The First Taegeuk Mark (2)
"Next, please get ready, Lee Hajun."
"Hoo..."
Park Sihye stepped away from the camera, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders. Having briefly taken on the role of the Korean national team's bullpen rather than the Hawks', he moved aside as shortstop Lee Hajun took his place in front of the camera.
"Smile, please."
"Ah, yes."
He forced a smile. In truth, it would all be photoshopped later anyway.
The profile shoot for the Asian Games baseball national team was underway at Seoul's Gocheok Sky Dome. Wearing the national team's navy and white uniform, Hajun felt a special emotion wash over him. It wasn't the blue he had watched as a child, but the design actually seemed better now.
"Great, next up—Kim Jongbeom!"
"..."
"..."
Finished with his solo shots, Hajun locked eyes with Kim Jongbeom of the Gwangju Kings. They exchanged awkward smiles. He still didn't have many close friends even on his own team; expecting to feel at ease with the national team players on the very first day of call-ups was nearly impossible.
Now it really feels like I'm on the national team.
Hajun glanced back at Kim Jongbeom as the other man headed in. The 2024 regular-season MVP. The 2025 Korean Series MVP. Third baseman for the Gwangju Kings, and the player expected to anchor the national team's infield for the next decade or more. Kings fans were as desperate for Asian Games gold as they were for first place in the standings—because this player's military exemption hung in the balance.
And then there's...
Stepping out of the room, he saw the players waiting their turn. Among them were Oh Yeongju, the Grizzlies' ace who had given him such a headache not long ago, and closer Hong Jongyeon.
"Alright, everyone smile! Smile!"
"..."
The national team, selected from players twenty-five and under, all forced awkward smiles and raised their right hands in the same pose.
Hajun swallowed hard. Twenty-five and under or not, this looked like a truly formidable squad to him—especially the pitching staff. In the rotation, Tae Minho of the Daegu Warriors, Oh Yeongju of the Seoul Grizzlies, Choi Euihyun of the Gwangju Kings, and Lee Hyeonjung of the Suwon Knights all stood out. Even with his own teammate Lee Jaein missing due to a slump and frequent injuries, the gap barely registered.
The bullpen was even more stacked. Park Haein of the Gwangju Kings, Hong Jongyeon of the Seoul Grizzlies, Im Ohyeok of the Suwon Knights—every one of them a proven closer posting sub-2.00 ERAs in the league. His own teammate Park Sihye was a thoroughly reliable piece as well. As long as the lineup didn't somehow collapse into absurd underperformance, even with Taiwan surging lately, it was hard to imagine how they could lose.
Wow. And I'm part of this roster.
No matter which way he turned his head, every face was an All-Star. Of course, this regular season he had posted a .365 average, .437 on-base percentage, .559 slugging, and a .996 OPS, along with nine home runs, thirty-one steals, forty RBI, and fifty-one runs scored. Even after chewing up a chunk of his average during the rough patches, the numbers were staggering. Setting aside the elite defense and baserunning that every fan already praised as top-of-the-league, his batting alone ranked first in average and on-base percentage among qualified hitters, and second in OPS behind only the Grizzlies' Steven. Not a single baseball fan thought Lee Hajun was out of place on the national team.
Baseball, more than any other sport, thrived on fans who loved playing with the numbers. Already plenty of them were wondering what records Hajun might set next season and looking forward to it. Some insisted his stats would drop once he played full-time from the start, but for now the majority still hoped the young player would shatter their expectations.
"Alright—one, two!"
"Republic of Korea, gold medal, fighting!"
With that final cheer, the profile shoot came to an end.
"Training together again after so long feels even weirder. What the hell happened to you over there?"
"You were the one who sent me off, and now you're asking?"
"Hey, I didn't send you—"
Park Jinhyeok of the Hawks got a look of pure disbelief from An Eunwoo of the Lakers. Personal friendship aside, until yesterday they had been enemies; for the time being they had to be teammates. After unpacking at the dorms on the first day of call-ups and finishing practice on the second, the two of them had come outside to introduce the younger players from their respective clubs.
Kim Jongin, the 2004-born catcher from the Lakers. Park Sihye, the 2004-born pitcher from the Hawks. And of course there was no way the 2004-born Lee Hajun—who had bounced between both teams this season—could be left out of the gathering.
Sizzle.
Listening to the protein and fat of the meat crackling on the grill, the five players talked.
"When we first trained together I already thought your defense was really good," said Park Jinhyeok, the man who manned third for the Hawks. "With defense like yours, Hajun, shouldn't you have been getting more looks even when the bat wasn't great?"
"With Jeonghwan hyung locked in at short and Seunghyeon hyung playing there a lot too, it was tough. Plus Jisu hyung was around."
"Yeah, that makes sense."
Hajun agreed with An Eunwoo. The Lakers' shortstop job belonged to team legend Park Jeonghwan as the everyday starter, and the backups weren't weak either. During his Lakers days, Park Jisu could handle short and the rest of the infield and had mostly stood out with the bat, while utility infielder Gong Seunghyeon had an edge on Hajun at the plate as well.
