Chapter 57
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: 2022 End-of-Year Camp (3)
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“Whoa, Geumma was a total punk-ass little shit.”
Whose voice is that? Sung-tae’s?
Kwan-hyung had finished all his training sessions and showered before heading to the lounge, where he overheard Yoon Sung-tae’s distinctive dialect-laced voice.
Yoon Sung-tae was a promising talent that Kwan-hyung had personally been keeping an eye on. At 185 cm tall and weighing in the high 80s of kilos, his physique was solid. His defense and power had been decent even before enlisting in Sangmu, and after joining the military team, his hitting took a clear step up—he even snagged the Southern League home run title for the AT Thunderbirds.
The team was banking on him to take over the shortstop position starting next year, a spot that currently lacked a clear starter. At just 23 years old, if he broke out, the infield worries could be put to rest for at least a decade.
He stayed behind on his own again today for tee work too. Kid’s got passion—he’ll grab the starting spot in no time. Geumma? Who’s Geumma?
Curiosity piqued, Kwan-hyung strained to listen in. Given his age, barging into the lounge would probably kill the juicy conversation dead.
“What’s up, Sung-tae?”
That voice... The catcher from Double-A, right? Yeah, Jun-ho.
“Nah, didn’t Geumma say after the test was done, let’s train anyway?”
The player who’d suggested training after the test? That was first-round pick Ji Maeng-ho.
“Oh, you did it too?”
“Tch, Kwan-hyung hyung was doing it too, so skipping out felt kinda lame. Had to join in.”
So he didn’t stay voluntarily—joined ‘cause he felt obligated? Not bad, though. Means he’s got the drive if you lead him.
Kwan-hyung had seen too many rookies by now. In the AT Thunderbirds, where so many wouldn’t train even when led, just having the will when guided was more than enough.
“Anyway, Geumma’s really tryin’ to kiss up to the coach or somethin’, so I went and asked him direct. Guess what he said?”
“What’d he say?”
“Didn’t even know my name. Me, who nabbed Southern League home run king this season. Man...”
“He didn’t know your name?”
“Yeah. These kids nowadays...”
“What a clown.”
“Huh?”
“He said the same about you when you first got here. Said he only watches Charlotte ball, doesn’t know AT guys. Except for Kwan-hyung hyung.”
“Aw, that was ages ago! I know everyone now.”
Come to think of it, Kwan-hyung had heard about that. Still, knowing his own name after two decades in the game felt rewarding.
“You two seem like a good match. He’s a second baseman, right? You’d pair well as the Double-A keystone.”
“Double-A? I’m headin’ to the bigs next year. Don’t act like you know.”
“Bigs? You’re Double-A for life, punk.”
“Anyway, Ji Maeng-ho, that Geumma—he ain’t ordinary. Says he’s goin’ to the Asian Games next year. Got that first-round pick grit, for sure.”
“Yo, you didn’t see it?”
“See what?”
“Pull up his interview on your phone.”
“Interview? This one? ...Whoa, dude’s a total nutjob. But I kinda like it? A real man needs that kinda edge. Guy’s got balls.”
Interview? That one time?
Kwan-hyung vaguely remembered it too—the draft interview with Ji Maeng-ho that had the whole AT clubhouse buzzing. Players generally split into two camps.
One side called the rookie cocky and said he needed to be put in his place. The other, like Yoon Sung-tae, admired his guts. For the record, Kwan-hyung didn’t fall into either. He just found the whole thing cute.
After over twenty years of ups and downs, that kind of bravado was just adorable to him.
“Yeah, you two do vibe. You’ve got your own edge too—talkin’ back to the vets right after signing.”
“Tch, if I’d held back then, I coulda aimed for the Asian Games. But the GM blacklisted me. Eh, goin’ to the army’s manly anyway.”
“Dude, I did public service. You snipin’ me?”
“Sorry.”
Kwan-hyung had heard enough and moved on from the lounge.
Truth be told, he knew Maeng-ho’s antics today rubbed some seniors the wrong way. From showboating in the talent show to volunteering for extra practice—sticking out like that in group activities was a surefire way to get sidelined.
That’s why he’d offered advice and raised his hand to join the tee work, even after the grueling fitness test.
My rookie days were like that too.
