Cheon Ihyun and Cheon Sojin
Cheon Sojin wore a look of pure dissatisfaction all the way out of the bullpen, aimed squarely at GM Kim Ihyun.
Does she hate it that much…?
From her perspective, it made sense that she was reluctant to put me on the mound when she still thought I had the yips. Even so, did she really need to oppose it that fiercely?
I stood there blankly watching the two of them walk away when O Daesik, who had already finished packing up every last piece of his catcher’s gear, came over.
“Hyung, aren’t you happy?”
“Yeah, you’re not as happy as I expected,” Kim Taehwan chimed in.
I looked back and forth between the two of them and let out a short laugh.
Right. Don’t overthink it.
The most urgent problem—getting a chance to pitch—had already been locked in by the GM himself. He had promised me an appearance before the season was over.
Appear as a starting pitcher in a professional baseball regular-season game and finish with 6 or more innings pitched and 3 or fewer runs allowed.
🎁 Reward: ??? ???
Originally I might never even have gotten a shot at clearing this third journey. However it had happened, I had the chance now.
Cheon Sojin’s subtle attitude still bothered me a little… but she had said herself that she didn’t have the authority. Even if she did, what could she do? An operations team leader wasn’t going to overrule the GM.
“No, I’m happy. I’m happy.”
I answered with a rough smile.
“More importantly, Coach, if you knew, you could’ve at least given me a heads-up.”
“No way. I didn’t know either.”
Coach Kim Taehwan waved both hands as if the idea were absurd.
“I was just as shocked when I heard it. What are you talking about?”
Huh? Coach Kim Taehwan had been training with me at basically a dedicated level, and he hadn’t known at all?
Cheon Sojin had told me she would speak to the GM about giving me a chance to pitch, so of course I assumed she had discussed it with him. And I had figured she would naturally have talked it over with Coach Kim Taehwan, the person who knew me best.
Then who the hell did he consult with before deciding?
“Really?”
O Daesik, standing beside me, seemed to share the same doubt and asked Kim Taehwan.
“I’m telling you it’s true. Why would I lie about something like this?”
Looking at Kim Taehwan’s eyes, he didn’t seem to be lying.
“From where I’m standing, your stuff today was so good the GM just made the call on his own. Honestly, it was good enough for that.”
“That makes sense.”
O Daesik nodded beside him.
I guess that’s it, then.
Judging by Cheon Sojin’s reaction, she really hadn’t known either. So after she spoke to him, the GM must have decided he needed to see for himself and make the judgment. That was why he had come all the way out here to watch.
“The velocity was crazy, sure, but more than that the spin was… I swear the ball felt like it spun five full revolutions in the mitt.”
“Exactly. It felt like I was seeing the real Doyoon’s stuff for the first time in a long while. It was good.”
Kim Taehwan said it with a satisfied smile.
“Honestly, until I saw the ball, I still hadn’t fully felt that the elbow was back. After today, it’s completely back.”
He clapped me on the back as he spoke.
Hearing the two of them say it like that gave me real confidence. I had seen the status window numbers go up, but it hit differently when the coach and the catcher who had just received my pitches said the same thing.
Yeah. A fixed 50% wild-pitch rate? Big deal.
Six innings, three runs or fewer. Nothing I couldn’t do.
I found myself looking forward more and more to the start date that would be decided soon.
“Oppa. I need to talk to you for a second.”
The moment Cheon Ihyun sat down in the chair in the GM’s office, Cheon Sojin hurried in after him.
“What’s gotten into you, following me all the way in here?”
The playful look that had covered Cheon Ihyun’s face earlier was gone, replaced by seriousness. Cheon Sojin’s expression was still flushed; the remarks he had just made in front of the developmental players and coaching staff had clearly left her more than a little shaken.
“Go cancel it right now. You started this mess, so you clean it up.”
“I don’t want to.”
Cheon Sojin’s eyes went wide at his short reply. Her lips stiffened as if the words had stuck in her throat.
“In my opinion, putting Han Doyoon on the mound right now is the right call.”
Cheon Sojin drew a slow breath in and out, forcing her excitement down before she spoke.
“…And what exactly do you know about it?”
Her voice grew sharper.
“Do you even know anything about baseball? No—forget that. Do you have any idea what kind of condition Han Doyoon is in right now?”
“Yeah. I know.”
Cheon Ihyun folded his arms and nodded at an unhurried pace.
“I may be a figurehead GM, but you think I wouldn’t know even that much?”
“You knew and you still did it?!”
Cheon Sojin could no longer hold back and raised her voice. Cheon Ihyun didn’t so much as flinch, as if he had expected exactly that reaction.
“Do you even know what the yips are? If you don’t, I’ll tell you. Focal dystonia. In situations where anxiety spikes—like high-pressure games—”
Cheon Ihyun closed his eyes and quietly nodded. Then he cut in and finished the sentence for her.
