Match-Fixing Scandal Erupts
A few days after my phone call with Coach Shin Hyun-kyung about the match-fixing, a bombshell article hit the news. It was all about match-fixing involving the Daejeon Eagles. The piece cited testimony from key insiders and claimed that the investigation had uncovered highly credible evidence. As soon as it dropped, chaos erupted among the Eagles' fans. The article delved into tactical decisions, player usage, defense—detailed breakdowns that read like they came from an expert. The club's homepage crashed under a flood of fan posts. Front office was publicly denying everything as baseless, but I knew they were quietly conducting their own probe.
The mood among the coaches was heavy. But something about it struck me as off. In baseball—or any sport—match-fixing was the ultimate disgrace. If you weren't involved, you'd be raging, demanding answers. Yet the first-team coaches were all subdued, like they were reflecting in shame.
'No way... these guys... is it real? Were they all in on it?'
The thought that the manager and those coaches—who'd strutted around acting superior when I first became a roaming coach—had been rigging games made my blood boil. I'd trained like a maniac because I loved baseball, poured my entire life into it. Baseball wasn't just a sport to me. It was my life. To defile it like that?
'No... it's not confirmed yet. Can't jump to conclusions.' It was just a hunch for now.
The next day, summons from the police arrived for every Daejeon Eagles coach. I was brand new as a roaming coach, but it came for me too. I showed up and cooperated fully. They knew I'd been a coach for less than a week, so no hard pressure—just asked if I'd consent to reviewing my bank records. Refuse, and they'd get a warrant. No secrets on my end, so I signed the consent form. They said they'd follow up after checking and let me go. My interview lasted about twenty minutes.
But the other coaches were in there much longer. They'd been coaches from the start, so their sessions were more thorough.
Word that the coaches were under police investigation spread like wildfire among the players. With every first-team coach and the manager tied up, training ground to a halt. I'd finished quick, so I headed to the first-team practice field for once. No other coaches around to complain if I showed up.
I figured with no first-team coaches, I should at least run basic drills. The players actually welcomed me.
"Jin-ho... uh, no, Coach... mind helping with training?"
Jeong Woo-geun, grinning as he approached, slipped into casual speech before catching himself and correcting with a start. He hadn't meant to—it just came out.
I almost told him to relax, but this was official, so better keep it formal.
"Got it, sunbae. Round up the players."
I was a coach, but he was way older and my senior—no way I'd be casual with him.
"Yes, sir!"
Maybe embarrassed by his slip, Jeong Woo-geun bellowed louder than usual, rallying everyone. He wasn't the eldest, but as the team's leader, his respect set the tone—no one else dared go casual with me.
I appreciated how well he treated me, even without personal coaching before. I gathered them for basic hitting and fielding drills, then checked status windows one by one. That's when Jeong Woo-geun approached.
"Uh... Coach, got time for one-on-one?"
"Me?"
"Heard from the guys. They say you're amazing."
He'd caught wind from second-teamers who'd come up. Still, approaching a much younger junior with full respect couldn't have been easy. Must be his passion for the game.
"Sure. Let's take a look."
Whoa... so this is the caliber of first-team stars. I'd mostly checked second-teamers, so I hadn't seen many like this. Jeong Woo-geun's window was impressive. I scanned it quick, then watched his swing. Incredible stats, but age was catching up—either he'd peaked near potential and was sliding, or there was room left. Either way, I could help stall the decline.
"Sunbae, back bothering you?"
"Huh? Oh... no. How'd you know?"
"Your swing's arm-heavy, not coming from the hips."
"Lately, yeah... back's been iffy. Age, I guess?"
He chuckled awkwardly.
"Stamina seems down too. How about steady running? You've got another ten years easy."
"Haha!"
He looked sheepish.
"Serious. You can do it. Add running, Pilates for core and back—power'll climb. Baserunning'll drop anyway, so lean into power hitting?"
His grin faded to focus as he saw I meant it.
"Alright. Let's try."
"Commit, and I'll make you a routine."
"Thanks a ton."
I went through each player like that—form, training tips. Some brushed it off, but most lit up at pinpoint fixes for nagging issues. Guiding them, I realized my skills shone more with young prospects than vets. Though guys like Jeong Woo-geun could still fight aging.
I jotted notes on strengths/weaknesses, then studied relevant books nightly—my routine. As a green coach, knowing flaws didn't always mean fixing them right. Had to build expertise. The upside? My status windows pinpointed exactly what to study: weak backs, shoulders, hammy injuries. Focused deep, and I felt my knowledge grow.
The coaches' police probes dragged two weeks. Meanwhile, I hit first-team field often, tending players. They greeted me warmly now—my tips were paying off. Night-and-day from my first visit. Jeong Woo-geun's leadership helped too.
But despite my efforts, the team sank. Manager's absence tanked morale. Players apologized to me constantly—skills up, results not.
Then police results dropped. Shocking: Manager Han Seung-chan and most first-team coaches had suspicious funds in their accounts. Front office in uproar—match-fixing suspicions solidified. A few player cases before, but never a whole coaching staff. Talk of disbanding the team rippled through the roster.