After flaming out in the 2002 Korean Series, most of the vets who’d held the team together retired or got traded. The survivors turned passive, clashing horribly with the iron-fisted manager’s discipline. The team spiraled into ruin.
Kwan-hyung had wanted more training, but the pressure from seniors who prioritized group conformity wore him down. He got swept up in it too.
As a senior himself, he’d tried to shift the culture, but the Thunderbirds were already dying. By the time he was the elder statesman, it was too late. He didn’t want Ji Maeng-ho repeating his mistakes.
That’s why, despite not being the type, he’d eavesdropped on the juniors’ chat. But it wasn’t anything worrisome—the talk was surprisingly wholesome.
Yeah, who rounds up juniors for roll call these days? I’ve never done it myself.
Wearing a satisfied smile, Kwan-hyung headed to his room where his rookie roommate awaited.
“You’re back, hyung?”
“Yeah, I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”
“Nah.”
Truth was, he kinda had. I’d been honing my eye by sharing Rogers Hornsby’s senses and memories, visualizing pitches from hurlers he’d faced.
With my three-year hiatus, I lacked game reps. After daily training, I’d review those pitchers’ stuff to build my own strike zone.
Even with Hornsby teaching glove spots, there were limits. Pitches aren’t identical every time like in a game, and predicting exact location from mitt placement was impossible. Seeing tons of pitches was key.
Crucial work or not, snapping at the team’s elder statesman Woo Kwan-hyung was off-limits. I swallowed my irritation, waited for him with the laundry basket in hand, and spoke up.
“Hyung, what about the laundry?”
When sharing a room with a senior, juniors always handled their laundry. Baseball’s daily grind meant constant washing—same in middle school, high school. Always a junior’s job.
Jin-hyung had done mine at school.
“I got it. I’ll handle my own.”
Was he for real? What a stand-up guy! He’d seemed like a boomer at first, but now he felt different.
Even before meeting the real Woo Kwan-hyung, the version in my head—courtesy of Dad, an AT fan—was a selfish loner obsessed with his stats, zero leadership. But refusing to dump laundry on a junior? Ji Maeng-ho-level legend status.
“You sure? I can take it.”
“I said it’s fine. I didn’t room with you to offload chores.”
So he’d picked me. Seniors usually drafted rookies for camp rooms. Not surprised.
“Anyway, saw your tee work today. Who taught you that swing?”
“Figured it out on my own.”
Couldn’t spill the truth, so a white lie.
“So the closed stance was your idea too?”
“Yeah.”
It was Hornsby’s old swing anyway, and with him calling pitches, no need for an open stance to track longer. Closed maximized power.
“Sharp eye, then.”
“Eh, I can tell offspeed from fastballs. Helps focus on power too.”
“Good you crafted your own swing. Rookies usually ape big-name guys without knowing their strengths.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not like those kids.”
“Perfect. Mind if I coach you up close for these two weeks?”
“Sure, whatever.”
Hornsby made it a hassle, but...
Does his own laundry? I can deal.
...Oh, naive past me. A week into camp, Woo Kwan-hyung shadowed me relentlessly, nitpicking every drill.
Worse? Hornsby didn’t argue back. His pointers were spot-on. Hell, he liked them.
Huh, this backwater country has a hitter with real theory. Learn it.
Oho, he’d make a great coach. Saved me the hassle—study up.
Times change, huh? Theory I didn’t know.
Morning runs pay off. Pro 21 years? Even in this league, surviving two decades is elite. Steal his self-care habits.
Fuck! Trapped in the dorm a week, no sex, stress maxed.
In my hair-trigger state, salvation arrived.
“Hyung, you haven’t done Pilates yet today, right?”
Lunchtime. Hyun-sung, my middle school junior drafted same time—a catcher—asked out of nowhere mid-meal.
“Why?”
“We had Pilates this morning. New instructor’s smokin’ hot. Name was... Yoo Jo-eun?”
“...Yeah?”
The old instructor was the center director where Jo-eun worked—a 50-something auntie. Jo-eun replacing her?!
Perfect timing—I’m dying here.
Jo-eun dispatched... without telling me she was coming today.
Time for some punishment.
Infield Group A’s Pilates slotted right before afternoon training ended. My lower half was already stirring.