First Day in Uniform
March 2nd. Standing in front of the large mirror outside his room on the second floor, Yoo Min-hoo stared at his reflection with a slightly awkward expression. It was the first time in his life he'd ever worn a school uniform.
In America, uniforms weren't required from elementary through high school, so he'd never had occasion to wear one. He'd worn a baseball uniform in his previous life, of course, but that felt entirely different. Adjusting his tie over his spring-and-fall uniform, Yoo Min-hoo muttered to himself.
Feels like I've become a salaryman.
Chuckling inwardly at the thought, he straightened his clothes and headed downstairs.
Kim Mi-hyun, who was bringing breakfast out from the kitchen, spotted him and burst into laughter.
"I thought so even when you were little, but it suits you so well. Must be because of your build?"
Beaming, she gazed at her son in his uniform with a fresh sense of wonder. It made sense—having gone through school in Korea, she was familiar with uniform culture. But Yoo Min-hoo, raised in America, had never worn one and figured he never would. Seeing him now, heading to school in Korea dressed like this, stirred an oddly novel feeling she couldn't quite shake.
"You think so? I feel kinda awkward."
"It's just because it's your first time. Fits perfectly, honey."
At 183 centimeters tall and 85 kilograms, his body—honed from childhood as a baseball player—had perfect balance, with muscle packed precisely where it needed to be. He might look lean and trim at a glance, without an ounce of excess fat, but those professionally trained muscles could unleash explosive power when throwing a ball. Of course, that was all in the past. Right now, his shoulder injury made it impossible to pitch properly.
But even so, he had no real worries. To balance his left arm's growth, he'd trained his right to a decent level. With some form adjustments for right-handed pitching, he could expect respectable velocity. Plus, he was a high schooler now. Even as a third-year, he was still in his growth phase. Considering he'd switched to his right arm in his sophomore year of college in his previous life, his potential now was even greater.
"Does my Korean sound off?"
"Not really weird. But studies worry me. You're smart, sure, but the school system's totally different from America..."
Watching his mother fret anew, Yoo Min-hoo smiled.
"What good's worrying about it now?"
"True enough."
Kim Mi-hyun nodded vigorously. Today marked exactly one week since they'd moved to Korea. In that time, Yoo Min-hoo had been busy with various tasks. First came enrollment procedures, then setting up his rehab schedule. No trainer had been assigned yet, but his father in America had heard about the high school baseball team and was coordinating with one.
"Speaking of, that man... Hearing about you and coming to Korea to talk to the coach himself."
Kim Mi-hyun shook her head, looking exasperated. Yoo Min-hoo replied,
"Seems the coach for my team's a young guy who just transferred in."
"You mean Park Sung-tae the player?"
"You know him?"
"Of course. Famous baseball star. I was shocked he retired so early and was already coaching."
With her interest in baseball, Kim Mi-hyun knew all the big names. They chatted about school life ahead over breakfast until it was done.
Slipping on his backpack, Yoo Min-hoo stood, greeted his mother, and stepped out. Just as he passed through the front door, someone emerged from next door—a sturdy-built male student in the same uniform.
Their eyes met, and the boy paused, pointing at Yoo Min-hoo.
"Hey, that's our school uniform."
"Hi. We've been neighbors a while, but first time seeing you."
Yoo Min-hoo smiled warmly and struck up a friendly chat. The boy nodded.
"Yeah, weird. Same school anyway—wanna walk together?"
"Sure, thanks. Roads aren't familiar yet."
As he spoke, Yoo Min-hoo glanced at the boy's gear. Beyond the backpack, he carried a baseball player's bag.
"You're Lee Ho-seok, right?"
"How'd you know?"
"Mom mentioned. And I vaguely remember hanging out when we were kids."
Lee Ho-seok chuckled at Yoo Min-hoo's smooth opener.
"Right, you lived next door ten years ago. My mom was thrilled when yours moved back. Hearing you say that jogs a fuzzy memory. You're Yoo Min-hoo, yeah? I'll call you Min-hoo."
Lee Ho-seok seemed quite sociable. The two quickly warmed up, chatting away. The school was a 20-minute walk. Halfway there, Yoo Min-hoo asked,
"Baseball team?"
"Yep."
Lee Ho-seok nodded. Yoo Min-hoo followed up,
"What position?"
"Catcher."
A catcher...
Yoo Min-hoo glanced sideways at Lee Ho-seok walking beside him.
Seems good-natured. Not the type to clash with pitchers.
First impressions, sure, but he got a positive vibe. Now Lee Ho-seok turned the question,
"Your Korean's solid for ten years in America."
"We spoke it at home. Not weird?"
"Nah."
There was a slight awkwardness, but nothing grating. That's how Lee Ho-seok saw it.
"Living in America, you must've caught tons of MLB games."
"Yeah."
"Ever been to a stadium?"
"Yep."
Lee Ho-seok looked envious. They bantered on until school came into view. Nearing the gate, Yoo Min-hoo said as if it just hit him,
"Oh yeah, your sibling plays baseball too?"
"Huh?"
Lee Ho-seok stopped short, staring.
"You had a younger brother, right? Active kid, as I recall. Figured if you played, he might too."
Lee Ho-seok chuckled lowly, holding back laughter. Wondering if he'd said something odd, Yoo Min-hoo looked puzzled. Lee Ho-seok patted his shoulder.
"He doesn't play."
Lee Ho-seok struggled to stifle laughs all the way into school, while Yoo Min-hoo watched him curiously.
Yoo Min-hoo was assigned to Class 3-3. Unfortunately, not with the now-familiar Lee Ho-seok. North Myeong High was a co-ed private school. Beyond baseball, it invested heavily in academics, boasting top teachers and popularity among college-bound parents.
Seats unassigned, he took one by the rear window. Early morning, only seven students including him.
The school's vibe differed noticeably from American ones. Yoo Min-hoo chalked it up to cultural gaps, pulling something from his bag—a hand gripper. Gripping it lightly in his right hand, he pondered.
Opening ceremony first, then hit the baseball club around lunch?
He was exempt from evening self-study due to family reasons. As a private school, they approved without issue.
Wonder what level this team's at.
MLB—the undisputed pinnacle of baseball history. America was its main stage, so amateur baseball there outclassed Korea, Japan, or Taiwan in environment and talent.
Japan prided itself on high school baseball's scale and quality—valid, but nothing compared to America. A multicultural melting pot, America birthed diverse talents. Baseball was no exception. Simple on surface—throw, hit, catch—but endless playstyles made it complex.
MLB teams drafted at least 2,000 players yearly officially, 3,000 including unofficial. Rough math: if Korea produced one pro-caliber high schooler a year, Japan ten, America a hundred. Scale gap was that vast. Environment alone differed wildly.
Still, Yoo Min-hoo didn't underestimate Korean high school ball. Elite as American amateurs were, it was still high school level. The gap from middle to high school was earth to sky; high school to pro, sky to space. Limits were clear for high schoolers.
Though monsters occasionally shatter those limits.
He shook off the thought, sinking deeper into reflection. Korea's league was smaller, but he'd seen Korean high school grads shine in America. MLB teams now viewed them as "business," not "gambles"—proof of Korea's level.
Yoo Min-hoo wasn't fool enough to dismiss it. Especially not now, unable to use his left arm—that'd make him an idiot, not a fool. Over ten injured years, he'd never dominated hitters. Always tense, locked in nerve-wracking battles. He knew better than anyone he was the underdog.