The Inauguration Ceremony
Today was the day of my inauguration ceremony as manager. I'd already signed the contract and given a speech to the team, but since I hadn't held a proper press conference for the fans and reporters, we decided to keep the event simple.
They'd set up a stage with banners at Mokdong Stadium. I stood in the manager's office, looking down at the field. The first time I'd become manager of the Eagles, it had happened so suddenly that we skipped the ceremony and just did a quick press conference. But this time, it felt official—like I was truly stepping into the role. From the stove league onward, I'd prepared properly to showcase my team in next year's pro baseball season. Gazing out over the stadium filled me with fresh emotion.
Knock knock.
"Come in."
"Manager, we're ready. Time to head down."
The operations team leader had come to fetch me.
"Alright, let's go."
I headed down to the stadium for my very first inauguration ceremony. The weather was clear, with a cool breeze blowing. It was early November, so it was pretty chilly, but the sunlight felt warm and pleasant.
As I walked onto the field, the crowd burst into applause.
"Right here, sir."
They'd reserved a spot for me on the right side of the stage. The operations team leader stepped up and began proceedings.
"We now commence the inauguration ceremony for Lee Jin-ho, the fourth manager in Gocheok Heroes history. First, a congratulatory address from team owner Lee Jang-sik."
The Heroes didn't have a corporate parent, but they did have an owner with shares. Lee Jang-sik took the stage, praising me warmly and offering his congratulations.
"Next, the uniform and cap presentation."
At the team leader's gesture, I moved to center stage. Owner Lee handed me the uniform and cap, extending his hand for a shake. We posed for photos as I held up the jersey. Then I put it on. My number was 0. I'd pondered what number to choose, but since I'd never once made it to the first team, I picked zero to keep reminding myself.
We snapped more photos in the uniform, and the reporters' flashes erupted.
"Now, inauguration speech from the new manager, Lee Jin-ho."
I stood at the podium, slowly scanning the cameras, players, staff, and reporters one by one.
"First, my deepest thanks to owner Lee Jang-sik for making this possible, and infinite gratitude to the fans welcoming me. I'll keep my speech brief. One, we'll carry forward the previous manager's vision and deliver strong results next year to repay our fans. Two, my philosophy as manager: baseball players need top physical conditioning. During this stove league, we'll build stamina so we don't fade in the second half. Three, as a young manager, I'll bridge the gap between veterans and rookies. We'll foster harmony where rookies learn from the experience and talent of our vets, and vets draw fire from the rookies' drive and passion. Thank you."
I kept it short and to the point. I noticed a few players' faces twist when I emphasized conditioning—they already grumbled about the daily runs before and after practice that I'd insisted on. But stamina was non-negotiable; you needed it anytime.
"That concludes the speech. Now, press conference."
A table was set up on stage with a seat for me. I'd done a few of these, so no nerves. A reporter raised his hand first; I nodded, and he spoke.
"Congratulations on your appointment, Manager. The Heroes finished second this year—a fantastic result. Any pressure heading into next season?"
"Pressure's always there. As manager, I have to produce wins and develop my players. But I'll turn that into fuel for victory."
"You're remarkably young to be managing your second team already. Your thoughts?"
"Haha, yeah. Hard to believe. Just this year, I was a bullpen catcher in January, Eagles manager by August, and now Heroes manager in November. It's surreal. But I'll give everything for the Heroes who gave me this chance."
I fielded questions smoothly, and the mood lightened. My Eagles presser had been tense amid the match-fixing scandal, but this felt easy. One reporter even called me a natural on stage, praising my looks and eloquence. Strangely, I wasn't nervous at all—answers flowed just as I thought them. I was impressed with myself.
As the conference wound down, one reporter raised his hand.
"Your first move as manager was a trade—ironically with your old team, the Eagles. You sent promising Heroes outfielder Lee Woo-ram for their Kang Hyun-jun and Kim Kang-jun. Some say Lee Woo-ram's value exceeds theirs and question if you're doing a favor for your former club. Your response?"
The Lee Woo-ram trade question had arrived. To me, it was a steal, but media and public opinion painted it as me giving away too much. Lee had nearly hit .300 his first two rookie years, and in 2014, he'd played every game with stellar results. Trading a proven prospect for unproven ones raised eyebrows.
"I was Eagles manager, and now I'm Heroes manager. I pitched this trade to our GM myself. From my time there, I knew their outfield was thin. And I also knew Kang Hyun-jun and Kim Kang-jun had elite potential. Sure, sending a proven player for unproven ones raises concerns. But I assure our fans: these two have what it takes to become Heroes cornerstones. I'm certain."
Cameras flashed wildly at my confident tone. I thought it was smart—Eagles got praise for sending good talent, and if I developed Kang and Kim, it was my doing, not poaching.
A few more questions followed, but nothing substantial.
"That's it for the conference—now photos."
At the team leader's cue, the table cleared, and waiting players gathered around me. We posed in the white-and-purple accented uniforms amid applause, wrapping up the ceremony.
Afterward, I headed home—not to my parents', but to the place where Seon-ah waited. The previous tenant had vacated, so we'd moved in last week. Furniture and appliances were all set, and Seon-ah was thrilled with our first love nest, pouring energy into decorating.
"Honey! You're back? You looked so cool out there."
Since we started dating, she'd called me "honey." I'd suggested sticking to names after years as friends—it felt awkward—but she wouldn't budge.
"How'd you watch?"
"Live on YouTube."
"Really?"
She'd watched from home. We hadn't gone public yet, so she skipped the stadium to avoid rumors about the cheerleader dating the manager. She'd signed on as a Heroes cheerleader. I'd suggested quitting if it was an issue, but she insisted on cheering for me herself. I couldn't argue. Her support would energize me. I felt guilty—she'd always put me first. We'd traveled abroad together, but work had kept us apart since. Managing left me swamped, and we couldn't date openly anyway. No real dates yet.
To my apologies, she just smiled. Especially last week moving in—she was over the moon about our home, where we could date freely. I loved it too. Coming home to her waiting like a wife, with delicious meals ready. She'd never cooked before, but it tasted amazing to me. We'd eat, watch TV, chat, then make love at night. It was sweetly newlywed-like, brimming with love.