The Man Leaps into the Starting Nine (1)
"How long have you been playing baseball?"
It took me a moment to settle on an answer to Yoon Gaeul's question. Partly because I hadn't expected her to ask something like that at all — and partly because there was no way to answer honestly without dragging my past life's memories into it. Thrown my first ball in elementary school, converted to a hitter in high school, come up short right on the doorstep of a pro contract, then scraped my way through the independent leagues. None of that history belonged to this world's Kang Tae-oh, so naturally all I could do was blur my way through it.
"Quite a while."
"How long is 'quite a while'?"
"Since I was a kid. Not officially, of course."
"Men's rec ball?"
"...Something along those lines."
Yoon Gaeul tilted her head slightly as she listened to my answers.
"You remember when you hit Baek Ha-rin's pitch the other day?"
"Yes."
"Did you mean to hit it?"
Here, too, I had to choose my words. Say I'd gotten lucky, and the moment would slide past without incident — but Coach Yoon hadn't kept me behind just to hear that.
"It was a mistake pitch."
"I know that much."
"She meant to throw a brushback up and in, but it slipped out of her hand — so what I got was a ball sitting high over the middle of the plate."
At my answer, Yoon Gaeul's eyes narrowed — just a fraction.
"And you read all that in that sliver of a second?"
"Yes."
"Off Baek Ha-rin's fastball?"
"I could, because it's Baek Ha-rin's fastball."
"...Meaning what, exactly?"
"Like it or not, anyone on the Chaewon U baseball team ends up watching Baek Ha-rin's ball more than any other. Don't they?"
There was more than one meaning packed into that, and Yoon Gaeul closed her mouth and studied me in silence for a while.
"So you're saying you actually saw it and hit it."
"Yes."
"...Men and their bluster."
Well — I hadn't really expected her to believe me. A man claiming he'd picked up and squared away a 150 km/h pitch was a joke on its face, and to Yoon Gaeul — a former catcher who'd won a Golden Glove and even an MVP in her playing days — it had to be doubly so.
"The baseball world is no place for a man to come wandering into as a hobby."
"I've never once thought of it as a hobby."
"There's a whole circuit for men, you know."
"That isn't baseball."
"...Pfft—!"
Perhaps my answer had pleased her. The grave expression Yoon Gaeul had worn the entire time cracked wide open all at once.
"She's right, I suppose — what the men play isn't baseball. Whacking a squishy ball around with an aluminum bat? What kind of baseball is that supposed to be?"
...
"Anyway, get going."
"Yes, ma'am."
"We're running low on rosin bags, so order new ones and see to it yourself."
"......Yes, ma'am."
Creeeak.
I stepped out and pulled the door shut behind me. For a second I wondered whether Baek Ha-rin might be lurking out here eavesdropping the way I had earlier, but she was long gone.
And that just now might have been, in effect, my last chance.
College ball it may be and not the pros, but Yoon Gaeul still counted as young for a director — young enough, perhaps, to look at her players with a shade less prejudice than her peers. It was precisely why I'd been sent to the plate in the Blue-and-White scrimmage a few days ago. Answer a little better, and one more opening might have come my way.
Carrying that bitter aftertaste, I headed for the equipment room.
Creeeak.
Even after Kang Tae-oh had gone, Yoon Gaeul kept staring at the door for a while.
Two document folders lay on the desk of the quiet coach's office — lineup sheets bearing both teams' starting players for the final tune-up game before she finalized the squad for the C-league, the college baseball circuit set to open in late March.
Whether or not to send a man to the batter's box in an inspection game that important was not a call she could make lightly, young a coach as she was.
"...Haa."
If only Kang Tae-oh had been born a woman, she would have granted him at least one more chance. The way he'd stood in against Baek Ha-rin without a flicker of fear from his very first at-bat — and the sheer nerve with which he claimed he'd seen the ball and hit it on purpose. Yoon Gaeul had always held that the first virtue of any hitter was fearlessness in the box, which was exactly why Kang Tae-oh's case gnawed at her. She'd grown up with nothing but a baseball in her hands, after all, and she knew better than anyone that fielding a male student as a serious player defied every common sense of the game.
Or perhaps the wiser play is to watch him one more year and run the experiment from next season...
With the C-league roster submission barely days away, slotting a male batter into the lineup now would plainly leave the entire team out of sorts. So holding off — spending this year reading the situation before deciding — wouldn't be too late. Easing Kang Tae-oh bit by bit into conditioning and fundamental drills to see whether he kept pace, then developing him in earnest from next year: that was one path.
Yoon Gaeul had concluded there was no need to pick at a scab and turn it into a wound. And yet—
"Please put Kang Tae-oh in."
