Return from Suspension
"Ah… yes, yes… no… that's not what I… ah, yes… I-I'm sorry… yes… yes, go ahead, Father…"
"What did Dad say?"
"Nothing much… really."
"What could he have said to make you squirm like that?"
"With the baby almost here, he told me to… tone it down a little…"
The slap I threw had gone viral across the entire world.
Even a regular bench-clearing brawl in Major League Baseball was enough to make the news — and because I had properly decked the guy, the story exploded even further. Edited clips of the white spit flying from his mouth, complete with slow-motion, were everywhere. Gordon Perry stomping him into the dirt to hide the evidence? That made the cut too, every frame of it.
Which meant I had to sit through a long, thorough scolding from my parents. They were the type who usually kept quiet about most things… but when footage of their son delivering a crisp, ringing slap spread to every corner of the globe, even they couldn't hold back.
I tried explaining that I'd nearly gotten injured and simply couldn't take it —
"So you turn a kid into that?" they shot back, and, well…
Honestly, he wasn't a kid. But still.
And then there was my father-in-law's quiet, and therefore far more terrifying, single remark on top of everything else.
In Korea especially, the whole affair showed no sign of dying down. People were snipping my footage and mashing it into every meme imaginable for pure entertainment. The silver lining was that plenty of people had dug into why it happened, and between the truth and a healthy dose of national pride, public opinion seemed to be drifting toward "yeah, he had it coming." A few just liked that I'd won the fight, but still.
Japan, of course, was a completely different story. They were in an absolute uproar, swearing they were going to kill me. People were lining up to announce they were flying straight to America. But they seemed so busy posting about it that not a single one had actually shown up yet. Jack had the house locked down so thoroughly I wasn't worried in the slightest — and so far, nobody had come anyway.
And then something truly absurd happened.
Yua was getting torn apart by the Japanese public.
"…Why, exactly?"
"Because he was supposed to stop you even if it meant beating you down himself — and he didn't."
"……So they're roasting him for that?"
"Yep. They're telling him to renounce his Japanese citizenship."
"Insane…"
If you watched the footage, Yua had been way in the back when I was working over Shoda Hiroki. He barely even showed up on camera. There were players surrounding me at the time, and the other side's guys were trying to shove them aside — well, mostly just pretending to, but still. That was the situation. How exactly was Yua supposed to squeeze through all those bodies and stop me? Not that he'd have wanted to in the first place.
"Hope he's okay."
"Didn't seem bothered at all."
"Huh?"
"I called him. He just laughed it off. Said he's never going back there anyway. His whole family's already in the States, so what's the point?"
"Th-that's a relief, then."
If he was fine with it, that was good… but I still felt a little guilty.
"Oh! That other guy's getting flamed too."
"Who?"
"You know. The Yankees kid who acted all buddy-buddy at the All-Star Game… Hitoshi Miura."
"…What's his problem?"
Ho-min pulled out his phone, tapped around, and held the screen out in front of me.
"What's this?"
It was Hitoshi Miura's social media. Specifically, the photo he'd taken with me at the All-Star Game.
"Proof he's friends with you."
"……"
"He was supposed to delete it immediately and post a condemnation. Instead he left a big smiling photo of the two of you up, so now he's catching hell."
"What a circus…"
I had no idea how I was supposed to react to any of this.
"At this point, Japan is done for you."
"Wasn't going there anyway."
The second the season ended I had Asian Games commitments and a pile of delayed ad shoots waiting to bury me. Japan? Please.
"Anyway, you're stuck in the house for a whole week. You gonna be okay?"
"Obviously. Sounds great."
The club had asked me to keep a low profile as much as possible, just in case. Apparently the volume of complaints coming in was high enough that they were genuinely worried. I'd already planned on holing up, so I accepted without argument. I liked lounging around the house anyway — no problem at all.
I rested at home, and the aftereffects of the Booster passed without any real trouble. I was a little under the weather for a couple of days, and Han Song-yi briefly misread it as stress, but it wasn't a big deal.
The strange part was how quiet Shoda Hiroki had gone from his hospital bed. The Giants had pushed back hard at first, then nothing. By the time my rest period ended, everyone involved had gone silent. Only the Giants fans and the Japanese side kept making noise — the actual people who'd been on the receiving end had clamped their mouths shut. A bizarre situation.
"Did Jack handle all of this too?"
"Beats me…"
"If he really did… then what the hell is Jack?"
Yeah. I had no idea either.
Jack was a person… right?
Seven games flew by in a blink. Time always moved weirdly fast when you just rolled around the house. It felt like all I'd done was eat and sleep, and suddenly the day of my return was here.
Conveniently, the team was back from a road trip and starting a home stand. Returning in front of my own fans meant zero pressure.
"Hey~ Kang~"
After that long stretch off, I'd arrived at the park first and was easing into my warm-up when the others started trickling in one by one. Friendly greetings all around with my teammates.
