Chapter 45
Chapter 45
Choi Myung-jun was a king.
Ever since he held a baseball, coaches, managers, and players had been quick to praise him, and over time, he began to take it for granted.
Whatever he did, people understood, consoled him, told him it was okay.
‘Oh, so this is allowed?’
He spent his adolescence—the most critical period for forming self-identity—like this, but it didn’t matter much.
On the field, the one who played baseball well was king.
Some managers even thought his personality made him easier to manage and left him be.
But Choi Myung-jun knew he wasn’t the best among his peers.
“Wow. That pitch is deadly.”
He couldn’t forget the look of admiration on the manager’s face when watching Park Si-woo pitch, nor the way the manager glanced at him.
Park Si-woo always stood above him, and over time, the gap only widened.
The clearest proof of this was the rookie draft.
Between Park Si-woo and Choi Myung-jun, there were ten players.
A clear, undeniable indicator.
That gap ignited the smoldering inferiority complex within Choi Myung-jun.
Even in the pros, the gap persisted.
Park Si-woo debuted immediately in the first team; Choi Myung-jun started in the second.
He fueled his inferiority into relentless effort.
Then an opportunity came.
After Park Si-woo was injured, Choi Myung-jun was called up to the first team and began filling the void.
And when Park Si-woo returned from injury, he assumed the position would naturally be his.
“Let’s try the bullpen again.”
But as expected, Park Si-woo reclaimed the starting role.
Realizing this, Choi Myung-jun thrashed against his inferiority.
When Park Si-woo’s velocity dropped and he fell below average, Choi Myung-jun thought, he had to crush Park Si-woo completely so he could never recover.
It wasn’t difficult; he had done it before.
Park Si-woo had lost speed, confidence, and self-esteem, and a few provoked players would do the rest.
After that, Choi Myung-jun thrived as a proud starter for the Phoenix, while Park Si-woo became a subpar pitcher.
‘…But how did it end up like this?’
The gap between them had always existed, and he believed it would continue.
But after the trade, Park Si-woo made an impossible comeback, and Choi Myung-jun suffered from misfortune.
As his position narrowed, old memories replayed relentlessly in his mind.
So he turned on a live broadcast.
‘You think I’ll just watch you succeed?’
The violence Park Si-woo had inflicted on him.
Until now, he had restrained himself due to O Gyu-jin’s intervention, but now he believed everything would return to normal.
But O Gyu-jin had a reason for stopping him.
“After the last Korean Series, there was a team dinner. At that time, Park Si-woo called me to the bathroom…”
Choi Myung-jun recited the story calmly, blending lies with truth.
“Even now, I suffer from aftereffects. My hands shake, my headaches worsen at the sight of Park Si-woo. Fans, please don’t let me and Park Si-woo share the same field.”
Ending the broadcast, Choi Myung-jun eagerly watched the responses, but his expression soon stiffened.
‘They don’t buy that Park Si-woo went first?’
People commented that it was unbelievable Park Si-woo would hit him for no reason, laughed at the claim, and accused him of playing the victim.
Before public opinion could turn, his reputation was already at its worst.
Fans weren’t naive.
Considering the image of him and Park Si-woo, their history, and the content on the team’s YouTube, Choi Myung-jun’s claims were full of inconsistencies.
Instead, the backlash hit elsewhere.
‘So Park Si-woo got traded because of Choi Myung-jun?’
People speculated that their feud was real and that Park Si-woo was sent because one had to go.
Choi Myung-jun was bewildered as reactions ran counter to his expectations.
“Choi Myung-jun! Open the door!”
O Gyu-jin arrived immediately, pounding on the door.
When Choi Myung-jun opened it, O Gyu-jin grabbed his phone and glared.
“Why! Did you make such a mess! Was it really so hard to just stay quiet!?”
“I… should have caught the one spreading the rumor first.”
“What?”
“The guy first, then deal with the rest—that’s the order, isn’t it?”
Choi Myung-jun’s brazen attitude left O Gyu-jin speechless.
Finally, he said clearly, “Listen. There’s only one way to save this. Go to Park Si-woo immediately, apologize sincerely…”
“Why me?”
“What?”
“And it’s not up to us anyway.”
Choi Myung-jun knew the team wouldn’t abandon him.
It had always been that way.
The team would overlook incidents and still need him.
O Gyu-jin realized Choi Myung-jun was trapped in his own perspective and experiences, unable to grasp reality.
Even if he had apologized sincerely to Park Si-woo after the bench-clearing, paid a fine, it would have passed smoothly.
But Choi Myung-jun brought up Park Si-woo’s Phoenix days himself, refusing to cover it up or make amends.
