After the First Day
Terrance Terrell, general manager of the Red Sox, could not believe the report he had just received.
"So what you're telling me is… he caused trouble the moment he arrived?"
"That's correct."
"And Gordon Perry is injured?"
"Calling it an injury might be overstating it… but he'll need about a week off. The spot he got hit wasn't good…"
"Ha… hahaha…"
This was the player he had brought in ahead of the new season. And it hadn't been a simple acquisition, either. He had fought every team in Major League Baseball and barely come out on top. The spending had ballooned far beyond what he'd expected, but winning was what mattered. The criticism swirling around him now would vanish the instant the player started producing.
And yet… the player he had gone to such lengths to sign had caused an incident on day one.
Not just any player, either—Gordon Perry, the man they called the Red Sox's captain and its very heart. He had even put him on the injured list.
"And according to the coaches…"
The staffer's next words made Terrell's chest drop. The business with Gordon Perry was already more than enough. What else could there possibly be?
"Hm? The coaches? What about them?"
"They say he's ready to pitch in a game right now."
"…… I must be misunderstanding something. What exactly does that mean?"
"Kang's physical condition, sir. They're saying he's at a level where you could put him in a game today without any issue."
"…… Hahahaha."
It was barely early February. Nearly two months remained until Opening Day. And the man had already finished building his body.
What kind of human being was this?
"Hah… all right. Make sure Gordon gets proper rest… and as for Kang…"
"Ah! One more thing."
"Hm?"
"Kang says he wants to change his interpreter. He wants to bring in someone of his own…"
"His interpreter? Suddenly? Already?"
He had spent all of one day with the man, and he already wanted a replacement.
"Yes. He says they don't mesh. And he wants the club to cover the salary of the interpreter he brings in…"
"What? Hahaha… hahahaha…"
Terrell fought down the sudden craving for a drink and voiced the question that had surfaced in his mind.
"Kang… he wasn't raised in Korea, was he?"
"I'm not sure what you mean…"
"I mean, players who come over from Asia are usually polite. Even when they push their own agenda, they're careful about it, aren't they?"
"Uh… that does tend to be the case."
"That's why I'm asking. Did Kang spend his childhood in the States, or…"
"I don't believe so. He played baseball as a student in Korea."
"Right. Of course he did… good grief…"
Terrell looked at the staffer waiting for an answer, then finally spoke.
"That interpreter? Give him what he wants. The salary… yeah, we can cover that much."
"Understood."
"Anything else?"
"No, sir. That'll be all."
Once the staffer left, Terrell seriously considered whether he should just clock out and go drink. No matter how he turned it over, alcohol was the only thing that might ease the frustration currently crushing him. The sole problem was that he had been at the office for less than two hours.
"…… Maybe I can hold out until lunch."
An hour later, the same staffer returned.
"Uh… boss."
"What is it?"
"Well… so… you know Eric Danson?"
"Eric Danson? What about Danson? Ah! Is this about that trade we were working on?"
"No… it's… Kang says he wants Eric Danson as his personal catcher."
"……??????????"
Terrell could not immediately process what he had just heard.
"Not Gordon… Danson?"
"Yes. He says Gordon doesn't seem like a good fit…"
How could one person fail to mesh with this many people? He had been with the team for a single day of training and already claimed both his interpreter and Gordon were incompatible.
"Ha… hahaha… all right. I've heard enough. You can go."
"Yes, sir."
The moment the staffer was out the door, the general manager began clearing his desk.
This was no longer a time for restraint.
"Buddy~!"
Ho-min strode into the training facility bellowing my name, making his presence known the second he arrived.
"You made it?"
"Did I ever tell you this? Becoming your friend is the single greatest decision of my entire life."
"Bullshit."
"I never thought I'd end up working for a Major League team. Heh heh heh."
"……"
The moment the club gave the green light, I had hit the interpreter with a clean You're fired.
There had been a minor incident where the guy froze at my flawless English, then belatedly caught on and tried to argue—but it got sorted out well enough.
And then I brought Ho-min in on the spot.
The second he got my call, he dropped everything and ran over.
Yesterday our schedules hadn't lined up, so we never managed to meet. Ho-min had no idea what I'd done the day before.
He found out just now.
"…… You're joking."
"I'm serious."
"…… Come on. Even for a lunatic like you, there's no way you caused an accident on day one. And with Gordon Perry of all people…"
"He got hurt. Couldn't catch my knuckleball. His receiving skills were worse than I expected. I did tell him it was a slider before I threw it, though."
"You crazy bastard!"
Hearing how loud my friend's voice still was put me at ease. Even in this unfamiliar American soil, he seemed to be adjusting just fine.
"D-don't tell me… is that why you asked about Eric Danson?"
When I'd called him over, I had also asked about Eric Danson. Ho-min knew who he was and had given him a pretty solid evaluation.
