No Ill Will (4)
Crack!
"Out!"
Three-for-three, one walk, one home run, three RBI, three runs scored, two stolen bases.
Lee Hajun, whose line had filled the score sheet to overflowing, stepped up for the postgame interview.
"Ahem."
Final score: Daejeon Hawks 13, Seoul Lakers 4 — a thorough thrashing.
Hajun had been lifted mid-game for An Junpyo, which let him conserve more energy than usual. He faced the microphones with a clearer head than he had in recent days.
"We're here with Lee Hajun, who once again put on a terrific performance tonight."
"Hello. Lee Hajun of the Daejeon Hawks."
"Congratulations on the win."
"Thank you."
Scattered cheers from Hawks fans rose around them. The female announcer beside him was fine, but the color commentator's voice kept getting half-swallowed by the noise. Still, Hajun never let the smile slip from his face.
Exactly the question the fans had been waiting for.
"They're the team that made it possible for me to play baseball at all, so all I feel is gratitude. And I want to thank the manager who's giving me the chance to play right now."
Hajun kept his tone polite, yet clipped it clean at the edges. That chapter was already closed. He was the Daejeon Hawks' everyday shortstop and locked-in leadoff hitter now. As a man paid to do a job and as a ballplayer who took the game seriously, he knew he had to live fully in this moment.
"Hmm… that's not something I can sum up in a few words. Someday, when I have more time, I'd like to sit down and explain it properly to the fans."
Yeah, right. Never in this lifetime.
Anyone who heard the real story would never believe it. And inventing some half-baked explanation felt like tempting fate — he was half-afraid it would jinx him.
"Finally, any message for the fans who came out to cheer even in this heat?"
"Thank you so much for the incredible support again today. I've still got plenty left to show, and so does this team. Please keep rooting for us so we can win again tomorrow. Thank you."
Hajun finished the interview, bowed to the female announcer, and waved to the roaring crowd. He had a feeling more fans than usual would be asking for autographs tonight.
"Ooooooh, strongest Daejeon, we shall win!"
A couple of voices started the chant, and soon the whole group was belting out the team fight song and every player's individual cheer. The privilege of the winners.
A sweltering Friday night in midsummer. Hawks fans poured out of Jamsil Stadium still riding the high of victory. Their opponent had been the Seoul Lakers — the club that for years had sat comfortably above them in the standings and, this season, had been second only to the Gwangju Kings in the amount of pain they inflicted. But ever since the Hawks took a series from the Kings and closed out the first half, the whole team had transformed.
"Where we headed?"
"Same place as always."
"Don't you ever get sick of it?"
Two men in Daejeon Hawks jerseys — one with Yu Seungjin's name across the back, the other with Park Jinhyeok's — cut through the Seoul night. For Hawks fans living in the capital, the Sincheon food alley after a scrap with the Lakers was the perfect place to celebrate. And on a Friday night? No reason not to go.
"Oh, seats open."
Two guys just past thirty grinned as they claimed a table and punched in their order on the tablet. First round was the usual: draft beer and whatever recommended bar snacks looked good. A quick glance around the place showed half the tables wearing Hawks colors. It wasn't an official Hawks pub, though, so they kept the gloating quiet.
"Game was way too easy tonight."
"Yeah, but first inning still made me sweat a little."
"Man, bottom of the first I was sure Oh Junseo was about to blow it again."
"Every time we play the Lakers they score a ton right out of the gate."
"And then—"
Lee Hajun and Jays going back-to-back in the top of the first had turned the Hawks dugout and stands into a blast furnace. The Lakers' one-two hitters had reached and looked ready to turn the game into a brawl — leadoff wizard Im Hyeseong and James, the three-hole hitter everyone rated as one of the best pure bats in the league. When James squared up that ball, hearts stopped. The liner was screaming out of the infield… until Lee Hajun snared it. What should have been no outs and a run already across the plate became two outs and a single runner on.
"Hajun's already worth his salary just with the glove. Then he hits like that on top of it? What are we even supposed to do?"
"What do you mean, 'what do we do'? We enjoy it."
"Aigoo, what about Dohyun, though? I used to like that kid."
"Not our problem anymore."
"If he was gonna leave, he could at least pitch well enough not to get roasted. Now Hajun's success is just pouring gasoline on him."
Park Dohyun — the right-handed starter the Lakers had received in the deal that sent Lee Hajun, Park Jisu, and Jin Yeongil the other way. He was supposed to be their savior. After a few solid early outings he hit the injured list, and rumors of a half-hearted rehab had stretched the absence longer and longer. Between the stress of a first-place race and the completely unexpected explosion of Lee Hajun, the fan backlash had doubled.
"This time it's not just a fluke, right?"
"Who knows. But the foreign guys they signed look solid."
"If Estrada can pitch like Ryze, I won't ask for anything else."
