An Audacious New Nephew
'Look at this kid.'
Park Sungho stared at Kang Hyuk with fresh eyes.
As a rule, players drafted in the early rounds tended to show one of two reactions. Either they imagined themselves debuting on the professional stage at any moment and dominating the league, or they coolly recognized their place and proceeded with careful deliberation.
Having watched countless players come and go over his long career as an agent, Park Sungho considered the latter approach the correct one. Plenty of fans liked to dismiss the quality of the KBO, but the world of the top one percent was never easy in any field. Players who had chewed through the high school leagues piled up year after year, and only the very best of them survived—that was what being a pro meant.
'His father told me he was a realistic kid, though?'
Park Sungho had first crossed paths with Kang Min-jun when he appeared as a guest on the man's YouTube broadcast. They had since struck up a brotherly friendship, drinking together now and then, and in the process he'd heard a fair amount about Kang Hyuk.
That the boy realistically saw himself as a late first-round pick, for one. That he wanted to sign with a team whose player development system was well established, since most batters ended up doing a stint in the minors, for another.
So wasn't what Kang Hyuk was saying right now the exact opposite?
Park Sungho's curiosity was piqued.
"The standard, safe play is to maximize your signing bonus. The bigger your guaranteed money, the more opportunities the club gives you. You're the first overall pick, so the number won't be small. Why the obsession with incentives?"
"Something clicked for me recently. I have a feeling it'll work at the pro level too."
"Hmm. That alone doesn't quite explain it."
Sungho's expression hardened. An agent's fundamental duty was to support and champion his player. But offering honest counsel when a player was heading in the wrong direction—that, too, was part of the job.
Yet Kang Hyuk showed no intention of budging. Instead, he fixed Sungho with a look of sheer audacity.
"I know full well that the professional world isn't easy. But I think setting a big goal is what keeps me motivated."
"...Is that the whole reason?"
"I changed up my training method lately, and it seems to suit me well."
Kang Hyuk picked up an apple from the tea table. Min-jun and Sungho watched him with puzzled eyes.
"Hup."
He split the apple in half with nothing but grip strength, then rotated it in his hands and carved it into eight clean wedges.
"Whoa......"
Park Sungho let out a low whistle and couldn't find his words for a long moment.
'Serious strength. Is that natural?'
He filed the new information away. The prevailing assessment of Kang Hyuk had been excellent pitch recognition and outstanding catching ability. Add raw power to that, and it would be no small asset at the negotiating table.
Even so, skepticism still spilled from his mouth.
"Cracking apples and starting at the pro level are two very different problems."
"If you make the spot for me, Uncle, I'm confident I'll prove it."
"Is that so?"
Sungho's mind began to spin at lightning speed.
"Fine. Let's meet again soon. If you can convince me then, I'll keep my end of the bargain."
"Understood."
As Sungho looked at his brazen new nephew, a smile of genuine amusement played at the corner of his mouth.
Two days later, Sungho went to see another of his clients.
"Why would I go do community service at a high school? It's not even my alma mater."
Despite the full explanation, the response was less than enthusiastic. Sungho tried desperately to persuade him.
"Retirement isn't the end, you know. If you want to show your face on variety shows or anywhere else down the road, you've got to manage your image."
"Can't that wait until the season's over and the retirement ceremony's done?"
"Aw, come on. Do this for my sake, will you? Hm?"
Kim Hyun-woo, a former Major Leaguer and a living legend of the Hawks, would see his contract with the club expire at the end of this season. Despite his considerable age, he was still putting up fine numbers, and his love for the team had been evident time and again, so the fans were optimistic about a re-signing.
But Park Sungho, his agent and closest confidant, knew the truth—that he was considering retiring when this season ended.
"Do you really have to retire, though? The club keeps offering great terms out of respect for you."
"I've earned plenty of money already."
"Your velocity's still solid. Your numbers are respectable."
"Aw, you know how it is. These days my arm barely lifts above my shoulder."
"......"
"My wife's heart breaks every time she sees it."
Few baseball players make it through their careers with their bodies intact, but Kim Hyun-woo was among the worst off. He'd gone under the knife several times during his MLB years, and even now he regularly had rehabilitation injections shot into his shoulder.
"I've got to live for my family now."
"...I understand how your wife feels, but what about the Hawks fans?"
"That's......"
Hyun-woo let out a long sigh. His attachment to the team ran deep.
Why had a man who'd earned enough money and glory in the MLB to live comfortably for life come back to the Hawks? He said it openly, wherever he went: to repay the fans who had cheered for him all those years.
After a long silence, Hyun-woo shook his head.
"You know the state of the Hawks organization as well as I do."
"......"
"Me being there won't change a thing."
To a man who had seen the MLB firsthand, the Hawks must have looked woefully inadequate. A front office obsessed with cutting costs, with no long-term vision or system to speak of. A coaching staff that was incompetent on top of tearing the clubhouse apart with factional infighting. And position players whose defense was, by long tradition, a complete mess.
