Regular Season Kickoff (2)

Suddenly, Jeong Woo-geun appeared out of nowhere and smacked Lee Woo-ram upside the head. I greeted him warmly—our bond had been tight back when I was still their manager.

"Jeong Woo-geun, good to see you've been well?"

"Aigoo... no need for the formal talk."

I'd switched to polite speech since I wasn't his manager anymore, but he wasn't having any of it.

Jeong Woo-geun wasn't the only one who'd seen the scuffle between me and Lee Woo-ram. Other players who'd noticed the commotion started gathering around me.

"Manager! How've you been?"

"Still looking sharp as ever."

All the players swarming me were ones who'd played under me last season: Go Jin-dong, Kim Tae-hoon, Lee Gyu-yong, Kang Si-hak, Lee Dong-gun, and more. They'd all benefited from my help, subtle or not, and they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠treated me with the utmost respect. One of them even kicked Lee Woo-ram in the butt while he was rubbing the back of his head.

"Don't be rude to the manager!"

With the team's veterans welcoming me so enthusiastically, Lee Woo-ram didn't know what to do with himself. He'd been a prized prospect getting easy first-team reps with the Heroes, but not here. His talent wasn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠quite enough yet to leapfrog all these established stars for a regular spot.

Lee Woo-ram had talent, sure—if he worked hard, he could grow even more. Being denied chances like he would be with the Eagles might actually light a fire under him. This place could be just what he needed.

After shaking hands and exchanging greetings with the players, Kim Geun-seong finally noticed us and approached.

"Manager Lee. First time laying eyes on you."

"Yes, Manager. Came to pay my respects before the opener."

I bowed deeply in greeting.

"Even if you were the former manager, getting too chummy with the other team's players isn't right. Off you go."

Unlike my courtesy, Kim Geun-seong issued a cold dismissal. Whether he'd seen the spat with Lee Woo-ram or just hated his players cozying up to me, I had no choice but to bow again and head out of their dugout. The new owner was telling me to leave—no point arguing if you were just the old tenant.

As Kim Geun-seong turned icy, the other players cleared their throats awkwardly. They had history with me, but they couldn't ignore their new manager's glare.

Hiding my bitterness, I left the Eagles' dugout and headed back to ours.

"Hey, you punk! Not even gonna look at my face before you go?"

A gruff voice called from behind. I turned, heart leaping at the familiar tone, and there was Coach Shin Hyun-kyeong grinning at me. He pulled me into a bear hug.

"I'm not your coach anymore, so casual talk's fine now, right?"

"Damn right it is."

Overjoyed, I hugged him back. Glancing over his shoulder, I saw Kim Geun-seong glaring daggers at us.

"Coach, uh... the manager's shooting us death stares from back there. You good?"

"Pfft, let him glare. Total hardass. Seriously. He's been cracking the whip non-stop since he got here, trying to instill discipline. Seeing us chatting probably rubs him the wrong way."

His words suddenly made Kim Geun-seong's cold shoulder click. Our baseball philosophies just didn't mesh.

"If you ever get canned, come join me, Coach. I can make room."

"What? Puhaha! Our Manager Jin-ho's grown up, huh?"

"All thanks to you."

After a quick chat with Coach Shin ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Hyun-kyeong, I turned to leave. Lingering too long might get him in hot water with Kim Geun-seong.

Back in our dugout, our warm-ups wrapped up, and the Eagles began theirs. The vibe between the teams was night and day. Ours was loose and upbeat, players going at their own pace. Theirs? Stiff and rigid under the manager's watchful eye.

"Tsk... tough gig. Those poor bastards."

Chief Coach Yi Cheol-gang clicked his tongue at the sight.

"You never wanted to run things that tightly, Chief?"

His charisma could've pulled it off no problem.

"I used to be like that myself. But after seeing the players ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠take initiative under you, I've come around—it's not half bad."

We'd been butting heads productively for months now, and our rapport was solid. I'd feed him insights from the players' status windows, and he'd turn them into practical drills. Our synergy was clicking.

We could even shoot the breeze like this.

Finally, after the ceremonial first pitch, first hit, national anthem, and pledge to the flag, the game kicked off. My official debut as manager.

Leading off the season: our youngest, Kim Kang-jun. He'd already shaken off the nerves in spring ball, looking cool and collected now.

I'd never made it to the first-team stage as a player, but damn, standing in that batter's box had to be electric. The roaring fans, cheerleaders dancing to the chants, the manager and teammates believing in you. I wanted that, just once.

Talentless, it stayed a dream. But now? Climb high enough as manager, and my skills could get me there someday.

Talbot finished warming up and went into his windup. He favored two-seamers—sinkers and cutters over four-seams—to induce grounders.

But not against Kim Kang-jun's elite plate vision. Even green, his natural eye and compact swing crushed breaking stuff.

I'd built him as a contact-and-basrunning guy, not a slugger.

Talbot's pitch arced low, then dipped. Ball. Kim Kang-jun didn't twitch—like he could see the spin.

Talbot's eyes widened. He'd thrown gold, but no reaction. Rookie inexperience, he figured—not a big deal.

Talbot chalked it up to no-swing ignorance. Fatal mistake.

Another sinker, dipping late. Bat met ball clean.

CRACK!!!

Kim Kang-jun wasn't a power guy. But catch a breaker flush, and even modest strength carries it out.

"Wooooaaahhhh!!!!"

The ball rocketed straight out, clearing the fence. Kim Kang-jun repaid my faith with a dazzling debut, circling the bases.

Leading off with a bomb set our tone ablaze.

No. 2 Kim Seong-ha ripped a double, No. 3 Seo Geon-cheol singled. Just like that, 2-0.

Talbot burned 10 pitches in the first without an out, coughing up two.

But the real damage? Park Byung-hyun, Snyder, Yoo Jun-han—no weak links.

Even the caster and commentator started hyping the Heroes. Some folks only wake up after taking a beating.