Congratulatory Gift
There are a whole lot of Japanese players in the majors.
So many that you start to wonder if the talent gap with Korea is really that wide. And if you throw in the minors, it feels like nearly every team has at least one of them on the roster.
Compared to that, us Koreans…
From where I stood, the biggest difference was on the mound.
Line up Korean and Japanese pitchers side by side and the first thing that jumps out is velocity. Japan has been churning out guys who casually touch 160 km/h for years. Korean pitchers? In a league where 150 km/h still earns you the “flamethrower” label, the needle just never moves. Not in the 2000s, not in the 2010s, not in the 2020s, not in the 2030s. It simply refuses to climb.
Velocity isn’t everything a pitcher has, sure—but it is a huge chunk of it. You can paint the corners all you want; if hitters who feast on 100-mph heat are staring at a flat 90-mph four-seamer, the result writes itself.
Back when I was still in Korea, I could never understand why Kwon Jong-jin never took a shot at the majors. Now I get it. He must have figured his stuff wouldn’t play big over here. After half a year in the big leagues myself, I have to agree. He wouldn’t have collapsed, but he probably would have settled in as a solid mid-rotation guy—a reliable number-two or number-three starter. In Korea, though, he is the undisputed ace. I edged him out for two years, but this season he has roared back and is leading the league in half a dozen categories. Spending the entire winter living in hospitals paid off; last year’s slump really was just a body that needed fixing.
So from Kwon Jong-jin’s point of view, there was never any real reason to come. The money’s already ridiculous back home, too.
Of course, Korea does spit out the occasional 160-km/h arm. They challenge the majors… and they fail. Velocity gets them in the door; everything else keeps them from staying. So is velocity not the whole story after all? Well, at least having the velocity meant they could try. Japanese pitchers with less pure heat have still carved out success here, which is exactly why I said Kwon Jong-jin could have managed a modest career. If even he is only “modest,” the rest of the Korean arms… yeah, let’s stop there.
Back to the point.
Even with that many Japanese players working in America, only a handful ever get their names in the papers—and those few only because of on-field heroics or gaudy season numbers. Then out of nowhere a guy rockets into the headlines with an interview. An interview about me, no less.
“Never heard of him…”
Figured as much.
I wanted to dig into this Shoda Hiroki character who had suddenly appeared and sworn he would destroy me. First stop: Yua. Fellow Japanese guy—maybe they knew each other. Nope. He didn’t know him personally, but he did know the résumé that got Shoda over here. I could have looked it up myself, but Yua was so earnest about explaining that I couldn’t bring myself to cut him off.
After listening for a while, a thought hit me.
“So why the hell did this guy latch onto me out of the blue?”
“Because dragging your name into it makes headlines?”
“……So he sold me out just to get his own name out there?”
“Beats me.”
“What a clown. A pro who won’t settle it with his bat. No wonder his numbers look like that.”
Shoda Hiroki was currently sitting on a batting average that barely cleared .250 and a grand total of seven home runs. Decent baserunning and the fact that shortstop values glove over bat were the only reasons he still had a job. My money said the front office was just using the marketing angle because his production was roughly the same as the next guy’s.
Back in Japan, though, he had been a monster—a big shortstop who hit over .340 with thirty-plus bombs and wheels to match. In other words, he simply hadn’t adjusted to this neighborhood yet. Same rookie year as me, so maybe he still has time, but right now the ledger looks ugly.
“Maybe he feels confident because you’re an Asian pitcher?”
“……”
“He hit pretty well in the Olympics. Against Korea, too.”
“Ah~”
Is that so? I paid so little attention I barely remember who even played. Remembering that we lost was enough. I wasn’t on the roster, after all.
“Can’t wait to face him.”
My next start couldn’t come soon enough. I planned to take apart whatever made him bold enough to talk that much trash.
I was on the road with the team, prepping for my next start, when the phone rang.
“Still feeling off today?”
“Yeah. Zero appetite.”
Han Song-yi had been complaining for days that nothing tasted right and she couldn’t keep a proper meal down. She even skipped the workouts she usually loved, saying her body just felt wrong.
“Maybe you should see a doctor. What if it’s—”
“It’s not that bad. Nothing actually hurts.”
“Go anyway. I’ll tell Jack to take you. I should be there…”
“……Fine.”
“No—screw it. I’ll talk to the skipper and fly back.”
“Hey! It’s not that serious. Jack and I will go. Stop fretting and get ready for your game~”
I called Jack and asked him to look after her. His “don’t worry” settled my nerves a little. Then I went to the old man and laid out the situation.
“Leave right now.”
Exactly as expected—Gordon Perry tried to send me home on the spot.
“Let’s wait for the hospital results first.”
“Hrmph…”
He didn’t like my decision, but he let it stand.
The next day.
