Doesn't Suit You
“Doesn't suit you. For now... let's go somewhere. Standing around here like this is kinda...”
“Yeah...”
I had no choice but to head to a nearby coffee shop with Seo Ha-yoon. It wasn't a franchise—just a quiet neighborhood spot. The faint aroma of coffee filled the air inside. We both glanced around and deliberately picked a corner seat that wasn't too visible.
I quietly ordered two coffees, brought them over, and sat down.
“Here.”
“Thanks.”
“So... what the hell were you thinking coming here?”
I spoke first.
“I got demoted for supposedly hitting on a cheerleader... this is gonna cause problems.”
Seo Ha-yoon slowly swirled her coffee cup before looking up.
“You never hit on anyone.”
“Then you wanna make covering for you a waste of effort?”
At that, she grinned.
“The team leader was pretty pissed about this.”
What does that have to do with anything...?
“I heard a player was messing around with a cheerleader and almost got one fired. So when she came back fuming... we explained right away. That it was no big deal. That we were the ones who called you out, actually.”
I just stared at Seo Ha-yoon without a word.
“So the cheerleaders are grateful. Thanks to you, what could've been three of us getting cut was avoided...”
“Still, no, I mean...”
She read my expression and continued quietly.
“No, but the team messed up too. They could've looked into it a bit more instead of shoving you down to the minors like that. It wasn't drunk driving or gambling. Is this really such a huge offense? Some teams even let cheerleaders marry players.”
Whoa, straight to the point?
I didn't respond to her words. Instead, I lifted my cup and took a sip. The bitter taste spread through my mouth.
“Honestly, the fans went too far too.”
Seo Ha-yoon said with a low chuckle.
“If the team was in first or second, they wouldn't have made such a fuss. But since we're losing, they gotta vent on someone. That someone was you. Are they even real Turkeys fans? We're the team with the fewest fans, and they all swarm to trash-talk?”
“You know more about this stuff than I thought...”
“Nah, that's just our cheerleader seniors getting a bit heated. As a rookie, I didn't know the full story. Anyway...”
Seo Ha-yoon proceeded cautiously.
“So, thanks and sorry. Texting felt too casual. I wanted to say it face-to-face. As the rep.”
“Got it. That's fine. I'm good.”
I said curtly.
“Getting sent to the minors is a strategic retreat. I can climb back to the first team.”
“You think that's easy? The seniors said it'd be tough...”
“It'll happen.”
Seo Ha-yoon fell silent for a moment.
“Anyway, head back worry-free now. The team already punished you by sending you down—no more on top of that. But if bad stuff keeps piling up, you might actually get released. Even then, let's meet again when you're back in the first team. Got it?”
“Yeah...”
“Cool. I'm out. I'm hungry.”
I stood up.
“...”
The next day, the second-team defensive coach called my name louder than usual.
“Kim Hu-seong! What the hell are you doing right now?”
“Yes, sir! Stretching!”
“Good. Next, shadow pitching and tubing.”
I looked up in surprise.
Shadow pitching and tubing?
“Coach, do I really need to do tubing too?”
The coach crossed his arms, eyed me, and smirked.
“If you wanna grip the ball even a little better, you need more velocity. That's how throws get accurate and strong. Shadow pitching and tubing are the best for that.”
I hesitated before answering.
“Uh... I already do shadow pitching every day.”
He nodded and patted my shoulder.
“Yeah? That explains why your form's been solid. Consistent throws like that come from it. You're diligent, huh?”
I felt a bit proud at that, but he followed up immediately.
“Then why skip the tubing?”
I made a troubled face.
“Well... doing tubing makes me feel too much like a pitcher. I'm a fielder, though...”
The coach scowled and waved me off.
“Shut up and do it. You're backwards. You should've been doing more tubing. It's not about pitching—it's stretching.”
He pulled a tubing band from somewhere and tossed it at me.
“Here. Start from the back of the shoulder. Keep elbows tucked, go slow. Rushing kills the point. Muscles need to remember the timing.”
I grabbed the band and followed his instructions slowly. He watched with arms crossed, nodding.
“Yeah, that's it. That'll make your throws smoother and go farther. Your basics are good, so this'll level you up big time.”
I caught my breath.
“It's tougher than I thought.”
He laughed.
“Always is. But it works. You'll feel the difference in games. Consistent work cuts shoulder injuries too.”
I repeated the motion. He adjusted my arm angle and form from the side.
“Right, don't flare the elbow. Slow. Speed'll come naturally.”
He sounded satisfied. After a few sets, I felt the burn in my shoulders.
“Good. Do sets of this before every training from now on. Your throws'll be a whole new level soon.”
I bowed my head.
“Yes, sir. Got it, Coach.”
“Don't worry about looking like a pitcher. Just keep at it. That's what'll save your career.”
At Goyang Turkeys' second-team dugout, Oh Tae-sik the manager seemed lost in thought.
“Sigh... the first-team situation with the chief coach is pretty bad, huh?”
“Yeah. Manager Kim Young-ho keeps pushing to bring up injured guys ASAP. Team's stuck in last place too...”
“Whew... summer's coming, and it's already like this...”
“Players aren't all 100%, but... you sending someone up?”
“...Gotta. Stay too long, and I'll be the one fired first. Bring up Jeong Ui-hoon first.”
“The rest?”
“Not yet. Edison, Gu Min-seok, Hwang Do-yoon—they've got plenty to learn. Good examples for the second-team guys.”
Oh Tae-sik fiddled with the roster.
“You think they'll learn watching?”
“The ones who will, will. The rest won't...”
Oh Tae-sik eyed the batter stepping up for his at-bat.
This guy's gonna learn.
Whiiip!
The pitcher's ball streaked toward home plate.
Crack!
I connected solidly. The ball scooted sharply toward third, and the third baseman—already up front—let it skip behind him on the hard grounder.
By the time he fielded it and glanced at first, I'd already touched the bag.
From the dugout, Oh Tae-sik watched and chuckled.
“Kid's good. Must've picked up that trick in the first team. Different from when we sent him up.”
The chief coach beside him nodded, arms crossed.
“He's eating that third baseman alive today. Bunted twice to mess with him, then pulls back for a regular swing now that he's crept in. Normally it'd be a grounder, but against anyone but a gold-glove third, it'll play like that.”
The manager smirked.
“Yeah, now that he's seen third-base defense up close, he's exploiting it well. That feel—you can't drill it in easily. Reading where they're positioned mid-swing. Nice.”
“Yes, sir. Hitting with defender psychology in mind. He's grown since going up.”
The chief coach admired. But he paused, then spoke seriously.
“Still, Manager, for a lefty, shouldn't we build pull power? That play's great, but team situations demand it—lefties need to pull.”
Oh Tae-sik went quiet at that. He watched me step on first, grinning atop the base. Then he let out a small sigh.
“Hah... forcing that on his swing might not work.”
The chief coach tilted his head.
“That's a shame.”
The manager shook his head.
“He's not that type of hitter. Forcing it could ruin him.”
“Then how'll you use him?”
“Leadoff. Strictly one-hole. Cleans up good pitches with no one on.”
The chief coach smiled faintly.
“True, that fits.”
“Yeah.”
Oh Tae-sik said firmly.
“Use him to rattle the other side as table-setter. He bunts now, reads zones, draws out defense. Guys like that don't fit the heart of the order.”
Stack his other strengths right, and he'll be a solid first-team guy. We can use him. For sure.