Chapter 1

Chapter 1 — I’m Done Being a Pushover

It was a truly beautiful night.

The fireworks lighting up downtown Seattle in celebration of the team’s first-ever championship were more spectacular than ever.

It felt as though everything in the world was shining just for this moment.

The slow-moving crowds.

Their roaring cheers.

But the fireworks and all those dazzling lights would only last for a moment.

To reach moments like this, I had always given everything I had.

Because when no one expected anything from me, I was always the one who somehow made it happen.

“Your arm is wrecked? Why?!”

My agent’s shout came from the front seat.

I ignored him and simply stared out the window.

Countless people were cheering in the streets.

This was the Seattle night I had always wanted to see.

“How many times have I told you?! Even if the manager tells you to pitch, just say no! How many times has this happened already?!”

After hearing what I had told him, he angrily slammed on the horn.

But the long line of cars ahead showed no intention of moving aside.

“Winning once doesn’t mean everything is over! Damn it. If you need another surgery, you’ll lose an entire year again…”

When I still didn’t respond, he became even more anxious.

He turned his head toward me while driving.

“Why aren’t you answering?! People can only call you a championship mercenary while your body is still intact! How many times have I told you to think about yourself before the team?! No. Forget everything else. We’re going to the hospital first. This isn’t the time to celebrate at the clubhouse. Is there any hospital open this late…? I’ll call the team doctor.”

I didn’t answer him.

I was the one whose heart hurt the most.

And yet, strangely enough, part of me also felt relieved.

Fifteen years.

I had played baseball for quite a long time.

I started playing seriously in high school and had kept going until now.

Retiring in my early thirties?

Why had I always listened to other people so obediently?

Whenever the manager told me to take the mound, I went without complaint.

Whenever the catcher asked for a particular pitch, I threw it.

Again and again, I lived according to what other people wanted.

Like a floating weed drifting wherever someone pushed me.

“Oh, come on… I’ve been taking care of you all this time. Since you were a little brat who didn’t even know how to grip a baseball. You always obeyed whoever was in charge without complaining. And look where that got you.”

“Injured. And retired.”

“Exactly! So why did you keep doing it?! You were the biggest reason Seattle even made it to the World Series this season! You’re at the level where you can say you’re hurt and sit out! So why?!”

I gave him a faint smile.

I had always been grateful when people worried about me.

“Thanks. But I don’t think I can keep going anymore.”

“You said the exact same thing when you won the championship for Daejeon in Korea! You said it again when you won in Hiroshima, Japan! Hell, you even said you were finished after winning in high school! This time will be the same. Injuries can be treated. I’ll bring in the best medical team money can buy.”

“Is one player retiring really that big of a deal? Besides… I think I want to live however I want for once.”

“Retirement shouldn’t be how you do that! You can still make it work. Even if your velocity has dropped a little, your command is outstanding. And…”

“Hyung. Thank you. Really. But I’m sorry.”

Of course it hurt.

Baseball was something I had devoted my entire life to.

Giving it up hurt more than I could describe.

But there were some things that couldn’t be helped.

My fastball had once reached 165 km/h.

After several surgeries, it had fallen into the 140s.

The greatest weapon that had carried me to 28 wins in Korea, 25 wins in Japan, and 20 wins in America was gone.

Of course, after the injury, I managed to make a comeback by switching to closer.

I learned several different pitches, but after injuring my knee, the maximum number of pitches I could throw in a game dropped to around thirty.

A 0.72 ERA.

Fifty-six saves.

I guarded Seattle’s final innings like an iron wall and broke all kinds of records.

Even so, the injury returned.

“No. We’re going to the hospital right now. I’ll figure something out. Do you even understand who you are? You’re the best pitcher in MLB. If you can stay here for another ten years, you could enter the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame unanimously. Baseball can’t afford to lose you.”

Park Seonghyeon, the agent who had taken me from Korea to Japan and then America, sped up once we escaped downtown Seattle and the roads became clearer.

He had looked after me since I was young and handled every unpleasant task on my behalf.

I had always been grateful to him.

More importantly, he was the only person who had always given me the freedom to make my own choices.

Though right now, he was desperately trying to stop me from retiring.

“The Hall of Fame is probably impossible now. I don’t think I can play baseball anymore.”

For some reason, tears came before anything else.

What if I had refused the manager’s order to start games after my talent truly blossomed in my third year of high school?

I had pitched in the weekend league and all four major high school tournaments.

127 innings.

Zero runs allowed.

I had built an impenetrable fortress on the mound and carried the team to a championship.

Immediately afterward, I underwent my first shoulder surgery.

What if I hadn’t listened to my manager in the KBO?

During the Korean Series, I pitched in four games, switching between starter and reliever without distinction.

The Daejeon Hawks won the second championship in franchise history.

