Toward Fifth Place (9)
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Waaaaaaaaaah!"
"Ooooooooh! Strongest! Dae! Jeon! We will win!"
A lump rose in every throat.
In the away section of Jamsil Baseball Stadium, the roar of cheers barely managed to drown out the sound of tears.
We did it!
Hajun, still clutching the game-winning ball, sprinted to the mound. All nine Hawks players linked arms and formed a circle around him.
"Stay calm, everyone! We head home next week. We do the exact same thing then."
If they could hold on to this momentum, it felt like they could beat anyone.
Every single one of them felt it in their bones.
"Fighting!"
Under captain Kim Dongseong's call, they roared their battle cry in unison.
Fans and reporters unleashed a storm of camera flashes, but the players didn't mind in the slightest.
"Ooooooh, victory! Strongest! Dae! Jeon!"
Hajun packed his gear in silence, glancing up at the stands.
It really had been a dopamine-detonating kind of game — plenty of people were still hanging around, refusing to leave. The cheerleaders had linked arms just like the players, whipping the crowd into one last frenzy.
It's over.
The pressure that had been building in his chest finally eased, and he could look back on his emotions with a cooler head.
He didn't particularly feel triumphant about hitting a home run off Hong Jongyeon. Even standing in the batter's box, there hadn't been any competitive fire or anything of the sort. It absolutely wasn't because he'd felt pity for a pitcher whose strength had visibly drained from consecutive outings. It was simply the overwhelming relief of capitalizing on a chance in a do-or-die moment that had hit him hardest.
Thud!
"Ugh…"
Hajun dropped his bag without meaning to as he went to pick it up.
I'm dead tired.
Maybe it was the game's adrenaline finally wearing off — exhaustion crashed over him all at once. Regardless of the result, not a single game in this weekend series had been easy. At the plate, on defense, on the bases — he had given everything he had. It had been a fight more than worth enduring this backlash for.
"Hajun."
"…"
"Get ready."
Still, he had a job to do. No way they were letting the guy who'd hit a walk-off grand slam skip the interview.
"A miracle player leading a miracle team, huh."
"This announcer lady is really pretty."
"I think so too."
Monday.
With a midweek home series ahead and a day off, teammates showed up in Hajun's room.
"We've been playing pretty well lately."
"But Hajun's hogging all the attention. I played well this series too, you know."
Park Sihye grumbled at Jin Yeongil's comment.
When did these two get so close?
Two people whose personalities somehow overlapped in Hajun's mind just happened to be in his room at the same time.
"How's the body? You looked ready to die walking out yesterday."
Yeongil, who'd been half-heartedly tapping at his phone while Hajun lay there, finally spoke up.
Lee Hajun — locked in as the everyday shortstop, going all-out on offense and baserunning every single day. Even his teammates could tell how physically demanding it was.
"Isn't that the first thing you're supposed to ask when you walk in?"
"If you weren't fine, you'd be in a hospital."
"Just don't say anything, then."
Hajun rolled onto his side and opened his phone, as if telling them to do whatever they wanted.
It wasn't that he was particularly into this kind of thing. But the internet's algorithms naturally steered him there. Ego-searching, they called it.
#HawksFallBaseball #LeeHajunROY
He let out a quiet snort.
What is this, a political slogan?
Seeing how many people were repeating it, the fans online seemed to be pushing it like a campaign chant. The wording changed depending on gender and age group, but in the end they were all cheers aimed at him.
At first, a faintly embarrassed, uncharitable thought had crossed his mind. Now he just enjoyed it — and wanted to play even better.
"Oh! Han Seoa posted on Insta."
"She says 'One Team,' so why is the photo the one she took with Hajun that day?"
"Dude, how many people are you even following? And they're all women."
"Female celebrity slots are limited enough — why would I follow other guys too, huh?"
"Hey, hey, why are you scrolling past?"
"Her current bias Hanna from Trinity just posted too."
"Is she a fan of ours?"
"No, Hanna doesn't care about sports."
"Then what does that have to do with us? Switch back to Han Seoa."
"Fine, then look on your own phone, hyung."
Hajun started to get up while the two of them bickered, then —
Thud.
— just gave up and stayed put.
Having a famous person — someone every kid his age had known of the moment they became adults — mention him was a little surreal. But she was basically the face of Hawks fandom, so it wasn't that big a deal.
More than that…
He remembered his mom's delighted voice yesterday, telling him he'd completely taken over the weekend sports news. Unless you were actively trying not to notice, you could feel how fast his profile was rising.
"Whoa, what is this?"
"…"
Park Sihye, the same age as him, suddenly yelled.
The Hawks' dorm wasn't a place for just one or two people. If Yeongil wasn't going to say something, Hajun figured he should at least get up and tell the kid to keep it down.
"Hey, hey, quiet down."
"…"
"Huh?"
Both Park Sihye and Jin Yeongil were staring at the screen like it had them hypnotized. Unexpectedly, it wasn't a woman — it was a news article.
"Oh?"
It was news that surprised even Hajun.
"Manager, what are your thoughts on the Asian Games replacement roster announcement in a few days?"
"…"
Daejeon Hawks manager Park Taesik's face tightened.
They're not even trying to hide it.
The reporter's expression looked like he was praying for bait to take the hook.
"The national team manager is Senior Park Seongrae. Go ask him."
"Manager!"
"Your core player Lee Hajun might be gone for the duration of the tournament. What contingency plans do you have?"
In a baseball world locked in a standings race, national team selection was another piece of kindling that could set fan interest ablaze. There was no way the reporters were going to sit still.
"Tch. These damn reporters never change."
Park Taesik clicked his tongue and headed for the manager's office.
This is a problem.
Lee Hajun making the national team. The odds were far too high. Having a core player earn a military exemption was wonderful news — but right now, the team's dependence on Hajun had climbed far too high.
Park Taesik found himself thinking he would need to revise the plan for the remaining games.