Chapter 11. Sweet Revenge
The more breaking balls you had, the better.
Jack Greg, who had once dominated Kansas and won the Cy Young Award while playing for another team, had once given me this advice.
At the time, I had been doing well as a starting pitcher, but at some point, opposing teams figured out my pitching patterns and I gave up four runs in six innings.
That was when he said it.
“Mr. Choi. Your pitches are really good, but you’re relying way too much on just two pitches. That kind of thing only works for a closer.”
“I-Is that so?”
Even thinking about it now, my answer was ridiculous.
A pitcher from another team had suddenly gone out of his way to give me advice, and that was how I responded?
No wonder I got treated like that.
If it happened now, I definitely would’ve answered,
“So what? What do you want me to do about it?”
Jack Greg continued.
“You’re like a gang member on the mound, but you’re surprisingly meek off it, huh? You only throw a fastball and slider, so the analytics team figured you out. Why don’t you add one more pitch?”
The breaking ball Jack Greg taught me was the circle changeup.
At the time, it had been a surprisingly refreshing experience.
This was a pitcher who would throw high kicks at opposing players whenever a bench-clearing brawl broke out.
And yet he was being so kind to me.
“I played with a Korean before, so I like Koreans.”
Thanks to the great pitcher’s kindness, I learned the grip and throwing method for the circle changeup.
Of course, my ligament tore shortly afterward, so I barely got a chance to use my new pitch.
But I had heard that in modern baseball, it was considered one of the best pitches for reducing the risk of injury.
Then came the notification.
[If you throw the corresponding breaking ball more than 100 times using the same pitching motion, information regarding that pitch will be added.]
The moment I heard that, I quickly threw one hundred circle changeups using what Jack Greg had taught me.
Before long, the breaking ball was added to a new slot.
“This should be enough for now.”
Ah.
Did I forget to explain why I was learning another breaking ball?
The reason was simple.
I wanted to smear some dirt on the face of Jeil High’s coach—the man who, together with our soccer team coach, had once tried to shut down the baseball club.
And there was something else I needed to show.
The people leaving hate comments.
I needed to show them exactly what kind of player I was.
[Sudden Mission: Choi Seong, Completely Crush Your Fated Rival!]
Details: Jeil High gave Choi Seong the first major injury of his previous life. Achieve either a perfect game or a no-hitter to receive a reward.
Reward: Obtain the Potential ‘Sweet Revenge.’
Failure means death!
Normally, seeing the word death should’ve made my heart pound with fear.
Instead, the first thing I did was smile.
Yeah.
It was time to put an end to my bad history with Jeil High.
If I crushed them with a flawless pitching performance, I would never have to care about them again.
“Seong… There are quite a lot of hateful comments about you. Are you okay?”
Coach Park Seonghyeon asked worriedly before I stepped onto the mound.
He was probably concerned because the reactions toward me online were sharply divided.
I adjusted my cap and calmly nodded.
In my previous life, even allowing a single walk would bring endless boos and criticism.
Compared to what I had dealt with as a professional, this amount of controversy was nothing.
It wasn’t like I’d committed a crime.
So who cared?
“I don’t care.”
I could see several reporters sitting in the stands, which was unusual for a game like this.
Jeil High had even brought an entire cheering squad.
Did they pay them or something?
They were probably members of the school’s cheering club.
Either way, a game between Jeil High and Saeum High was practically a battle between two local rivals.
Not a single person from our side had bothered to show up as part of an organized cheering squad, but that was fine.
Once we won today, all the spotlight would belong to Saeum High instead of Jeil High.
“Let’s win!”
The moment I shouted, the rest of the players roared back.
After winning our opening game and receiving even that tiny bit of attention, our team was overflowing with confidence.
“Their leadoff hitter is batting 1.000 right now, so let’s be careful from the start.”
Yoon Jaejun spoke while watching my reaction.
This guy was still nervous as hell.
“Jaejun.”
“Yeah?”
“Just catch the ball properly.”
“……”
I was going to show him what kind of game unfolded when I mixed my four-seam fastball and breaking balls properly with my body at its absolute peak.
I stepped onto the mound and scraped the dirt beneath my feet into shape.
At the same time, flashes erupted from several reporters’ cameras.
Excessive attention really was like a flame.
For just a brief moment, it burned brightly.
It screamed,
I’m right here.
The real ones would burn even brighter under that attention until everyone noticed them.
The fakes would simply collapse.
Down into an even darker shadow.
“Today’s main character is me.”
A walk was fine.
An error was fine.
But if I allowed even a single hit today, I would die on this mound.
It felt as though someone had planted a time bomb inside my heart.
Endorphins surged throughout my entire body.
Then I just won’t die.
No matter what all these missions threw at me—
I would cherish this life.
And I would overcome them.
“You can do it, son!”
“Go, Saeum High!”
“Destroy their lineup again today!”
The passionate voices of our players’ parents reached my ears.
But they were quickly drowned out by Jeil High’s cheering squad.
“Send it flying!”
“Kim Beomjin! End this game with a leadoff homer!”
“Beat Saeum High and win the first half of the season too!”
Some of them had even brought kkwaenggwari gongs.
That wasn’t all.
There were students hanging banners from the stands too.
They certainly had passion.
I had always been familiar with feeling like the underdog.
It wasn’t bad.
So Seoul Jeil High School’s leadoff hitter was Kim Beomjin…
To be honest, there was also a personal grudge behind my desire to pitch a perfect game.
It would be a lie if I said there wasn’t.
In my previous life, Jeil High’s players had always stood by and watched me suffer.
I put strength into my throw.
149 km/h
The first pitch buried itself right down the middle of the strike zone.
Kim Beomjin glared at me.
And what exactly was glaring supposed to accomplish?
Coach Gu Byeongseok probably expected this game to be decided by one run.
He had placed all of his best hitters at the top of the order.
But whether someone was batting .600 or 1.000 didn’t matter much to me.
I would throw my pitch.
And my opponent wouldn’t hit it.
As long as that single principle remained true, nothing else mattered.
For the second pitch, I threw a slider.
132 km/h
Kim Beomjin couldn’t adjust to the sudden slower pitch.
He swung straight through it.
He even lost his balance badly enough to briefly put a hand on the ground.
He had definitely been waiting for my four-seam fastball.
It seemed like he had been trying to turn it directly into a home run.
His instincts were certainly good.
“Whoa!”
Cheers erupted regardless of which team people supported.