And I underwent my second shoulder surgery.

Hiroshima.

Seattle.

I should have listened to this hyung more.

Instead of listening to managers blinded by championships.

“We’re almost there, Seong-ah. Just hold on a little longer.”

Park Seonghyeon drove even faster.

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.

All I could do was admit how foolish my past life had been and let out endless sighs.

I stared outside the window.

That was when I noticed something strange lying on the seat beside me.

A small chip.

Did Seonghyeon-hyung leave this here?

Without thinking, I reached toward it.

Suddenly, the chip moved on its own.

Then it burrowed straight into my finger.

“Ugh.”

A single drop of blood appeared.

[AI Nanomachine BB-104 activation initiated.]

[Scanning target’s body.]

[…According to the resident registration laws of the current era, the target has been confirmed as Choi Seong.]

[Reconstructing system.]

I shouted in confusion.

“H-Hyung, what the hell is this?!”

[Owner Choi Seong.]

[Do you wish to play baseball again?]

Hearing my shout, Park Seonghyeon hurriedly looked back.

Light was radiating from around my body.

[Repeating the question.]

[Do you wish to play baseball again?]

I hurriedly nodded.

It was pure instinct.

No matter what was happening right now…

I wanted to play baseball again.

[Owner consent confirmed.]

[Resetting life.]

[Reset point will be the moment in the past when Choi Seong’s body was at its healthiest.]

[Current physical condition: 11 points.]

[Returning to the period when physical condition was 100 points.]

In the middle of all this, Park Seonghyeon shouted.

“Seong-ah…? What’s happening to your body?”

“I-I don’t know either.”

At the same time, everything around me began turning black.

Only one sentence echoed in my ears.

[Player Development Simulation commencing.]

[Returning to Choi Seong’s year 2030.]

[Warning: Failure to overcome the trials will result in death!]

Beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep-beep!

An alarm rang in my ears.

Was all of that a dream?

My instincts immediately told me it wasn’t.

I quickly checked the clock.

August 25, 2030.

I had really returned to the past.

The room was painfully familiar.

A baseball glove, a bat, and a Seoul Jeil High School uniform hung on the wall.

Certificates from national tournament championships completely covered another wall.

On the desk I had personally prepared, there weren’t any books.

Instead, it was covered with countless photo albums filled with pictures of me.

“I really came back.”

There was a tiny scar on my finger.

That alone made the situation feel real.

But more than anything else…

There was no tingling pain running through my left arm.

My knee didn’t ache when I bent it.

Even the ankle pain that had followed me everywhere was completely gone.

“Seong-ah. It’s the beginning of the semester. You’re going to be late. Come eat breakfast.”

A stern voice came from outside.

I got out of bed and stretched.

My body felt unbelievably refreshed.

What kind of hell had I been living through all this time?

I changed into my school uniform.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror was my eighteen-year-old self.

A second-year high school student.

Seeing my youthful face, still right in the middle of its growth spurt, felt strangely unfamiliar.

Still, I decided to get used to it quickly.

This life would be completely different from my previous one.

I would live the way I wanted.

Then I noticed a translucent window floating beside the mirror.

…A status window?

Choi Seong

Pitcher Stats

• Stamina: 77/200
  (1 stamina is consumed per pitch / Can be increased through running, weight training, etc.)

• Fastball: 50/100
  (Limit Break becomes possible after exceeding 100.)

• Slider: 30/100
  (Limit Break becomes possible after exceeding 100.)

• Additional breaking balls can be equipped.
  They can be learned after throwing at least 100 pitches using the same form.

• Injury Risk While Pitching: 0%

Batter Stats

• Power: 40/100
  (Limit Break becomes possible after exceeding 100.)

• Contact: 35/100
  (Limit Break becomes possible after exceeding 100.)

• Speed: 10/100
  (Limit Break becomes possible after exceeding 100.)

Potential

(Activates when certain conditions are fulfilled.)

• Indomitable Will:
  In his previous life, Choi Seong created miracles regardless of the situation. Emotional fluctuations are reduced.

My mouth fell open slightly.

Something I had only ever seen in games, movies, and novels had happened to me.

The instant I thought status window, all of my stats appeared in front of me.

Not bad.

Right. If I regressed, I should at least get a bonus like this.

I could examine my body in detail and adjust my training according to its condition.

[Congratulations on returning to the past.]

[When you achieve a Limit Break, you may glimpse possibilities toward a new world.]

[You can view your overall stats.]

[Throwing more than 100 pitches of a single pitch type will increase its stat.]

[For batting stats, performing 100 swings with the same form will increase Power and Contact.]

[Speed increases through baserunning training.]

The mysterious voice echoed in my ears.

I quietly nodded.

Rather than denying reality or convincing myself that this was a dream, I decided to focus on what I could actually do.