As more time passed, the stands gradually filled. People up there spotted me and started calling out.
"Do you have any idea how long we waited? You were gone way too long!"
"I didn't want the break either~"
"Hah~ Kang, the team was a complete mess without you. You're in today, right?"
"Of course~ I'll be in the batter's box."
"Good. Finally I can watch in peace."
I heard variations of that countless times while signing for fans. The reason was simple: in the seven games I'd missed, the team had gone 2–5. Getting swept in the latest three-game road series only made them that much happier to see me back.
"Why aren't you pitching?"
"Haha… just how it worked out."
"You're not hurt, are you?"
"No chance."
The old man — our manager — had simply told me to take the mound in a few days, and that was that. Seven full games of rest meant I needed to build my body back up, he said. No matter how many times I insisted I was fine, that I'd been prepping on my own, he wouldn't budge an inch. What choice did I have? Orders were orders.
Even after getting swept, the clubhouse mood wasn't bad. We still held a comfortable lead for first place in the division, and the second-place Yankees were struggling just to hang on to that spot. Facing the Kansas City Royals today might have helped the relaxed atmosphere too.
Kansas City sat in the American League Central, clinging to fourth place thanks entirely to the Minnesota Twins being an absolute basement-dwelling disaster. Honestly — and everyone felt this — Kansas City was clearly tanking. There was no other explanation for the state of that roster. The only reason they weren't dead last was that the Twins were somehow even more of a wreck. That team was something else…
"Your swing isn't dead, is it?"
Rondo, today's starter, wandered over while I was standing around killing time.
"Beats me…"
"What's with the lack of confidence?"
"I didn't touch a bat once while I was off…"
"……Damn. I was looking forward to you being in the lineup for my start."
His expression flipped that fast. Genuine, unfiltered disappointment. Had I been too honest? But it was true — I hadn't so much as glanced at a bat during the break.
Still…
"Relax. You really think a little rest is going to mess me up? Felt good in practice."
"Yeah? Ahahaha."
This guy… for someone his age, he was remarkably simple.
"You know the opposing starter? I heard he just got called up and today's his first start."
"Nope. Not at all. Name only, really. Never seen him. Didn't even get a chance to say hello today."
"That so? Figured maybe, since he's Korean too. Whatever, doesn't matter…"
Rondo clapped me on the shoulder and headed off to finish his own prep.
The opposing starter he'd mentioned. Kim Han-sung — the name alone told you he was Korean. Unlike me or Lee Gijun, though, he hadn't jumped straight into the majors. He'd come to the States right out of high school, so not many people back home knew him. Working his way up from the absolute bottom of the ladder, he'd gradually faded from Korean memory.
Usually, when a young player crossed over to America and got stuck bouncing around the minors, they eventually turned around and headed home… but this guy had hung on and hung on until, at twenty-eight, he'd finally reached the majors. Sure, getting the chance on a team like Kansas City probably helped, but still…
"Top velocity ninety-seven on the four-seamer, plus a slider, curve, and forkball. Command's decent. The knock is that his repertoire's a little plain."
Having spent so long in the minors, there was a solid scouting report on him.
"How does he actually pitch?"
"Basically ninety percent four-seam and forkball."
"……Isn't that kind of incredible?"
A starter who faced hitters with essentially two pitches and still climbed all the way to the majors? That was impressive in its own right. And why did this feel so familiar?
"Sounds a lot like… Yua."
"You could call him a slightly faster Katsu."
A Korean pitcher throwing a forkball that actually played in this league — not even a Japanese guy.
"Why is he still here? If he'd gone home, he wouldn't have had to grind like this."
"True. Just looking at his four-seam velocity, he'd be near the top of the heap in Korea."
"Impressive all around."
And at the end of the scouting notes was this:
"Highly aggressive, hard-charging pitcher…"
"Meaning he challenges hitters head-on?"
"That too, but… you didn't watch any film?"
"Nope."
"…You'll know when you see it."
Of course I hadn't watched any. I'd only found out he was starting yesterday.
"Why can't we see him, though?"
"Right? I never spotted him either, so I couldn't even say hello."
We didn't catch a glimpse of the opposing starter, Kim Han-sung, until the game actually began. Rondo finished the top of the first cleanly, and in the bottom half, Kim Han-sung — who'd been invisible until then — finally climbed the mound and showed himself.
Roughly six-one, a bit on the skinny side. And a soft, round, harmless-looking face.
"He looks nice."
"He's older than you."
"He looks… distinguished, then."
Fellow Korean — of course I was interested. Maybe we could even get friendly…
"Uryaaah!"
That was what I thought, right up until he threw the first pitch.
"Aja!"
And right up until he pumped himself up like that after nailing a strike…
"So that's what they meant by hard-charging…"
"Yeah, pretty much? 'Hard-charging' is the polite way of putting it…"
"That is just…"
"Peak overacting, is what it is."
Yeah. Definitely not getting friendly.
Just looking at him, I could already tell he'd be exhausting.