Protagonist (3)
The outdoor track in front of Goyang City Gymnasium.
What lay scattered across the ground was not grain, not chili peppers — nothing of the sort.
Hah— hah—
Ragged breathing. The taste of iron at the back of every throat.
"Hah! Hyung-nim! You can't just— hah— jack up the pace at the end with no warning! Hah—"
"S-sorry. I didn't mean to…"
Jae-hun had been running out front for a long stretch when he glanced back, saw Ara keeping pace without trouble, and felt a petty competitive spark catch fire. Around the fifty-minute mark he suddenly pushed the tempo — and the whole group ended up running a full kilometer past what they'd planned.
Most of the Invincible Baseball players were sprawled flat on the ground. Even the ones still on their feet were bent double, clutching their knees, barely managing to suck air. And yet every single pair of eyes found the same place.
Where all those stares converged, Ara stood perfectly upright, wiping sweat with the back of her hand.
So her stamina's decent enough, then…?
Hoo— hah—
"Well, damn — Ara-ssi looks fine as can be… You been workin' out or what?"
Kang Jun-hyeon, still lying on his back nearby, drawled the question in thick dialect.
"Yes. I've been going to the gym."
"That so, huh…. Must be the youth. Stamina's real good. Ahh, I'm dyin' over here."
Ara glanced around. Honestly, this run had been a mild disappointment. She'd tensed up at the thought of racing people who'd once made the national team — and it had turned out far more manageable than expected.
Well, they are all retired. And older.
The last ten minutes had pushed her hard enough, but not so hard she couldn't keep going.
If I'd kept that pace another twenty minutes, maybe then I'd have hit the wall?
Judging by what she had left in the tank, that felt about right.
Anyway. Good.
Stamina was all she'd shown so far — but maybe, just maybe, her image had improved a little.
Tweeeet—
Kwon Se-hoon blew his whistle and walked over.
"Good work, everyone. You all took off pretty hard there at the end — you didn't overdo it, did you?"
He spoke to the players while letting his gaze slide sideways to Ara.
This one looks fine. Stamina: pass.
"Bodies loosened up now? All right — we'll break into position-specific drills. Everybody up."
They hauled themselves to their feet in a ragged shuffle and started filing into the gymnasium.
"Coach Kwon. Here."
Lee Jae-hun handed the stopwatch back.
"So? How's Ara-ssi?"
"Hmm…"
Jae-hun had run at the front the whole time, watching her carefully.
"Stamina's on par with active players — maybe better. I spiked the pace out of nowhere and her breathing never changed. Stayed completely even…"
He looked after Ara's retreating back with a complicated expression.
"And she still looks like she's got plenty left."
"So not just a passing grade."
This was the kind of performance that deserved bonus points. If there'd been a score sheet, that was exactly how he would have marked it.
But baseball wasn't a sport you won on stamina alone. Technique and feel mattered enormously — and for a pitcher, even more so.
The real test started now.
"I'll catch for her."
Jae-hun said it flat.
"Huh? You're catching her yourself?"
"We're a battery either way. I should be the first one to take her pitches."
"Well — do whatever works for you."
The last two still standing on the track headed back into the gymnasium.
"What are you all doing clustered here instead of getting ready for individual drills?"
Inside the gymnasium, Kwon Se-hoon approached the knot of players and asked.
"Come on, Coach Kwon, don't be so rigid. The rookie's here. We want to see what she can do too. Right?"
"Ah — Manager."
Manager Kim Hak-geun, severe-looking as ever, scolded Kwon in a deceptively oily tone.
"Understood."
Kwon figured it worked out fine.
I was curious myself anyway.
"What, you're catching the rookie's pitches yourself?"
"Yes, Manager."
Lee Jae-hun was already fully geared up in catcher's equipment.
Meanwhile, Ara stood face-to-face with pitching coach Kim Byeong-heun.
"All right, rookie. I'll start by teaching you how to loosen up the shoulder."
"Yes, Coach."
Kim Byeong-heun walked her through everything from the ground up, patient and thorough.