“…the loss of the ability to perform a specific action.”
He continued without missing a beat.
“It’s known to occur when excessive conscious awareness interferes with instinctive movements built through long training, breaking down the automation of skilled actions.”
“If you know all that, then why the hell—!”
Before she could finish, Cheon Ihyun cut in again.
“Sojin.”
The firmness in his voice made her flinch and take a half-step back.
“You’re right. I don’t know baseball well. But…”
He paused to steady his breath, then went on.
“You don’t know people. Not even a little.”
“…What is that supposed to mean?”
Cheon Ihyun leaned back in the chair and let out a long breath. He glanced toward the window for a moment, then looked at Cheon Sojin again.
“If excessive anxiety is the cause, then you have to look carefully at what’s causing that anxiety too. Don’t you think?”
Cheon Sojin still wore a face full of dissatisfaction; she clearly wasn’t following him easily.
“After you asked me to talk to Han Doyoon, I did a little digging of my own.”
He picked up a file that had been sitting on one side of the desk and continued.
“Okay. First: Han Doyoon had Tommy John surgery in his second year of high school and lost his original power fastball.”
“And so what?”
Even her sharp tone didn’t faze him.
“So he reinvented himself as a finesse pitcher. Pretty impressive, right? A mid-150s power arm loses the heat and still has enough left to make it on the pro stage.”
He stopped for a moment, lifted his coffee cup, and took a sip. Then he resumed at the same unhurried pace.
“Year one and year two were fine. ERA in the mid-to-high threes every season, 150-plus innings. The real collapse started in year three. More precisely, the second half of year three—after they moved him to the bullpen.”
He turned the page of the file he was looking at.
“Once they changed his role to the bullpen, Han Doyoon fell off a cliff. Half his pitches went right down the middle. When he tried to force the ball to the edges, it sailed wildly. That’s probably the yips you’re talking about.”
Thud. Thud.
He set the papers down on the desk with two sharp taps, straightened them, and looked Cheon Sojin straight in the eye.
“Here’s my conclusion. After he lost the power fastball, Han Doyoon started obsessing over command. That itself isn’t wrong. But once his standing inside the team got shaky, that obsession turned into compulsion—and that compulsion eventually became the yips.”
Cheon Sojin fell silent at his words.
“….”
The dissatisfied look was still there, but she couldn’t manage a proper rebuttal.
“So. We found the source of the anxiety, so we have to relieve it. The first one’s already gone. The elbow came back like a miracle.”
Watching her, Cheon Ihyun kept pressing his point.
“Now it’s time to take care of the second one. His standing inside the team.”
The quiet Cheon Sojin narrowed her eyes and stared at him.
“…His standing inside the team?”
“Yes.”
He nodded firmly.
“He’s a player who lost his place with the Wales and got traded to us. Until high school he was a massive prospect—good enough to get taken tenth overall in the first round even before the Tommy John recovery was finished.”
He took another sip of coffee and steadied his breathing before continuing.
“But the rehab failed, the velocity dropped, and he had no choice but to cling to command alone. The evaluation changed. ‘His ceiling got cut down.’ ‘He ended up just an ordinary pitcher.’ Han Doyoon must have been conscious of every one of those comments.”
Clink.
He set the coffee cup down and looked out the window.
“That’s when it started. Every time he threw, the thought ‘one mistake and it’s over’ got drilled into his head. That became compulsion, and the compulsion bred anxiety. When anxiety piles up, the body freezes. In the end you can’t even release the ball properly.”
A short silence.
Cheon Sojin slowly lowered her head.
“…So if we guarantee his standing inside the team, that solves it?”
Cheon Ihyun didn’t answer right away. He smiled faintly, let a beat of silence hang, and shed the serious expression he had worn until now.
At the exact moment the tension between them peaked, an unexpected line came out of his mouth.
“I don’t know that either.”
“What kind of irresponsible answer is that?! What if the yips get even worse?!”
Cheon Sojin’s eyes tightened.
“That’s something Han Doyoon has to overcome himself. He has to get on the mound, feel what his stuff is like, and see whether he can dominate hitters. Once that conviction settles in, he won’t be anxious anymore.”
Cheon Ihyun nodded and let out a long breath.
“And for that to happen, you have to give him the chance for that conviction to form in the first place.”
After those final words, Cheon Sojin said nothing more. She simply stayed where she was, eyes fixed, lost in thought.
Ten seconds. Thirty. One minute. Five. Ten.
Time kept sliding past.
At last Cheon Sojin rose from her seat.
“…I’m going to remember this. Clearly.”
Cheon Ihyun didn’t bother answering. He only smiled and gave a small nod.
“If it goes wrong, you take responsibility. Though I’m not sure this is something you even can take responsibility for.”