Exhibition Games End
In my first outing of the exhibition games against the Dolphins, I shut them down for three innings without allowing a single hit.
My four-seam fastball held steady around 150 km/h, and the breaking balls I mixed in showed more than enough bite. Best of all, even after throwing forty-three pitches across those three innings, my shoulder felt zero strain. Honestly, I could have gone another three without any trouble.
"You know that's all thanks to this hyung crafting the perfect off-season schedule for you, right?"
That first outing had gone so well that even Ho-min's nonsense made me feel good enough to answer, "Yeah. Thanks."
A few days later came my second appearance. Once again I entered as the second pitcher. One difference, though: the catcher wasn't Ko Mandeok.
We'd all assumed that once backup catcher Kim Do-gyeong got traded, Park Byeong-seok would naturally step into the open spot—the same guy who'd first caught my knuckleball. Sure, his bat left a lot to be desired and his game-calling drew criticism, but I never thought hitting mattered much for a backup. Filling in for the starter was enough, and catchers prioritize defense anyway. Game management? The bench could just flash signs. Framing, blocking, throwing—those were all solid enough to pass.
So I figured Park Byeong-seok was finally getting his shot… until the team surprised everyone by choosing Jeong Jong-seong instead—a first-year pro, a college graduate, a complete rookie catcher.
"It's the age thing, right?"
Ko Mandeok had it figured. Park Byeong-seok was staring down his late twenties. Jeong Jong-seong was only twenty-three.
"Plus the kid's sharp as hell."
Jeong Jong-seong was tiny for a catcher—hell, tiny for a baseball player period. Maybe 175 cm and 80 kg on a good day. One look and you wanted to ask, "You're catching with that body?"
Since I might have to work with him, I watched closely. In his first exhibition start he stepped in and showed a compact swing—pure contact, zero interest in home runs. He slapped a single, then stole a base.
"Damn, he's fast."
"Hyung, you ever do that?"
"…They never even give me the green light."
That wasn't all. During practice the battery coach brought Jeong Jong-seong over as my partner.
"O-one more, please!"
He flinched the first time he saw my slider, but the panic lasted only a second. After that he handled it cleanly. Splitter, curve—same story. Even when I finished with the knuckleball, he didn't snag it as perfectly as Ko Mandeok, but he kept it from getting past him.
"…Not bad."
"Yeah. Kid's solid. Maybe it's the college polish—he's got real composure."
"Hyung, you're in trouble now. No power, but he can put the ball in play, steals bases, runs the game well, and the defense is there."
"He's still a long way off."
Ko Mandeok clearly didn't see him as competition yet. Truth be told, neither did I—Jeong Jong-seong wasn't ready to challenge him. Still, if he kept this up into the regular season he'd be a real asset, and it would spare Ko Mandeok's body.
My second outing with Jeong Jong-seong behind the plate started a little rocky. I tried working the two-seamer early and gave up back-to-back singles. His game-calling was aggressive as hell; he went for the quick kill and got burned for two short hits.
"I'm sorry. Your stuff was so good I got greedy for the strikeouts…"
After the second hit he came out to the mound looking miserable.
"What are you talking about? They just hit well. What can you do?"
"Still…"
"Quit the nonsense and just catch. I'm going full throttle from here."
"Huh? Ah… yes. Th-then the signs will be from you, sunbae…"
"What? The catcher calls the game."
"…Yes, sir."
He went back behind the plate still aggressive. I never shook him off once. Whatever he wanted, I planned to overpower it.
"Stri~ke! Out!"
"Swing~ and a miss! Out!"
"Out. Change."
The next three hitters: looking strikeout, swinging strikeout, foul pop to first. Done.
"Whoa! Sunbae! That last pitch—did you see? The guy fouled it off and looked like his hands were on fire!"
"You did good too."
"Great work!"
Jeong Jong-seong stayed aggressive the rest of the way. He never abandoned the two-seamer even after those two hits, and it turned out to be the right call. Ground balls off the two-seamer kept my pitch count to just thirty-nine across three innings despite the early damage.
A few days later came the third outing—my first start. Seventy pitches allotted. The mask went back to Ko Mandeok.
