Time to Run (2)
Crack!
“Nice one, Hajun.”
As Lee Hajun silently worked through his batting practice, Daejeon Hawks hitting coach Song Daehyeon smiled and offered a quiet word of praise.
This kid’s a starving lion if I’ve ever seen one.
In a game against the strongest team in the league—the one drawing the most eyes—he had dismantled the league’s premier closer, Park Haein, in back-to-back contests at the most high-profile moment possible. By any measure of Lee Hajun’s career as a baseball player so far, it should have been the greatest highlight of his life. Yet there was no trace of excitement or swagger about him. Instead he had returned early from the All-Star break and thrown himself into training with a passion that went beyond mere satisfaction and edged into something almost awe-inspiring.
“You’re starting today. That’s enough.”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
The hitting coach offered a few more words of encouragement and left him alone. Of course Hajun finished every last rep of the workload he had set for himself before he began preparing for the game.
It was the height of a sweltering summer. Barring rainouts, Korean professional baseball played six days a week. Everyday starters had to perform in the games themselves and still take care of their bodies. Hajun felt no such need. If anything, he wished they played every single day of the week.
“Everyone eat well.”
“Yes, Captain.”
At the final meal before the game, captain Kim Dongseong offered one last remark and the team began to eat. Conversation drifted here and there, but the Daejeon Hawks’ team meals were fairly free-spirited.
“That enough for you?”
Jin Yeongil eyed the modest portion on Hajun’s plate.
“Game’s soon.”
“Yeah, especially today I guess that makes sense.”
Ji Gyeongjun, who had been eating heartily for weeks in an effort to raise his velocity, tore into a chicken leg as he spoke. Hajun, never a big eater to begin with, took even less with a game right around the corner.
Still… this is really unexpected.
Hajun was genuinely happy, yet a quiet sense of surprise lingered. Starting lineup. His position was shortstop. That part made sense. Even if it had only been two games, he had made an impression, and coldly speaking the Hawks’ shortstop situation had been pretty thin. But—
Leadoff?
The top of the order. That was genuinely surprising. The first man to step into the box. In Major League Baseball the preference had shifted from pure speed at the top to high on-base percentage, and now, as an extension of the “strong number-two” theory, many teams simply put their best hitter in the one-hole. Shohei Ohtani of the LA Dodgers often led off himself.
Hajun swallowed.
They’re already trusting me this much?
Truthfully, the Hawks’ leadoff spot had never belonged to a truly elite bat. His previous team, the Seoul Lakers, had boasted the league’s premier on-base machine, Oh Hyeseong, in the one-hole. By comparison the Hawks had gone years without a single memorable leadoff name. Even so, elevating a player who until recently had been a pinch-runner into such a high spot in the order was bold—especially for a manager like Park Taesik, who might be trendy but still worshipped data-driven baseball.
Hajun was not the type who enjoyed surprises.
“Haaah…”
“Huh?”
Yeongil looked startled when Hajun suddenly sighed and kept eating.
Whatever. If it’s good for me, that’s enough.
The leadoff spot meant the most plate appearances. If the chance had come, all he had to do was show them. What was there to worry about?
“Putting Hajun straight into the one-hole was…”
“….”
Daejeon Hawks manager Park Taesik’s head ached. Even though he and chief coach Yu Jinho were close, he could only nod at the man’s words.
The All-Star break was over and the second half was beginning. Their first series was against the second-place Daegu Warriors—a team only half a game behind the third-place Seoul Lakers yet charging hard after the first-place Gwangju Kings.
“For the time being we have to take series wins or better.”
“….”
“If we just sit around waiting for the foreign hitter to arrive and the injured pitchers to come back, the season’s over.”
“Yes, sir. You’re right.”
In professional baseball, August was commonly called the make-or-break stretch. The relentless heat of summer. From July onward the early-season grinders and the slow starters began to cross paths, and by August the clash reached its peak. After that the variables dropped off sharply.
“Ideally we settle the first two games somehow.”
Park Taesik spoke. The Daegu Warriors were rolling out their one-, two-, and three-starters—pitchers ranked among the best in the league—for this series. The rotation made it natural, but for a team fighting for the top, the ninth-place Daejeon Hawks were a side they needed to crush thoroughly underfoot.
The Hawks, meanwhile, had just sent foreign pitcher Jake packing. Two of their three foreign slots sat empty. For the Hawks this was the critical window. Manager Park Taesik still felt the sting, but he had agreed for the sake of a higher leap. Being only a little better than the first half meant nothing. Others might laugh, yet the Hawks’ current talent was nowhere near the level that should settle for sixth or seventh place.
“The foreign hitter side keeps saying we can keep our hopes up.”
“They say that every year.”
“They say this time is different.”
Chief coach Yu Jinho refused to back down. The Hawks’ foreign scouting team insisted a truly good bat was coming this time—someone they had watched for years who had finally become available by chance, or so the story went.
“The ones we can see right now, the ones we can’t… I still don’t know if any of them will pan out.”
“….”
They had had this conversation often enough that Yu Jinho knew exactly who and what the manager meant. Shortstop and center field. Positions that had plagued the Daejeon Hawks for years. The shortstop-and-center-field drought currently blanketing professional baseball had hit the Hawks hardest of all.
“On top of that we haven’t had enough hitters who can reliably drive the ball or get on base.”
“Exactly.”
