Prologue - Relief Pitcher, Number 54, Roy Yoo
A somewhat out-of-place figure stepped onto the field. Tanned yellow skin, black eyes. He was East Asian. Around 183 centimeters tall—not small even compared to his peers. The opposing batter watching him, and even those in the dugout, wore tense expressions.
Everyone on this field knew this left-handed East Asian was the ace of the enemy team.
State championship final. With only the last inning left, the dugout had no choice but to tense up at the sight of the opposing ace taking the mound. All eyes focused on Roy Yoo.
As the umpire signaled play ball, Roy Yoo locked eyes with the batter. He then went into his windup, gripping the ball hard in his hand. His foot dug into the mound, his arm whipped forward powerfully, and the ball shot free toward the catcher's mitt.
It's impressive to discover what you want to do in the future earlier than most, when others are still wandering lost. And being born with talent for it is one of life's great strokes of luck.
He was one such lucky soul.
From childhood, his dream had been to become a baseball player. Not only that, but he was endowed with exceptional talent as an athlete—far superior to most. Crucially, his passion for the game burned brighter than anyone's.
His family environment was perfect for pursuing baseball as a career. There had been a brief spell of misfortune in his early years, but even that had swiftly transformed into fortune.
Circumstances at home and abroad aligned to let him declare "baseball player" as his future aspiration. He spent his school days in America, baseball's heartland, standing out head and shoulders even among countless young prospects chasing the same dream.
From middle school onward, he drew the gaze of big-league scouts. They dreamed of the joy of drafting him and watching him blossom into a superstar for their team.
But his golden era didn't last long. A common yet devastating misfortune struck: an injury to his left shoulder.
It was more than enough to send a rising young star plummeting into oblivion. He didn't recover well, falling from promising prospect to just another face in the crowd.
Yet he never gave up. His passion and effort were worthy of acclaim, but such praise only comes when those qualities yield tangible results others can recognize.
He switched from lefty to righty pitcher. He barely scraped a contract with a major league club but bounced between minor league teams, never cracking the majors. At just twenty-eight—a young age—he finally received his release papers.
On the day the notice arrived, Roy sat on the sofa in his tiny apartment. Today, the cramped space felt like a metaphor for his pathetic career, weighing even heavier on his heart.
Just ten years ago, every scout had sung his praises without end. Now, he was being told his playing days were over.
He pondered the biggest mistake in his baseball life.
When reflecting on one's path, if no flaws come to mind, there's something wrong with that person. Roy Yoo—Yoo Min-hoo—was no exception, but he had a crystal-clear grasp of his life's fatal error.
The pivotal moment was exactly ten years back, right when his shoulder injury first hit amid his meteoric rise.
He'd been young and foolish then. Overwhelmed by the pressure to hold onto his top spot, he'd pushed rehab too hard for a quick return. A classic case. Terrified of becoming ordinary, he'd ruined himself instead. He'd received his "death notice" as a pro before even starting.
In a way, switching arms after shredding his shoulder and surviving this long was an achievement. But in the end, he was just one of thousands—tens of thousands—of mediocre players who never touched the big leagues.
"……."
Crash!
Bang!
Silence shattered as he suddenly flipped the table in front of him. He threw his head back, covering his face with his hands. Self-mockery crashed over him. A hollow, screw-loose chuckle escaped as he slumped against the sofa, doing nothing more.
Ring ring ring—!
Ring ring ring—!
The familiar alarm jolted Yoo Min-hoo from his foggy daze.
When did I fall asleep?
He clutched his throbbing head.
I didn't even drink last night?
His skull felt ready to split for no reason. Puzzling over it, he sighed faintly at the mess he'd made of the place yesterday.
Lucky the cops didn't show.
Recalling his rampage in frustration, it wouldn't have shocked him if they'd come. As he sighed again and tried to sit up—
"Roy! Breakfast?"
A woman's voice rang out. Roy froze. He knew that voice well.
Mouth agape in a daze, he opened his eyes. A familiar yet strange ceiling greeted him. Definitely not his dingy studio.
Bang!
The door flew open. A stunning blonde in comfy clothes stood there, lips pouting attractively.
"How long you gonna stay in bed?"
It was a face Yoo Min-hoo knew intimately. But younger—easily ten years.
"Uh…… so, is this a dream?"
"Did you hit your head when you hurt your shoulder?"
Tsking worriedly, she approached and smacked his forehead. It stung.
She stared silently at Yoo Min-hoo gaping and blinking, then left the room shouting,
"Roy's acting weird!"
Hearing her voice fade, Yoo Min-hoo frantically grabbed for the phone by the bed.
Not his phone either. This model had been cutting-edge ten years ago—unfindable now.
Turning on the screen, Roy let out an incredulous chuckle. Yeah, a dream. Had to be.
The date was bizarre: 2016/1/11.
The day after he'd returned home from the hospital post-shoulder surgery.