Muscle Recognizes Muscle

It was May, the heart of the season.

The standings at each club were beginning to take shape, and fans had taken to describing the state of the league with the phrase "three powerhouses, five middling teams, two pushovers."

And among them all, one team stood out above the rest: the Hawks' surge.

Contrary to the fans' expectation that, as always, they would circle the bottom of the table, the Hawks were running at the top of the middle of the pack.

So the air was thick with rumors that a foreign player swap might be in the works. Before long, new news reached the Hawks' fans.

It was before morning training began.

The players were loosening up, standing in a circle as they always did — and there, right in front of us, the manager stood tall alongside a massive Black man.

"Everyone, eyes front! This is Anderson, who'll be playing with us from now on."

The players whispered behind their hands.

"Whoa. How tall is he?"

"Gotta be 190 at least? And he looks about as built as Hyuk, too."

The first thing to catch the eye was the enormous, imposing forearms — the rugged muscles rolling from the forearms up through the biceps, triceps, and deltoids.

"Ohhh......"

In that instant, I understood exactly why other players always wanted to touch my muscles the moment they saw me.

Impressive......

Of course, I'd seen plenty of magnificent physiques before. But Anderson's muscles were on a different level entirely.

The kind built for function, compressed and dense, optimized for swinging a bat.

Whatever you called it, it was the kind of muscle that made anyone who laid eyes on it want to reach out and grab a handful.

"Let's keep introductions simple."

"Annyeonghaseyo."

Despite the clumsy Korean greeting, Anderson seemed to have a bright personality — he went down the line, hugging every single one of his new teammates in turn.

Then it was my turn.

Standing before me, his gaze swept up and down my body ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠without a hint of hesitation.

"Hooo."

With that inexplicable grunt of admiration, he opened his arms for a hug. A solid wall of muscle pressed against me, along with that distinctive foreign-player scent of sweat.

Before I knew it, my hand had drifted across his lower traps and lats on its own.

Hard at a glance, yet brimming with elasticity — this was not muscle you could build with a day or two of training.

This is the real deal.

Apparently I wasn't the only one thinking it.

"Hmmmm......"

Anderson was carefully prodding at my lats too.

You could call it a greeting shared between gym rats — nothing more, nothing less.

When the hug broke, a smile had settled on his lips.

"Something tells me you and I are gonna get along just fine."

"I think so too."

"Oh! You speak English? What's your name again?"

"Kang. Hyuk."

"Gang Hyuk? A name with 'gang' in it. I like that."

"Not Hyuk with an H-yu—. Hyuk."

"Hyuk? Damn. That's one hard name to pronounce."

Having already been through this plenty of times back in the States, I resigned myself.

"Just call me Kang or Hyuk. Whatever's comfortable."

"Deal. Kang, good to have you aboard."

Strength overflowed from his hand as we shook.

With a few pieces of paperwork still outstanding, Anderson couldn't be inserted into the lineup right away. As it happened, the Hawks lost the game that day, mired in a hitting slump.

I worked off my frustration over the loss with a workout.

Romero, who normally trained with me, had declared he was resting ahead of tomorrow's start. So I had the weight room to myself, music blasting — and through my field of vision, the door swung open and Anderson walked in.

"A yo, bro."

"Hey, you're here?"

Unlike Adam before him, he was clearly a people person.

Romero was sociable too, but if Romero was like a gentleman you'd meet at a networking event, Anderson was like a friend you'd run into on the street.

"What are you training today?"

"Legs!"

"I was just about to start mine. Wanna do it together?"

"Let's go."

I'd offered the joint workout casually at first, but as time went on, I found myself liking Anderson more and more.

It was obvious he genuinely loved lifting.

And his execution was excellent too.

So it really was functional, compressed muscle.

Put a couple of men together anywhere, and competition inevitably sparks over even the smallest things.

"Should I add another plate?"

"Do it."

With eyes that seemed to ask just how far the other could go, we started piling on the weight.

Plates accumulated one by one, and before long the bar for squats had reached 230 kilograms.

"Nngh......"

Anderson was starting to struggle.

Spotting him with my hands hovering just off the bar, I raised my voice.

"Come on, Anderson! You got this!"

"Hnngh!"

Trembling all over, he barely managed to grind the bar back up.

On his flushed face was written pure accomplishment.

"Hell, yeah!"

"Not bad, right? I didn't touch the bar. That was all you, Anderson."