"But even if Hajun's defense was solid back then, now it's just ridiculous."
"..."
"Who's the Hawks' defensive coach again?"
"Coach Choi Kinam. But that's not the reason. He was good from the start."
"Seriously weird."
"Chomp chomp. Maybe he's the type who just needs regular playing time to get rolling? I'm like that too," said Kim Jongin, who had been the first to dig into the meat.
The center of the conversation, Hajun, stayed mostly quiet.
How am I even supposed to explain this?
He had never lacked confidence in his defense, but the sudden leap in level was thanks to the skill set. He couldn't exactly bring that up here, and he wasn't much of a liar to begin with.
"I just tried this and that and somehow it clicked," Hajun mumbled, settling for the best answer he could manage.
"Still, it's good to see," An Eunwoo said, popping a piece of meat into his mouth. "You always trained harder than anyone, right? Kids like you succeeding is a good thing."
"Ah..."
It was another day that left Hajun feeling thoroughly awkward. Whether it was because the Lakers were a strong team that could handle the stress of a pennant race, or because An Eunwoo simply had that much confidence in his own ability as a player, the man kept heaping praise on the very boomerang that had come back to hit him so hard.
"Hajun's gotta get his due. He's a pain in the ass when he's stealing bases, though," said catcher Kim Jongin, the same age as Hajun.
"Anyway, it still stings a bit, but let's do well in this tournament."
"Thank you."
"Let's have fun with it. Keep it fun."
"Hyung, fun isn't allowed," Park Sihye cut in, picking a fight with Park Jinhyeok's words.
"What?"
"You and Eunwoo hyung already did your service, but the three of us are still pending."
"Ahem."
The moment military service came up, Kim Jongin suddenly stopped moving his chopsticks. It wasn't that they lacked pride or a sense of responsibility as national team players, but for guys in their early twenties the unknown territory of the military still loomed large.
Come to think of it...
Unlike him, Kim Jongin had been a core piece from the start. His position had bounced around, but his bat had always been ranked among the biggest talents on the team. And Park Sihye? They had been on different clubs before, but as a first-round pick his ceiling had always been different. Both were prospects whose names Hajun had heard constantly since high school. Their teams—and the league—would have done whatever it took to get them military exemptions. By comparison, he had never once dreamed that an international tournament could free him from service. He had only ever calculated when he would have to report to Sangmu.
And now it's come to this.
The changed situation tasted sweeter to Hajun than the meat in front of him.
"Alright, alright. If we don't win gold, we just don't come back from Japan."
"Then it'd be the first time in twenty years we failed to take Asian Games gold. You couldn't come back even if you wanted to."
"Exactly. We have to win it."
"To the gold medal!"
With training the next day, there was no alcohol, but the five of them toasted with soft drinks.
"Looking at the pitchers on this national team, wouldn't it be weird if we didn't win?" Hajun said, lifting the mood with open confidence.
"Don't be so sure. Taiwan's pitching might actually be stronger."
"What?"
What kind of nonsense is that?
Hajun stared at Park Jinhyeok in disbelief. Of course, he didn't actually know anything about Taiwan's pitching staff either.
"You didn't watch the last WBC?"
"Just thinking about it makes me sick."
"..."
The World Baseball Championship held that March. The Korean national team had once again been eliminated in the first round, taking another hit to what little pride remained in a tournament that gathered the absolute best. The most humiliating game of all hadn't even been the loss to Japan—it had been the opening match against Taiwan, when they failed to score a single run.
"When I was a kid I thought our country was the best at baseball in the world."
"Back then it was."
They could joke about it even while wearing the national uniform; Korean baseball had grown used to consecutive WBC exits.
Is it really that bad?
The players who had actually faced them might feel differently, but Hajun still believed the current Korean pitching staff was genuinely strong and didn't think they would be outmatched on paper.
He took a long pull of his zero-calorie drink and thought it over.
If it turns into a pitchers' duel...
Squeezing out even a single run would be critical. And that was exactly the kind of game he felt most confident in.
CRACK—!
"Ooooh!"
In the practice game between the Korean Asian Games national team and the Sangmu squad, with his side already ahead, Hajun turned the opposing pitcher's first pitch of the top of the second into a base hit.
There weren't many spectators—mostly reporters, club staff, and the joint cheering squad that would travel with them to Japan. But a team packed with star players was still overwhelming the Sangmu baseball club, which was essentially professional itself.
"Safe!"
The number-two hitter, the Warriors' center fielder Woo Jaechun—skilled at small ball—stepped in, while number-three hitter Kim Jongbeom loosened up in the on-deck circle.
If I can just get on base somehow...
No matter which team they faced, Hajun believed that if he could simply reach base, he could wreak havoc with his legs—and that against stronger teams, he absolutely had to.
"Hoo..."
As long as he had confidence in his current ability, letting the streak of consecutive Asian Games gold medals end was absolutely not an option.
