Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Practice Game (2)
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Thud, thud. The feel of the dirt beneath my spikes. It's hard. And familiar. Even if it's just a practice game, how long had it been since I last stepped up to the plate...
'Cut the bullshit and focus.'
'I know.'
Rogers wouldn't let me get lost in sentimentality. I slowly began my routine, the one I'd been denied for so long.
I brushed back my leg guard, lifted my hand to sniff the glove. The rubbery stench cleared my mind. Then two practice swings. Some unknown point when I started doing this routine every time I entered a game—my batting ritual.
Doing this routine made it real: I was back at the plate.
On the mound stood Kim Won-ho. He was grinning. Probably excited to face me after so long. Yeah, it had been ages since I'd seen his pitches.
'That fucker. He's splitting hairs.'
'Quit talking and tell me the pitch.'
'Fine. Don't forget—that bastard stole your first love.'
'...Not yet!'
'Idiot. If it's that far, he's already fucked her.'
Fucking bastards... Kim Won-ho, who'd gotten a taste of Hyun-ah, and Rogers, needling me about it—they were both fucking assholes.
'Four-seam.'
Rogers, standing behind Kim Won-ho, read the grip and called the pitch. Won-ho went into his windup, and the ball came flying.
Crack!
The fastball in the high 140s km/h smacked sharply into the glove. Instinctively, I glanced at the home plate umpire.
"Strike!"
The coach, watching the ump, yelled the strike call. A sharp four-seam diving at the knees. No way it'd produce anything good if I swung.
'Can't hit it even when I tell you?'
'First pitch, I was just watching.'
'Bullshit...'
'Can you tell me the location too? Just roughly where the catcher's glove is.'
If Kim Won-ho had poor control, it'd be pointless, but as the team's ace, his command was solid. No wonder he was a first-round draft prospect.
'Inside, four-seam. This prick thinks you're a total joke.'
The same pitch twice in a row? Like Rogers said, Won-ho was treating me like shit. Like his pitcher's pride was screaming, "You think you can hit my stuff?"
The old me couldn't have laid off that heater. No game sense. But now? Rogers' batting feel lingered in my hands.
Won-ho's left leg rose, his right hand hidden behind his back before whipping toward me like lightning. At that familiar-yet-unfamiliar timing, I swung on instinct.
Thwack!
'Got it!'
A crisp sound rang from the bat as the ball soared. The moment it connected, I sprinted full speed to first.
"Run! Run!"
Hearing the underclassman's shout as he watched first base coach, I touched first, rounded big toward second. The second baseman and shortstop stood frozen, staring into the outfield. Relay not there yet? A quick glance—every outfielder frozen too.
'Hey! Stop running!'
"Whoa! Ji Maeng-ho! Ji Maeng-ho!"
"Hyung Maeng-ho, what the hell?!"
Finally, the field's noise hit me. Frozen fielders, rowdy dugout—the opposite.
"Hey, you on drugs lately? What bat is that? Share if it's good stuff."
Kim Won-ho joked as I jogged around second. If it weren't practice or me, he'd be pissed—but seeing a buddy crush one after ages, he laughed. Felt weird.
"Drugs my ass."
I flipped him the bird to express the weirdness, then jogged back to the base slowly.
"Nice homer."
After touching home, high-fiving the coach—it sank in: I'd hit a homer.
"Your swing's gotten sharper for sure. See? You've got the raw power—relax and square it up, and you get extra bases."
If you knew so well, why not tell the coach?
"Uh... yeah."
I half-assed a reply to the head coach—who thought his advice got me the homer—then sat on the bench.
"Brat. First homer in years? Not even that excited?"
"Uh... Still doesn't feel real."
"Yeah, makes sense. But don't get cocky off a practice game homer. Got it? Time to think college or wherever."
"Then use me as starter."
"Keep playing like today, I'll put in a word with the coach."
"Thanks."
Head coach... same breed as the manager. Knows my situation but just talks shit. They say the nagging sister-in-law's worse than the meddling one—now this fake guru head coach pissed me off too.
Hmm... Revenge on the manager? That thought brought Park Hye-jin to mind.
'That bitch was prime pussy. Monkeys might hit it decent too? Heh, should've fucked her in my playing days.'