"Yeah."
"…… No. It's not what I'm thinking, right?"
"I don't know what you're thinking, but I already put in the request."
"What request?"
"I asked them to give me Eric Danson as my personal catcher."
"……"
"Turns out the guy can catch a knuckleball, too. Said he worked with a knuckleballer on a previous team."
"……"
"Still no answer, though. Did I bring it up too early? Barnett just said it outright, so I figured I'd try the same thing."
"Did you take something?"
Huh? How did he know?
At twenty-nine, catcher Eric Danson was heading into his third season as the Red Sox's backup.
He had made a name for himself as a catching prospect and reached the big leagues faster than most. His defense behind the plate was considered rock-solid, and while his bat was a little light, it was more than acceptable for the position.
He had fully expected the starting catcher's job with the Minnesota Twins to be his before long.
Then came the sudden trade. His name was on the deal between the Twins and the Red Sox.
And so began life as a backup. On this Red Sox roster sat a catcher no one could touch.
In two years with Boston, Danson had appeared in fewer than fifty games. Starts barely cracked thirty.
Eric Danson had finally given up on a starting job he could never claim no matter how hard he worked.
Some things simply weren't meant to be.
If thirty-five-year-old Gordon ever retired, maybe—but from where Danson stood, Gordon looked like a man who wouldn't hang it up even at forty.
Then, on the first day of spring training, the Asian pitcher the club had paid a fortune to acquire went and did something.
He went straight at Gordon—the man no one on the team, not even the manager, dared to touch.
It wasn't just an argument. He had cleverly tricked him and put him on the shelf with an injury.
"Is this guy insane?"
It was absurd, and yet somehow… magnetic.
And the pitcher didn't stop there.
"Y-you want me as your personal catcher?"
"Yeah. I looked into it. You're supposed to be a pretty good catcher."
"R-really?"
"Yeah. So—can you practice receiving knuckleballs?"
"…… I-I've caught them before."
"Really?"
"Yeah. My old team had a knuckleballer…"
"Oh! Perfect. So personal catcher is a yes, then?"
"Uh, what? Y-yeah…"
"Great. I'll go tell them."
Tell them what, exactly?
He actually went and declared it.
He wanted a personal catcher. And that catcher was Eric Danson.
Then he came back and asked Danson to catch for him.
Danson said yes.
And he caught.
He had felt it yesterday, too—this pitcher's four-seam was insane.
Danson had caught the occasional ball that seemed to rise as it arrived. But this pitcher… was on another level entirely.
"How the hell is anyone supposed to hit this?"
And then…
The slider was insane. The changeup was even more insane.
He dialed the curveball's velocity up and down at will, and his knuckleball was high-level work.
"……"
"So? Think it'll play? I've never faced American hitters, so I don't really have a feel for it."
Would it play?
Was this guy serious?
Brad, last season's Opening Day starter, wouldn't even be in the same conversation.
Danson understood.
The pitcher throwing to him right now was going to be this team's number-one starter.
And he had just become that pitcher's personal catcher.
"Personal catcher to the ace…"
Motivation surged through him all at once.
Gordon Perry lay in bed grinding his teeth.
He had heard that the Asian pitcher joining the team was coming specifically because of him. The news had left him feeling both flattered—recognition of his ability—and mildly irritated that some no-name rookie was acting a little full of himself.
A kid whose name he'd never even heard, acting like he was evaluating Gordon.
So Gordon had said something.
Nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary for him.
But the response he got back was different. Unlike anything he had ever received.
Anger flared, and he unloaded a stream of curses.
And the rookie turned him into a racist—claiming Gordon had called him yellow.
Gordon had cursed, sure. But he had never said that. He was not that kind of garbage.
Then the rookie went one better and started calling him the n-word.
The n-word…
There wasn't a black patch of skin on Gordon's entire body, and this kid was calling him that.
If that damned interpreter hadn't come running, Gordon would have thrown a punch.
Watching the interpreter scramble to calm him down, Gordon had just managed to settle himself—when the kid casually walked off with Eric.
Said he was going to loosen up and throw a few.
Curiosity got the better of him. What kind of stuff was this kid throwing that made him so cocky?
Then he saw it.
This rookie… threw filthy stuff.
Gordon wanted to catch it. He pulled Eric out for a moment and sat down himself.
And he got hit.
The kid said he was throwing a slider, then fired a knuckleball. Of all places, it caught him on the inside of the thigh, and the pain was that much worse.
"I'm going to kill that brat…"
Replaying yesterday, Gordon made a vow.
When he got back, he would fix that attitude for good.
He would make sure that even for a single pitch, the kid felt grateful to him.
And then…
"What?"
A teammate called with news that made no sense whatsoever.
"H-he wants Eric as his personal catcher…"
"…… Not me. Eric?"
"Well…"
The insolent rookie had thrown the first punch.