The Lineup Reveal
May 2nd.
During morning practice, a notice went up in the players' locker room at North Myeong High. It listed the lineup for the Golden Lion Tournament.
The reactions were all over the place. Some took it in stride, others sighed in relief. There were those who hung their heads in disappointment, those who beamed with joy, and those who accepted the results with a heavy heart, bumping up against the wall of reality. In the end, an awkward tension settled over the entire locker room.
A bit cruel, Yoo Min-hoo thought to himself.
Director Park Sung-tae seemed to have orchestrated this on purpose—to give the players a glimpse of the pro world's cutthroat nature ahead of time.
Yoo Min-hoo was used to it, though. He'd breathed this air for years in the pros. Competition was merciless. The standards thrust upon players were razor-sharp. If you didn't meet them, no opportunities came knocking.
The heavy mood lingered through the entire practice.
High schoolers like those at North Myeong—and most typical teens—weren't accustomed to opportunities being doled out so publicly and equally, with results announced just as openly.
After morning practice wrapped up, Lee Ho-seok let out a deep breath.
"This vibe's a first for me."
"What do you think?" Yoo Min-hoo asked, arms crossed.
Lee Ho-seok scratched his cheek. "Hard to say..."
"Cold, right?"
"..."
Lee Ho-seok looked at Yoo Min-hoo.
"Everyone knows their place deep down. For me, it's always been, I'm not good enough, so this'll be tough. But when you know chances are given equally to everyone out in the open? You go all out, like crazy."
They knew they fell short. But they also knew real shots were rare. When one came along, they threw everything at it—clawing, scrambling, desperate.
Yoo Min-hoo stretched.
"And when the result's as expected, no dice? That emptiness... words can't describe it."
"You say some seriously grown-up stuff sometimes," Lee Ho-seok remarked.
Yoo Min-hoo burst out laughing.
"Chances are equal on paper, but never truly equal. Some players are studs, others aren't. The valuable ones get priority."
The truly valuable players got picked first.
"..."
Lee Ho-seok, who'd been listening quietly, asked, "What happens to the ones who don't get picked?"
Lee Ho-seok had never experienced it. Blessed with talent and relentless work ethic, he'd never been edged out. He was always one of the chosen.
"Who knows..."
Yoo Min-hoo had started as chosen, but ended up not. He felt the gap in his bones. And he knew there was no clear-cut answer for the unchosen.
Some would quit, saying it wasn't their path. Others would settle, accepting their lot. You couldn't point fingers—they'd poured their blood and sweat into it. It was their call. No one else had the right to judge.
"Guess they just have to go even crazier, right?"
Neither path for him. He'd thrashed like a madman.
Lee Ho-seok sensed the weight behind Yoo Min-hoo's casual words.
That evening, at the dinner table across from Kim Mi-hyun, Yoo Min-hoo said between bites, "Mom, I made the starting lineup for the Golden Lion Tournament."
"Huh?"
Kim Mi-hyun's eyes widened at the sudden announcement. Composing herself, she asked, "Starting lineup means you'll pitch in the tournament?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
Her face clouded with concern. She knew her son had exceptional talent. But with his shoulder injury, he wasn't in any shape for a major tournament. And she knew the caliber of players nationwide. Thanks to her husband's career, she had more baseball knowledge than most civilians—not pro level, but enough that Yoo Min-hoo's words didn't add up.
Yoo Min-hoo scratched his cheek, pondering his answer. "Looks like pitching right-handed suits me better than I thought."
"..."
Kim Mi-hyun furrowed her brow slightly.
"Not using your left arm at all?"
"Nope." Yoo Min-hoo shook his head.
Watching him, Kim Mi-hyun looked thoughtful. She'd noticed huge changes in him since the shoulder surgery—mental shifts. His sudden vibe switch threw her off, but she'd trusted him, watching silently. Still, seeing him surpass her expectations kept catching her off guard.
"Well, that's good news, then."
"Yeah. Not starting, but I'll pitch in relief."
No way he'd start. They had a solid ace, and backups to handle him. His full-effort stuff barely played at the high school level anyway. No chance for a starter's workload.
Resuming her meal, Kim Mi-hyun thought, Should I talk to my husband...?
She sighed inwardly.
"Whatcha reading?"
The next day, during break, Park Soo-yeon approached Yoo Min-hoo, who was seated with a book. She grinned brightly.
He showed her: an elementary school picture book.
Her face twisted oddly. Yoo Min-hoo shrugged. "Conversations are fine, but the spelling's all over the place."
True enough. Years in the US had left gaps in his Korean reading.
Park Soo-yeon muttered, "Doesn't match your looks at all..."
He chuckled lowly at her playful squint.
"Heard the news. Made the starting lineup?"
Yoo Min-hoo nodded. "Got lucky."
"Pfft, humble much?" She patted his shoulder with a beaming smile.
"Anyway, it's hitting me now—you lived in the States. Forgot 'cause I've never seen you use English. Say something in English."
He stared at her odd request, then launched into casual English free-talk.
Her eyes went wide at the sudden flood of fluency. Yoo Min-hoo grinned. "You study it too—why the face?"
"Ugh! Talking's not my strong suit!"
She pouted, miffed. He laughed.
"You seem happy, though?"
"Huh?"
Park Soo-yeon's eyes rounded, then she grinned bashfully. "Yeah. My uncle just got called up to the first team."
"Nice. Congrats."
She nodded at his smile. "If it was in Busan, I'd come watch. Sucks."
Too far for a student to travel to Seoul.
"I'll cheer for you. Do your best."
"You know it."
He nodded at her encouragement.
That afternoon, before practice, Director Park Sung-tae gathered the team in the indoor training room. To analyze their first opponent: Daegu High School.
Like North Myeong and Gyeongsang High, Daegu High was a historic powerhouse from the Daegu region. They'd produced countless pros—including superstars any fan would know on name alone. A prestigious powerhouse, a formidable foe.
"Daegu High's always been offense-heavy. Same this year."
Park Sung-tae projected their first-half league stats. Averaging 8-9 runs per game, peaking at 16. Terrifying firepower—a stark showcase of their lineup's explosiveness.
"Kim Ji-seok starts."
He eyed the ace up front.
"Tae-hoon, manage your condition. Might need you sooner than expected."
"You think I'll crumble quick?" Kim Ji-seok raised his hand.
Park Sung-tae nodded. "Obviously. Daegu's got one of the top three lineups nationwide. Every type: contact hitters, power guys, speedsters. From one to nine, you watch everyone. Even Ryu Seung-ho or Park Dae-jung would hesitate against that order."
Names of Korea's top high school pitching prospects—coveted by every pro team—dropped from the director's mouth.
A lineup stacked with varied threats wore pitchers down fast. Daegu was a legit title contender. For North Myeong, facing them first was no joke.
But even with that murderer's row, Daegu wasn't invincible.
"Pitching's trash," Yoo Min-hoo said.
Park Sung-tae nodded. "Right. Killer bats, but pitching's laughably weak. Our lineup can exploit it easy."
Averaging five runs allowed per game.
The key against Daegu: how well they contained that deadly offense.
"Media says we've got no shot. I disagree—we can win."
His voice turned serious.
"Give it everything. No regrets."
"Yes, sir!"
The North Myeong players roared in unison.