Baek Ha-rin's words, spoken right here in this office not long ago, rang in her ears. Not a request relayed through some other player — Baek Ha-rin herself had asked. From the girl who almost never voiced a complaint, and whose composure on the mound could be called the best on the entire staff.
Once this year's C-league wrapped and the Early Draft process began, Baek Ha-rin might never get to face Kang Tae-oh in a college scrimmage again.
"...Hoo."
Scratch. Scritch.
Knowing full well that it made no sense, Yoon Gaeul ruled lines through the lineup sheet and traded names in and out — telling herself, as she did, that with a league this important looming, looking after her ace's head was a coach's job too.
The next day.
A strange tension hung over the Chaewon University ballpark from early morning. Granted, it was Blue-and-White scrimmage day, but even making allowances for that, the atmosphere was noticeably restless. Most likely because today was the final evaluation of Baek Ha-rin as a starter — and, stacked on top of that, a day that would help decide whether she made the opening roster when the C-league kicked off in late March.
"Tae-oh, bring another box of balls over here."
"Yes."
At the coaches' bidding, I hauled boxes of balls the same as always. A scrimmage didn't change my job one bit. While the other players got loose and waited on the lineup, my day consisted of moving gear and topping off the water jugs. Yesterday I had sat down with Coach Yoon and talked about when I'd started playing baseball, but I held no illusions that the conversation had changed anything.
"Home Run King."
The familiar voice drifted over from behind me. I turned to find Cha Seo-rin standing there with her catcher's mask hooked on one finger. The lineups hadn't even been announced yet — not that she harbored a sliver of doubt about being left off the starting list.
"Water Jug King today, is it?"
"It's a dual appointment."
"Look at you, climbing the ranks. Two titles already."
"You're catching for the White team today?"
"Somebody has to catch Ha-rin. Last time was just a stint on Blue — team balance and all that."
Slinging the mask over her shoulder, Cha Seo-rin went on.
"Ha-rin's stuff today is going to be no joke."
"I'd imagine so. It's her final check as a starter."
"She was throwing like a woman possessed in the bullpen again yesterday. If the coach hadn't reined her in, she'd have thrown another twenty."
"And that's fine, the day before a start?"
"She says she's fine. What can you do."
With that, Cha Seo-rin's eyes went to the mound. Baek Ha-rin had already begun playing catch out in the outfield. Long navy hair gathered in a single tie, easing her arm loose in slow, unhurried arcs — the sight of her alone carried a real weight of menace.
"With the eighty-pitch cap, she'll probably come out around the sixth. The shape she's in, though, we might get a good seven out of her."
"Probably."
"Mm. Keep up the good work, Water Jug King."
Starting with Cha Seo-rin, the players loosening up drifted one by one to the front of the dugout, and Coach Yoon was coming out with the lineup sheets in hand.
"Gather around."
At her word, the players formed a loose ring around her. This had nothing to do with me either way, I figured, and I'd just taken my first step toward the water jugs when Coach Yoon's voice caught me.
"Kang Tae-oh, you too. Hold on a moment."
"...Yes."
Assuming she had some separate equipment chore in mind, I set the jug down and took my place at the back of the group.
"We're going nine innings today. Final checks on our two starters, Baek Ha-rin and Han Yu-seul — both of you are capped around eighty pitches, and no matter how the game runs, ninety is the hard limit."
Baek Ha-rin nodded without a word. Han Yu-seul, the opposing side's starter, nodded back with a touch of tension on her face.
"Nine innings, no extras. If it's tied, it ends tied. Defensive substitutions only after the sixth — so today's starters, pace yourselves and manage your legs."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"White team first. Batting one, center field..."
Yoon Gaeul began reading off the White team's card, name by name.
"Batting five, catcher — Cha Seo-rin."
Cha Seo-rin's name, settling into the heart of the White order as if it had never belonged anywhere else.
"And your starting pitcher — Baek Ha-rin."
Plus Baek Ha-rin, penciled in as the starter a full week back. Yoon Gaeul flipped straight to the next sheet.
"Next, the Blue team. Batting one, center field — Min Do-hee."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Her run of form these past few days had earned her the start — a freshman holding down the leadoff spot in center. Scrimmage or not, being handed the one hole was as good as a public announcement that Yoon Gaeul intended to lean on her from here on out.
"Batting two, left field — Seo Ma-ri."
"Yes."
"Batting three, third base — Kwon Ye-rim."
"Yes."
After that, one familiar name after another. It was already mid-March, and the opening-day entry had long since been all but settled from the starters down to the last bench seat — nothing about the list surprised me.
"Batting seven, catcher — Lee Chae-won."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Idly turning that thought over, I picked up the water jug and started easing off toward the spigot—
"Batting eight, designated hitter... Kang Tae-oh."
...My name — the one I'd have sworn on my life would never be called — popped out of Coach Yoon's mouth.