Toward Fifth Place (1)

"Hello, everyone, and welcome! This is Park Saebom, your announcer for Baseball Sunday."

"And hello — Park Junhyeong here, KBC Sports analyst."

"The heat still hasn't broken even past the end of summer, and the 2026 pro baseball standings race is just as scorching. Let's take a look at today's rankings."

"Not much movement compared to last week. How do you read it, Park Junhyeong?"

"The races baseball fans are watching closest — and the ones that are truly fierce — are the battle for first through third, and of course the scramble for that last postseason ticket at fifth."

In a sport of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠daily highs and lows, baseball fans ride a roller coaster of conflicting emotions every single day. And yet, more often than not, the standings themselves remain stubbornly, coldly fixed.

"When you think of the hottest team of the second half, you can't leave out the Daejeon Hawks — but their ranking hasn't budged, has it?"

"Through early August they ran off eleven straight winning series. Ha, the Hawks were on an absolute tear. But they've cooled off a bit since then. Their breakout star Lee Hajun's hit production dipped some, and the big factor was ace Ryze briefly dropping out of the rotation with an injury."

Lee Hajun's arrival in July had hit baseball fans like a bolt of fresh lightning. No player had been more talked about.

In July he hit .400. In August it looked like he might chase .500 — but that blistering bat had gradually cooled around Liberation Day, and now, with the end of August already here, his numbers had fallen just short of contending for Player of the Month for a second straight month.

"Lee Hajun managed just one hit across three games against the Gwangju Kings this past weekend. For the Hawks to surge again, this guy's revival feels urgent."

"True, but his August average is still .287 — that's not low at all. And more than anything, he's the backbone of this team on the bases and in the field. There's no need to panic."

Park Junhyeong, known for explanations even casual fans could follow, smiled easily as he came to the player's defense.

"And even though the batting average you see has dropped, there's no real change in his walk rate or strikeouts. In my view, fans can look forward to something pretty soon."

"Well said. The fact that people are calling Lee Hajun's current numbers disappointing tells you just how much expectation this player is carrying on his shoulders."

Every sport hungers for the birth of a star. And Lee Hajun was becoming, far too quickly, the kind of player that everyone involved needed to keep producing.

Whoosh—!

Whoosh—!

The lower half locked rock-steady the instant the bat came through. A compact, lightning-quick swing. Hajun stood in the practice cage and kept swinging.

"…"

Checking your swing between sessions was ordinary work for any hitter. For Hajun, though, it was never only that.

I didn't score many points.

Twenty pitches from the silent friend he met in his dreams. This time he hadn't managed a home run — hadn't even managed an extra-base hit.

Continuous starts ever since locking down the everyday job. The sweltering heat. A shrinking schedule of remaining games. A team with so far still to climb. No matter how much he meditated, he was still human. He couldn't help but feel the ground shift under him.

"Out early today?"

"Good morning, hyung!"

Park Jisu, the senior who'd arrived next, walked over to the first man through the gates at Hawks Park. Both of them tended to show up early, but on days when restlessness needled him, Hajun came even earlier — while Park Jisu was clockwork-steady. Having a family of his own left less room for freewheeling habits, after all.

Whoosh—!

Hajun returned the greeting just enough, then went straight back to swinging before the sweat could cool.

"…"

The series when famous idol Han Seoa had thrown out the ceremonial first pitch. The final game, when they'd beaten the Busan Clippers and climbed into sixth — the whole ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clubhouse had felt like they could do anything.

But nothing lasts forever, and that particular truth showed up with unusual frequency over the course of a baseball season.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠winning-series streak had ended at eleven. An incredible run in its own right — but for a team in a hurry, with expectations climbing by the day, it still left them hungry.

August had started clean, then settled into roughly two weeks of deadlock. The Hawks' insane tear earlier had papered over it, but the further the second half went, the more the top of the standings was pulling away.

This is just too much, honestly.

Hajun's mind drifted. The manager had to be nursing a serious headache too.

