The NewNeoSinBigYoungCrazySexy Jeil High
When I say "poaching," I obviously mean using my knowledge of the future — a perk of being a reincarnated original reader — to snap up the players who were going to make it big before anyone else could.
Now, sure, right before I reincarnated I'd gone back and devoured the manga from chapter one all the way to the latest update, but I hadn't memorized every last detail the way protagonists in other novels and manga always somehow do.
I could recall the major supporting characters and a handful of others, but I'm not one of those people who can go, "No way, YOU'RE him? You're the guy from that one panel in chapter XXX!" and identify everyone on sight like some human Namuwiki.
So how exactly was I planning to use my knowledge of the original?
"Yi-seon, are you sure about these kids? Even just looking at their stat sheets, nothing stands out."
"If they weren't worth it, why would they be coming to our school?"
"That's fair, but... you didn't just pick them by their faces, did you? I hear there are these weird women going around tailing high school baseball players these days—"
"I told you, I picked them for their potential, not their looks! Coach, you don't trust me?"
Because even if I don't know their names, I know their faces.
Since reincarnating into this world and laying eyes on the people from the original story, I've made one important discovery: everyone who appeared in the manga — from the lowliest extra to the main cast — was drawn to look special.
Like most manga artists, the creator of The Weakest High School Ace apparently found it hard to draw someone boringly ugly, so those characters simply never appeared. Everyone was either distinctively hideous or handsome in that particular in-house art style. Which means, in other words, you can tell at a glance whether someone is a character in this story just by their face.
So what happens if you cherry-pick the characters from The Weakest High School Ace and gather up only the players from outside our region, instead of the ones near our school?
It means, at minimum, everyone has appeared in the manga at least once. Considering that playing a national tournament was the only chance a team from another region would ever get to face us, it means every single one of them was a starting regular on a team that reached the national tournament.
Then there's the second question. Why on earth would a kid like that come to Jeil High?
"They're short and underdeveloped right now, but once they fill out? Seriously, you won't believe it."
"But how do you know whether they'll grow tall or not?"
"Ugh! Just trust me this one time, pretend it's a one-time scam and go along with it. Anyway, the kids you're going to scout otherwise are just the ones other schools already passed over, aren't they?"
I've mentioned before that middle school player selection is almost entirely tryout-based, right? And the reason is to separate early bloomers from genuinely talented kids.
Same principle here. By middle school most boys have their general outline established, but guys keep growing late, so there are plenty of cases where a player's true ability doesn't surface until his first or second year of high school.
Kang Min-hyuk, our dear protagonist, is the textbook example. The guy still can't crack 130 km/h on his fastball — he's stuck in the late 120s as we speak.
But around the time he finishes his first year, he shoots up another eight centimeters to 181, and his velocity climbs with him into the late 130s. That's his ceiling, granted.
So from my list, I picked out the players whose current numbers were obviously underwhelming and who weren't getting much playing time, and lured them with subsidized dorm fees and a guaranteed starting spot.
On top of that, I gave up my own scholarship and equipment stipend so the school would agree to fund equipment purchases for the entire first-year class.
Honestly, at any other school that subsidy would be a given — or the school would just cover equipment costs outright — but ours went out of its way to scrape together a grand total of 40 percent of the purchase price for this special occasion.
And even that was only because Coach begged the board chairman over and over, telling him how beautiful it was that I'd give up my own scholarship out of concern for my teammates, and managed to wrangle the offer up from 20 percent. This school is such garbage.
Now, obviously, the caliber of players I could scoop up this way isn't enough to assemble a roster of certified-pro-draft talent that would just flat out dominate every other school. At best, we're talking regulars from other prestigious baseball powerhouses.
But that level is plenty. As long as it's not the kind of mound that gives up eight runs after Kang Min-hyuk hits his pitch limit — where the opposing team doesn't even bother swinging at me and just takes intentional walks with the bases loaded — we're good.
February arrived, and most schools were wrapping up their new-student recruitment. Our school finished its scouting as well and called a temporary assembly of the entire squad.
And there I was, forced to argue against my own claims.
"Welcome, everyone. Some of you already know each other's faces, and some of you are seeing each other for the first time. Still, as a way of getting off on the right foot for the next three years, let's go around and do some introductions."
Coach pointed at each of the externally scouted players one by one, giving everyone a turn.
"Uh... I'm Cha Il-sung, from Hongcheon Middle. Position doesn't matter much as long as it's the outfield. And, uh... look forward to playing with you!"
My classmates gave him a polite, halfhearted round of applause. But I clapped with everything I had and watched him with deep satisfaction.
Cha Il-sung. Honestly, the name alone hadn't come to me, but the moment I saw his face, it clicked. He shows up somewhere in the second-year arc, where he forces the Jeil High kids to scrape out runs by just shoving the ball the other way while everyone barrels around the bases trusting Kang Min-hyuk.
The lunatic outfielder who, back then, would ghost onto ground balls the instant they cleared the first baseman's reach and turn them all into outfield outs. The guy's arm was the real deal.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Kwon Ji-wook. I play shortstop. I came from Songrim Middle. Let's get along."
