The Tryout (3)

The coach's glare practically ordered me to back up my big mouth with action.

He wasn't bluffing. He put me through the wringer, testing me across every single position in both the infield and outfield: first base, second base, shortstop, third base, left field, center, and right. Even so, considering it was midwinter, he had the basic human decency not to hit any slicing balls that required a full-extension dive.

"All right, take a breather!"

"Whew. Yes, sir."

With the winter chill freezing the dirt rock-solid, a single awkward landing on a diving catch could easily snap a bone. An athlete's body is their sole capital. Even if this tryout didn't pan out, I could always condition myself further and knock on another club's door. Pointless heroics were out of the question.

My situation was urgent, sure, but urgency should never bleed into reckless play. Haste on the diamond inevitably bred errors and injuries. Looking at it coldly, there was no reason to panic anyway. With tools like mine, I was practically guaranteed an everyday starting role on any Double-A squad, or even Triple-A if graded generously. Most of the hitters at this tryout were barely Single-A caliber. Aside from Kanghyuk-hyung and me, not a single batter had managed to barrel up the heavy four-seamers spat out by the Traject Arc.

Since the Traject Arc replicated the fastballs of first-team KBO pitchers, I had already proven I could handle the minimum benchmark. If the coach still refused to sign me, it merely meant his eye for talent was hopelessly defective, in which case I could pack my bags for another team's tryout without a shred of regret.

Still, standing this tall was undeniably inconvenient. A high center of gravity inevitably chipped away at agility. For a frame like this, first base or a corner outfield spot was the natural fit. An infield role wasn't impossible, but realistically, my lateral range made anything other than first base questionable. Of course, if the organization insisted on putting me in the dirt, I had no intention of arguing. That was the attitude of a professional.

"Good. Very good! Outstanding work, son! Let's sign the paperwork right now. Someone call the contract coordinator over here!"

"Um... Coach Park. The coordinator isn't on site right now."

"What? What the hell do you mean, he's not here?!"

The coach flared up the moment a staff member stepped forward to deliver the news. A bit hot-tempered, perhaps? Every coach had their own style, and it hardly bothered me. I had crossed paths with every conceivable personality during my years in professional sports.

"You... wait, it's Yoo Seonghyun, right? Seonghyun. What's your home address? We'll come by your place tomorrow."

"My home, sir?"

"Yes. We can hardly drag you all the way back out here tomorrow."

"I'd appreciate that, then."

"You can make it to spring training, correct?"

"Ah, spring training... Is it overseas?"

"Of course it is. Our club has a partnership with a Japanese team, so both the first and second teams are heading to Okinawa together. We're scheduled to depart in two weeks, so there's a mountain of preparations to handle."

"Is attendance absolutely mandatory?"

"...Are you telling me you're skipping spring training?"

Seeing the coach's face rapidly stiffen, I had no choice but to confess.

"Well... my girlfriend is four weeks pregnant..."

"...What? Didn't you say you're nineteen? Your girlfriend is pregnant? Don't tell me she's an underage minor!"

"Ah, she's the same age as me. We're both legal adults, and legally, she's already my wife. We filed our marriage registration."

"Hah...? So what, you want to stay behind in the country by yourself and work out? What are you going to do about your in-game instincts? You do know a ballplayer's entire year is practically decided in spring camp, don't you?"

"...I will attend."

Confronted by the coach's sharp rebuke, I could only nod. He wasn't wrong. A baseball player's performance over the grueling regular season depended almost entirely on how thoroughly they built their body during spring camp. Reluctant as I was to leave Eunha, facts were facts. For an athlete whose body was still physically developing, skipping camp when I ought to be grinding myself to dust was pure folly.

"Do you have a passport?"

"Ah."

"Go get one issued today. First thing."

"Understood."

"Do you have any intention of pitching? You said you threw off the mound until your freshman year of high school, right?"

"No, sir. As I mentioned before, I'm still growing, so my command is completely scattered."

"Right... Good work today. We'll see you tomorrow at your house."

"Thank you for your time, Coach."

Wrapping up the conversation, I returned the borrowed batting gloves to Kanghyuk-hyung.

"Thanks for letting me use these, Kanghyuk-hyung."

"S-Sure... Man, you were unbelievable. Watching your swing was like looking at Shohei Ohtani."

"My left-handed swing is indeed modeled on Ohtani. Our frames are quite similar."

"Really? No wonder it looked so familiar. Did the coach offer you a contract on the spot?"

"Ah, you couldn't hear us from there? He said they'll be coming by my house tomorrow."

"...Must be nice."

"Hyung, based purely on hitting, there wasn't a single batter out there better than you. Don't you think they'll pick you up? It's a tryout for developmental players, after all."

"Thanks for saying so, even if it's just to make me feel better..."

Kanghyuk-hyung's shoulders slumped, his spirit completely crushed after witnessing my batting and defense. For someone whose name literally meant 'mighty strength,' he certainly wasn't living up to it. In the end, all sports were a mental battle; the moment an athlete lost confidence, everything fell apart. Tsk.

Seeing an eerie reflection of my past life in his downtrodden expression, words tumbled out of my mouth unbidden.