And the absence of a true leadoff man. Park Taesik believed that if they had possessed players in the one- and two-holes who could better showcase the punch of number-three Park Jinhyeok and number-four Kim Dongseong, they would not have suffered so many empty innings.
Have I changed a little too?
Park Taesik had boldly installed Lee Hajun in the leadoff spot. In the past he would never have given an unproven hitter such immediate trust. So he had solved Park Haein? Baseball history was littered with players who flashed briefly that way and then vanished, most of them never leaving a mark. In a stretch where every single game mattered, handing him the leadoff job was a considerable gamble. Yet something felt different. Beyond simply looking healthy, Lee Hajun gave off an instinct that made Park Taesik want to believe.
“It’ll work out.”
“It had better.”
Yu Jinho, who had backed the manager’s bold lineup decision, spoke with quiet confidence.
“Heh…”
Even in his playing days Park Taesik had always felt the Daegu Warriors were a true powerhouse. Now he was burning with competitive fire against them once more.
“We’ve got a big crowd again today! Everyone, let’s give our players a round of applause!”
Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!
Daejeon Hawks Park, home of the Daejeon Hawks. Even on a weekday the home fans had sold out the first game of the second half and were cheering with everything they had. Even if the miracle never came, even if at season’s end their beloved team was mocked once more, right now they simply hoped for something extraordinary in the second half.
On a sweltering summer day, a game unfolds between two teams with a long road still ahead. 2026 Korean Professional Baseball: Daejeon Hawks versus Daegu Warriors. The game begins.
The Daegu Warriors’ starter was franchise ace Tae Minho, a right-hander who always made the national team when Korea fielded its strongest roster. The Daejeon Hawks’ starter was their eternal ace, left-hander Yu Seungjin.
Pop!
“Strike!”
The game opened with Yu Seungjin’s perfectly located fastball low and away to Warriors leadoff man and center fielder Woo Jaechun. He retired the first two hitters cleanly. Now the Warriors’ number-three hitter stepped in—captain Chae Yongbin, the man tasked with reclaiming past glory.
Against Chae Yongbin, even Yu Seungjin is working carefully.
Facing a hitter with elite contact and more than twenty home runs already, Yu Seungjin worked the count full. Then the final pitch—a curveball that drifted just off the outside edge.
Crack!
He got good wood on it!
Chae Yongbin turned on the curve and sent a sharp liner screaming toward the left side. The ball took a hard hop before it could leave the infield—a very quick hop.
Oh—shortstop Lee Hajun has it!
Hajun’s instant read and light feet let him glove the ball cleanly. A strong throw followed.
“Out!”
Out! Clean play by shortstop Lee Hajun! The Hawks retire the side in order in the top of the first.
What soft hands, and that arm is something else.
Poker-faced Yu Seungjin clenched a fist and strode into the dugout.
“Introducing the Daejeon Hawks lineup!”
The home fans hammered their cheering sticks and chanted each name in turn.
“Batting first, Lee Hajun!”
Whether it was the walk-off home run from the last game or the sparkling defensive play just now, the decibel level when the Hawks fans roared Lee Hajun’s name rivaled—no, surpassed—the cheers they reserved for their pride and joy, power hitter Park Jinhyeok.
“Hoo… hoo…”
Hajun drew a deep breath and stepped into the box. Yu Seungjin had locked down the top of the first. Even as the years stacked up, the left-hander still showed pure class. Now it was the lineup’s turn to answer.
Hajun settled into his stance and studied the man in the blue uniform on the mound—Tae Minho.
His best weapons are the fastball and the changeup.
Among domestic starters, a pure power right-hander with a genuinely strong fastball. Against lefties his primary weapons were that heater and a changeup that ranked among the best in the league. Hajun decided to feel it for himself.
Pop!
Pop!
Hard, precise fastballs painting the corners.
Pop!
“Ball!”
Hajun waited calmly. Four pitches came and he never once offered at them.
More patience than I expected.
Warriors veteran catcher Lee Gyuho snuck a glance at Hajun and exchanged signs. Against the Hawks, if you kept the one- and two-holes off base the rest of the game got easier; even if the big bats connected later, the damage wasn’t immediate. Lee Gyuho liked the changeup. The hitter had taken one earlier, but he wanted to pull it out of the zone again.
Tae Minho, however, wanted to challenge with the fastball. He preferred finishing hitters with heat anyway, and the kid in the box was still unproven. No need to start nipping and tucking this early.
Two-and-two count on Tae Minho!
Tae Minho fired with conviction.
Crack!
A high fastball on the outer half—excellent location.
He goes the other way for a single! Lee Hajun is on base with a clean hit to left!
Hajun’s precise bat had been a step better.
“….”
Tae Minho offered an apologetic gesture. Maybe Gyuho hyung had been right about the changeup.
Lee Hajun is showing exactly why he was put in the leadoff spot right from his first at-bat.
That smooth swing—this player’s production is no fluke. The Warriors battery needs to figure him out fast.
“Clap! Clap! Clap! Run!”
Hajun’s single lit the stands on fire. The fans demanded even more from their player.
He’s going!
Pop!
On the very first pitch Hajun broke for second.
“Safe!”
Easily safe! Lee Hajun, who can hit and run, steals second base.
“….”
Hajun casually brushed the dirt from his uniform. The Warriors fans who had come expecting a sure win already felt the first twinges of unease.