Escape
The Mirae Savers had been a franchise for twenty-nine years this year.
When one of the original pro baseball teams occupying Jamsil could no longer operate due to its parent company's troubles, the Mirae Group—one of the major conglomerates—stepped in and bought them out. They poured money into the roster with bold ambition, yet the results never quite matched the investment.
They stacked the lineup with big-name players only for the team to collapse under a wave of injuries. Just when they seemed to be recovering, the manager proved incompetent. And on the rare occasions when manager and players finally looked ready to contend, some unexpected team would suddenly catch fire and leave the Mirae Savers settling for runner-up.
For the past several years they had been stuck in the lower ranks—ninth three years ago, tenth last year, and this season bouncing between ninth and tenth. The name “Mirae” had become synonymous with last place.
This year, though, the situation felt different. They had replaced the manager with Park Donghoon, a man with a reputation for developing young talent, and begun a full rebuild. Years of poor finishes had gifted them a deep haul of strong rookies, and Park Donghoon had started giving those kids real opportunities. The sudden jump in first-team quality still required an adjustment period, so the standings had yet to reflect the change. But the experts were already looking ahead: once these players settled into the league next year or the year after, the Mirae Savers’ fortunes would rise.
In short, they were a young team—and a team whose future looked brighter than its present.
I arrived at Jamsil Stadium first and stepped out of the car. A staff member who had been notified in advance was already waiting for me.
“You’ll need the dorms… right?”
“No. I already found a place.”
“Al-already?”
“Yeah. Things just kind of worked out that way.”
“Ah… okay. If you ever need something later, just say the word.”
“Will do.”
I hadn’t even considered the dorms. Back with the ST Dragons, once you hit your third year you were expected to move out. I never understood why, but it felt like an unwritten team rule—players who had put in three years simply found their own places. I had been no different.
Looking back, I had Ho-min to thank for that too. The moment I needed to leave the dorms, he had already gone independent and gotten a place of his own, as if he had been waiting for the chance. I naturally followed him in. His girlfriend at the time had hated me for it.
“I went ahead and booked the road-trip hotel just in case you didn’t have anywhere to stay tonight…”
A hotel? That hadn’t even crossed my mind. This team’s player welfare was better than I expected.
“Then just drop your stuff in the locker and go meet the manager.”
“The manager’s here?”
“Of course.”
“It’s Monday…”
“Our manager doesn’t take days off.”
As if under a spell, I stowed my gear in the locker and finished the introductions with the manager. Park Donghoon simply nodded at me and ended the greeting with a curt “See you at practice tomorrow.”
That done, I headed to the apartment.
I would have been grateful for any place with a bed and decent hot water, but…
“So? Not bad, right?”
“……What the hell is this?”
“I won’t be back for two or three years, so make yourself at home.”
“No, seriously… how many pyeong is this?”
“Beats me. Forty? Fifty? Somewhere around there.”
“Huh…”
The place was good—too good. No wonder he had been going on about my salary and the monthly rent. Living here on rent would shred my paycheck.
“Since I’m already here, I might as well catch tomorrow’s game before I head back down. Unpack a little and let’s go grocery shopping. There’s nothing in the fridge.”
We ate out, picked up a few essentials, and returned to the apartment. Ho-min claimed he was exhausted and disappeared straight into his room. As for me…
“He wants me to use this room?”
I had thought the same while unpacking. Was I really supposed to take this one?
“The master bedroom, of all places. And the bed too…”
It was the room his aunt and uncle had used. He insisted I take the bed as well, but something about it felt wrong. “Just change the sheets and use it—what’s the problem?” he had said, but still…
“Ah, whatever. I don’t know.”
Lying down on the bed, I had to admit it felt incredible. It looked expensive, and it was—worlds more comfortable than anything I had used before.
I stayed like that for a moment, then sat up again.
“I need somewhere to keep this first.”
The wooden box no one could ever see. Even Ho-min had to stay in the dark about it. I needed a hiding place. If he happened to spot it—or worse, if he mistook the contents for some expensive tonic like gongjindan and decided to try one—disaster wouldn’t even begin to cover it.
I tucked the box deep into the closet and covered it with the few clothes I owned. Knowing Ho-min, he would never dig through a spot like that.
“Hah… what’s he going to do with my role?”
With the most important task handled, a new worry surfaced. Taeseong-hyung had said the manager would use me well, but still…
“There’s no way he sticks me in mop-up duty again.”
Park Donghoon was famous for carefully managing players and giving them real chances. On top of that I had Taeseong-hyung’s recommendation. I couldn’t imagine him burying me as a mop-up guy here too.