They call him Beopgyu-hyeong, so I figured he'd be a foul-mouthed hardass…
He was the first person here who'd actually been kind to her.
She followed his instructions through a long stretch of shoulder work — and that was when it hit her.
Ugh, this is so distracting.
Players and production staff had ringed her in, watching.
Don't these people have their own drills?
The thought crossed her mind, but then again — put yourself in their shoes. A rookie mercenary, and a woman at that, about to throw live pitches for the team? Of course they were interested. These were people who'd spent their entire lives on baseball.
Ara swung her arm in a big circle, finished loosening the shoulder, and pulled on the glove she'd been issued — onto her right hand.
"Rookie. You a natural lefty?"
Kim Byeong-heun asked, eyeing the glove.
"No. I'm right-handed."
"Huh?"
He looked startled — and the people around them who'd overheard went restless too.
"Huh?"
Ah, crap. Mistake. Should've just said I was left-handed.
A flicker of regret — but words already spoken couldn't be scooped back up.
"Th-then is something wrong with your right hand? Have you injured it?"
Kim Byeong-heun pressed on regardless.
"What? Oh — no? It's fine."
"Then why are you throwing lefty?"
The expected question landed.
"That's…"
"That's…?"
That's…?
Kim Byeong-heun and everyone within earshot waited for her answer.
"Well…. Last time, when I was looking up reference for a ceremonial first pitch, the pitcher I happened to study was a lefty, so…"
She couldn't bring herself to say it was because of a special perk.
Not that I'd say it anyway. They wouldn't believe me. And technically it's not even a lie, is it?
"……"
"……"
The space around her went quiet.
"……?"
The offhand sentence she'd tossed out left a much bigger crater than she'd expected.
She wants us to believe that?
Is she messing with us right now?
That's… pretty damn arrogant…
She'd casually looked up a pitcher for a ceremonial first pitch, that pitcher happened to be left-handed, and so she threw lefty — even though she was right-handed herself?
These were legendary players. They'd faced countless talents over the years. Real geniuses had absolutely existed among them.
But even among those freaks of nature — none of them had ever been this brazen. Not once in their lives.
……?
Ara stood there fidgeting under the weight of those cold, displeased stares in the silence.
"Puhahahahahaha!!!"
Manager Kim Hak-geun was the one who broke it.
"Rookie. That's a funny thing to say!"
He pushed out of the crowd and came toward her.
"Ah — Manager. Hello. It's an honor to meet you."
Ara bowed politely.
"Yes. Good to meet you too."
He returned the greeting warmly enough.
"That said — about what you just claimed. Can you handle it, rookie?"
The kindly smile vanished. A severe-faced man stood in its place.
"Pardon?"
"Look around you."
"?"
Not sure what he meant, Ara turned and scanned the circle.
They're glaring daggers…
"What you just said amounts to denying every bit of effort the people in this room have poured into this game."
Huh? How does that follow?
She shouted it inwardly; it didn't reach anyone.
He pointed at a camera with its red recording light on.
"And beyond that — it says the efforts of every athlete watching on the other side of that screen don't mean a thing either. Overwhelming talent that tramples effort. That's what you just put in your mouth, rookie."
Ah… ha.
Ara roughly got it. Something people spent years of blood and sweat just barely learning to do — she'd solved with a single click.
So I basically announced to their faces that I'm a monstrous talent freak…?
And she'd said it out loud, with her own mouth. No wonder they were staring her down.
But there was nothing to be done. She had no real way to explain it, and no intention of trying. The words were already out. This was a recorded broadcast — they could edit it — but the senior teammates she'd be working with for the next month and a half had all heard it live.
Spoken words don't get taken back.
Ha… nothing for it. This was my screw-up either way……
So: strategy change. The plan where she got iced out at first, worked her ass off, and finally earned recognition as the plucky little rookie? Scrapped.
"Rookie. Take it back right now. Apologize to the seniors here, tell the PD to cut it in editing, and we're done. If you don't — you'll have to prove yourself every single moment from here on."
