Heading to Doha
Everyone went completely insane.
Even the usually tight-lipped Greg was bellowing some unintelligible nonsense while launching his heavy frame into the air over and over. Gordon Perry, still clutching the final ball, claimed his body was shaking so hard he couldn't move—then pulled me into a hug with tears welling in his eyes.
Apparently this was the first perfect game even a catcher of Gordon Perry's caliber had ever been part of. Funny thing was, Eric had already beaten him to it.
Anyway, Gordon Perry—now the catcher who had guided a World Series perfect game and a team championship all at once—was so worked up he just kept ranting like a madman.
And that was only the start.
I even had to worry for a second that Grandpa Manager might hurt himself, the way he was punching the empty air. Then there was Yua, the guy who'd become the goat of Game 5; Buxton, who'd given up the closer's seat just for a chance to pitch more often and joined our team; Alan Thomas, who'd nearly blown the perfect game with a late mistake; Arthur Burgart, who'd gotten on base ahead of me so many times throughout the Series; Ernie Whit, who'd adapted perfectly in left field; Jim Tomey… Carl Janton… Charles Bedard…
And even John Grainski, who'd been absolutely roasted all autumn for his slump.
Every single player had lost his mind with excitement.
"So go join them already! Stop bugging me!"
"Uwaaaah… If I'd never met you… sob…"
Sigh… Eric was still there too—my backup catcher and full-time battery mate this season—glued to my side and crying nonstop.
"Kaaang! You're the best! Please stay with our team forever!"
The loud-voiced uncle was bawling his eyes out and repeating the same line over and over.
I still had a year left on my contract. Why was he already fretting about me leaving?
That insane aftershock only ended after I'd been drenched in more champagne than I'd ever seen in my entire life inside the locker room.
At least, it ended for me personally.
The day after our championship was locked in.
"…You can't join us?"
"Yes. I have to play in the Asian Games."
"R-right… Ha… This isn't right… But with the military service issue I can't exactly tell you not to go…"
"Haha. Exactly. So I have to go."
"Damn… Everyone's going to be disappointed. Especially the fans…"
"Can't be helped."
"Then maybe a video message… No, no. A championship parade without the World Series MVP…"
World Series MVP. Honestly, I'd expected it. With the number of home runs I'd hit plus a perfect game, if they didn't give it to me…
I'd also heard I was getting the Cy Young. But the season MVP was supposedly going to someone else. Something about the votes splitting because of the Cy Young?
I'd half-hoped, but it turned out exactly as expected, so I didn't feel much either way. If they don't give it, they don't give it.
"Hmm… Well, have a good trip for now. Wait… Then the White House too."
"I'm not going there."
"R-right."
Our GM looked a little flustered at how firmly I'd shut it down. Other people might consider a White House visit an honor, but me? I wasn't even American… The current president was just meh. And I was terrible at putting on airs around a bunch of strangers.
Still, that "for now" bothered me a little. What did he mean by "for now"? The guy clearly had something up his sleeve, but I didn't bother asking.
Ah, whatever. Too much trouble…
With that final meeting with the GM, Jack and I headed for Doha to compete in the Asian Games—aboard a private jet the owner himself had arranged, no less.
"Sunbae-nim!"
"Hyung-nim!"
"How have you been!"
"That game was seriously… seriously…"
The moment I stepped off the plane and reached the athletes' village, somehow a handful of players set to compete in this Asian Games were already waiting at the entrance. "A handful" really just meant guys I'd played with on the same team—Jeong Jong-seong, Hyeon-bin, Hwang Chan-young, Na Seung-won, and so on.
"What are you all doing out here?"
"We had to wait. The World Series MVP pitcher himself just arrived."
"Ah… Don't you start bugging me too. I already got hounded at the airport."
Even after the plane landed, Jack had refused to let me get off. When I asked why, it turned out the airport was in complete chaos. Reporters from every direction had swarmed for interviews, and baseball fans had piled in too.
"……Why, though?"
"You're the most famous player at this Asian Games."
"Who is? Me?"
"Obviously."
Why? Weren't there plenty of soccer players coming too?
"We've arranged a quiet exit from the airport for now. But you'll still have to do at least one interview soon."
"Fine, whatever."
That much was no big deal. After the World Series I'd done so many interviews I was sick of them. My mouth had gone dry and they still wouldn't let me leave—I'd nearly lost it. After surviving that, a short one here was nothing. And if it got that bad again, Jack would cut it short for me.
Back to the point.
I headed up to the dorms with the players who'd come to meet me. Most of the faces I passed on the way were people I already knew. We'd been in the same league just last season, after all—no way I wouldn't recognize them.
"You made it?"
Kwon Jong-jin, whom I ran into on the way up, greeted me warmly. Ever since we'd properly introduced ourselves at my wedding, we'd kept in touch with the occasional call. Thanks to that, even after a long time apart the greeting didn't feel awkward at all.
