Chapter 95

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Translator: Wjin

Chapter: 95

Chapter Title: World's Best Ballplayer

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Coach Lee Sun-moon of the 2028 Los Angeles Baseball Olympics national team took his seat at an upscale Korean restaurant specializing in set meals.

"Oh, Coach Lee Sun-moon! It's been a while."

"Yeah, the kid who was thrilled about becoming the Major League beat reporter—why'd he come crawling to me?"

"Even as a Major League guy, the Olympics baseball is coming back after years. Gotta keep tabs on it, even if it's not my beat."

"So, in short, you're here to use our friendship for a scoop?"

Coach Lee asked with a sly grin, and Ji Dong-hyun nodded with a laugh.

"Yep, that's right. Help out your little bro here."

The coach chuckled and poured himself a shot of liquor first.

"Fine, ask away—as long as it's not too serious, I'll answer."

'Jackpot!'

The reporter cheered inwardly. This was why connections mattered in journalism.

"When you announced your intention to step down from the Olympic coaching job—was that for real?"

Lee Sun-moon was Korea's last international medal winner, the only coach with decent public support.

The KBO had appointed him early, figuring no one else fit the rare Olympic return. But then he suddenly voiced his resignation.

Everyone wondered why, but no clear reason had surfaced.

The coach tilted back a shot casually.

"Of course it was real. I meant every word—I was ready to quit."

The reporter blinked in surprise but nodded understandingly.

"Yeah, coaching the Olympics isn't easy. No medal? You're toast. Win one but lose to Japan? Traitor."

"Nah, that stuff doesn't faze me."

The coach rubbed his bald spot—circular hair loss leaving the crown empty—and continued.

"Look at this. No hair left to lose. Who cares about backlash?"

Crunch crunch.

The reporter fought back laughter at the sound effects from the coach's scalp and pressed on.

"Then... why announce the resignation?"

"I can take the hate, but... I've gotta build the team my way, right?"

The reporter got it instantly with an "Ah."

'Yeah, this coach is all about his own path... No way he'd tolerate meddling in player picks.'

"So you've locked in full authority over the roster, I take it? That's why you're back on board."

"Word reached you already? Yeah. If not, I'd have walked. Got one guy I absolutely want."

The reporter tilted his head curiously.

"You're picky, Coach. Must be a stud. Mind sharing who?"

The coach didn't hesitate.

"The best baseball player in the world right now."

"Pardon...?"

As the reporter stared blankly, the coach smirked.

"Who else? C'mon, a Major League reporter should know this."

'Well... plenty of names come to mind.'

As a big-league specialist, stars popped up instantly: the 50-50 maniac, the 60-homer slugger.

Easy to name-drop, but none were Korean.

Had Korea ever had a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠guy you could call the world's best?

'Kim Ho-san maybe...? But even as a big-league ace, he's not the best. Getting nationalistic in his old age...'

Still, butter up the coach who'd dominate headlines for months.

"Kim Ho-san, right? Dude's on pace for a career year."

"Kim Ho-san? You think he's the world's best?"

"...Then which Korean...?"

"Cha Tae-hyun."

"Come again...?"

The reporter thought he'd misheard. Not unknown—rumors had reached him before things got hectic.

A rookie devouring the KBO. But a KBO player—unproven rookie at that—for world-best talk?

Reading his mind, the coach said,

"13 homers in 18 games, OPS over 2.00? No one on earth does that. Didn't know? Even Major League reporters gotta watch for guys like this."

'What bullshit...'

The reporter swallowed a scoff.

13 HR in 18 games? OPS north of 2?

He pulled out his phone to check stats and grill the coach.

But...

Tap Cha Tae-hyun's record,

'What the fuck.'

The reporter blanked out at the insane stats.

"Whining about no time to breathe, huh? Guess it's true—you're shocked. Now that you've checked... wanna ask again?"

Liquor filled the clear glass before the coach; he downed it and asked.

"Who's the best baseball player in the world right now?"

Forget early-season fluke,

unsustainable peaks.

Right now...

"......Cha Tae-hyun."

No other answer.

"......Ugh. Uuugh!"

