A Master's Recognition

Angels existed in this world. At least for now, Choi Seungtaek had decided to believe it.

"Just don't let a teacher confiscate it. Our homeroom teacher already talked to the others, so it shouldn't happen — but still."

"If it does, I'll get on my knees and beg to get it back. I swear."

"You'd better."

"It might burn through a lot of data, though. Are you sure that's okay?"

"It's fine. I have unlimited data. And I barely even look at my phone at school anyway. You're only borrowing it during morning classes until the next tournament."

"Wow... Thank you. From now on, whenever I see the word angel, I'm reading it as Park Gayeong."

"Pfft."

A snicker leaked from the seat beside him.

"Whoa! I just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠got goosebumps. Three years of sleeping through a humanities class and now you can talk like that? How come I never improved?"

"Shut up. I wasn't talking to you. I just met a real angel."

"Haha, it's fine."

Park Gayeong's face colored faintly at Seungtaek's words. She looked a little embarrassed as she turned back to her own studying.

Thanks to the phone she'd lent him, Seungtaek could finally review the footage he still hadn't finished. They'd agreed he would borrow it only until the President's Cup was over, which meant he'd be done with it by early August at the soonest, mid-month at the latest. It wasn't a long stretch of time, so Gayeong had generously agreed to let him use her phone during morning classes.

Seungtaek compiled the stats through the Blue Dragon Cup round of sixteen and ran a complete evaluation. Then the text appeared before his eyes again.

What? C Grade?

Then what's C Grade?

Seungtaek didn't argue with the System's verdict that his past self had been a C Grade prospect.

Then what about me right now?

A number that said he'd make the pros comfortably. Then — could the System rate him against actual professional players?

He asked.

Wow... I've still got a long way to go.

He ran the same evaluation on the rest of the Suseok High roster.

Kang Taepoong, already a first-round pick, came back A Grade. So did Lee San, the sophomore ace. Most of the remaining players came back C Grade or Grade D — right about where Seungtaek himself had been in the past.

That was what a championship did. A kid headed for college might go pro. A kid who wouldn't make either might scrape into a university program. For the sake of his classmates, Seungtaek had to win. Letting Buma High sweep everything wasn't right. Suseok High needed to take at least one.

Then what about the other teams?

He ran through them in his head. He didn't have any data he could pull up on the spot, and no roster came to mind that the System would even be able to read.

Except for one.

Buma High School. Every player in their lineup went pro, so in my last life I already had a full scouting report on all of them.

He scribbled down what he knew about Buma High's roster.

Ah. So that's why... the System ran the tutorial against Buma High.

The System only responded when it had information. In that sense, the moment Seungtaek came back, the only team he could go up against without gathering any new data was Buma High.

Park Gayeong came home and found herself replaying the day. The baseball player in her class, who'd been so quiet all this time, had shamelessly borrowed her notebook, then a pen, and finally even her phone. She found the whole thing funny.

She looked at her phone. Four hours of heavy use had burned through a lot of data, and the battery was nearly dead.

Wonder what he searched. He didn't look up anything weird, right?

She went through the phone. Fortunately, Seungtaek really had only looked up information on himself and the Suseok High players. Every name left in the search engine pulled up nothing but Suseok High baseball.

He's really desperate, isn't he.

She opened the most recent article.

The article was about Suseok High's defeat. Among the photos was one of Choi Seungtaek, soaked in sweat, his head hanging low.

Looking at that picture, Gayeong felt a little sorry for him. And maybe that was why she found herself a bit curious. She typed the last name on the list — Choi Seungtaek — into the search bar.

"Huh? This just went up."

Searching his name had pulled up a video that had just been uploaded to YouTube. She played it. She didn't know baseball well enough to follow everything, but a few of the comments made her sit up.

"He was beating himself up saying he wasn't good enough to go pro — but that's not true? An expert is praising him like this. Why would he think that? Did getting knocked out of the Blue Dragon Cup just crush his confidence?"

The next morning, Park Gayeong was waiting for him the moment she got to school. The second Seungtaek walked into class, she turned toward him.

"Seungtaek. Why did you say that yesterday?"

"Yesterday? What did I say?"

"Right — you didn't say it. You wrote it. In your notebook you said you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weren't good enough to be a professional."

"Ah, that. Yeah, I did."

It was a complicated thing to explain. He sat there trying to figure out where to even start.

"Did you not see this? Is the guy in this video actually an expert?"

She held out her phone.

"Yeah, he is. That's Park Wangyu. He was the catcher for the Incheon Cranes — a legend at the position. Looks like he came on as a guest panelist."

"Really? Because he was talking about you."

"You must've misheard. That show is mostly about professional players. The only high schoolers who show up on there are people like Go Tae-san ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from Buma High, or at best Kang Taepoong over in Class 4. No way they'd put me from Class 2 on a program like that."

"They did, though."

She said it firmly and hit play, skipping to the part where his name came up.

The video ended.

Seungtaek sat in silence. Something in his chest had started to resonate.

Park Wangyu. A legend of the Incheon Cranes. He had been Korea's number one catcher, and now he managed the Cranes' second team. Even though Seungtaek had played three years as a professional before coming back as a high schooler, earning that man's recognition was no small thing.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It just doesn't feel real yet."

He closed his eyes and steadied himself.

"Thank you. That man is... he's really something."

"He is, isn't he?"

"Yeah. I had no idea he'd said all that yesterday."

"So from now on, don't write stuff that puts yourself down like that. He's saying you're good."

"Yeah. I promise."

Park Gayeong smiled at that and turned back to face the front. Watching how genuinely moved Seungtaek was, she found her own mood lifting too.