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Traded Pitcher’s Talent Explosion – Chapter 004
Mop-Up Reliever (2)
League 10th-place Wolves. League 3rd-place Crocodiles.
As their standings already suggested, the second game between the two teams also flowed one-sidedly.
‘My head hurts.’
Kim Young-seung, the head coach, furrowed his brow.
With a whopping 144 games in a season, the pennant race is often compared to a long-distance marathon.
Naturally, as a manager leading a team, you always prepare long-term strategies.
But every time you devised a strategy, it broke. You’d build another strategy—only for that one to fall apart too.
And right now, the Wolves were on a five-game losing streak.
Even if today’s game was already lost because the starting pitcher collapsed, they needed to lose with minimal damage to prepare for tomorrow.
Only then could they hope to snap the losing streak.
‘Too rotten… way too rotten.’
He didn’t even know where to start fixing things.
The former manager had been disastrous at running the team.
It was amazing he had held the job for over ten years.
All the usable pitchers had been overworked until they disappeared from the first team.
The batters were awful at defense, complacent at the plate, and had lost their fighting spirit.
The pitching coach subtly pressured players, the extreme fans cursed at even the smallest mistakes, and a few players ruined the clubhouse atmosphere.
No wonder Kim Young-seung’s head ached.
‘For now, focus on today’s game.’
Winning is hard, but losing well is just as difficult.
Especially when your starter got knocked out early and your bullpen is already overloaded.
‘Let’s hope Han Min-woo can eat some innings.’
Even a mop-up reliever can’t be left out there if he gives up too many runs.
Otherwise the public backlash would be vicious.
“Pitching coach. Call Min-woo.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Since Kim Young-seung had become acting manager, the pitching coach was now handling the head coach’s duties.
The pitching coach called Han Min-woo and spoke in a cold voice:
“Han Min-woo. You’re going up right now. Pitch with the mindset of covering as many innings as possible.”
Normally, you would give a reliever time in the bullpen to loosen up.
Pitchers are like precision machinery—if they aren’t warmed up, their velocity won’t come out, and their command gets erratic.
But today was a special case.
The starter who was supposed to buy warm-up time for the bullpen had left suddenly due to injury. There was no time to let anyone prepare.
‘It’s a throwaway situation anyway. No need to take care of him.’
The pitching coach didn’t feel even the slightest pang of guilt.
Sometimes, sacrificing certain players for the team was “normal.”
“Yes, sir.”
Han Min-woo nodded calmly, grabbed his glove, and walked out of the dugout.
Kim Young-seung’s eyebrow twitched at the sight.
‘He’s not shaking.’
To be honest, he hadn’t expected this reaction at all.
It had been ages since Min-woo pitched in the first team.
Even the toughest players go pale when told to take the mound.
The gap between the minors and the first team is enormous.
It’s the stage every player dreams of—but thousands of eyes pierce into you, every cheer and insult rains down, and elite hitters glare at you like predators.
Humans can’t help but feel fear.
And today was even worse.
The starting pitcher was injured unexpectedly, the dugout was shaken, and Min-woo had no time to mentally prepare.
Yet Min-woo remained composed.
‘His mentality isn’t bad. If not for that line-drive injury… he could’ve been amazing.’
Kim Young-seung recalled the old Min-woo.
A fastball around 158 km/h that shook the catcher’s mitt.
A steady mentality—never shaken even in a bases-loaded, no-outs, bottom-9 situation.
A shoulder strong enough to throw 100 pitches with ease…
‘What a shame.’
If Min-woo were still that pitcher, he would’ve been a massive asset.
He could’ve lifted the Wolves several ranks by himself.
The pitching coach felt similarly at first.
But his next thoughts were different.
‘So what? He’s already broken.’
To him, Min-woo was nothing but expiring waste waiting to be thrown out.
‘He’ll blow up today and disappear after that.’
He was already thinking of replacements.
‘Park Jun-seo and Song Seok-woo sent some good liquor to the minors manager… I’ll tell him to send up whichever of those two is usable.’
He had already erased Min-woo from his mind.
Walking to the mound
Min-woo took a long breath as he headed for the mound.
‘Stay calm. Stay calm.’
Unlike his expression, he was extremely nervous.
He didn’t need time to warm up physically—he had already prepared his body before the game, and luckily the injury happened early.
His real problem was mental.
His mind went blank.
That day’s memory repeated endlessly.
Any second, he felt like a ball would smash into his head.
‘Hoo…’
Cold sweat trickled down his back.
“Is he the next pitcher?”
“Who is that? Never seen him.”
As he took a few more steps, countless stares poured toward him from the opposing dugout.
