TBITWAM 01

Episode 1

So this is what it feels like for your heart to drop. No, it’s more accurate to say it must be how a death row inmate feels before their execution.

I had no doubt about it.

With titles like the Golden Lion Championship, the President’s Cup, and the Phoenix Tournament—being the top high school starting pitcher responsible for those wins—came a non-stop stream of love calls from professional baseball clubs and even Major League teams.

I thought that once I graduated high school, I’d join the pro team I’d always dreamed of and just keep on winning.

“It’s a Bankart lesion.”

That was before I heard this thunderbolt from the blue.

“Plus, every time you throw the ball, your shoulder dislocates, causing severe damage to the anterior inferior collateral. The inflammation is serious too.”

For a pitcher whose life depends on his shoulder, being told your shoulder joint is damaged is pretty much a death sentence.

“Even with surgery and rehabilitation… it seems your previous control will be difficult to regain.”

I’d been playing baseball dreaming of becoming a pro since the first grade of elementary school. Maybe all that practice, more than anyone else, was the root cause.

In my third year of high school, just before the draft.

My right shoulder was damaged to the point where I couldn’t continue my baseball career anymore.

“…Kang-woo.”

I couldn’t even lift my head at my parents’ pitiful voices calling me.

How much money had my parents spent on me for baseball all this time?

Club fees, training camps, all the gloves I’d worn out, personal training costs…

The apartment my parents bought with their life savings was sold long ago. My parents, who ran a run-down arcade, extended their operating hours until dawn.

Trying to earn even a single won more.

I’d boasted I’d pay them back tenfold. I genuinely meant it. Because I believed I was destined to be the first pick in the rookie draft.

A right-handed hard-throwing starting pitcher. A four-seam fastball topping 155 km/h, plus stable control.

No one could match me.

That was until my right shoulder shattered.

“…I’m going to training.”

Forcing myself to turn away from my parents, I headed to the baseball club. As soon as the members practicing on the field saw me, they just glanced at me awkwardly.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Kang-woo’s here.”

The coach’s protruding belly looked like it might pop the buttons on his uniform any second.

“Yes, Coach.”

“Right, I heard the news. Even with surgery and rehab, it’ll take at least a year to recover, they say?”

Then the coach standing next to him quickly chimed in.

“With a dislocation and damaged shoulder joint, a year might not even be enough. The bigger problem is tomorrow’s game.”
“We’ll have to go with Kang Hee-yoon as tomorrow’s starter. Can’t be helped, Ugh. Kang-woo, you can’t throw properly anyway, so focus on your rehab.”

The coach continued, as if he were doing me a favour.

“You know, normally at a time like this, a shoulder injury means the end of your career, right? But your skills are impressive, and you’ve done well so far, so I’ll pull some strings for you. Take a year off. Get shoulder surgery and rehab during that time.”

Back then, I actually thought the coach and the coach were somewhat looking out for me.

That was until I heard what came next.

“Right. The coach is really helping you out here, considering your situation. The draft is soon, and since you can’t use your shoulder anyway, just help the kids on the sidelines. You can at least throw batting practice, can’t you?”

The coach’s sneering words, followed by the coach’s agreement.

“But seriously, with a shoulder that weak, Ugh. At your age, you should be fine even throwing every day.”
“Exactly what I was thinking. Honestly, even if it were okay now, it probably would’ve blown out once he got to the pros anyway.”

Fine throwing every day? What? Blow out in the pros?

It twisted my gut.

“Coach Kwon, think Kang Hee-yoon can go the full game?”
“Let’s try him. He’s the next best after Kang-woo anyway.”

These bastards talk some creative shit.

“Coach, you’re saying my shoulder is weak?”

In games, I’d thrown over 300 pitches over three days straight without rest, and you’re saying my shoulder is weak?

“Last time, I threw over 400 pitches in a week. I also had four consecutive complete game wins.”

It was blatant overuse. Sure, I practiced a lot, but the rapid deterioration since entering high school was also due to the coach and coach overworking me mercilessly.

I followed orders without complaint, and now they’re saying my shoulder is weak?

“I’m not taking a year off. I’ll rehab and play baseball again.”

Coach Kwon sneered.

“Oh, really? Well, that’d be great. But you know what? Out of all the guys I’ve seen whose shoulders were wrecked like yours, I’ve never seen a single one play in the pros. Not one. Well, I guess you could be the first.”

There’s a limit to being an asshole. I wanted to curse him out right then and there, but this wasn’t America.

This was the land of morning calm, South Korea, after all.

“We’ll see about that. I’m going to the pros.”

I turned my back on the sneering coach and the dumbfounded head coach.

Kwon Dong-jin. Kwon Dong-jin. I repeated the coach’s name in my head, grinding my teeth.

Not a single one? Fuck that, just wait and see. I’ll be that one.

I talked big, but there wasn’t much I could actually do.

The coach treated me like I was invisible, and Coach Kwon sneered and got under my skin every chance he got.

The baseball club ran smoothly, as if my spot had never existed. And when the KBO rookie draft came around, my name wasn’t called. The media, which had been hyping everyone as the first pick not too long ago, was silent too.

Yeah, is this really how it ends?

No, how could it end?

“Ugh.”