“Huh? What did you say?”
“Heehee.”
“So… so you’re saying…”
“We’re having a baby!!”
“Whaaaat???? Whoa!!!”
Han Song-yi had gone to the hospital and found out she was pregnant. The weird body feelings had just been the early signs.
“My appetite’s suddenly roaring, you know? I’m going home right now to eat.”
“Yeah. Ha… Song-yi, thank you.”
“Hee~ You go pitch great, and come home and see~”
“I will. Oh—my parents—”
“I’ll call them.”
“Okay. Go home and rest. Eat a lot. Don’t push yourself.”
“Yes, yes~ Don’t worry, husband~”
The call ended.
“Heh heh heh. Heh heh heh heh. Ugh heh heh. Heehee.”
I kept laughing like a lunatic. All the way to the clubhouse I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face.
“……Kang. You okay?”
“What’s going on? Why are you—”
Teammates stared at the idiot who couldn’t stop smirking and asked with genuine concern. Gordon Perry, convinced something was wrong, marched straight up to me.
“Heh heh. Ugh heh heh. I’m… heh heh. Gonna be a dad. Ugh heeheehee.”
““““Ohhh!””””
Almost the entire dugout swarmed me with congratulations. Gordon Perry even pulled me into a hug. When the hell did we get that close?
Then the game started. I stepped in as the five-hole hitter.
CRACK!!
I didn’t even need to watch the ball. I flung the bat skyward, sprinted toward first, and stuck my thumb in my mouth. Always wanted to try that. Soccer guys do it after they score; I’m a baseball player, so a home run works just fine.
“You’re insane! What kind of power is that? You just muscled that over?”
The guys grabbed me the second I hit the dugout, still buzzing from the shot.
“I’m gonna be a dad. Gotta earn that formula money.”
“……????”
Blank stares. On this salary, formula money? They didn’t get the joke. Too many pure jocks, not enough brain cells.
CRACK!
“Formula money!!!”
The day I confirmed Kang Hajin Jr. existed, I went completely feral for formula money.
That night.
I had just finished a long call with Han Song-yi and was about to crawl into bed when the phone rang again—almost as if it had been waiting for the previous conversation to end.
“……!!!!”
I checked the caller and nearly jumped out of my skin. Clothes changed in seconds, I left the hotel and headed to the spot we had agreed on. She was already waiting.
The one who had called me… her.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
The Hooded Woman stood in front of me. Really a long time. And she had reached out first. Even after all these months she looked exactly the same—hood still pulled low over her hair.
Honestly, the walk from the hotel had been a little nerve-wracking. What if she was here to tell me the pills were finished? The call had been that sudden.
“It really has been a long time.”
“I hear you’ve been doing incredibly well lately?”
“Have I? That’s good to know. All thanks to you.”
She smiled softly. Just a few polite words and my anxiety climbed another notch. I couldn’t hold it in.
“I need to earn formula money.”
It just slipped out. She blinked, processed the random statement, then smiled again.
“I know. That’s why I’m here.”
“……Sorry? What do you—”
“I came to give you a congratulatory gift for the beautiful child on the way.”
“Y-you’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“Why bring it yourself…?”
Lately she had always worked through Jack. A personal delivery of a “congratulatory gift” made no sense.
“Here. Your present.”
It had been ages since I’d seen that box—the chocolate-box-looking case she used to slip the pills into. Once Jack became my shadow, the box had vanished. Now it was back in front of me.
“W-what is this?”
“A congratulatory gift.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Think of it as a kind of booster?”
“A… booster?”
“Take one before a game and for three hours your power goes whoosh!”
She clenched a tiny fist and spoke in an almost childlike tone, but the content was anything but playful. So if I swallow one of these, my abilities jump even higher for three full hours? I’m already broken; this would make me more broken?
“One thing to watch out for—afterward your stamina will crash hard. Expect two rough days. Keep that in mind.”
“……Got it.”
“Well then… I’ll be going. Congratulations again.”
“Huh? Ah… yeah.”
She waved, turned, and walked into the side alley. The second she disappeared from sight I sprinted after her. The alley stretched far enough that even a full sprint would take several seconds—yet the Hooded Woman was nowhere.
“Figured as much. She’s not human.”
Vanishing right in front of me? And handing out medicine no one on earth has ever heard of? Yeah, not human.
“Anyway, this…”
Back in the hotel room I opened the box at once. Three golden pills gleamed inside—old-style round pills, not the modern capsules I had been taking lately.
“Three hours covers a full game easy… Save them for the big ones. Games I absolutely cannot lose.”
I decided to hoard them. World Series Game Seven, me on the mound? That would be the moment. Those three pills were staying locked away.
Then the next afternoon’s headlines changed my mind a little.
“……This bastard’s got it coming.”
Time to make him cry rivers of tears.