O Gyu-jin left Choi Myung-jun’s house, letting out a hollow laugh.
‘It’s over.’
Park Si-woo’s current status was light-years ahead of his Phoenix days.
Once the violence became public, hiding what happened between them was impossible.
Even internally, it couldn’t be suppressed.
Choi Myung-jun had lost credibility among players and fans.
O Gyu-jin’s laughter echoed in front of Choi Myung-jun’s house.
The next day, the KBO Clean Baseball Center sent official notices to both teams, stating they would investigate with some players, Choi Myung-jun, and Park Si-woo.
Lee Gyu-tae placed water in front of Park Si-woo.
“I hoped this wouldn’t come to light, especially not like this.”
He had once awaited Choi Myung-jun to expose this.
Based on the previous knuckleball incident, he expected it would eventually happen.
He had been prepared to strike first.
But Park Si-woo’s performance exceeded expectations, so he changed his mind.
“The best revenge is what he’s already achieving. No need to stir old wounds.”
Park Si-woo pitching well was the ultimate revenge.
‘No need to revive old memories.’
Park Si-woo was clearly the victim.
Lee Gyu-tae focused on him, not Phoenix or Choi Myung-jun.
Park Si-woo calmly drank the water in front of him.
“This morning, O Gyu-jin called. He said if I wanted, this could be buried, with conditions.”
O Gyu-jin proposed a deal, grasping at straws.
“Conditions?”
“Yes. He hopes past events won’t be brought up again.”
Park Si-woo paused, then asked, “Is that all?”
“Yes.”
‘No apology, as expected.’
Neither Choi Myung-jun nor O Gyu-jin had offered a proper apology.
Park Si-woo decided firmly.
“I’ll go and tell everything myself.”
“Yes. Do that.”
O Gyu-jin assigned staff to take care of Park Si-woo and made calls.
“Call everyone I mentioned before.”
Once Park Si-woo decided, compromise was no longer an option.
O Gyu-jin waited anxiously as interviews with players concluded.
If they had anything to say, they wouldn’t.
This wasn’t just Choi Myung-jun’s issue.
Most Phoenix players were connected to Park Si-woo in some way.
At most, they would only testify about Choi Myung-jun’s violence.
Once Park Si-woo spoke, it would all be over.
O Gyu-jin braced himself.
Step by step, it could be managed, maybe leaving a small escape.
He spent the rest of the time anxiously.
After interviewing Phoenix players, the KBO Clean Baseball Center director left with a stern expression and headed straight to meet Park Si-woo in Busan.
“...Is this all true?”
“Yes.”
“Phew. Thank you for your honesty. Good work.”
Two points were consistent across Phoenix players and Park Si-woo’s testimonies.
Park Si-woo admitted he had used violence against Choi Myung-jun first.
That should have ended it.
But Park Si-woo’s story continued.
The bullying and invisible violence he suffered, largely condoned by the majority of the team, centered on Choi Myung-jun.
Some Phoenix players had corroborated this.
“Is this really true?”
“We’ll go check it out.”
The director and staff headed to Seosan, where the second team was based.
They didn’t expect to find definitive answers there.
“Everything is because of Choi Myung-jun.”
“He told us to do it, so we thought it was okay. We’re really sorry.”
Backup infielders like Kim Jeong-min and Lee In-hyuk confessed immediately when Park Si-woo’s name was mentioned, explaining they acted out of fear of being abandoned in the second team or to preempt Choi Myung-jun.
Meeting Choi Myung-jun again, he brazenly said, “Me?”
“Wasn’t the investigation supposed to look at Park Si-woo first?”
“…Park Si-woo already admitted it.”
“Then it’s over. Why do you keep pushing? I’m the victim.”
“Many have already testified. If you keep this up, the punishment will only grow.”
“The witnesses should be penalized for lying. Why punish me, the victim?”
“…Let’s take a break and resume.”
The director stepped out, sighing. Staff asked, “What do we do if he keeps this up?”
“We can’t resolve this internally.”
All evidence and witnesses pointed to Choi Myung-jun.
Without decisive proof, the case could drag on.
External help would be needed.
The case suddenly escalated.
“Damn it!”
“Choi Myung-jun!”
Inside, Choi Myung-jun trembled while reading a message.
I’m a high school junior of Choi Myung-jun, now a Phoenix player.
I’m a middle school junior of Choi Myung-jun, now a Phoenix player.
Simultaneous revelations about Choi Myung-jun’s past abuse.
The methods described closely matched what Park Si-woo and others had testified.
During further investigation, Choi Myung-jun continued to deny wrongdoing, but his face was full of anxiety.