Excluded from Spring Camp
"So, the team excluded you from the spring camp roster?"
Oh Tae-sik, the Gocheok Turkeys' 2군 manager, said.
"Yes. They said it's because of rehab, so I'd have to stay back in Korea."
"Of course, the real issue is probably your salary negotiation, right?"
"Yeah."
"You've really gotten on their bad side."
Haah… yeah, tell me about it.
Right now, I was spending my time in Goyang, not Gocheok. The reason was simple. It was December, the off-season, when players were supposed to handle their own training. But Coach Oh Tae-sik was the old-school type—classic, you could say. Anyway, even in the off-season, he was out here training the 2군 players.
I needed to check my changed body with team training alongside the other guys. This place was the best option for immediate team practice. And after training wrapped up, I was asking Coach Oh Tae-sik for his input.
"So, what are you going to do from here?"
"Honestly, I have no idea."
"Sigh… I keep telling you, you always have to use your head."
Coach Oh Tae-sik scolded me.
"No one's going to take responsibility for you. Especially not now, with all your new weaknesses."
"But… I just don't have a feel for what to do."
"Kim Hu-seong. Have you been keeping in touch with the seniors since the season ended?"
"Uh… one or two, yeah…"
"A lot happens in the off-season. You need to make an effort to stay on top of the news."
"…"
I had nothing to say.
"If you'd even caught a whisper of the rumors, your path would be clear. But no, tsk tsk…"
…How was I supposed to know that? I thought focusing on rehab was the best thing.
"Please tell me more."
"Tsk… Your knee is honestly… fatal. You can't man the keystone positions. If we force it, maybe first or third base in the infield. But can you beat out Hwang Do-yoon and Son Tae-ho at first?"
"No."
"Third? Kim Han-seong, Edison, Hong Yu-chan. All three can play there. And right now, you're below all of them in everything. Especially at third—those hard liners come in hot. You need quick reactions, slides, charging bunts. That knee is a killer weakness."
"…"
In summary: forget the infield.
"So, what do you do? Switch to outfield. The silver lining is you already know how to play it."
"Then…"
"Your knee kills your initial sprint. Range is too narrow. Center's out. Corners won't cut it with that limited range either."
"… Doesn't that mean I can't play outfield either?"
"That's why I tell you to keep your ears open. The 1군 is short on outfielders."
I knew about the outfield opening. Jeong I-hoon. The original guy who'd hate pivot hitters forever, nicknamed Typhoon's Grandson. I didn't know more, but every Turkeys player knew Senior Jeong I-hoon was headed to MLB.
"Even with Jeong I-hoon leaving that one spot…"
"And Lee Sang-hyeon. Word is the starting right fielder's going FA."
…? Senior Lee Sang-hyeon?
"You didn't know? Yeah, Sang-hyeon's out too. That leaves two outfield spots empty. They'll use Kim Seok-hyeon for one, but the other? Wide open!"
…? Is that how it's shaking out?
"But you'll need solid basics on D."
"Yes! But… corners might still be iffy… Honestly, my range is bothering me. I'm worse than the 2군 outfielders right now…"
"Change how you defend. Don't chase the ball—move early. Your range will match up."
… Ah! That's the fix.
But I still had one more problem.
"What about hitting…? Even if defense works, hitting's the issue…"
Right. My biggest problem was batting. With dead legs, I was a double-play machine. Sure, I could make contact… but if I didn't get on base, it meant nothing.
"That's the real killer. Can't fix that in the Turkeys. Failed in 2군, failed in 1군."
… No answer there either?
"You got money?"
"Money? Not sure how much you mean, but… I have about 20 million won."
"Perfect. Pay for lessons. Go to the States."
"The States?"
"Yeah. Spring camp's off the table anyway, so go like the vets do—pay your way. Actually a good break."
"Then… know any good places?"
Coach Oh Tae-sik nodded.
"I do. Run by a former Major Leaguer. Sigh, if only he hadn't had that drinking problem…"
Two weeks passed, and negotiations resumed. I sat in the same office as before. The vibe was drier than last time. The operations team leader gave a curt greeting and slid over the salary contract.
