Caught Light: The Weighted Vest Backfires
"Ugh... my head."
I opened my eyes, nursing a pounding headache. The moment I lifted my eyelids, my head started spinning like crazy.
"Ha... how much did I drink last night? I somehow made it back and crashed, but my head feels like it's gonna split open."
I stared at the ceiling for a bit, recalling yesterday's events. This whole mess was mostly Son Tae-ho's fault, our team captain. He'd seen the weather forecast and declared tomorrow's game a sure rainout, so he went all out on the booze. I got swept up in the flow, chasing meat skewers as chasers, and before I knew it, we were drinking till the wee hours of the morning.
Still half out of it, I chugged a glass of water and collapsed back into bed. My stomach churned, and my head throbbed like it was cracking open. But lying there forever wasn't gonna help, so I figured I'd step out for some fresh air, even if just for a minute, and forced myself up.
"Hoo..."
Stumbling, I made my way down to the hotel lobby. That's when I spotted a familiar face in the corner of my vision—the fitness trainer.
"Hey, Kim Hu-seong."
I could tell his expression shifted the second he saw me. He clocked my wrecked state instantly. The trainer smirked and said,
"You look like hell today. Must've gone hard last night, huh? Anyway, come get checked out quick. We'll wrap it up fast so you can rest."
Huh? Get it done quick and rest?
"Pardon? Ah... got it."
I was too brain-dead to think straight, so I just followed him. He led me to a hotel room set up like it was ready to go and handed me a hangover remedy drink.
"Chug this and head back up. Gotta do what needs doing."
I took the drink and gulped down a few swigs in my dazed state. A faint, bitter hobak flavor hit my tongue.
"Ugh..."
Then, without thinking, I stepped onto the scale. The trainer checked the number and immediately scowled.
"Dude... did you puke your guts out and have the runs today or what?"
"Pardon? No?"
I answered reflexively, then froze. Wait a sec! A bolt of realization struck my foggy brain.
Oh crap, I shouldn't have come here in this state...
That's when it hit me—I'd wandered in here without a second thought. Stepping on the scale was the mistake. The number was already locked in, and the trainer had seen it.
The reason for his shock was simple. Yesterday's weigh-in had me at a solid 77kg. Today? A whopping 70kg. Seven kilos down in one day. That was the kind of extreme dehydration only pro fighters pull off before a weigh-in. And the trainer knew we'd had a team dinner last night. Dropping that much weight in those conditions was straight-up impossible.
He double-checked the scale, then rubbed his forehead.
"Dude... this doesn't make any sense."
Lowering his voice, he continued,
"To drop seven kilos in a day—even if you're sick—it's not easy. Damn near impossible."
He stared me down and asked,
"You get what I'm saying?"
Then, crossing his arms, he said,
"Care to explain how this happened?"
I'm screwed... What now?
I knew I couldn't dodge it anymore. Taking a deep breath, I came clean.
"Well... I was worried about not making weight and getting scratched, so I pulled a little trick."
"A trick? What kind?"
"I... wore a lightweight weighted vest that doesn't show. I ate and rested fine, though. So my real weight was probably around 73kg."
The Turkeys' fitness trainer went silent for a moment. Then he slowly looked up, his face a perfect mask of disbelief.
"Whoa... um..."
A short sigh escaped him.
"You know what's coming next, right?"
Changwon Larus away dugout.
I sat slumped in one corner, staring at the floor with a rotten expression. My body was fine, but my mood was in the gutter.
That's when Son Tae-ho sunbae and Hwang Do-yoon sunbae showed up in front of me, chuckling away. Their bright faces just made me more pissed.
Hwang Do-yoon spoke first.
"Heard the whole story."
He pulled an exaggerated face on purpose.
"Hu-seong, you're sitting out all three games against Changwon Larus? Man, lucky you. I wish I could skip games like that sometimes."
His tone was pure teasing. I didn't even respond, just sighed.
Then Son Tae-ho jumped in, arms crossed.
"You wanna sit out the Larus series?"
Hwang Do-yoon paused dramatically, then grinned.
