The Director's Interview
Following Lee Ho-seok, they arrived at a one-story building attached to the baseball clubroom—the facility used by the director and coaching staff. Lee Ho-seok pushed open the glass door and walked down the hallway, saying,
"Until last year, players weren't even allowed in here."
"Why? Did they do some renovations or something?"
Lee Ho-seok gave a wry smile at Yoo Min-hoo's puzzled question.
"Nah, players just weren't allowed in without permission."
Yoo Min-hoo couldn't quite wrap his head around it, but he didn't dwell on it. Having grown up in the US, this kind of Korean-style authoritarianism felt foreign to him. Especially since he'd only ever played baseball in environments where communication between coaches and players was paramount—he'd never experienced orders that felt more like commands to subordinates.
Once inside, Lee Ho-seok lightly knocked on the door marked "Director's Office."
"Come in."
A middle-aged man's voice responded immediately to the knock. Without hesitation, Lee Ho-seok opened the door and stepped inside. Yoo Min-hoo followed him in and locked eyes with Park Sung-tae, the director, who was seated at his desk. Park Sung-tae, who had been reviewing some documents, tilted his head at the sight of Yoo Min-hoo.
"Who's this?"
"A hopeful trying to join the baseball team."
"Join the team?"
The utterly unexpected statement made Park Sung-tae repeat it without thinking. He had already vetted all the incoming freshmen for the team. For an unfamiliar face to show up out of nowhere claiming to be a hopeful was beyond absurd. Plus, at a glance, the kid looked like he was the same age as Lee Ho-seok—maybe a classmate. Did he transfer from another school's baseball team? Park Sung-tae wondered. But if that were the case, he would've heard about it first.
After staring at Yoo Min-hoo for a moment, Park Sung-tae turned to Lee Ho-seok.
"I'm completely in the dark here. Mind filling me in?"
Lee Ho-seok was still struggling to adjust to the new baseball environment, but he was largely satisfied with how the new coaching staff—including Park Sung-tae—treated him. To put it simply, the old coaches had treated players like subordinates, while now they were treated like athletes. The pointless authoritarianism was long gone. The fact that players could freely enter the coaching staff building was a prime example.
Players now actively came to the coaches with questions, and if anyone had doubts about training methods, the staff explained things clearly and in detail. Being young themselves, the coaches often demonstrated techniques in person. Most had retired young—either from the minors or as non-starters in the majors. Park Sung-tae was the only one from North Myeong High with a flashy pro career.
The youth and inexperience of the staff was a weakness for North Myeong High. But their passion and proactive approach more than made up for it, and since the coaching change at the end of last year, the team's skills had improved by leaps and bounds.
Anyway, glancing at Park Sung-tae, who was asking him to explain the situation, Lee Ho-seok said,
"This guy's a transfer student who came to our school this year. Lived in the US, apparently. Says he played on a baseball team there, so he wants to join ours."
"……."
The explanation was straightforward—too straightforward. It gave a rough idea, but not the full picture. Park Sung-tae wore a strange expression, and Yoo Min-hoo mirrored it almost exactly. Their eyes met again for a moment.
Seeing Park Sung-tae's face, Yoo Min-hoo gained a clearer understanding of Lee Ho-seok. Instinct type, huh.
He was far from the analytical sort. (For the record, Yoo Min-hoo was a classic analytical pitcher.)
As Yoo Min-hoo stifled a chuckle inwardly, Park Sung-tae nodded, deciding it was better to hear it straight from Yoo Min-hoo himself.
"Got it. Now head back to training."
"Yes, sir."
Lee Ho-seok nodded, gave Yoo Min-hoo a thumbs-up, and left the office. Watching him go, Yoo Min-hoo let out a hollow laugh. Lee Ho-seok seemed convinced Yoo Min-hoo was already in—no doubt about it. And this despite not knowing his skills, only hearing he'd played baseball in the US.
Yoo Min-hoo briefly wondered if Lee Ho-seok was the single-minded type, but shook it off. Not all instinct players thought simplistically—though the tendency existed. On the way to the office, Lee Ho-seok had been observing him closely. Maybe he'd judged that Yoo Min-hoo's bold approach and declaration meant he had real confidence in his abilities.
Either way, he's a fun guy.
Yoo Min-hoo had sensed it that morning too: catchers like him usually meshed well with pitchers.