This one — the second I saw his face, the name came right back. Wasn't it during the third-year Phoenix Flag tournament bracket? He appears as the opponent's key batter and drags Kang Min-hyuk into a long battle of wits. The classic cerebral hitter.
"I'm Nam Kang-min, from Baekje Middle, and I'm a catcher, ya know. Let's get along real good."
This guy is the free-swinger who just hacks at everything, the one whose scenes made Kim Yi-seon's life miserable in the original.
"My name's Sung In-hoon! I'm from Hwaseong Middle, and I'm so happy to be joining Jeil High! Let's have a great year together!"
I didn't know his name either, but his face showed up all the time. Well, he's taken plenty of swings off Kang Min-hyuk's pitching in the manga, so he should be fine.
"Everyone, nice to meet you — I'm Ha Kyung-woo. I came from Seongdong Middle, and let's go after a national championship together! Fighting!"
This one, I genuinely never expected to come. He was a supporting character with a decent amount of screen time, so I actually remembered his personal details — but how was he here?
In the original timeline, he played baseball only through middle school, went to a regular academic high school, but couldn't quite let go of his passion for the game and reappears as the ace who leads a general-school club team through the Phoenix Flag tournament.
He was a name character who got a good two or three chapters of the manga devoted to his debut — and he hadn't quit baseball after all. He really came to our school.
I definitely said I wouldn't be able to rattle off everyone just by looking at their faces like some human wiki, but somehow, whatever Coach did, he managed to sign every single player I'd flagged as important.
The man milked a scholarship out of the school like a demon, and now he lands every player on the scouting list too. Shouldn't he be working in the front office instead of managing a team? His talents are wasted here.
Of course, how prominently someone was drawn in the manga doesn't map perfectly to their actual skill, but landing five regulars from national-tournament-caliber schools, all of them players with standout moments? That's huge. Genuinely huge.
While the players who'd come up through Jeil Middle were doing their introductions, I quietly leaned over to Coach.
"How on earth did you manage to bring in every single kid I said was important?"
"Dropped your name, that's all."
"Mine?"
What does my name have to do with anything?
"Look, I know you've been tearing it up since Little League, but how would kids from other regions know anything about that? So I set your tournament records right in front of them and said, 'This boy, Kim Yi-seon, grew this much under my guidance. I can see the same kind of talent in you.' And then promised I'd develop them, of course."
"Is it okay to just lie like that?"
"You're the one who said these kids were going to blow up. If it works out, a good thing is a good thing."
"I mean, that's true, but..."
When he finished speaking, Coach clasped both my hands firmly in his.
"Yi-seon. Your coach just bet big on your word. You know most schools won't recruit students from other regions unless they're bona fide ace-tier talent, right?"
"Of course."
"If those kids all flop, I get branded a coach with no professional ethics, eat nothing but abuse, and get run out of the league. I staked everything on your word alone."
"Coach, seriously? You're not exaggerating?"
"Isn't it obvious? Ace-tier kids get poached by any school without a shred of shame, and same-region kids are basically the neighbors' children anyway — if a student walks in on his own two feet, no one can say a word. But when you scrape together kids who are, at best, borderline backups? Then how are the lower-tier schools in those regions supposed to recruit anyone? What I did was trash professional ethics and run straight through the wall."
So that's why other high schools don't collect these lottery-ticket players, even though so many of them turn out to be winners once they grow into their bodies. Huh. There was a reason after all.
I answered the Coach's serious face with a serious expression of my own.
"Coach, have you considered becoming a pro team scout after your current term ends?"
"A scout?"
"From now on, people are going to say your eye for talent has entered the realm of the divine."
Coach nodded gravely and wrapped up the assembly.
"Alright! Since today was just a simple gathering, everyone is dismissed. The students from out of region move into the dorms starting today, so third-years, go give them a hand. Dismissed!"
Watching the out-of-region students cluster together and file into the dorms, I felt full to bursting even without eating a bite of dinner.
Yes. This is it. There is no happiness baseball greater than this.
I grabbed Kang Min-hyuk as he walked past and asked him, for no particular reason:
"Hey, Kang Min-hyuk. If I score you at least three runs a game, can you go undefeated and take the whole thing?"
Three runs a game was the bare minimum now. We were no longer that limp, watered-down Jeil Middle lineup.
"Hm. Can our defense match our offense, though?"
Huh?
"No matter how well you hit, if the defense commits errors and can't cleanly handle the ground balls, games are hard to win. As you know, I'm more of a pitch-to-contact type."
"You little— If you're hitting that well, the defense will at least be average, won't it?"
"Then yes, I'd be confident. What, planning to hit three home runs every game this year? We're not swinging aluminum bats anymore, you know."
"I'm just going to hit one a game, comfortably. This year is genuinely different, I'm telling you."
"Sure, sure. If you say so."
This punk still has no idea of the Reincarnator's greatness. Throwing all conscience aside, this new Jeil High — built entirely on the cheat code of knowledge of the original — is simply playing in a different class.
He'll figure it out soon enough. Just don't come crying to me, moved to tears because you're finally not suffering anymore.