Kim Hak-geun came on hard. He clearly couldn't stomach what she'd said either.
But Ara had already decided. It was the truth. What else was there?
"No. It's a simple fact, Manager."
She met his stern gaze head-on.
"Huh."
"I just have to prove it, don't I?"
"That's right…. Prove it and it's settled. Confident, are you, rookie?"
"Yes."
Confidence in her skill and talent — or just pure bluster…
Those clear, shining gold eyes projected certainty. Believing it was another matter entirely.
One thing's sure. She's going to get herself hated…
That was Kim Hak-geun's thought — and a moment later, the first wave of that hatred stepped into the circle.
Lee Jae-hun, fully geared, who'd been watching the whole exchange.
"Rookie. Prove it with your arm."
"Yes."
"……"
Beside them, Kim Byeong-heun was still looking at Ara with a complicated expression.
"We'll be watching."
Kim Hak-geun stepped down from the stage. Lee Jae-hun moved out to the catcher's position at a distance.
"Rookie…"
Beopgyu-hyeong held out a baseball to her.
"Shoulder's fully loose?"
"Yes."
Despite everything that had just happened, he still treated her gently.
"First pitch is a fastball. You know the grip?"
"Yes. I know it."
"Good. Jae-hun! First pitch — fastball!"
Beopgyu-hyeong called out to Lee Jae-hun, eighteen-point-four-four meters away.
A nod.
"All right, rookie. Once Jae-hun sets, you can start your windup."
"Yes, Coach."
A nod — then Beopgyu-hyeong stepped three paces back, out of her line of sight.
Ara looked down at the baseball in her hand.
Ahh, how did it come to this…. Should I just never have done that ceremonial pitch?
She should've stuck to gaming.
Ah — no. That doesn't feel right either.
She looked around.
I'm cooked. Completely cooked.
Her first variety show appearance, supposedly a landmark moment — and this was how it was going?
Anyway.
She remembered what PD Choi Jae-woo had told her.
The protagonist of this scene is me.
That much was still true.
Lee Jae-hun settled into his crouch, mitt ready.
Ara nestled the ball into her glove and took a fastball grip.
Randy Jones
Well. The protagonist doesn't have to be the good guy.
She squeezed down hard.
Every story needed a villain.
That villain. I'll do it.
Her new strategy: protagonist and villain. Or boss.
Ara lifted her right leg and began the windup.
She hadn't bragged about it, but she had been training hard. Hard enough to hit a combined four hundred twenty kilos on the big three. Lower-body strength was up. Her core was denser, tighter.
After the windup came the stride. Power gathered in the driving right leg. Lower-body force. The instant the foot planted, her center of mass transferred forward.
Now the release point. Weight already fully over the right foot. Core and balance. Her waist turned and the left arm followed through in a natural chase. Follow-through. Here, the elasticity and spring she'd been born with took over — the chasing hand fled forward, her waist folded, the right leg locked firm, and the left foot kicked lightly up and back on a diagonal.
From fingertips cracked like a whip, a white ball with red seams leapt free.
One seamless chain of motion. All of it in less than a second.
This is different from last time.
Not like the ceremonial pitch. Her strength had been relatively lacking then. More than that — her body condition was completely different now.
I've already been running for an hour. Fully warmed up.
On top of that, she'd loosened her shoulder thoroughly the way Kim Byeong-heun had taught her. The sensation at her fingertips was on another level from before.
A growing protagonist is getting boring, isn't it?
So she'd become something else.
THWOOOOM—!!!
!!!!
A massive crack of impact rang through the gymnasium. Ara locked her eyes on the baseball buried in Lee Jae-hun's mitt.
The strongest munchkin villain.
Beep—
The radar gun caught her pitch. The second pitching of this life.
A left-handed fireballer built to deliver despair had just arrived.
Ara had finally done it. The courage to be hated.
Hah—
An invisible breath of air left her lips. Those gold eyes turned toward the camera, and today they shone especially bright.
Well. Being the villain is familiar enough.