Settling In and Facing Skepticism

For a full week—what I'd call our housewarming prep—I hustled around buying furniture and appliances for the new place. I also paid a visit to Seon-ah's parents to say hello. They were thrilled that I'd become the manager of a pro baseball team. Just like my own parents doted on Seon-ah more than me, her folks had always liked me a ton, so they were totally cool with us living together. None of the negative reactions I'd initially braced for materialized.

In the meantime, as the new house came together, I signed a contract for a new car too. With nothing to drive right away, I looked into long-term rentals and found options that ran through next summer, making it easy for Seon-ah and me to get around while shopping.

Before I knew it, amid all the busyness, the day to greet the team arrived. In the interim, the operations chief had leaked stories about me to the press. Rumors of my joining the Gocheok Heroes had the public buzzing—and not in a good way. After all, the manager who'd led them to second place last year, Coach Yeom Kyung-young—fans' beloved "Yeom Gal-ryang"—had stepped down, only for some no-name rookie manager to take over. There wasn't much for fans to cheer about.

Overall, the reactions weren't great. Still, I appreciated the Eagles fans chiming in on my behalf in the communities. They welcomed my replacement, Coach Kim Geun-seong, but seemed to feel a bit guilty about me leaving. I even spotted a few comments praising my looks here and there. All in all, the public sentiment wasn't that bad. With a fresh start and total dedication as manager, I figured the fans would come around and start expecting big things.

When I arrived at the stadium, the players and coaches were already lined up on the practice field. They had to be curious about the new manager—and probably harboring some resentment over the uncertainty. The coaches, in particular, looked less than thrilled. Having dealt with the same at the Eagles, I took it in stride. I got where they were coming from. No one wants to see some green kid with zero credentials strutting in as manager. It was something I'd have to endure.

I stepped up to the podium they'd set up for me. First, I bowed deeply to the coaches lined up on the left. Then, the same to the players in front.

"Nice to meet you all. I'm Lee Jin-ho, the new manager of the Gocheok Heroes. As many of you know, my playing career falls way short of yours. But starting in August, I took over as manager of the Daejeon Eagles and pulled them up to fourth place. I know the Heroes are already a strong team. My goal is to make you even stronger and more solid. With your help and the coaches', ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I believe we have the power to do it. Thank you."

I kept it short, then stepped down. The players and coaches gave a slow, sparse round of applause.

I headed straight for the chief coach, Lee Cheol-gang—a former ace pitcher with a reputation to match his sturdy, no-nonsense image.

"Chief Coach, could we talk privately for a moment?"

"Sure."

He nodded and followed me as I approached. The manager's office had been cleaned spotless before I arrived. We sat facing each other on the sofa, and I got right to it.

"What do you see as the team's biggest problem right now?"

Lee Cheol-gang stared at me for a beat.

"In my view, it's the manager. Can you really handle this team?"

Straight ball, no curve—just like his pitching days. I flinched but smiled.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"I know what you're thinking. But I know my strengths: scouting and developing players. Of course, I'll need the coaches' help to do it right."

"Fine. Any players you've eyed since arriving? Rookies worth developing, say."

He smirked slyly.

"Yeah, two or three stand out."

"Who?"

"Kim Sung-ha for one. Second-year guy—develop him right, and he could start immediately."

His smirk widened.

"Sung-ha played some this year, so yeah, you could think that."

"Sixty games, fifty-nine plate appearances. Mostly pinch-hitting or defensive subs. Batting .188. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Not great. Two homers, one triple. Four steals out of seven tries. Decent on-base. You calling him a sure thing based on that?"

His eyes widened in surprise. He'd realized I'd done my homework. But he masked it quickly.

"Alright, who's the other?"

"Lee Ji-seung, the new draftee, caught my eye."

His expression shifted subtly.

"Ji-seung? How'd you even know about him?"

Lee Ji-seung was a ninth-round draft pick—a pitcher, just nineteen. Barely trained properly, which is why mentioning him shocked the chief coach.

"Manager's intuition sound weird? He stood out when I was up there greeting everyone. What about you, Chief Coach? Think he could be something?"

"Worth... developing."

He swallowed hard.

"Not just worth it—you need to develop him right. Let me ask again: what's the team's problem?"

I repeated my first question. He eyed me, then spoke.

"Some players' laziness. They produce results, so no immediate issue, but it's spreading to the rookies."

He laid it out plainly.

"Don't the veterans talk to them?"

In most teams, captains and vets kept rookies in line.

He scratched his head.

"That's the problem with this team. Too focused on developing newbies—discipline's fallen apart."

It clicked. Other teams built around vets, with rookies learning from below. Here, rookies got tons of chances, so their influence grew, loosening discipline.

"I'll handle that."

He looked baffled. Vets and coaches couldn't fix it—now the rookie manager would?

"Got ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it. We'll see."

Skeptical tone, but he couldn't outright say "you can't," so he played along.

From then on, I haunted the practice field, checking new players' stats. That's when the standouts appeared—like Kim Sung-ha, the one I'd mentioned.

A monster with 85 potential. MLB-caliber if developed right.

But Lee Ji-seung really grabbed me.

He looked average at first, but the notes were intriguing. I casually asked Chief Coach about switching him to pitcher. He admitted that was his eye too and said he'd talk to pitching coach Son Hyeok-su.

A few days later, Ji-seung's stats post-switch left me speechless.

92 potential—an MLB-devouring talent. I couldn't fathom why he'd never pitched before. I begged Chief Coach and Son Coach to pour everything into him—our future ace. They started off with casual "got it," but my persistence got them motivated, if only out of annoyance.

This team's upside looked solid. Manager life was gonna be fun.