Let's Hide It
The next morning, I received a call from the first-team manager and headed to a high school in Gwangju. For away teams with relatively short training sessions, it was common to request use of a high school field to secure extra practice time. I was originally on self-training and could have skipped it, but with no room for slacking right now, I had no choice but to go right away.
"Kim Hu-seong. Come here."
The first-team hitting coach had called me aside for a special session. A bit of batting practice would normally suffice during the away game's training, but since I struggled badly with breaking balls, this was the best way to keep it under wraps.
"Alright, I've got someone ready to throw to you, so let's get started. Just do a light stretch and jump right in, got it?"
"Yes, sir. Understood."
With that, the special batting session began, and I stepped into the cage to start hitting.
After checking about 30 pitches, the hitting coach's face fell first. He let out a heavy sigh, his expression grave.
"Hoo... This is worse than I thought. You're completely lost on breaking balls. It's at the point where just swinging wildly to take one for the team might be the answer."
Exactly what I thought.
"That's what I think too, sir. That's why I just flailed at them in yesterday's game."
I nodded as I replied. The coach paused for a moment, gazing off into the distance as if replaying my swing in his mind.
"No, when you were switch-hitting left-handed, you managed to foul off everything with that ugly form... This is bad. How did you even..."
The hitting coach reluctantly recalled my lefty days at Kim Hu-seong High. Form collapsing, arms tangling, hips flying open—no matter what, I just got the bat on the ball somehow. Pretty swings didn't matter. As long as it connected, I fouled off countless pitches with whatever ugly stance worked.
But my righty swing now is the total opposite.
The mechanics were textbook perfect, bat speed was elite, swing path clean as could be. The problem? That perfection came with too many conditions. If the timing was off even slightly, I couldn't touch it. A hair late or early, and it was a fly out. Big-breaking or mistimed breaking balls? Empty swings galore.
The only thing I had a feel for was fastballs—and only ones clocking at least the low 150s to feel comfortable.
"You know who's starting for them today, right?"
"Yes. Im Jong-hyeon, isn't it?"
"From what I've seen so far, you're strong against guys with high velocity. Even overpowering stuff. That's a huge advantage."
...Sudden praise?
"If you went to the majors right now, you'd hold your own. Why? Because MLB is full of guys whose main weapon is that high-velocity, heavy stuff."
"Uh... Th-thank you?"
"What I'm getting at is... you're playing in Korean pro baseball right now. The problem is, the pitchers you match up well against are limited to a handful of domestic aces or foreign hires starting Game 1."
Sharp as a tack!
"Im Jong-hyeon used to be a lefty fireballer, but age has dropped his velocity to the low 140s now. He might touch late 140s if he really bears down, but he barely does anymore. Mixes in curves, sliders, changeups—he's gone full crafty veteran. Translation? He's a bad matchup for you. Get it?"
"Ah... Yes, I do."
"Exactly. You fouled those off lefty back in the day, but you can't now. So I've been thinking. About the best way to handle this."
Some special insight?
"What would be the best approach, sir?"
"Well..."
Before the game, Im Jong-hyeon was quietly regulating his breathing in the bullpen corner. Every warm-up motion was a touch slower, a touch more deliberate than usual.
The reason was simple. After getting swept by the Gocheok Turkeys in last year's opener, they were on the verge of a repeat three-game skid this season too.
This wasn't just any issue. Swept in the opener by the same team, two years running? Even for Im Jong-hyeon, the face of the Gwangju Pigeons, that would be a disaster too big to shoulder.
As the team's most popular player and living legend, the fans believed in him—he had to deliver.
Hoo... Block the sweep. Grab this one game, somehow.
As he prepared with fierce focus, the pitching coach approached with the lineup card.
"Jong-hyeon, opponent's lineup's out. Something interesting."
Im Jong-hyeon frowned.
"Interesting how? If you're saying it like that, it's not what we expected..."
He took the sheet and scanned it top to bottom. His eyes locked.
The name that should be there... wasn't.
No Kim Hu-seong?
The words slipped out unbidden.
"Huh? Why isn't Kim Hu-seong playing?"
The pitching coach shrugged.
"Dunno the exact reason, but word is a minor injury, so they're sitting him for safety. Works in our favor, though. No Pigeons killer today. Means we can snag a win—good situation for us."
Im Jong-hyeon didn't celebrate. If anything, he pressed his lips in disappointment.
"Too bad."
The coach tilted his head.
"Bad? Their key guy's out."
"I... needed to test something."
He said it low.
"Test? Test what?"
The coach pressed, and Im Jong-hyeon hesitated before voicing his near-certainty.
"I think Kim Hu-seong can't hit breaking balls."
The coach chuckled briefly.
"Oh, that from yesterday? But he nearly crushed Ui-chan's—wait, that was your call, right? You saw it then."
Im Jong-hyeon shook his head.
"He almost did, sure... but he whiffed the obvious breakers before that. Too suspicious not to think..."
He dredged up the memory.
"Maybe... he sat on them on purpose."
Im Jong-hyeon added cautiously, but the coach shook his head.
"Don't jump to conclusions."
He drew a firm line.
"Objectively, the Turkeys would be gutted without him. It's a clear win for us. Guy's never been shut down against us. Subjectively? Honestly, I'm scared. If he were ours, no way we'd bench him. They'd fight to play him... no easy sit-down like that."
Im Jong-hyeon exhaled shortly.
"Hmph... Got it."
The coach might be right. He handed back the sheet and stared toward the mound.
Yeah, nothing for it. Kim Hu-seong in or out, my job's the same.
He adjusted his cap, rolled a ball in his glove, and started light tosses to loosen up.
"So... we're benching Kim Hu-seong?"
Manager Kim Young-ho asked in surprise. The hitting coach nodded without hesitation.
"Yes, we have to."
Kim Young-ho furrowed his brow.
"Why? That bad?"
The coach laid it out methodically.
"Yes, sir. I checked him out thoroughly today. More weaknesses than I thought."
"Weaknesses?"
"Breaking balls? Zero response. Low body mass means less power too."
Kim Young-ho shot back immediately.
"Then how's he hitting homers? He's our team leader in HRs already. Two games in, and no one else has any."
"Bat speed's elite, and he squares up barrels perfectly—that's how he clears them. Hiding flaws behind strengths. Now that we know, we hide it better. Use him smart. Isn't that your job, sir?"
Kim Young-ho crossed his arms, pondered, then tilted his head.
"But do we need to go that far?"
Expecting an easy opener sweep, suddenly benching a key guy shook his judgment. Sitting their strongest weapon against the Gwangju Pigeons wasn't simple.
"Yes. Bulk him up, increase mass. Until he handles breakers, use sparingly. Factor in park effects per stadium. I recommend no use even at home."
"Haa..."
Kim Young-ho sighed deeply.
"Makes sense, but what's the excuse?"
The coach added,
"Say it's minor injuries from bulking. Hamstring?"
"Will the player buy it?"
"Already talked to him. Pull him out only when needed from here. Play him every game, weakness spreads—then he's really in trouble."
The chief coach, listening nearby, chimed in smoothly.
"And since he's an outfielder, managing his PT isn't bad. Weren't we planning Gu Min-seok, Lee Gyu-yong, Kim Seok-hyeon as mains anyway?"
"True."
Kim Young-ho eyed the chief.
"Then Kim Hu-seong crashes in, and Gyu-yong and Seok-hyeon grumbled a bit. He kept mashing HRs, so they couldn't complain much... Cut his time, manages roster gripes, PT balance, even settles team vibes."
"Got it. Good call. We'll do that."