"Nah, can't skip Larus. Too many guys dying to play behind you."
He even mimed swinging a bat for emphasis.
The reason they were saying this was obvious. Changwon Larus—the current 10th-place team—had gone full tank mode. They were trotting out prospects from starters to bullpen, giving young hitters chances too. For us, that meant easy personal stats against green rookies.
"Planning to bump my average into the mid-.300s today. Plus, with you out of the leadoff spot, I'm back in the top of the order—feels great."
Gahhh!
Every word scraped at my insides.
Then Son Tae-ho landed the knockout blow.
"Hey~ Hu-seong-ah."
He glanced my way and waved.
"Guard the dugout good. We're off to suck some honey. Gonna boost my OPS today too? Hit a homer per game and snag that bonus cash. Hahaha!"
He laughed extra loud as they headed out.
Even our captain was ribbing me—no comeback for that. But it was my own fault. No one told me to pull the weighted vest stunt. No excuses.
I sank deep into my chair and screamed internally.
Gahhh!
Swallowing my silent scream, I just sat there guarding the dugout.
Three days later, the dugout was a full-on party.
Simple reason: we'd swept the weekend three-game series against Changwon Larus.
- Gocheok Turkeys sweep Changwon Larus 13-5!
The scores were all blowouts. Friday game one: 10-3. Saturday game two: 8-1. Sunday game three today: 13-5. We seized momentum early and never let up.
The problem? I didn't play a single inning in any of them. Benched for weight violation—not even named to the roster. And with no team wobbles, no emergency pinch-hit calls like before.
Of course, this wasn't like high school. I wasn't faking utility work. Just legit sitting inside all day. If anything resembled those days, it was cheering for team vibes: "Nice~! Good job~!" all day long.
And right on cue, Hwang Do-yoon sunbae sauntered over.
He planted himself in front of me, grinning.
"Hey~ Hu-seong, what a shame."
Pausing for effect, he dropped the bomb.
"If you'd played, you could've climbed back to .300. But nope... still mid-.200s. Wait, late .200s? Close enough?"
Gahhhh!
"Kekekeke."
"Hey, ease up. Kid's gonna cry."
The team was winning, vibes were sky-high, but I moped in the dugout.
Monday, I was slumped on a park bench like a pickled cabbage.
It was supposed to be rest, but too much downtime had wrecked my rhythm.
Staring blankly at the tree shade, I let out a long sigh.
Then—footsteps approached, and a familiar voice.
"Whoa! Face like you're about to bawl?"
Kim Se-rin's voice. Playful as ever.
"Looking real desirable."
...Too down to clap back.
"Ah... you think?"
Lame response.
Se-rin seemed to find my vibe even funnier, standing by the bench and peering down at me. That's when I finally clocked her outfit—not her usual long training pants.
Crop top, short training shorts. Fresh and eye-catching. Legs fully on display down to the ankles.
A small bandage on one ankle.
My mouth moved before my brain caught up.
"Hurt your leg?"
She froze a beat, then narrowed her eyes with a grin.
"Oho? Sharp eyes?"
Then, teasing,
"You into feet, huh? News to me."
"What? No."
She tilted her head.
"Should've worn this all along?"
I panicked and denied it.
"That's not it."
But she'd latched on, face lighting up with mischief. She leaned right into mine. Up close, full cheerleader view.
"Okay, quiz time! How thick's my ankle?"
Weird question. But the answer popped right up.
"This thin? Super slim."
"Ooh!?"
She clapped once.
"Correct!"
Bursting into laughter, she added,
"You really like feet, don't you?"
"I don't."
"But you clocked it that fast?"
"Just... occupational habit."
"Occupational habit?"
As she raised a brow, I rushed to explain.
"Leadoff hitter—gotta watch the pitcher's feet for steal timing. So checking feet and ankles is second nature."
She stared for a sec, then nodded like she got it.
"Ah~ I see."
Smiling, she said,
"Nice excuse. Bought it."
She cracked up again. I had nothing left to say.
But weirdly, the heavy funk I'd been in lifted—just a little.