The First Taegeuk Mark (1)
Crack!
He pulled it! The ball drops in front of the center fielder for a hit!
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
The runner from second scores, the runner from first reaches third! Lee Hajun's RBI single widens the lead even further!
We said they needed insurance runs, and this player delivers once again.
The home fans are already tasting victory! Bottom of the eighth, Daejeon Hawks lead 7-4!
A little high, but still.
The opposing pitcher's slightly elevated inside fastball. At 148 km/h it was no soft toss, yet to Hajun it looked deliciously hittable. He turned it into a line drive rocketing toward his favorite spot—straight at the center fielder.
"Safe!"
The pitcher who had just given up the RBI single threw over to first. Failing to hold Hajun would have been borderline tanking.
"Boooooooo!"
As if already savoring the win, the home fans packing Hawks Park today laughed and razzed the pitcher. With two outs and a reliable bat stepping in, Hajun had no real intention of running. He simply applied a little extra pressure. That was the rightful privilege of a baserunner with elite stolen-base skills.
Crack—
He pulled it to right!
The instant the bat cracked, Hajun took off without so much as glancing at the ball, following the coaches' signals and simply running hard.
A bullet of a line drive clears the right fielder's glove and caroms off the wall on one bounce!
"Waaaaaaaaah!"
A long hit that erased the closer's save chance and crushed the visiting fans' will. By the time the right fielder's throw reached second, Hajun was already crossing home plate.
Jays, the exuberant hero of the two-RBI insurance double, struck a pose for the cameras.
Slap! Slap!
"Damn, you're ridiculously fast."
"I'm feeling great today."
High-fiving his teammates on the way back to the dugout, the joy was every bit as pure as when he drove in the run himself.
Pop!
"Strikeout!"
Outside corner! Kim Seungyeop ends it. Ballgame!
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
"For victory, soar! Strongest Daejeon!"
A satisfying road sweep of the Seoul Grizzlies lifted them into fifth place. Then, back home, the Daejeon Hawks took a winning series against the seventh-place Incheon Dolphins. Even after yesterday's loss the gap to sixth had not widened; today's win stretched it to two and a half games. The fact that the Grizzlies had drawn first-place Gwangju Kings in their midweek series felt like pure luck for the Hawks.
Fifth place, and still climbing. Daejeon's fans were simply enjoying the ride.
"The final Asian Games roster is announced tomorrow. Are you nervous?"
"······"
Four times on base including a multi-hit game. The announcer put the question to Hajun during the post-game winner's interview. At this point in the season, not asking would have been stranger.
"I'll just give it everything I have. That's all."
Because the timing was delicate, Hajun took a careful step back. If it had been nothing more than an Asian Games roster announcement he might have said he was honored, deeply grateful, looking forward to it. But with the injury-concealment rumors and the heated debate over military exemptions for Asian Games gold, he knew how sensitive the moment was. Club officials had already told him to keep his answers short.
"Well, Lee Hajun with another outstanding performance today. Congratulations on the win."
"Thank you."
Words that brought no benefit were better left unsaid. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Hajun—once again the heart of the team's victory—walked off.
"Your relatives are going crazy congratulating you, Hajun."
"Hmm······"
Unlike last time, Hajun was having dinner with his parents during a capital-area road trip, wearing a faintly awkward expression.
This feels weird.
Once he realized the world he lived every night in his dreams was real, and after he started producing in actual games, Hajun had been certain he would not merely survive as a professional but become a genuinely good player. If he kept performing at this level, a national-team call-up was never going to be that far off. Yet strangely, even though this was only the Asian Games squad—not the absolute elite Olympic or WBC roster—Hajun felt thoroughly embarrassed.
"How's it feel, national team guy?"
"Just go and play well. If I don't, I'll get roasted."
He answered his father while staring out the window. It wasn't only because the food hadn't arrived yet.
National team. Like most boys who fell in love with baseball on their own, Hajun had been drawn into the game watching national-team players shine. Now he himself would wear the Taegeuk mark. When he first turned pro the dominant feeling had been simple relief at being drafted. Now the emotion was something far harder to put into words.
"Nobody showing up at the hotel asking for autographs?"
"These days people don't come all the way to the hotel for signatures."
