Park Haeun (2)
"So you've been living in this villa for about a month now?"
"Yes..."
She's having a field day.
The moment Mom heard she was my fan, she turned her whole body toward the girl and started firing off questions one after another.
The girl's name was Park Haeun. She said she was a second-year statistics major at Hankuk University.
"Aigoo, it must be hard living alone."
"Ahaha..."
Mom spoke in that warm, motherly tone she reserved for daughters. Park Haeun laughed awkwardly and let her words trail off.
"Hankuk University is pretty far from here, isn't it? Why'd you move all the way out this way?"
At that, Park Haeun hesitated for a moment. She seemed to struggle with the answer, fumbling a little, but eventually she spoke.
"Ah... well. If I lived too close... my friends would keep showing up at my place..."
As she spoke, she tugged lightly at the edge of her hoodie with her fingers. Her gaze skimmed past Mom before dropping quickly to the floor.
"Ah, so you deliberately chose somewhere a little farther out?"
"Yes... I prefer the quiet."
Mom nodded along in agreement.
"Right. That's the worst part about living alone. People barging in whenever they want, talking nonstop when all you want is some rest."
Her face said she understood completely.
"Good call. When you live alone, your own space is the most important thing."
I stood off to the side, quietly listening to their conversation. More accurately, there was nothing else for me to do. Park Haeun would occasionally steal glances my way, but Mom was treating me like I was invisible, completely absorbed in talking to her.
Mom asked her again.
"But how did a young lady like you... end up becoming a fan of Doyoon? You said you were a fan, so I got curious."
People who call themselves "my fans" usually fall into one of two categories.
...Actually, you could pretty much call it just one.
It's a little embarrassing to say myself, but the vast majority of my few fans are female fans — more precisely, looks fans.
It's not like I have idol- or actor-level looks. I'm not even the kind of face that makes people turn around once on the street. Objectively speaking, I'm average, or maybe just a notch above.
Just the kind of guy who looks decent enough once you put him in a uniform and stand him on a field. That thing athletes have — especially pitchers — with the long, balanced build, and how you somehow look cooler when you're out there sweating on the mound.
Of course, I should just be grateful that anyone likes me at all. But I can't help feeling a little disappointed. Occasionally — very, very occasionally — there'd be a fan who liked me for my skill, but after my second year, that type had pretty much vanished.
So when Mom asked how she'd become a fan, I naturally expected the usual answer. Something about how I looked cool, or my vibe, or whatever the common lines were.
Park Haeun hesitated for a moment, then opened her mouth very quietly.
"...Just... from watching the games."
Her voice was small, her eyes fixed on the floor. Her fingertips kept fidgeting with the hem of her clothes... she looked clearly uncomfortable.
"Come on~ why so shy? Tell us a little more. I hear baseball's gotten super popular with young women these days — is that you too?"
Mom completely failed to read Haeun's vibe, pressing on in that signature "I won't rest until I've asked everything I'm curious about" tone of hers.
Ugh, here she goes again.
I sighed inwardly and figured it was about time to drag Mom inside, before Haeun got any more uncomfortable.
But then—
"It was only one game, but the four-seam vertical movement Han Doyoon recorded yesterday was top one percent — no... top zero-point-one percent level."
...Huh?
The words that came out of her mouth were completely unexpected. And then, as if a switch had been flipped, she transformed into an entirely different person.
Her voice was still quiet, but now her words were clear — no trailing off, no stammering. If anything, her speaking pace started to pick up.
Mom was more flustered than I was. She just stood there with her eyes wide, speechless.
"Uh... what... top...?"
But Park Haeun showed no signs of stopping.
"And adding a cutter was a really attractive point too. Honestly, Han Doyoon has a strong supination tendency, so changeups don't really suit him. If his four-seam had a heavy cut, that might be different, but looking at his current four-seam shape, it separates cleanly from the cutter. So the four-seam, cutter, and slider don't overlap — each one clearly does its own job."
Mom was just blinking blankly. But Haeun kept going.
"Ah, though adding the cutter might have been partly the organization's influence. What's truly amazing is that Han Doyoon finished that adjustment in two months. There are actually two types of cutters, right? The natural cutter thrown with a four-seam grip, and the cutter made by suppressing slider movement."
She traced the trajectories of a cutter and a slider in the air with her fingertips as she continued.
