The Exhibition That Silenced the Skeptics
"That's it!"
General Manager Lee Jong-woon slammed his palm on the table and let out a cry of pure delight at the spectacular catch Do Kang-hyun had just made.
From the moment he made up his mind to sign Kang-hyun and stamped his seal on the contract, Lee Jong-woon had done his best to stop listening. He couldn't bear the thought of losing the player to the Titans, and even he admitted the deal was hardly a normal one. Rather than let the criticism and the mockery shake him into wasted hours of regret and self-reproach, he had tried to look away from the whole Do Kang-hyun question.
It was the hot-stove season, so excuses came easily, and the timing being what it was, public interest in Kang-hyun cooled quickly as the weeks went by. Fortunately, Kang-hyun himself stayed remarkably steady, unrattled by the sudden fame and the eyes suddenly fixed on him.
He trained more diligently than any player on the roster, and Lee Jong-woon came to think highly of him for that—for treating baseball as something serious, not a brief indulgence.
The manager and coaches, once thick with disbelief, found their faith in Arizona camp, and the showing in Okinawa set the general manager's heart racing. Now, in the first exhibition game, Lee Jong-woon was confirming that the flutter in his chest hadn't been him getting ahead of himself.
"Team Leader Hwang. How many center fielders in the league right now have a glove like that?"
Hwang Wook, the scouting team leader, had been looking down at the field from beside him. He answered at once, as if the question needed no thought at all.
"Not even two. And even those plays only happen when the shift is on properly. When Yeom Su-hwan stepped in, he pulled out the shift card, checked it, and slid into his new spot like it was nothing. Then, partway through, he moved in again—and made a play like that."
Having argued so forcefully for the signing himself, Hwang Wook couldn't help carrying high expectations, close attention, and no small amount of worry where Do Kang-hyun was concerned. The other players barely registered. His eyes stayed on Kang-hyun and Kang-hyun alone.
"The instincts are absurd for a rookie, aren't they?"
"Defense like that can't be written off as luck. Just as the manager and the coaches acknowledged on the ground in Arizona, it's fair to call Do Kang-hyun's glove the best in the league."
"That's it! The people going around calling him a bad signing will have to shut their mouths over that one play alone! Hahaha!"
Lee Jong-woon laughed from the gut, as if something tight in his chest had finally come loose. While the two of them talked Kang-hyun over, Jake Barnett—riding the lift of that great play—struck out Duonex hitters in succession.
"Barnett's stuff looks sharp, too!"
"If Jake Barnett is healthy, I believe he can lock down this team's number-one or number-two spot in the rotation."
"If that actually happens, I couldn't ask for more! I'd love to hear people saying we ought to confiscate our foreign players' passports, the way the other clubs do!"
Watching the general manager beam through that pleasant daydream, Hwang Wook prayed just as hard that this would be the season the Daejeon Phoenix finally climbed out of the fight for last place.
"Looks like Manager Lee Man-jae means to keep pushing Yoon Da-on in the leadoff spot again this year."
Lee Jong-woon said it while watching Yoon Da-on, the Phoenix leadoff man, step into the box, and Hwang Wook understood the manager's call. For now, there was no other option.
"If Yoon Da-on would just be a little more aggressive at the plate, that'd be something. But he won't, and that's the trouble."
Seoul Duonex's first exhibition starter was Kang Tae-ho, who had posted a career-high sixteen wins the year before and, even as a number-two, had feasted on other clubs' aces more than once. Free agency waited at the end of this season, and most teams were already licking their chops.
"Kang Tae-ho... landing him would be pretty hard for us, wouldn't it?"
"Based on last season alone, you're looking at a projected price north of nine million dollars. He's thirsty for a title after two runner-up finishes with Duonex. Coldly put, he won't even bother looking at an offer from us. And Duonex will do whatever it takes to keep him."
Lee Jong-woon had suspected as much, but hearing Hwang Wook lay it out as fact, he could only click his tongue, the regret plain on his face.
The duel between Kang Tae-ho and Yoon Da-on ended without ceremony: a clean groundout to second.
"That's Clay Bryan, the one you praised, Team Leader. I'm curious how he looks against Kang Tae-ho."
"He's a good hitter. If the opportunities had come steadily, I think he'd still be playing comfortably in the majors."
True to that assessment, Clay Bryan took Kang Tae-ho's fourth-pitch slider the other way and sent it in front of the left fielder. Aggressive baserunning carried him all the way to second—an impressive first hello for the many Phoenix fans who had come out to the park.
"And now, Do Kang-hyun."
When the number-three hitter stepped into the box, Lee Jong-woon straightened, rubbing his palms together, a hint of nerves showing. He had already seen a monstrous play in the field, but watching Kang-hyun actually stand in to hit was a first, and even the general manager couldn't help tensing up.
Facing an unfamiliar Do Kang-hyun, Kang Tae-ho's first pitch was a fastball that dropped below the knees, well out of the zone. Ball. Noting that Kang-hyun hadn't so much as twitched, Kang Tae-ho gave a small nod and worked the rosin bag into his hand.
After a glance at Clay Bryan on second, he delivered the second pitch: a two-seam fastball tailing slightly in on the hands, clipping the zone by a hair. ABS called it a strike. The third pitch was a strike as well.
"Haa. That spot's still a strike."
The upper-outside corner. ABS always flashed strike there, but from the seats it sat so far off the hitter you had to wonder if it ought to be a ball. Hitters had been loud about their dissatisfaction with those calls, and nothing had been fixed, so Lee Jong-woon expected plenty more grumbling this season too.