Rogers' words conjured banging Hye-jin at the coach's house—blood rushed south.
'Old man. Focus on the game.'
'Focus? You thought of it first.'
'...Ahem.'
While bullshitting with Rogers, the next batter popped out easy—switch.
"Maeng-ho. Defense only from here. You got this?"
"Yes. I'll do my best."
"No, not your best—do it right. Got it?"
"Got it."
Gross, fake-advising now... I ignored the head coach's nagging, grabbed my glove, headed to the field.
*
"Maeng-ho. You're out."
"Already?"
After my second at-bat, head coach called the sub. Grounded into a fielder's choice, but it was squared up perfect—right at the fielder. My swing felt great.
No errors on D either...? Years as bench mob made his words scary.
"You did good today. Gotta give others looks too."
Sensing my anxiety, he soothed. I could run more...
'Monkey fuck. Over a practice game...'
'Still anxious though.'
'If coaches aren't idiots, they sold you hard.'
'That's why I think they're idiots.'
'...'
If not idiots, why rot me three years?
"Maeng-ho. I get you're hyped from playing after ages, but manage your face? This ain't club activities."
Fucking prick... As I didn't smile, head coach hardened.
"Sorry."
I bowed quick, apologized. He softened.
"Manager likes what he saw. No need to show it all today."
"Got it. Got excited."
"Yeah. Go wash your face in the bathroom."
"Yes."
I stripped batting gloves, left dugout. Getting pulled mid-game stung like tears.
'No ups and downs! Ugh, hate kids for this.'
'Been so long though... Tried controlling, but failed.'
Parents gone, rehab, batting practice pitcher grind—just stepped to plate. Didn't wanna leave.
'It's the start. One step. Gonna cry every time?'
'What if last chance? Trying to stay cool, can't.'
'You fuck. My successor ends like this? Insulting me! Right?'
'Not that...'
'Ha. How to toughen this pup. Be bold like when you choked that bitch! Baseball's mental! Mental!'
Rogers' over-the-top gestures cracked me up. Half-year bond?
'Thanks for cheering.'
'Cheering my ass.'
"Crying then laughing—quite the show."
"What now?"
"Sudden formal speech?"
Habit with Rogers—then realized it wasn't him.
"Hyun-ah?"
"Out for a game for once?"
Hyun-ah. Illusion of that body under her clothes. Wasn't it flat?
"No answer? Hit one game and ignoring people now?"
Her fox eyes narrowed at me.
"Ignoring? You not training?"
"Break time."
"To see Won-ho?"
"...Huh? What?"
"You like Won-ho."
"Wh-what? L-like him?!"
She flustered obviously, stuttering.
"Got proof?"
Our school bans dating strict. Rumors bad—so she pushed back hard.
"Everyone knows if you act like that."
"...Act like what?"
"Don't parade it at school."
Her eyes shook.
More talk, I'd spill the video—so I dodged, left quick. Or did I say it all?
'Chatting calm with her for once?'
'...Yeah.'
Post-video, no old flutters for Hyun-ah.
'Love's fleeting.'
Thought I'd love her forever—but jerking to someone else? Affection gone.
Dodging her felt dumb now.
'Good mindset. Heh. Love's luxury for us.'
'Us? Don't lump me. Pisses me off.'
'Clean act from a guy fucking wives. You're trash.'
'...That was you!'
'Huh? Threaten to kill if I didn't? You rubbed first.'
No comeback. True. Sane me would've refused.
'Right! So what? Enjoy this one life. Look at me—didn't, now ghosting you.'
'You enjoyed plenty.'
'Not enough.'
'...Gotta hustle to avoid your fate.'
'Yeah. Fuck her someday. Heh heh.'
Rogers right. One life—enjoy exiting. Bonus: baseball I love.
'Yeah. Let's live it.'
'Sudden casual...?'
'What! Enjoying life—formal to ghosts now?'
'You rude monkey! Orphan vibe?! Rip guts for jump rope? Or blender...! ......!'
Switch casual, Rogers unleashed wild curses—like child's play before. Unintelligible, unwanted profanity. Fuck, no formal in foreign tongues?!
'Sorry! Sorry!'
'Good, kid. Play well. Got it?'
'...Yes.'
Hellish tirade ended with my apology.