The Interview
Honestly, Ho-min hadn't cooked up anything particularly brilliant. The plan was half-baked at best, riddled with enough holes that listening to it made you want to sigh.
We talked it through, cut out everything unnecessary, and what we ended up with was this:
"Patriot. You need to become a full-blown patriot."
"Right…"
"You'll catch plenty of flak for it, too. People will say it's obvious you're just angling for the national team to dodge military service."
"Yeah, they will."
"Push through anyway. Make it so they have no choice but to pick you."
"I know."
Operation: Make a Patriot.
Step one was talking and acting like representing the country had been my lifelong dream. And the most critical piece of the whole operation? Results. Put up strong numbers after converting to a starter, and every chance I got, show how badly I wanted that national team jersey. There'd be talk at first—plenty of it—but eventually they'd have no choice. Even that stubborn old dictator of a selector would have to cave and admit he couldn't leave me off.
…That was the entire plan.
Ho-min had floated a bunch of smaller schemes on top of this, but none of them were worth the effort. The real problem was that Operation Patriot could get exhausting later. Say we medaled at the Olympics. What then? Sure, I could still show up for the big ones—Olympics, WBC. But what about when the schedule simply wouldn't allow it? Or when they started calling me up for every random tournament that slapped "national team" on the name? Other players could duck those for any number of reasons… but me? After all that national-team, national-team talk, the second I got my military exemption and started saying no, the hate would pour in from every direction.
"Ah, whatever. It'll work out somehow."
Right now, the problem in front of me was more urgent.
"Hello~ It's been a while~"
Two days before Opening Day, I sat down for an interview.
The one that had been planned back when that old Dragons geezer did his interview had been pushed back again and again—until finally, it landed. Booking one hadn't been hard. Interview requests had been coming in regularly for a while, and they'd only piled up once word got out that I was converting to a starter this season. I picked one and left the choice to Manager Park. After talking it over with the front office staff, he settled on one of the networks that broadcast our games.
When I walked into the interview room, a familiar woman greeted me—one of the female announcers who often handled the postgame MVP interviews. I'd done one with her before, actually. The night I struck out Lee Gijun, she'd been the one holding the mic. Pretty face, a figure that regularly earned her "goddess" comments… what was her name again? Damn. I couldn't remember.
"Yes. Good to see you."
I greeted her politely and took the seat they'd prepared. No waiting around—the interview started right away.
"Hello, this is Han Song-yi with MBS. Today we're sitting down with Kang Hajin—last year's guardian angel for the Savers, and this year a pitcher looking to become the Ace! Hello, Kang Hajin."
"Yes. Hello. I'm Kang Hajin."
We exchanged greetings again. I dipped my head slightly and lifted it, and a faint, strange scent brushed the tip of my nose. What was that? Almost like roses… or some other flower. It was so subtle I couldn't pin it down.
The interview opened ordinarily enough. My thoughts on last season's numbers, a few light odds and ends. We'd agreed beforehand not to touch the old man story. Too much time had passed; no point dredging up something already scrubbed from people's memories.
How long did it go? After I'd finished answering about my prep for the starter conversion this year, she asked:
"Do you have a goal for this season, Kang Hajin?"
"Uh… well, the most important thing is for the team to put up good results, right?"
"No personal ambitions at all?"
"Of course I have them. But the team comes first. If I work so the team can succeed, I figure the individual numbers will follow."
Han Song-yi nodded, though her expression didn't look particularly thrilled. Hardly surprising—it was a textbook answer, and not a very interesting one. But that was about all I could say.
Watching her, I figured it was about time to slip in the line I'd come here to deliver. The whole interview existed so I could say it; walking out without it would be a disaster.
But before I could open my mouth, Han Song-yi spoke first.
"Hmm… the Olympics are this year, aren't they?"
I nearly jumped.
"Sorry? Ah—ah, yes. That's right."
"I looked into it, and apparently you represented the youth national team in an international tournament back in your school days."
"Ah… yes, that's true. I did. Didn't exactly put on a great show, though."
"So with that in mind—this Olympics. Could we hear what kind of mindset you're bringing into it?"
For a second I froze. What was she talking about? Because the way she was phrasing it… she was already assuming I'd made the Olympic roster.
"Uh… well, if I do get the chance to go to the Olympics, it'd be a real honor. I only got to wear the Taegeuk mark once as a kid, and once I turned pro, all I could do was watch from the outside, you know?"
"You said if you get the chance—but honestly, with the kind of season you had last year, wouldn't the odds be pretty high?"
Was an announcer even allowed to say that in an interview?