[Main Mission: Lead a Lower-Ranked Team to a Championship!]

• Transfer from Jeil High School to the high school ranked last in the weekend league.

• Lead that team to at least one championship next year.

[Reward: Potential — “Championship Mercenary”]

[Failure: Death.]

Failure means death.

So there was a price for the miracle of returning to the past…

If I failed to win a championship, I would die.

Still, it was fine.

This was a second life anyway.

If I had been given the chance to begin Act Two, then I intended to give whoever had sent me here the result they wanted.

But the way I achieved it…

That would be entirely up to me.

No one would interfere anymore.

Whether it was really possible or not was something I could figure out while playing.

Either way, I had been given another chance.

Maybe it was because of my Potential, but my emotions certainly felt calmer than before.

I quickly processed the situation and stepped into the living room.

There were familiar silhouettes I hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Dad was helping Mom with breakfast.

The television in the living room continued playing the morning news.

“…Dad. Mom.”

“Come eat. What’s with that expression? Why are your eyes so wide? You look like you’ve seen something you shouldn’t have.”

Of course.

I was seeing people I should never have been able to see again.

Mom died in an accident when I was twenty-one.

Dad, who had always loved her deeply, followed her a few years later.

That was why even when I received posting fees worth hundreds of billions of won, or annual salaries worth billions, I could never feel truly happy.

The more money piled up, the emptier I felt.

“It’s nothing. Thank you.”

After my parents died, it was as though I began desperately searching for something to replace them.

I followed and respected my managers and coaches as though they were my parents.

No matter how unreasonable their demands were, I simply nodded and did as they asked.

In a way, losing my parents early had become one of the reasons I destroyed myself.

I sat down and began eating.

Seaweed soup and rice.

I hurriedly took a spoonful.

“It’s delicious…”

“Of course it is! Your mother made it.”

To Dad, Mom was always priority zero.

I was priority one.

But my parents had never been my highest priority.

My relationship with my coaches, my manager, and the team had always come first.

No matter how much my parents tried to stop me, if the team called, I went out and pitched.

Whenever I was injured, I remembered the tears in their eyes.

Yet once I stepped onto the field, I ignored them.

It was almost laughable.

Family was more precious than anything else.

“Right. From now on, take better care of yourself. And absolutely don’t overdo it, okay? I don’t want to see your mother crying tears of blood because of you.”

I was the only son of the Choi family.

Naturally, my family cherished me deeply.

I quietly nodded.

I wouldn’t make them worry anymore.

“Okay. That’ll never happen again.”

My parents, who had been eating, both looked at me with wide eyes.

“What’s this? Did you suddenly grow up overnight?”

“Is this because you scraped your knee last time?”

They both questioned me, so I added one more sentence.

“…I’ve finally grown up.”

After another fifteen years of life and then returning to the past, that is.

Of course, I swallowed the rest of that sentence.

“Good. Anyway, don’t you have training today?”

“Son, I heard about it too. You’re about to enter your third year of high school, so don’t push yourself too hard.”

Training at the prestigious Seoul Jeil High School baseball program was especially brutal.

Kids who had never even served in the military enforced military-style discipline like their lives depended on it.

Even so, promising young players always dreamed of attending this school.

After all, Jeil High was one of the schools with the highest rates of producing professional players and sending students to universities nationwide.

The manager gathered the players together, drilled them hard, and maintained strict discipline.

That was when it began.

After seeing my pitches, the manager started putting me into almost every game.

I even had to fill in for players who had already been considered likely draft picks.

As a starting pitcher appearing in so many games, I naturally drew attention.

But the physical risk was just as enormous.

Whenever that expressionless manager ordered me to play, I simply obeyed.

Then, just before the draft, disaster struck.

My first injury.

Only then did the manager start making excuses.

He said he had circumstances of his own.

High school baseball managers could lose their jobs at any time, so they needed results.

He had to consistently send promising players into the professional leagues through the draft while also bringing home championship trophies.

It was ridiculous.

Still, thanks to my performance, Seoul Jeil High swept national baseball tournament trophies, including the Blue Dragon Flag and Phoenix Flag tournaments.

Remembering that made me understand why the simulation wanted me to transfer schools.

Either way, this seemed to be some kind of development program meant to train me.

“I’m transferring.”

“What? All of a sudden?”

Dad was so surprised that he dropped his spoon.

He had always told me not to take a simple ball game so seriously.

Yet now that I said I wanted to transfer, the expression on his face became complicated.

“I’m going to Seoul Saeum High School. Jeil High is famous for overworking pitchers, isn’t it? I’ll transfer there. The second-half league is basically wrapping up anyway, and if I transfer now, the first-half weekend league begins exactly six months from now.”

In this life, I had already decided that I would do things the way I wanted.

Why?

Because—

I was sick and tired of living like a pushover.