Counterattack (1)

On the second day of my break, I spent the whole time healing — catching up with friends I hadn't seen in ages, playing games at home for a while, not worrying about a single thing.

And then—

"I'm heading out."

"Okay. Do your best."

After dinner with my parents and packing up for the return, I left the house. Standing at the front door, I took one last breath, then closed it behind me — leaving the comfortable air of that shabby villa in my wake.

It was time to go from Han Doyoon the son back to Han Doyoon the baseball player.

I arrived at Flyers Baseball Park a little past ten and collapsed into sleep without even washing up.

The next day, after finishing my usual morning workout and grabbing a meal, I stood in front of the team office door. I took a light breath and knocked.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Come in."

At the dry voice from inside, I paused with my hand on the doorknob.

…Team Leader Cheon Sojin?

Things between Cheon Sojin and me had been subtly awkward for the past two weeks. I hadn't been the one to pull away first. But every time we crossed paths, the expression she'd worn the moment my start was decided kept flashing through my mind, and I ended up acting stiff without meaning to. And maybe she'd sensed that current from me, because at some point she started keeping her distance just as naturally.

"Hoo…"

I took a deep breath to settle the pointless ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tension and carefully opened the door.

Creeeak…

As I eased it open, the sound of a keyboard came from deeper inside the office. Cheon Sojin was leaning back in her chair, looking at her monitor. She was dressed as neatly as always, but—

"Ah… Doyoon, you're here?"

…Her tone, her complexion — she looked worn out somehow.

"Good timing, actually. There was something I wanted to talk to you about once you got back. Mind coming to the conference room for a bit?"

She stood and turned her head slightly, stretching. I followed her quietly toward the conference room.

The walk there was truly silent. The desks were empty, and the computers were all off — no one had just stepped out for a moment.

"…Where is everyone else?"

When I asked carefully, Cheon Sojin answered evenly.

"Mondays, people come in a little later."

"Then why are you…?"

She drew a very short breath and let it out.

"…I had work."

The nuance said not to ask further, so I shut my mouth.

We passed down the quiet hallway, opened the door, and went in. Several documents and a laptop were already spread across the table. Cheon Sojin pushed the papers toward me, powered on the laptop, and plugged in a USB.

"Just read those for a moment. I'll walk you through the details step by step."

"…It's about that, right?"

I sat down and spoke calmly. There was no need to say the words "doping controversy" out loud. We both already knew.

Cheon Sojin sat directly across from me and connected a cable to the laptop.

"Yes, that's right."

I opened the first page of the documents she'd given me.

She tapped the keyboard a few times, and a polished PowerPoint document appeared via the beam projector.

Cheon Sojin took a breath and spoke.

"Um… so, based on what we've determined so far…"

She immediately flipped through the slides and launched into her explanation.

In the conference room lit only by the overhead lights, the white glow of the projector settled across her face. Dark circles hung deep under her eyes, and from the exhaustion, her double eyelids looked sharper than usual.

When our private meeting ended and I opened the conference room door, the suddenly brighter lights made my eyes sting a little. I closed the door and drew a deep breath.

"I—!"

Cheon Sojin started to say something from behind me, then hesitated and put some distance between us.

"Ah, never mind. Go to practice. What you just said… I'll look into it."

I gave a short nod, left the office, and walked down the hallway. My feet headed toward the training ground, but her faintly trembling eyes from a moment ago kept rising in my mind.

Then I saw the vending machine in the corridor. Cheon Sojin's dark circles. The fatigue that had clung thickly to the ends of her words.

Before I knew it, my fingers were pulling out a bill, feeding it into the machine, and pressing a button.

Beep.

Clunk-rattle.

A can of energy tonic dropped into the bottom of the machine. I picked it up, turned around, and headed straight back to the office.

I knocked lightly on the door.

Knock, knock.

"Team Leader."

There was no answer, but the exhausted face I'd seen earlier rose in my mind, so I didn't wait — I carefully opened the door.

Cheon Sojin was asleep at her desk, arms folded under her head. A faint, regular breath slipped out. That single scene said everything about how tired she was.

I approached without a word and carefully set the energy tonic can on the corner of the desk, somewhere her hand could easily reach. Even the small sound of the can touching the wood made me hold my breath, afraid it might wake her.

Then I slowly backed away, making as little footfall as possible.