And besides…
“What’ll he say when he sees a 150-kilometer fastball?”
I had confidence in my stuff. Even when I was throwing 141, people said I was too good for mop-up work. Now I was throwing a filthy 150 with solid command—and they were going to waste me on garbage innings? Only a manager like the old Dragons skipper would pull that kind of stunt.
“Hah… enough. What’s the point of worrying?”
Still, the mix of anticipation and anxiety about the new team kept sleep from coming easily.
“Good morning.”
“Oh~ Hajin~”
I stepped out onto the practice field and ran into Seo Gyeongmin, captain of the Mirae Savers. Thirty-three this year, he was the team’s cleanup hitter and the only player still holding a .300 average. We weren’t particularly close, but every time our teams met he had always returned my greetings with genuine warmth. Just a good guy, I supposed.
Now that we were teammates, the welcome felt even warmer than usual. Under his guidance I naturally introduced myself to the rest of the roster, and what struck me was how good the atmosphere felt for a team with their record. The rookies especially looked bright. Looking at the standings, that shouldn’t have been possible. I wondered if it was simply because the core players were young, but more than that, the few remaining veterans seemed to be deliberately cultivating that energy—making sure the mood never got so heavy that the kids would shrink.
Once the greetings were done, the manager and pitching coach approached.
“Let’s see the ball.”
At Park Donghoon’s words I hurriedly loosened up and headed to the mound. My hands were trembling a little. Nerves? No—more like the thrill of finally showing off my new stuff for the first time.
I started light, focusing on mechanics and throwing ten pitches just to get the arm free. Then I settled into a real delivery, and the pitching coach raised the radar gun.
Thwack!
“149…”
Thwack!
“150!”
Thwack!
“152!!”
The coach’s voice climbed with each reading. I pretended it was nothing and snuck a glance back—Park Donghoon’s eyes had gone wide too.
“Slider next.”
Thud!
“141!”
…
“Changeup.”
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
“Nice break on that.”
I threw the last pitch and stepped off the rubber. Only then did the manager’s voice reach me from behind.
Nice break… It was such an ordinary compliment, yet for some reason I felt like I might cry. How long had it been since anyone said something like that to me? After everything that happened with the old manager, no one except Taeseong-hyung had ever offered me words like those.
“Good. That’s enough. You might get thrown into a game today, so go run a little more.”
“Yes, sir.”
The vibe wasn’t bad. The faint smile Park Donghoon wore as he walked away only fed my expectations.
“You’re ridiculous. What the hell happened?”
Kim Do-gyeong, the Mirae Savers’ backup catcher who had been receiving my pitches, walked over with wide eyes.
“How’d it look?”
“……Our Winning Setup Relief is gonna be nervous.”
High praise.
Today’s starter for us was Michael Len, the foreign ace and number-one starter. He was one of the few reliable win-getters on this team—an innings-eater and a genuine workhorse. Even with the bullpen, one of the club’s many weak spots, blowing games behind him, he still sat at 10-7. A true Ace.
The opponent, the Jinmyeong Falcons, sat in sixth place. Their strength was pitching rather than hitting. Like us, they had only one .300 hitter on the roster. As long as we were careful with their power-hitting foreign three-hole and their locked-in cleanup man, we had a real shot.
And just as expected, the game settled into a tight pitchers’ duel. Through six innings it was still 0-0. Our starter Michael Len had attacked aggressively with pure stuff from the first pitch and was sitting on only eighty pitches, while the opposing starter, Kwak Jeong-min, was already nearing a hundred.
Bottom of the seventh. Our hitters finally got to Yang Chan-yeong, who had come on in place of Kwak, and scratched across the first run of the night. That was all, though. The rally died with runners left on first and third.
Then came the top of the eighth. Michael Len opened the inning by walking a batter.
“Kang Hajin, get ready.”
“What?”
“Problem?”
“……N-no, sir!”
I hadn’t expected to be thrown into a game the moment I arrived, so I was a little flustered. And of all times—right after we had just taken the lead…
I scrambled to loosen up. Fortunately, years of experience meant I could get ready fast. I had to. The role I had always filled was the one where they called your name at any moment and you had to be on the mound immediately. If someone suddenly gave up a grand slam and the game completely flipped, you were expected to sprint in; there was never time for a leisurely warm-up.
After the walk, Michael Len dug deep and got an infield fly and a strikeout for two outs. But then, out of nowhere, the nine-hole hitter took him deep. Suddenly it was two outs, runners on second and third.
That was when Park Donghoon, who had been watching the whole time, stood up.
“No way…”
Park Donghoon took the ball from the home-plate umpire.
Which meant only one thing.
Pitching change.