The Reason He Plays
The team dinner spot was settled on a barbecue joint.
The younger players were secretly hoping for beef, but senior Kim Hyun-woo had picked a pork place.
Anyone who understood the appetite of baseball players at this stage would have known it was the obvious call.
"Owner! Set up ten servings of meat per table, please!"
After barking out the order with gusto, my senior took a seat in the corner.
His gaze landed on me.
"Hyuk. Come over here."
Somehow, I'd ended up sitting with Uncle Seong-ho and Kim Hyun-woo.
I could feel Yoon Tae-yang's envious stare burning into my back—or was that just my imagination?
As I was doing my best to avoid eye contact, my uncle tossed a question my way.
"Kang Hyuk. What's your weight right now?"
"Hmm... when I weighed myself a week ago, it was 91 kilos."
"Thought so. Your profile says 85, but you looked bigger than that."
He pulled a notebook from his jacket and began scribbling away.
My senior chided him for it.
"Oh, come on. You don't ask that kind of thing over a meal. It kills the mood."
And yet the urge to grill me himself was written all over his face.
After a brief silence, it was Kim Hyun-woo who spoke first.
"So how do you usually train?"
"Lately it's mostly batting practice and weights. But during the game earlier, I realized I probably need defensive work too."
"Good thinking. Defense matters just as much as hitting. There's a guy over on the Suwon Knights who bounced between catcher, outfield, and first base until his game instincts were completely dead."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Did anyone ever teach you to hit?"
"No, sir. I studied the batting forms of major league players."
I couldn't exactly tell him the truth, so I fudged it—and my senior seemed to let it slide.
"Really? That swing, with no instructor? You're some kind of genius, huh?"
"..."
My eyebrows twitched before I could stop them.
Genius...
The years I'd spent in the White Room flashed before my eyes. Maybe it was just my imagination.
It was true that in the past I'd been fond of the word genius. It had felt good, back when other people used it to describe me.
But now things were different.
Reducing all the time I'd spent in that place to mere talent or genius felt like it denied every hour of effort I'd put in.
Still, I couldn't exactly say that to my senior's face.
I took the hint and quietly let it go.
The questions kept coming after that as well.
"Besides catcher—ever thought about defense at third or somewhere else?"
"What's your sprint time from home to first?"
Under the indiscriminate barrage of questions, my uncle, who'd been listening beside us, shook his head. He'd scolded us earlier for talking business at dinner, and now he was the one doing it.
Salvation came in the form of the restaurant owner.
"Meat's here!"
A small mountain of pork arrived at our table.
I rose from my seat.
"I'll grill it."
"Ah, ah—Kang Hyuk. Sit back."
My uncle waved me down and pointed at Kim Hyun-woo.
"This one insists on grilling his own meat."
"That's right. Watching other people grill drives me crazy. I can't stand it."
"...Thank you."
When I kept fidgeting in discomfort, my senior waved a hand at me to relax.
This is delicious...
Grilled pork after so long simply melted in my mouth. I closed my eyes to savor it, and my senior chuckled at the sight.
"Seeing that, no doubt about it—you're one of them."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing. Eat up."
Kim Hyun-woo deployed both hands and inhaled the meat.
That he could eat like that even while manning the grill was nothing short of astonishing.
Once I'd filled my stomach somewhat, I carefully raised the real reason I'd wanted to sit here.
"There's something I'm curious about."
"Hm? What is it?"
"You've played professionally for almost fifteen years, senior."
"That's right."
"Is baseball still fun for you?"
Kim Hyun-woo met my eyes for a moment, then set down his tongs.
"Why? Training not much fun lately?"
"No, it's not that..."
After a brief hesitation, I decided to be honest.
"...It used to be pure fun, playing baseball. Lately I'm not so sure."
"If you're putting in the volume of training you do at your age, that's only natural."
My senior straightened up in his seat.
"Kang Hyuk."
"Yes, sir."
"Do you think everyone playing pro ball is doing it because it's fun?"
"I don't think so."
"They're all a lot like you. Play baseball from the time you're a kid, and sooner or later the burnout comes. Of course, a precious few are gifted with the ability to enjoy the game itself."
In his eyes, those people were the real geniuses.
"But for the most part, that's not how it goes. Me included."
As if he'd been through the same thing himself, Kim Hyun-woo's eyes were more earnest than I'd ever seen them.
"In the end, you have no choice but to find your own reason."
"..."
"The motivations vary. For some it's money. For others, respect, or honor, or their value as a player. Family, fans, and so on."
He declared it with a voice full of conviction.
"Of course, there's no right answer here. Just like there's no right answer in baseball."
"People who worship sabermetrics like to say it, you know. That baseball is a sport of probability and statistics."
"But does following those formulas guarantee success? It doesn't. We've watched hitters break down after bulking up, and pitchers break down after tinkering with their mechanics to add velocity—time and time again."
"So you have to find your own method and your own reason. The motivation that lets you lose yourself in baseball. That's not something anyone else can give you."
The answer was far more serious than I'd expected, and I sat lost in thought for a while.
"Then where did you find your reason, senior?"
"The fans."
He answered without a second's hesitation.
It was too earnest an expression to be empty words.
"I still remember my first game after coming back from MLB."
"..."
"They gave a guy who'd been away from the team for nearly seven years the same cheering as ever. That's when it hit me. I thought—I have to pay these people back, no matter what."
He smiled awkwardly as he said it.
"Of course, the result was last place."
"That wasn't your fault, though."
And in that moment, I understood why Yoon Tae-yang admired Kim Hyun-woo so much.
He was a great player, yes—but more than that, he was a man worthy of respect simply as a human being.
