The Attention-Seeker's Little Ball (4)
The next day.
For all her rambling the night before, Pi Anta still woke at exactly six and started stretching, same as always.
Goraniz's second-team dormitory was a shabby corridor-style rental apartment building. The rooms were two-bedroom units shared by pairs of players. Step out of the tiny bedroom — barely big enough for a single bed and a TV — and you found a modest living area where you could cook and eat, plus one more closet-sized room next to it for clothes and luggage. Calling it a two-bedroom was generous. The smaller room was basically a storage closet, so it was really more of a semi-divided studio.
"Whew."
Finished with her stretches, Pi Anta headed outside for a morning jog and a quick look around the complex. The six a.m. air of Daejeon in June was neither too chilly nor muggy — perfect for a run.
The apartment grounds were paved in asphalt, a little hard underfoot for jogging, and not nearly as spacious as she'd hoped. Strip away the parking lot and the management office, and you were left with something closer to a front yard than a real campus.
Well, it's only used as housing for second-team players. No reason for it to be huge.
Settling for what she had, Pi Anta decided to use the stairs. She made a mental note to scout for a proper jogging route nearby, then climbed the six flights to her floor, rode the elevator down, and climbed again, repeating the cycle.
The intensity was a little underwhelming, but she decided it would do for today.
Back in the room, everything was still silent.
"…Still asleep?"
Yesterday's chatter assault had clearly wiped Jiyun out. She was sprawled across the bed like a frog, hair a tangled mess, completely unaware that Anta had even left and come back.
"You sleep way too much."
Technically, that was Anta's own fault — a fact that did not seem to cross her mind at all.
"Hey. Get up."
Even under Pi Anta's prodding, the orange-haired girl only curled into a tighter ball and mumbled in her sleep.
"Huuung… I wanna eat tteokbokki…"
"Then eat it. If you want it, eat it."
"But if I eat it my face gets puffy…"
"Are you actually asleep right now?"
"I'm sleeping…"
She had some very unusual sleep habits.
"I said get up. It's seven."
"Huuung… seven…"
Still muttering, still clutching the blanket — and then:
"Se…ven? Whaaaat?!"
She shot upright and bolted for the bathroom.
"Wh-what?"
"We're late! We're late!"
"Late for what?"
Jiyun answered while frantically washing her hair in the bathroom, then dashed into the clothes room.
"Breakfast at the team cafeteria starts at seven! We're already late!"
Ah. Pi Anta understood exactly what that meant, and a sigh escaped her at once.
A junior ballplayer making her seniors wait was, by the standards of Anta's own pro days, something that simply did not happen. Some people might scoff at seniority in sports, and Anta herself had never been one to care much about that sort of thing — but hierarchy was still a form of etiquette that held a group together, separate from pure meritocracy. As the newest member, she figured it was right to observe it strictly for now.
While Jiyun changed, Pi Anta took a quick rinse with water only and pulled on her uniform. The number she'd requested — 51 — was already marked across the back.
They grabbed their things in a rush, left the dorm, and sprinted full tilt toward the training grounds.
"Hah… hah… Do we really have to run this hard?"
"Of course we do! Hah, hah — do you have any idea how important this is?!"
Jiyun ran at a genuinely terrifying pace, no time to catch her breath, just run and run and run. Just how terrifying was this senior of hers, to make her move like that?
Feeling a twinge of pity, Pi Anta decided to simply keep up.
They stepped into the cafeteria with a mild knot of tension — only to find most of the players already finished eating and clearing their trays.
Okay. We are very, very late.
Drawing on memories of her own rookie days as a pro, Pi Anta scanned the room with a rigid posture. That was when a voice cut through.
"Ha Jiyun."
A man built like a mountain wiped his mouth with a napkin and strode toward them. So that's the one who has Jiyun this wound up, Anta thought, instincts flaring, wariness spiking.
She could have claimed that she — the newcomer, clueless on her first morning — had held Jiyun up by needing looking after. But a player who'd arrived under a massive spotlight making excuses like that on day one felt like overstepping. Better to watch first. Intervene if the situation called for it.
She fixed her attention on the man's face.
"Today's the hamburger you like."
"There's still a meat patty left, right?!"
"The infield seniors set one aside for you. You can buy them a drink later or something."
"Oh yeah~! Thank you so much!!"
Jiyun beamed and threw both arms up in celebration. The man — built like Ma Dong-seok — shuffled past them with a look that said he was dying of sleepiness and was gone.
Huh.
What… was that?
It took her a second to process the scene.
"You weren't getting scolded?"
Jiyun looked back at her, genuinely puzzled.
"Scolded? For what?"
"What do you mean, for what? Team rules. Stuff like juniors having to finish eating before the seniors."
"What century do you think this is? Our team doesn't do that."
"Then why did you run like a maniac?"
Jiyun clapped her hands with an "Ah!" and started walking toward the serving line, talking as she went, as if even explaining was a waste of precious seconds.
"Today's the once-a-month handmade burger day! The patties are real grilled beef — super juicy, ridiculously good!"
