Sex Machine
The Hawks took a complete 7–0 victory over the Grizzlies.
The Player of the Game went to Romero, who had thrown seven scoreless innings.
But Anderson, who had recorded two doubles in his debut, also joined the post-game interview.
Minjun, watching the broadcast from home, nodded along.
"Yeah, that's right. Anderson played well today, too."
His impact on the game was undeniable, but what Minjun rated even more highly was Anderson's adaptability.
Unlike Adam, who had spent every game sitting alone in the dugout, Anderson was constantly caught on camera doing celebrations with Kang Hyuk and fooling around in the dugout.
He had clearly melted into the team almost instantly.
Anderson, with an interpreter at his side, faced a question from a female reporter.
"Hello, Anderson! Today you showed us an impressive performance with two doubles and a walk. First, could you share your thoughts on playing your debut game?"
"Before I came to Korea, I had a lot of worries. But after playing, I felt like I made the right choice coming here. The team atmosphere is great, and the Hawks fans' support really left an impression. I'll adjust to the team as quickly as I can and show you all even better things."
The answer was so smooth that the reporter seemed to think the rest of the interview would be smooth sailing, and she beamed brightly.
But her smile didn't last long.
"Then what did you like most about the league?"
"I love that there's a real culture of doing celebrations when you get a hit. The MLB pitchers with their pointlessly inflated egos could stand to take notes. Every last one of them."
At the slightly aggressive remark, the reporter barely managed to hold her twitching smile in place.
"...Haha. Yes. That muscle celebration we saw during the game was quite striking, too. And as it happens, you seemed to be in great sync with Kang Hyuk out there?"
"Yes."
"You two looked very close. What is it about Kang Hyuk that you like?"
Anderson answered with an easy smile.
"Great work ethic. Great personality. And above all... well, you can see it just by looking at him, right? The man is a sex machine."
Minjun, listening to the broadcast, momentarily doubted his own ears.
"What did he just say?"
LOLLLLLL the broadcast just exploded.
Did he just say... machine?
Even as a straight guy, I have to admit he's appealing.
Is this really okay on a broadcast kids are watching?
Info) In America that's a word that just means someone is sexy, and it's used casually all the time.
The interpreter was SUPPOSED to soften that to "sexy." Instead he just went full literal translation lmaooo
The reporter was just as flustered, and even though there was still time left, she hastily threw out a closing question.
"...And finally, could you say a word to the fans who have been cheering for you?"
"I've joined a great league and a wonderful club, so I'll do my absolute best to contribute to the team's results."
As soon as the interview wrapped up, the broadcast camera quickly found Kang Hyuk, head bowed, face buried in his palm.
HAHAHAHAHA looks like Kang Hyuk just realized it too. That's what he gets to answer to for a while now.
Korean Monster, Korean Judge, Korean Stanton, Monster Rookie, the Ape, plain old Gorilla, Pitcher Whisperer... and now Sex Machine. That's a LOT of nicknames.
In the baseball world, the more nicknames you have, the bigger a superstar you are. It's a law.
Wow. So from now on, if Kang Hyuk gets intentionally walked, we have to deal with THAT muscle monster coming up next? Terrifying.
Won-taek's in great form lately too. Our top of the order doesn't lose to anyone's.
If we just fix the bottom of the lineup and the bullpen, a real championship run doesn't seem crazy.
That said, why is the stream host so quiet??
Reading the last comment, Minjun scratched his head.
"...Hmm. I'm just wondering how I'm supposed to apologize to the Grizzlies players."
On my way to the training facility.
As I walked through the entrance, a front-office staffer came looking for me.
"Kang Hyuk!"
"Yes?"
"Did you hear the news?"
"What news?"
"A delivery just arrived from Dodo Pizza. In your name?"
"I'm sorry, from a pizza place? Why?"
The staffer explained the whole story.
Apparently my father's broadcast had packed quite a punch — his rant had been making the rounds on YouTube and social media for days. And riding that wave, Dodo Pizza had reaped a handsome marketing windfall, so they'd sent sixty pizzas as a gift to me and the Grizzlies for putting on such a memorable duel.