"With ABS, the hitters have no choice but to adjust."
"I know that. The problem is facing a pitcher who lives on that spot—especially Kang Tae-ho. That's no easy ask for a hitter."
The pitcher who had profited most from ABS was Kang Tae-ho himself. His two-seamer, in particular, was hopeless for a right-handed hitter: let it clip the upper-outside corner and there was nothing to do but stand there and take it with your eyes open. The same pitch he had just doubled up on Kang-hyun—wandering the inner and outer edges at will—had been ranked among the best offerings in the KBO the season before.
"Full effort against a rookie. Kang Tae-ho hasn't changed a bit."
Lee Jong-woon smiled bitterly at a delivery that showed not a single crack. The count had run Kang-hyun to two strikes and a ball, but he still settled into his stance with a calm face.
Kang Tae-ho's fourth pitch was a splitter that knifed down in front of home plate.
"Looks like Do Kang-hyun has put a lot of thought into Kang Tae-ho."
Countless hitters had whiffed at that splitter. For all its value as a putaway pitch, Kang-hyun's bat didn't follow it an inch.
"If he's actually studied the pitcher, that's worth praising. But if it was just a lazy guess that a ball was coming, then contrary to our hopes, Do Kang-hyun is going to have a very hard time all season."
"...We'd better hope it wasn't a simple guess."
Almost before the words were out, Kang Tae-ho's fifth pitch was on its way to the plate—a two-seamer boring into the upper-outside corner, the spot hitters dread most. In the instant it looked as if the batter had no choice but to take it, Kang-hyun's bat came around, light and easy.
Crack.
The ball sailed foul. Kang-hyun looked down at his bat and tilted his head, then stepped out, took a couple of practice swings, and stepped back in.
The battle resumed. The sixth pitch was another splitter, fishing for a chase, but the bat never came forward. The seventh was a fastball up and in, and again Kang-hyun stood there like a stone Buddha.
"Dragging it all the way to a full count—his eye looks pretty good."
Lee Jong-woon sounded satisfied by the mere fact that Kang-hyun hadn't been helplessly overpowered. Hwang Wook, meanwhile, looked genuinely startled at how cleanly Kang-hyun was picking out Kang Tae-ho's balls.
This isn't someone who simply studied the patterns, or who happens to have a good feel. It's as if...
Crack!
Kang Tae-ho's head whipped around the moment the ball left his hand. The drive shot toward the outfield and slammed dead into the fence. Duonex's right fielder scrambled to the ball and fired it in, but Kang-hyun had already slid beautifully into second.
"Hahaha! Did you see that? He went with Kang Tae-ho's two-seamer and drove it clean! The same spot so many hitters just stand there and take—and Do Kang-hyun ambushed it perfectly!"
Unlike the general manager, shouting in full excitement, Hwang Wook kept his eyes on Kang-hyun standing at second and finished the thought.
Is he reading the pitch type—and the path of the ball—that precisely? Does that... even make sense?
Two at-bats, two hits.
Do Kang-hyun's first exhibition line was excellent—if you graded it like coursework, a performance worthy of an A-plus. He had doubled not only off Kang Tae-ho, Duonex's pride, but off Park Sung-hoon as well, the pitcher with thirty-seven holds who had played a decisive part in the club's runner-up finish the year before. Daejeon Phoenix fans had more reason than anyone to lose their minds.
"Whoa, Do Kang-hyun was no joke, right?"
"I got chills watching him take Kang Tae-ho's two-seamer the other way and drill it into the fence!"
"When he lifted Park Sung-hoon's changeup, that missed being a homer by a hand's width!"
"Only flaw was that it was an exhibition, so he only got two at-bats!"
"Everybody who was talking shit—calling him an old rookie, a scratch-off that's already a loser—get out here!"
"Do Kang-hyun's the lottery! The lottery!"
"It's only an exhibition, but watching our hitters today, my chest just swelled up. That lineup—Bryan, Do Kang-hyun, Oh Hyun-woo, Park Jung-wan—wasn't that filthy?"
"I know I shouldn't get like this over an exhibition... but I mean it, I'm way too excited! This is the year we win it all!!"
Fans streaming out of Daejeon Phoenix Park couldn't stop praising Do Kang-hyun, and with every word the season ahead flushed a brighter, more hopeful pink.
"He'll start again tomorrow, right? Or do they bring him in off the bench?"
"Whenever he comes up, I'm at the park tomorrow. No exceptions!"
The next day, in the second exhibition against Duonex, Kang-hyun's name went into the lineup as a starter, not a replacement. He was still in center field, but batting second—a spot higher than the day before. Clay Bryan started in the leadoff spot, the reason being Yoon Da-on's absence after an 0-for-2 the previous game.
Crack!!
"It's goooone!!"
Bottom of the first. Clay Bryan drew a walk, and Do Kang-hyun, stepping in behind him, turned on the very first pitch with everything he had. A young prospect—sent up by Duonex while they worked out the timing of his call to the active roster—had grooved a first-pitch strike down the middle, and Kang-hyun didn't hesitate. He unloaded, clean and full.
"Fuck yes!! That's it!!!"
Exhibition or not, Kang-hyun had fired the shot that announced a winning streak against last year's runners-up, and the Phoenix fans roared themselves senseless, more frenzied than they had ever been. In that second exhibition he followed the homer with two walks, reached base in every plate appearance, and stole two bases—and the fire burned just as hot through the third game and the fourth.
And with each passing day, the Daejeon Phoenix fan community began to boil over with nothing but Do Kang-hyun.