When he finally stood on the mound, tens of thousands of eyes locked onto him.
‘Shit…’
His heart pounded like it would explode.
A vague dread crawled up his spine, raising goosebumps across his arms.
“- — — —-!”
“– – – — – –!”
The battery coach and today’s starting catcher, Pigijeong, shouted something to him.
What…?
The battery coach patted his shoulder, said something indistinct, and walked off with the catcher.
Only the last line reached him:
“You got it? We’re counting on you!”
‘Hoo…’
Now he was alone.
And the only emotion rising inside him was—
‘Don’t remember it.’
Fear.
He was scared.
Standing alone on the mound terrified him.
But muscle memory kicked in.
His body moved like a professional—stepping onto the rubber, getting into position.
Ding!
[‘Han Min-woo’ has taken the mound!]
[Since this is an official baseball game appearance as a pitcher, <Gravestone Resolve (A)> activates. Mental strength increases dramatically!]
Min-woo flinched.
“What…?”
Suddenly, everything turned quiet.
The intrusive memories stopped.
The pressure melted away.
And new sensations filled the void—
The sound of the batter scraping dirt with his cleats.
The catcher’s breath as he exhaled while settling into his stance.
The subtle movements of the infielders behind him.
Everything felt vivid, almost hyper-real.
‘This is… the power of a special ability.’
He involuntarily parted his lips.
Could he really succeed as a baseball player?
What if he took another line drive to the head?
What if he died?
Should he quit baseball? Had all his sweat and suffering been meaningless?
‘Peaceful…’
He felt liberated from every burden that had been suffocating him.
‘Yeah… I struggled for a long time.’
He hadn’t always been afraid.
Back in baseball school in elementary school, through his student years, even early in his pro career—he loved baseball.
It felt like he was returning to those happy days.
‘What should I throw for the first pitch?’
He lowered his waist, staring toward home plate.
The catcher gave a sign.
Inside fastball. Tight.
‘Okay.’
Min-woo set his stance and threw.
Broadcast Commentary
“-Starter Jason Cross has allowed 10 hits and 7 runs, and is now leaving the mound.”
“For those who missed it before the commercial break—Crocodiles took the lead in the top of the 3rd with Kwon Ji-hoon’s two-run homer. And while facing Han Jae-min, Cross suddenly grabbed his shoulder in pain.”
“The new pitcher is… Han Min-woo.”
“The highly-rated 2026 1st-round pick of the Busan Dolphins, recently traded to the Seoul Wolves.”
“Let’s see… it’s been 812 days since his last first-team appearance. His career: 0–8, 13 holds, ERA 13.14.”
Fans murmured.
“Who’s that? A rookie from last year?”
“No, he’s the guy they got for Yoo Sung-jong.”
“Isn’t he the one with a double-digit ERA? They’re giving up in the 3rd inning already?”
“I took time off work for THIS?!”
“Take him down! Why is a trash pitcher on the mound?!”
They hurled insults—not unusual.
Fans spent time and money to be here.
Seeing a mop-up pitcher this early?
Of course they’d be angry.
It felt like disrespect.
Even fans of a last-place team want effort.
Even if they lose, they want fire, grit, pride.
“-Windup from Han Min-woo. First pitch is a strike.”
“Velocity 136 km/h. That’s 8 km slower than the league average of 144.2.”
“And right away—Han Jae-min hits it! A line drive over the second baseman! Base hit!”
“Take him down! That’s a pro pitcher?!”
“Tsk, Wolves still playing like mutts.”
“I’m never supporting this team again! Ever!”
“-Another hit! Baek Jae-joon with a single to left! Min-woo is in trouble already—runners on 1st and 2nd with no outs.”
“He did well pulling that outside low pitch… nicely controlled wrists.”
“Min-woo might just be outclassed. Even though it’s the bottom of the order, this won’t be easy.”
“Yoon Jae-hyun, who was traded along with him, hasn’t done anything either. Looks like the Dolphins won this trade.”
Analysts and fans were united:
Zero expectations.
Wolves fans began leaving the stadium.
Those who stayed were eating fried chicken and chatting, paying little attention.
Then—
The unexpected happened.
“-Oh! Strikeout on Seo Seung-jun! He whiffs on the changeup!”
“That was great. Fastballs and sliders to get ahead, then a changeup to steal the timing. Very smart pitch sequence.”
The 7-hole hitter struck out swinging on a changeup.
The 8-hole hitter struck out on a high inside fastball.
The 9-hole hitter froze on a curveball for a looking strikeout.
“Huh?”
Fans who were about to leave…
stopped walking.
