Taiwan Spring Camp 3
As two weeks passed like that, the training atmosphere began to shift bit by bit. We'd spent nearly the entire time repeating endurance drills to build up our stamina, but now players were starting to pass the tests one by one. Thanks to that, about half the team had moved on to foundational skill work.
I'd already transitioned to basics training myself, but now I was diving into full-on defensive drills alongside the other infielders.
"Alright, just one box each."
The defensive coach looked at us and said. He had a ball and bat in hand, and he started hitting right away.
Good, this shouldn't be too hard.
At first, the coach hit routine fungoes. But gradually, the difficulty ramped up—grounders slicing left and right, tricky bounces, deep flies. It kept coming.
"Bodies warmed up now? You gotta handle balls like this to survive as a pro in the minors."
Strangely, my body moved lighter than before. A ball I'd normally barely snag backhanded came right to me, clean and crisp. One that would've required a dive? My feet fired first, letting me backhand it smooth.
Well, well, not bad? Defense has definitely improved.
The minor league defensive coach thought that watching Kim Hu-seong. The other guys were all veterans with years under their belts, and the rookies besides him were still stuck in stamina tests. Yet right now, Kim Hu-seong looked no different from the minor leaguers.
Alright, time for range and precision battles. Crank it up?
Time to elevate the grounder quality again. The coach started smashing harder hits.
Tak!
Ugh... way too deep?
A ball that looked like it'd get away. Suddenly, they were coming faster, farther out. The kind I'd have let go in the old days.
But this was defensive training, so I chased it to the end and dove.
Swoooosh—caught it!
I snagged it diving, popped up, and fired to first. Dust caked my face from the rough slide, but the ball drilled right into the first baseman's glove.
At that moment, the coach's voice boomed.
"Nice! Kim Hu-seong, that's solid! How'd you get that one?"
It was the first time I'd heard praise ring out loud across the field from a coach. The area went quiet for a beat, then a subtle tension rippled through the other players.
What?
Especially from the guys next to me fielding fungoes—Oh Ji-hun, pro for three years now, and Im Seong-jin, the minor league starting second baseman. Their eyes changed.
"Whoa... Coach never praises during drills..."
"Lucky guy? Nail it and you'll be in games pronto."
Eh...? Is that how it works?
Soon I got the coach's angle. It wasn't just praise—it was a message to the minor league starters: You're getting pushed.
Feeling those stares fired me up more. When had I ever been in this spot? Sure, it was rare anywhere else, but getting props for one strength felt great.
This defense was me proving my worth.
After that, I kept diving, ending up filthy with dirt, but chased every ball to the end and nailed throws to first.
Heading into week three, with a practice game against the Taiwan team looming, our squad started intra-squad scrimmages. To sharpen game senses and check players' current form.
But I felt confident. Maybe because the pro club's training played to my strengths and minimized weaknesses. It was internal competition against minor leaguers, so yeah, I could hang this time.
"Kim Hu-seong. Batting eighth, second base."
Perfect, time to show 'em.
Tak!
First at-bat. I swung hard on the first pitch, but it thudded into the dirt for an infield grounder. Full sprint, but out.
Tik!
Second at-bat, same story. Fouled off an outside pitch weakly; it dribbled feebly right to the pitcher. Dead before halfway. Out again.
Tak!
Third at-bat, my legs finally saved me. Routine infield grounder, but a funky bounce made it skip once. Im Seong-jin at short hopped it and bobbled the throw, so I beat it to first by half a step.
Phew... so that's how you stay alive....
No errors from the field, and it's tough.
Relief at the hit faded quick.
Fourth and final at-bat: shallow grounder right at second. Even full throttle, the play was over. Out.
"Kim Hu-seong!"
Dragging back after the easy out, the minor league manager called me.
I approached, and he scowled at me.
"Kim Hu-seong."
"Yes, Manager."
"If you hit it like that! Even Usain Bolt couldn't beat it out at first. Get what I'm saying?"
Ah...
My face burned. My speed was better, but crappy contact rendered even that useless.
"How long to first right now? 3.8 seconds. That's damn fast. Saved you once thanks to those wheels. But why'd you die the other times? 'Cause you hit it like shit. Get it?"
I answered small but clear.
"...I get it."
"And what's your other problem?"
Uh... what do I say? What's wrong?
"Just... feels like I'm messing up from the start."
"Right. Swinging at the first pitch every time, can't lay off crap. Balls right at short, second, pitcher! You're a double-play machine. Those legs gotta keep you alive. Argh, seriously. How'd you hit off Lee Tae-sin? Pull 12 pitches against Choi Kang-hyuk?"
That was...
"Just... got jammed?"
"..."
The manager stared straight, then shook his head muttering.
"Nah. Ditch hitting."
I doubted my ears.
"Pardon? Ditch hitting?"
"Yeah. That swing? Same crap forever. No power, trash contact. Go another route."
His tone was firm.
"From now on, no swings in batting practice. Bunts only."
I stammered in shock.
"Wait... just bunts? Can I survive on that?"
He eyed me with total conviction.
"Dead serious—better odds with a slow roller than your max hacks. Pressure the infield with your speed; they rush, errors happen."
"Aha..."
"Plus, bunting ties to execution skills. Managers love high success rates. You're not 'can't hit'—you're 'execution guy'."
I had nothing left to say. But my brain got it.
Yeah, my edge was speed.
Ever tried bunting for real? It's way harder and scarier than it looks...
Pitching~!
Heeeek! Pop!
The machine whirred, firing a fastball. I tensed, sticking my bat out. But yanked back quick.
Thought bunts were simple, but facing one? Nightmare. It'd touch the bat but not die—foul wide or pop up.
Same on retries. Power control, angle—tricky. Never practiced much in high school. Head got it, body didn't.
Ha... how do I fix this?
"Hey, what're you doing out here solo?"
A voice from behind. Two seniors stood there. I dropped the bat quick, bowing.
"Oh, bunting practice, sirs."
One narrowed his eyes.
"You the rookie?"
The laughing one explained.
"That's the guy. Eleventh round."
I flinched but nodded.
They were rehabbing vets. The talker: Gu Min-seok, first-team starter at second, famed leadoff execution king with bunts.
Next: Hwang Do-yoon. 'Lazy Slugger' nickname—powerhouse but chill vibe drew coach nagging.
Gu Min-seok smirked.
"What, no bunt practice in high school? Stance screams newbie."
My face flushed silent.
Hwang Do-yoon teased.
"Ease up on the rook. Look, he's sweating for it. And that's the poor kid who passed stamina day one, fungoes day two."
Gu Min-seok shrugged.
"Oh yeah. Right?"
I nodded.
"Eh, whatever. Bunts improve with reps. Body memorizes. But know basics first."
Basics?
"Two things."
He held up fingers.
"One: always smash down from above. Kills the ball. Two: knees for height, hips for direction. Get it? Bend knees for level, twist hips for aim."
He demoed with a bat. I mimicked—bat not too upright or flat, like stamping down lightly.
"Try."
Pitching~!
Machine fired. Hit the bat—deeeegururu roll.
Eh? Like this?
Ball died nice.
"Yeah, that's the feel. Not hard, right?"