"Good to see you. Congratulations on the championship."
"Puhaha. Congrats on your World Series win too. And the MVP. Ah! The perfect game. And what was it—the strikeout record? There's so many of them."
"There's a Cy Young as well."
"……Must be exhausting. Go rest already."
I parted ways with a slightly unsettled-looking Kwon Jong-jin and entered the room assigned to me. My roommate was Jeong Jong-seong. The guy was old enough that he shouldn't be stuck playing servant, yet for some reason he'd been paired with me.
I followed Jeong Jong-seong inside, only for Hyeon-bin, Hwang Chan-young, and Na Seung-won to trail right after me.
"What are you guys doing?"
"Just… It's been a while, so we wanted to talk a bit more…"
"Augh… I'm wiped. Aren't you tired?"
"We've been resting a lot…"
"Ah! You guys didn't even make the Korean Series, right? Heh heh heh."
The future Savers had failed to reach the Korean Series this year. They'd made the playoffs as the second seed, but their usually solid foreign pitchers had hit unexpected rough patches and ultimately lost. I'd heard they'd gotten absolutely roasted for it.
"……Please rest, sunbae."
Looks like I'd poked the sore spot dead-on. They left the room looking so dejected they might as well have been soaked by rain…
After chasing off the pests, I showered and came out to find Jeong Jong-seong had already made the beds. This wasn't the kind of chore a guy of his seniority should be doing…
"Why are you rooming with me?"
"You don't want to? I specifically asked them to switch so I could room with you, sunbae-nim."
"……You did?"
Well, that left me with nothing to say.
"Have you seen Ho-min hyung-nim?"
"Ho-min? No?"
"I saw him yesterday. He was walking around in a broadcast suit."
"Ha! Seriously… Is our country that short on commentators?"
"He was popular, though. People were even asking for his autograph."
"Puhaha! The world's gone completely nuts."
I chatted a bit more with Jeong Jong-seong before turning in for the night.
Then the next morning, early.
I woke up, washed quickly, and was changing to go for a light jog when Jeong Jong-seong, already up, joined me.
"You running too?"
"Let's go together."
"Sure. At least it's early—should be better, right? The weather was insane yesterday."
"It'll be a little more bearable. Once you adapt a bit it's actually livable."
"…How long have you even been here to already be adapted?"
"Heh heh heh."
When we stepped out of the room, Hyeon-bin and his crew were already waiting.
"What are you guys doing here again?"
"We knew you'd come out."
"……Let's go."
"Yes, sir!"
It felt a little weird, like I was playing general with a bunch of kids in tow, but what could I do? We gathered up, did a light lap, and headed back to the dorms.
Afternoon.
Given the weather, team practice was scheduled for the evening, and right in the middle of it Jack pulled me away for the interview he'd mentioned yesterday. He'd supposedly filtered and cut most of them, yet the press room was still packed solid with reporters.
It started ordinary enough. World Series championship talk. Perfect game talk. MVP thoughts. Cy Young thoughts. The usual questions and the usual answers.
Then a Japanese reporter raised his hand.
"Japan's roster for this Asian Games is the strongest they've fielded in recent years. What are your thoughts?"
What was this?
Was I missing something? Wasn't it just a collection of industrial-league amateurs? Sure, I knew the players in Japan's industrial leagues had solid skill. But still…
If I answered the way I actually thought, though, it would just kick up a storm again.
"I think they're a good team," I answered politely.
Apparently that wasn't enough, because he kept going.
"Player Ogura Ryozo has vowed to crush Kang Hajin and take revenge. Any response?"
"……Who's that?"
Ogura-whatever—why would I know? Why would I bother remembering the name of some Japanese industrial-league player? And revenge for what?
More than that—he was saying that kind of crap in an interview?
While the interpreter hesitated, looking awkward and not translating right away, the Japanese reporter who'd asked the question seemed to understand me somehow.
"Do you remember player Shoda Hiroki?"
"……Who was that again."
I genuinely couldn't place him. It rang a faint bell, but nothing clicked. Katsuma Yua and Hitoshi Miura came to mind right away, but Shoda Hiroki… Shoda Hiroki…
Then the interpreter leaned in and whispered by my ear.
"The slap…"
"Ah! That crazy bastard!"
It hit me instantly. And now I understood the random talk of revenge.
But how exactly was he planning to get that revenge?
"Ogura what? What was the name? What kind of player is he?"
"A hitter."
"…So what's with the revenge talk? Is he going to hit a home run or something? Don't tell me—Andre Mays couldn't even manage that."
My interpreter was completely lost on how to handle this. Probably no idea how to phrase it. But it didn't matter. Plenty of the reporters already understood me just fine.
The Japanese reporter who'd asked the question looked thoroughly pissed, his face twisted up. So what? I hadn't said anything wrong.
This hack journalist?
When did I ever say that?