Chapter 75
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 75
Chapter Title: For Now, a National Team Member. (2)
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'All the big-name players are gathered here. As expected of the national team, huh?'
'National team my ass. I don't see a single guy who could make it in the majors.'
'That's just because the actual major leaguers haven't shown up yet.'
'Even if they do, are they anyone who could stand toe-to-toe with me?'
'...Well, no, probably not.'
Hornsby's standards for "success" were sky-high to begin with. But regardless of what he thought, every player assembled here for the national team was a top-tier talent.
'Oh, there is one guy who played in the majors up until last season.'
'Who?'
I followed Hornsby's words and eyed the hulking man. A massive frame hiding unbelievable muscle.
"Han-beom hyung. What are you doing here at your age?"
"Ma! This is my last shot, ya know."
"Kuh, always bragging about being a major leaguer."
"The team wouldn't let me go, that's what."
The man spoke in a thick Gyeongsang dialect. Kang Han-beom. He'd led the Charlotte Blue Mariners through their brief golden era in the 2000s and smashed over a hundred homers in the majors. He was always at the center of online debates like "Joo Hyeong-jin vs. Kang Han-beom," the infamous "Joo-Kang Showdown."
And alongside his same-age peer Choi Jin-cheol, he'd dominated the KBA League in the early 2010s. Choi hadn't made the team this time around thanks to a dismal season, but Kang—who'd been in the majors as recently as last year—had earned his spot at thirty-seven.
I didn't know his exact stats, but even I knew he'd won the Triple Crown three times and posted an OPS over 1.000 across nine seasons in the KBA. The guy was a beast of a hitter.
Not to mention eight seasons in the majors—that alone proved his chops.
'Eight seasons? That's supposed to be impressive?'
'...In Korea, yeah, it is.'
'Well, for a bunch of monkey kids, just making it to the bigs is an achievement.'
'There you go again with the racism.'
'Still, a big leaguer. I'll take a look during training and give him a proper evaluation. Gotta see how far ahead of you he really is, since he was in the majors until last year.'
'Got it.'
If we made it to the main tournament, we'd probably face real major leaguers, but for now, I was curious what Hornsby would say after comparing me to Kang.
Anyway, seeing all these star players—even excluding Kang—made my chest swell with pride. Was this the national team vibe? Guys like Ki Sang-joo and Kim Soo-ho, whom I'd seen at spring camp, looked different here somehow.
By the way, only three from the AT Thunderbirds had made the team, including me: Ki Sang-joo, Kim Soo-ho, and myself. That was it. Excluding major leaguers, that's 3 out of 25—is that a lot? Let's see, what percentage is that...?
'Don't strain that pea brain of yours on useless math.'
'Hey, I was pretty good at math, you know?'
'Then why can't you figure that out?'
'Tch. It can be tricky sometimes. Especially on the spot.'
'Fine. Three hits in twenty-five at-bats—what's the average?'
'.120?'
'And what's .120 in percentage?'
'How the hell should I know?'
'Heh heh, you really are entertaining.'
What was so funny? One thing was clear: this jerk was messing with me again.
"Long time no see?"
What the—? This punk? While I was chatting with Hornsby, Jang Woo-joo had snuck up.
"Watch your mouth, punk. I'm your sunbae."
Hornsby had already pissed me off, and now this kid was talking casually. My words came out sharp.
"Aren't we the same class?"
"I got held back a year, asshole."
"Oh... sorry. But still, same class..."
"You know who I am?"
"No..."
Come to think of it, this punk had been glaring at me when I hit that homer... Should I deck him?
'Heh heh, even if you beat his ass, it won't make you any less dumb.'
'That's not it! He's just pissing me off.'
"Anyway, hyung. We're both maknaes here—let's get along."
Fine, what fault is it of yours? In the spirit of the Five Saints, I decided to forgive the kid. Anyone would shoot jealous looks at overwhelming talent like mine.
"Yeah, let's get along."
"Oh, you maknaes know each other?"
"Seung-cheol sunbae! Nice to see you. Big fan."
"I was the maknae at the last Olympics too. Back then, I was a rookie just like you guys... Time flies."
Joo Seung-cheol, son of Joo Hyeong-jin. He'd burst onto the scene in 2021 like a comet, snagging Rookie of the Year, becoming the first high school grad to hit 30 homers, and joining the 30-30 club. Two straight years of 30-30, two straight Gold Gloves in the outfield. He'd fully inherited his old man's blood—KBA's current superstar.
"Let's do our best, us three maknaes. Truth is, last year was tough without anyone our age on the team."
"An honor, sunbae!"
"Yeah."
