Personal Training and the Trade
"Man, money really is something else. How can a person change this much?"
Ho-min rattled on, half in genuine surprise, half in pure sarcasm.
"Could you not rain on the parade of someone actually trying hard for once? What, you want me to quit?"
I was working so hard it even startled Ho-min.
It was... how do I put this... pure motivation just bubbling up out of nowhere?
I never knew before. Never realized a salary could flip a person's entire mindset like this.
Sure, when the season ended I'd sworn I'd train harder and raise my game even further. But that had been nothing more than a resolution. Words.
You live a certain way your whole life, and suddenly deciding to push harder... honestly, a lot of it still felt forced. Reluctant. Like I had no choice.
That was me—until now.
Was it signing a contract for over a hundred million that did it? Suddenly I just... wanted to train. Craved it.
Every drill felt fun. I kept catching myself grinning. Even a short break left my body itching to get back at it.
Ho-min was right. Money really was incredible.
"At this rate, if you make the majors it'll be tens of billions. And if you actually succeed over there, you could pull in over a hundred billion... Now that would be something to watch."
"Hmm... a hundred billion, huh... Yeah, no, that won't do."
"...What now?"
"I need to increase my training hours..."
"He's lost it. The guy who never cared about money before—what's gotten into him?"
That was just ignorance talking.
I'd been making a little more than the minimum salary, so of course I hadn't obsessed over it. Effort never seemed like it would change much anyway.
But now...
"Big money. Even bigger money—that's what changes a person."
Ko Mandeok had nailed it. Possibility. Money had proven it was real.
"It's greed, plain and simple."
Today Mandeok was spitting nothing but truth.
Except for New Year's Day 2028, we buried ourselves in training without a break.
Mandeok could now snag my knuckleball almost perfectly even without the specialized mitt, so we shifted the schedule.
Once 2028 began, we started polishing the other pitches again. Especially the curve. Of all my offerings, the curve had been the least useful, so I poured the most attention into it.
"Yeah... definitely better than during the season. Was the delivery the problem after all?"
"Really? It looks okay?"
"Yeah. The biggest hole in your arsenal was the lack of a sharp downward slider. You've got the splitter, but the usage is different. At this level, though, you could use this as a slider substitute."
Truth was, I felt like I could pick up a true vertical slider right now if I wanted.
But Mandeok already grumbled nonstop about how many pitches I threw. Adding another slider variety on top of that... he'd lose his mind. Not that he could stop me if I decided to throw it anyway.
Four-seam, two-seam, slider, splitter, changeup, curve, knuckle. Yeah, it was a lot.
Even if half of it was just him complaining, I couldn't blame Mandeok for saying the signs alone made his head hurt.
The new year brought another change to our training.
Taeseong-hyung had said he'd look into it, and he actually delivered—he brought in a hitting coach. Not just any coach: Cho Hyun-joon, the Hawks' hitting coach until two years ago.
Cho Hyun-joon hadn't stood out much as a player, but after an early retirement he'd earned far more recognition as a coach.
His biggest claim to fame? He'd developed the great Lee Gijun.
Of course, Lee Gijun had entered the pros already carrying massive expectations. But that was still "best high-schooler" talk. The power was major-league ready, yet he clearly had holes against professional-level breaking balls.
Cho Hyun-joon was the one who forged him into the monster he was now.
If he hadn't stepped down after sensing some health issues, he'd still be the Hawks' hitting coach today.
When Taeseong-hyung first said he was bringing that guy in, I thought the man had lost it. Wondered if he was just messing with us. Mandeok felt the same.
How could a lifelong bullpen catcher suddenly pull in the most famous hitting coach in the country? It made no sense. And the guy didn't even live here—he was coming all the way from Busan just to watch us train.
"How exactly do you know him?"
"Just... one thing led to another?"
"...What does that even mean?"
"I really just happened to meet him. Same way I met our manager."
"Huh..."
"Once you make a name for yourself in one field, hyung, the network builds itself. Heh."
A bullpen catcher making a name and building a network? What kind of...
The man was a genuine mystery. After the Hooded Woman, Taeseong-hyung might be the second strangest person in my orbit.
A guy who'd never even played a single game as a pro...
Anyway, that was how it happened.