My senior moved a few pieces of meat onto my plate and looked at me.
"It's hard to find the answer right this second, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Time will take care of that part naturally, so don't be too impatient."
"I will, sir."
"But that's no excuse to ever let your training slip. Consider that an order from your team senior."
"...Thank you."
"Don't mention it. If anything, I'm the grateful one."
"Why would you be, senior?"
To my puzzlement, my senior just gave an unreadable smile.
"I got to remind myself why I play baseball, too. And above all... I found hope."
As he looked at me, his eyes sparkled like a child who'd just discovered a new toy.
The next day.
When I stepped on the scale in the training room for the first time in a week, I flinched in surprise.
"94 kilos?"
My weight had gone up again.
For a moment I worried I'd overeaten yesterday. Then I stood in front of the mirror and pulled off my shirt.
Dismissing it as simple weight gain was impossible—my reflection had taken on an entirely different shape.
Muscle packed dense across every inch of my body.
"..."
No matter how I looked at it, the White Room was clearly responsible.
Since I never ate in that space, my weight hadn't changed—but the muscles that had stayed hidden until now seemed to have burst forth all at once, like a delayed reaction.
Is this actually okay?
More muscle wasn't automatically a good thing. Cartilage and the like couldn't be reinforced, and since baseball was a daily sport, fatigue could accumulate into injury.
As I thought... I really need someone who can run a precise analysis of my body.
I was renewing my sense of just how necessary hiring an instructor was when—
Creeeak—
The door opened and Yoon Tae-yang walked into the training room.
"Why are you half-naked?"
"Oh. Hey."
"Ugh, that's disgusting..."
Apparently still stewing over yesterday, when Kim Hyun-woo's attention had been all mine.
Jealousy and resentment both simmered in his eyes as he stared at my body.
I pulled my shirt back on without a word and got ready to train.
"Five sets, twelve reps per set. Exactly five, nothing more."
I put Tae-yang on the leg press and sank back into my thoughts.
Find my own reason...
Kim Hyun-woo's advice yesterday had given me plenty to chew on.
But maybe because I'd never actually played on a professional stage, the abstract notion of the fans' love didn't resonate with me much.
"Still got some left in you? One more."
The other reasons didn't land either. I had my parents, sure, but no spouse, no girlfriend—so the word family didn't move me much.
Money and financial security felt far from my interests too.
So why did I keep training?
Partly because the routines from the White Room had hardened into habit...
"One more."
No. Time to be honest with myself.
If nothing else, I couldn't quit after all the work I'd put in. If I decided baseball was boring and gave up here, wouldn't everything I'd trained for in the White Room be rendered worthless?
"One more."
Leaving my mark on the history of baseball—that kind of grand, noble cause was a far cry from what I felt. What I did feel was a genuine desire to show people the fruits of everything I'd practiced. Call it a hunger for glory, if you liked.
If that counts as a reason...
"Graaaaagh!"
What dragged me back from my musings to reality was Yoon Tae-yang's scream.
"No more, no more. That's it."
"Then let's call it there."
"Ugh... hey. You were thinking about something else, weren't you?"
Startled, I played dumb.
"What? No. I was watching you the whole time."
"You could've gotten me hurt when I hit my limit just now. Huh? You nearly wrecked a player's career, you know that?"
"Then shall we move straight on to leg extensions?"
"...Sorry, man."
"You played a game yesterday too, so let's finish today off with rehab work."
With a fresh resolve settled, I threw myself into the training.
The postseason—what people call autumn baseball.
In the series that would put a final stamp on the season, the Gwangju Pumas claimed the championship.
With the season over and preparations for the next one underway, the Hawks moved quickly.
The Hawks had hired a new manager.
New manager Yoon Tae-geon, a former Seoul Grizzlies catcher, had built a reputation as a Futures League coach with an exceptional gift for unlocking the potential of hitters.
The club hopes that through Manager Yoon it can revive the team's stagnant atmosphere while strengthening its lineup—catching two birds with one stone.
(Excerpt)
But some voices have raised concerns about the appointment of a complete novice with zero managerial experience...
Jeong Myeong-gyu, the Hawks' operations team leader, was scrolling through the flood of negative comments when he let out a long, deep sigh.
"Haaah."
He was on his way to meet the very GM the fans were cursing.
Stay thin and stay quiet. That's my motto.
Under normal circumstances, a mere team leader like him would never have landed a one-on-one meeting with the GM. But his former boss, the head of baseball operations, had stepped down to take responsibility for the season's results, and suddenly he'd found himself promoted to senior team leader—reporting directly to the top.
Knock knock—
"Jeong Myeong-gyu, operations team leader."
"Come in."
He opened the door to find a man staring at his monitor.
Mid-forties, maybe? Hard, severe features behind a pair of glasses, utterly absorbed in his work.
His new boss—General Manager Kim Kwang-seob.
"What can I do for you?"
"The scouting team uploaded revised prospect reports for reference in upcoming contract negotiations."
"Put them on the desk for me."
"There are no major changes among the other players, but the evaluation of first-round pick Kang Hyuk has been revised upward."
"Is that so? Good to hear. The strategy department head keeps going around saying that pick was a mistake."
"..."
Jeong Myeong-gyu held his tongue.
One careless word and he'd be caught in a factional war, crushed like a shrimp whose back had burst.
The GM stared at his monitor without so much as a flicker of expression—then suddenly fired off a question out of nowhere.
"Team Leader."
"Yes?"
"In your view, why does our club keep finishing in last place?"
"..."
"The operations team's opinion is what I'm curious about."
Jeong Myeong-gyu froze on the spot.