Intensive Training
After the Sunday game ended, the Gocheok Turkeys' first-team coaching staff had no choice but to hold a meeting. The team's current record stood at 2 wins and 6 losses, placing them seventh. After sweeping the Phoenix two games to nothing, they'd followed it up with a brutal six-game losing streak. They hadn't even played ten games yet, so it was too early to say for sure, but the mood had already sunk into the depths.
The Turkeys' first-team manager, Kim Young-ho, sat perched on the edge of the conference table with his arms crossed. Thanks to that early-season six-game skid, exhaustion etched his face, and the deep furrows between his brows spoke of prolonged frustration.
"Chief coach, when are the injured guys coming back?"
"Edison's expected back in early May. He'll start getting real-game reps in the second team from late April."
The chief coach answered cautiously. Kim Young-ho gave a small nod.
"Well, that's something, I guess? Though I wonder if grabbing a replacement foreign player would've been smarter."
"No budget for that, they say. We're stuck waiting..."
"Hah, figures... Next?"
The chief coach continued.
"The real issues are Gu Min-seok and Hwang Do-yoon. Those two need more time to recover. Earliest return in June, maybe July if it's late."
"Haa..."
Kim Young-ho let out a long sigh.
"So we're basically writing off the first half? This year's gonna be a real bitch."
"Jeong I-hoon should be back by mid-May, at least. He's recovering fast."
Manager Kim Young-ho drummed his fingers on the table in the heavy silence.
"Alright, who else is coming back... Oh, right! That Kim Seok-hyeon guy's fully recovered, yeah?"
"Yes, sir."
"So, better to use him? Or Kim Hu-seong?"
The chief coach replied immediately.
"Hu-seong's looking solid at the plate right now. 12-for-30 so far, batting .400."
".400? What was Kim Seok-hyeon last season?"
".245."
"Then obviously we ride with Kim Hu-seong."
At that, the hitting coach raised a hand.
"Manager, sure, the numbers look good short-term, but dig deeper and it's different. Technically, his swing's still garbage—ball flight's inconsistent. I'd say Hu-seong's just been lucky."
"Lucky? He's still getting hits, isn't he? And that's why we have you, hitting coach—to minimize the luck factor. If the technique's lacking, polish it up. Turn this rookie into something useful with focused training."
The hitting coach looked a bit flustered.
"Have the analytics team send over the data tomorrow—start fixing that swing path from the ground up. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
Then the baserunning coach spoke up cautiously.
"Manager, since we're on Kim Hu-seong... His speed's legit, no doubt. But his baserunning skills need work. Start timing's off, and he lacks steal instinct. If he keeps hitting, just teaching him steals would make him way more threatening."
Kim Young-ho uncrossed his arms and leaned back.
"Yeah, I know. Inexperience shows. How do we fix it?"
"Evening sessions focused on baserunning could work."
"Good. Let's do that."
The fielding coach unfolded his arms.
"Manager, defensively, Kim Seok-hyeon and Hu-seong are about even. But Hu-seong can play infield too—that's his edge."
"What's your point?"
"I think we need to prep for Jeong I-hoon returning to center. With left fielder Yoo Seong-jae, first baseman Ha Jin-woo, third baseman Lim Jae-min, second baseman Hong Yu-chan—all hitting under .200—if Kim Seok-hyeon's seat's hot, those four are too."
Manager Kim Young-ho chuckled and nodded.
"Makes sense. I get you. Alright, time to spark some competition among the backups. Slot Jeong I-hoon back in center and find a spot for Hu-seong elsewhere."
Kim Young-ho scribbled names on the meeting room whiteboard with his finger.
"From now on, any slacker gets yanked for Hu-seong immediately. Not sure if he'll handle other positions defensively, but let's test it."
"Got it."
And so the next day arrived. Heading to the first-team ballpark for Monday practice—something I'd skipped last week thanks to a hangover—felt refreshing. The moment I pushed open the training room door, a familiar voice hit me.
"Look who showed up after missing last week."
It was the first-team hitting coach. There was a snide edge to his tone.
Ah... shit. This guy's just got it out for me.
I tensed up for a second but forced a grin and bowed.
"Haha, good to see you, Coach! Didn't expect the summon."
The guy who praised my classmates back then, but guess who survived? Nothing I can do about it. With my .400 average, I'm locked into the lineup, right? Man, that 4-for-4 against the Phoenix was pure gold~!
I smirked inwardly at the hitting coach.
He spun a bat at my response.
"How the hell are you hitting .400? I don't get it. That's why I'm watching you myself today."
Fuck. Coulda skipped this... Just let me hit in the cage like normal...
But no way I could say that. I bowed my head meekly.
"Understood. Please take good care of me."
The batting practice that followed was pure hell.
The first machine fired balls in rapid tempo. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Nearly two swings per second on tight courses—my hands started shaking.
But I powered through. All that steady training paid off; I could handle this much.
"Good! One more box!"
Fuck?
The second box was the same. Breath burning my throat, hands aching, but I didn't stop swinging till the end.
"Not bad endurance. But your swing's trash. How do you keep pounding grounders?"
Why didn't you say so sooner? No intention to fix it, huh.
The third machine targeted specific zones: inside, outside, high, low—all over the strike zone.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
"You know, you're a weird one."
For a moment, hope flickered. Praise?
But the hitting coach's face turned icy as he continued.
"Your swing's definitely garbage."
My mind went blank. No joke, no humor in his tone.
"But it's wild how you foul off almost everything."
Praise?
"That's what makes it a headache. Half-decent, half-awful. Contact's good, sure. The problem's after that. Your launch angle's fucking trash. All grounders—what good's that?"
The coach jabbed at the batting cage in front of me.
"How many of your balls reached the outfield fence? Zero, right? All infield grounders. You're a double-play factory. That's why I call it garbage."
"But I haven't hit into any doubles yet?"
"That's 'cause you're fast. Without those legs, you'd have a dozen by now. Be grateful for your feet. Even if you die, dying alone gets my thumbs-up."
I gave a bitter smile. Praise or sarcasm? Unclear.
"So how do I fix it?"
"Start with stance."
"Your balance is too far forward. Swing path scoops under. No lift like that. Gotta raise the launch angle."
Raise the launch angle...?
Something I'd heard in the second team too. But...
"Tough to overhaul your swing overnight. You've tried, and it didn't stick, right?"
"Yeah..."
"Let's just set the direction. You've got a senior to chase."
"Who?"
"Jeong I-hoon. Our starting center fielder."
Jeong I-hoon. The Turkeys' core slugger, rumored for MLB next season. Last year: .349 average, 113 RBIs, .997 OPS—a monster.
"You two have some similarities. Good runners, righty throw lefty swing. Both switched from righty to lefty. And you both touch every pitch in the zone, even if it wrecks your stance."
Really? Maybe he's my ceiling.
"But! Big difference. He's a mid-to-long power guy. High launch, quality contact. You're just a poke-and-hope. Nah, groundball machine."
Oof...
"So raise that launch angle. Keep poking like this, and you'll hit a wall fast."
"But my average's solid right now..."
The coach cut me off coldly.
"Sure~ .400 now. But baseball data doesn't lie. Your average drops eventually. Back to your true level—.100. Nah, with the speed, maybe .210. Wanna bet?"
"No thanks..."
"Good. Now hit with that in mind."
"Yes, sir."
With that, the hitting coach moved on to the other players.
Well, at least he gave me real pointers today? Raise the launch angle... Alright, let's give it a shot.