"Jays plays great defense too, so even if the bat's a little quieter it's fine… ahem. I shouldn't get my hopes up."
"Yeah, let's not jinx it."
How many times had the Daejeon Hawks broken their hearts? No matter how hard they tried to stay positive, the second they started rooting for this team every possibility turned into doubt.
"If Lee Jaein comes back healthy the rotation's not bad, and the lineup's been waking up lately, but…"
"…"
Still, the way the Hawks were playing right now was enough to make hope feel reasonable. This roster had never been built to languish in fifth place. Every year the foreign players got swapped midseason, pitchers dropped like flies with injuries, and the lineup seemed to have a rule that whenever one guy got hot another went ice-cold. Discord had ruled the clubhouse for years. Somehow, this time felt different.
"After the trade, it's just… different."
"For real."
That same trade was now the punchline every baseball fan used to roast Lakers supporters. At the time, though, Hawks fans had been devastated. They thought they'd given away a reliable starter for a bunch of nobodies.
Clink!
"Haa…"
They toasted, drained half their glasses, and kept talking. Both of them were thinking about the same player.
"When Hajun steps in, it feels like he can hit anything."
"Especially when it matters most."
"At first I figured he was just hot and the average would drop."
"Honestly, if he keeps fielding like this I don't even care if he hits .200."
No one needed to be told where the Hawks' current surge had started, or who was carrying it. Hajun was already an absurdly efficient player, but a high-average bat left a deeper impression on fans than pure efficiency ever could. In so many games, a single base hit was all you needed to breathe again. And on top of that, he played shortstop — the most visible position on the diamond — with both rock-solid reliability and flash.
"Even if the average cools off a bit, I just want Hajun out there every day."
"Same."
It wasn't just the two of them in that bar. Every Hawks fan in the country was praying the same quiet prayer: that Lee Hajun's brilliance would keep coming, even if it came a little quieter than this.
"Welcome."
New customers walked in. Perfectly normal for a place that sold food and drink.
"…"
This time it was different. Two young women entered — not the fresh-faced college-girl type, but still young. Half the room went quiet and looked over, and it wasn't just because they were wearing Hawks jerseys (or rather, draping them loosely over themselves). The outfits underneath were so bold half the men didn't know where to put their eyes. Skirts short enough to make staring feel dangerous. And both of them were pretty enough that no one even dared try a pickup line.
"There's no way she's not on Instagram."
"Obviously a lie. Everyone runs a private account. Even Daeun DMed me from one."
"Damn, I should've just given her my handle. She left so fast."
"Hajun looks even cuter up close, though. He seems like the wholesome type, weirdly."
"Hey. He's mine."
"…"
The men who overheard simply drank their beer.
"Sigh. Life."
"I wish I was good at baseball, tall, and clean-cut handsome too."
They had half-hoped a lucky encounter might fall into their laps while they were out drinking. That hope evaporated on the spot. Suddenly all they wanted was for tomorrow's first pitch to arrive.
Pop!
"Ball!"
A high fastball meant to climb the ladder and induce a swing-and-miss. The bat never moved.
"Number one hitter! Lee Hajun! Base hit! Lee Hajun!"
"Hajun, fighting!"
"Please!"
The cheer finished and a few fans shouted raw, desperate encouragement.
Saturday, game two of the weekend series between the Daejeon Hawks and Seoul Lakers. Hajun stepped into the box.
Lee Jaein had returned to the Hawks rotation and announced his comeback with a 160 km/h heater, but he couldn't go deep on pitch count in his first start back. The long reliever who followed failed to hand the game cleanly to the late-inning arms. Meanwhile the Lakers' left-handed starter, Son Juyeong — the emerging domestic ace who touched 150-plus — had the better of the matchup. The Hawks had trailed all night.
Jin Sanghyeon, the oldest pitcher in the league. Still the arm Lakers manager Lee Ganghyeok trusted most out of the bullpen. He had been given the eighth to protect the lead, but every extra pitch drained him faster.
Thud!
The forkball he muscled up never even tempted Hajun's bat. Worse, two outs and first-and-second became two outs and second-and-third.
Catcher Lee Jeongseok dropped his mitt low. Competitive as ever, Jin Sanghyeon nodded at the sign. Fine. You can hit. If you don't swing, so be it.
He tucked the ball between index and middle finger and drove hard toward the plate.
Crack!
Left alone, ABS would have called it a ball. He should have been ready to bounce another one if that was what it took to avoid the free pass. The pitch was low, but not low enough to wreck a hitter's balance. Jin Sanghyeon's arm was empty; Lee Hajun's bat was full of confidence and showed no mercy.
"…"
Took ten years off my life.
He had dragged a two-out, bases-loaded situation into the pure probability of a swing. And it had worked perfectly. Heart hammering from the go-ahead hit, Hajun calmly unstrapped his gear with a composed expression.