I was in a corner of my father’s arcade, doing shadow pitching while gripping a towel. As soon as I extended my arm, a tremendous pain shot down from my right shoulder.

I had to be realistic.

And I had to accept it.

The fact that I couldn’t throw a ball with my right.

Then it has to be the left.

I glanced at my left hand and let out a hollow laugh.

I’d never thrown a ball with my left hand in my life.

Besides, my left…

“I should’ve gone easier on that punch machine.”

My father’s run-down arcade. Among the machines, that punch machine, which had its cushion replaced several times, was something I’d been using since I was 7.

Whenever I was stressed or angry, I’d hit it to clear my head. I couldn’t overwork my right, the one I threw with, so I used my left.

Every single day, without fail.

As if possessed, I jumped up and stood in front of the punch machine.

The high score displayed on the old electronic board was the one I’d set last year.

I roughly hung the towel around my neck and clenched my left fist.

I needed an outlet for my anger. After everything I’d built up had come to nothing.

My clenched left fist rose into the air.

“Huh!”

My elbow, raised high diagonally, then slammed downwards.

POW-!!

A huge cracking sound, followed by the machine

Bbampabamba

It was the sound announcing a new record.

“Ha.”

I let out a hollow laugh, looking at the new high score. Was this really the end? If I had surgery and finished rehab…

I was still young, so even rehab for 2-3 years would be okay.

“Then why are tears coming out?”

Even if we somehow covered the surgery cost, the immense rehabilitation expenses were impossible given our family’s current situation.

We were already living in a small room we’d converted from the office inside the arcade, and that was barely manageable.

Everything was over.

Just as I was hanging my head in despair, a voice came from behind.

“Player Chae Kang-woo?”

Chae Kang-woo. They called me ‘Player Chae Kang-woo’, not just Kang-woo. My body reacted instantly, reflexively.

Turning my head, I saw a neatly dressed man and an elderly gentleman.

“Huh…?”

No, he wasn’t just any elderly gentleman. He was someone anyone who knew baseball would recognize. A living legend to people in baseball.

“Coach… Yoon Sung-geun?”

Yoon Sung-geun, wearing an ER Hawks baseball cap with his hands in his jacket pockets, chuckled softly.

“Your left shoulder seems fine, though.”

At Coach Yoon Sung-geun’s muttered comment, the man beside him nodded and then turned his gaze towards me.

“Player Chae Kang-woo.”

Instinctively, I knew.

I had to make a good impression on these two, no matter what.

“Yes, sir!”

My voice was sharp and disciplined, a stark contrast to moments before, and the man burst into laughter.

“I’m Lee Jong-hwa, a scout for the ER Hawks.”

ER Hawks. A team with plenty of money, strong support, and passionate fans. The only problem was they were stuck in a perpetual last place.

For a whopping 10 years.

Well, given my situation, I wasn’t really in a position to be picky.

“Nice to meet you.”

I bowed deeply, a perfect 90 degrees. Scout Lee Jong-hwa held out a business card.

“I’ll get straight to the point.”

I took the card, a bit dazed, and looked up.

“Player Chae Kang-woo. How would you like to join the ER Hawks as a developmental player?”

A developmental player? As a developmental player, would I be able to play in the second team?

If I play in the second team and finish my rehab, I could make it to the first team.

There was no need to hesitate. This was my last chance, I had to grab it.

“I’ll do it!”

Scout Lee Jong-hwa pushed up his glasses.

“But there’s a condition.”
“A condition…?”
“Yes.”
“The condition is that you convert to a left-handed pitcher, not a right-hander.”

Wait, left-handed? I’m right-handed?

“I’ve never thrown with my left hand before.”

Scout Lee Jong-hwa spoke as if that were no problem at all.

“Yes. Well then, you’ll just have to start practicing now.”

But it’s not that easy! Besides…

“My shoulder… probably isn’t in good shape either.”

I glanced at the punch machine next to me. Looking at the new high score, my head spun with confusion.

All I did with my right was throw a ball, but with my left, I’d been punching that machine. Using the excuse of relieving stress, day after day.

I’d hit it at least once or twice a day, sometimes dozens of times. There’s no way my shoulder could be okay.

“That’s why… I’ve punched a lot with my left. So my shoulder—”

“It’s fine.”

Fine?

I stared at Coach Yoon Sung-geun, who had cut me off. He just grinned.

During games, I thought he was scary and emotionless, but seeing him like this, he was just like a grandpa from the neighbourhood.

“Still, we’ll have to run a test, I suppose.”

At Yoon Sung-geun’s words, Scout Lee Jong-hwa nodded and took something out of his bag.

“This is the schedule for the tryout next month. Please review it. We’ll see you then.”
“Uh…”

While I stood there stupidly holding the paper, mumbling, Coach Yoon Sung-geun added one more thing.

“Your shoulder’s fine, you know. Since you’re converting to lefty anyway, how about trying throwing a high-velocity knuckle ball?”

A knuckle ball…? The knuckle ball, practically extinct these days?

But wasn’t the knuckle ball supposed to be slow? A high-velocity knuckle ball?

Me, a former right-handed flamethrower, now converting to lefty, and on top of that, a knuckle ball pitcher?

Crazy!

Still, I had no choice. If they’re giving me a chance, I have to do what they say.

There was only one answer I could give.

“I’ll do it!”