Tenth-place Highlanders. Ninth-place Busan Clippers. Eighth-place Changwon Dragons. Seventh-place Incheon Dolphins. The Dolphins were hanging on a little, but the bottom three had seen their ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠second-half winning percentages freefall. When the lower teams got steamrolled by the upper ones with no resistance at all, it made life miserable for any club trying to climb. For the Daejeon Hawks — who absolutely had to lock down fifth this season and announce their revival — it was anything but welcome news.

"Good morning!"

"Good morning!"

Park Jisu smiled and answered the younger players' greetings with a small nod of his head.

Feels like everyone's showing up earlier these days.

Even the guys outside the heart of the order — even the ones nowhere near everyday roles — were turning up at the park early more and more often to get their work in.

"Man, I really want to win this one."

"Why do the Highlanders always throw their foreign starter against us?"

Teammates grumbled as they loosened up.

Yeah. That's how it is.

At its core, baseball was an individual sport. Pitcher versus hitter, one-on-one, over and over. If the batter couldn't put the ball in play, the fielders behind him had nothing to do. Of all the team sports, this was the one where the line if I play well, the team plays well fit best. Everyone wanted to play well — and beyond that, to win — so they worked that much harder.

Crack—!

The defensive coach hit fungoes himself, and the infielders took their turns running through the drills.

"Nice one, Hajun. Junpyo, you're next."

Hajun stepped off the defensive field and walked toward the next station on the day's menu.

Strange.

He'd been struggling for several games now. Some people insisted it wasn't a slump at all — just bad luck — but when you weren't getting on base, weren't driving in runners, and the team was losing, there was no way that felt fine. Looking back at the years when he barely got chances at the plate and trying to take comfort there didn't work either. The world that still appeared in every dream kept telling him he had to do better.

And still, no one said a word. Like cars simply rolling past on the road, everything looked fine from the outside.

Crack—!

Thwack!

He worked through batting practice. In the cage, at least, there was nothing wrong. In the dreams, facing that pitcher's stuff, some days just got tangled up, but—

"Hoo…"

Tuesday. The start of the week. No rain in the forecast at all. Until recently he'd been looking forward to the games. Today, for some reason, a formless weight was rising in his chest.

Crack—!

"…"

A line drive straight up the middle — the direction Hajun personally loved for a base hit. But the way he always did, even with no cameras and no crowd, he gave it everything he had. He never leaned on the skill set alone. At the end of the day, the person actually putting bat on ball and tracking down what came off the bat was him.

"Hmm…"

Hajun decided to head to the video room a little earlier than usual to break down today's opposing starter, Immanuel.

Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!

"Batting first, Lee Hajun! Batting second, Jays! Batting third, Park Jinhyeok!"

Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!

"Batting first, Lee Hajun! Base hit! Lee Hajun!"

"…"

If I were that pitcher right now, facing me…

A pitcher who specialized in neutralizing left-handed hitters. Against lefties especially, he almost never allowed extra-base damage. Hajun had been cold at the plate lately. Putting him on base was a headache.

Guesswork doesn't solve everything, but—

Crack—!

Still — when a read like this pays off, it feels electric.

Hajun had expected a first-pitch fastball for a strike, and he swung without a second of hesitation. A bigger cut than usual. Not the approach he preferred, so he filed away a note to correct it later.

The launch angle wasn't high. But he'd caught it flush.

"Whoa— WAAAAAAAH!"

Hawks fans packing the away section at Gocheok Sky Dome surged to their feet and screamed.

This?

Even Hajun, who'd been sprinting all-out for a triple, was stunned. Baseball really did produce astonishing results — for better and for worse — with startling regularity.

"Skip! Just like you said."

"Ahem."

He's waking up after all.

Against one of the pitchers best at shutting down left-handed hitters, he'd turned on a pitch with pure confidence and driven it out. Daejeon Hawks manager Park Taesik kept his face blank, but he was clapping — more freely than usual — and didn't hold back the encouragement for his hitter.

This weekend series. A road trip to Jamsil in Seoul against the fifth-place Seoul Grizzlies. Park Taesik was already looking past the midweek set, all the way to the weekend.