came just once for overseas camp after returning to Korea.'

Over six years by the calendar—a long time—but Arizona's sun still welcomed him warmly.

The Wiz squad had arrived a week ago.

Having tasted American soil before, Tae-woong adapted to jet lag faster than anyone and jumped into training.

Of course, his own drive played a part, but starting so quick wasn't 100% voluntary.

System messages nagged him relentlessly whenever he slowed, like an annoying sister-in-law.

'Huff huff, gonna die! "Legs visible"? What bullshit is that? Right on arrival? Damn, if not for the rewards. That 1km/h's got me hooked!'

It popped up the moment he dropped his bags in the hotel room after the airport and bus ride.

'Why now? No mission when I could train leisurely, but when I'm jet-lagged to hell?'

The first two days, his body wasn't right—couldn't risk injury by pushing.

So over the remaining five, he was grinding ~20km daily, half-dead.

Luckily, most players were still jet-lagged, so no group sessions yet. As a rookie, he could train solo outside morning basics.

Each stride brought a hologram with some mystery creator's shitty cheers and a pedometer-like distance tracker.

'Wish this crap would vanish. Giving me grief then "medicine"?'

Wiping sweat and looking ahead revealed new "encouragement" and remaining distance.

"System! You bastard! I'll finish this run just to spite you!"