"Han Doyoon is the latter type. With that type, the key is separating the movement from the slider... and that is genuinely hard. You need at least a year, and plenty of pitchers just give up midway. Finishing that in two months... it just doesn't make sense. How good does your hand feel have to be to pull that off in two months?"
And so Park Haeun went on explaining my pitching for a long time. A really long time. Somewhere in the middle I started thinking, How many minutes has this been? Mom was already nodding along with a dazed expression, and even I — the actual pitcher — was struggling to keep up.
Finally, after that lengthy explanation, Park Haeun closed her mouth as if catching her breath.
"...Anyway. That's why."
In her eyes, there was no longer any trace of the shyness or social awkwardness from before. Instead, a faint madness flickered there.
"I like the balls Han Doyoon throws. That's why I became a fan."
Park Haeun finished speaking and breathed a little roughly. Whether that breath came from the exhaustion of her long speech, or from heat she couldn't fully put into words, I couldn't tell.
When she finished, both Mom and I were so overwhelmed by the atmosphere that we were left speechless. A brief silence settled.
And of course, it was Mom who broke it.
"...Oh my."
At first Mom looked at Haeun with startled eyes, then she collected herself. A full smile spread across her face.
"My goodness, how does a young lady know baseball this well?"
One thing was certain.
This person... was absolutely not one of the looks fans who made up the overwhelming majority of my few remaining fans.
The moment we got home, Mom started bustling around cleaning the living room. She neatly arranged the cushions that had been tossed on the sofa, cleared away the dishes and cups piled on the table, and even wiped down the dining table with her palm just in case there was dust.
I stared blankly at the scene as I took off my shoes. Then Dad came out of the room, squinted at the sight, and frowned.
"What on earth is this all of a sudden? Why the frenzy?"
Mom didn't even stop her hands as she answered casually.
"We have a guest coming."
"A guest? Who?"
Mom spread a fresh tablecloth over the table as she answered.
"Doyoon's fan. A young lady."
Dad blinked a beat late, then said with complete honesty,
"...A fan? Doyoon's fan is coming to our house? Wait — more importantly, Doyoon has fans?"
It was a casually wounding remark, but he was Dad, so I let it slide.
"Doyoon, what's this about a fan all of a sudden?"
"I don't know either..."
Mom answered for me.
"We met at the recycling station out front. She lives in the unit above us."
Dad just snorted as if he couldn't believe it.
Meanwhile, Mom was already arranging snacks and teacups prettily on the table.
A deep sigh rose up from inside me on its own.
Haa...
She had clearly looked like she didn't want to come. Thinking back to what she'd said at the recycling station made it even clearer.
"I, uh, I'm not really dressed for it... It's fine. Next time..."
It had been a polite refusal, for all practical purposes. Anyone could tell she meant this is awkward right now, and her voice had been thick with discomfort.
And yet Mom had said,
"Aigoo, then just stop by your place first and come over. You said you're right upstairs, right? Run along and come back~"
She'd latched on and wouldn't let go.
...There was meddling, and then there was this.
Really, even though she's my mom, moments like this make me feel embarrassed.
"...Ah, okay... Just a moment. I'll... be right back."
And so our mother had finally extracted her agreement.
"Honey! You change clothes too, hurry!"
Mom shouted as if preparing for battle. Dad looked at her with a bewildered face.
"...A fan's coming, so why do I need to change clothes?"
"We have a guest coming to the house — you're going to sit around like that?"
I covered my face with both hands.
Ah, seriously...
About ten minutes passed.
Ding-dong.
"Doyoon, hurry and get the door!"
At Mom's urgent words, I reluctantly went to the entrance.
Creeeak.
The door opened—
And Park Haeun was standing there looking completely different from before.
Instead of the yellow hoodie, a neatly draping ivory knit sweater; below it, instead of the pajama pants I'd seen earlier, dark jeans that fit her naturally. Her brown hair, which fell softly to her waist, was so neatly arranged that almost none of the earlier messiness remained.
And her face, which had been half-hidden under the hoodie before, was now clearly visible.
A small, neat face shape, round eyes, and clear pupils that seemed to tremble whenever she spoke.
She carefully clasped both hands in front of her stomach and said cautiously,
"...I'm sorry I'm late. I... changed clothes."
Mom stopped for a moment as if surprised, a small gasp of admiration slipping between her lips.
"...Oh my."
And I, too, faced with the sight of what looked like a little fairy standing there, could only stand speechless and dazed.
...Is that really the same person from earlier?