Instant Combatant
It's an instant combatant, right?
The baseball coach stared at me silently for a moment before pulling out the speed gun. "Let's measure the velocity once."
He walked toward the mound. "Velocity? It didn't feel that fast..."
"That's how underhand pitching is. Try it one more time."
I gave a short "Got it" and gripped the ball again. The sensation of the seams against my fingers felt even clearer than before. Sigh... But I have no idea how I threw it like that... Just try again for now.
I lowered my body again and threw the ball toward the catcher. With the characteristically low trajectory of an underhand pitch, the ball flew low and straight, sucked right into the catcher's mitt.
Pop...
'Good, the ball went in clean. So what about the speed?'
The coach checked the numbers. "125 kph, Jeong-ui."
"Pardon, Coach?"
"With underhand, even pros consider around 130 decent."
He seemed lost in thought for a second before adding, "That means at the high school level, this velocity is more than serviceable. Looking just at your fastball speed, you're basically an instant combatant. You could step in right now."
His words left me with a strange feeling. It was an evaluation I hadn't expected.
"Why not come back to baseball? We don't have an underhand pitcher, so even one would be a huge help. Plus... you've probably noticed, but our situation isn't great. We could use you."
But I couldn't answer right away. I took a breath and opened my mouth. "Th-thanks for the kind words, Coach. There's a reason I quit before, so I need some time to think."
After a pause, I continued cautiously. "For now, maybe temporary club member would be best."
The baseball coach nodded only after hearing me out. "Understood. Take your time. You can head back now. Thanks for making time."
"Uh... alright, I'll go then."
As I stepped down from the mound, a tangle of emotions churned inside me. Meanwhile, the coach ran over to the catcher and pointed at the mitt. "How'd it feel receiving it?"
The third-year starting catcher dusted off the mitt and gave a short laugh. "Both went right into the pocket. Need to see more pitches, but... if the control holds, he'd be usable."
"I think so too. For now... we'll wait on his decision."
"Director."
The baseball coach went straight to find the director. The director looked up from checking the roster. "What is it?"
"I've found a student we can definitely use as a player."
Confidence laced the coach's expression. The director's eyes shifted subtly. "A student we can definitely use? And one was around?"
The coach paused before dropping the name. "Kim Jeong-ui. Son of Kim Jeong-seok, the guy they called KB."
The director reacted with brief interest. "Oh?"
He rummaged through his memory, then started speaking in confusion. "Was there a first-year like that? No, why didn't he come as a special admission? A player like that transferring in as special admission would be odd too... What's the deal?"
The coach shook his head. "No, he's currently a second-year. Says he's been off baseball for over a year."
His explanation grew more detailed. "Just checked him out—underhand pitcher, mid-120s velocity. Needs polishing, but his basic fastball control is stable."
The director leaned back in his chair with a sigh-laced chuckle. "Over a year off, underhand, and still hitting 120? Lucky break. If we use him, he could slot in right away? Not a special admission, right? Then we need to get him on the team somehow."
The director's calculations were quick and pragmatic. "Bring him in, and our numbers stabilize. With his name value, talking to the principal gets way easier."
Kim Jeong-ui was a card that offered both skill and justification in a do-or-die situation for the club's survival.
"But he said he'd stick to temporary member for now. He's still thinking it over, so we should watch a bit longer."
The coach added cautiously. "Nah, I think he'll end up playing. Blood will tell. Agreeing to temporary already shows he's got lingering attachment."
But the director shook his head firmly. He gazed out at the training field for a moment, then let out a long breath. "Phew... At least now I can tell the baseball kids to relax."
A hint of relief, long absent, crossed the director's face.
Back home, I dropped my bag and sat blankly for a long while. The trajectory of that pitch from the mound kept replaying in my head.
Why could I throw underhand so naturally when even basic overhand or fielding throws wouldn't cooperate? It made no sense logically. I'd tried it a few times in middle school, and it never felt right.
But today, the ball just slipped from my hand effortlessly. No, should I just be grateful it works underhand at least? It felt like a thin crack had opened in what I'd thought was a completely blocked path.
Maybe I should just dip a toe in?
Saying I'd do temporary member felt like the right call, even to me. I wasn't confident enough to dive back in rashly, and I needed proof for myself. Why it worked, how well, and if it would last. I needed time to check.
And the biggest worry: how Mom and Dad would react if they heard. Would they hide their expectations? Worry about me quitting again? Or flat-out forbid it? The thought alone was a little scary.
But at the same time, a tiny spark of hope had ignited in one corner of my heart. Maybe better to grab baseball—maybe I have talent—than spend the remaining two high school years like a ghost.
Excitement started building unbidden. Even if I fail, at least I tried, that kind of thought crept in.
And... the face of that violin girl floated up too.
"Haa..."
I hadn't decided yet. But at least today, I felt I had the right to agonize over it.
"Son! Time to get up~!"
Mom's call jolted me awake. Sunlight streaming through the window helped me grasp the situation. Too much agonizing last night? Time had flown by.
My mind blanked—late for school? I tumbled out of bed, rushed to the sink, splashed my face, grabbed my uniform.
"Mom, I'm off!"
I slung my bag and bolted out the door. Sprinting full tilt got me to school on time, thankfully.
I slumped over my desk with a sigh of relief as soon as I sat.
First period ended, break time.
"The concours is coming up, so things'll get busy."
My gaze drifted to one side of the classroom. It was her—the violin girl from before.
"You'll be swamped too? At least your side's running smooth. Shame about the baseball team, though."
She spoke to her friend with a hint of regret. "Baseball team? Oh, I heard they're keeping it going."
Her friend sounded surprised. "Really? Wasn't it dire just the other day? Things changed already?"
The violin girl nodded. "Yeah. They said they're getting the one person they need."
I tilted my head unconsciously. One person? The words echoed in my mind. Was that me? Or someone else?
Weird. I hadn't decided anything. Just said I'd try temporary, and even that—whether to really play again—was up in the air.
How'd word spread so fast when nothing's set and my heart's not firm? If rumors like this were already circulating... maybe it wasn't me? Someone else?
Then... what about me?
I was deep in thought when—
"Hey."
...Huh? What?
I looked up at the voice in front of me. There she was—the violin girl.
"Uh...? Hey."
"Not coming early anymore?"
Huh? No, that was just that one day...
I started to say it, but her face looked a touch disappointed.
"Slept late last night, so I was late today. Probably back to normal tomorrow?"
"Oh? Good. I thought I'd bothered you."
"Nah, I told you it was fine."
Her relieved smile made all my worries vanish in an instant.