So there are times my dad's broadcast actually pays off.
I nodded and turned back to the staffer.
"But... sixty pizzas?"
"Yes."
"That's too many for the players to finish before a game. If we raffle them off to fans, they'll be cold and soggy by the time anyone gets one."
"That's true."
"Why don't the front-office staff have some too?"
"Thank you! Oh, right — is it okay if we film this for YouTube?"
"Filming us eat pizza? Of course."
Did Dodo Pizza ask for that?
Bewildered, I made my way slowly onto the field. There, by one of the tables, pizza boxes were stacked in a mountain.
The first to show interest was Won-taek.
"Whoa. What's all this? Did Jin-mo hyung buy it?"
"What exactly do you take me for?"
"A cheapskate?"
Won-taek took a slap to the back of the head, and the club staff burst out laughing.
"It's a thank-you gift from the company to Kang Hyuk for the other day."
"Really? Wow, Kang Hyuk's popular."
Won-taek opened one of the boxes to check the contents — and his face went rigid.
"...It's pineapple pizza."
"Huh? Really?"
Not knowing what was inside, I lit up.
I was the type to avoid heavy food before games anyway. But a Hawaiian pizza, light and palate-cleansing? That, I could eat.
As Won-taek opened the boxes one by one, his expression grew darker and darker.
"They're ALL pineapple pizza."
"What? Seriously?"
"Dodo Pizza's marketing team. Zero taste whatsoever. Did they just have leftover pineapple and decide to dump it on us?"
"I'm pretty sure that's because I told them Hawaiian is my favorite?"
"So YOU'RE the culprit?"
I shot back at my senior.
"What's wrong with Hawaiian pizza?"
"Well, it's... never mind."
Probably because the front-office staff were still holding their cameras, he kept his mouth shut.
Before long, the other players began drifting over, drawn by curiosity.
"Oh, Hawaiian pizza? Not bad."
"Gross. Why would anyone heat up pineapple?"
"It gets sweeter when it's warm, you know?"
"Still, I like mine cold."
Even among the players, it clearly divided along love-it-or-hate-it lines. If I had to put a ratio on it, it felt like 55 to 45 against?
The club staff watched the bickering with amusement, then pulled out a different stack of pizza boxes.
"Honestly, the pineapple thing was a prank for the YouTube video. We've got other pizzas here too."
"Oh! Pepperoni!"
"And sweet potato."
Immediately, everyone's attention flooded toward the other pizzas.
Watching the Hawaiian pizza drift out of sight in the crush of interest, I couldn't hide my disappointment.
Pineapple pizza is delicious, though.
Scanning the room, I found fresh hope in the sight of Anderson approaching.
If anyone would recognize the true value of pineapple pizza, it would be an American like Anderson.
"Anderson!"
"Yeah?"
"Do you like pineapple pizza?"
"Of course."
"Knew it!"
For one brief moment, I basked in the camaraderie of the health-obsessed. Then came his next words, and my world crumbled.
"Though it's a bit disappointing, honestly. Not enough protein on the toppings."
"That's the whole charm? Imagine if they added meat — it'd get heavy and ruin the flavor. The bacon is the most it should have, so you can enjoy that bright, sweet-and-tangy pineapple taste."
"Nope. The carb-protein-fat ratio is wrecked. If I ever opened a pizza place, I'd put chicken breast on top."
I stared at Anderson with an expression of open revulsion.
"Anderson, please never go into the restaurant business."
"Why not?"
"Just... don't."
Why on earth would anyone think to put chicken breast on a perfectly good pizza?
It made absolutely no sense to me.
After Anderson's successful debut and our winning series against the Grizzlies, we returned to Daejeon.
When I visited the practice field for my usual batting work, there was already someone there.
Thwack—!
When I saw who it was, I couldn't hide my surprise.
Senior Ji-hoon is... training?
Seo Ji-hoon, the team's number-two hitter and first baseman.