Watching that pure, sunny smile, Pi Anta felt irritation well up from somewhere deep in her chest.
"So you're telling me you ran like that… purely for a hamburger?"
"It's once a month. Of course!"
Unbelievable. This bread-obsessed lunatic. She nearly blew out her eardrums last night chasing bread and she still hasn't learned? She should have known from the hair color — perfectly toasted bread brown. Pi Anta clicked her tongue.
Was she supposed to be appalled that she'd been stuck with a roommate this serious about food, or grateful that she'd landed on a team with zero toxic hierarchy?
Hard to say.
"…Okay, this is actually good."
"Right? Right?! See, I told you there was a reason I ran~!"
At least the hamburger was delicious.
After breakfast and a short rest, training started at nine.
The morning's panic felt almost ridiculous given how much slack was built into the schedule. Slight exaggeration: they could have eaten slowly, strolled back to the dorm for a nap, and still made it with time to spare.
Now that I've seen how the day runs once, I should figure out my own ways to use this free time well.
While she was thinking that, the manager and coaching staff appeared in front of the assembled players.
A whole lineup of instructors dedicated to rehab and development for the second team. Their older eyes all fixed on one person.
"Starting this week, we've got a new player joining Goraniz. I'm sure you've all heard about her by now."
At the manager's words, every gaze in the room locked onto the same spot.
Pi Anta.
She made no move to duck the attention — just wore a confident little smile.
"Come on up and introduce yourself."
Dry applause followed. All except one person: her roommate, who had gone pale with pure panic.
Pi Anta walked forward at an unhurried pace, swept her eyes across the roster, and bowed her head.
"Hello. I'm Pi An—"
"Hold on a second!!"
Before she could even finish the first sentence, Jiyun shot her hand up and yelled.
The manager tilted his head. "Yes, Jiyun? What is it?"
Jiyun's face went scarlet under dozens of stares, but she pushed through and said what she had to say.
"Her! You have to make her keep the self-intro to three sentences!"
Pi Anta's expression crumpled.
You sharp little bread goblin…
She'd finally been handed free rein to talk, and this was how it got shut down? She vowed to deliver another night of hell later — and for now, took a step back.
"Well then. Ahem. Per the feedback, I'll introduce myself in three sentences only."
Pi Anta cleared her throat once and looked over the team again, carefully.
Men and women. Twenties and thirties — a few in their forties. Big frames and lean, wiry ones. Whatever any of these players thought of her, she decided to keep the introduction ordinary.
"Hello. I'm Pi Anta."
"There's a lot I don't know and plenty I'm still rough around, so if you help me out, I'll do my best to adapt quickly."
"Thank you. I look forward to working with you."
Genuinely clean. Three sentences that suited her so poorly it almost hurt.
Sparse applause — clap, clap, clap — and the introduction seemed finished.
"May I ask a question?"
The huge man from the cafeteria — the one who looked like Ma Dong-seok — raised a hand, face stern.
The thought that one hit from that hand would make a truth serum unnecessary sent a brief chill through her. She smoothed her expression, smiled, and answered as if nothing were wrong.
"Yes? What is it?"
She ran through the possibilities in her head. Was she really confident she could hit .400? Was the 1.8-billion-won signing bonus real? How had a complete unknown skyrocketed in skill over such a short time and gone pro?
While she was preparing answers for every angle, the man asked his question.
"What's your primary position?"
Milder than expected — or so it might have seemed. But there had to be a reason he was asking for information he'd learn the moment training started. Pros lived in a world of endless competition. A player had just walked in under a massive spotlight, essentially just dipping a toe into the second team. That was not going to be welcome news. Put harshly, she was someone to watch out for.
In other words: Are you here to take my spot?
"Are you a catcher?"
Pi Anta asked it that way. The man didn't answer. But silence was its own yes.
The secret behind Anta's rapid tier climb had been specializing as a catcher. That alone had been enough to prove she could handle the position, and most clubs — faced with a player dominating the league who could play both shortstop and catcher — would put her behind the plate nine times out of ten. A well-developed catcher could anchor a team for close to a decade. Of course a rival wouldn't be thrilled about more competition. He'd wanted to confirm it early.
But the man didn't know the first thing about Pi Anta.
"I can catch, sure. But catcher isn't my primary position."
"Then what is?"
She said it with a grin, and the air around the roster froze solid. They felt it instinctively — what she was about to say next.
Looking at those wary faces, Pi Anta wondered for a moment whether a rookie ought to rein it in right about now.
— Miss Pi Anta. I don't believe professional baseball needs a seniority system.
— Why should we give preferential treatment to a weaker player just because they're older?
Just as the general manager had said. One of the reasons they'd signed her was to overhaul Goraniz's culture from the roots up.
If a pro doesn't have the skills, they pack their bags.
Might as well do it now — while she still had the nerve of someone who didn't know better.
Pi Anta made her declaration.
"Everything but pitcher. I play every position."
Not just catcher — a warning shot that she would wedge herself into any opening she found and take the job. A spark of tension dropped into Goraniz's slack second team. The starting gun for unlimited competition.