Towards Fifth Place (2)
CRACK!
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Lee Hajun! Lee Hajun! Lee Hajun!”
Of course it was a slider.
Hajun smiled as he pushed the left-hander’s slider the other way, riding the break of the pitch. A hit that came in a slightly difficult situation was always a joy.
Against the Gwangju Kings over the weekend he had managed only a single hit. They were the first-place team, and because the Hawks’ surge had begun against the Kings, plenty of fans had been quietly hoping for more. The lackluster result had left Hajun disappointed.
But this road series against the Highlanders was different.
Results are what matter in the end.
The team had taken Tuesday and Wednesday, and now, in the top of the fifth, they led 5–1. His team was winning and he had a hit of his own. A batter could hardly ask for more.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Go!”
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Go!”
The pitcher delivered the first pitch, and Lee Hajun’s center of gravity shifted.
“He’s running!”
An off-speed pitch dropped out of the zone. Timing stolen. Even with first and one becoming second and one, the catcher abandoned the throw.
“Let’s hear some applause, everyone!”
Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!
A stolen base with a four-run lead was more than enough reason to celebrate, yet the visiting fans at Gocheok Dome seemed especially electric tonight. The player whose revival they had so desperately prayed for was alive again, tearing around the bases the way he had during that storm of a month, and it filled them with fresh hope that the team might take flight once more.
CRACK!
The Hawks’ reliable center fielder—owner of a .400 on-base percentage and a .500 slugging percentage—had driven in another run with a clean single. The score became 6–1. With a trustworthy bullpen behind them, the Hawks fans at Gocheok Dome were already dreaming of a clean sweep free of any late drama.
POP!
“Strike three!”
“Great work, everyone. Next stop—Jamsil.”
Captain Kim Dongseong clapped his hands as he spoke. The days of being praised as a miracle team were over. Now it was time to climb into a ranking that matched the raised expectations.
Fifth-place Seoul Grizzlies and sixth-place Daejeon Hawks sat only two and a half games apart. A head-to-head series that could shrink the gap—or, if they swept all three, flip the standings entirely.
“We love our Hawks! Yeah, yeah, yeah!”
Inside Seoul’s dome stadium, Daejeon Hawks fans celebrated after the final out for the third straight day.
“Woooooooo!”
“Fighting for tomorrow’s game!”
“Let’s go for fifth!”
“Hajun, I love you!”
“Jays!”
“Jinhyeok! Park Jinhyeok!”
Hawks fans clung to the players as they left the park. The players signed with equal passion. Everyone shared a single hope: that something would change over the weekend series.
“Yeah, I already ate.”
A hotel in Seoul. Some players spent time with family at their homes in the capital, but with an important series ahead most of the roster had checked into the hotel. Whether or not they owned property in both Seoul and Daejeon, they had decided to become one team even in this small way.
“Okay. I’ll call you later.”
Hajun ended the call with his mother in his usual plain, unadorned way. The summer stretched on. Even without a parent’s eyes, anyone looking at the screen could tell he was a little worn down. Years of careful body maintenance were what kept him upright, but this was his first full season—and he was playing shortstop. It was no small burden.
“······”
His roommate Jin Yeongil had stepped out. The wide room held only him. Hajun’s eyes fell on a bat. He reached for it, then stopped. He knew rest was training too.
He sank onto the bed.
“Look at me.”
Lying there, he thought it over. When had he ever cared so much about the team’s record? All he had wanted was a chance to start. He had never quite lived up to expectations; he had simply hoped for one more at-bat, one more opportunity. He had never been cold enough to ignore teammates laughing or crying around him, yet he had never possessed the luxury of putting them first either.
Then the sudden change. A secret he could tell no one—not even the family closest to him. His life had been rewritten, and for now he was simply carrying the weight that came with that change and with his own dreams, day after day.
“······”
The crowds that filled the stands every night. The fans who asked him for autographs. Once he had never paid them any mind; there had been nothing to mind. Now something was quietly blooming inside his chest.
I don’t want to let them down.
The team’s winning streak. His own hit streak. The thought of either ending felt unbearable, because he knew how much people loved it.
“······”
The life he had dreamed of. A pressure larger than he had expected. Turning the same thoughts over and over inside his head would change nothing, so he decided to sleep early. At least the ability to fall asleep easily was something he had been born with.
In the sacred ground of Korean baseball that had never lost its status since the league’s first year, the series that Daejeon Hawks fans considered the most important of the 2026 regular season so far was under way.
People had been saying for years that domestic starters were not what they used to be. Seoul Grizzlies home fans, however, could take that claim lightly. Right-handed power pitcher Oh Yeongju. A man who threw a 158 km/h fastball and one of the best curves in the league. A mid-twenties arm who was a lock for the national team.
“Woooooooo!”
He took the mound to a roar from the home crowd, carrying their hope that he would lock down today’s game and keep the current standings intact through the off-day Monday that followed.
Facing him was Lee Jaein of the Hawks—still not fully grown into an ace, even if he possessed an even faster fastball. Every Hawks fan, every baseball fan, expected his awakening someday. Just not this season.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Batting first, Lee Hajun! Batting second, Jays!”
Daejeon Hawks fans did not expect Lee Jaein to overpower the home team. They simply hoped the revived Lee Hajun and the lineup he led would crack the opposing ace.
“Woooooooo!”
Camera flashes popped from every direction. The moment the game began. The critical stretch when the team’s leadoff hitter alone filled the broadcast cameras and the scoreboard.
“······”
Oh Yeongju.
Career numbers against him: 0-for-3, three strikeouts.
CRACK!
“Foul!”
A murmur ran through the stands. The 158 km/h velocity sent a shiver through the crowd. The first-pitch fastball had been fouled off. Then the second pitch.
POP!
“Ugh!”
“Strike!”
The home fans cheered the second strike. They knew how critical it was to retire this devil of a leadoff man when facing the Hawks.
He’s incredible every single time.
Hajun gave a bitter little smile.
“Hoo······”
Hajun called time, then stepped back into the box. A day when Oh Yeongju’s pitches looked easy would probably never come in his lifetime. So he emptied his mind and simply did his best. Survive somehow. If he could not get on, then cling and drag the at-bat out as long as possible.
POP!
“Ball!”
Another diving curve. He refused to chase the bait.
POP!
“Ball!”
CRACK!
“Foul!”
The catcher set up away.
CRACK!
A perfectly located fastball.
Late!
Even while watching for the breaking ball he still had to handle this pure heat. Hajun’s timing shattered; the ball rolled into the infield.
Grizzlies shortstop Park Siheon charged the slowly rolling grounder, scooped it, and threw.
“Safe!”
“Woooooooo!”
The slow roller had been too far for the pitcher to field in fair territory. The shortstop had come in and made the play, but even that could not catch Hajun’s speed.
“Nice job!”
“······Yes.”
Hajun, already stripping off his gear, barely heard the first-base coach. He had reached base successfully. Yet what was this feeling in his chest? It did not take long to name it.
Competitive fire.
The duel with Oh Yeongju had simply moved from the batter’s box to first base. Yet as a hitter, Hajun’s chest burned with the resolve that next time he would force a different result.