Just before closing the door, I held the sight of her sleeping shoulders rising and falling gently a little longer in my eyes.

I shut the door without a word and walked quietly toward the training ground.

The next day. Even four hours before game time, reporters had already flooded into Wonju Civic Stadium like a cloud.

The Flyers' official press conference room.

In front of a wall stamped with the team emblem, the long ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠table at the center was packed tight with press seats. Flashes went off intermittently, and a low murmur continued, but everyone knew what would be discussed today, so no one raised their voice.

Zzzzt…

With the crackle of a microphone switching on, the press conference room doors opened.

Operations Team Leader Cheon Sojin walked out first, and I followed and took the center seat.

Cheon Sojin slowly pulled the microphone toward her.

"Good afternoon. I am Cheon Sojin, Operations Team Leader of the Flyers."

The noise in the room died in an instant.

"I will begin by stating the purpose of this gathering. Due to allegations recently raised online and in certain media outlets, the level of criticism directed at Han Doyoon has become excessively severe. The club has determined that this can no longer be left unaddressed. Today's press conference has been arranged with player protection as the absolute priority."

Reporters' fingertips all went busy at once, and flashes erupted from every direction. Cheon Sojin pressed the prepared remote, advanced the PowerPoint, and continued.

"Han Doyoon has already completed doping testing and is currently awaiting the results. However, waiting for the result announcement would place an excessive burden on the player given the current state of public opinion. That is why the club is first stating its official position."

A few reporters glanced at each other with surprised expressions. Cheon Sojin lifted her gaze toward them.

"I will state the conclusion first. The 'sudden velocity increase' that has been cited as the basis for all suspicions to date has been confirmed by the club, through medical and technical verification, to be the result of a normal recovery process."

Camera flashes went off again.

The slide advanced, and an MRI image taken a month earlier filled the screen.

"According to detailed MRI examination results, the surgical site has fully recovered, and there are no medically concerning factors whatsoever. Furthermore, Han Doyoon already recorded a top velocity of 156 km/h during his high school years. Therefore, his current velocity is not an abnormal 'increase' — it is simply the recovery of the player's original performance."

After that, Cheon Sojin calmly presented various medical grounds — the tissue remodeling process at the surgical site, the temporary stiffness that can appear after Tommy John surgery and its effects. Every time she continued her explanation, the reporters' hands moved faster, and the press conference room filled with the sound of shutters and keyboards.

Cheon Sojin advanced the final slide and set down the remote. Looking straight ahead, she finished calmly.

"That concludes the club's official statement."

And then—

"If the doping results differ from the club's expectations, how do you plan to handle today's announcement?"

"Certain active players' comments have fueled the controversy — does the club have a separate response plan for that?"

"The MRI readings — which hospital, which specialist's opinion? Was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there third-party verification?"

The press seats exploded. Hands shot up left and right as questions poured out, and flashes fired in rapid succession.

Tap, tap.

Cheon Sojin tapped the microphone with her fingernail, as if asking for quiet. The reporters' fierce momentum subsided.

She took a single breath, then cut through the commotion with an unshaken voice.

"And… while it is not directly related to this controversy, there is something the player himself wishes to address."

Cheon Sojin pushed the microphone toward me.

"Ah— hello. I am Han Doyoon, pitcher for the Wonju Flyers."

As my voice carried through the speakers, even the remaining murmur vanished in an instant. Flashes went off once, twice. I lifted my head and continued.

"Recently, as suspicions related to my velocity have arisen, many people have made all kinds of speculation about my body and training process."

I gripped the microphone tighter as I organized the next words in my head. If I didn't hold onto this mic right now, I didn't think I could keep these emotions in check.

"And… especially Kim Yeongseon's interview. I saw it clearly."

That single resolute line rang through the press conference room.

"On the surface he said, 'There's no way,' but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the meaning of the words that came before that… I know them all too well."

The room fell into dead silence. So quiet you could clearly hear someone draw a breath.

"'I've never seen a change like that in two months.' 'You don't get that with ordinary methods.' 'Any fan would have felt it.'…"

I pulled the microphone a little closer.

"I believe everyone here understands what those words meant."

Camera shutters fired in succession.

"A former teammate, someone who called himself a senior, planted seeds of suspicion toward me while pretending to be concerned. And those words, as you can all see now, ultimately led to attacks directed at me."

I spoke clearly, and firmly.

"That is why I will not endure this any longer."