Shin Si-woo, leaning against the training field wall, suddenly made weird noises.

"What now?"

"That jealous prick! Basically national team lock. So damn envious."

His phone screen explained it.

Not official, but close enough—no hiding that vibe lately.

"Jealous of what? Go and no medal? Nationwide hate. Lose to Japan? Eulsa Traitors."

"True, but... military exemption! Bronze at least."

Laughter escaped at his blunt honesty. Yeah, nobody liked the army.

"Underestimating it? Bronze ain't easy."

This Olympics: LA, USA hosting.

USA even scheduling an Olympic break.

USA declaring victory.

Fan lore: "MLB-all-stars would smash." Now real.

Japan dominating intl since focus shift.

"Right?"

"...Yeah, fair. But bronze is doable."

"Not impossible."

Self-praise aside, with me here, Korea's golden era rolling.

"You sound anti-national team?"

"Phoenix title over gold for me. Better skip, focus regular season."

Shin Si-woo shook his head, clapping.

"Damn, respect... Phoenix diehard. Skipping exemption? Mad fanboy."

I was Phoenix-obsessed, but he forgot one thing.

"Orphanage kid—already exempt."

"Ah... s-sorry."

Air chilled; he fiddled with his phone back at his spot.

Joking, but vibe killed.

"Forget it. Group practice soon—put phone down, head out."

"......"

"Hey, let's go? What's up?"

No response. Peeked—internet horror again, mouth agape.

"Another hate pic?"

Glanced at screen...

Hmm...

Shocking.

This crap makes news?

Person A from Busan Happiness Orphanage claims pro baller 'Cha Tae-hyun,' also orphanage alum, beat him badly—trauma haunting years.

A tried forgiving but: 'Can't let him wear the taegukgi.'

"Shoulda lived nicer, punk."

Lee Seung-jun, Cha Tae-hyun's orphanage mate, cackled as his planted scandal blew up.

Occasional comments spooked him:

But he shrugged it off.

'He beat me like a dog, facts.'

True enough.

Sure, petty reason, but hitting? Crime.

"Game day chill for once."

Baseball fan, but Tae-hyun's exploits twisted his gut—skipped lately.

Now this?

Mental game—could Tae-hyun hold it together?

Imagining perfect star crumbling, hated? Bliss.

"...Or scratched entirely? Club benching possible. Win-win."

Grinning, Lee Seung-jun hit communities to fan the flames.

Pre-game, Manager Lee Eun-seok called me to his office.

Obvious why: morning scandal.

His face normal, though. Stared, then low:

"That article this morning—true?"

"Some lunatic's bullshit."

Confident.

No orphanage memories, so possible.

But the Cha Tae-hyun I knew? Cut sleep, double jobs for sister.

I'd stake on it. Total crap. If true, justified.

"Yeah? Good."

"Huh...?"

Expected that from me, not instant buy-in.

"Standing there? Got something to say?"

"...Thought you'd scratch me today. Controversy and all."

He smirked playfully.

"True or not, using you till punished. Phoenix title? Anything goes."

I chuckled, nodding.

Three-peat champ vibes.

He stood, arm around shoulders.

"Ignore it all, do you. Who you hit? Today's win matters, got it?"

Pat-pat on back.

"Yes. Business as usual."

Lightened up.

Lingering doubt gone.

Even pumped—gonna crush today.

Out to dugout, teammates normal.

"Yo Tae-hyun! Remember I'm starting?"

"Obviously."

"Sang-jin promised no DP— you promise a homer?"

"He just avoids DP, why homer for me?"

"Oof... Say it and Sang-jin's hurt..."

Laughter. Same banter, eyes.

Heard the news, sure.

"Yo Cha Tae-hyun, meat after? Been ages."

"Ask your senior first, punk—no hierarchy."

Treating casual.

Bad actors they ain't—this meant trust.

"Why laugh at meat?"

"Si-woo's always funny. BA says it all."

"OK, meat time. Nah, let's go. Win clean, I buy."

"Whoa! Punch-out king treating? Can't pass. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Heard it? Win today!"

Yeah, just win.

No time for nonsense.