"You're Maeng-ho, right? Dad's told me all about you. Said your strength isn't even human. I hit homers too—looking forward to it."
His power did look insane. Not that I'd say it, but he didn't look Asian-built. His dad was the same, but Seung-cheol seemed even more jacked?
At least 194 cm tall, easy 100 kg—and playing center with that frame while stealing 30 bases? What, was he a game character? And yet Hancheol couldn't win with a guy like him? Guess you can't carry a team alone.
'That punk's nothing special. You look better to me.'
'You haven't even watched him—how do you know?'
'I'd encourage him, but he'd just bitch anyway. Piss off.'
If you're gonna encourage, see it through.
'What do you want me to do, monkey boy?'
'The racist shit's better, honestly.'
"Why are you staring holes through me? Well, handsome guys like me aren't common, huh? You've got some looks yourself."
"Huh? Wasn't thinking anything. And honestly, I'm better-looking."
"Hahaha, you're a funny one. Hey, Woo-joo. Who looks better, objectively?"
"Uh, well..."
"Be honest, come on."
Joo Seung-cheol pressured Jang Woo-joo with words and eyes. I clenched my fist where he couldn't see.
'Say it right, asshole.'
"Um... honestly, Maeng-ho hyung's face..."
"Hahaha, kids these days got no tact."
"S-sorry."
"Nah, just messing with you 'cause you froze up. Joke. Anyway, maknaes—let's do this."
Joo Seung-cheol laughed heartily again as he said it. His dad was stoic, but Seung-cheol seemed lively. Then, mid-laugh, he threw an arm around my shoulder and whispered.
"Hey, Dong-jin says you're a wild one. Let's hang with him sometime later."
"Dong-jin said that?"
I hadn't partied much in front of Kim Dong-jin. Did that bastard Jun-hoo snitch?
"Eh, a year's gap—we talk all kinds of shit."
"You go there too, sunbae?"
A name like Joo Seung-cheol's should have girls lining up, but he hit clubs? Surprising.
"Gotta enjoy youth, right? After WBC, let's link up."
"Sure, works for me."
Even celebrities would know him... Hooking up with one didn't sound bad.
"Hey! Maknaes. What's the secret chat?"
"Just bonding, us maknaes."
"Yeah? Old fogey like me would cramp your style?"
"No way."
"Then let's grab food and talk. First time on the national team for you two—hyung'll fill you in."
Who was this? No cap, hard to recognize.
"Cheol-young sunbae! Nice to meet you!"
"Yeah, you're...?"
"Jang Woo-joo."
"Then you must be Maeng-ho. You know me? Park Cheol-young from Silla Triggers. I'm a second baseman too—let's kill it together."
Park Cheol-young rang a bell. Silla Triggers' second baseman, two-time stolen base king, runner-up last year. Four straight .300 seasons. Classic second baseman type, unlike me.
"Ah, yeah. Nice to work with you."
"Your interview was gold. We need characters like that in Korea. But you really don't watch KBA?"
"Nope."
Park froze for a sec at my answer, then continued. Whatever, I don't watch—what now?
"Huh... Damn, you're huge for a second baseman. Jealous. If I had your build, I wouldn't play infield. Outfield's the dream, right?"
"Hey, hyung, outfield's tough too."
Joo Seung-cheol bristled at the outfield diss, but Park pressed on.
"Infield only? Just catch fly balls. Right, Maeng-ho?"
Suddenly? Well, outfield was easier, factually.
"Facts. In little league, kids who couldn't hack shortstop got stuck in the outfield."
Pure fact. Good athletes pitched or played short. Seung-cheol must take after his dad—center field with that build? Infielders weren't supposed to be that tall, but majors had 190+ shortstops aplenty, so no issue.
"Hey! I pitched till middle school, asshole!"
"Anyone here not pitched? I did it alongside shortstop in middle school."
"Yeah, I pitched and covered short too."
Even Jang Woo-joo piled on, teasing Seung-cheol, who thumped his chest in frustration.
"Man, outfielders get no love. You pitched too?"
"Yeah, tried it. Batting practice pitcher even. But outfield's kinda like that, no denying."
"I'm losing it."
"Quit raging—let's eat."
Maybe 'cause it was all young guys, but the vibe was great. Better than stiff military discipline for a national team. Plus, these were league reps—no slacking in training.
"Oh, Woo-joo. Shouldn't you eat with the pitchers? Nah, I'll round up all the twenties. Young blood bonding time. Most know each other already, minus you two."
"Thanks—for us."
Big groups were a hassle, but we'd see them till March. No harm getting friendly.
Plus, ballplayers' girlfriends were supposedly smokeshows. Buddy up, meet their friends—more the merrier with girls.