He was famous for being gentle and good-natured to a fault, and because he so rarely showed his face at the training facility, the players joked about him as a legendary Pokémon.
So he does actually train.
Well, it made sense. He was still a professional baseball player — there was no way he'd skip individual training entirely.
Besides, he had every reason to feel the pressure lately. Won-taek, his own draft classmate, had been on a serious hot streak, and with both me and Anderson performing well, a man sandwiched in between had no choice but to notice.
On top of that, Ji-hoon was famously called "a white elephant" by the fans — a nickname he absolutely despised.
The most important tools for a first baseman with light defensive duties were power and contact. Ji-hoon's contact was solid, but calling his power good came with an asterisk.
He wasn't fast enough to serve as a traditional table-setter, either, and his arm and defense fell short of a position switch. The nickname was born from the harsh reality that on any team other than the Hawks, he'd have struggled to claim a starting job.
Maybe he'd noticed me watching, because he spoke up first.
"Oh, Hyuk's here."
"How long have you been training?"
"Not long."
When I moved to use the pitching machine beside him, he spoke up again.
"Kang Hyuk."
"Yes?"
"I heard you helped Won-taek with his hitting?"
"Ah, that was really just a conversation we had—"
"Then could I trouble you for a conversation too?"
I was about to nod when a thought struck me, and I asked carefully.
"Did you... clear this with the hitting coach?"
"Already talked to him. He told me to get your final approval."
"Ah... yes."
Having been through this routine more times than I could count, I'd long since learned to just roll with it.
Standing in front of the pitching machine, my senior asked me to look over his form.
"This is my current stance."
"Okay."
Whoosh—
"Hmm..."
I stroked my chin.
Not bad.
It was far from a home-run swing, but there were no bad habits — no rolling of the wrists, no shoulder flying open.
"Is there a reason you insist on the toe-tap?"
He startled visibly at my question.
"How did you know? The hitting coach said the exact same thing."
"Ah. Did he, now."
I nodded.
The coach really has done his homework.
On the toe-tap versus leg-kick question, even the players were split. Personally, I never used a leg kick because the White Room had drilled the toe-tap into me — but it was also true that the share of leg-kick hitters was shrinking in MLB.
In the KBO, though, the consensus was still that a leg kick was perfectly fine. Nothing beat it for timing and weight transfer, and the league's average fastball speed lagged well behind anyway.
"But there's a more fundamental issue than your leg kick."
"What is it?"
"Hmm... would you mind if I touched your body for a second?"
"Go ahead."
I began running my hands over his lats and every corner of his frame.
His natural muscle quality isn't bad at all.
To be sure, the very reason Ji-hoon had ended up at first base in the first place was a calculated result of tools like his arm, running speed, and defense. But the raw muscle itself was fine.
So if I was looking for why his extra-base hits were so rare...
"Senior. How much do you lift, normally?"
"Mostly core work, and weights maybe twice a week...?"
He averted his eyes as he said it. He knew, apparently, how that compared to my usual training volume.
"Balancing your leg kick with the coach is one option. But the most important thing for you is bulking up and building raw muscle mass, period."
"Hmm..."
"I'd never casually recommend a bulk to someone like Won-taek — done wrong, it can erase his strengths. But your play style is a completely different animal, isn't it?"
"That's true."
"If you commit to lifting and bulking up, I think you'd improve by leaps and bounds."
"Really?"
His face brightened.
"I can't promise anything, of course — we're mid-season, and I'm not a coach."
"Hmm..."
"I can help you with the bulk-up myself. In exchange, I don't want to hear a single word of complaint. So — what'll it be?"
"...I want to do it."
He declared his resolve with a determined face.
Watching him stand there blankly, I opened my mouth.
"What are you doing, senior?"
"Huh?"
"Get moving to the weight room. Now."
"Wha—?"
I grabbed the dazed senior by the shoulders and steered him toward the fitness room.
Newbies are always welcome.
Now I finally understood why Marcus and the other gym veterans lost their minds the moment they spotted a fresh face.