"Feel better now that I'm squatting back there?"
I thought about firing back with a joke that wouldn't land, then decided against it. Soft spot under all that bluster. One crack like "Jong-seong's game-calling was better than yours" and he'd stew over it the whole game.
"I'm just riding with you, hyung."
"Damn right. Trust me. Heh. Seventy-pitch shutout, let's go."
Ko Mandeok headed back to the dugout spouting nonsense, but once the game started his calling was careful. Unlike Jeong Jong-seong, who trusted the pitcher and tried to bury hitters fast, Ko Mandeok kept everything stable. Four-seam for the count, changeup to disrupt timing, curve to bait. If they laid off, finish with the four-seam—but always with a couple of balls mixed in so nobody squared one up clean.
Pitch count ran a little higher than with Jeong Jong-seong, sure. But with Ko Mandeok I could actually manage my effort—know when the zone was mandatory and when it wasn't.
Final line: five innings, three hits, zero runs, sixty-nine pitches total. Longest outing since turning pro, and the result was excellent.
That was my last appearance of the exhibition season.
Opening Day was set for March 25th. With the Olympics falling mid-season this year, the schedule had been pushed a little earlier than last year.
Those Olympics mattered a lot to me—they were my ticket out of military service. The Asian Games two years later offered the same path, but only a gold medal counted there. At the Olympics, any medal would do.
You could argue Asian Games gold would be easier, and you'd be right—Japan doesn't go all-out for those. Still, if I could snag a medal this summer, I'd be in a much stronger position two years later when I hit year five and the posting window opened.
"This is non-negotiable. We get the medal and the exemption. Got it?"
Ho-min had been hammering the Olympics for months. The problem was…
"I have to make the team first."
"If they don't take you, who the hell are they taking? There's no right-hander in the league with better stuff right now!"
"You know that's not the real issue."
"Ugh… yeah, that is the issue. Those bastards just love holding people back."
Best guess, the preliminary Olympic roster would drop mid-April, final roster around June. If last year's performance plus a strong start as a full-time starter this season were enough, I was confident I'd make it.
One snag remained: the national team manager.
Current skipper of the Korean national baseball team was Min Gucheol—one of those guys still going strong in his late sixties. Everyone thought he'd retired after stepping down from his pro job, but two years ago he suddenly reappeared and took the national team job, and he'd held it ever since.
Respected figure in the baseball world… and a complete dictator. Everything had to go exactly according to his plan; zero interference tolerated. That might have been a problem if he hadn't delivered gold at the Asian Games two years ago. Results bought him massive support from both the association and the fans.
Was that the issue? Of course not. What had Ho-min and me worried was something else entirely: his long, almost family-level friendship with Ko Jangsu, manager of the Dragons—and one of my biggest enemies.
They'd been tight for decades. And the one person this dictator actually asked for advice? Ko Jangsu.
That was the real problem.
"If Ko Jangsu says 'Kang Hajin is absolutely not happening,' you're done."
"…Fuck. I'm losing my mind. What do we do?"
"Hell if I know."
"But would Min Gucheol really leave me off just because Ko Jangsu told him to?"
"Probably."
"What if I start the season throwing like a man possessed? Wouldn't he catch heat for that?"
"You think that old man cares about heat? Push him and he'll just quit the national team job out of spite."
"…Damn."
No good options right now.
"Should I go beg?"
"Who? Ko Jangsu?"
"Yeah."
"…You actually capable of that?"
"No."
"…Just go to Sangmu then."
"…"
"Kidding. Not sure this'll work, but I do have one idea."
"For real? What is it? Spit it out."
"Even if it works, it could come back to bite you later."
"Just tell me. I'll decide after I hear it."
Ho-min laid out the plan step by step. Honestly, it was half-baked as hell. But after listening carefully and turning it over, I thought maybe—just maybe—it could work. Like he said, though, there would definitely be consequences down the road.
"Haa… Still, we've got to try something. Anything."
"You in?"
"We'll deal with later when later comes."
"Worst case, this fails and the whole thing hangs around your neck afterward."
"…By then I'll figure something else out."
The half-baked scheme Ho-min and I cooked up went into motion just a few days later.