"Thank you for seeing it that way. Honestly, one of my biggest goals as a baseball player has always been standing at the very top as a member of the national team… If the opportunity comes, I'll give everything I've got, no matter what role they give me."
"You sound truly desperate."
"I am. A Korean wearing the Korean flag, competing against players from other countries and putting up results—isn't that something every athlete dreams of?"
Things had fallen into place perfectly. I'd been dreading bringing up the national team myself—it felt awkward and forced—but because she'd opened the door first, I could answer naturally.
I did fail at laying the patriotism on thick, though. The words just wouldn't come out. I'd half planned to say something like I'll bury my bones for the motherland!… but it felt way too transparent, so I settled for the dream angle.
After wrapping the Olympics talk with a few simple resolutions for the year, the interview ended.
"Before you go—mind if we take a photo?"
Han Song-yi wanted a shot for her SNS. We stood side by side.
Click.
The photo was taken. As I turned to say goodbye, that scent hit me again—stronger this time, sharp against my nose, probably because we were closer.
I know this smell. Where have I smelled this before? I'm sure I've smelled it…
I just couldn't place where.
"Um… Announcer?"
"Yes?"
"That… perfume. What is it? I feel like I've smelled it somewhere, but I can't remember."
"Pardon? I didn't put on any perfume today…?"
"……Really?"
"Yes. Some of the players hate the smell of perfume during interviews, so I don't wear it."
"Ah… weird. Then what is that scent?"
"Hmm… maybe it's just my natural scent!"
"Huh?"
"Ahahaha. Joke, joke. Great work today~"
Natural scent? That was a pretty savage joke.
But she really hadn't worn perfume? No way. People don't smell like flowers… and I knew I'd smelled this before.
I turned it over in my head all the way home and into bed that night, but I never managed to place where I'd encountered it.
The next day, MBS Sports released the interview footage. Honestly, they'd edited it some. I'd expected that—even I could tell there were stretches that were dead boring.
But the Olympics section, the part that mattered most to me, made it through intact. All of it. Not a single cut. Raw.
And the expression on my face in that footage… looked pretty serious. Serious enough that I wondered if I'd really looked like that. In places, I even looked desperate. Completely unintentional.
But maybe that was why it worked better. Because I hadn't forced it, it came off natural—and the reaction was good. Especially on the community boards, the response to the interview clip ran hot.
"Hey. Buddy."
"Yeah?"
"Nice work."
"Huh?"
"The interview. You killed it. Even to me, you look like a guy who's losing his mind to make the national team."
"…Do I?"
"Yeah. And everyone's saying good things. If you somehow get left off the preliminary roster after this? The whole internet will explode. You can breathe easy for now."
"Good to hear. Haah… so now I just have to worry about the final roster?"
"You have to worry about your numbers. Numbers they can't leave off."
"Okay. Got it."
Phase one of the half-baked plan had somehow succeeded.
At last the season began, and I opened it as the team's third starter.
Our Opening Day opponent was last year's third-place club, the Dae-yu Warriors. The first two games of the season were on the road, and Manager Park—looking out for me as the third starter and the first starter scheduled for a home game—left me off the road trip. Thanks to that, Ho-min and I got to watch the games comfortably from home.
Opening Day, with both teams' Aces on the mound, caught fire from the jump. The Warriors' new foreign pitcher, Jon Reiner, gave up three runs in the top of the first and got us off to a good start—only for our Ace, Michael Len, to surrender a two-run homer of his own. After that both pitchers kept grinding through hits and walks, and when the fifth inning ended the score sat at 5–4, us up by one.
The bullpens decided it. Michael Len went six and came out; Oh Gyu-shin and Jo Sangjun locked down the seventh and eighth clean. The Warriors' bullpen, on the other hand, couldn't handle our lineup, and by the end of the top of the ninth the score had ballooned to 9–4.
Bottom of the ninth, five-run lead. No save situation, so there was no real need to bring in the Closer—but Manager Park's choice was our new Closer, Kang Chanjung. Chanjung answered the vote of confidence, mixing two-seamers, cutters, and knuckle curves at will, erasing the bottom of the ninth in a blink and sealing the Opening Day win.
And the next day—Game Two of the opening series.
Our starter was the newly arrived Roman Marte. From the first inning he dominated the Warriors' hitters with a 157 km/h heater and a sinker. The fastball was one thing, but the Warriors had absolutely no answer for that sinker. He carried a perfect game through four, gave up a hit in the fifth, and immediately erased it with a double play. Through seven innings he threw 107 pitches: four hits, two walks, zero runs. A flawless Korean league debut.
Final score: 4–0.
We closed the opening series with a clean two-game sweep and a good feeling heading home.