Since returning to Korea, Kim Hyun-woo had made a habit of unloading his grievances about the club onto Sungho at every opportunity. When he showed signs of starting in on it again, Sungho waved his hands in surrender.
"Okay, okay. I won't tell you not to retire. Just do this one thing for my dignity's sake. Your team's not making the fall classic anyway, so quit moping and go do some volunteer work."
"Ugh, I really don't want to......"
"Oh, come on. Come on. I followed you all the way to America wiping your nose when you couldn't even keep your pants dry, and now that you're retiring you treat your hyung like a stranger?"
"Tch. Fine, fine! I'll go, all right?"
"You promise?"
Where had that tearful look gone? Sungho's attitude flipped in an instant, and he was grinning ear to ear. He had no illusions that Hyun-woo would reverse his retirement.
But a man whose long career had earned him the respect of so many players made the perfect mentor to lecture Kang Hyuk—and besides......
Sungho found himself recalling Kang Hyuk's face from a few days earlier.
'That was no ordinary look in his eyes.'
He prided himself on his eye for talent, honed over years in the business. And by his read, Kang Hyuk's gaze had nothing in common with the rookies who had no grasp of their own limitations. If anything, it brought to mind the eyes of grizzled, battle-hardened veterans—or was that just his imagination?
'Who knows? It might just be something.'
If Kang Hyuk really did have the ability to back up his swagger, then watching the sprout of a young player might just stir something in Kim Hyun-woo's heart again.
Sungho silently hoped—truly hoped—that Kang Hyuk possessed skill enough to justify all that bold talk.
"Kim Hyun-woo is seriously coming to our school?"
Yoon Tae-yang's eyes went wide when he heard the whole story.
"Yeah. He's clearing time in his schedule for two days from now."
"Stop pulling my leg. How would you even be in contact with Kim Hyun-woo?"
"Don't believe me if you don't want to."
When I brushed it off like it was nothing, Yoon Tae-yang grabbed my sleeve and wouldn't let go.
"No, wait—does that mean I get to see him too?"
"He's coming to do volunteer work, so I'd assume so."
"YES!"
Tae-yang jumped so high his glasses nearly flew off. Kim Hyun-woo was the player he respected most in the world, so seeing him in the flesh must have been a very big deal indeed.
I, on the other hand, felt nothing in particular and scratched my head idly.
'Is it really that exciting?'
The old me probably would have reacted the same way. To amateurs aspiring to go pro, a professional player was every bit as glamorous as a celebrity who'd made it big.
But ever since the White Room, things were different.
After finishing training in that prison of a space, I inevitably had long stretches of time alone with my thoughts.
'Why was I trapped in that place? Plenty of other people exist.'
'Will this training method actually make me better at baseball?'
'What is baseball, really?'
When those questions swept through my head dozens of times a day, my emotional swings were bound to flatten out. And among them, one question had occupied me longer than any other.
'Why do I play baseball?'
"......"
Come to think of it, back in the day it had simply been fun. The sense of accomplishment when I lined a hit. The look on my parents' faces when they beamed at me. Even the smug satisfaction of being better at baseball than the other kids my age.
The truth was, the old me had treated baseball purely as a source of enjoyment. But just as a hobby turned into a job can become a thing you can barely stand to look at—after repeating nothing but swings in the White Room, approaching baseball as "fun" had grown difficult.
I still trained, even now. But "habit" was a more accurate description than "enjoyment."
'Above all—the Tutorial is over, it said.'
I was living a peaceful life at the moment, but didn't that mean that someday I could be dragged back into that space again?
For a moment, my chest tightened.
"Whew. Whew."
I took a long, deep breath, then called out to Yoon Tae-yang, who was still lost in his own daydream.
"Hey."
"Hm?"
"Why do you play baseball?"
"Baseball? Because it's just oozing with romance, man."
"...Never mind."
My fault for asking a guy with a screw loose. I turned away and stared blankly up at the sky.
I had no worries about my ability. 'I honed my craft in that place for what amounts to years more than anyone else. A starting job is one thing, but surely I'll at least set foot on a first-team roster.'
What mattered to me now was the reason—the why of playing baseball.
Which was why I intended to take this opportunity to ask Kim Hyun-woo myself. A man who had played the game for that long had to have found an answer of his own.
With that thought, even I found myself looking forward to meeting him.
The Hawks' head scout looked around in bewilderment.
"What's the occasion today?"
"Beats me...?"
He had come to pay his respects to the Bomun High School head coach and have a chat with Kang Hyuk—only to find the training grounds crawling with outsiders.
"Isn't that guy the reporter from ATBC?"
"...Looks like it, yeah."
"What's going on?"
The two of them, poking around the edges of the crowd, soon found their answer.
"Wait—isn't that Kim Hyun-woo?"
"Looks like it?"
"Was there some official club event scheduled?"
"Not that I know of? I checked before coming."
After a moment of stunned silence, they pieced the situation together.
"Apparently it's some personal engagement of his. Should we just head back to the club?"
"Ah, come on. We came all this way—it'd be a shame to leave empty-handed. Let's at least greet the coach first and see how this plays out."