"If you're free after this, hyung, let's grab a bite to eat. Meeting like this is fate, isn't it?"

"Ah, sorry... After getting discharged from the military, I burned through all my money on private training and gear..."

It made sense. Where would an independent league ballplayer find extra cash? Feeling obligated as the older guy to pick up the tab, he politely bowed out.

"My treat."

"No, I'd feel way too guilty... I'm really fine, don't worry about it."

"Hmm. All right, then."

Pulling out the towel Eunha had packed for me, I wiped away the sweat and slipped on my winter coat. Meanwhile, the position players had finished their drills. Even a passing glance confirmed that none of the other hitters had matched Kanghyuk-hyung's quality. Now came the pitchers' turn. Would there be anyone worth watching?

"Jaehyung! It's the pitchers' turn, get over here and catch!"

Jaehyung? Don't tell me... Park Jaehyung? If that lunatic is still playing catcher, that's a walking disaster.

"Yes, sir!"

A burly man decked out in full catcher's gear marched toward the bullpen, bellowing with rigid military discipline. His face was... entirely too familiar. There was no way I could ever forget him. After all, he was the bastard who had dragged me onto the diamond in this life.

"...Wait. Yoo Seonghyun?"

"You still haven't given up on catching? I knew you got drafted by the Titans, but still."

"Holy crap, it really is Yoo Seonghyun?!"

"What's this? Do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you two know each other?" Kanghyuk-hyung asked.

"...He's an embarrassing middle school classmate."

"You finally understand my heart!" Jaehyung roared at the top of his lungs. "I knew it! With you and me together, we can lead the Busan Titans to a championship! I never doubted it for a second! Even when you abruptly quit baseball and transferred away, my faith never wavered!"

"He's pretty much always like this," I deadpanned.

"...Is he out of his mind? Ah, sorry," Kanghyuk-hyung muttered.

A rare specimen in this modern era: an unhinged fanatic who loved Busan more than anyone alive and single-mindedly prayed for a Titans championship. Watching the Titans' backstops constantly drop pitches, he had hatched the absurd dream of becoming a catcher himself to deliver a title to the city—and miraculously, he had actually been drafted by the Busan Titans.

Yet recalling how he dropped nearly every single one of my pitches back in middle school... frankly speaking, the guy had zero talent behind the plate. Receiving? Blocking? Sequencing? Baseball IQ? Not a single fundamental skill was up to par. The only passable traits he possessed were a quick pop-time and a cannon arm. Honestly, the fact that he was drafted in the eighth round was absurd in itself—a glaring testament to the severe talent drought plaguing the KBO. With plunging birth rates shrinking the youth player pool while the league maintained ten franchises, a dilution of quality was inevitable.

"Park Jaehyung! What are you standing around for?! Get over here and catch!"

"Ah, coming!"

As Jaehyung scurried off, Kanghyuk-hyung let out a bitter chuckle.

"Didn't the Titans win their last championship back in 1992? It's been almost forty years since they tasted a title... I feel bad for the guy."

"Well, hanging around him is entertaining in its own way. He's a refreshing brand of crazy."

"Yeah, he certainly looks the part."

"Anyway, hyung, are you heading straight back to Seoul?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm staying in Busan until tomorrow. I promised to meet up with an army buddy, and since results come out tomorrow anyway, it didn't make sense to leave today. Ah, look at the time. I'd better get going."

"Keep your confidence up, hyung. At the end of the day, humans play this game, and mentality is what counts most. I'll see you at spring training."

"...Yeah. Thanks, Seonghyun."

After Kanghyuk-hyung took his leave, I lingered by the netting, watching the pitching session. Holding tryouts for arms in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weather like this was practically begging for elbow blowouts. Was this why the franchise had gone forty years without a ring? The biting wind and freezing temperatures made it physically impossible to uncork true velocity.

Thwack!

Oh? That guy's ball looks pretty solid.

He was a dime-a-dozen right-hander, but his command was remarkably crisp. His velocity looked modest, but that had to be forgiven given the freezing cold and lack of proper warmup. Looking closer, though, he seemed somewhat older. Still, this was a tryout for developmental players. Velocity could be developed through training, whereas command was largely innate touch. A pitcher with that level of control was well worth picking up.

"...Not bad. Do you have secondary pitches?" the coach asked.

"I throw a slider and a splitter, and I can mix in a cutter as a modified fastball."

"All right. Show me the slider first."

The coach's thoughts seemed aligned with mine; he was asking for breaking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠balls, something he hadn't bothered requesting from the other candidates. The trajectory on his slider was peculiar. Instead of sweeping away from a right-handed batter like a standard righty slider, it sucked sharply inward toward the hitter's body.

"Good, now the splitter!"

"Yes, sir!"

His splitter looked sharp as well. Was he released because ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of his age? Objectively speaking, his stuff wasn't dominant enough for the first team. An aging second-team arm could be cut at any moment without raising an eyebrow. That was the brutal reality of professional sports.

Bzzzt.

As I observed the mound work, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

"Ahem."

I cleared my throat awkwardly.

Truth be told, it wasn't fifteen years. It was closer to sixty.