Hajun answered his mother. She seemed more interested in the many ways fans adored her son than in the hits and steals he produced on the field. As Korean baseball's popularity rose, more fans treated players like celebrities. Yet the more that happened, the more systematic the unwritten rules became. No matter how desperate, never go to the players' hotel—that was the most basic etiquette.
"I'm gonna hit the bathroom real quick."
Hajun scratched his head and stood. Today the awkwardness in front of his parents felt especially sharp.
Whoosh.
"Still······"
Washing his hands, he looked in the mirror and muttered to himself. These days his parents no longer watched his baseball with worry; they simply enjoyed it. Not over the top—just enough that a son could comfortably match their energy. His inability to act smooth in front of them was inborn and unchangeable, but—
A small smile.
The Hajun in the mirror grinned. What kind of son would dislike seeing his parents happy? He wanted next year's salary jump so he could start showing some capitalist-style filial piety too.
Footsteps.
"Excuse me······"
"Huh?"
On his way back from the restroom someone spoke to him.
"You're Lee Hajun, right?"
A man who looked just a little too young to be called middle-aged.
"······"
He recognized me even with the cap on?
Hajun was surprised, but he had badly underestimated the fans.
"Yes, that's me."
"I knew it!"
Hajun smiled and confirmed it.
"You were incredible last weekend. My son even said he wants to switch his team to the Hawks."
"Switch teams?"
"Hahaha. I'm actually a Kings fan myself."
"Ah······"
He had thought he'd run into a fan in Suwon, of all places, only to discover the man rooted for the Gwangju Kings. Hajun felt anew just how popular that franchise was.
"Mind if I get a quick photo?"
"Of course."
Hajun smiled as brightly as he could and obliged.
Click.
"I know you're busy—thank you. I saw you were having dinner with your family earlier."
"It's no problem."
Hajun waved it off. Just as the man was about to bow and leave, Hajun decided to go the extra mile—fan service mattered in today's pro baseball climate.
"Did you come with your family?"
"Pardon?"
"Wooooow!"
The boy who would start elementary school next year—now holding a photo with the hottest player in the league—let out a slightly too-loud cheer.
"Kangmin, quiet."
"Say thank you."
"Thank you!"
"Sure."
The thirtysomething couple gently reined in their only son.
"Hawks fighting!"
"Yeah, fighting."
"Have a great Asian Games!"
"Thank you."
Lee Hajun, who had just completely converted a first-time-met child's allegiance to the Hawks, never once lost his smile.
"What took you so long?"
His mother asked when he returned later than a bathroom trip should take. The food had already arrived; she had been about to call him.
"Just, you know."
"Hm?"
Their son suddenly grinning like an idiot raised no real questions from his parents.
"Did you enjoy your meal?"
"Yes, it was great."
His father held out his card to the server. Still earning the league minimum, Hajun vowed that next year would be different.
"It's already been taken care of."
"What?"
His father looked blank. Hajun and his mother both widened their eyes.
"The family with the little boy earlier asked to cover your check······"
"Ah!"
Hajun understood at once. His parents turned to him simultaneously, eyes asking whether he knew something.
"······"
They didn't have to go that far.
Hajun found the awkwardness hard to bear.
Crack!
He pulled it, but the ball stays in the infield.
Daejeon Hawks shortstop Lee Hajun fielded it with ease and threw to first.
"Out!"
Out! Ballgame! The gap between fifth-place Daejeon Hawks and fourth-place Suwon Knights shrinks.
The Hawks are truly strong. I've lost count of how many times I've said that in the second half.
Suwon Knights Park. In a game the Daejeon Hawks had won by a wide margin, Hajun recorded the final out.
"Everyone, our players delivered another beautiful win today!"
"Waaaaaaaaah!"
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
Suwon Knights Park was never the easiest place to reach, yet the Hawks fans living through a historic season had still gathered in force.
"Today marks the last game before our proud Lee Hajun, Park Jinhyeok, and Park Sihye join the national team! Let's give them a big round of applause!"
Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!
The cheerleader in the visiting section whipped up the crowd.
"Whew······"
I'm worried.
The Hawks were strong. But with injuries already starting to pile up, would the team hold together without its three core pieces? Looking back and forth between the stands and the dugout left Hajun with a complicated feeling.
But still.
Tomorrow and the day after, baseball would go on. In the end there was nothing to do but answer each problem the moment it was set in front of you.