"That kid would be a perfect catcher if he just thought a little deeper."
Standing up, Park Sung-tae muttered regretfully, then pointed to the guest sofa and table in the center of the room.
"Have a seat."
Yoo Min-hoo sat, and Park Sung-tae grabbed a few A4 sheets and a pen, settling opposite him.
"Transfer student?"
"Yes."
"Where in the US?"
"Seattle."
"Seattle—nice place."
Having played for the Seattle Bears during his US pro days, Park Sung-tae knew it well. Nodding thoughtfully, he clapped lightly and handed over the pen and paper.
"Alright, jot down a quick player history and your physical stats."
Yoo Min-hoo took them and gripped the pen in his left hand. Park Sung-tae noted it inwardly. Lefty...
"Main position?"
"Pitcher."
"Oh? Pitchers are gold. Yeah, perfect."
Park Sung-tae, who'd been desperately seeking pitchers, beamed. He took the briefly filled-out sheet and read it over.
Height 183 cm, weight 85 kg... Solid build. Hmm... Lived fully in the US from elementary through high school. Early study abroad? High school... Huh?
Park Sung-tae paused at the high school name. North Washington Private High School—a place he knew well.
Sports powerhouse, right?
To earn the "sports powerhouse" label in the US, a school couldn't just excel in a few sports. It had to dominate across most sports nationwide. (The US had 50 states, each roughly the size of Korea.) Powerhouses excelled broadly. A baseball player from there would be a first-round pick in Korean pro leagues at minimum—super high school level.
"……."
Staring silently at the paper, Park Sung-tae asked curiously,
"Why come to Korea suddenly? You could've stayed in the US without issue."
Yoo Min-hoo gave a wry smile at the director's serious expression.
"Personal reasons."
"Personal reasons..."
Wouldn't be right to pry too much...
"One last question, then."
"...?"
"Do you have confidence as a baseball player?"
His tone was casual but carried weight. Yoo Min-hoo pondered what lay behind the question but couldn't quite pin it down. In the end, he decided to be honest.
"Right now, I'm probably not outstanding as a baseball player."
"Hm."
Park Sung-tae furrowed his brow.
"But I have confidence as one."
"……."
Park Sung-tae stroked his chin as Yoo Min-hoo spoke firmly, word by word. Unlike most kids his age, he's no child.
Nodding to himself, Park Sung-tae stood.
"Alright, let's see you throw, then."
Yoo Min-hoo rose with him. They headed to the indoor gym—a baseball team exclusive with bullpen facilities for rainy days. Two pitchers were throwing there while the rest ran outside.
One was Kim Ji-seok, a second-year and North Myeong High's de facto ace. His top velocity hit 142 km/h—quite fast. His control wasn't perfect, but he didn't walk batters excessively in games. Fastball pitchers this age rarely had pinpoint control; growth spurts disrupted balance. Plus, they often obsessed over velocity.
Anyway, Park Sung-tae noticed the bullpen seemed unusually lively and frowned curiously. He approached pitching coach Han Myeong-hwan, who was watching Kim Ji-seok.
"Hey, pitching coach, what's going on?"
"Ji-seok's velocity shot up big time."
"Last checked about a month ago, right? How much?"
"146 km/h."
"What?"
Park Sung-tae looked shocked. Even for growing high schoolers, a 4 km/h jump in a month was excessive.
Thwack! The ball slammed crisply into the mitt, echoing through the gym. The freshman pitcher beside him gaped blankly at Kim Ji-seok, probably feeling like they were from different worlds.
Yoo Min-hoo turned at the sound, eyeing Kim Ji-seok. He was resetting his form—high leg kick, windup, pulling his hand way back like he was tearing his body apart. Not the best form, Yoo Min-hoo thought.
Then a tsk sounded. Park Sung-tae was glaring at Kim Ji-seok, clearly displeased.
"Check his height and weight, and tweak that throwing form a bit."
"Huh? Oh, yes sir."
Han Myeong-hwan, who'd been beaming proudly at Kim Ji-seok, hopped into the bullpen. Clutching his head, Park Sung-tae shook it and muttered,
"Growth is great and all, commendable even... But kids these days rush too much."
He added softly that such ambition wasn't all bad. Watching, Yoo Min-hoo mused inwardly,
This director's definitely above average.