"You know that was close to my all-time PR just now?"

"Seriously?"

"Yep. That's why you gotta lift with someone — that's when it counts."

I nodded with a satisfied smile.

Looks like I've found a good training partner.

Granted, I'd worked out with Romero, Dustin, and Hyungjun before. But no one lifted in my weight range.

Deep down, that had always bothered me — but if I had Anderson from now on, workouts were going to be a joy.

Maybe he was thinking along the same lines, because Anderson glanced around the room.

"Do the other guys not like lifting or something? Why's nobody here? This facility's nice."

"It's still early, for one thing...... and baseball has games almost every day, so most guys are worn out."

"That explains it. Everybody looked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like they were dragging out there."

"Haha. Could you spot me?"

"You got it."

Pumped up, I kept ratcheting the weight higher. Anderson eyed me with a flicker of concern.

"Aren't you overdoing it?"

"Before the season started, I was doing more than this."

The reason I'd fallen in love with lifting began in the White Room. Even in the middle of mental anguish, the sensation of muscle fibers tearing and rebuilding stronger was more than enough to make me feel alive.

Still, once the season started I'd held back from going heavy. But meeting someone who shared that feeling after so long, there was no helping it when the body wanted to push.

"Hnngh!"

Anderson's jaw dropped as I handled 260 kilograms with room to spare.

"Holy crap! Isn't that way too easy for you?"

Awe and reverence were written all over his face. I gave him a high five as he raised his hand instinctively.

We hadn't exchanged many words, but eyes and actions said enough.

Gym rats are good people, after all.

So there we were, basking in that hot-blooded communion between men — when the door opened and Hyungjun walked in.

"Huh?"

Taking in the two of us gripping each other's hands tight, he must have sensed something ominous, because he took a step backward.

"Ahh...... so this isn't the room. My mistake. I'll just be going?"

In that instant, Anderson's eyes met mine.

"Where are you going? Work out with us."

"Bro. Come on."

It would've been a waste to keep this burning passion to just the two of us, wouldn't it?

Anderson's debut was set: a road series against the Seoul Grizzlies at Jamsil.

Anderson, watching the game beside me, asked with a puzzled look.

"Hey, Kang."

"Yeah?"

"The pitcher's throwing, and it's okay to be that loud?"

Apparently, having transferred leagues in such a rush, he hadn't been briefed properly.

I told him with a smile.

"That's part of the KBO's charm. Unlike MLB, where the game is played in relative silence, our cheering culture is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pretty free — especially hitter-friendly."

"Ohhh. Now that I do like."

"If you perform well, the home fans will welcome you too, Anderson. Of course, if your numbers disappoint......"

He grinned at my trailing-off.

"Better make sure the cheers don't turn into boos, then."

Anderson had been slotted into the cleanup spot for today's game, but unfortunately, he never got to step up to the plate in the first inning — the table-setters, myself included, had all gone down one-two-three.

Top of the second, after we'd worked a defensive inning. Leading off, Anderson fired off a bold declaration at me.

"I'm gonna hit one BIG, so you just sit tight and wait."

"Looking forward to it."

He'd walked up to the plate brimming with confidence — and returned not long after having struck out.

"So where's this 'big one'......?"

"Nobody set the table. I don't eat rice without my protein, remember."

A truly gym-rat excuse. Still, I didn't give him too hard a time for striking out.

Baseball is a game of statistics. It was far too early to judge a player off a single at-bat — and I myself had already flown out against their starter.

So there I was, chatting with Anderson, when a sharp crack split the air.

Crackaaaak!

Woooaaah—!

Yoon Jun-seo, batting sixth, had blasted a go-ahead home run. Having admired the flight of the ball, Jun-seo stylishly flipped his bat away.

Anderson nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Holy......"

Worried he might be forming a bad first impression of the league, I scrambled to put a positive spin on it.

"You caught that, right? Bat flips are totally allowed in the KBO."

"I'd heard that, but they allow THAT level?"

"Think of it less as mocking the pitcher and more as celebrating the home run......"

But it seemed his already-fired-up ears weren't listening.

"Shh. There's no law here at all, is there? So could I do a squat ceremony too — sit down, stand up, right at the plate?"

"...That's just taunting. Do that and you'll get one thrown at your ribs."

"Ah. That's out, then."

Why does he sound disappointed about that?

Maybe my theory that all gym rats are good-natured souls wasn't entirely correct after all.