I checked the numbers first. My eyebrow twitched. The salary was 80 million won—10 million less.
I looked up from the paper.
"It's down 10 million. Because I didn't sign last time?"
I knew it was sharp, but I couldn't let it slide.
The team leader's face hardened.
"Player Kim Hu-seong, like last time, you can't just assume without reading everything."
Then, in a calm but firm tone:
"Kim Hu-seong, we judge strictly by performance. This is the guarantee—look at the incentives."
Ha, incentives? I nearly laughed inside. Do they think I'm an idiot? Last contract had none. But I held back.
"Got it. Let me check."
I nodded and scanned again. The incentives made their intent crystal clear. Stolen bases and home runs stood out—big money too.
The team leader jumped in, like he'd been waiting.
"Like last season, hit 60 steals for up to 30 million extra. 40 homers for up to 50 million. Tiered, so more steals or dingers, more cash."
"Steals and homers are especially high?"
"Yes. Incentives on your strength—steals—to push it further, and on your weakness—homers—for motivation with higher rewards."
I silently eyed the numbers. 60 steals… 40 homers…? Ha… On the surface, tailored for me. But they knew my condition. These 80-million-won incentives were smoke. I'd end up with the 10-million cut. And once signed, they'd spin it as a big deal.
I'd thought Son Tae-ho spreading word would help… Sigh…
Irritation surged. I wanted to storm out. But Senior Son Tae-ho's words echoed: sign unless it's crazy.
Fine. Settle.
"Sure, performance-based, right?"
I picked up the pen and signed.
"Oh! And… you know you're not going to spring camp, yeah?"
The team leader smirked, like a final jab.
Grind.
"Yes. It's fine. Rehab focus anyway."
Haah, pissing me off.
February 1, 2024. Florida, USA.
I arrived at a baseball academy in Florida. Thanks to Coach Oh Tae-sik's prior contact, travel was smooth. They even arranged a pickup from the airport and a decent long-term apartment.
After dropping bags, I headed straight to the academy. There, former Turkeys player Kim Ho-seong, the owner, greeted me.
"Kim Hu-seong, right? Wow, a Turkeys junior all the way here? Welcome to King Kim Academy."
Casual toss, but welcoming.
"Yes, hello, Senior. Honored to meet you."
As we chatted lightly, he glanced at his watch.
"Hmm… You know time's gold? Let's check you out. Still, it'll be tight."
I followed Senior Kim Ho-seong straight to the indoor cages.
"Hit some. Tee first, then toss."
Tee swings, then toss batting. I swung like always. But after a few, he sighed deeply.
"Ha… Too many bad habits. Fixing this takes a full year. A month? Impossible. It'll break down mid-season too. Real bad."
…? Screwed?
I stood blankly, then asked carefully.
"That bad?"
Damn. I knew the drill. Our 1군 hitting coach, trained in the US, had grimaced at my form too. Nagged all season, but since I got on with my legs, he let it slide. Basically gave up. Now here too? No fix.
But Senior Kim Ho-seong fired another question.
"You're right-handed, right?"
"Yes."
"Figured. Righties batting left have common issues. Harder to feel it since it's not your dominant hand, and fixes take even longer."
He stared straight.
"So, why'd you go lefty?"
I hesitated, then answered.
"High school sophomore year. No lefties on the team."
His eyebrow twitched.
"Batting average that year?"
"Low .200s."
"Sophomore at that? Average. Why switch then?"
"Yes."
He sighed.
"What high school? Messed up. Should've switched freshman year if at all."
Shaking his head, but like he'd found a clue.
"Alright… Let's pivot. Go right-handed."
"Pardon?"
"Heard it all. Already watched your videos plenty— this confirmed how bad. Ditch lefty clean."
He pulled up my videos on the pad.
"Plus, knee's shot—no more leg outs. Gotta hit for real now. No lefty edge, no point clinging."
… True.
"And as a righty, you've got more potential there. Try it."
I nodded silently.
And after so, so long—really forever—I stepped into the right batter's box.
Thwack!