"Good morning, Coach!"
"Hello~"
"Right. Nice to meet you. Let's make these two weeks count."
We finally had real hitting work to go with everything else.
That first day, after watching me and Mandeok swing for the first time, Cho Hyun-joon's verdict was simple:
"A mess."
"This one's a pitcher, so I'll give him a pass. But you—what the hell is this?"
"I-Is it that bad?"
"No wonder your average is garbage. You've got the power—if you just square it up, the ball's gone. But you're trying to murder every pitch... so the whole swing collapses."
"Yes, sir..."
"Who's your team's hitting coach right now? He just watched you flail like this and said nothing?"
"Coach... Kim Chan-seok. He always says the most natural swing is the best one, so..."
"Chan-seok... Haa... Yeah, that sounds like him. 'Whatever feels comfortable is best.' He's not wrong, but this is ridiculous."
"Sh-Should I fix the form?"
"Obviously! Starting today we're overhauling your swing. Get ready."
"...Yes, sir."
"And you. Why is a pitcher suddenly obsessed with hitting?"
"Huh? Ah... well... I might have to bat sometimes?"
Honestly I had nothing better, so I mumbled something vague. I was just doing it because it was fun.
I was trying to brush it off when Mandeok jumped in.
"This guy hit a home run."
"What?"
"Came in as a pinch hitter this year and went deep. Walk-off three-run shot in extras, no less."
"...Is that right?"
Mandeok's bragging seemed to spark a little interest in Cho Hyun-joon.
"It was just one at-bat. We were out of pinch hitters."
"But you still hit a home run."
"I just... guessed right and got lucky..."
"Ohh~ So you hit it on prediction?"
The more we talked, the more entertained he looked.
"Alright, I get it. Mandeok here we can fix. You? Not even that."
"Then what do we..."
"We build you a brand-new swing from scratch."
"......"
Easy to say.
I hadn't really hit in the pros, but everything from childhood through high school was still baked into my body.
And he wanted to tear it all down and start over. I knew exactly how hard that was.
That hard work continued right up until the two weeks Cho Hyun-joon had promised were over.
About a week after Cho Hyun-joon joined our training, we finished dinner, gathered in the dorm, and stumbled across a news article none of us saw coming.
"Whoa... what is this?"
"Are they actually going for the title next year? They just brought in a guy with one year left until free agency. And they gave up two regulars plus a backup catcher to do it."
"You don't think this is some grand plan by your manager, do you? He tells you to go drink, then kicks you out for drinking too much, and boom—immediate trade... Am I the only one who finds that suspicious?"
"......Does that even make sense?"
"But... Coach, did you already know? You're not surprised at all."
Just like Mandeok said, Taeseong-hyung didn't look the least bit shocked.
"I heard the rough outline. Didn't know they'd bring in Kang Chanjung specifically, though."
"So you knew a trade was coming?"
"More or less?"
"Come on, you could've said something. You knew we were all wondering how the bullpen would work if Hajin moved into the rotation."
"I didn't know who they were getting either. How was I supposed to tell you? And I had no idea the deal would go through this fast."
After a short round of grumbling at Taeseong-hyung, Mandeok and Ho-min quickly circled back to baseball talk.
"If Kang Chanjung comes in as the closer, we won't have to worry much about the bullpen."
"You think so? I'm actually a little worried."
"Why? Hajin was lights-out this year, but Kang Chanjung can pitch too."
"That's not the issue... it's Sang-jun hyung."
"What about him?"
"He's getting up there in years... His stuff really fell off late in the season."
"Wasn't that just end-of-season fatigue? Everyone's worn out by then..."
"I hope that's all it is..."
Unlike Ho-min, who only ever saw him on TV or from the stands, this was coming from Mandeok—the guy who'd actually caught those pitches.
If Mandeok said he was worried, it was worth worrying about.
"The manager and coaches will handle it. You think they don't already know? You're fretting over nothing."
Taeseong-hyung cleanly shut down a conversation that had started to turn heavy.
And then:
"Wow, only ten days left. Time really flies."
"No kidding. Felt like we had plenty of time, and now it's almost over."
Only ten days remained on the training schedule we'd planned. The time to return to the team was closing in fast.